#we should still be able to talk about the ways female ‘superheroes’ are written

[pearlofthewoods]

@celluloiddream666

Like yes, and no. I think there’s a distinction to be made here. Most superhero films (particularly the early ones) have historically centred men as the superheroes. Crucially, Buffy is a woman.

The stereotypical superhero is a man who is given superpowers which he goes on to use to protect mankind. So far so similar. He may also be a physically weak person who then becomes strong, but there’s still a difference here in the intentions behind the character’s empowerment.

Because Buffy’s superhero arc comes from a slightly different place, It’s not just about a physically weak person becoming supernaturally strong, it’s crucially about a woman gaining the ability to overcome her oppressor, and to save her own life.

Whedon envisioned Buffy particularly as a subversion of the typical horror movie scene, in which a woman is attacked in an alley (often by a man) and dies as a result. For all his flaws in writing the series, his intention was for the premise to be a feminist reversal of that trope. The empowerment of an otherwise vulnerable woman to protect herself from violence and misogyny.

A quote from the article where I read this:

“Whedon created the character of Buffy as a reaction to the trope of the blonde girl who tends to die first in horror films.”

It was particularly the idea of the female victim’s early death that I felt I wanted to address. Because if subverting that was Whedon’s aim, in a roundabout way he failed to do so.

Visually, yes, that trope is subverted in the scene where Angel meets Buffy for the first time:

But in the longer term? Buffy’s superpowers didn’t save her from dying. In fact, she dies three times throughout the series. Directly as a result of being the slayer. It was this particular irony that I was trying to bring out.

And although historically male superheroes might have experienced bullying or been physically weak before receiving their powers, I don’t think many of them were so vulnerable as to be at risk of death before their transformation. I think that’s the difference.

It’s also ironic to me that in this very specific case, Whedon intended Buffy’s powers to be of particular use for her to defend herself from danger. Not everyone else. And that’s not an intention you can accredit to all other media in this genre.

So when I say it’s ironic that she has to sacrifice herself to save everyone else, I’m not talking about her being a superhero in general, I’m talking about Whedon’s failures to adhere to the intentions he had for Buffy when creating this specific piece of media.

I understand if my point was lost on you, since I added crucial parts of that analysis in my tags originally, so I’ll reupload them below for you.

I hope that helps get my point across a little better :)

I once saw a quote that said the idea for Buffy came from subverting the horror movie trope of ‘woman is attacked in dark alley’, by making the female protagonist stronger than her attacker.

But I do find it interesting that when the female MC is given the power to fight back, she’s not just expected to protect herself, but to save everyone else as well.

And I think that’s such a tragic side to Buffy’s character, that it’s never enough for her just to protect herself, she has to save the world too, even at the expense of her own life and happiness.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

I think part of the trouble with reading ML as a magical girl team is that it’s really written to be Marinette as the Lone Hero.

Sticking with Winx Club as an example (which I absolutely loved), even though Bloom was clearly the main character, the other girls got focus and attention and their own narratives unrelated to Bloom’s. Alya doesn’t have that; nearly the entirety of her scenes and focus are still for or related to Marinette’s story, which the writers have outright told us is always meant to come first.

As such, I think the more solid reading of ML is that it’s a poorly written superhero romcom that pretends to be a magical girl team, but only ends up offering crumbs. It’s why we’re shown the extra Miraculous and given a “core four/five,” only for it to be revealed that the new holders aren’t actually permanent team members. A decision I remember thinking at the time made absolutely no sense, but now in hindsight can be perfectly explained by how doing so would necessitate that attention/focus be taken from Marinette, which ML absolutely refuses to do.

In fact, I’d wager that’s the actual reason Chat Noir has a crush on Ladybug before Adrien falls for Marinette: it keeps his attention even as a hero focused on her. There’s plenty of salters who love to deride him for not focusing enough on the “job” and making LB pick up his “slack,” but that fits the show’s intentions perfectly. Chat can’t be written to (as) capable if LB is to shine. Hence why we had the whole Catwalker argument being nonsensically centered around “perfection.” 😭

(Post with the Winx club example for context.)

You're absolutely right. Miraculous is trying to be a loan hero show (or perhaps a serious hero and silly sidekick show) where Marinette is the only important character outside of the villains, a magical girl team show where female friendships are the most important relationships in the show, and a heterosexual rom-com all at the same time which leads to a ton of nonsense choices because those are three genres that really don't mix!

While I never outright said it, the post about rom-coms vs magical girl team shows was spawned by the fandom conflict over Alya's writing in the later seasons. I wanted to take a moment to point out why she keeps being given the roles that people expect Chat Noir to get and why both sides of that fandom conflict have very valid feelings given the way that the show is being written, so I didn't talk about the lone hero thing since that doesn't really play a part in Alya and Adrien's fight for narrative importance. If we're looking at Miraculous as a whole though, then it's 100% a piece of the puzzle when you're trying to figure out where the writing went wrong.

I've mentioned a couple of times that they're putting way too much on Marinette's shoulders. The main reason that I feel that way is because they also decided to give her a full team of heroes to work with which is deeply confusing. If they really wanted to go the Marinette-is-the-only-real-hero route, then we should have never gotten any additional heroes beyond Ladybug and Chat Noir. Keep Chat Noir as the comedy sidekick and let Ladybug use all of the other miraculous as powerups without ever handing them out.

After all, when it comes down to their actual role in the narrative, most of the team feels like nothing more than a powerup since they basically just do whatever Ladybug tells them to do. Outside of Viperion and Bunnyx, there's no reason why Ladybug can't just dual, triple, or quadruple wield. This is extra true because they took the time to tell us that Marinette is able to wield more miraculous than most people and then... never really did anything with that. Why have a line like this one from Kwamibuster if you're never going to have Marinette do more than the occasional dual wield?

Master Fu: No Miraculous owner in all of history has ever been mentally and physically strong enough to use that many Miraculous at the same time. Wayzz: Marinette truly is special, Master.

Switching from a team back to a duo would also fix the awkwardness of Adrien's writing as that really wasn't a problem back in season one. The hero who does all the cool stuff and their wacky comedy sidekick who keeps things fun is a classic setup for a reason!

[persepholline]

I've read that article about the romanticization of the Darkling and while I absolutely understand people who are pissed off/sad and I agree that it's shitty, I find LB's attitude towards Darkles stans very funny in a "girl what are you doing" sort of way because it's so petty like I've never heard of a bestselling author writing a portion of their fans into their books as a crazy cult before, it clearly hit a nerve

I'm new to the fandom but the feeling I get is she wrote something problematic ten years ago and became very embarrassed about it afterwards so she turned on the fans that liked it as a way to absolve herself. Especially since fandoms in general have become a lot more focused on discussion of what constitutes healthy/acceptable relationships to write about. And in a way I get it I had a huge Twilight phase in high school and afterwards I was super embarassed about it because of how problematic and cringe it was. But now with distance and more maturity I'm able to both still see why it was problematic and also why I was drawn to it (mostly the very unhinged representation of female desire) and like...it's really not the end of the world and no it never made me believe that breaking into somebody's room at night to watch them sleep was actually ok in real life lmao. This feels so obvious to me but apparently it needs to be said.

(More under the break this is turning into an essay, I've been thinking of this a lot recently)

And of course it's good to have these discussions about how historically romance tropes have echoed social dynamics of men's shitty behavior being romanticized and excused. But these days they often are so simplistic and focused on chasing clout that they become this weird new puritanism and moral panic about oh now women are reading novels it's going to make them hysterical or something

So you have these weird assumptions that you can't like a character and also be critical of their actions, or enjoy certain parts of a character and not others, or wish they were written differently and like them more for their potential (which I'm sure stings a bit for an author lol) - it assumes that if you like a character it means you would approve of their actions in real life, or that people just stupidly reproduce whatever they see on TV. That tendency to treat fictional characters like real people is the thing that actually worries me, to be honest, because it indicates a lack of distance and critical capacities regarding how stories are used and received. But people - fans and authors - are so scared of being called out as problematic and harassed for it that they're going to shy away from any nuance.

And yeah I think that it's good that standards of what constitutes an ideal relationship are evolving and becoming more feminist and communicative and all that and we definitely need more of that. But not all fiction has to be aspirational! Sometimes you just want to read about fucked up shit, because it's cathartic or fascinating, even healing at times because with fiction you are absolutely in control and can choose when to close the book. Toxic relationships in fiction can have an appeal specifically because they go to extremes of feeling that we don't want to go to in reality, in exactly the same way as horror movies or very violent action movies - which I don't see a lot of people besides fundamentalist Christians argue that they turn you into violent psychopaths (and that feels very obviously sexist). And for women, who are often taught growing up that love is the purpose of life, the "saving someone with your ability to love" can be a power fantasy in the same way that being a buff superhero who saves the day with their capacity for incredible violence can be a power fantasy for men. Still doesn't mean those women are going to fall in love with actual murderers or that those men are going to start beating up people at night. And love is scary, and weird, and weirdly close to horror at times, with all the potential for loss of self and being vulnerable and overwhelming feelings and potential for being horribly hurt and it should be possible for stories to explore that without anybody screaming about how this is going to Corrupt the Youth or something

And I mean I get it LB wanted to write a cautionary tale for teenagers, but it just did not work for reasons a lot of people have already written about - the fact that the Darkling is the leader of an oppressed minority and is the only one with a real political agenda to end that oppression in the first trilogy, the fact that he helps Alina come into her own power while her endgame LI is someone she keeps herself small for, that she's shamed for wanting power after growing up without any, a generally very wonky conception of privilege, and a lot of other stuff with yucky regressive implications to the point where stanning the villain actually feels liberating and empowering which is a surefire sign that the narrative is broken (unless it's a villain focused story lmao). But of course that Fanside article makes almost no mention of the political dynamics, it's all about interpersonal stuff which is an annoying trend in YA, there are those massive events happening in the background but it's made all about the feelings of the hero(ine) ; war as a self-development quest (which is kind of gross). Helnik is kind of an example of this too - I like them, I think they're fun ! But Matthias spends a big part of the story wanting to brutally murder Nina and her kind, and he mostly changes his mind because he finds her hot. Like you don't feel there is some sort of big revelation that his entire moral system and political framework is completely rotten ; it's all better because of feelings now.

As a teenager that kind of sanctimonious bullshit would have annoyed the hell out of me ; I read those books in my early twenties and I found the ending so stupid I wouldn't have trusted any message or life lessons coming from them. And I liked reading/watching dark stuff as a teenager, as a way to deal with the very intense inner turmoil I was dealing with - and I turned out fine ! Meanwhile I've seen several times women in very shitty relationships being obsessed with positive energies and stories ; they were so terrified of their life not being perfectly wholesome they ended up being delusional about their own situations.

Like personally I think the Darkling is a compelling, interesting, alluring character and also a manipulative, murderous piece of shit and that Alina should get to punish him (like in a sexy way) - but he's also the end result of centuries of war, oppression and trauma and reducing that to "toxic wounded boy" feels kind of offensive ngl ESPECIALLY since the books don't offer any kind of systemic analysis or response to oppression beyond "the bad guy should die" and "now the king/queen is a good guy our problems are solved!!!!"

In Lives of the Saints, we see how Yuri is abused extremely badly and almost killed by his father, and so when his father dies when the Fold swallows Novokribirsk, he thinks the Starless Saint has saved him. Later in KoS/RoW he's turned into this fanatic who explains away all the Darkling's crimes. The other followers talk about how the Starless Saint will bring equality for all men. Then the Darkling comes back and actually thinks his followers are pathetic, which feels again like a very pointed message to his IRL stans. Which is absolutely hilarious to me. Like oh no, if he was real he would not like you and think you're pathetic ! Yeah ...but he's not. Real. Damn right he would not like the fics where Alina puts him on a leash. I'm still going to read them. What is he going to do about it, jump out of the page ? Jfjfjjdhfgfjfj

Anyway I think the intended message is "assholes will use noble political causes for their own gain and to manipulate people" and "being abused/oppressed is not an excuse to behave badly." Which. Sure. But that's kind of like...a tired take, honestly ? A big number of villains nowadays are like this ; either they've been bullied as kids, or they're part of an oppressed group, or they have "good ideals but too extreme". This is not surprising because a lot of mainstream heroic narratives present clinging to the status quo as Good and change as chaotic and dangerous. And like sure in real life people often do bad shit because they're wounded and in danger. But if you want to do a story like that, you have to do it with nuance, talk about cycles of violence, about how society creates vulnerable people to be exploited, about how privilege gives you more choices and the luxury of morals, etc. The Grishaverse does not have this level of nuance (maybe in SoC a little bit but definitely not in TGT). So it kind of comes off as "trauma makes you evil" and "egalitarianism is dangerous" and "if you're abused/oppressed you're not allowed to fight back". And ignores the fact that historically, evil generally comes from unchecked privilege.

I guess my point is that there are many things I like about LB's writing, she knows how to create these really exciting character dynamics, and the world she has created is fascinating. But these stories are not a great starting point for imparting moral lessons. And her best characters tend to be, at least in canon, the morally grey ones. I hope one day she'll be at peace with the fact that she wrote the Darkling the way she did and leave his fans alone but in the meantime I'm just not going to take this whole thing seriously I'm sorry

[nightshade-minho]

-Inferno-

Warnings: public sex, insinuated break-up, cheating (kind of), fingering, oral (f. receiving), exhibitionism, unprotected sex, creampie, Master!kink, degradation, humiliation, size kink, light dacryphilia. 

Wc: 3k+

Note: (@chanonymous told me this Minho gives off Black Widow vibes- and I just had to write another superhero!au. Minho’s alias in this is Black Widow, but he isn’t really affiliated to or similar to the Marvel Black Widow in any way. Y/n’s alias is DragonClaw, and she’s a dragon-shapeshifter with pyrokinesis. I know this is the second Y/n I’ve written with pyrokinesis- I’m sorry, I just love fire hhh-)

Why?

Why did the universe hate you so fucking much? 

It was torture enough being one of only two female superheroes at this year’s Annual Gala. It didn’t help that said female superhero was The Peacock, aka insufferable, bitchy diva- who was currently on the stage, that melodious, lilting voice of hers flooding through the speakers.  You watched as the men around you fawned over her, listening eagerly as she regaled everyone with yet another one of her self-centred tales. 94% made up, you were sure of that. 

“There’s no way she’d be able to beat up 50 gangsters with her powers.”

And there it was. His voice. Him. The real reason for your anger and frustration tonight. 

You carefully ignored him, hating the way he was seated right next to you at the table. How did this happen? There were currently 50 tables in the venue, more than enough to accommodate every superhero in the state. But of course, your rotten luck had landed you right next to him.

“I just don’t understand. Isn’t her power looking pretty, or something like that?”

You gritted your teeth, still not looking at him. However, the awkwardness of his unanswered question lingering in the air became too much to bear.

“It’s Allure. Her power is Allure.”

“Meaning?”

You rolled your eyes, answering reluctantly.

“Supernatural beauty that can be used to manipulate, distract and hypnotize.”

‘So...basically, looking pretty. Huh. That’s a cool superpower, being so beautiful that people can’t help but do what you say.”

You stayed silent, your eyes observing the seated audience, all of them absolutely enamoured by the beauty on stage. You’d entertained him enough.

“I think you’re prettier, though.”

That was it. You whipped your head around to face him, breath slightly hitching in your throat as your eyes met his. “Shut up.” You hissed. “Stop trying to talk to me.”

“Why?” He asked, smirking. 

“You know why. I don’t like you. That’s why.”

“Come on, Y/n. No one here knows about our...history.”

You glanced around, putting a finger up to your lips. “Why don’t you scream my real name a little louder? I don’t think the Grand Master heard you.”

“Look, just because you used to be a supervillain once doesn’t mean you still are so-”

You were sure he was doing this on purpose. You quickly clapped a hand over his mouth, shooting a look of apology to the dude opposite you, who turned to look. As soon as the man turned away, you glared at him.

“Look, Minho.” You seethed, your voice dripping with venom. “I’m not the only one with dirty secrets here. If you don’t shut up, I’ll stand up right now, and tell everyone who really caused that wildfire in California.”

“It wasn’t my fault-” 

“Yeah, right.”

Minho sighed, rolling his eyes as he grabbed your hand, wrenching it away from his mouth. 

“I’m sorry, okay? I’ve been saying sorry ever since that day. Although I’m not the only one who should be apologizing, and you know it just as well as I do.”

You turned away from him, choosing to ignore him once again. The pain was still fresh, the emotions still raw. You remember how devastated you’d been that night, how you’d wanted to murder everyone in sight. Instead...you turned a new leaf, and chose to reinvent yourself as a superhero. Usually, tragic incidents and heartbreak lead to the birth of a supervillain- in your case, it was the opposite. You’d felt so miserable and dejected that you became good. 

And the man sitting next to you was the cause of it all. The fact that he had the audacity to sit there and flirt- especially knowing everything that happened between the two of you? It made you want to bury him six feet deep.

You fiddled with the spoon on the table. “How...how is she?”

“Who?”

“You know, her. Your girlfriend.”

“...girlfriend?”

“Spitfire.”

“Oh. Her. Um, she’s fine.”

Minho was lying. He hadn’t seen Jiwon- Spitfire, since that fateful night. Somehow, though, the lie had come out before he could stop it.

He watched you nod slightly, your face still turned away from him. 

Fuck, why did I do that? What was I expecting? That she’d be jealous? That she’d beg me to leave Jiwon? That she’d fall at my feet and ask me to take her back? Stupid.

Minho shook his head, closing his eyes as he leaned back in his chair and tried to focus on the woman speaking. But..he just couldn’t. His eyes kept drifting to you. He wished he could take the mask covering half your face off..wished he could see your beautiful eyes staring into his again. 

Wished he could kiss you just one more time...

***

The next few minutes passed by in silence. You were about ready to walk up on stage and strangle the woman, droning on and on. She seemed to go off on tangents constantly, the story growing longer and longer until you just couldn’t take it anymore. 

The rest of the audience clearly didn’t share your views, their gazes filled with adoration and wonder. Well...everyone except...

You turned to Minho. He seemed to be lost in thought, his stare fixed on the blank wall. 

“Hey? Earth to Minho?”

He snapped out of his reverie, turning to look at you. His eyes widened as he realized you were talking to him.

“Shh. Black Widow.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s a silly alias.”

“Like Dragonclaw is much better.”

“Hey! Dragonclaw is a very cool alias.”

Minho rolled his eyes as you shoved his arm playfully, your heart growing a little lighter. 

Okay. Just...forget about the past. Talk to him, even if it’s only to keep yourself from dying of boredom...

And so you did. The two of you started talking. He moved his chair closer to yours, telling you what he’d been up to for the past three years, discreetly whispering. 

“Okay, okay. Enough about the missions, tell me more about Spitfire! What’s she like?”

“S-she’s...cool. Very...fiery.”

You scoffed, shaking your head and smiling. “Do you have a thing for superheroes with pyrokinesis or something?”

“Uh...yeah, I guess you could say that.” He winked, noting how your face turned a light shade of pink. Hmm...

“Though...she’s nothing, compared to you. You were really...hot, especially in bed.”

You sneered at him. “That was a bad pun. Seriously, you could do better than that.”

“Oh, what a burn.”

You cringed, pressing your lips together. “Never mind, this was a bad idea. Even listening to Peacock’s speech is more bearable than this...”

“No, wait- I’m worth your time, I promise.”

“Oh yeah? Prove it.”

Maybe it was the way you puffed your lips out, or maybe it was your challenging tone...either way, Minho couldn’t help it. Before he even realized what he was doing, his hand was on your thigh. 

Your eyes widened a little. “W-what are you doing?” You stuttered.

Courage, Minho. “I know of a way we can get rid of the boredom...”

“You do? And w-what might that be?” You swallowed, feeling a slight streak of arousal shoot through you, despite his minimal touch. 

Minho’s confidence grew as he observed your flustered demeanor. His hand slowly crept up your thigh, a delightful smirk spreading across his face as you bit your lip, your sudden shyness turning him on. He leaned in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Do you want this, kitten? Tell me to stop before it’s too late...”

You shuddered as he called you that pet name. He hadn’t called you that in years...

Minho took your silence as a yes, his fingers creeping up higher until it reached your zipper. He slowly pulled it down all the way, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. 

His hand slipped into your pants. Your breath hitched as his fingers reached your clothed clit, the pad of his finger running over it.

“How does that feel, kitten?”

You struggled to speak as he started rubbing you in circular motions. “It f-feels...good...” You choked out.

“Hmm, that’s what I thought.” 

You heard a clatter as a fork fell to the floor. You twisted your head, Minho shrugging. “Oops. I dropped my fork...”

Your eyes widened as Minho slipped off his chair, crawling under the table. Looking around frantically, you realized that no one had heard the loud noise, Peacock’s glamour still captivating them- they were essentially zombies. 

Honestly. Did she not know how to turn the sexiness off, at least to be professional-

Your line of thought was interrupted as you felt Minho pulling down your pants, down to your ankles. Oh, right. 

So much for professionalism. 

You felt him spread your thighs apart, fitting himself between them. A few seconds passed before his breath ghosted over your clit, his fingers coming up to rub you through your panties.

You clutched the edge of the table, sweat forming on your forehead as his fingers slid aside your underwear. He ran two digits through your soaked folds, humming to himself. “Still as wet and pretty as ever...”

You shifted slightly in your seat, eyes darting here and there. This was so risky. Your eyes went up to Peacock, your brain unable to comprehend her incessant chatter as Minho pressed a kiss to your clit, his fingers circling your entrance.

You let out a soft whimper, leaning back against the seat as he pulled you forward a little. Placing your palm over your mouth, you muffled your moans as he wrapped his plump lips around your clit, sucking it into his mouth. 

He let out an appreciative moan at your taste, pushing a finger into your drenched pussy and trying to ignore the growing bulge in his pants. Minho could barely believe that this was actually happening- he wanted to pinch himself, but both his hands were currently occupied. One was busy gripping your thigh, the other drawing little moans from you as his fingers went deeper.

“Fuck...you taste so good...” He mumbled against your pussy, tongue coming out to lap at your folds. You could do nothing but groan helplessly, his mouth alternating between sucking on your clit and licking at your pussy, fingers fucking you through it all.

Your legs shook as you realized you were about to cum. You pressed your hand over your mouth, trying your best to not let out any sounds. You felt your high build up- flames of pleasure sparking at you...until it was all gone.

You frowned as Minho pulled away from you, confusion filling you as he tugged on your leg. Quickly looking around you, you bent down to lift the tablecloth and make eye contact with him.

“Come down here.”

“W-what? P-people will definitely noti-”

“That wasn’t a question, it was an order. Do as I say, or you’ll regret it, kitten.”

You whimpered softly, your heart beating faster as you lowered yourself to the floor. Minho quickly pulled you under the table, adjusting the tablecloth behind you before turning to you. 

Smirking at you, he palmed himself, eyes watching you hungrily as he crawled over you.

“Minho...this is a bad idea. I’m already on thin enough ice as it is-”

“Shh...” He traced his finger over your chin, down to your zipper, slowly pulling it down. He licked his lips as your chest was exposed slowly, leaning down to nibble at your ear. 

You stared up at him with glassy eyes, throwing your head back as Minho’s lips made his way to your neck, sucking on your skin hard enough to leave a hickey.

“M-Min...”

“Hmm?” He breathed against your neck, his fingers pulling the zipper all the way to your navel, staring at your bare skin. 

“Please...”

“Please, what?”

“I w-want...you...”

He chuckled. “I thought you were scared. Superheroes should be brave, you know?”

You frowned up at him, his infuriating smirk making you want to slap it off his face. “Shut up and fuck me already.”

He frowns. “That’s no way to talk to your Master.”

“M-master?”

He nodded, mouthing at your chest and wrapping his lips around your soft nipple, sucking gently. 

“Looks like you need to be taught a lesson, my little slut...you need to be reminded who you belong to.”

You opened your eyes as you felt the head of his cock against your pussy, moaning softly. Minho stared down at you, jaw clenched. He couldn’t wait a second more.

His hand made his way to the back of your head, gripping your mask, breathing hard. “Can I?”

You sighed, nodding. “Yeah, please...just...need you in me.”

He slowly took your mask off, tossing it to the side as his eyes took in your face fully, breath hitching in his throat. You were just as beautiful as he remembered.

It was too much to handle. Eyes still fixed on yours, Minho steadily pushed his cock into your pussy. He groaned as he felt your walls hugging his length tightly, going deeper until his tip hit your cervix. 

“You’re so fucking tight...how are you even taking this big cock?”

He growled, clutching your waist as he moved you up and down on his cock. You moaned, his solid girth filling you up perfectly. You felt weak, shivering as Minho started thrusting slowly, loving the little whimpers falling off your tongue.

“You’re so...so big...”

“I know. And you’re too small, so easily ruined.”

“Please. F-faster-”

“If I go any faster, I might destroy this tiny pussy.”

You whine, slinging your arms around his neck, an innocent expression on your face as you pouted at him. “Please, Master? Want to be...s-stretched out by you, want my pussy ruined...”

He stared down at you with dilated pupils, a low groan in the back of his throat as this new side of you came out. 

“You’re driving me insane...” Minho sped up his pace, the sound of skin slapping skin growing louder as his hips met yours with each thrust. “What a little whore, so needy for cock that she’d let herself get fucked under the table in a room full of hundreds of people...”

You felt the humiliation rise in you as his hands stayed on your waist, firmly pounding into you. “You like being a little sex toy for Master? Like being used as his personal cock sleeve?”

You nodded desperately, swallowing as Minho chuckled, one of his hands coming up to grope at your breast, thumb stroking your nipple slowly. 

“Well, I love fucking this little pussy open-” He cut himself off with a groan as you clenched around him, spurring him on and making him go harder.

He shifted a little bit, causing his dick to hit your sweet spot dead-on, drawing a long whine out of you. 

“Shh, kitten, you don’t want anyone else knowing what’s going on under here, right?”

You shook your head, biting your bottom lip. Minho grunted, leaning down, face hovering over yours. You held his gaze for a few minutes, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Minho was the first to break. He leaned in and softly pressed his lips to yours, a sharp contrast to the harshness of his cock plunging deeply into you. He deepened the kiss, tongue meeting yours as he held your cheek. The kiss quickly became messy, as his hips went faster.

“M-master, ‘m gonna cum...” You mumbled against his lips. Minho pulled away, his eyes turning darker as he observed the tiny teardrops gathering in your eyes. 

“Aww, is my cock making the little baby cry?”

You whimpered, the tears spilling past as you squirmed, hating the way he’d stopped thrusting. 

“P-please, wanna cum...please! Want Master’s cum filling me up...”

“Fuck, I’ll give what you want, fucking slut.”

His eyes moved over your tear-streaked face, groaning as he lifted your leg up over his shoulder, enabling him to go deeper into you. He began fucking into you, his pace ruthless as he worked towards making you cum, his other hand coming down to rub your clit.

You arched your back as you felt your orgasm approaching, your hands tugging at his hair and making you moan. 

He pecked your lips. “Cum, baby...cum for me.”

You whined, unable to hold it anymore as he pinched your clit. The white-hot pleasure made you cry out, Minho groaning as you clenched around him, your orgasm ripping through you. The overstimulation slowly set in as he fucked you harder.

“Fuck-”

His hips stuttered as he chased his own high, cock twitching inside you. A few thrusts later, he came with a groan, spilling his seed inside you.

You watched Minho, moaning softly at the feeling of his cum pooling deep in your core. His chest heaved as he panted, collapsing on top of you. You hummed, your grip in his hair loosening as he lifted himself off you slightly, eyes searching yours.

“How did that feel?”

“F-felt so good...” You paused suddenly as a thought hit you, now that the pleasure had worn off. 

“Wait...Minho...you just ch-cheated on-”

Minho sighed, rolling his eyes.”I didn’t, Y/n. I was lying. I haven’t seen her since that night. Trust me...cheating’s something I’ll never do again.” He whispered, thumb stroking over your wet cheeks.

You looked up at him, filled with emotions that were familiar, yet also new. 

“Give me another chance, Y/n. Please.”

You thought about it, sighing as you nodded. “Okay...but we’re going to take things slow.”

He let out a small laugh, eyes drifting to the spot where you two were connected. “Bit late for that.”

He pulled out slowly, watching as his cum seeped out of your entrance. He used his fingers to part your pussy lips, groaning softly under his breath at the sight of your stuffed pussy.

Suddenly, a loud voice boomed through the speakers, startling you. You hadn’t even realized that Peacock had stopped talking.

“And for the next speech, Dragonclaw! Come up onstage, and share with us your report from the last few months.”

Your eyes widened in shock as you sat up, half-naked and filled with cum.

Minho smirked at you. “Go on, then.”

[imagineaworlds]

I Love You (Part Thirty-Eight) -- Aaron Hotchner

Written By: @desperately-bisexual

Request: None.

Warnings: SMUT!! Cursing. Unprotected sex. Wrap it before you tap it, ladies, gentlemen, and nonbinary sibs. Dom/sub relationship. Sir kink. Impregnation kink. Soft sex. Emotional sex. The reader does go by they/them pronouns, however, Hotch refers to them as female when saying “good girl”.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Greenaway!Reader

Word Count: 5731

Timeline: A week after part thirty-seven.

The house went quiet as I turned off the kitchen sink after putting all of the dishes in the dishwasher and started it up for the night. Hotch and Jack went upstairs shortly after we finished our movie, with Jack already half asleep. I told Hotch that he should tuck him in while I finished up the dishes before heading upstairs. It only took me a few minutes, and it was a relief to just get a moment after the movie to have to myself.

After drying my hands on the hand towel on the bar just under the sink, I made sure to turn off the light in the kitchen, then sighed as I turned off the lamp in the living room. When everything was closed up for the night, I headed for the stairs and slowly pulled myself up, trying to ignore the yawn that was building in my chest. I was absolutely exhausted after our long night. Between getting home somewhat late from work with Hotch, then making dinner with him and Jack, and watching a movie afterwards, I was wiped. Hotch seemed tired, too, but not to the same extent. But still.

When I finally reached the top of the steps, I let out another sigh and wiped the exhaustion from my face. I promised that I would say goodnight to Jack just after I was done, so I made my way to the left. I snuck up to his room, careful to not let the floorboards creak under me just in case Jack had already fallen asleep by some miracle. As I approached the corner, I heard whispering in the bedroom between Hotch and Jack. We were way past the age where Jack needed a bedtime story each night, so what the hell were they doing? I decided to stay just outside the doorframe to listen in. It wasn’t for the means of eavesdropping, per say… It was just for… well… memories? I don’t know. I just had a feeling I should stay hidden.

Hotch was whispering when I first started listening. “I wanna ask you something, bud. There’s something that I’ve been meaning to ask Y/N for a very long time, but I don’t want to ask them before I get your say in it. Do you have a guess as to what I want to talk to you about?”

“Is Y/N going to be my new mom?” Jack asked.

“Kinda. You know that your mom is always going to be your mom, even if she isn’t with us anymore; right?” Hotch waited a moment for Jack’s silent response before continuing. “But I want Y/N to finally join our family. Like, officially. How do you feel about that?” There was more silence as Jack silently answered. “You’d be okay with that?” More silence. “You’re sure?”

Jack started giggling. “I said, yes, Dad!”

I heard Hotch chuckle quietly. “I just want to make sure.”

My heart skipped a beat in my chest. A memory raced by me, something I forgot I had tucked away in the back of my mind. When I first met Haley, she told me that Jack loved me, and I remembered feeling so relieved because I didn’t want either of them to dislike me. Throughout the time that I knew Haley, she was always good to me. I wanted to do right by her. I wanted her son to grow up knowing that I could never replace her, and I certainly had no intention of doing so. Jack was her blood, and she did so well raising him… I owed it to her to make sure that she was remembered, but that Jack also grew up still loved. I wasn’t his blood, but… honestly, I did feel like his mother, in the oddest of ways.

Hotch was finally getting around to asking me the big question, and I was glad that he waited to ask Jack first. Originally, the plan was that he wanted to propose to me after New York, but when Foyet came into the picture, that dream was put on hold. It didn’t feel right to get engaged when our lives were spiraling, and then we didn’t want to offend Haley’s memory by jumping the gun too soon after her death. Besides, we were all still mourning her loss. What sense did it make to get engaged so soon after something like that?

But it had been about five months since then, and… yeah… it was still a bit soon, maybe; but our lives weren’t guaranteed, and I was sure that Haley only wanted the three of us to just be happy. She loved Hotch and Jack, and she made it clear that she was fine with mine and Hotch’s relationship because it made him happy. If she were still with us, Hotch likely would have asked for her thoughts, too, and there wasn’t a single doubt in my mind that she would tell Hotch to go for it.

“I love you, kiddo,” Hotch whispered. I could practically hear his smile. “And Mom loves you. Y/N loves you. You know that, right?” More silence for a response. “Alright.” I heard him kiss Jack’s forehead. “Get some sleep, my little superhero. We’ll go for a bike ride tomorrow, how about that?” More silence. “Goodnight, bud.”

I realized that I had been standing around for too long, and that I needed to either run down to our bedroom or make it seem like I had just come upstairs in order to not look conspicuous. So, I decided on making it seem like I had just come upstairs by purposefully stepping on a floorboard known to creak, then knocked on Jack’s open bedroom door.

As I stepped into the room, Hotch was pushing himself to his feet to make it look like he had just finished tucking in Jack, nothing else. I smiled at them both, ignoring how well they kept their secret. Like father, like son. Interesting.

“Why are you still up?” I squinted at Jack. He hid his face under his covers to mask his smile. “Nuh uh, let me see you.” I sat on the side of his bed and fought against him to pull the sheets off his face. “There you are,” I said as I “stole” his nose. “You’ll get it back when I get my goodnight hug.”

In an instant, Jack sat up and threw his arms around me. “I love you,” he whispered to me. I held him tight, letting his face nuzzle in the crook of my neck for a few seconds before he got antsy and needed to part from me. As he laid back down, I gave Jack his nose back, and he smiled happily. “Can we go on a bike ride tomorrow?”

It was concerning how good the two of them were at keeping a secret like this from me, and how they didn’t even need to create a plan ahead of time to do it. But I ignored knowing that I had context of their conversation to tell Jack that I thought going on a bike ride tomorrow was a good idea. I kissed him goodnight again. And then once more just for good measure. He started giggling and tried to hide under the covers again, so I gave up.

“I love you, little man.” I reached over to turn off the light on his desk, triggering his automatic night light plugged into the wall across the room. I kissed his forehead again because he had pushed the covers away from his face.

That was when I felt Hotch snake his arms around my torso and pull me off the bed and away from Jack, the three of us laughing. As I stumbled backwards with Hotch holding me steady, I grabbed ahold of the door, and slowly closed it so that the light from the hallway wouldn’t disturb Jack as he tried to sleep. When it was shut, I sighed. I spun around in Hotch’s arms. He was still holding me, and now that I was facing him, I was able to snake my arms around his chest, too. I held onto his shirt since my arms couldn’t fit all the way around him. He kissed my forehead the same way I kept kissing Jack’s.

“I love you,” I whispered to him. I wasn’t sure when or how he would go about making me a real part of the family, and it didn’t really matter to me anymore. Since Foyet put that ring on Haley’s finger, I hadn’t exactly thought about getting engaged—though I would have loved it. As long as Hotch knew that I loved him endlessly, I was content.

The sunlight peeking through the curtains coaxed me awake in the morning. It was Saturday, finally, which meant that we didn’t have to go into work unless it was an emergency—and, honestly, even then, I was sure if Hotch could pull me out of bed. After the late night we had, I was fine with just staying in bed all day, even though we promised Jack that we would go on a bike ride. I was fine right where I was. If I could have, I would have stayed glued to the bed with Hotch for the rest of my life, falling asleep in his arms, and waking up peacefully to the chirping birds and rising sun.

I rolled over after letting out a quiet sigh and stretched away my exhaustion. To my surprise, though, I was met with Hotch resting on his side, his eyes already following mine as I got comfortable. I squinted at him as I put a hand on his face. “Were you watching me?”

“I couldn’t help myself,” he admitted as a smile grew on his face.

My thumb caressed his cheek. “I like it when you look at me like that…”

“Like what?” he asked.

“Like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.”

“You are.”

My thumb stopped moving for a second before I pulled my whole hand away and I pushed myself to sit upright. “I need to tell you something.” It was eating me up to keep it a secret that I had heard him and Jack talking last night when I shouldn’t have been listening. I needed to get that off my chest.

“I need to say something, too,” he admitted, sitting up. That took me by surprise. What more could he possibly have to say? I figured I’d want to know before admitting that I had practically spied on him and our son. “I love you.” Well, that was no surprise. Why did he have to tell me that? “I... Well...” He laughed at himself. “I’m not even sure how to say this…”

“What is it?” I egged him on, my hand covering his.

“I love you so much.” He had already said that. What was wrong with him? “I have never been more incandescently happy in my life than I’m with you.” Hotch only ever used big words when he was nervous about something and didn’t want to show it.

Oh, god— This was it. I didn’t expect it to happen so soon, but there we were, and I had been so naïve to what was going on. To think that I almost told him everything before he could get a word out. The time had come so soon, catching me off guard. I thought that with Hotch’s constant need to impress me, he would want to shout it from the rooftops, but this… I stared at him and realized how much I loved him. It hit me like a train just how much I loved him. There were hundreds of thousands of words in the English language, yet there weren’t enough to describe how much I loved Aaron Hotchner. People always say that actions speak louder than words, but even then, there wasn’t enough of myself to give to him to express how desperately I loved him and needed him in my life. It felt like I suddenly knew how to breathe and see when I met him. My life had been so grey and dull, but then he started passing my office just to see me and smile in my direction, and my whole world turned upside down before I even realized it. It wasn’t even until the night when I first met Jack that I realized how fervent my love for Aaron was. Before that, I never thought in a million years that I would ever find someone who would understand me and love me zealously. But then he came along, and everything changed. I suddenly wanted to be loved, I wanted to be a part of his family, and I wanted to spend every second of my life by his side. We had our ups, we had our downs, and he had a tendency to scare the shit out of me due to the amount of danger he put himself in at work; but I loved him regardless of what was happening. There wasn’t a moment since meeting him that I didn’t think to myself that he was my everything. I loved every inch and every side of him. There was no doubt in my mind that he was the one. The only one.

All he had to do was ask, and I’d be his.

“You have always been so good with Jack, and even better with me. There aren’t many people who can go through what we’ve been through and still be together; but you have stuck by my side, nevertheless. I didn’t think that it was possible to love someone so much that it could hurt if you weren’t near them… until I met you… and, suddenly, I had to be with you or I would fall apart. I still fall apart whenever I’m not around you. I didn’t think love like that actually existed until I met you. I’ve been trying for so long to ask you this, but every time I thought the moment was coming, something got in the way…” He didn’t want to list them, but I knew what he meant. 

We had talked in New York about getting married, but everyone told us that it was too soon, and I believed them. But then the bombing happened, and I couldn’t have cared less about what everyone else thought. If he would have asked me then and there if I wanted to marry him, I would have dragged him down to the nearest chapel and done it immediately. But when he didn’t ask and things got rough with him not telling me about his health, I had forgotten all about it, but he didn’t. He told me that he went out and bought an engagement ring for me just after we drove back from Cincinnati. He told me while in the hospital after Foyet attacked him that he was going to propose to me as soon as the opportunity presented itself; but Foyet took the ring, and he put it on Haley’s body before Hotch could get the chance to propose. After that, it didn’t feel right to think about marriage for a while. It felt inconsiderate to Haley and the love Hotch had for her to suddenly get engaged just after her death. So, we waited. We waited months… then, suddenly, out of the blue, he asked Jack what he thought about us getting married, and now Hotch was sitting in bed with me, giving a whole speech about our love, and I knew that it had finally come. The waiting and the dancing around the topic had finally come to an end.

I could practically see the end of the aisle as Hotch looked me right in the eyes, taking my hands in his, and asked, “Will you marry me?”

There was no hesitancy in my answer as I smiled and nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. A million times, yes.” It felt so cliché, but… Fuck. It was perfect. “Finally,” I teased.

He let out a sigh of relief and grabbed my waist before pulling me close. He smashed his lips against mine with so much force and passion, I could feel my heart leaping out of my chest. Hotch slowly towered over me by pushing himself to his knees. His hands were on my cheeks, his lips pressed to mine until we couldn’t breathe, his eyes screwed shut. I fisted his hair in my hands as he vigilantly pushed me onto my back.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he mumbled against my lips before we could go too far, trying to pull away from me for a moment. Our hands stayed on each other as he leaned away. “What were you going to tell me?”

“Does it matter?” I asked, still smiling. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever stop smiling.

“Tell me,” he insisted.

I twisted some of his hair around my index finger. “I heard you asking Jack about me last night.” Hotch shook his head and hid his face in the crook of my neck, red with embarrassment. “You’re too cute,” I complimented, trying to lift his head back up so that I could stare into his eyes for forever. I kissed him again. “I love you so much.”

He lifted himself up again, this time pulling one hand away from my face so that he could open the drawer of his bedside table and grab something inside. “I started carrying this one around everywhere because…” He hesitated. “Well.” He didn’t have to say it because I knew what he meant. He sat on his knees between my legs and opened the classic black velvet ring box in his hands to reveal an engagement ring. It was a standard single solitaire shaped diamond on a silver band— nothing too flashy, yet still perfect in every way imaginable. Hotch pulled it out of the case and pinched the band between his fingers. “Come here,” he whispered, grabbing my hand. I watched as he slid the ring onto my finger slowly before kissing my hand. “I love you.”

I grabbed his face between my hands, pulling him back up to me. “I love you.” I smashed my lips against his.

Our hips instinctively met simultaneously, grinding against each other desperately to lead to another way for us to say, “I love you.” Hotch laced his fingers with mine and pinned them down next to my head. I moaned when I felt him hardening against me. I kissed him harder. With the escalation between us making our needs known to each other, the two of us didn’t hesitate. Hotch tried pulling his hands away from me so that he could strip off my clothes, but I only let go of his left hand because I wanted to hold his right hand with my left, the ring snug against my finger as a reminder that I was officially going to be his.

There was no way in hell that we were going to have a long engagement. Though we probably should have, we weren’t going to sit around, double guessing ourselves, or just waiting anxiously to finally call each other husband and wife. We loved each other. I didn’t think anyone doubted that. After the rollercoaster of a year we had, it made sense to finally just be in each other’s arms, claiming one another as ours. We deserved that. There was a time when I told myself that I would do whatever it would take to marry Aaron Hotchner. Whether it was a big, white wedding or a small, shotgun wedding, I was going to marry him. That was still true. Though I knew Hotch would want to have some kind of “big” wedding just to tell the whole world: “This person is finally mine, and I want everyone to know it!”, I also knew that there was no way we could pull off something elaborate in such a short time. And in such a short time, I meant a little more than a month.

Yeah. The thought hit me when Hotch used his mouth to pull down my pajama shorts. His teeth grabbed ahold of the waistband, and he slowly started sliding down, utilizing my help that I was offering by bucking my hips upward somewhat. Our three year anniversary was in exactly forty-one days. Three years of calling him mine was quickly approaching, and I wanted that day to be the first time I would call him my husband, too. So, it was either forty-one days from now or 406 days. There was no fucking way I was going to wait that long.

“Fuck me,” I begged, running my free hand through his messy, long, black hair. His breath slowly trailed up my left thigh, making its way to my hand before stopping to kiss my ring. “I love you.” He smirked and moved his attention up further to my pajama shirt. “Aaron—” I gasped as he snaked his free hand under my shirt, moving it up torturously slow, and then he pushed the scrunched fabric into my open mouth. I moaned a protest.

“Just let me please you, baby girl.” He nipped at my collarbone, leaving a hickey and making me squeeze his hand. “That was for eavesdropping last night.” I glared at him. Hotch smirked and massaged my thigh with a rough palm. “Don’t make me tie you up when we’re celebrating.”

“Please…” My plea was muffled behind my shirt, but the message was clear enough. I couldn’t wait to marry him, but I also couldn’t wait to have him inside me that morning, and I could tell he felt that same way, too. “Sir, please.”

“Shhh…” he cooed, sliding his middle finger into me slowly without warning. I gasped and arched my back. He pulled my shirt out of my mouth so that he could hear my uncontrollable sounds of pleasure. “Good girl.” He curled his finger. “I love you so much.” I swallowed his words as we kissed passionately. We both moaned. “Say yes again for me. Please.”

“Yes,” I repeated breathlessly. “Yes, I’ll marry you—” I gasped again when his index finger joined his middle finger deep inside of me. “Yes, yes, ye— Fuck.”

“I love you.”

“I love you,” I mumbled while kissing him again.

Hotch smiled against me, then added his ring finger inside of me and pressed his thumb against my clit. I moaned. As he started rubbing fast figure eights around my sensitive clit, I squeezed his hand, feeling my ring move slightly around my finger. I was going to be his. I mean, I was always his, but now I was going to be his wife. Every time the ring shifted or dug into my skin, I was reminded of that. He loved me. He wanted to marry me. We always talked about getting married, yet all it took was another year since New York for him to pluck up the courage to finally ask.

“My fiancé,” I suddenly said.

Hotch froze for a second so that he could sit back and come to terms with what I had just said. I started getting worried that I said something wrong. When I tried to backpedal, Hotch’s smile only grew, and his fingers started fucking in and out of me as fast as he could. “Mine.”

“Yours.”

He squeezed my hand tighter. “Mine,” he growled roughly.

I nodded while throwing my head back into the pillows. I was breathless and speechless now. With his pace and force, I knew that I wasn’t going to last long, especially since he then decided to start hitting my g-spot over and over again for the sole purpose of making me cum as fast and hard as possible. He threatened to tie me up, but really, he just wanted to make me feel good as a reminder that I was his, and nothing was ever going to change that. Cumming around his fingers was the truest way of my body telling him: “I love you”. As my walls clenched around him and my body shook, my free hand fisted around the sheets.

“Thank you, Sir!” I cried out.

“Shhh,” he insisted with a giggle, silencing me with a kiss. When I stopped making noise, he pulled back. My orgasm faded, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath. “You have to be quiet.” He curled his fingers in me.

I whimpered again. “I can’t.”

“I’ll gag you.”

“Sorry, Sir,” I apologized quietly. “I need you,” I whispered, bringing my hand from the sheets to his hair. I pulled lightly at the strands. “Please, Sir.” He slowly slid his fingers out of me, letting me adjust to the feeling of being empty.

Hotch brought his fingers to my mouth. “Maybe now you’ll stay quiet.” He pressed his fingers against my tongue gently, making my jaw go slack. “Don’t stop,” he commanded while sitting back so that he could push his pants down using his free hand—but in order to do that, he had to release my hand that had the new engagement ring hugging my finger. As his pants slid to his knees, Hotch pulled his fingers out of my mouth. “Say it again.”

It didn’t matter how many times he needed to hear it, because I would tell him every single time. Yes, a million times, yes. Yes, until I couldn’t breathe. Yes, until it was official. Yes, every day for the rest of my life. I wasn’t going to let him go. After nearly three years of chasing this day around, of promising each other that we would finally have this moment, it had come. I’d say yes for that reason. And, in a month, when we would get married, I would say the words: “I do”, too.

“Look at me,” he said, lifting my chin with his thumb after I did as I was told. My gaze met his. “I love you, Y/N. More than anything in the world.” He hovered over me. “I don’t want to spend another day of my life without you.”

I ran both of my hands down his back, finding the bottom hem of his shirt, then sliding it up until it was at his shoulders, at which point, I needed his help getting it all the way off. Hotch sat up and eagerly tore his shirt off. Within an instant, he was hovering over me again, his thumb back on my chin. We stared at each other for another moment. His erection pressed against my wet slit, sliding up and down slowly. I dug my fingers into his shoulders in order to brace myself, which only earned a slight groan then smirk from Hotch.

“My fiancé,” he whispered to me this time while he slowly entered me. I moaned as he stretched me. No matter how many times he fucked me; no matter how hard he would fuck me; no matter what he did to me, he was always going to fit tight like that. I fucking loved it. I loved him. “Fuck,” he groaned, bottoming out inside of me. Every inch of him pulsed as I adjusted around him, giving us both time to catch our breath and find our bearings. And then he slowly slid out of me. When his tip was teasing my entrance again, he snapped his hips forward without warning, making me jolt and dig my nails into his back. “Fuck—” He was getting too loud now, so I had to make both of us stay quiet by kissing him urgently.

The faster he went, the harder and more desperate his thrusts got. As my legs wrapped around his hips to give him a better angle in order to get every inch of him inside of me, Hotch took my hands off of his back and pinned them over my head to show his dominance once more. For us, this sex was pretty vanilla. I mean, I don’t think the two of us ever had plain, old, missionary, boring, no spice sex. That just wasn’t for us. Even when we were trying to be cliché and disgustingly in love in moments like these, there still had to be a chance for Hotch to physically tell me that I was his, and there was nothing I could do about it. Normally, restraints did the trick. Losing all control so that Hotch could do with me as he pleased was the best way to say to each other that I belonged to him. Most people didn’t understand that. In fact, most people disliked the idea of a woman submitting entirely for a man for his pleasure—but it wasn’t really all about that. Giving myself to him wholly was for my benefit, too. There wasn’t anything Hotch and I did that we didn’t both agree to and like. I knew that I trusted, understood, and loved him enough to know that I wanted to spend the rest of my life like this. Everything from our definition of vanilla to the kinkiest, dirtiest things we had ever done were free reign. And they made me happy.

When I struggled against his hold, Hotch was only encouraged to pin me with more force. “Stop,” he demanded gruffly between kisses. I moaned into his mouth. “Be a good girl and keep your hands there.” When he was sure that I understood his command, he slowly started releasing my wrists, just to test the waters and make sure I wouldn’t be a brat and try to move anyways. I kept still, though. I held my hands together, my fingers fiddling with the engagement ring that felt so foreign. “So good for me.” He moved his hands to my breasts and squeezed them gently, which also happened to help brace him so that he could maintain his power and speed.

“Sir… Please…”

He pinched my nipples as punishment for speaking out of turn. As I thrashed under him, he smirked, and pulled gently at the sensitive nubs. He knew what I wanted. He knew that I needed him to touch my clit to help tip me over the edge, but he wasn’t there yet. He wasn’t ready to have me break for him yet. Whenever we were more “vanilla” like this, he always valued climaxing at the same time as me. When he was buried inside of me, I came when he came. That was the silent rule. That was how it had always been, and that was how it would always be.

I clenched around him to encourage his orgasm. He groaned and fell forward involuntarily. “Baby girl,” he growled into my ear, “if you keep doing that, I’ll—” His breath sputtered when I did it again. “Fuck…” Ignoring his command to hold my hands above my head, I reached out to touch his abs. He removed his hands from my breast. Before I could reach him, Hotch gripped my wrists as hard as he could. “Stop—” he thrusted into me. “Stop being a brat.”

“That’s not fun, though,” I pouted, trying to fight against him.

He squinted at me. Pinning my hands above my head again, he towered over me and fucked into me as hard as he could, only this time, he didn’t stop. He just kept going. No matter how much I fought against him, or squeezed my walls around his length, he didn’t stop. I leaned up to kiss his lips. Giving into that one show of affection, Hotch kissed me back, moaning into my mouth as he got closer.

“Cum in me,” I mumbled between kisses. Really, it was to say, mark me as yours in one extra way. Love me. Fuck me. Make me yours. “Sir, please.” One of his hands gave up on pinning me so that he could start rubbing my clit. The second I felt the stimulation, I arched my back, our stomachs pressing against each other. He was close now. He wasn’t on the brink yet because that tell hadn’t approached yet, but he was making his way there, which was why he was suddenly giving me the pleasure I desperately needed.

“I love you, baby.” He leaned down a little further so that he could start nipping at my neck, leaving an obvious hickey. Yet another way of marking me. The ring, the hickey, his cum—I was his. “Fuck… Shit…” He was breathless now, his thrusts getting increasingly sloppy, the endless curse words falling from his lips like a mindless prayer. There was his tell. That was how I knew he was finally on the brink. So, as my own orgasm started to reach its peak, I clenched around him again. Hotch moved his fingers faster since he couldn’t fuck me at a sustained pace anymore. “Fuck!” He slumped forward as his cock twitched inside of me. “Fuck—”

“I’m gonna—” My hips wriggled around helplessly as I came. I tightened around him, pulsing, clenching and releasing, gushing. Hotch was pressed into me as far as physically possible. He stilled as he came, too. He squeezed my hand to keep him steady as he pushed through the sensitivity of my warmth and softness. I whined when his thumb didn’t move away from me. “Aaron, I can’t…” He understood. He took his thumb away, but he still didn’t pull out of me. His orgasm had passed, every drop of him sitting deep inside of me, his length slowly softening. But he didn’t move. “Aaron.”

“I just want to savor it a little longer…” he whispered into my ear. I felt him start to turn my engagement ring over and over on my finger. “Thank you, baby.”

My free hand found its way to his hair. I tangled my fingers around the long strands. I knew why he was saying thank you, even though he certainly didn’t have to; but I still appreciated it, and I wanted him to know it. “Yes,” I repeated for him. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Hotch chuckled. “Good.” He finally sat up and slid out of me carefully. “I love you.” He brought my hand to his lips, kissing the ring again. “I love you so much.”

I sat up, too. “I love you. My fiancé,” I teased.

---------

criminal minds family: @peggy1999 @gorgeousdarkangel @alex--awesome--22​ @oceaneblu​ @brithedemonspawn​ @absolutemarveltrash​ @bshelley322​ @rousethemouse​ @sunshinepower17​ @weexinling​ @pettttyyyc​

[blkmxrvel]

Haven’t Forgotten My Way Home (19) - [CONVERTED]

Pairing: Kara Zor-El x Female!Reader

Summary: In the D/s society of National City, men and women abandoned by their Dom/mes or otherwise deemed unfit for life “outside” end up at the Mount Overland House for Orphaned Submissives. It is here that Kara Zor-El finds Y/N Hastings, broken and fearful from mistreatment at the hands of her former Dom. Can Kara coax Y/N back into the world that once so terrified her, and show her the true meaning of care and submission?

Warnings: Domestic Violence (Flashbacks, Mentions and Descriptions), Misogyny, Domination/Submission.

It seemed that she had spent the last three hours pacing her living room floor. Every now and then Kara would stop and squint downward, to see if she had worn a path in the carpet. And then she would glance at the door. Finally, she’d start pacing again. It had been the same routine since eight that morning. Her mind hadn’t rested since two twenty three.

Since she’d called Y/N.

“A-are you all right? Do you n-need anything?”

“Yes. Yes, Y/N, I do need something.”

“You’re not hurt, are you? Sick?”

“I need you to come see me. So we can talk. About everything. Can you do that for me, Y/N?”

“Okay, Kara.”

“Come to my house at eleven tomorrow morning? Not a moment later or earlier.”

“Yes.”

It wasn’t too late to back out, Kara thought. It was only 10:50, she still had ten minutes to come to her senses and put an end to all of this. It would be so easy just to tell Y/N that she was sorry things had turned out the way they had, and that she wished Y/N luck with finding a Dominant worthy of her.

But damn if Lena’s words kept replaying themselves in Kara’s head, over and over like a prayer.

Kara, you’re more than good enough.

And Kara kept seeing Y/N’s face, hurt and lost as it had been that day three days ago when Kara had buttoned up her coat and adjusted the collar, then sent her out into the rain. Away from her, away from them. She thought of herself, how big and lonely the house felt once again, even with Theo sticking close to her side because he was remarkably good at sensing her sadness. Kara thought of Y/N, of kissing her and holding her close, of wanting to see those Y/E/C eyes looking at her with love and trust.

And even before she heard the soft knock on the door ten minutes later, Kara knew there would be no way she’d back out.

Still, her hand trembled on the knob as she pulled open the door. But if Kara was nervous, Y/N was even more so, as she couldn’t even bring her eyes up to meet Kara’s. But she finally did look at her after a long minute, her gaze searching and unsure. Kara smiled, and slipped her hand down to grasp Y/N’s, locking their fingers together.

“You’re not wearing a coat,” she said softly, pulling the girl inside and closing the door behind them, locking it. “It’s cold out; I don’t want you to get sick.”

“I forgot,” Y/N said with a shrug. “I’ve kind of been anxious all morning? So I guess I just didn’t think about it.”

“You too, huh?” Kara’s smile didn’t waver; she willed it to be more reassuring, wanting Y/N to lose that uncertain expression, because it hurt. Seeing Y/N wary of being with her made something twist in Kara’s gut and she’d do anything to be rid of it.

“Come on, why don’t you sit down, I’ll make us a drink. Hot chocolate?”

Y/N sat and giggled a little as Theo immediately pounced on her with licks. “Hot chocolate sounds really nice,” she said, giving Kara a genuine smile, and Kara’s heart fluttered.

She made the hot chocolate quickly, listening as Y/N baby-talked Theo in the living room, and her hands shook less as she carried the two mugs back and handed one to Y/N. “Down, you big oaf,” Kara said, gently pushing Theo to the floor. “I want Y/N time too, I’ve missed it.”

The mug paused halfway to Y/N’s mouth. “You have?”

“I have,” Kara nodded. “It would be an understatement to say that I have grown rather fond of you, but other words seem to fail in describing my current emotional state.”

“You could try using less of them?” Y/N rolled her eyes, one corner of her mouth turning up a little as she took a sip of the hot chocolate.

Apparently Lena had been right; Kara really had met her match. It made her giddy, the thought of it, even as she pouted only slightly at the mild insult; but one look at the sparkle that had suddenly returned to Y/N’s eyes and Kara realized it was going to be easy to fall fast and hard for this brat.

“I’ve missed you,” she said honestly. She took a long drink of the hot chocolate, trying to use the heat of the liquid to muster up enough strength to say what she needed to. But Y/N stopped her before the words even came.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out, sounding on the edge of tears. “I’m sorry I was so disrespectful, I’m sorry I tried to push you, I’m sorry I was so awful, I—“

“Y/N, stop.”

This was not how she wanted this to go. The time for apologies would come soon enough, from Y/N at least, but the time wasn’t right then. Kara set her mug down on the coffee table and shifted on the couch so that she was sitting facing Y/N. Y/N was looking at her, almost frightened, a few stray tears trickling down her cheeks. Kara flexed her fingers, then reached up and brushed the tears away with her thumbs.

“I’m scared.”

And there it was, the two hardest words Kara Zor-el would ever say in her life. Even harder than “I’m sorry,” because she’d gotten quite a lot of practice – and baking experience – out of those. They were words that she’d always felt she wasn’t allowed to admit, even though that had been the first thing Lena had stressed to her – that if you didn’t admit you were scared, you could never learn to be strong.

And the other thing Lena had taught her: If you’re not strong when she needs you to be, your relationship will never work.

“Of what?” Y/N asked, sounding surprised and more than a little confused.

“Of everything?” Kara shrugged. “Mostly…” She toyed with her hands in her lap, and then glanced up when Y/N grasped her hands in hers. “Mostly of never getting to New York. And mostly… of this. Us. What if I mess everything up between us?”

“I’ve already messed things up between us.”

“No.” Kara shook her head. “No, you haven’t. I should have talked to you, I should have told you everything I was feeling and instead I… shut you down.” She’d have to tell Lena she was right. Again. Damn it.

“I’ve thought about New York every day since I was four. Then I turned eighteen and well, you know. I am incredibly used to doing my job and not thinking about how much I wish I was on stage. Then this Y/H/C haired Y/E/C eyed brat walked – well, rolled—“

“Hey!”

“—walked into my life, and now look at me.” Kara shrugged. “You’ve made me want everything just that much more, you’ve made me want you more than anything, and I am terrified of messing everything up and ending up with nothing.”

“Or…” Y/N spoke softly, haltingly, her gaze never leaving Kara’s. “You could stop looking at it as you doing it all. Maybe it’s… you and me against the world, Kara, like two awkward superheroes who only win the battle if they’re together. If we have each other, maybe we’ll end up with everything.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a dork?” Kara sniffed, not realizing she’d been crying until she reached up a hand to wipe at her eyes. “I mean, you’re adorable, but you really are quite a dork.”

“Just you, Kara.”

“Well, I’ll be quite happy to be the only one.”

“So does this mean…” Y/N trailed off, and Kara’s heart melted, seeing the hope written all over the girl’s face.

She took a deep breath. “I need you to choose a word. Or a phrase. Something that you would never find yourself using in every day conversation.”

It was now or never. Stay or jump. Sink or swim. Fall… or fly.

“I don’t understand,” Y/N said, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Just a word or a phrase, sweetheart. But I need to know what it is.”

“Um… Barbra?”

Kara blinked. “You are not using The Streisand as a safe word, Y/N Hastings.”

Y/N gaped. “S-safe word?”

Jump. Swim. Fly.

Kara nodded. “There are so many things we have to work out,” she admitted, “And I’m not going to use this dynamic with you anywhere but in my home. This means in public, or when you’re alone at Nia’s or out with friends, you make your own decisions and you don’t answer to me.”

“But—“

“No, Y/N. That’s the way this is going to work.” Kara turned one of her hands over and squeezed Y/N’s. “You still have a lot of healing to do, and… so do I. There’s a big world out there waiting for you, and I want you to discover it all. But I-I want this with you so much, and if you still do then… maybe we can try.”

She let her words rest there, as if she had put all of her cards out on the table and was now waiting for Y/N to fold. There was silence, nothing but the quietness of Theo snoring over on his mat in the corner, and Kara felt herself begin to panic. Maybe this had been a bad idea. Maybe Y/N didn’t want this after all and had only come over to tell her so. Maybe Y/N would leave in a huff and they’d never see each other ag—

“Supergirl.”

Kara blinked. “Supergirl?”

“For my safe word. Supergirl.”

“Supergirl,” Kara repeated dumbly, watching as the corners of Y/N’s mouth quirked upward into an amused smile.

“That is what I said. Supergirl.”

“You do realize I’ll never be able to see any DC production the same way again, now?”

“Yep.”

“… brat.”

“But I’m your brat, Miss Kara.”

She gave out something that sounded between a half-laugh and a half-sob; those two words had never sounded more like the most beautiful music in the world to her ears. Miss Kara. She hadn’t even realized how much she’d missed them. How much she’d missed her. And now Y/N was looking at Kara with a mixture of apprehension and contentment, and Kara moved quickly to hug her, to press her lips against the other girl’s. She’d have been happy to kiss for hours, to hold Y/N in her arms for the rest of the afternoon as they just kissed, softly and gently, but then Y/N pulled away with an unreadable expression on her face.

“Y/N?” Kara fought down the panic, the fear that Y/N was already changing her mind.

“I was so rude to you…”

“What? No you weren’t,” Kara said, confused.

“Yes, I was,” Y/N insisted. “When I left… what I said to you, I was so disrespectful, Miss Kara.”

“Oh, that,” Kara said, feeling relieved. “Y/N, we were both incredibly stressed out. It’s all right, really.”

Y/N shook her head. “It’s not all right to me. I haven’t been able to stop t-thinking about it. You’re so good to me, and I treated you that way… it’s not all right.”

Kara thought she already knew the answer, but she asked anyway. “What would make it all right, Y/N?”

She looked away. “You know what would.”

“I want you to tell me.”

“If you punished me.” Y/N’s voice was small, taking on a tone that Kara had never heard before, and she’d be lying if she said it didn’t send a pleasurable thrill over her skin.

“Are you sure?” Kara pressed, wanting to give Y/N every available out she possibly could. Once they did this, there would be no turning back. There would be no chance for Kara to stop herself from doing anything that could potentially hurt someone who was slowly becoming one of the most important things in her life.

She focused on Y/N, looking for any signs of discomfort as the girl bit her lip, but then Y/N took a deep breath, drawing herself up, and nodding.

“I’m sure, Miss Kara.”

Kara nodded herself. “What’s your safe word?” she asked.

This time, there was no trace of amusement in Y/N as she responded, “Supergirl.”

“Good.” Kara thought for a moment. “Go to my room. There is a bandana sitting on top of my desk. I want you to get it and bring it back to me.”

The change in Y/N was immediate as she stood. Kara had never seen the girl fall into herself so easily, had never seen her eyes so steady and her steps as purposeful as she said “Yes, Miss Kara,” and walked to her bedroom.

In seconds – seconds that seemed to take too long – Y/N was back, the argyle bandana fisted lightly in her hand. She held it out to Kara, but didn’t sit down when Kara took it.

Kara laid the bandana next to her on the couch, and then paused. Knowing that Y/N was watching her every move, Kara grabbed a pillow from the couch and sat it on the floor at her feet. She looked up at Y/N.

“Will you kneel for me, Y/N?”

There it was, the last out. A request, not a demand. The chance for Y/N to leave, for her to establish a clear boundary between herself and Kara. By the quiet inflection at the end of the question, Kara was telling Y/N that it was okay for her to decide, it was okay for her to make the choice that what they were doing wasn’t right for her.

Y/N met Kara’s eyes with her own, and slipped wordlessly to her knees on the pillow. She trembled, her head ducking and her hands moving to grasp her wrists behind her back.

Kara stood up, bracing herself momentarily on the arm of the couch, because her own legs were shaking so that she could hardly stand. She stayed next to Y/N for a moment, looking down at her, studying her form, before shaking her head. Reaching down, she gently untangled Y/N’s hands from themselves and brought them to the front, resting them palm-up atop the blue fabric of her dress over her knees. Y/N’s fists were clenched and Kara slowly, carefully unclenched them, leaving the girl’s hands open. Offering. She cupped Y/N’s chin in her hand and lifted her face so that Y/N was looking at her.

“Head and eyes up,” she said softly.

“Yes, Miss Kara. I’m sor—“

“Shh.” Kara touched Y/N’s lips with her index finger. “You’re doing just fine, Y/N. It’s all right.”

She stepped back a little to study Y/N again, and caught the flicker of insecurity that touched Y/N’s face. Kara smiled and reached to run a steady hand through Y/N’s hair.

“You,” she said, pronouncing each word firmly and carefully, “are so beautiful, little one.”

“Thank you, Miss Kara.”

The flush of Y/N’s ears to a deep pink told Kara that she had said the right thing. She stood there for another minute, lovingly stroking Y/N’s hair, before sitting back on the couch in front of her.

“Hands on my knees, Y/N, and look at me.”

“Yes, Miss Kara.”

Immediately Y/N did as she was told, looking at Kara with eyes that were wide and trusting, and Kara felt as if her heart was being shattered into a million pieces and being rebuilt even stronger, all at the same time, over and over again. She wanted to cry, to fold Y/N into her arms and hold her, but there would be time enough for that. She had to focus on Y/N’s needs, now; her own could come later.

“Limits?”

“Miss Kara?”

“What are your limits?” There’d be time to work on a comprehensive list later on, but Kara needed to know immediate ones.

“D-don’t hit me,” Y/N said, her voice faltering a little.

“I will never,” Kara said quietly. “You can trust me on that, Y/N.”

“All right.” Y/N took a breath and her hands tightened briefly around Kara’s knees. “All right.”

Kara leaned down and softly kissed Y/N’s forehead. “Do you know why you’re being punished, little one?”

“Because I was disrespectful to you the last time we spoke, Miss Kara.”

“That’s right,” Kara said. She looked into Y/N’s eyes. “Do you know why that hurts me?”

The look of shame was instantaneous, as were the tears that began to fall. Kara’s immediate instinct was to stop everything and pull the girl into her lap, but she struggled against it. Y/N needed this, needed Kara to establish her command, and everything they did from this point on would be for naught, if Kara didn’t take control.

“I—“

“Hush.” Y/N went silent immediately, her gaze darting to Kara’s hands as she picked up the argyle bandana and began to fold it. “Open.” When Y/N hesitated, Kara said, more firmly, “Open your mouth, Y/N, now.”

Y/N did as she was told and in seconds she was gagged, the bandana tied lightly but securely around her head. Her hands trembled violently on Kara’s knees, and Kara settled her own on top of Y/N’s.

“If you need to safe word, you will put your right hand on top of your head, is that understood?”

Y/N nodded.

“For years he took away your voice,” Kara said quietly. “He took away your right to speak your needs, your desires, and your fears. Everything. And when I came to visit you at the House, what did I want? For you to talk to me. I came every day, just because I wanted to hear you talk.” Kara leaned forward, saying evenly, “I will not tolerate disrespect, Y/N Hastings. When you speak to me it will be without attitude. I have not worked so hard to hear you speak, I don’t love your voice so much just to have you talk to me the way you did. Remember what it’s like not to have a voice, Y/N, and adjust yourself accordingly once this gag is removed.”

Y/N was crying fully now, the tears coursing down her cheeks and wetting the gag; Kara blinked back her own tears as she stood up, feeling Y/N’s hands slip from her knees. “Come with me,” she said, but stopped when Y/N moved as if to crawl behind her. “No,” she said, gentling her tone and leaning down to grasp Y/N’s hand.

“Stand up and walk, Y/N.” She picked up the pillow on the floor in her other hand, and led Y/N over to a far corner in the living room. She sat the pillow down, and pointed.

“On your knees, Y/N.”

Once again it was effortless, and Kara gently pressed her hand to the back of Y/N’s head, guiding her nose to the wall.

“I want you to stay there and think about your attitude, and how you can better express your emotions when you are under duress.”

She moved to walk away but was stopped by hands gripping at her waist, at Y/N shaking her head, garbled sounds coming from around the gag and her eyes wide with fear. Gagged or not, Kara understood what she was saying.

Don’t leave me.

Slowly she pulled Y/N’s hands away from her and once again guided the girl to the wall. She kept one hand on Y/N’s shoulder.

“If you want to safe word,” Kara said, “You know how to do it.”

She waited, but Y/N’s hands didn’t move from her sides. Kara could feel Y/N shake as she cried, and her heart ached. None of her classes had really prepared her for what it would be like to punish a submissive, and all she really knew about it she’d learned as a sub, with Lena. She knew she had to be strong, unyielding if there hadn’t been a safe word, and most importantly, she had to be there.

“I’m right here, little one,” Kara said tenderly. “You’re okay. Just stay there and think about things, okay?”

She felt Y/N go limp, felt her slump against the wall, and she smiled a little. She waited thirty seconds, and then dropped her hand from Y/N’s shoulder. She moved back, just a few steps, watching as the tension rose in Y/N’s body.

“I’m right here,” Kara said again, and again Y/N went limp, even as she was still crying.

She was beautiful, Kara thought. So breathtakingly beautiful, knelt in the corner with her blue dress bunched up around her knees and her slim, delicate hands once again slipping behind her back. Her eyes were closed, her lips tight against the gag in her mouth, Y/H/C hair almost melding with the white fabric of the cardigan she was wearing over her dress.

She looked, Kara thought, like an angel.

Moving back again, she sat on the coffee table, her eyes trained on Y/N. She watched as the girl grew a little restless, watched as Y/N dared to sneak a look over her shoulder. Kara raised an eyebrow when Y/N saw she’d been caught leaving position and she snapped back around to the corner, a flush rising at the base of her neck. Kara fought off a giggle.

“I’m right here,” she said once more.

After a few more minutes, Y/N had stopped crying, and all the tension had left her body. She was leaning against the corner now, relaxed, her breathing coming deep and shallow and for a moment Kara wondered if the girl had fallen asleep.

“Y/N,” she called softly, and the girl lifted her head. No, she hadn’t been asleep. “Come here, Y/N. Bring the pillow with you.” Kara didn’t wait to see if Y/N obeyed her; she knew she would, and so she got up from the coffee table and went back to the couch. By the time she had sat down, the pillow was on the floor and Y/N was kneeling in front of her.

Kara reached up and quickly untied the gag, pulling it from Y/N’s mouth. Y/N licked her lips but said nothing, staring at Kara. Waiting for instruction.

“Do you have anything you wish to say to me?”

“Yes, Miss Kara,” Y/N said. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I was disrespectful to you.”

Kara nodded. “And will it happen again?”

“No,” Y/N declared. “Never.”

Kara just barely managed not to roll her eyes; of course it would happen again. It was one of those things that would always happen, she knew. But that was all right. They’d deal with it. In the meantime, Y/N was still staring at her, waiting, expectant, and Kara leaned down, wrapped her arms around Y/N, and kissed her.

“Good girl,” she murmured against Y/N’s lips. “That’s my good girl.”

Y/N’s arms came to wrap around Kara’s neck, clinging tightly as she pressed her face into Kara’s skin, once again crying softly. Kara tugged until Y/N came off her knees and climbed onto the couch, settling herself into Kara’s lap. She rubbed Y/N’s back, stroked her hair, once again saying those words, over and over.

“Good girl, Y/N. Good girl.”

And then Kara was pressed back into the couch with the force of Y/N’s sobs, loud and anguished, and she had the sudden realization that something had just broken. It wasn’t the punishment, it wasn’t what they were doing, it was Y/N feeling, lost in the fact that no one had ever held her after a punishment before. Kara suddenly knew that Y/N was lost in memories of the past, of other punishments, and that something had awakened in her and now Y/N was… She was grieving. Grieving for the past, what she had thought her future would be, the child that was and the woman that was only now allowed to be.

Kara kept her arms strong and firm around Y/N, remembering herself just after her first punishment with Lena, how Lena had held her close, whispering reassurances in her ear. But Lena had never dealt with this; Kara had never been broken. And now Kara felt helpless, powerless to stave off the sobs that wracked Y/N’s body in wails and hitched breaths, and as she kept stroking her hair and trying to whisper words of comfort, Kara finally reached for the one thing she knew better than breathing.

“There were bells on the hill, but I never heard them ringing,” Kara sang quietly, pressing her lips close to Y/N’s ear. “No I never heard them at all, till there was you… “ She began to rock Y/N, smiling a little when Theo leapt up onto the couch and laid his head on Y/N’s leg, looking at Kara mournfully. She’d have to give him a treat later.

“There were birds in the sky, but I never saw them winging, no, I never saw them at all, till there was you…”

Her voice was stronger now, clear, as if she wasn’t singing in her house but on a stage in New York, to an audience of one. And Y/N was calming, her hands fisted in Kara’s shirt, her cries gradually subsiding as she listened.

“And there was music, and there were wonderful roses, they tell me, in sweet fragrant meadows of dawn and dew…”

Y/N had lifted her face now, hiccupping quietly, but she was smiling, and Kara gently brushed the tears away with her fingertips, kissing her. She held Y/N’s face in her hands, smiling at her as she sang the last lines.

“There was love all around, but I never heard it singing. No, I never heard it at all, till there was you…”

She touched Y/N’s lips with hers in a soft kiss before pulling the girl’s head back down to her shoulder. Never mind that it was probably too soon to say the word love. Never mind that she still wasn’t sure what they were doing was the right thing. Never mind that there was still so much for them to talk about, rules to establish and limits to set. Never mind that she had no clue how she was going to dominate Y/N only in her own home, but not in public or anywhere else. Never mind that she felt her stomach growl and she remembered she hadn’t eaten breakfast, because Y/N felt it too and was giggling against Kara’s neck, and all Kara could do was hug her tighter.

She’d once thought she’d forgotten how to sing.

Now there was Y/N.

[cometcalloway]

MUN AND MUSE QUESTIONS

List 5 of your muse’s favourite sensations.

A ‘sleeping in on a snow day’ level of comfort and safety

Winning

Acceptance, forgiveness, companionship

Magic healing

Novelty

Do they have any pet peeves?

Sparrow used to do occasional scribe work. I think if he was working on this one particular page & the parchment kept coming undone and trying to curl up no matter how many times he fixed it, that would destroy him psychologically a little. I feel like small annoyances can build into big things pretty quickly sometimes, with Sparrow, especially if he feels trapped in some way and doesn’t have the option to just remove himself from the situation & do something else.

Rook is like. Rather than being someone with a critical streak, it’s more that he’s a critic who has the occasional streak of another thing. He’s intentional enough to usually avoid believing his critical thoughts as fact in an automatic and unquestioning way, but his internal monologue definitely gives him a lot of information about things that ‘should’ be done better or differently. He’s the most harsh with himself, of course.

Their comfort read? (could be a book, magazine, comics, etc)

From an answer to an earlier meme:

Sparrow projects onto female characters in the absence of nonbinary characters that fit his vibe more exactly. Books and stories grab his attention when a female mc is powerful, wants things, and is maybe a little bit feral, even if she hides it well. She doesn’t have have noble morals, and she doesn’t have to win; there are tragedies he wouldn’t enjoy, but tragedies he very much would. He’s drawn by dark & intense themes bc like, he’s working through some things.

Rook likes history and nonfiction. He doesn’t like to introspect and thinks less naturally in terms of ‘like/want’ & more naturally in terms of function; nonfiction has a very clear and straightforward function. You read the book, you get the information. He would be in an uncomfortable position if he read a fiction book and felt moved by the story in a way that conflicted anything in his carefully constructed sense of identity (and he is not sentimental). He isn’t scared of fiction, but eh. There’s nothing in there he wants to get badly enough that it’s worth the mess.

If the book they are reading turns out to be shit, do they push through just for the sake of finishing it, or do they move on and find something else?

It depends on the book, and it depends on what in particular turned out to be shit. If something about the book is dramatically insulting to something Sparrow really cares about, he’s more likely to drop it than keep reading, either to try and enjoy it anyway or to hate read. If the book just isn’t that interesting or just isn’t that well written, he might keep reading just so he has closure on the investment he put into it. He likes to read, so he’s more likely to keep reading if he doesn’t have a lot of options. I feel like Rook might be the opposite? If a book he’s reading turns insulting he might just be like “hmm, we disagree (fortunately I am very large & near invincible)” and keep reading. If the book isn’t interesting, he isn’t sentimental enough to want to ‘pay the cost’ of learning what happens. Now I’m imagining a situation where Rook puts down a boring book & Sparrow picks it up bc they share a headspace & the book caught his interest just enough for him to want to know what happens (and then one day Rook gets sick of this shit & picks up the book & flips to the end & reads the ending).

Their comfort tv show / film

I think L.ilo & S.titch could be a comfort film for a verse where Sparrow is living in a modern setting. Stitch has to figure out how to be a person after being created to be a tool. As the entire galaxy goes nuts over Stitch’s prescribed identity as a purpose, and as all of the humans are quick to put new unflattering labels on Stitch, L.ilo is the one who gives Stitch permission to start to figure himself out. It’s like, the kind of story Sparrow needs to hear. Plus the painting backgrounds would remind Sparrow of home.

Rook wouldn’t consider something a comfort movie, but there are a lot of M.arvel movies he would like. Lot of stories about superheroes trying to figure out what it means to do the right thing in a complicated situation, and the tone is light enough for it to be a reassuring experience to watch the movie overall.

A song that is currently stuck in their head? (or multiple)

Mmmaybe C.ardigan by T.aylor S.wift. It’s not a song I associate with Sparrow because it’s about him in some way, but it is a song that he would probably decide that he likes, in the way people can like things without the thing being like, one of their theme songs.

The next three questions are for you. do you have anything special in common with your character.

All of my characters have deep things in common with me. Sparrow is deeply sensitive, spiritual, and has a strong personal commitment to not abusing power over other people. Rook is really critical, but he’s also committed to things he cares about. He gets nearly paralyzed sometimes by trying to figure out what he actually wants or what is actually good after considering everything he’s ‘supposed’ to want and how hard it would be to go against the ‘supposed to.’ Sparrow is more of a ‘looking forward’ kind of character, for what could be possible, Rook is a more ‘looking back’ kind of character, at the practical side of things and the messy reality and the question of how to make honorable choices in a reality like that. They’re both really important to me!  

What brings you the most joy about writing this character, right now?

Writing L.othric and now Sparrow has been my invitation to myself to tolerate less of the intolerable. Sparrow isn’t an exact image of a person I literally want to be, but he has qualities that I write about bc I want to develop them better for myself through getting to know him. Right now in particular, I’m still carrying  bittersweet joy about being able to breathe life into OCs after writing D.ark S.ouls characters for so long. Sometimes when I look through the rp tags I see  rpers with H.arry P.otter muses who say they’re ‘anti jkr’, and I wish it was that easy for me to signal that I’m going to engage with a story I still feel things about, but I do not want to approach it as an enthusiastic fan. Ultimately, the OC route is just more valuable because I can own everything I come up with, so it’s a change for the better all things considered. But I wish that it wasn’t so normal for a story to be like, ‘the final boss is a disabled person who was bratty for not wanting to be abused, so hunt him for sport or whatever’ & then a fandom springs around that like ‘this is content! playful irreverence!’ to the point where talking about things more deeply feels like intruding.

Who would win in a fight, you or them?

Oh, them, definitely, Rook and Sparrow would win individually or working together.

Any advice from your muse?

I think he’d say that he’s a made up person, you’re a real person. If he seems powerful because he can do magic and he’s stubborn and makes these daring changes to his life, it’s nothing compared to the power that a real breathing person has. You can do more than him by picking up a leaf off the ground. I think he’d say that maybe it’s easy for people to forget that sometimes, when it comes to any fictional character who’s aspirational in some way. 

Tagged by: @batteredoptimist​ (thanks!)

Tagging: @stxrmchild​ @chilledtouch​ @cloudpools​ @destruqtivist​ @pleasemymel0dy​ @worthless-weight-in-gold​ ! and YOU

[daisyjohnsonsblog]

Kora: The Villain We Could Have Had

I’ve written a long post here about Kora and mostly why I found her unsatisfying as a villain. If you haven’t read that, then you should, because I will be building more on that here. However in this post, I will focus more on what Kora could have been, and the writers’ possible perspectives. 

I’m going to preface this post with this: I think that Marvel’s Agents of Shield has done a lot better job in gender and racial/ethnic inclusivity than the broader MCU movies. In fact, I could probably write a whole post on that in itself. In fact, I love that Kora is a villain who’s also female and Asian (correct me if I’m wrong, but she’s the only one other than JiaYing, though should we count Sinara…? her actress was of Thai descent, but she’s technically Kree so…). On top of that, Kora actively breaks a lot of stereotypical Asian/Chinese traits: the ideals of filial piety (obedience to parents), as well as respect for order, politeness and community. Even from a strictly critical point of view, these are all very interesting ideas to explore in her character, to say nothing of breaking the typical Asian character mold.

Okay so let’s get down to character building. 

As I mentioned in my previous post, I feel Kora’s un-convincingness as a villain stems from her lack of reason and drive. Here’s where I feel the writers made a mistake. 

When we are introduced to Kora, the writers appeal to our sense of sympathy. We first hear her cries and being naturally suspicious of Jiaying, we suspect that she is somehow torturing/mistreating Kora. Of course, this is all disproved by the following events but our reaction to Kora is still one of sympathy, especially when she tries to commit suicide for the safety of Afterlife. 

Here’s the mistake. 

Kora tries to commit suicide out of worry for the safety of her community - in other words, she’s sacrificing herself. (Please note: I’m recounting all of this from memory, so I might be a little off - please correct me if so. However, this is basically the impression I received from the scene.) Now if we take this train of thought and extrapolate it, it makes no sense that the same girl would be completely fine with killing someone else. If the writers wanted us to really believe it, they should have given us a reason to. Nathaniel Malick showing up and saying “Anarchy is here” is not enough. (also, on that note, why would Kora be so happy to have anarchy? What about it appeals to her? We’re never shown this, only that she buys into Nathaniel’s rhetoric). We see no reason as to why Kora should be so loyal to Nathaniel. In fact, she’s not just loyal to him - they’re in what looks like a sexual relationship - that why she is loyal? or is that a by-product? 

Who is Kora? 

At this point, it’s probably a good idea to just clear our heads and try to see who Kora really is - or to put it in another way, how do the writers/producers want us to perceive Kora? 

Honestly, Kora is a heady mess of teenage rebellion. In some ways, she’s very similar to Nathaniel Malick: she’s rebelling against the “old order” of things. But even that is questionable. Is Kora as an individual who genuinely wants Anarchy, like Nathaniel does? Or is Kora a manipulated and misled damsel in distress who’s been brainwashed into believing Nathaniel is the one who “saved” her? I think a little bit of both. The end scene when Kora kisses Nathaniel in the glow of destruction of SHIELD seems like the producers want to paint her as an equal to Nathaniel; after all, it was only because of Kora that Nathaniel could accomplish that. At the same time, May clearly and correctly points out that Nathaniel is using her, and Nathaniel himself has to lie to reassure Kora that they “saved people” or some ridiculous crap like that, which shows that Nathaniel is to some extent controlling Kora - she’s more of a pawn than an individual villain in her own right. Which leads me to...

Wasted Potential 

Personally, I think Kora could make a much more convincing villain if they gave her a stronger stance and with more definitive motives. In fact, I genuinely think that she has the makings of a modern, superhero Lady Macbeth. Let me rewrite Kora for a little bit to show you what I mean. 

The Suicide Scene Instead of her committing suicide out of worry or fear, have her commit suicide out of defiance. How?, you might ask. By using her own power to kill herself. It would be a lot more impressive if she was using her power to destroy herself. This would be a show of defiance, against Jiaying and Afterlife: using the tool they gave her to destroy herself. And it really proves and even foreshadows the path she will later choose for her power: destruction of order. AND it makes her buying into Nathaniel’s promises of power and anarchy a lot more convincing. ALSO it would make JiaYing’s leaving Afterlife in the OG timeline a lot more compelling and natural. Of course JiaYing would leave a place that bestows powers that caused death to her daughter - another reason why she should eventually seek solace and marry a human later. 

Scenes with Nathaniel

I think a very effective way to prove that Kora can think for herself would be for her to have a scene of conflict with Nathaniel, one in which if she doesn’t come out on top, at least rattles him or changes his plan. This would really establish them as equals rather than superior/inferior. It will also take away from some of her complete subservience to Nathaniel, which I find pretty annoying and contradictory for someone to claims to have been awakened from their so-called childhood brainwashing. 

Scenes with SHIELD

I thought her scenes with SHIELD were pretty good actually, especially where she confronts May and Coulson about SHIELD’s “methods”. I also liked her scene with Daisy, which really highlighted their differences. I only wish she had been able to talk more about what she actually wanted to have in place of SHIELD rather than attacking May/Coulson personally. Examples like Bahrain are slightly overused at this point. Surely the writers could have found more evidence for SHIELD’s less than spotless record?

TLDR;;

I know this was more of a word jumble than something properly structured lmao but here’s just some closing thoughts. I think the writers were aiming to create an emotional and in-depth villain in Kora: someone who is deeply hurt and misguided, but has enough power to become a threat. However, probably due to the lack of time, they didn’t have enough time to continuously develop Kora’s character. Especially considering they brought back young John Garrett, they really didn’t have enough time to explore all the links that make Kora SUCH a special villain (Jiaying’s daughter, Daisy’s sister, just to name a few). Adding on to the fact that they needed a way for the Chronicoms/destruction of SHIELD plot to work, they probably didn’t think of smoothing over all the details, which results in a rather half-baked villain. That being said, we still have two more eps to go, so hopefully things will get better from here for Kora. 

[bugaboosandbees]

Reine Ruse AU

Reine Ruse AU

Welp, hello all. I’ve been a wallflower in the Miraculous fandom since it got started. I haven’t really written fanfic or published AUs or head-cannons online since middle school, but things this season have finally pushed me to the point where I guess I’m writing again. I’ve been so inspired by @imthepunchlord , @apex-primus, @gale-of-the-nomads  , @zoe-oneesama, @lenoreofraven and @miraculouscontent that I guess I’m here with my own post-chameleon salt au.

Buckle up kiddos, here we go.

So I’m calling this the Reine Ruse AU. I’ve started writing a fic, but finals are coming up so I might not really get to sink my teeth into it for another month or so. Basically, here’s what goes down.

-During Chameleon, Chloe makes it clear that she doesn’t trust Lila and attempts to call the class out for being hypocritical. It obviously doesn’t go well, but Marinette hears and it surprises her.

-Chameleon follows pretty closely after the Queen’s Battle arc and Heroes’ Day, so perhaps Chloe has been noticeably trying to be a better person and Marinette/Ladybug has been keeping an eye on this and can see her trying.

-A few weeks have passed since Chameleon and Lila keeps escalating. The seats never got switched back, so Marinette is still stuck alone in the back of the room. She’s having a miserable time and she really needs to talk to somebody about things. She doesn’t want to bother her parents because they’re really busy with things in the bakery and she doesn’t want to trouble them. She obviously can’t talk to Alya about things right now as she’s still firmly on Lila’s side. Tikki is wonderful support, but she’s a tiny god and despite her many years of life and experiences she just doesn’t really understand. Frozer happened pretty recently in this AU, maybe even after Heroes’ Day. In any case, Frozer and Glaciator are pretty fresh in Marinette’s mind and she really loves her partner as a friend, but she’s getting a bit concerned about looking to Chat for support as Ladybug. She really doesn’t want to believe it, but some of his past behavior is making her question if he’ll think she owes him something if she relies on him like that.

-She’s not getting enough sleep and is spending a lot of time running over the rooftops with no particular destination in mind as Ladybug, just trying to forget what’s going on. She’d never admit it, but sometimes Tikki’s reassurances can get to be too much when it’s plain that no one else is there for her and she needs support but not that kind and she just wants to be alone.

-One night her feet bring her to the rooftop of the Grand Paris Hotel. It’s raining and she’s been running around for hours and she’s crying and tired and she doesn’t know why she’s here, but she starts thinking of how much better Chloe has gotten and even if she doesn’t like Marinette, she adores Ladybug and goddammit she just really needs somebody right now.

-Before she can second guess herself, she’s knocked on Chloe’s balcony door.

*snippet from what is already written*

The last thing Chloe Bourgeois would have expected when she woke up that morning was for Ladybug to knock on her balcony door in the middle of the night. Nonetheless, she was nothing if not adaptable, especially for her idol. She adjusted her silk pajama robe and ran for the door to let Ladybug in.

“Ladybug! It’s so good to see you? Is there an akuma? Do you need my help? Did you stop by to say hello to your favorite civili---” Chloe cut herself off. The darkness had prevented her from noticing it, but the light that spilled out of her suite made it abundantly clear -- Ladybug was crying.

“Can I come in?” the heroine’s voice was unusually small.

Wordlessly Chole moved out of the way. Ladybug took short, sad steps past her, pausing listlessly when she reached the middle of the room.

Oh god, what was she supposed to do?! As far as Chloe knew, there was no established protocol for dealing with crying superheroes bursting in on one in one’s pajamas. And that didn’t even touch the fact that Ladybug’s eyes were so much more blue this close and Chloe was in her very short and very thin pajamas. She shook her head. It was apparent that Ladybug needed her, and if Queen Bee couldn’t help, then Chloe Bourgeois would have to do. She hesitantly walked over to Ladybug.

“Do you want to talk about it?” The words were uncharacteristically quiet and soft. Chloe rifled through her memories, desperately trying to remember how Adrien’s mother had consoled her after so many tears in her childhood. It hurt, to think back to then, but if anyone was worth it, Ladybug was. Ladybug believed in her when no one else did and she’d never admit just how good that made her feel inside.

Ladybug turned towards her, tears still leaking out of her large, bluebell eyes. Without warning, she shot forward and wrapped her arms tightly around Chloe, breaking into incoherent sobs. It felt like forever before the spotted heroine stopped shaking like a leaf, tears drying to sniffles. Chloe awkwardly kept rubbing circles onto her back the whole time, hugging Ladybug as best as she could even as her mind whirled at a hundred miles an hour. What in the ever-loving-fuck was happening? Who could have made Ladybug so upset? It was a good thing she didn’t have her miraculous or she’d venom whatever bastard did this to her… Then again, she could probably still claw someone’s eyes out outside of the suit as well… No, Ladybug needed a shoulder to cry on, not a homicidal sometimes-superhero on the warpath.

Chloe took a deep breath in and maneuvered them so that they were sitting down on one of the plush sofas in her suite. She moved to extricate herself from Ladybug and dammit if the way she tried to cling to Chloe with a small whimper didn’t give her feelings.

She awkwardly cleared her throat. “You need to stay hydrated. You’ve been -- I’m going to call for some refreshments. Did you want anything in particular?”

Ladybug wiped her eyes on the back of a spotted glove. “Cookies, if you have them,” she said quietly. “I’ve been out for hours, I need to recharge.”

Chloe nodded, not quite thinking of the magnitude of that statement and picked up the phone at the side of her bed. She didn’t even wait for whoever was on the other end to say hello. “Yes, I need a mug of warm milk and a plate of cookies as quickly as possible. Understood?” She hung up as soon as it was clear that someone had heard her and went back over to Ladybug. “It should be here in a few minutes.” Ladybug nodded silently.

Chloe sighed and braced herself. Clearly, Ladybug needed someone to talk to and for some unknown reason, she’d come to her of all people, so she was going to have to do her best. This really wasn’t her strong suit. “Alright,” she said briskly, breaking the silence. “As many lovely qualities as I have, I have to admit that I’m wondering why you came here tonight. Clearly, you’re upset. Why not talk to that mangy alley cat about it? Or a friend from the other side of the mask? As much as it pains me to admit, I haven’t been… the best person in the past. It seems like there’s someone out there who could give you a hell of a lot better advice about whatever it is that’s bothering you.”

Chloe didn’t miss the way Ladybug flinched, first when she brought up Chat Noir and then civilian friends. Oh, something was definitely going on and somebody was sooooo going to pay for this.

Ladybug twisted her hands together. “I…. I can’t,” she said. “I… I don’t think I have any friends outside of the suit anymore.”

“What happened?” Chloe questioned, trying to make her voice as quiet and reassuring as possible. It felt like squeezing into a too-small shirt, but it must have worked because Ladybug continued.

“They betrayed me.” Her voice broke. “Rena Rouge, Carapace, I knew them both as civilians… I trusted them with the miraculous because they were my best friends. But they took the word of someone they barely know over me and they hate me.” She paused. “They were all I had. Before this year, I didn’t have any friends at all. They were my very first.” A watery smile broke over her face and vanished. “I tried so hard to be a good friend -- I didn’t want them to leave me alone again. I was just trying to protect them from being deceived and manipulated… Oh god, it hurts. It hurts so much.”

Fat tears rolled down Ladybug’s cheeks and Chloe’s heart about broke in her chest. If there was one thing that she understood so very well… She scooted closer to Ladybug and wrapped the heroine in as tight a hug as she could manage. She could feel as the shoulder of her robe was dampened by Ladybug’s tears.

-Needless to say, Chloe really comes through as a friend and confidant to Ladybug that night. Marinette doesn’t really plan to go back, but it felt so good to be listened to and seen for the first time in a long time that she just keeps dropping by Chloe’s balcony.

-Ladybug and Chloe get closer and Marinette is able to hold herself together better now that she has someone. Not that anybody really notices because she’s a bit of a social pariah, but she’s much nicer to Chloe at school.

-I can’t decide if this AU is gonna be romantic or platonic Chloenette, but maybe Chloe has been a (somewhat repressed) gay mess for Ladybug the whole time and shit her school nemesis is also kind of cute now that they’re not constantly fighting oh no. Alternatively, we get some A+ female friendships.

-Either way, Ladybug is a pretty much nightly visitor to Chloe’s house at this point. They paint each other's nails and watch TV and there is some altogether wholesome interaction. Chloe is proud that she’s managed to bring Ladybug’s smiles back and starts to gain confidence in what she’s able to do to make things better by herself, on her own power and without a miraculous.

-Things are kind of improving. Lila is still being awful, but it’s much easier for Marinette to deal with her now. Ladybug and Chat Noir’s partnership is still kind of strained with his flirting, but they’ve been managing. Ladybug has kind of just been ignoring the problem and Chat Noir because she doesn’t know how to handle it and she really does care about him and doesn’t enjoy breaking his heart. She just needs to find some way of communicating to him that she feels like he’s disrespecting her, but the akumas have been getting more intense and she can’t risk another repeat of Frozer if she confronts him, so she doesn’t really know what to do.

-Eventually, the Lucky Charm says that they need back up. The fox makes the most sense to take, but Marinette just can’t trust Alya anymore. There’s really only one person that comes to mind.

-“Chloe Bourgeois, this the miraculous of the fox. It grants the power of illusions. You will use it for the greater good and return it to me when the battle is finished.”

-And finally, we get to the point of this entire rambling mess as fox!Chloe, or Reine Ruse appears. I think that her suit would use brown as an accent rather than black like Rena Rouge’s so it could incorporate some gold piping as sort of a subtle shout out to her past as Queen Bee. Chloe is a sleek, sleek fox. I also totally have an image of her having like 9 real fox tails that spread out behind her like the skirt of a ball gown or something (she is both regal and dramatic as fuck). She can also move them and as she becomes more involved with the miraculous squad she likes to wrap them around Ladybug especially when she gets cold in the winter.

-Reine Ruse absolutely kills it as a hero her first time out. Chat’s like “wow, it’s like you’ve done this before!” Chloe, who has listened to how much grief and indecision that this cat is causing Ladybug is 100% not happy with Chat Noir and pretty much straight up ignores him. If she speaks, she’s probably passive-aggressively sassing him.

-Hawkmoth is sending out progressively more akumas and they’re stronger too. It gets to the point where the lucky charm calls for help during every fight and it’s getting really hard to escape to get the backup Miraculous. Marinette has a talk with Master Fu about Chloe and the fox, sticking up for Chloe and how much she’s grown and making a case for her to be a permanent member of the team. It takes a bit of convincing, but Master Fu eventually comes around.

-“Chloe, you can’t be Queen Bee anymore… But you’ve come such a long way since we met and I would be honored if you would fight by my side as Reine Ruse, permanently.”

-Chat is grateful for the help but has no idea what he’s apparently done to get on the new heroine’s shit list. The first time they patrol alone together, she gives him a thorough verbal lashing about how he’s been treating Ladybug and doesn’t leave until she’s sure he understands.

-Adrien begins to rethink his life choices. Plagg attempts to help as best he can.

-Maybe Chloe rescues Marinette as Reine Ruse or she decides to try to get closer to her in her superhero form because she thinks that she’s totally blown it in her civilian form. Marinette who knows what is going on is just so happy and proud of her best friend/maybe-future-girlfriend.

-Give me a Chloenette love square pls

-Obviously, Alya isn’t happy when there’s a new fox hero. She probably gets akumatized over it, let’s be honest. At least it’s a better reason than getting mad because some middle schooler says he could outrun a panther.

-Lila is probably able to manipulate this situation somehow. She might not even know she’s doing it. Alya asks why Ladybug didn’t pick Rena Rouge and Lila says that Ladybug was just being a bitch or something, idk.

-Chloe thinks it's weird that Alya is so up in arms about this. Maybe this is the start of her figuring Marinette out.

Gosh, this post got so freaking long. I might add more later if anyone is actually interested, lol. I was thinking that the miracusquad in this AU would eventually include bee!Kagami and turtle!Luka as I don’t think Alya or Nino would reach the point that Marinette could trust them with miraculouses again. She might forgive them, but trust is a fragile thing.

Thank you all for listening to my ranting. I hope that this was somewhat coherent. I’m sorry that it’s so long and so rambling, but I really haven’t been involved in fandom for a while. I’ll try my best and I hope to improve in the future!

[tessatechaitea]

Justice League International #7 (1987)

Kevin Maguire not really trying looks an awful lot like John Romita Jr at his best.

Ah! It feels good to be back! Taking a crack at John Romita Jr while he's just sitting there not doing anything particularly wrong. Just going about his business pretending to be a comic book artist! I don't know what John Romita's politics are but I bet he now agrees with Donald Trump on one thing: naming your kid after you is a huge fucking mistake. Was all that previous nonsense poisonous, vile, and toxic? I suppose one could argue the point. But I'd also guess that somebody arguing that point has never seen John Romita Jr's art. Or perhaps they have seen it and like it because they have a terribly underdeveloped sense of aesthetics. Otherwise nobody would argue with me at all! They'd just read the previous poisonous, vile, toxic nonsense and nod their heads in agreement while pausing for a second to snort a line of Adderall. Fine, I'm sorry, JRJR! Obviously you're an artist! Drawing squinty people with block heads and weird noses holding geometric guns without a single curve on them absolutely falls under the definition of art! Although I draw the line at accepting that Rob Liefeld is an artist. That's a bridge too far! What the fuck does that even mean, "a bridge too far"? It must be a term bombers in WWII used, right? "What the fuck do you mean, carpet bomb Dresden?! If we fly past the Geralthauskopfplatz Bridge, we're definitely getting scrawked by anti-aircraft flak, you bingehart!" Did that sound like an authentic American bomber pilot from the 40s? It's not like Catch-22 is my favorite book or something. Wait. Catch-22 is my favorite book. I guess I'm just no good at written impressions. I assure you it sounds exactly what you'd expect from an American pilot in the Forties if you heard me do the impression live. Also, this is probably the last month of my life where I'll be able to say, "Catch-22 is my favorite book." Because I'm over 500 pages into Gravity's Rainbow and it's just as fucking amazing as everybody who has pretended to read it says it is. This issue begins with Guy Gardner regaining consciousness after having been violently assaulted by his employer.

Why was the mouse glowing green?!

In my memory, Guy Gardner's change from dickhole to sweetest guy on the team came after Batman punched his lights out. But apparently that isn't the case. It's possible this new whack on the head is the cause or maybe it's something a bit later. I bet an editorial mandate came down which said they couldn't have Guy suffer serious head trauma from Batman punching him. So they had to add this new scene where Guy basically gives himself the head trauma that results in a catastrophic change in personality. The Justice League didn't quite finish destroying The Gray Man last issue so that story gets resolved pretty quickly this issue. Doctor Fate transported him to the Realms of Order where a big blob of Order disintegrates him. Which is what he ultimately wanted. It's what we all ultimately want. It's just you don't know that you want it until you've lived long enough for all the wonder to be bled out of life. That's why he's the Gray Man! Some people think life's too short but at 49, I'm beginning to suspect that it's way too fucking long.

This comic book passes the Reverse Bechdel Test: "Any story that has only one woman in it and every scene she's in, she's treated like a sexual object."

With The Gray Man out of the way, it's time to get to the important part of the story: turning the Justice League of America into Justice League International! I wonder how many people this change pissed off in the 80s? Fucking globalist woke elite bubble bullshit! People talk in derogatory terms about the coastal bubbles but they absolutely shouldn't. I won't disagree that I grew up in a totally different environment in the San Francisco Bay Area than people who grew up in the Midwest. A bubble? Sure. But it was a fucking good thing. I was recently showing the Non-Certified Spouse some of the station breaks from local stations in the late 70s and early 80s out of San Francisco and she was amazed at the representative shorts these stations presented, especially KTVU's "Bits and Pieces." Sure, there were the ones about ethics and morality humorously presented with a horse and bulldog puppet. But there were also the ones that showed different ethnicities and their lives, often ending with "I'm proud to be a Chinese American!" or "I'm proud to be a Black American!" The one about Japanese Americans even mentioned how Japanese families were put in interment camps during World War II. One was about Italian Americans and instead of Italian history, it just showed Italian art and various activities of people in the Italian community. One of the Japanese American shorts just had a Japanese American kid having to explain how he was tired of answering questions about being Japanese in America because he was fourth generation and just American as anybody else. But I guess that kind of commie pinko hogwash is why I'm a big fat America hating socialist! As I was saying before my politics politely interrupted (my politics interrupting impolitely would look like this: Trump voters should be forced to shit in their own mouths for all eternity), the main thrust of this story is to set up Justice League International. Judging by the cover, that means hiring some guy with a bucket on his head from Russia and Captain Atom, another white American male.

Ah yes! The introduction of the best character of the series: Big Barda!

Big Barda might not be on the team but at least there's another female character. Sure, Doctor Light was sort of on the team for three pages. And pretty soon, Fire and Ice will join. But it's mostly just been poor Black Canary having to put up with Booster and Blue Beetle's jokes about banging her. Max and J'onn discuss the United Nations possibly backing the Justice League while Superman talks respectfully with President Reagan. What a mistake! The biggest do-gooder on the planet normalizing fucking Ronald Reagan! He should be scolding him with a liberal smattering of Kryptonian tsk-tsks! That's when a Kryptonian gives you a little burst of heat vision every time you deny the AIDS crisis or invoke the spectre of Welfare Queens or destroy the economy by lowering the top marginal tax rates pretending that the money saved will trickle down to everyone instead of fat corporate cats simply keeping all the extra for bonuses and investors. Fuck that guy. I'm so mad now!

Of all the digs they could have taken with Reagan, they poke fun of his dementia?! Christ, Giffen and DeMatteis.

Hal Jordan drops by headquarters to give Guy a good talking-to but Guy doesn't need it because he's suffered a traumatic head injury on top of his brain damage alongside Batman's sucker punch to the face and now he's Mister Sweetbeans. And because he's acting so nice, nobody gives a shit that this is actually a medical emergency. Backing Maxwell Lord is a computer satellite in space. Is it Brother Eye already?! Are they already working together in 1987?! Or is it just some alien gizmo from the Millennium bullshit coming up? I don't remember! Heck, this Maxwell Lord might even be a Manhunter! Anyway, the satellite begins destroying shit on Earth with a giant heat beam. The Justice League, having nearly nobody who can do anything about it, doesn't call Superman to fix the problem. Instead, they decide to spend precious hours borrowing a space shuttle from STAR Labs to launch them into space to battle the space station. Also, they leave Guy Gardner back at headquarters on monitor duty. Because who needs the guy with experience battling in space with a ring that can protect every other member of the League while in space? Also the ring is the greatest weapon in the universe. So, you know, sideline that guy, right?

It's possible this was in the era where Superman couldn't survive in space either, really. But then that's even more incentive to get fucking Guy Gardner up there with them!

The Justice League manages to stop the satellite's destruction but mostly only because it was a huge set-up so every nation could see them save the world. Everybody wants them defending the planet now so the United Nations agrees to back them with one condition: two new members, one to pacify the U.S. and one to pacify the U.S.S.R.

I've read a lot of ridiculous things in comic books but Rocket Red's power levels being nearly equal to Captain Atom's might be the most ridiculous.

I love how Captain Atom's power level is 9+ but Rocket Red's power level is 8.43 instead of 8+. I guess the accuracy of whatever system they're using breaks down over 9. Captain Marvel quits the team and Batman steps down as leader so J'onn can lead. And that's about it, I guess! The issue ends with some kind of flim-flam about how its the 80s and we've become a global world and boundaries just don't work anymore and superheroes are cool as shit. I guess it's inspirational or something. There's still just one woman on the team though. Justice League International #7 Rating: B. Seven issues in and the Justice League has defeated two villains who weren't actual threats to anybody. They were just scams to get the Justice League some press. They also beat up and killed an old guy who was just frustrated with the boredom that came with the immortality the Lords of Order forced on him. So all in all, they're nearly as terrible as the New Titans who practically only ever battled relatives while putting the residents of New York City in danger every time.

[pluckyredhead]

Daredevil 101: What Happened to Milla, Part 1

For the past while in Daredevil 101, Matt has been somewhat rockily married to a woman named Milla Donovan. Sharp-eyed readers may have noticed that Matt is no longer married in comics continuity. What happened?

*sigh* “To the Devil, His Due” and “Without Fear” happened, aka Daredevil v2 95-105 by Ed Brubaker and Michael Lark. Aka an absolutely interminable parade of pointless cruelty riddled with dangling plot threads and misogyny. Yes, the team that gave us the masterful “Devil in Cell Block D” has now gone off the rails so hard that Amtrak is still working on the repairs. (Sadly, their run never improves, so strap in, I guess.)

Now, Milla is not exactly my favorite character, but very few things in DD history make me madder than the way she was written off. It’s so clear that Brubaker wanted to fridge her but realized he couldn’t get away with a fifth dead Daredevil love interest, so he figured out a different “fate worse than death” (hoo boy we’ll have to unpack that in Part 2). No price is too high for a woman to pay if it means Matt Murdock suffers, amirite?

And with that tempting introduction (?), let’s get into it!

Content Warnings: Ableism, sexual assault and implied threats of sexual violence.

We begin with Melvin, who is in jail thanks to having attacked Matt back when he was blackmailed into doing so. Specifically, we begin with Melvin in a room with a bunch of dead bodies he swears up and down he isn’t responsible for.

Matt and Foggy and most especially Becky Blake believe him and take his case, but just a few days later it happens again - Melvin is found surrounded by dead bodies and claiming to have no memory of what happened but that he didn’t do it. The psych eval doesn’t go well, in that, well, he passes:

According to the doctor, this isn’t Melvin being taken over by his Gladiator personality or an actual second person stepping in - this is just Melvin himself killing people. Which for Melvin’s legal team (and friends) is the worst possible option, of course.

Meanwhile, Milla appears to have taken up therapy:

Aside from what this story does to Milla and Melvin, part of what makes it so bad is the structure. This was partially due to a couple of company-wide crossovers that we’ll see marching through the book in a little bit, but also just lots of things being set up and then dropped without going anywhere. Here we see Milla in therapy, which is never returned to or discussed. The sinister way this is framed makes it clear that the person she’s speaking to is the villain of the piece, but the fact that he met Milla at therapy is never revealed or mentioned at all. Later in the scene he says something about how he hasn’t told his wife that he’s in therapy but he should stop underestimating her, which is clearly meant to get under Milla’s skin in regards to her relationship with Matt, but that kind of subtle manipulation is too interesting for this story and leads absolutely nowhere. And of course we don’t get to actually see Milla talking to her therapist, which would require her to have an interior life.

Which means we have an entire scene that could have been replaced with a single panel of Milla bumping into someone on the street that would have had exactly the same effect on the plot. And the pacing problems only get worse from here, folks!

Anyway. The state decides to move Melvin, but he escapes his prison transport - and attacks Matt, who’s been keeping an ear on things:

Melvin kicks the crap out of Matt and escapes, but Matt realizes that there’s something wrong with Melvin - it may not be the Gladiator taking over, but this isn’t his friend, either.

The next day, Nelson and Murdock receive a surprise guest: Lily Lucca, who you may remember as she of the Karen-smelling perfume who aided and abetted in multiple murders and lured Matt into a confrontation with Vanessa Fisk:

As you’ll recall, the perfume Vanessa gave Lily to entrap Matt with makes her smell like every man’s fondest memory [INSERT GIANT EYEROLL HERE], which is why Foggy’s falling all over himself here. But now she has a problem: even though she’s not using the perfume anymore, she still smells like it, which means men are constantly creepily following her around, getting into fights over her, etc.

This is...sigh. There’s an aspect of “female character is punished for using her sexuality” here that makes me super uncomfortable. Certainly 90% of comic book villains have some kind of monkey’s paw in their backstory (“I tried to make a cool suit of armor and now I have robot tentacles!” “I tried to cryogenically freeze my dying wife and now I am really cold all the time!” etc.), but there’s a way in which it’s weaponized against certain types of female characters that’s deeply gendered and often kinda rape-y. (I got this vibe with Debbie and Micah Synn as well.) Lily wanted to control men through their desire to her? Well, now they might desire her so much they’ll assault her! That’ll show her! I guess. Ugh, it just grosses me out.

Anyway, Matt reluctantly agrees to help her, or more specifically have Dakota help her, since she won’t be affected by Lily’s scent the way he and Foggy will. Even with this caveat, when he meets Milla for dinner she does not like this:

I think we’re meant to be reading Milla as not being entirely rational about Lily because she’s so jealous of Karen’s memory and Lily reminds Matt of Karen, but she’s not wrong. I have no idea if we’re meant to read Matt as being sort of a douche in this scene but if my husband was like “Keep your voice down” and “Don’t be so hyperbolic” I would walk out of that fucking restaurant.

Or run, as the case may be:

Matt distracts Melvin so that Milla can get away (lotta Ms in this storyline), then somehow quick-changes to Daredevil for a fight. Melvin knocks him out and Matt wakes up handcuffed in the back of a police car:

The cops are arguing because it’s the middle of Civil War, which didn’t touch the Daredevil book very much but Matt was firmly on the anti-registration Team Cap side, unsurprisingly. As an unregistered superhero, just being out in a mask made him a criminal. (They don’t do anything with the fact that his secret identity was basically an open book at this point, which would have been interesting.)

Anyway, The Mysterious Voice Speaking On A Frequency Only Matt Can Hear gleefully tells him that he left his wallet at the restaurant, which has his home address, which means Melvin knows where to find Milla. Of course, Melvin was one of Matt’s bodyguards when his identity was first exposed and definitely already knew where he lived, but whatever.

Milla is, of course, wandering around the apartment in nothing but a bra and panties when Melvin shows up, because Daredevil artists apparently love putting her in her underwear to terrorize her and this is the last chance they’ll have to do it.

Melvin takes Milla up to the roof to wait for Matt. I’m including this exchange, where Milla tries to talk him down by appealing to his better nature, because it’s basically her last moment as herself. Reminding others of their better angels has always been one of her strengths, and she deserves to have that highlighted before...everything else.

Matt shows up. Melvin throws Milla off the roof:

Matt miraculously saves her and returns to fight Melvin, but Melvin has pretty much given up at this point and it’s all over but the crying. He’s bundled off to maximum security, and that’s...well, that’s the end of Melvin. This storyline came out in 2007, and this sweet, interesting character who has been around since the Silver Age has been unusable ever since. So thanks for that, Brubaker.

Matt’s furious, and determined to figure out who did this to Melvin:

“What did your sensei say about fighting angry?” always makes me laugh. Also, why would you ever suggest Matt follow Stick’s advice, Foggy, honestly.

(Foggy is A+++++ in this storyline and it makes me mad that I can’t even enjoy it because he’s just frantically trying to salvage a steaming pile of shit the whole time. Also given the overall ableism in this story I’m a little :/ that he basically takes over being the functional adult like Matt’s incapable of it.)

Matt runs into another dropped plot thread here because he gets on the trail of a street drug that makes people angry, which, like, how would Melvin have even gotten that in prison anyway, especially nonconsensually? Also, every other depiction of this drug shows it putting the user into a senseless rage, but Melvin sure was able to find his old lair, put on his Daredevil costume, track down Matt, and kidnap his wife when the plot required him to. How very Guardian Devil.

Anyway, Matt starts tracking the drug to its source. Meanwhile, Milla shows up at N&M:

Yeah, from here on out Milla is all tears and hysteria. Sigh.

Foggy decides to take her home, and Lily tags along, even though Foggy thinks that’s a REALLY REALLY bad idea because a) she's upsetting Milla, b) she fucks with Foggy’s head, and c) every dude in the subway is going to be all over her. But Lily insists, because she’s...manipulative? Genuinely feeling guilty and choosing the absolute worst way to fix that? Flimsy plot reasons? Let’s go with flimsy plot reasons.

While waiting for the train, Milla pretty much loses her shit at Lily, and also the world in general:

“I don’t know what I’ve done to you” is pretty rich, Lily. YOU LURED HER HUSBAND ON A MURDER CHASE ACROSS EUROPE.

Meanwhile, Dakota is still trying to figure out where Vanessa got Lily’s original perfume from - and Matt has followed the drug trail back to the Enforcers, a bunch of goofy-ass Silver Age villains we haven’t seen in decades. (They are specifically named the Ox, Fancy Dan, and Montana. They are ridiculous.) They clobber him and take him to their leader:

LARRY CRANSTON. MISTER FEAR. He made the perfume. He drove Melvin insane. And he’s the reason behind what happens next:

Lily lives. The random bystander does not. And when Matt, having been literally thrown out of the window and into the garbage by Mister Fear, returns home, Foggy is waiting for him:

Next Time: Milla is taken into custody, and Matt searches for a cure.

[mariasrainer]

pepperony week: day 6

just a little oneshot written to celebrate pepperony week 2019! the prompt for the day was endgame fix-it. I truly hope it’s at least tolerable!

READ ON AO3.

“How do you think she will react to it all?”

“Oh, probably as anxiously as you could expect from a 5 years old.” Pepper replied, “But you know as well as I do that she will do great. She’s the smartest kid I know.”

Tony smiled at this. Of course she would. This was his Maguna they were talking about. There is no way she would be anything but perfect, which included her first day at school,  a normal, perfectly ordinary school — for their standards at least. Her security was their number one priority after all. 

After the final battle against Thanos and his army of minions, the world was finally at peace, and so was, in slow, careful steps, Tony Stark. He hadn't forgotten everything that had happened, still had nightmares about the mad titan as they called him. But as it had almost been a year since they had fought against Thanos, things started to settle down, and he was healing — therapy, self-forgiveness and support from the people in your life can do wonders when you’re ready for it. 

One could say they were all making progress. The world was still rebuilding itself, there were people who lost things and people they could never replace despite them reversing the snap and the economy worldwide was still trying to find a solid ground to be what it once was. But they were all moving forward. The Starks played an important part in trying to help the world rebuild itself from the ashes those five years of crisis had created, but they still lived in their secluded and modest home by the lake in upstate New York.   

The most important part for them, though, was the fact that they didn’t need to fight anymore. Tony could finally rest. Actually rest, not being held down by the weight of his guilt like he was in the five years mid-snap. For once in his life, he actually felt at peace and like he could breathe. That was the very reason why he left the Avengers business once and for all. He still helped the young heroes, like the boy he loved like a son, Peter Parker, and the ones still there, such as Romanoff, Sam Wilson and Rhodey, with tech and such stuff. Both Tony and Shuri provided all the help they needed with technology, but that was as far as Tony’s work with the superheroes went now. He was actually okay with it, as impossible as that might sound to some. 

He wanted to be able to see his daughter grow into a wonderful person and he wanted to be there for Peter, Harley, Rhodey, Happy and of course, he wanted to grow old by Pepper Potts' side. He once promised her he would try not to die before they were at least in their 70s and he couldn’t possibly break that promise. So, he didn’t just go and wielded the gauntlet created by himself, Bruce and that raccoon alien guy and died, not when they could all simply go back in time and save his self-sacrificial ass — there was no way his wife would accept it. And that was exactly why, after all was said and done and he thought he was gonna die, the people alive post-battle assembled to get him and Nat back in the game. Kinda. 

It all worked out just fine. He was alive, so was Natasha and the universe was free of any imminent threat for now — hopefully for a long time. So that was pretty much why he and Pepper were casually talking about how it was to drop their daughter on the first day of school as they drove back home.

“I know, Pep. She is perfect. Never really doubted she would be anything less. But the kids…” he trailed off, “What if they– What if they bully her? I mean, she’s our daughter, we’re not exactly common people and she’s never interacted with so many kids her age before, honey. We only had that one neighbor who had a kid. What was her name again?”

“The kid? It was Meredith.” Pepper smirked at her husband’s inability to remember names.

“Yes! God, who names their kid Meredith? What were they, Grey’s Anatomy fans?”

Pepper had to laugh at that. He was ridiculous. She loved him.

“Honey,” she started as they stopped by a red light, “I’m actually surprised you know the name of Grey’s Anatomy characters.” Pepper teased her husband. “May I remind you, you picked our daughter’s name and I know it’s not solely because of my uncle, but also because you’re the biggest Arthurian legend nerd I know. So why are you judging?”

He couldn’t help but smile. She knew him way too well.

“Okay, you win, but I’m right. Besides, Morgan is a much better name and you can’t argue with me on that one or else I’ll record this and show Morgan. Won’t be pretty.”

“Uh-huh, right. Aren’t we losing the track of this conversation?” 

“Right. Morgan, school, bullying,” Tony recapitulated, “I guess we should ask her how it went over dinner, huh?”

“That's what I was gonna say, honey.” Pepper looked over at him smiling. 

He was definitely much better at the whole talking-about-important-stuff thing now that they had Morgan. So was Pepper if she was being honest. 

“Love that after all these years I can still read your mind, Potts.” he kissed her carefully on the cheek and she smiled as they proceeded on the way home.

                                                    ____________________________

Later that day, right after dinner, the Stark-Potts household was filled with Morgan's delightful laughter as her Dad chased after her because she didn't want to go take a bath; she wanted to watch Moana for the millionth time that week. There were no arguments with her Mom though.

Pepper couldn't help but find the moment funny from where she sat on the couch reviewing a spreadsheet and waiting for them to stop it. And despite being slightly annoyed, she just thought the two of them were way too cute. 

"'Kay, you win." Morgan said lying on the couch, her head on her Mom's lap. "But can we watch Moana after bath, please? Pretty please, Daddy? Promise I'll behave."

"Alright, Alpha Female. This time," he was panting on the floor, "I'll let you have this. What do you say, Pep?" 

She looked at both of them from her spot on the couch and retorted, "Fine. You can have it… But…" she trailed off, looking serious. 

"What?" two pairs of big brown eyes stared at her.

"I'm just teasing. Let's go get this bath started, you little monster." Morgan ran upstairs giggling.

"Don't run like that or you'll break all your teeth, squirt!" yelled Tony. 

She actually quit running, for Pepper and Tony's amusement.

After getting their daughter's bath ready and leaving her under F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s supervision, they were talking about a bunch of random things as they cleaned the slightly messy kitchen — they could cook a decent meal, but they always left a mess behind.

It was part of their daily routine now. Doing domestic chores could be very therapeutic, they realized, and together it could be even better.

Pepper was finishing drying off the plates when Tony's arms found their way around her waist and his head dropped on her right shoulder. She couldn't help but let her own head rest against his and run her fingers through his hair. These peaceful, quiet domestic moments between just the two of them were not as rare as they used to be before Morgan, when they were barely ever home, but they still treasured them the same way they used to before everything changed. For better, but changed nonetheless. They were the same people, in a lot of ways, but completely different in so many others, yet the one thing that didn't change were these quiet moments of intimacy and what they meant for the two of them.

"After we watch Moana for the millionth time this week," his hands found their way under her sweater and caressed the bare skin of her waist, "we should totally explore a different kind of ocean, you know."

Pepper snorted at her husband's awful innuendo.

"I am serious, Pep." He was grinning as he lifted his head to leave kisses on her neck, "I would love to know more about your depths."

This time he snorted, "Alright, that was really awful."

She was about to reply when they heard a tiny voice by the kitchen's door making them both untangle themselves from each other.

"Why is Daddy going to explore your depths, Mommy?" Morgan's big, innocent brown eyes were focused on her parents. She had finished her bath and was wearing the cutest blue pajamas.

They didn't know what to say. At all.

"Ah– Well, baby, you see, Daddy was just making a joke." Pepper tried.

"Oh."

She kept staring at them and looked downright confused as she continued, "But I want to explore this ocean, too! Like Moana did."

"Maguna," Tony started, "Honey, you see, that was an adult joke… For an adult-only kind or exploring. You can explore all the oceans you want when you're older." He winced. "When you're much older. Like, when you're 40."

"When I'm old like you?" Morgan frowned, still puzzled. 

"Uh… Yeah."

"Okay."

Pepper was trying so hard to keep herself from laughing during the entire awkward situation, but when Tony's expression went from worried to offended as he realized what their daughter implied, she couldn't help but just let it go and found herself out of breath from laughing.

"Is Mommy okay?" the kid whispered at her father, "She looks like a pepper."

"Might as well be one." He rolled his eyes at his wife's reaction, but smiled because she was damn cute when she was like this. 

She stopped laughing eventually and just smiled right back at him. God, he loved her.

"Moana, Daddy?" the tiny one looked up at him, pleading with her eyes and the small hands on his legs asking for attention.

"Right! Let's do it. I love Moana!"

The little girl went ahead of her parents to the living room, leaving them behind amused and smirking.

Pepper intertwined her partner's fingers with her own and got close enough to his face so that she could kiss his lips softly, resting her forehead against his. They opened their eyes, seeing everything they needed in that one gaze. 

The pair pulled away a few seconds later, still smiling.

"Let's go watch that film so we can explore other waters later, shall we, Mr. Stark?" she winked teasingly at him.

"As you wish, Mrs. Potts." 

And he followed her.

[elizadoolittlethings]

MG - The Man Behind The Genius

(via Get Ready to Love Mark Gatiss)

“Can we just sit here and watch this Spider-Man cartoon?” Mark Gatiss smiles slyly but it’s not clear if he’s completely kidding. We’re sitting on a couch in The Museum of the Moving Image in Queens, New York where a small retro-TV is playing an appropriately retro episode of Spider-Man and His Amazing Friends. “I love cartoons,” Gatiss tells me. “Did you ever see the old Star Trek cartoon? It’s brilliant. It’s basically like season four.”

The guy sitting next to me might look like Mycroft Holmes, but he barely sounds like him at all. This guy is softer, more childlike, more down to talk about whatever, so long as those things are James Bond, Sherlock Holmes, Doctor Who, superheroes, Star Trek… In short, if you meet Mark Gatiss, you want to be best friends with him instantly.

For the uninitiated: Mark Gatiss is the co-creator (with Steven Moffat) of Sherlock. He’s also an actor IN Sherlock as Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock’s  snippy, brilliant older brother. He’s written for Doctor Who numerous times, including last season’s “Robots of Sherwood,” as well as the classic Dickens 2005 episode “The Unquiet Dead.” He’s got a recurring role on Game of Thrones as Tycho Nestoris of the Iron Bank, but has roots in the famous British comedy The League of Gentlemen. In short: he’s done some things that are beyond impressive.

Our chat is talking place two hours ahead of The Museum of the Moving Image’s special screening of the Doctor Who episode “Sleep No More,” which is the one Mark wrote for this season. And yes, I can call him Mark, because he told me to. Glancing over at my open-notebook, full of my chicken-scratch  questions, he spies the word “Gatiss,” at the top of the page complete with a frantic double underline. “Don’t say ‘Moffat’ or ‘Gatiss,’” he coos. “Say ‘Mark.’”

To say Mark Gatiss is disarming would be an understatement similar to saying Sherlock Holmes is smart. It’s not that Mark is disarming, it’s like you and he have been exchanging dog-eared paperbacks for years and this conversation about the animated Star Trek from the 70s is old hat. After we talk about how great the writing is on that cartoon Trek, I ask him if he’d ever want to write for Star Trek.

“The new series?!!“I love Star Trek, so yeah, I wouldn’t say no. Simon Pegg’s writing the new one [Star Trek Beyond]. So yeah. You never know!”

Is there anything else—any other established universe—Mark Gatiss would like to write for other than Star Trek?

“Nooo…No. I want to do something new. But it’s so hard to get it off the ground. I’ve said this many times, and it’s absolutely true. That there is a reason why people revisit brands that are so familiar; it’s because they’re so familiar! And it’s getting harder and harder to try and convince people to take a punt at something new. So, that is absolutely vital. Otherwise, there’s no blood in it—and I say this knowing that I’m associated with two of the biggest reboots in history—and people will always revisit Sherlock Holmes. And I think that now that Doctor Who has really returned after its absence, Doctor Who is imperishable. It will probably stop again one day and then come back again, because that’s what it does. Like anything. But, I would love to do something that people look back on fondly, because it was a brand new thing. But it’s terribly difficult—A. to think of it! B. To get it off the ground. What is the new thing! Sherlock Holmes himself said there is nothing new under the sun!”

What if Steven Moffat left Doctor Who? Would Mark still write for Doctor Who?

“Of course I’d still write for Doctor Who! If they’d have me! It’s a continuing honor and thrill! I would say that unlike Russell [Davies] saying ‘that’s me, done,’ I think that if Steven were to leave, he’d still come back after a few years and do another one. Because he loves it. I mean, Russell loves it too! But, I think Russell saw it as his take on it and that was it. Which is a very grown-up way of moving on. But I can’t resist the urge.”

When you’re hanging with Mark Gatiss, who wants to be a grown up anyway?

Would Mark want to be the showrunner of Doctor Who if Steven Moffat left?

“The truth is I know how incredibly demanding it is. And one of things that makes it very difficult to see is the sort of casual attacks Steven has had to put up with over the past few years. It’s incredibly hard work and they care so much. It’s a 24 hour job. And when people say ‘why can’t you make more episodes!?’ I mean, the episode we’re watching tonight: I was sent the final effect shot the day before I left for New York. That episode is just complete and it’s on this Saturday. There are so many things to consider. But to answer your question, I know how hugely demanding [showrunning] is, but also how hugely rewarding it would be. It’s a huge, life-changing decision. I’m an actor and a writer. I couldn’t act if I did it. Because I wouldn’t have time. The only thing I could act in would possibly be Doctor Who. WAIT A MINUTE! I’ll DO IT!”

At this, Mark begins giggling like a madman, throwing his head back and repeating “I’ll do it! This will effect my whole life? HA HA HA HA! I’LL DO IT!!”

The comedian, the sketch-comedy writer version of Mark Gatiss has emerged! Fittingly, we switch our conversation to the importance of humor in his writing. How and why is he just so damn funny? Is Doctor Who and Sherlock nothing without humor?

“Humor is fundamental. I couldn’t agree with you more. There’s a fundamental misunderstanding of why we love these shows. Essentially from slightly humorless people who thinks it needs to be po-faced all the time. The man who created the Daleks—Terry Nation—was Tony Hancok’s writer. He was a very, very funny man who could also write great science fiction. That’s what Russell is. That’s what Steven is. What I am. Lots of people. Humor is bound-up in the DNA of [Doctor Who]. ‘Robots of Sherwood,’ for instance, is a straightforward romp. But, you should no more criticize a show for being too funny—what’s wrong with too funny, anyway? You hear that a lot. Someone says ‘it’s too funny.’ WHAT? Too funny? Would your prefer it was moderately funny? I’d go for much too funny any day. That doesn’t mean you’re messing with the format, that you’re spoiling it. And if you look back at the history of the show, that’s what it’s always been at its best. It doesn’t get much grimmer than “Genesis of the Daleks.” But of course there’s humor. Of course there is. It might be pitch black, but it’s there. And sometimes the level is pitched one way and sometimes the other. But to me, it’s absolutely quintessential to Doctor Who, it’s a fun show.”

Though I would have loved to talk to Mark for hours only about Sherlock Holmes and his favorite stories and which movies are his personally, secret preferences, I decide that since we’re already best friends, we’ve had that conversation in some alternate world. Instead, I’m interested in continuity. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle flippantly didn’t care about continuity. Does Mark Gatiss care about continuity?

“Because we live in such an overly-examined age, in which everything is easily consumed and spat-out, everything has taken on a ludicrous level of importance. If Conan Doyle hadn’t had his famously lax attitude toward continuity, we wouldn’t be able to have the fun we have. From speculating on the strange fact that Professor Moriarty and his brother have the same Christian name, that Watson’s war-wound moves about, that Mary calls John “James”! I’m sure people did write to [Doyle] and complain, because there were always fans! But the thing is, it’s fine. My attitude is this: get it right if you can because if you’re perversely getting it wrong, it looks careless. But. Absolutely frankly: if someone came up with an idea for Doctor Who that flatly contradicted something that happened in 1967, fuck it. Of course fuck it! Someone once said to me ‘six months ago is ancient history,’ in terms of television. That’s true, because you’re talking about the general audience and not the fan audience. AND if you flatly contradicted something that happened in 1967, the fans would find a way of explaining it. I remember—in talking about Star Trek—someone telling me that reason William Shatner has so much eye shadow on in “Journey to Babel”—more than ever—is because Star Fleet officers are allowed to wear a certain amount of make-up during formal ceremonies! WHAT?!! I mean you don’t have to explain it! The Master was a snake at one point!”

Looking smooth, and talking smooth are something Mark Gatiss knows how to do, and that’s partially because he’s a big Bond fan. Could secret government mastermind Mycroft exist in the Bond universe?

“He does exist in the Bond universe! We made an explicit reference. In ‘His Last Vow,’ I say ‘As my esteemed colleague is fond of pointing out, what the country needs sometimes is a blunt instrument. Which is M! From the books! And of course I’d love to write a Bond film. It’s the one that’s eluded me. Me and Steven we both wanted to do Bond. I did From Russian With Love on radio!”

As our time comes creeping up on us, and the Spider-Man cartoon winds down, I ask Mark if there’s a world for a gay Bond? What about a straight Sherlock? The last one gets a guttural laugh from him, and we launch into the territory of diversity among established characters and fandoms.

“The point is to me, none of these things should be done because anyone feels pressure to tick a box. A show like Doctor Who has brilliantly celebrated gay people, incidentally, which to me is proper progress. But I think personally, there should absolutely be a female Doctor, a black Doctor, an Asian Doctor, but it’s because someone comes along who is absolutely indisputably the person for the job. With James Bond, it’s a literary antecedent. If you were for reasons of box-ticking made James Bond gay, that’s not James Bond. By all means have a gay spy! I’ve written about one myself! [Mark’s Lucifer Box novels] If you want to do a gay British Spy, adapt my books! That’s my advice. Do a franchise based on my books!”

Will Mark Gatiss fulfill his dreams of creating the next “new” thing that we will all love and obsess over? What is the future for our beloved Doctor Who/Sherlock writer? In addition to a film, more Doctor Who and the three new Sherlocks, that is. What is Mark’s secret project he hasn’t talked about yet?

At this he narrows his eyes, pats my leg and says with a Mycroft twinkle and almost a sneer:

“Can’t talk about it.”

Mark’s Doctor Who episode “Sleep No More” airs this Saturday.

[fyrapartnersearch]

❖ Attention mes chers mesdames et messieurs ❖

Did I manage to catch your attention? Yes? 

If so, great!

Then I would like to welcome you to my humble request! :) 
It has been a while since I posted my ad here on FYRA. After I received so many positive responses and still maintain a very strong relationship with a current partner of mine to this day, I am more than eager to return and try my luck a second time. As I am super busy with school and work most of the time, I haven’t been able to tend to one of my greatest passions, which is writing. 



I hail from Europe, and no I am not French, though it is a beautiful language much like the country. I may plan on traveling there though… who knows what the future may bring.



But enough of my digression and scatterbrained ramblings!


I’d rather be curt and not go into detail about my personal life or include any fancy infos about myself. I’d rather keep that open for a possible friendship once we get into chatting outside of the roleplay.


You may call me Aylo. I am in my twenties, and a female writer who also enjoys other creative outlets like drawing and illustrating. I am a full-time student with a job on the side, which means that I am usually fairly occupied. But now since the holidays are at our doorstep, my constricting schedule has loosened up a bit - in other words - loads of free time to play with! Now I have a wish, or dare I say, a certain craving for something new and fresh. And I am willing to experiment a little this time to see how things go. After a severe case of writer’s block, my creative juices were dried up until - I began watching a certain show called ‘The Boys’. Thinking that I was more or less done with superheroes, this show somehow sparked something within me. It had a very interesting take on the whole superhero world dynamic and showed how human and flawed these people actually were. And with that it sparked my muse and plenty of ideas began filling my head. So what is it that I would love to get my fingers on you wonder? 
Well my cravings are the following: 


The Boys

The X-Men (comic-verse also perfectly acceptable)

An original, somewhat mature story involving superhuman characters and their daily struggle to cope with their powers / how they choose to use these said powers

The list may be scarce but trust me, we can make the most of it. Especially when you consider how vast the X-Men and The Boys universe actually is. But if that doesn’t suit your fancy at all, I am absolutely down for creating something entirely original that involves sci-fi, fantasy and superhuman elements.


I’ve plenty of ideas in that department that I am more than willing to share. If you message me, we can certainly come to an agreement on what would be best suited for the both of us. Now onto the qualities of what my roleplaying partner should have. If you do not meet these requirements or simply have a different view / style when it comes to writing and content, then feel free to skip my ad.



What it all entails:


☞ The Partnership: I strongly encourage for an active roleplayer to take part and share 50% of ideas, plotting, length, detail and passion. Can’t do the thinking for two. A bird cannot fly with only one wing. ☞ The Limits: There are certain topics I tend to avoid which is pedophilia, bestiality, necrophilia, vore, scat, furries and the list goes on. ☞ The Way of Writing: No one-liners. No text-talk. No half-assed replies. And certainly no ‘quality over quantity’ when you can have both. I don’t expect anyone to write a novel, absolutely not. I don’t either, but if I get the feeling of my partner wavering in their effort and not investing as much as I do, I have to give them the chop, unfortunately. Too often have I encountered partners who showed strong enthusiasm at first, but after a while… they slacked and eventually only put the adequate effort into their side of things whilst completely disregarding my characters. I hope to avoid this in the future. ☞ Communication: As I love making new friends and discuss plotting as we go on, communication is the bedrock of the roleplay. It strengthens the compatibility between us. If there is anything that bothers you, or if you think you are left out in some way (be it a mistake on my part or if we’re both at fault here), tell me. Really, it won’t hold a grudge against you since I know that we all slip up every now and then. We’re human after all. It is also completely sufficient if you only type out a few messages per week. I am very lax about it. It doesn’t bother me re-writing scenes to fit the narrative more. If there are mistakes, they can be corrected - just to get that out there. We can always exchange opinions and see what would benefit the story most. I will also voice my opinion should something bother me along the way.

And now to myself and how I write:

☞ My writing: Third person perspective usually, although I have made some exceptions in my experience. My style is wide-ranging and flexible, which means that frequently, word count will go up 1000+ per reply - though it highly depends on the given situation and partner. Quality over quantity but I say both. I love detail in description, and I am actively seeking someone of the same infamy. My partner should have a basic grasp on grammar, punctuation and somewhat of an interest in knowledgeable writing. Usually I double in a roleplay but I can also make an exception. 
☞ Rating: Alright, so you are writing with some of mature age. I have 12 years of writing experience when it comes to this particular genre. This will be a fair warning to any of those who are not really comfortable with adult themes. There will be violence, swearing, gore, intimacy, uncomfortable subjects, drama, conflict and other dark themes included within the story. I have few limits but I will respect the boundaries of my partner. And lastly, I won’t fade to black or skip out on the nitty gritty, unless it doesn’t serve a particular purpose in forwarding the story. ☞ Interests: My line of interests vary when it comes to genres. I love conceiving my own lore inside a story, be it an original or a pre-existing universe. I am not opposed to tapping into some science fiction, action, romance, crime, action or thriller genres, in fact I encourage it. ☞ Characters: I write canon as well as OC characters. Faceclaims, GIFs, drawings, mood boards or just a plain physical description is absolutely sufficient. Characters should be written as opulent, flawed, unique, talented, heroic, villainous, spiteful, angry, and everything in-between. In other words, don’t be scared of making them ‘human’ who sometimes tend to f*ck up. ☞ Romance: Openly play and accept characters of both genders, preferable m x f pairings, but I am open to m x m and f x f relationships as well. I have more experience with m x f relationships, so I might be more adept in that category. If the chemistry of two characters compel me, I am on board with it! When it comes to sexual scenarios and intimacy (intercourse, foreplay, all that funny business). I encourage erotism, but in a tasteful, sensual manner (that goes for romance as well). The passion must be felt through the screen, even if it’s just a mere description of someone’s deep train of thought. ☞ Content: Drama, violence, sex, metamorphosis, symbolism, action, romance, pretty much everything is a-okay. I am not very bothered by certain subjects that may be uncomfortable for the general public. Roleplays are fictional stories and we best keep viewing them as such. If there are things you are uncomfortable with, name them and I shall respect those boundaries. But don’t be surprised when suddenly one of our characters bites the dust, or gets tortured. It may be difficult to write and read, but it is all part of the story and furthering the plot. My roleplays imply and involve brutality, mayhem, psychological and physical damaging among other things. But I also greatly endorse beauty, serenity and placid moments, scenes or characters. I love it when it comes full circle… everyone- and everything has a beautiful and hideous side. Again, this is mature and I am not here to coddle, I am here for a challenge.

Should there be a hiatus, I will tell you as soon as possible. I understand when you are busy as well, though I highly appreciate if you notify me before disappearing into the ether. At least give me a heads up on what’s going on so I can adjust and put the roleplay on hold if needed! 
Mediums I always roleplay on are email and google-docs. I also have Discord in case for plotting and chatting outside of the RP. 

I prefer my partner to message me first on email, giving me a brief description of themselves, their cravings as well as ideas, perhaps even a little writing sample to see if we’re compatible and if it bears any potential. 



Message me here: EMAIL: aylosreverie@gmail.com Can’t wait to hear from you lovely people!




☆ Au revoir

[mandowh0re]

Trust

CH 6

Requested: No

Fandom: Avengers MCU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Female Reader

Summary: Reader meets Bucky while on a mission with Steve and Natasha to bring him back to the States and makes an unexpected connection with him.

Word Count: 1870

Warnings: Some swearing, implied abuse/torture

Comments: I will be explaining past events as flashbacks for background as the story continues, this will be written in italics. Some details are purposely left out, but will come to light later in the story. Thoughts belonging to characters are written in bold. If things don’t make sense, you have an idea for the story, or a request of your own, please don’t hesitate to message me!

AGAIN sorry this story is slow with the updates. I’m working on it, I promise!

Happy reading!

Part 1/ Part 2/ Part 3/ Part 4/ Part 5/ Part 6/ Part 7/ Part 8/ Part 9

“I’m not making him sign this, Tony!” Steve shouted, slamming his fist on the table.

“I don’t think he should sign it either, Cap. But Ross is fighting me on this. I don’t know how to win this one.” Tony was frustrated, but not at Steve’s outburst. He knew how Steve felt. He had done everything in his power to keep Peter from having to sign the Accords.

“This is ridiculous,” Steve flopped back into one of the rolling chairs and leaned his head back, tangling his hands in his hair, “He’s not an Avenger, or even a superhero at that! Maybe one day, if he wants to. But right now, he isn’t in the right mindset. It took us two weeks to get him to talk in a room that had more than 3 people in it, and an entire month to get him to leave his room without looking for me or (Y/N). And we just recently got him to agree to see a psychologist.”

Tony sat down across the table, “I know, I’m sorry. I just don’t know how to convince-”

The door to the conference room swung open just then, effectively cutting Tony off.

“Hey guys! Natasha and I are taking Bucky to the city to pick Peter up from school, then Bucky wants to visit Times Square again. Do you want us to get anything while we are out?” You were practically bouncing on the balls of your feet with excitement.

Tony and Steve both smiled, but neither one reached their eyes, “No, thank you though. Make sure Peter gets back here before nine though, or May will have my ass.” Tony answered.

You nodded and began to back out of the room, “Okay, text us if you need anything, bye!”

When the door shut Tony turned to Steve, “How in the hell does Bucky keep up with her?”

Steve rolled his eyes, “Don’t ask me. And according to Bucky, they aren’t together. So watch it.”

It was Tony’s turn to roll his eyes, and he did it so hard that Steve wondered if he could see his brain in the process, “Oh please, Helen Keller would be able to tell that they aren’t just “good friends”.”

Another sigh, “Whatever Tony, can we just focus on the problem at hand?”

***

“... And then Ned was like, “I bet Peter would take you to the formal” and she just looked at me with the most terrifying stare I’ve ever seen so I was like “uh yeah sure, MJ, let’s go to the formal together” and then it was dead silent for a good thirty seconds before she went back to reading her book and was like “yeah sure, whatever, loser” so basically MJ and I are going to the winter formal together because Ned has a big mouth.” Peter finished his story in one breath and Bucky was wondering how such a small kid had so much air in him.

“Is this not the girl you have had a crush on for the last several months?” You asked.

“I mean, yeah, but I don’t want her to actually know that. She’s so intimidating. It’s scary.”

“Have you ever thought that maybe she’s like that as a defense, you know, to keep from getting hurt? Maybe she likes you too and wants to go to this dance with you.” Natasha offered.

The four of you were silent as you walked down Times Square, admiring the holiday decorations. You made note to bring everyone out here one evening for some holiday fun. Peter was obviously mulling over what Natasha had just suggested, biting his lower lip.

Honestly, it was a pretty uneventful evening. The three of you took Bucky everywhere he wanted to go, and then Peter led the way to a few places that were lit up for Christmas, but not overcrowded with tourists.

At some point in the evening Peter announced he was hungry, so you all stopped and got pizza for dinner. A slice of veggie for Natasha, a slice of pepperoni for you, three slices of meat lovers for Peter, and two slices of supreme for Bucky (he was still getting used to the fact that he was allowed to eat as much as he needed).

After dinner you all decided to head back to the car to make sure Peter got back to the compound by nine so Tony and May didn’t chew you out.

Bucky and Natasha were in front of the small group, discussing God knows what, and Peter was following along while also looking at his phone (if you even attempted that you’d fall flat on your face. Damn Spidey senses), and you were trailing behind them.

When you got out of the more populated area, a familiar voice made you stop in your tracks, making your blood run cold.

“Hello (Y/N).”

You looked around for the owner of the voice, but couldn’t find it. You saw the others were still walking, and obviously hadn’t heard what you did. Maybe you were imagining things? So you began to slowly walk in the direction you were originally headed when a hand covered your mouth and an arm wrapped around you, and you were tossed into a nearby alleyway.

“I see you’ve made friends with the Avengers. That’s going to make my life more difficult.”

You looked up from where you were on the ground on all fours, only to see him standing in front of you.

“I must admit, losing you was a deep emotional loss for me. We’ve been searching for you for quite some time now.”

“Papa, please.” You stood up to get away from the man, only to be restrained by two hands wrapped around your biceps.

“How long have you been hiding with the Avengers? You’ve been gone a long time now. That’s a bad girl.” He took a step towards you.

You closed your eyes and tensed. You had associated pain to the nickname he used when you disobeyed.

“Why don’t you come back with me? If you don’t put up a fight I’ll lessen your punishment.”

You took a breath. You were stronger now. Much stronger than you were when you escaped. Your powers had developed beyond what even Shuri could comprehend.

But you were scared. Panicked. Papa had found you and knew where you were hiding. There was no stopping him.

You remembered your watch had a built in panic button, and you moved to press it when Papa began to speak again, “Let’s go now, pet. You belong to me. You always will. Do not kid yourself.”

Instantly your panic was replaced with seething anger, “I. Belong. To nobody!”

Quickly, you reached up over your left shoulder and grabbed the shirt of the man holding you, bent forward, and flipped him onto his back. Now that you were free of his grasp, you switched into a defensive stance, your irises lighting up that brilliant emerald green, and your hands engulfed in the flame like energy that came from your body.

Just as quickly, Papa and his goon whipped out their guns and had them trained on you.

But before anyone could do anything, you heard a voice come from behind you, “What the hell is going on??”

You didn’t turn your head, keeping your eyes focused on the two men in front of you.

Natasha and Bucky were in the opening of the alleyway, Natasha with a gun drawn to the two men in front of you, Bucky ready to jump in front of you at the slightest movement of a finger.

Papa spoke first, his eyes narrowing, “You should keep your mutants in line, Widow. The devil tried to attack us first.”

You wondered for a moment if Papa had a death wish, speaking to the Black Widow like that.

“I highly doubt that’s what happened, Ethan. She doesn’t attack anyone unless provoked. And from what I know about you, you’re quite the provocative type.” Natasha raised an eyebrow.

Papa sneered, but before he could voice his reply Natasha continued, “Besides, if she had actually attacked you, there’s a high probability that you wouldn’t be standing right now.”

That made him grimace, probably at the memory of all the dead lab workers you accidentally killed in your escape, and he shot you a brutal look.

Bucky stepped forward, “Put the guns down, before I make you regret ever breathing.” He growled from behind you. You flinched, having never heard him speak like that; cold, harsh, and calculating. It scared you.

And suddenly Papa’s whole demeanor changed, like he just realized the Winter Soldier was standing in the alleyway and was definitely not on his side.

You thought that maybe he did have a death wish.

Reluctantly, they put their guns away, but you didn’t let down your guard.

Natasha stepped forward and rested a hand on your shoulder, “Come on, (Y/N). Stand down. Let’s go.”

But you couldn’t move from where you where. Couldn’t stop the energy that was emitting from your body. Couldn’t stop looking at the people who had caused you so much pain. The people that you thought you were finally safe from, only to be fighting again.

“(Y/N)?” Your line of vision was obstructed as Bucky stepped in front of you, “Look at me.”

Slowly, you raised your head to look into his slate blue eyes.

“I need you to stand down, okay? You’re safe.”

You shook your head violently, then looked at Bucky with pleading eyes, “Papa. Bad men.” You whispered.

He furrowed his eyebrows, face contorted in confusion, “Bad men?”

You nodded, looking into his eyes, silently begging him to please understand I can’t say this out loud or they’ll start shooting.

“Bucky,” You heard Natasha whisper from beside you, “We need to go. Now.”

His head snapped to to look at her, “What’s wrong?”

She didn’t answer him, “(Y/N), I need you to understand this question. Blonde or brunette?” Keeping her voice low.

“Blonde.” You began to shake, the fear beginning to take over again.

“Christ. (Y/N), we won’t let them touch you. You’re safe. But you have to move so we can leave. Right now.” She spoke urgently, still barely above a whisper.

You complied, though reluctantly, pulling in the radiating energy back into your body, stiff muscles now relaxing.

“I hope you don’t make it a habit of this. It would be a shame if we caught you aiming a gun at our friend with no witnesses around.” Natasha nodded in Papa’s direction, then wrapped an arm around your shoulders, leading you out of the alley, as Bucky backed out, making sure neither of the men tried to pull a stunt.

Peter jumped back into the group as you rounded the corner, but kept quiet as he heard the entire exchange due to his enhanced hearing.

The entire walk to the car and the entire drive back to the compound was unnervingly silent.

In the heat of it all, it completely went over your head that Natasha had addressed the man, who once treated you so horribly and still believed you to be his property, with a name.

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

Tags: @cutiepiemimi13 @serenity-schuyler @animegirlgeeky

[quickeningheart]

Eleven

     Naturally, the mice did not take kindly to their Charley-girl’s life being threatened, and they showed their displeasure by promptly storming Limburger’s tower and blowing it up.

    When the city shook from the impact of a hundred-thousand tons of steel and brick meeting the ground head-on, Alley shrieked and dove for cover under the desk. Charley, in the midst of replacing her damaged brake line, just rolled her eyes and kept right on working. "It's not an earthquake," she said blandly. "It's just the guys showing Limburger their appreciation."

    "By taking out half the city?" Alley crawled out from under the desk, frowning at the smears of grease now staining her skirt.

    "Don’t worry. Over the years, they’ve turned toppling that tower into something of a fine art. The destructive radius barely passes a hundred feet in any direction anymore.”

    Alley blinked at her. “I don’t know if that should impress me or make me run screaming for the hills.”

    Charley laughed. “Better go throw some dogs on the stove. And pull a few packs of root beer out of the fridge, will ya? They'll be completely hyped when they get back."

    “And feeding them carbs and sugar is your solution to calming them down, huh?”

    Charley just smirked and flipped a wrench in her hand, laying back on the platform dolly and scooting under the truck. Alley sighed and shook her head. “Call me a nut, but wouldn’t destroying Limburger’s property sort of … I dunno … royally piss him off?”

    "Definitely,” came the muffled reply. “But it'll also keep him busy and out of our hair for at least a week.” She reappeared and sat up, holding the ruined brake line tubing. “It’ll buy us some time to scout around and find out what he's up to.”

    “It only takes a week to rebuild an entire skyscraper?”

    Charley pressed her palms flat against each other and bowed her head. “As blowing up the tower has become an art form, so has Limburger turned rebuilding it into one.”

    Alley tipped back her head. “It’s the ciiiirrrcle of liiiiife!” she sang dramatically, throwing out her arm and gliding to the stairs, earning a bark of laughter from her cousin.

    “Go boil some hotdogs, you nut!”

     ~*~*~*~*~

   True to word, the boys were practically vibrating with adrenaline when they roared into the garage fifteen minutes later. Vinnie screeched to a stop with his signature howl of victory, hurling his helmet across the room. It sailed dangerously close to Charley’s computer, slammed into a nearby stack of tire rims and sent them crashing to the floor in a cacophony of scattering steel.

    “Vinnie! Dial it down a notch, you macho lunkhead!” Charley snapped, throwing the wrench she was holding at him. “You almost took out my computer! And pick those rims up!”

    “Eh, sorry, Sweetheart. Got a little carried away.” He offered a grin and a sheepish chuckle, hastily moving to clean up his mess.

    A few seconds later, Alley skittered down the stairway, holding a pair of tongs and looking around with wide eyes. “What the hell is all the racket? Are we under attack?”

    “The boys are home.” If Charley’s voice got any drier, she’d start spitting sand.

    “I see that.” A pause. “Was someone howling just now?”

    Modo snickered. “Nah. That was just Vinnie.”

    “His way of showin’ the world what a bad mammajamma he is,” Stoker added with a wicked smirk.

    “Oh.” Alley pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Because, for a second there, I thought maybe the garage was being overrun by feral dogs or something.”

    Charley put a fist to her mouth, unsuccessfully trying to stifle her amusement. The other three mice didn’t even attempt to try, and Vinnie glared at them, readying himself for an old-fashioned throw-down.

    “Don’t you dare,” Charley warned before the white mouse had a chance to pounce. “My garage is not a wrestling ring. Take it outside!”

    “Ah, forget it.” Vinnie deflated, pouting. “I’m starvin’! Where’re the dogs ‘n beer?”

    “They’re cooking upstairs.” Alley turned, then hesitated, shooting him a questioning glance over her shoulder. “Do you really howl like that every time you take out Limburger’s tower?”

    “And for any other reason he can think up,” Charley snorted.

    “It’s my battle cry!” Vinnie sniffed, brushing an imaginary speck of dirt from his arm. “Every superhero needs a battle cry.”

    “And ‘cowabunga’ was already taken,” Throttle quipped.

    Alley nodded, her expression serious. “It’s just … you know … the guys who yelp the loudest, Vinster,” she reminded him with a sigh, continuing on her way.

    Vinnie’s jaw dropped. He sputtered uselessly for a comeback, gaping at her retreating back. Modo and Stoker guffawed, Charley buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking.

    And Throttle just stood there looking confused, wondering what the hell was suddenly so funny.

     ~*~*~*~*~

    The rest of the week passed in relative peace.

    Well, as peaceful as it ever got around the Last Chance, anyway. Alley soon learned that the mice never seemed to be happy unless they were making as much racket as possible. “Quiet as a mouse” did not apply to the Martian variety. While Charley seemed perfectly content to let them cohabit her garage, blaring the rock stations at levels that could only be described as “deafening”, Alley took it upon herself to invest in a bottle of aspirin and some good ear plugs. She wondered at first how they didn’t go deaf, what with ears as large and sensitive as theirs, before chalking it up to their overall weirdness.

    Since the guys were always at the garage more than they weren’t (well, the trio was; Stoker came and went as he pleased, and Charley didn’t appear to give a hoot about that, either), it gave Alley a good chance to observe them. While Vinnie was always flapping his mouth and up to no good, the other two mice were far more reserved in their behavior. Especially Throttle. While they all joked around and roughhoused a lot, he tended to be a little more careful and reigned in the other two when they got too carried away. He must have been their leader of sorts, since they always deferred to him and fell in line when he told them to. Unless Stoker was around. All three of them deferred to Stoker, and it was clear the older mouse was well-respected as a mentor and a war hero.

    One thing Alley could say about the guys; they all had a very well-developed sense of self-preservation. At least when it came to females, and Charley especially. They seemed able to tune in to the times when the mechanic was extra stressed trying to finish a particular job, and her patience was close to the snapping point. That was generally the time they herded each other out the door to “patrol the city” for awhile. Which Alley suspected was code for getting out of the way before her cousin could strangle them with their own tails. Either way, she certainly did appreciate the rare times of peace and quiet their absence bought.

    Unfortunately, this particular Friday morning was not one of those times.

    Almost an entire week, and she was still trying to get the mess of Charley’s paperwork sorted out. A job she’d thought would only take a day or two was taking a heck of a lot longer than that. And the blaring hard rock that was slowly driving a small railroad spike through her skull certainly didn't make it easier to concentrate.

    The cordless phone on the desk rang, and she answered it while making a beeline for the large boombox sitting on its makeshift shelf beside the garage door. Ignoring everyone's protests, she turned the volume down to a more reasonable level before returning to the desk to arrange customer's appointment. From the corner of her eye, she noted Throttle sneakily reaching for the volume control. "Excuse me for one moment, Sir," she said politely into the receiver. Covering the mouthpiece with her palm, she mustered her fiercest glare and snarled, “Throttle. If you touch that dial, so help me, I’ll rip your fingers off one by one and stuff ‘em up your ass.”

    The others chortled loudly as Throttle raised his hands in surrender, slowly backing away from the radio with a raised eyebrow. “Sorry, princess,” he muttered, giving Vinnie a swat with his tail when the white mouse cheered, and staggered a little as Modo gave him a “friendly” clout across the back.

    “Having some problems there, Alley Cat?” Charley teased, eyes sparkling with humor.

    Alley took a deep breath and pasted a saccharine smile on her lips. “Thank you for holding, Mr. Anderson,” she told the waiting customer sweetly. “To confirm, your car will be brought in for inspection at nine AM this coming Wednesday. Are you planning to drop it off, or do you wish to wait?” She paused. “No, sir, the Last Chance doesn’t provide shuttling service, but a taxi can be called for you. There is also a bus route three blocks away. Yes. That will be fine. Thank you for choosing the Last Chance Garage. We’ll see you on Wednesday.” She hung up the phone and sighed, shooting her cousin an exasperated glance. “Did you get all that?”

    “Yep. State inspection. Wednesday. Nine o'clock,” Charley grunted, struggling to loosen a nut from part of an engine. “There’re some Post-its in the drawer. Jot it down for me, will ya?”

    “Oh, hell no.” Alley glared at her. “The jotting of appointments on sticky notes stops now, you hear me? It’s unprofessional and half the notes end up falling into the garbage anyway! You are, without a doubt, the most unorganized computer genius I've ever known. How have you managed to not tank your own business in all these years?”

    "What can I say? It’s a gift." Charley pulled a face at her.

    "Well, here’s a much better gift." Alley waved a brown leather book in the air. "See this? Say hello to your new best friend. All of your appointments are sorted and logged into this ledger. Your assignment is to actually use it."

    Charley’s brow furrowed. "I do have an appointment ledger, you know."

    "If you’re talking about that greasy, torn up notebook I found buried in the bottom of your desk drawer, I threw it out. You haven’t written any actual appointments in it for the past six months, anyway.”

    Charley shot her a dry look. “I don’t recall making you the supervisor. When did you get so bossy?”

    “I’d say during the week I just spent attempting to salvage your pitiful excuse of a business practice,” Alley deadpanned.

    “Oooooh. Burned!” Vinnie sang softly under his breath.

    Charley shot him an irritated glance. “Don’t you have something to go blow up?” she grumbled.

    “You shouldn’t criticize her, anyway,” Alley added. “You’re all part of the problem.” She raised a hand to halt the immediate protests. “Charley, when is the last time you tried to organize your finances? I mean, have you even looked at the balances in the past year? Hell, the past three years?”

    “Of course I have! That’s the one thing I did keep up with. I’m not a complete moron, you know.”

    Alley pursed her lips and folded her hands atop the desk. “Then you’re fully aware that the Last Chance is just barely keeping afloat. You’ve managed to keep your finances in the green, but you hardly pull in enough extra for basic living expenses. The only thing saving you is that you own this building outright. But you still have property taxes, the highest electric bill I’ve ever seen, you’re making payments on some of this equipment yet … and every month that line between success and bankruptcy is narrowing further and further. I see you’ve had to dip into your savings on several occasions just to make ends meet.”

    “Is this true, Charley-ma'am?” Modo wanted to know. All three mice were listening, concern etched on their faces. “You in trouble?”

    “No!” Charley protested, while at the same time Alley stated, “Yes.”

    Charley rubbed her temple, looking irritated, and just a little defeated. “I guess … things are a little tight, financial-wise,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “It doesn’t really concern you, though, so don’t worry about it, okay?”

    “Except it does concern them.”

    “Alley!” Charley glared at her. “Stop it.”

    “No. Let her talk.” Throttle’s voice left no room for argument. “Are you sayin’ it’s our fault?”

    “Partly.” Alley shrugged, rubbing the back of her neck. “And Limburger is at fault, too,” she added. “He's the reason this part of the city is all but abandoned. I don’t imagine that’s helped business, any. But he’s not responsible for a lot of the damage and repair that’s been done on the garage in the past few years, is he?” She tapped the computer monitor. “The garage doors had to be replaced how many times? I mean, not just worn-out parts, the whole, entire doors. Who kept putting giant holes in them?”

    “Um…” The trio glanced at each other, uneasy.

    “That’s why I had the automatic sensors installed,” Charley cut in.

    “And there’s also the matter of all the … upgrades done to your bikes. Specialized parts to be ordered in and … I don’t even know what else.” Alley fixed the mice with a questioning glance. “Has it even once occurred to you to ask where those upgraded parts come from? Or did you just assume she farts 'em out her ass on command?”

    “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Alley!” Charley threw her hands in the air. Her face was suspiciously red. “It’s not their problem, so don’t involve them! I volunteered to take care of their bikes. It was entirely my decision.”

    “And it’s costing your garage way more money than you can actually afford right now. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how often they just help themselves to stock off the shelves when they’re maintaining those bikes, either. More money out of your very shallow pocket.”

    “Can I see the figures?” Throttle asked, stepping forward. Charley started to protest, but he ignored her as Alley scooted away from the desk to let him look at the spreadsheet. He studied it for a few minutes, face expressionless.

    Charley glowered at her cousin. “You’re fired,” she muttered.

    Alley waved a dismissive hand. “Fine. Fire me. But it would've caught up to you eventually. I don’t get what you were trying to accomplish by keeping it from them, anyway. Why shouldn’t they know?”

    Charley sighed heavily, perching on the end of the desk. “Because … they’ve done so much for this city. And for me. I told you, without them, things would be going a lot worse with the Plutarkians. Chicago owes them a huge debt, and doesn’t even know it. I’m just … doing what little I can to repay them for their efforts. There was no need to let them in on how much it was costing me.”

    "Did you think we'd be happy if we ended up tanking your business, or mad if ya told us we were eatin' yer profits?" Modo scolded. "You oughta know better 'n that."

    "Yeah, Sweetheart, we woulda paid ya or somethin'," Vinnie put in, sounding hurt.

    "And how would you manage that, huh? Go out and get yourselves a nine-to-five?" Charley snorted. "You guys ain't exactly rollin' in cash."

    Nobody could argue with that. Alley shook her head. “You could pay her in physical labor, you know. Help her out with the garage, take some of the workload off. If she had more than just herself to finish jobs, she could take on more customers, and bring in more money.”

    “Yeah, but … we’re no wrench jockeys,” Vinnie grumbled. “An’ Charley-girl won’t let us near the equipment, anyway.”

    “That’s because you always blow up anything you touch,” Charley snapped.

    “So, teach them,” Alley said with exaggerated patience. “Start them off with simple stuff. Like motorcycles. They’re always tinkering around with theirs. An Earth bike isn’t that different, is it? Start with that and go from there.”

    Charley sighed. "I'll think about it, okay? But even if they did help, it's not gonna bring more customers or money in any faster, you know."

    "That's because you don't advertise."

    "Last I checked, advertising costs money, which we've already established I don't have."

    "Well, how have you been getting business?" Alley asked.

    "Mostly through word-of-mouth. And most of my customers have been with me since I opened the place. The ones Limburger hasn't managed to drive out of the neighborhood, anyway."

    “Which is great, but new business would be even better. We’ll have to think up some advertising schemes. Maybe print out some cheap fliers and post them around the city? Coffee shops, grocery stores; places like that usually have notice boards where you can tack stuff up, and it doesn’t cost anything. Maybe a small ad in the Sunday paper, or, I dunno, those paper place-mats they use to advertise in diners and stuff. There are ways to get more business.”

    “Great,” Charley sighed, defeated. “Just what I need. More work.”

    “You do need more work. And you need more help. And you’ve got three perfectly able-bodied me—um—mice who can give you some, if you’re willing to let them.” Alley considered. “Four, if you count Stoker. Where is that guy, anyway? I haven’t seen him since Wednesday.”

    “Probably in one of his secret labs,” Throttle replied, straightening up, finished with his perusal of Charley’s files. “He prefers to work alone.”

    “He has secret labs? What is he, a mad scientist?”

    He chuckled. “Something like that. Don’t ask us what he’s cookin’ up, though. He’s pretty hush-hush about the whole thing.”

    “Sounds like him, all right.” Charley smiled fondly. “Always the lone wolf, that one.”

    Throttle fixed her with a look. “You sure aren’t one to criticize, Miss My-garage-is-going-under-but-damned-if-I-ask-for-any-help.”

    “Okay, okay. No need to rub it in,” Charley grumbled. “I just didn’t want to make you guys worry about me, that’s all. You tend to get all protective and you hover. It’s annoying.”

    “Biker Mice do not ‘hover’,” Vinnie sniffed, crossing his arms.

    “Oh, you so hover. Like a little mother hen.” Charley shot him a teasing glance.

    Vinnie looked to Alley for help, but she just shrugged. “Hey, leave me out of it. She’s right. Don’t think we haven’t noticed how one of you guys followed us every time we had to leave the garage this week. We even made fake trips just to see who’d be next in line to tail us. You were totally hovering.”

    “Oh, yeah, that reminds me. You owe me five bucks.” Charley nudged her shoulder. “I said Throttle would be the one to follow you to the bank yesterday, and he did.”

    “Damn. Thanks a lot, Throttle.” Alley pulled a wadded bill out of her wallet and tossed it to her grinning cousin while the mice gaped at them.

    The bell went off just then, effectively bringing the conversation to a halt. The mice quickly scattered, heading back to their bikes to don protective helmets as the huge door slowly rolled up, revealing a very beat-up Chevy Caprice idling on the other side. The classic car was painted two-tone blue, at least where the large spots of rust didn’t cover the body. After a moment, the engine turned off, the doors opened, and Christopher Archer unfolded himself from the driver’s seat as his sister hopped out of the passenger’s side. “Uh, is there an Alley Davidson around?” he asked uncertainly, looking highly doubtful.

    “Guys!” Alley hopped up from the chair and trotted to them, grinning widely. “What’re you doing here? Come for some service?”

    Chris relaxed, tossing her a lopsided grin. “Actually, we came to kidnap you for the day. Got plans?”

    “Uh…” Alley looked at her cousin, who smirked and shooed her off. “Guess not. Great! I need to go phone shopping, and I thought you guys can help me out, yeah?” She turned to Chex, who had spotted the trio of gleaming bikes a few feet away and had honed in on them and their furry owners with predatory interest. Alley watched her watching them. “Hey, you okay?”

    “Yeah, sure,” Chex mumbled, taking a few steps closer. The mice looked at each other, fidgeting nervously under the unexpected scrutiny.

    “Don’t mind her. She’s got a major thing for bikers,” Chris snorted, rolling his eyes.

    Chex ignored him, reaching out to trace a finger along the mouse-shaped headlamp gracing the front of Modo’s bike. The big mouse drew himself up, prepared to defend his precious ride … but she didn’t give him the chance.

    “Holy shit!” she suddenly shouted, startling everyone into jumping and Vinnie into dropping the wrench he’d been holding. “Holy shit, holy shit!” She gave a few excited little hops, turned to slug her brother in the arm. “I told you!” she exclaimed over his pained yelp. “I told you they were real!”

    “What’s real? What the hell’s wrong with you, you psycho?” Chris snapped, rubbing his abused bicep.

    “It’s them!” Chex gestured wildly. “You know, them! I told you! They’re real! I didn’t make it up, those alien mice dudes really exist and they’re standing right over there!”

    There was a moment of stunned silence. And then Vinnie, in two words, said exactly what everyone in the room was thinking.

    “Aww, cheese.”

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