#which is writing - reading - talking to the people in my pocket - and making several million in stardew by selling wine

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Mentally putting Eilis on every OC interaction tag.

"They wouldn't."

[scripttorture]

One of the central characters in a fantasy story I'm writing has torture as part of her backstory. She was captured by an evil race, and one individual in particular put her through a "training" regime designed to turn her into a useful/trustworthy slave. Specifically the goals of the training were:

- destroy her sense of self / agency

- overwrite her ingrained response of healing herself when injured (she has magical healing powers)

- an affectionate or worshipful disposition towards her captors

- immediate obedience to any command

I feel like both physical and psychological torture / mental conditioning are probably appropriate, though I'm leaning away from including sexual abuse. I honestly don't know much about torture at all and the only things that come to mind as producing a result similar to what I'm looking for are the Game of Thrones torture sequence and the use of obdience collars in the Codex Alera book series. The latter is very interesting to me because it is a magical device that inflicts pain in reaction to disobedience but also inflicts pleasure to reward obedience.

I guess I'm just wondering if you have any advice for what kinds of methods would be good to include in a process designed to produce obedience, rather than torture for its own sake or to extract information, as well as if there are any common pitfalls I should try to avoid in writing about such a thing.

The training itself won't be in the book, but I need to be familiar with it for backstory purposes because later in the story this character encounters her torturer again, and is subjected to some further abuse before she finally overcomes her fear and kills him.

Alright well I’m going to be straight up with you: the scenario you’ve presented is a very common torture apologist trope. It’s incredibly unrealistic. And it’s unrealistic in ways that support torture by claiming it can be ‘useful’.

 Which probably means that you’re new to the blog and haven’t heard me give this talk before. That’s OK, we all learn sometime and it’s not my intention to shame you for the fact you’re not as obsessed with this stuff as I am or couldn’t afford to shell out for the books.

 Torture does not produce obedience. The best evidence we have right now suggests it encourages active resistance.

 If you got a lot of your inspiration from Game of Thrones then frankly I’m not surprised you came up with apologia. The torture in that series is incredibly badly handled. And a big part of the point of running this blog is that most people are getting their information on torture from shows like that. Which happens because the research is inaccessible and hasn’t been popularised the way fictional tropes (sometimes fictional tropes literally started by torturers) have been popularised.

 The important thing is what you choose to do now.

 I’m going to break down the problems here and make some suggestions for what you could do instead.

 Firstly: there is no torture or abuse that will guarantee obedience. Pain does not make people meek or compliant or willing to follow commands.

 Torture survivors are not broken.

 They are not ‘controlled’ by their torturers and the suggestion that they are is used in the real world to bar real survivors from treatment. It is also used to bar them from entering safe countries and to argue that they shouldn’t be allowed visas or passports.

 The best statistics we have for any sort of compliance under torture come from analysis of historical French data where torture was used to try and force confessions (something we know torture can sometimes do).

 The ‘success’ rate averaged at 10%. Under torture 90% of people will not comply long enough to sign their name.

 Secondly: torture does not and can not ‘make’ a victim feel ‘worshipful’ towards their torturer. The suggestion is kind of like asking if someone can tap dance immediately after removing the bones from their legs.

 Torturers have no control over a victim’s emotions. They have no control over their symptoms. They have no control over their beliefs.

 And there is no such thing as a torture that can change someone’s mind in a way torturers can control.

 Once again, this fictional trope is used by politicians and the media to justify marginalising real torture survivors.

 I have read hundreds, possibly thousands, of accounts from torture survivors. I’ve read historic and modern accounts. I’ve read accounts from all sort of people from all over the globe. I have never seen a survivor say anything positive about their torturers. I have never seen anything close to toleration.

 A lot of survivors are blisteringly angry at their torturers. A lot of them feel overwhelming levels of spite and some report literally putting themselves at risk of death in order to spite their torturers. And yes, a lot of them are afraid too. None of these emotions are mutually exclusive.

 Affection is impossible. We are not wired that way.

 Thirdly: I understand that ‘evil races’ are a long standing fantasy trope but it would be remiss of me if I didn’t mention the racism inherent in that idea. That some people are ‘born bad’.

 I’d strongly suggest you look up the Black, Indian and First Nations people that I know are on this site critiquing these kinds of fantasy tropes. Because they will be able to explain it better then I can.

 Fourthly: the term ‘psychological torture’ is a pretty common dog whistle for torture apologia.

 Most of the time tortures that people dub ‘psychological’ are things with real, physical effects that lead to lasting injury and death. They just don’t tend to leave obvious external scars. I use Rejali’s term ‘clean torture’ for these techniques. Researchers distinguish them from scarring tortures because they are harder to detect and prove in court.

 The majority of survivors today will have experienced clean torture. They will have no obvious physical scars. But they will still be disabled. They’re ‘just’ less likely to see any form of justice for it.

 Fifthly: torture is a terrible training method because it decreases a person’s ability to learn.

 Torture causes memory problems. It also often causes lasting physical injuries that make performing basic tasks more difficult. And it causes a lot of serious psychological problems which make performing basic tasks more difficult.

 A trained person who was never tortured will always out perform someone whose training involved torture.

 I probably sound quite angry here.

 I write fantasy and I also write about torture a lot. But I can’t imagine that it’s just flavour for a fantasy world or some artefact of the past. Torture is a real, present threat in the country that I grew up in. If I was to return now I could, literally, be tortured and executed.

 If you want to include torture in your world, in your story then you are committing to telling someone else’s story. You are representing an incredibly marginalised group of people and you are presenting that representation to a third group, one that has never had contact with real torture survivors.

 Are you comfortable with the idea of telling your peers that survivors are still controlled by ‘the enemy’? That they’re passive? That they don’t have the capacity to make their own decisions?

 Are you comfortable knowing that the popularity of this message keeps millions of genocide survivors in refugee camps, blocked from citizenship, aid and safety?

 I understand feeling attached to a story and a character. And I understand that this information is hard to find. Hell I’m probably going to end up with the only English copy of one of the pivotal textbooks because I’m shelling out to get it translated.

 You say you want to write a torture survivor. With respect I don’t think you know what a torture survivor looks like.

 I think the most helpful, and kindest, thing I can do here is describe what torture does to people. Because I can’t tell you whether that’s something you want to write. I could try and rebuild this scenario for you (and if you decide you’re interested in that after reading all of this and all the links then I suggest looking through the blog tags for ICURE, torture as training, Black Widow and Overwatch.) But I think you need to decide whether you actually want to write a torture survivor first.

 Here’s a post on the most common torture apologia tropes.

 Here’s the post on the types of memory problems torture commonly causes. I strongly recommend picking at least one.

 Remember that this would never go away. Improvement and recovery in torture survivors means learning to live with symptoms. The symptoms themselves are permanent.

 It’s a hundred different alarms set up on their phone to try and make up for the forgetfulness that makes them miss appointments. It’s the little bottle of perfume in their pocket to bring themselves back to reality when they get intrusive memories at work.

 Here’s a post on the other common symptoms.

 You want something in the range of 3-5 of those, though more are likely if your character is held for years. Each of them should be severe. Every single symptom should have a large, negative, impact on the character’s daily life.

 Do you know anyone with chronic pain? It warps their world. Work can become impossible. Basic household tasks like getting dressed, cooking, cleaning the dishes are done through gritted teeth or not at all. Hobbies and ‘fun’ activities dwindle as they struggle to find a way to do them that doesn’t hurt. Interaction with other people, even loved ones, can easily become barbed.

 Because the pain makes everything more difficult. It means everything takes more energy, more effort. Which means that things fall by the wayside, whether that’s by a pile of mouldering dishes in the sink or snapping at a child. It means tears and the social judgement that follows them. It means the world narrowing as it gets harder to go out.

 Do you see what I mean? Every part of life.

 That’s an example for one symptom. You need to work out at least four. Then figure out how they interact. Then figure out what the character can do to make her life better.

 With chronic pain that can mean painkillers but it’s always more then that. It’s re-learning how to do things; how to put on trousers without aggravating the bad knee, how to sew with one hand. It means learning to cut down on what they do and it means learning a new sort of flexibility; accepting that there are days when the pain is too much.

 It can mean having the same conversation about disability over and over again. With family, with friends, with colleagues. ‘I can’t do that.’ ‘I can do that sometimes but not always.’ ‘That will hurt me.’ ‘I can’t use that chair.’ ‘I can’t get my arms that high above my shoulders.’ ‘I need help with this.’

 And that sometimes means learning a kind of patience that is really barely held back rage. Or perhaps I’m projecting a little with this last one.

 If you’ve never met a torture survivor, if you’ve never looked at a survivor’s work, then all this is difficult. You’re trying to imagine something from first principals with nothing to fall back on.

 So let’s bring some survivors into the discussion here. Some reality.

 Who’s listened to Fela? How about Bobi Wine?

 Fela Kuti was the father of modern Afro beats music. He was tortured multiple times and during one attack, which destroyed his home, his mother was murdered by the military. When he got out of jail Fela marched her funeral procession past the biggest barracks in Nigeria’s biggest city. He wrote two songs about this attack and he doubled down on his opposition to the military government.

 Fela’s music started causing riots.

 You can read what I have to say about him here. You can listen to his music on youtube.

 Here’s an interview with Bobi Wine, which was conducted shortly after he was tortured in Uganda. He talked about how he was determined to go back and continue fighting. Which he did. He even ran against the president.

 I’ve also got a short piece on Searle who was a cartoonist captured by the Japanese during World War 2. His drawings of what happened in To the Kwai and Back are worth seeing. Especially if you want to write atrocities on this scale. They will show you the scale and how to focus on the small, human elements despite that overwhelming scale.

 Alleg’s The Question is pretty much a must, it’s one of the most thorough accounts from the Franco-Algerian war.

 Monroe’s A Darkling Plain is also a must, it’s a series of interviews with survivors of various different conflicts and atrocities. Some are torture survivors. Some are not. It is essential reading because it shows the variety in survivors as well as giving a sense of their lives beyond the symptoms.

 Finally Amnesty International has literally hundreds of interviews and studies available for free online.

 The most important decision for any story with regards to torture is whether it should be there at all.

 So much of this topic is intimidating and so much of it is difficult to write. Not just in the ‘oh this is horribly effecting’ sense but in the ‘I have twelve things to juggle in this simple scene’ sense.

 Ask yourself what torture adds to this character and this story. What does this backstory actually give this character?

 Because if the point is to have her vulnerable and then ultimately triumphing violently over her attackers I don’t think you want a torture scenario. You could get the same thing from a bad guy trying to drug her and having the kidnapping fail when she fights him off, clumsy but effective nonetheless.

 And she could still come out of something like that traumatised.

 Right now I really don’t see this adding anything but torture apologia to your story.

 Handling torture well in a story means accepting that it can’t be the same story without it. It means watching the characters and narrative warp under the weight of it. It means lasting effects, for all the characters and for the world itself.

 I believe you are capable of writing that if you want to, pet. But this ain’t it.

Edit: I’m having trouble seeing the beginning of the answer here. Can anyone let me know if there are formatting issues again please? The first word in the htmal is ‘Alright’ but what I’m seeing on tumblr starts 8 paragraphs in.

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[bump1nthen1ght]

Thicker than Water (Demon x Reader) Chapter 1

Pairing: Female Reader x Gender Fluid! Demon

Genre: High Fantasy

Warnings: Arm Injuries, Several mentions of blood

Word Count: 1870 Words

Summary: A summoning gone awry ends up in your favor

Chapter 2

A/N: Alright, I know I literally just posted a demon story but this post showed up on my dash and my god if I have never been more inspired to write a fic. I legit wrote this in 2 hours in a frenzy. Also I plan this story to be multi-chap, but still rather short, so maybe 3 parts in total

Before that night, you had never known what nearly-passing out felt like.

Your mother had done it, once or twice, usually after a particularly stressful day at the shop. If you didn’t check on her between your studies she may forget to eat entirely, your father as well. But you had been lucky; Someone had always been there to catch her, to cradle her head and spoon-feed her strength back.

On the forest floor, surrounded by the smell of your own blood, you have no such luxury.

The black spots flickering in your vision blend into the desne canopy above you and your tears only muddle your sight. The iron and copper of the summoning circle drawn around you drown out the scent of fresh pine and grass, while your ears can only focus on your own heartbeat and the bickering of the four boys.

Oh, that’s right, they’re still here.

It seems you had lost more fluid than you realized, probably because of your incessant crying. You had tried to stop the flow, but your brain was losing coherent function with every second. The boys conversation sounds far away and hollow, bouncing off your eardrums and confusing your sense of direction

“You idiot, I told you not to go for the arm!”

“We needed a lot of blood!”

“But she needs to read the ritual dumbass! She can’t if she dies!”

Ah yes, the ritual, it all is flooding back to you now.

Having received a private education from your father at your family’s apothecary, you were already prone to isolation as a child. It didn’t help having no siblings, nor a lacking natural talent for friend-making. Although you had lived in the city all your life, the young people your age knew very little about you, and you them.

You knew they had rumors about you, The daughter the apothecary hides away; That your gaze can turn people to stone, that you can curse and poison people with a couple words and the right ingredients.

The truth was you weren’t so glamorous. You knew your way around a medicine cabinet, sure, but nothing about poisons or magic spells. You didn’t have any special abilities to compensate or explain your reluctance for socialization. Just some overprotective parents and a shy disposition.

So when the handsome postmasters-son began to pay you special visits, you let your guard down. You let him walk you to and from the market, memorizing your weekend route. You let him in for a bit of tea late at night, especially when it seemed so cold, and told him where the spare key was kept. And yes, you even told him about your favorite secluded spot in the forest, where the sounds of civilization were far away, where you could be alone.

And here, in these last moments of your life, you can’t help but feel so naive.

“Hey, hey!”

A boot taps your cheek, shaking you out of your revelry. Your glassy eyes look over to your right.

It’s one of the local merchant’s boys, you think his name is Nicholas? It doesn’t really matter. All you knew about him was that he was a bit rough around the edges; always nicking things from pockets, looking up ladies skirts, and skipping his lessons. That’s what your dad complained about anyway.

A page is shoveled in front of you, dangling over your face. Your eyes take a while, but focus on the words. Nicholas’ boot heel digs into your neck.

“Read it out loud, or we’ll kill you.”

Clearly I’m going to die anyway dumbass, why should I help you?

You might’ve retorted, if you were in such a physical condition to do so. But instead, you do as you're told, and start speaking.

To your left, the postmaster’s son, Richard, sucks in a breath with anticipation. Any false composure he had while luring you here is gone, his feet tapping with excitement as he holds your left arm and lef bound spread eagle.

Holding your right leg is Markus, another merchant boy. He picks at his teeth.

“What are you guys going to wish for?” He whispers. It goes in your ear and out the other, too focused on forming coherent sentences.

“A full-harem of babes, obviously.” Simpers Hunter, the son of a landlord. He isn’t ugly, only a bit plain, and has enough money to boot. Compared to the other bachelors in town however, he has had little luck in procuring a courtship.

“A million coins could get you that and more, idiot. That’s what I’m wishing for.” Whispers Richard.

“What are you going to wish for Nic?” Asks Markus

“Oh my gods, will you guys shut the fuck up?”

Nic snarls, unconsciously digging his heel back into your throat. You choke and stutter, but keep going. The runes around you, written in your own blood, begin to glow.

All of the boy’s eyes widen and they step back from you. Your limbs sink like dead weight as the words begin to flow out your mouth with no thought. The paper with the chant drops to the ground, out of your sight, but it's like your brain has been reprogrammed; You know the rest, know it in your bones.

The grass begins to simmer and burn under the summoning circle, smoke swirling into formation above you. When the final word whispers out of you, you feel your body go lax. You don’t even remember tensing up

I guess this is it. Sorry Mom, Sorry Dad.

You clench your eyes, just hoping the demon will be quick. That it will at least leave a recognizable corpse.

“Holy shit.” You hear muttered, unsure by whom.

Your eyes are closed, body teetering on the brink of unconsciousness, but your senses are still intact. A hot wave of breath washes over your face and the ground below you trembles with heavy footsteps. The boys are quiet but you can hear their hearts pounding. They thrum with life, while yours slowly fades.

“Why have you summoned me, mortal?”

Even half-dead, your muscles tense in fear. The demon's voice is deep and resonates like a crowd talking all at once. It reeks of inhuman power and cracks like thunder.

A brief silence passes, before Nicholas finds his courage.

“We have come to ask for a wish.”

Later, when recounting the story, you will mention that the demon looked over to Nicolas, unamused, despite never seeing it yourself. The demon huffs, the heat of it blowing over you once more.

“I don’t believe I asked you.” The demon mutters. The cacophony of voices blend together into one, bland and emotionless. Even in your state however, you are able to decipher a couple of louder tones which overpower the others. They seem...angry.

“But...you…”

“I asked….”

Your eyes snap open as a wet droplet lands on your cheek. Lingering above you, drool seeping from their unnaturally sharp teeth, is the creature. It’s face resembles that of a goat, but sharp fangs stick out from their lower lips. Their eyes are golden and shine in the night, piercing right into yours. Despite the part of your body screaming out in terror, another part feels oddly….comforted. It’s why you don't startle when they brush a hand against your cheek, their thumb wiping away your tears. Their palm is warm, not like a blistering flame, but like a thick quilt. Like hot chocolate on a rainy day.

“......What do you need of me, little one?”

Their hand, padded and calloused, slides down your arm, closing up the large gash on your inner bicep. In another movement, they do the same to the other. Power and vitality seems to sink back into your body, drip by drip.

Words escape you, but not Nicolas.

“Excuse me, demon, but we're the ones who summoned you.” The sarcastic tone of his does little to hide the quivers of his fear, especially when the demon's neck turns toward him at an unnatural speed. Still, he persists. “Not her. And we want-”

“Do you take me for a blind fool?” The voice bellows, sending all the boys to their knees. Markus clutches his ears while Hunter whimpers on the ground. Nicolas falls back to the ground, eyes widen.  The demon stands to their full height, several feet above all of you. “Do you think I was born without smell, without sense?” The step away from your body, swiping at the ground with their fingers, taking a small bit of your blood with it.

The demon sticks their thumb and forefinger in front of Nicolas’s face, causing him to yelp and fall onto his back. “Is this your blood which forged the connection? Was it your words that spoke me into existence? Was it your body which came to the brink, wrenched open the door and pulled us both through?”

Nicolas, trembling like a leaf, shakes his head no. The demon’s eyes jerk up to the others. “And was it any of these young men?”  

Richard furiously shakes his head, while Hunter stays collapsed on the ground. Markus pushes himself away, hands still clamped around his ears. The demon sneers, before turning and walking back to you.

The demon kneels before propping your upper body up with a gentle touch. A comforting claw rubs your lower back while another paw rubs the tension out of your shoulders.

“Now, mistress, what may you ask of me?”

Your muscles may no longer tire from blood loss, but your mind truly feels like it’s on the brink of breaking. The demon, with fearsome fangs and a soft look, looks to you for an answer.

“I-I…” You mutter as the demon continues to massage your back. They hum.

“Take your time, it is alright. Rituals are difficult, I can only imagine the toll your body feels.” The mass of voices have synchronized, fading from a hundred to a single, harmonious tune. It is cavernously deep, but pleasant. It reminds you of the portly older man who used to read stories aloud every holiday.

You feel your body unconsciously turn towards your captors. Nicholas stays stuck to the ground, the whites of his eyes almost glowing in the darkness. The others have slowly moved to their knees, all terrified with shaky limbs, and look like they might make a run for it. Markus is slowly inching towards Nicholas’ shoulders, trying to lift him up to his senses.

For the first time in your life, a deep, boiling hatred burns your skin.

Cowards. You sneer, with all the malice stored in your reserves.

“I want-I want…” You stumble as the anger bubbles out of your belly. “I want them to hurt. To feel humiliated.” Nails bite into the palm of your hand, letting out blood as you clench knuckles. “I want everyone to know what they’ve done, who they are, every fault they’ve ever been guilty of. I want them alive, but I want them to burn.”

The demon smiles, pulling you in for a hug. You collapse into their embrace, keeping your eyes locked onto the boys, those rats. The demon hums a contented tune as they rub your back.

“As you wish, my master.”

[anonymous-swiftie]

If you are on twitter, please retweet this:

https://twitter.com/ASwiftie00/status/1334245577933148164?s=19

Dear #Swifties,

I'm new on tumblr, and I really don't know how to use it.

I know you are the best supporters of the music industry and I'm here to ask your help.

I'm fighting with a crippling depression, that due this covid situation just got worse.

I'm at my lowest, I truly don't know if I will make it through this time.

I always dreamed to talk to Taylor, since I was a teenager. She is the only one that make me feel like I do fit in this world.

I've created this account because I know she is very active here, and I'm trying to reach her with this part of my story.

You can read everything below.

I didn't write any personal information because I don't want this to be seen by my family or somebody that can recognise me.

I don't want upset anyone.

I know that everyone hope to meet or chat with her, and so you are probably wondering why you have to share this here.

You're totally right, maybe it's a stupid idea to ask you this, but I haven't anything left in my pocket to fight this situation, and you're my only hope right now.

Thank you.

#taylor #swift

*******************************************

Dear Taylor,

I keep writing and deleting this, over and over again.

I feel so dumb to write my personal story here, but this truly is my last chance to feel better and try to overcome this giant monster called depression.

I genuinly don't know if I can make it through this year. It's the worst period of my entire life and i don't even know if it's worth living this hell anymore.

I know you have millions of supporters (that probably write you every single day, and they are all better fans than I am, that's for sure) but I know that you proved, time after time, to be so down to earth and to use your time to read your fans messages.. so, in this moment, I'm just trying to share a part of my story with you.

You are the one that make feel understood, since I was like 13teen.

I'm so sorry if my English isn't very good but I'll do my best.

I'm not very active on social media , because I'm very shy when I have to talk about myself.. but If this could work, I must do it.

I will try to send a letter, If I can find the strength to mark this feeling on paper.

**IF I'M WRITING TO SOMEBODY FROM HER STAFF, PLEASE JUST LET THIS MESSAGE REACH TAYLOR**

I'll try now to resume, because I don't want to bother you too much.

This has been a crazy year so far, and the all the time I spent by myself during the lockdown didn't help at all.

This situation brought me back to childhood.

I spent a lot of my days back and forth in hospitals, due to my allergies.

I had to wear a mask all the time I wanted to go outside to avoid severe allergic reaction (that's why this Covid thing awakened some hurting memories)

I didn't have real friends back then, 'cause I've spent most of the summers at home, watching other kids playing around, from my window, or from the windows of my classroom.

It was so hard to make new friends, because the only thing that other kids saw was my mask.

I was the masked kid.

I was the strange kid.

I couldn't play with them.

Everytime I tried to play with them, the only thing I heard was "oh you are ill , I don't wanna be like you so stay away".

This situation made me start to write things in my personal diary.

I wrote small sentences, as a kid, and that was the only thing I could do alone inside an empty classroom during all summer.

This situation continued  for many years.

I wasn't the cool kid before, I wasn't the cool guy after.

The only things that let me enjoy those days were writing and listening to your songs.

I started to listen to your music thanks to my English teacher. She was a fan of folk and country music and she gave me a pic in which you were singing near a lake (I still have that photo somewhere, I strongly remember the white banner with your name written in red on it) and told me to listen to the cd she gave me that day.

I immediately fell in love (I think I still have a crush on you, I'm sorry).

I loved your album. I loved your voice. I loved the lyrics.

I remember having a "test" in school: each one of the class had to write their favourite lyrics and let the others guess the song.

If the someone guessed It, We could play the cd.

I chose Love Story and I translated it in Italian.

The class guessed the song, and I played it.

After the lunch break I went back to my desk and I saw some bullies that were breaking my cd-album and they started to laugh at me because I loved your music an I loved writing poems.

I was a boy so I was a loser because I enjoyed those things.

That felt terrible, but I continued to love your songs even more .

Those were my inspiration to write and to study english.

I felt so good when I listened to your album and this still happens.

Then I went to a private high-school.

Nothing changed, I still was the nerd guy that always got good grades and I have to say that the first year was quite good, but the second year was the start of the apocalypse.

I choose that school because two girls that I knew from childhood went there.

One of the cool new guys started to spread a fake "news" about me.

He said to everyone that I was the boyfriend of one of the two girls that I mentioned before.

So he was the cool guy and one of the girls believed him and told me to f*** myself.

The other girl was her best friend, so you could imagine by what happened next.

After 14 year spent together, I was nobody.

I didn't have "friends" in that class anymore.

I didn't say hello to anybody for 4 years, and nobody would say anything to me.

Nobody to talked with me.

That's great when you're a teenager.

I hated to wake up every morning.

I had an eating disorder, I lost like 22pounds in less than a month. Got hospitalized twice. I kept vomiting for 3 years, every single morning before school.

During that time I only talked with one of my cousins, who lived like 2 hours by car from me.

He was older than me but he always tried to help.

He knew that I loved to write poems so he started to give me guitar lessons.

I made it through a lot of things thanks to him.

I'm sorry, It's hard for me to write this part of the story.

I still get emotional when I think about this.

On the 10TH of December 2013 (some days after his birthday) we received a phone call from his mother: She warned us that he didn't return home after the last working shift.

I wrote a message to him like 3 hours prior to that phone call.

Never had the opportunity to get a reply again.

This year is the seventh year that he is missing.

That destroyed me.

I felt empty.

I felt like nothing couldn't help me.

I still feel that everytime I care about someone in my life, it will disappear someday.

This have happened several other times.

You know when ignorants say that men don't cry, is real bullshit. Men cry. I cried a lot.

I wrote so many poems , lyrics, thoughts in that period of time, that I destroyed my hands.

That was the only way to close my eyes and let me reach another reality because the real one was way too much for me.

Be a sensible man in this world is somehow a curse.

All these things made me afraid  even to hug someone 'cause I feel I'm too ugly or just to scared to be refused.

I will stop here my story, but there's so much more to tell.

I make it through all of these things and memories because I keep dreaming that one day I could meet you and we could talk together.

Dreaming about the fact I could spend a day with you made me find the power to battle my depression.

I'm 25 now and this year I'm not dreaming anymore.

I was going to start again university, I wanted to get a degree in marketing and have the chance to live in the us.

For years I believed that I would make it and hopefully be part of your marketing team.

I'm so stupid. All these years I kept dreaming to avoid pain.

I wanted to pursue my passion and continue to write lyrics but all I was doing was putting myself in unrealistic realities.

This covid situation made everything clear.

When everyone had someone to facetime (or video call) I was alone.

When everyone had someone asking them "how are you?" I only had myself looking in the mirror saying: "Will I ever feel better?"

I've never been the one for anybody, and I think I'll never be.

I won't be the one among all your fans to realize his dream.

Nobody likes me, and I'm exposing myself once again just because I want the opportunity to smile at something that could happen to me.

I'm tired to smile only for others best moments.

I've always seen the sun through a window.

I want to feel happy.

I want to burn my face with the sun.

I'm so sick of hiding my pain,

sick to cry when I'm alone in my car before going to work,

sick to let my eyes rain on my pillow every night.

I'm sick to say to my mother that I'm fine, just because I don't want to make her feel bad.

It's not her fault.

She is battling with a degenerative autoimmune disease, why I should put other weight on her shoulders?

I didn't give up to my weakness before because I don't want to hurt her.

I always say to her that soon she will feel better, that's why your song It's stuck in my head.

But when she won't be here anymore, how I can go through all of that?

I don't even know if will ever get better for me.

Will this pain ever stop?

Sometimes it's so hard to live and so easy to die.

Hope that my dream to spend some time with you can become true.

Thank you for everything, you gave me the strength to go on for many years.. But this time is so hard to put on my armor and continue this battle.

But is this even worth if thy I try to surround myself with people and I always feel lonely?

D.

@taylorswift @taylornation @jackleopards-thedolphinclub

[foilfreak]

Beauty and Her Beast: Chapter 4

Warning: This fic is rated NSFW and contains graphic depictions of things some people may find disturbing or alarming, including, but not limited to: violence, gore, unhealthy family relationships, Oedipus complexes, gratuitous amount of pornographic literature, ableist language, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, etc. If you are someone who does not enjoy fiction with these elements in them, then I suggest you refrain from reading this, because this fic will have all that, and probably a lot more. So, this is your first and final warning to turn around and go somewhere else if stuff like this just isn't your vibe, because from this point forward, your emotional wellbeing is in your own hands, and I will not be accepting blame if you disregarded my warnings and ended up reading something you didn't like. Idk why I feel compelled to write one of these despite this being Resident Evil fanfic, but I figured I'd cover my ass just in case.

(Link to ao3 version in comments below)

Upon returning to the surface again, Mother Miranda seems confused, but mostly relieved, that Salvatore did not show interest in lingering in the village any longer than necessary. Though Salvatore did end up needing to stay for one last brief conversation, in which he and Mother Miranda discussed various parts of Nadine’s file, as well as finalized the date and approximate time in which Salvatore could expect the villagers to arrive at the reservoir gate with his gift in tow.

2 days from now, was the final agreement, as it would ensure that Salvatore would be the first of the Lords to receive his gift, making up for the fact that he was the last of them to pick. It also permitted him the luxury of some spare time to prepare a new permanent living environment of some kind for his gift. Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean.

Regardless, Once their conversation finally concluded, Salvatore bid his beloved Mother a quick, but appropriately appreciative thank you and goodbye, before closing the large wooden door to the meeting room and trudging back out into the cold, harsh winter snow. Despite a lack of improvement in the weather since Salvatore’s initial journey into the village, the mutant man maintained a solid pace through the snowy paths, seemingly uninhibited by the forceful winds attempting to throw him from his course.

With little time remaining, Salvatore wanted to return to his reservoir as quickly as possible to begin making preparations; though, what exactly it was he was supposed to do in order to prepare for a tiny, beautiful, and apparently violent cadou-mutant woman to begin living in his reservoir with him, once again, Salvatore still had no idea.

Grimacing in frustration, the hooded man wracked his brain for something to do, some way for him to make a good “first” impression with his new gift when she finally arrives. Something that would catch her fancy and hopefully convince her that, despite his terrifying appearance, he wouldn’t harm her and merely wanted to be friends.

Well… technically speaking Salvatore wanted a great deal more than just friendship from the young woman, however given how low his chances are of ever achieving the former, the mutant man decided that he’d happily squash his vile and disgusting desires down deep within himself if it meant he’d gain at least something similar to a friendship with Nadine.

He’d been doing the same with Mother for all these years, so it wasn’t like it was going to be difficult… hopefully.

Upon returning to his reservoir finally, Salvatore retreated from the harsh weather, deciding that he’d likely have a much easier time cleaning if he waited the snowstorm out and got started in the morning, instead. Once the skies had cleared and the sun had just begun to peak over the mountaintop horizon however, Salvatore immediately set to work cleaning up the areas surrounding the reservoir.

It wasn’t until after several hours of diligent gathering and disposing of the numerous unsightly piles of rotting wood and garbage lying around, that the unusually bright and hopeful atmosphere surrounding the reservoir was rudely disrupted by a surprise visitor Salvatore would have never seen coming in a million years.

“HEY, FISHFACE, WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU? I gotta talk to you about something, so hurry up and crawl out of your sewer system so we can get this over with, already” Karl’s rough and booming voice echoed out from somewhere within the reservoir.

Salvatore flinches in fearful surprise at the demanding voice, wondering what on earth could possibly have brought Karl, the notorious recluse of the family who never left his factory unless bribed or threatened, all the way out here to the reservoir. And to speak to HIM, on top of all that too.

Despite not feeling like subjecting himself to Karl’s recent tendency toward physical abuse disguised as “brotherly affection”, Salvatore sighs and swims his way toward his younger brother’s voice anyways, knowing that ignoring Karl would only prompt the younger man to actually enter the reservoir in search of him, which was the absolute last thing Salvatore needed right now.

“Mornin’, brother! It’s about fuckin’ time you answered the door. You were taking so long I was beginning to wonder if you’d finally decided to run away and live out the rest of your life as an actual fish, like I suggested to you at the last “family” meeting” Karl says bluntly, clad his characteristic attire of green sunglasses, a brown hat atop his head, a long tan trench coat covering his day clothes, various items strung around his neck, and large titanium hammer.

“H-hello, Karl... W-why is it th-that you’re h-here for?” Salvatore asks slowly, peering at the younger, but taller man from behind the only partially opened gate.

“Hey, hey, come on now, Sal, what’s with the cold welcome? Am I not allowed to visit my favorite older brother without a specific rhyme or reason. I think you’ll be surprised to know that I was actually already in the area, and wanted to stop by and see if you were in the mood for a chat. You know, like old times?” Karl says defensively, placing both his hands up as Salvatore narrows his eyes at the younger man.

Salvatore was a lot of things, but stupid most certainly wasn’t one of them, regardless of what other people thought. While it might be true that, when Karl was first introduced to the family as a child following his successful cadou mutation, they had something of a positive older-younger brother relationship that lasted a good many years into Karl’s adulthood, that relationship has been growing progressively shakier and unstable over the past few years, at least it has during the times Karl has acted like Salvatore wasn’t the only one to reach out and attempt to connect with the emotionally volatile, but secretly terrified young boy, when he first arrived.

Deep down, Salvatore still had something of a soft spot for Karl, a soft spot that he occasionally allowed himself to indulge in whenever Karl wasn’t acting like a royal asshole, but those moments of peace and solidarity between oldest and youngest brother had been few and far in between recently. Not to mention that Salvatore would be lying if he said he wasn’t growing increasingly more suspicious and distrustful of Karl and whatever secrets the younger man was hiding in that factory of his. He hadn’t the slightest idea what he could be up to, but something told Salvatore that Karl had more reason to be here than just pure coincidence.

“P-perhaps… what i-is it that you w-want to t-talk about?” Salvatore replies curtly, not wanting to just go along with whatever Karl wanted, but for some reason still willing to give the younger man a chance to prove himself.

Taking a brief moment to look over both his shoulders, Karl places the heavy end of his hammer on the ground and leans inward toward Salvatore, lowering his voice as he whispers, “You see your gift from Mother yet?”

This question took Salvatore by surprise, not expecting the gifts Mother Miranda had given them to be the reason why Karl was here.

“I… I h-have… why?” The disfigured man asks curiously, pushing the gate open a little further so that Karl, despite Salvatore’s earlier reservations toward the younger man, could squeeze his way inside.

Upon entering through the gate, Karl immediately takes 2 cigars out of his back pocket and lights the first one. “Curiosity mostly… but also cuz I think there’s more to this whole “gift” thing than Miranda wants us to believe,” the bespeckled man says, blowing a lungful of smoke out his nose as he offers Salvatore the second cigar. “You still smoke, old man?”

“I-I… I r-really shouldn’t” Salvatore says, turning his back toward Karl’s outstretched hand, even as the wonderfully woody scent fills his nose and his mouth begins to water.

“Oooooh, but something tells me you want to” Karl teases, sauntering over to the older man so that he could wave the fresh cigar in Salvatore’s face, chuckling in amusement when the fish mutant’s gaze locked onto and followed the unlit stick like a dog would a slab of meat.

“B-but it… M-Mother has s-said… m-many times… th-that she d-doesn’t like… doesn’t like when we s-smoke… because… uh, b-because...” Salvatore trails off, trying to remain strong for Mother Miranda, even as his self-control slowly continues to crack.

“Come on, lighten up a little bit, old man. It’s just one cigar. You smoked a pack of these things a day, like they were the only things keeping you going, both throughout my whole adolescence and, if what Duke says is to be trusted which we both know it is, well after I left for my factory, too. When the hell did you start being such a stick in the mud? No wonder I stopped hanging out with you, you’re like a fuckin’ parrot that repeats everything than goddamn woman says, it’s like I can’t escape her no matter where I fuckin’ go” Karl groans in a slightly childish tone of voice as he trudges forward to sit on one of the docks overlooking the calm water below.

Salvatore slowly moves to join him as he says, “S-she’s right th-though… it r-really isn’t good… f-for you… I smoked e-everyday for m-many years... an-and now I’m p-paying for my i-ignorance… Mother o-only nags at you… b-because she c-cares… and s-she’s always r-right… in the e-end...”

“Oh, fuck what Miranda says, I’m tired of that woman. Always telling us what to do and then thinking that pushing a couple of failed experiments onto us as “gifts” will make up for the fact that she’s disappearing off the face of the planet without a single trace and not telling us when she’ll be back. As far as I’m concerned, when Miranda’s not here, she’s not the boss of me. And the same goes for you, too” Karl says, roughly punching Salvatore in the shoulder.

“I-I don’t… I don’t think th-that’s how this w-works, Karl” Salvatore counters. “Even w-with Mother l-leaving us… f-for a t-time... we still h-have to make s-sure that th-things c-continue on… continue on as p-planned… or e-else we’ll really b-be in trouble… w-when she g-gets back.”

“Maybe,” Karl says thoughtfully, before taking another drag of his cigar. “I don’t know… I just have a sinking feeling that there’s something weird going on behind the scenes and these “gifts”, that she’s giving us, are nothing more than distractions to keep us entertained while she goes and does… whatever the fuck it is she plans on doing while she’s gone.”

Salvatore pauses for a moment, briefly remembering back to when Mother first told him that she’d be leaving the village to go “visit someone”, who she believed could be very important to their mission of reviving Mother’s long lost baby, Eva. Although he hadn’t thought very much of it at the time, the mutant man also remembers Mother saying something about how well Nadine would do at “keeping him occupied” until she finally returned, and maybe even after that, too. But why would Mother Miranda want or need him to be “occupied” when she got back? Wouldn’t she want to share her findings with him so they could work toward creating a vessel to revive Eva in? Wouldn’t she want to see and speak to him again after being away for so long?

Or maybe… could… could Karl actually be onto something here? Salvatore felt terrible doubting Mother Miranda, but he’d be lying if he said that Karl didn’t have a point about Mother’s behavior seeming odd, now that he was in the proper headspace to go back and analyze the memory properly, at least.

“B-but… if Mother h-has gone o-out of her w-way… to make sure that w-we won’t be l-lonely... w-while she’s away… isn’t th-that a… a good th-thing… doesn’t that m-mean she c-cares a-bout us... enough to… e-enough to do something l-like this?” Salvatore asks nervously, watching the younger man intently as he contemplates his response.

“I guess so, at least when you word it like that, it does. But something tells me there’s more to this than she’s led us to believe. She’s got something planned, and she’s definitely after something, and once she gets her hands on it, who the hell knows what’ll happen… whatever it is though, I doubt it’ll be very good, for any of us.”

“D-don’t say th-things l-like that… I-I’m sure M-Mother has a-a reason… a reason w-why she’s leaving… an-and if she d-doesn’t tell us w-what it is… b-before she leaves… th-then Im sure… I’m sure sh-she’ll tell u-us when she g-gets back… she’ll l-let us in o-on her p-plan… wh-when she’s ready… an-and then… once e-everything is… said a-and done… we c-can revive… r-revive Eva… and b-be a real f-family… a-at long l-last… isn’t th-that what w-we a-all want, after a-all… a f-family?” Salvatore asks, hoping this was doing something to ease the younger man’s clearly agitated mind.

What on earth it was that was causing so much turmoil as it flew around inside Karl’s head, Salvatore had no idea. But something about the bespectacled man’s unusually contemplative and concerned mood, coupled with the fact that he’d only punched Salvatore once since his arrival, was beginning to leave an acidic taste in the deformed man’s mouth.

Karl really and truly thought something was wrong, and the younger man’s continued insistence upon this fact was beginning to make Salvatore very very anxious.

Perhaps it was the unusually good and excited mood that Salvatore was in due to the near arrival of his gift, or maybe it was that soft spot for Karl I mentioned earlier, but regardless of the reason, Salvatore felt the odd need to help alleviate the younger man’s bad mood, just like he used to do for him back when Karl was still barely taller than his shoulder.

Mother Miranda certainly wouldn’t be pleased if she found out that Salvatore had broken his mandatory sobriety despite her explicit orders to avoid smoking so his experiment results wouldn't be hindered. That being said however, Miranda always seemed to want her 4 children to get along and be close, like real siblings, so Salvatore supposed that he could allow himself a break from his smoking break so long as, if Miranda did manage to find out somehow, he could get himself out of trouble by spinning it as a rare moment of sibling bonding between the oldest and youngest siblings, rather than the reality of the situation.

“I… I’ll t-take that cigar… if you’re n-not gonna smoke it… th-that is” Salvatore says, a small chuckle escaping him when Karl cheers in delight, practically throwing both the lighter and the cigar into the deformed man’s hands.

Salvatore’s first breath of the cigar is nothing short of heavenly once he finally lights it and takes a drag, and its moments like these when the mutant man finds himself secretly grateful that Karl hasn’t listened to a goddamn word Mother Miranda has said in nearly 4 decades.

A long period of silence passes as both brothers merely sit beside one another and secretly enjoy each other’s company.

“Miranda let me pick my gift first, so I didn’t get to see where the others went. Who did you end up with?” Karl asks, finally breaking the silence.

“T-the… the sh-short one,” Salvatore replies, “with b-blue skin, black h-hair, a-and, uh… oh, an-and white d-dots… all o-over her… l-like freckles… fins t-too”

“Oh ya, I remember that one. Gorgeous little thing, she was” Karl says, nodding his head in appreciation as a devilish smile spreads across his unshaven lips. “With quite the… voluptuous figure too, if I remember correctly.”

“I… well… I-I don’t know i-if… I d-didn’t... shut up...” Salvatore mumbles under his breath, taking a long drag from his cigar as Karl throws his head back laughing like a hyena at his older brother’s sudden bashfulness.

“Ah, come on, Sal, don’t be such a downer all the fuckin’ time, I’m just teasing. I know you still think about shit like that, too, even if you’ve managed to convince Alcina and everybody else that you’re just an innocent little follower who hasn’t had an independent, or dirty thought of his own since the cadou took hold. You used to be a fuckin’ doctor for crying out loud, and you’re still annoyingly the person Miranda goes to first whenever she has a new experiment in mind, cuz you’re smart AND she can trust you. You might look like you fell off the truck that was taking you and your fishy friends to market, but I’ve known you too long for that bullshit act of yours to work on me.”

“Act?” Salvatore asks, genuinely confused by what Karl means.

“You know, that stupid fuckin’ “moronic freak” act you do whenever Miranda’s around. The one where you act like you don’t know what the fuck is going on or what something is so that she’ll take pity on how stupid and childish you’re acting and give you more attention. It’s pathetic to watch and I’m gettin’ sick of seeing you do it all the time. Knock it off, you’re better than that.”

“I’ll… um… b-be sure not to… to m-make it s-seem as… uh… I’ll k-keep that in m-mind” Salvatore finally says, casting his gaze down to his pants for a moment, unsure how to feel about how… friendly and kind Karl was being all of a sudden. Salvatore knew Karl secretly cared about him, the brat does far too many conveniently nice things for him throughout the year for him not to, but hearing the younger man voice his surprisingly high opinion of him was definitely shocking, though still quite touching, all the while.

“W-which gift… d-did you end u-up… getting, Karl? I d-didn’t get t-the chance to… to s-see the others… M-Mother only showed me Nadi-er… my g-gift” Salvatore asks, deciding, at the last second, against using his gift’s real name lest Karl be given even more artillery to tease and riddle him with.

“Eh, just some tall dark haired broad. I think Miranda said something about her being Indian, or something along those lines.”

“O-oh… d-did Mother say a-anything about… whether she’s actually f-from here… o-or did she immigrate… f-from India?” Salvatore asks, tilting his head curiously as this new information about Karl’s gift piques his interest.

Karl stares at Salvatore with a look of confusion for a moment, his mouth opening and closing silently like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the words for it. Until, “Aren’t Indians from America?”

The sound of Salvatore’s right palm making firm and painful contact with the back of Karl’s head echoes across the reservoir almost as loudly as the following cry of pain from the man himself.

“OW! WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT FOR?” Karl roars angrily, pushing himself to his feet while he rubs at the back of his head, hat lopsided and barely hanging on to his head and green glasses no longer perched upon his nose, likely sinking to the murky lake floor just below the docks they were sitting on.

“I d-didn’t spend… th-the better part o-of 15 years… p-pounding an education... i-into y-your th-thick head... for you t-to say… f-for you to b-be spouting dumb shit… l-like that” Salvatore growls in annoyance, eying the taller man with a look that even he wouldn’t dare argue against, at least not with Sal he wouldn’t.

It’s moments like these when Salvatore is very happy that Karl, for as strong and fearless as he is now as a fully grown adult, is still just a little bit afraid of him after all these years. Not because of anything bad or horrifically traumatic of course, especially considering how often Salvatore had gone out of his way to ensure Karl had the least traumatic upbringing he could possibly provide the young boy, given both their situations. As much as he hated to admit it, even Karl would agree that Salvatore had done a pretty decent job of not fucking him up anymore than he already was, which the younger man would secretly always be thankful for. However, even a person as naively patient and serving toward others as Salvatore had his breaking point, and all it took was one especially bad day, resulting in the one and only time Salvatore has ever left a mark upon the younger man’s skin, for Karl to realize that Salvatore was the last person in this godforsaken village he wanted to purposefully make an enemy out of.

Thankfully, their relationship never suffered negatively from that one-off event, but it did force the two to come to a mostly unspoken agreement that has remained present and active, if slightly ignored at certain times, from that point forward. Agreement or not however, Salvatore could never bring himself to harm Karl like that again, even if he wanted to, which was probably the main reason why Karl was still the most comfortable around him, even after all these years. It was a secret they shared between them, and them alone, and it would be one that he would cherish for the rest of his life, as Karl would secretly cherish the kindness and brotherly love Salvatore had treated him with for all these years. They were brothers, regardless of whether they got along or not, and nothing in the would world would be able to change that.

That being said however, Karl was about to be in for a very rude awakening if he thought he could just do and say whatever the hell he wanted around Salvatore without there being any consequences.

“‘A-aren’t Indians f-from A-America?’ G-good grief... I o-oughta throttle y-you for th-that one” Salvatore grumbles through another drag of his cigar, shaking his head in utter disbelief and disappointment. Karl was so intelligent, and yet he could be so stupid sometimes that it physically hurt Salvatore to think about.

“But there ARE Indians in America, aren’t there? I know I’m not wrong here” Karl defends aggressively, his anger quickly giving way to embarrassment when Salvatore raises his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration and annoyance.

“Th-they’re called N-Native Americans... f-first of all... they w-were only c-called I-Indians... b-because the g-guy... the moron who f-first sailed t-to the A-Americas... w-was actually... looking for I-India... the r-real India... b-but back th-then... you h-had to go all th-the way... a-around Africa... to g-get there... but he th-thought h-he could do... d-do it a d-different w-way... he thought h-he could f-find India... by s-sailing straight f-from S-Spain... and g-going around the whole w-world... until h-he came b-back around... an-and hit Asia” Salvatore explained slowly, hoping to maintain his delusion that Karl had, in fact, paid attention to at least some of the lessons he gave the boy throughout their time together, even if it wasn’t actually true.

“But he didn’t. He hit the Americas and started calling the locals Indians cuz the guy, what’s-his-face... Columbine... Columbus... whatever, was dumb enough to think he was in India and not a totally different landmass” Karl finishes, looking like he at least remembered hearing about his information before, which was good enough for Salvatore.

Despite the grimace still etched onto his face, Karl groans in annoyed defeat and slinks back down to sit next to Salvatore, still cradling the back of his head.

“Anyways, as i was saying before I was so rudely interrupted with a goddamn history lesson-”

“You w-want another s-smack?” Salvatore threatens, mildly amused when Karl pauses his dramatic retelling, before sliding just a few inches to the right, away from Salvatore’s preferred disciplining hand.

Coughing slightly, Karl continues. “Anyways… going back to my “finding the silver lining” idea, or whatever the fuck its called. This whole “gift” thing might actually work out kinda nice for me in the long run, especially since the one I got looked like she was strong and could handle herself in a rough and tumble environment. If she proves herself, I’m planning on turning her into my assistant” Karl explains casually. “As much as I hate working with other people, normally, I’ve got some projects that would really benefit from a second pair of hands, so I’m attempting to make a “silver lining” moment out of this bullshit “gift” thing Miranda’s tryin to do and just hope and pray that things work out in my favor. Though, to be fair, if things with this girl don’t go well, I could always use her body for a cool idea I’ve had cooked up for a while now. What about you? What are you planning on doing with your new little toy once it finally arrives?”

Salvatore merely shrugs his shoulders. “It w-would be nice… i-if we c-could be f-friends… somehow… but…”

“Ya… you’re not exactly working with the latest and greatest set up, huh? Even a mutant girl might need a little bit to get adjusted to a face like that” Karl says.

“That’s c-certainly one way o-of p-putting it” Salvatore replies dejectedly.

Karl flinches slightly, which surprises Salvatore, since the younger man has a habit of caring very little for how his words affect those around him. Why on earth was he being so considerate, all of a sudden?

“Look, uh… what I meant to say was that… ok, so maybe you’re not like, the best looking guy ever, but like…” Karl stammers and stutters, trying desperately to figure out what he wants to say but seemingly coming up short every time.

Salvatore narrows his eyes again, suspicion returning. “You’re h-hiding something f-from me… w-what are you a-after, Karl?” Salvatore asks seriously, fixing the younger man with a stern look that he knows Karl recognizes.

“Hey, don’t you give me that fuckin’ look. I am too fuckin’ old for you to be looking at me like that, what am I, 12?” Karl asks.

“You c-certainly act l-like it… most of th-the time” Salvatore grumbles under his breath.

Karl clearly heard him, but knew better than to argue with the water not even a foot below where the two were currently sitting, his sunglasses having already taken a nice little dive as punishment for his big mouth. Salvatore might have only agreed to speak with Karl because the latter had demanded it, but they were still very much in Salvatore’s territory, and it wasn’t even a question of who had the topographical advantage should an “argument” actually break out between them.

Karl is strong, nobody can deny that. But Salvatore has the home advantage, and they both know it.

After a moment of tense staring, Karl finally breaks first, sighing heavily before tossing his finished cigar cap into the water below them, a crime Salvatore briefly contemplates knocking the younger man in for, before deciding against it, knowing, with his luck, that it would only come back to bite him in the ass later.

“Alright look,” Karl finally says, a look of frustrated determination on his face, “I don’t know what Miranda really has planned past her whole “get a suitable vessel for Eva” obsession, or what she’s really after on this mission of hers… but something about this whole situation going on recently just doesn’t feel right to me, and I think we need to do something about it before something bad happens and we all somehow end up dead. Now, I'm not 100% sure why I’m talking about this with the head of Miranda’s fuckin’ fanclub, but considering what my other 2 options were it wasn’t like I had much of a damn choice. My only saving grace right now is the fact that you’ll at least occasionally listen to fuckin’ reason, given your gaping maw can be yanked from Miranda’s tit long enough to hear me out, that is. It’s certainly better than my chances with Lady Super-sized Bitch and Crazy Psycho Doll, over there.”

“Are you s-sure you’re n-not just being p-paranoid?” Salvatore asks slowly, not wanting to offend Karl by outright stating he didn’t believe the younger man’s hunch, but also trying to figure out if Karl actually has something to be concerned about, or if he’s just looking for an excuse to badmouth Miranda.

“No, no no no, don’t you do this to me too, Sal” Karl begs in frustration. “You can go about the rest of your life loving the absolute shit out of that crazy woman if you want to and I won’t say a goddamn thing about it, but I need you to promise me, and I mean promise me, that if you see or hear something weird regarding Miranda and this little “trip” she’s about to go on, you come tell me so that we can at least make sure our own asses are covered when shit hits the fan.”

“Well… I-I uh…”

“Come on, Sal. None of these psychotic assholes have ever had my back like you, and that’s exactly the reason why I’m telling you all this” Karl says honestly, catching Salvatore off guard with the oddly familiar wording.

“I know I can be a royal fucking pain in the ass most of the time and that I’m not always the… nicest to you… even though you did kinda do... a bit for me here and there when I was a little tyke... But none of that matters now, because even if Miranda isn’t trying to hide something from us, with the two of us banded together, we could do whatever the hell we wanted while she’s gone, and neither of the other shitheads would be able to tell us otherwise. What do you say, Sal? Come on, you and me, together, just like when I was a kid, remember?” Karl asked excitedly, his eyes shimmering in boyish glee as he spouts off all the things they’d be able to get away with when Miranda finally left, the torment they’d be able to unleash upon Alcina being a particular favorite of Karl’s, it would seem.

Salvatore remained silent for a moment, contemplating the deal he’d just been given.

It’s… not a terrible deal, at least compared to some of the previous deals Salvatore has been offered in the past. It wasn’t like him agreeing to “ally” himself with Karl was a direct declaration of war against Mother Miranda or anything like that, merely a mutual effort that would guarantee safety for both him and Karl should Mother’s plan not go exactly as she wanted, which scientific experiments were known to do. Not to mention that giving Alcina a good messing with did sound like quite a bit of fun.

Maybe… maybe Karl was right. Maybe Salvatore was being a bit too much of a stick in the mud. It was just Karl after all, who Salvatore had practically raised, starting from the boy’s arrival into the family at 6 years old and more or less up until his factory was completed just after his 22nd birthday. Karl could certainly be a handful for even the most powerful individuals, but even on his worst days, he always found some backwards, convoluted way to apologize for his behavior.

“W-well… I-I’m not s-sure… I d-don’t know how I f-feel about… about d-doing things th-that Mother… wouldn’t a-approve of… just b-because sh-she’s gone...”

“But...” Karl continued for him.

“B-but I suppose… k-keeping each other u-updated… when we f-find… or h-hear s-something weird is… wouldn’t be… wouldn’t be th-the worst idea… in th-the world… e-even if it just t-turns out that… we w-were just being p-paranoid.”

“Excellent! That’s just what I was hoping to hear” Karl says triumphantly, standing up.

“A-are you l-leaving, already?”

“Ya” Karl affirms, “I’ve got work to do at the factory, and based on the look of things here, you were busy with a project of your own it looks like.”

Salvatore nods, pocketing his freshly finished cigar cap for later, proper, disposal. “I c-can’t even remember… the l-last time I… p-properly cleaned this p-place… it l-looks so m-much nicer… even w-without being f-fully finished…”

“Good for you. My own property could probably do with a good cleaning of its own now that you mention it. If nothing else though, I’m sure your new little lady friend will appreciate that you picked up the place for her arrival.”

“Y-you think s-so?” Salvatore asks.

Karl shrugs his shoulders. “Who knows with chicks, they’re unpredictable, but I suppose it’s possible. Then again, maybe not considering who you ended up with. I don’t know the full story or anything like that, but based on what I heard from Miranda, that blue bitch you went with was the craziest one of them all. Practically tore her pod apart the first time Miranda tried to put her in it, and caused all sorts of other damage throughout her mutation phase too, not that I blame the poor girl. I’d tear that whole lab right out from under the surface and set it ablaze if I could. Going back down there after so many years… I was puking like you for the rest of the fuckin’ day when I finally got out of that hellhole. Stomach still feels a little nauseous if I’m being honest...”

“I-I’m sorry… to h-hear that” Salvatore says, though Karl is quick to brush him off.

“Eh, don’t worry about it. I’m a big boy and I can handle myself. But do we have a deal? Keep each other in the loop whenever we hear anything… strange or abnormal about Mother Miranda or her special little mission?”

Salvatore pauses for a moment, thinking one last time about whether this was a good idea, before finally shrugging his shoulders and nodding. “Y-yes, we h-have a deal… b-but just remember something, Karl… 40 years d-didnt do… nearly as m-much for your p-poker face as i-it did for your s-smart mouth. If I c-catch you lying to m-me-”

“Ya, ya, ya, you’ll chop up my body and toss my remains in the lake to feed the fishes, I’ve heard that one a million times before” Karl interrupts. “Don’t worry, Sal, if I was planning on lying to you at any point throughout this process, you’d have already caught me by now. Even I know better than to try pulling a fast one over the walking fuckin’ lie detector.”

“I’m h-holding you to th-that, Karl” Salvatore calls over his shoulder as the younger man stands and begins heading toward the gate to return to his factory, chuckling lightly when Karl returns his warning with a middle finger.

“Take it easy, old man. And let me know how that crazy fish bitch you ended up with turns out. If all else fails I’ll turn her into a nice stuffed pillow for you” the bespeckled man says, throwing his head back in laughter as though he’d told a funny joke, before adding, “And I’d better get my sunglasses back within the week, or else I’m draining the whole fucking reservoir so I can find them myself. Don’t think I won’t do it, old man.”

Salvatore merely returns the middle finger, a response that Karl seems to appreciate, if the wolfish howl of laughter the younger man let's out says anything, at least.

‘Cheeky brat. Always plotting something’ Salvatore thinks fondly to himself as he slips back into the water to continue cleaning the reservoir, quickly grabbing the green sunglasses that had sunk to the bottom and pocketing them to return to Karl later. He pauses for a moment when a thought crosses his mind.

Within the past 24 hours, both Mother Miranda and Karl had been… unusually kind and affectionate toward Salvatore, which pleased but also confused the twisted man.

Karl was easy enough to explain away, the younger man has been flip flopping between periods where he likes and spends time with Salvatore, and periods where he’d sooner set himself on fire than be in the same room as his older brother, since the day they met, so as far as Salvatore was concerned, Karl’s behavior was hardly breaking news, though perhaps a bit surprising given everything going on with Mother’s gifts. Mother Miranda, however, was a different story.

Usually more distant and hands-off in her parenting ways, Miranda had been uncharacteristically affectionate toward the disfigured man the night before, going as far as to openly praise Salvatore for all his hard work and even hold him without being asked to. It had been such a wonderful experience at the time and yet, the more Salvatore thought about it, the stranger and stranger the behavior seemed, especially now that Karl had confronted him.

Speaking of Karl… Mother seemed quite upset with him when she spoke of him the night before. Going as far as to badmouth him specifically, calling him a ‘conniving little snake’, despite the younger man usually being her favorite by a country mile. Had Karl done something to incur Mother’s wrath? Is that why Karl came all the way over here to make that deal with him? Is he trying to rally the 4 lords to rebel against Mother Miranda?

No... No, no no no, that couldn’t be true, there’s no way.

Even Karl, for all his incredible intellect and hunger for power, was too afraid of Mother Miranda to ever try anything as drastic as that. That being said however, even though Salvatore doubted that Karl would ever try to rebel against Mother Miranda, it did seem like the younger man was trying very hard to get Salvatore onto his side for some reason. In fact, both Karl AND Mother Miranda appeared to be trying to sway the eldest Lord in their favor, though for what reason, he still had no idea.

It was definitely something that made Salvatore slightly wary of the both of them, though.

There’s nothing in this world that Salvatore hates more than doubting his beloved Mother, but even he couldn’t write this oddity of a situation off as a mere one-off incident or sudden change of Miranda’s tune. Mother has been acting very strangely recently, doing things she wouldn’t normally do and acting overly affectionate as if to try and throw everyone off her tracks, and the longer Salvatore thought about it, the more he couldn’t help but wonder, as painful as it was to admit, if maybe Karl was actually onto something.

Logically, he knows that Karl is just being Karl, looking to stir up some trouble for his own, and supposedly Salvatore’s, amusement, and that Mother Miranda is likely just trying to enjoy the time she has left with her children before she leaves on her mission. However, something in the back of Salvatore’s mind can’t help but wonder if maybe there’s more going on than he’s been led to believe by either of them. And as if this situation couldn’t get any more confusing for the deformed man, now his overly anxious and analytical mind was beginning to understand what Karl meant when he said there was something strange going on, no matter how much the rest of him practically screamed to just listen to Miranda like he always has.

Shaking his head of his scrambled thoughts and turning his focus back to his work, Salvatore decides that the best thing he can do right now is keep an ear to the ground on both Mother Miranda AND Karl, just to be fair. He still isn't sure if he plans on being 100% honest with Karl regarding their deal, but he supposes that maintaining a good relationship with the younger man wouldn’t hurt in the event he turned out to be right and Mother’s plan backfired on all of them.

Besides, if Karl did turn out to be right, and Salvatore was ready for if things took a bad turn, he could still be there to rescue Mother Miranda and ensure she’s brought to safety along with them. He’ll have successfully fulfilled his family duties to both Karl and Mother Miranda, without ever having to actually choose which side he was definitively on. A perfect plan if the mutant man says so himself. Now the only thing left to do between now and whenever things started getting interesting was work on the reservoir and wait for his gift to finally arrive, his mood regarding this whole situation greatly improved thanks to Karl’s visit.

Hopefully, if things went well, he’d have some exciting news to tell the younger man the next time they met up.

Maybe he’d even have a new friend to introduce.

[harryspet]

obedience | bucky barnes

[Warnings] dark bucky barnes x named oc, murder, and violence, non/dubcon oral and vaginal, outdoor sex, kidnapping, p/e/t play elements, bad google translate, implied agegap, mater/pet, lots of buildup, Stockholm syndrome(?)

A/N: I’ve been writing a bunch of Peter and Harry and kind of wanted to take a little break! This pretty much post endgame bucky. Sorry for any story inaccuracies! TRIGGER CONTENT AHEAD SO READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

In which Bucky kills her family of former Hydra members before taking her home as his pet.

Like, reblog and let me know what you think!

word count: 4.4k

Sam wanted him to let things go. Move on and focus on something else, he said. Sam thought it would be impossible to find any of them since it had been years since they were active members. The snap had given them a big enough distraction to escape. Bucky didn’t think it was fair that they could just disappear, change their names, and get to live another day after the destruction they had caused. 

Accept, they couldn’t stay hidden for long. It took months but Bucky finally tracked the small family to Manhattan. The German immigrants thought they could hide within the millions of citizens in the New York borough. They made several mistakes though only because they couldn’t get rid of the luxury they were used to. The daughter had a driver and bodyguard that took her to and from her private school. 

Bucky had cyberstalked her through her Instagram. The eighteen-year-old Senior posted a lot under the alias, Mina, that her parents had most likely given her. The Vogt family had turned into the Bradford’s of Manhattan’s elite class. The daughter didn’t go anywhere without her bodyguard, at least, that’s what her parents thought. Bucky noticed how she snuck out on Friday’s at the same time every week. 

How reckless could she be? Her parents are on the most wanted list in eight different countries. Teenage love was the only answer. Bucky saw the boy she met up with, a poor rockstar type, that gave her that rush of dopamine she desperately needed. 

Poor little rich girl.

Bucky purposely bumped into her while the couple was waiting for the subway, “Watch where you’re going, dude,” The boy spoke in a thick Queens accent. Her purse dropped and, because Bucky was dressed like a respectable man of society, the girl let him pick it up and hand it back to her. Their eyes met for a long moment and Bucky thought for a moment she was lost in his blue eyes. 

“Sorry about that, you two have a goodnight,” Bucky faked a smile as he walked away, tucking the girl’s apartment key into his coat. 

“Old creep, he was definitely checking you out,” Bucky heard as he walked away, a stoic look of determination on his face. 

+

Mina woke up frightened. She panted, looking around in the dark for the monster that was in her nightmare. Those striking blue eyes looked into the depths of her soul. Brandon had said the man was checking her out but he didn’t see what she saw. Hate. That man didn’t even know her and yet he hated her. 

Looking out the window across the room, Mina could clearly see the lights of the Manhattan Bridge. When they first moved here, her mother promised she would have an even better view than the master bedroom. They were still trying to get her to not be so upset about the move. Mina pulled back the fabric of her heavy duvet and decided she’d go downstairs to get some water. Her bare feet padded across the white carpet and she opened the doors that led into the hallway. 

As she walked down the hall, someone appeared around the corner, “What are you doing up so late, Miss Mina?” The maid asked, her hands full of towels that she was carrying to the linen closet. 

The maid looked over her, sweaty with tangled hair, clad in her polka-dotted robe and nightgown, “Just getting some water. I had a bad dream.”

The maid held out her hand, urging her to stop, “I can bring you some warm milk and cookies, you should go back to your room,” Something changed in the older woman’s eyes. If Mina wasn’t so tired, she might’ve thought the maid was warning her.

 “It’s okay,” Mina insisted, stepping forward, “You work too much-”

Before Mina could even step forward, the maid collapsed on her side. Blood splattered against the wall and Mina thought she saw pieces of her brain. A bullet had come from down the hall Mina was about to turn on to. Mina covered her mouth, backing away, as the man from the subway stepped around the corner. 

No mask. He didn’t plan on letting her leave alive.

Mina hurried backward, towards her room, but the man took off after her. As her fingers curled around the door handle, she felt metal wrap around her upper arm. She screamed loud, a piercing scream even louder than the gunshot, as she struggled against him. 

The man didn’t speak, just pressed the long tipped gun against the side of her head, “P-Please, please, don’t kill me,” She stuttered out, shutting her eyes shut tight, “Please!”

“Scream one more time and I’ll kill you,” The man jerked her away from the door. The man pulled her back towards the maid’s dead body and down the hall, he came from. Mina’s knees were so weak that she was struggling to walk beside him. She let out a whimper as she was forced to step over the maid’s body. 

“W-Why are you doing this?”

It couldn’t be because of the rude thing Brandon said, right? This was too insane for that. 

He had killed someone. Killed. 

The man dragged her into the room she knew as her father’s office. And despite the man’s order, Mina screamed again. Her mother was bleeding from her abdomen, laying flat on the old rug in front of his desk. The man let go of her arm and Mina ran to her. 

He killed her mother. 

As Mina touched her mother, she realized there was no life left in her. 

Her father was still alive, just bent over and handcuffed to his coffee table, “sie ist tot,” She heard her father say, his thick German accent coming through, “She’s dead. Thank the Winter Soldier for that.”

Mina looked up at the man standing over them, her face covered in tears, “Papa?” Her lips trembling, “W-What’s happening?”

Her father didn’t answer as he looked down, talking to himself, “Mashina. Belyy. Doroga. Svecha. Nebo …” He was spouting off random words in Russian and her anger and frustration only grew. 

The man stepped forward, slamming her father’s head into the table, “I’m not your puppet anymore, Vogt,” Her father laughed, blood dripping down his face. 

“I like your new haircut, Winter Soldier,” Her father teased which only resulted in a punch across the face, “It suits you.” 

“Papa!” She shouted to him, wanting him to stop antagonizing. His wife was dead and his daughter was at gunpoint yet he was teasing the man?  “Please stop hurting him!”

The man finally looked at her, “Your daughter is beautiful, Frank. Is that what you get when you make them in labs?”

Frank? That was not her father’s name. 

“What is it that you want? Money? Being Captain America’s best friend not pay much?”

+

Bucky tried not to show any emotion but becoming Bucky instead of Winter Soldier had its problems. He was still getting used to showing emotion. 

“I want you dead. For every single death that you cause. For the years of my life that you stole.”

Frank shook his head, “Don’t give me the bad guy/good guy spiel. Name your price, Barnes.”

Bucky scowled, tucking away his gun, “What if I said I wanted your daughter?” The girl's eyes widened, still holding onto her dead mother. 

“Papa?” Her father didn’t answer.

“I know what you think, Barnes, but I am not monster,” Frank spoke calmly. Too calmly, “I can give you my contacts, other members who escaped.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at the man, “Give me an example, a name, and I’ll decide if it’s worth it.”

“... Viktor Vanzin,” Bucky grinned, pulling out his pocket knife. 

“You’re lying,” Bucky had killed that man himself. That meant Frank was truly out of the loop, “I want your daughter. A life for a life.”

“She’s innocent,” Frank continued. 

“So was I,” Bucky countered, waiting for a response. 

“Okay, Barnes. Life for a life,” As Frank finally nodded yes, Bucky thought the girl might faint. She went completely still, her heart completely broken. Bucky almost felt bad but he was really doing her a favor. 

“You evil fucking bastard,” Bucky cursed, moving behind the man and wrapping his arm around the man’s neck. Frank struggled as Bucky drove the knife several times into his stomach. He wanted him to slowly bleed out, to suffer. The man slumped back over the table, coughing up blood. 

He spoke his last words to her, “I-I’m s-sorry, schatz.”

Treasure.

She fainted. 

+

Mina awoke on a thin mattress in a cold room. She reached to clutch her robe but only found her thin, blue nightgown. She wrapped her arms around herself, the sound of her heart pounding flooding her ears, before quickly sitting up. She regretted it instantly, gaining a headache quickly. 

She looked around and found now windows. The walls were a boring beige and there were absolutely no decorations. Only one wooden chair in the corner. Bucky heard the commotion and walked into the room a few moments later. He found her standing, pacing around the locked room.

He expected her to be angry, to shout at him, but instead, he watched eyes well up with tears. He much rather she is angry then have to watch her cry, “Why didn’t you kill me?”

“You want to be in the afterlife with those evil people?”

“I-I’m evil too, remember?” She choked on her sobs. She remembered how her father was willing to give her over to this man in a trade for his life. She remembered how he died anyways and she was taken by this man too. 

“I haven’t decided that.”

“I know they must’ve done something bad to you but they … t-they were my parents,” She struggled to speak, “They loved me. Doesn’t that show some kind of humanity?”

Bucky leaned back against the door,  fingers brushing through his beard as he thought, “You truly don’t know who they really were?” She was silent, “They were top scientists for Hydra. They’re responsible for thousands of deaths and you … they lied to you.”

She shook her head, “No, they work in finances. They could never do that.”

“I think your father showed you his true colors in his final moments. If that doesn’t convince you then I don’t know what will.”

“Why didn’t you kill me?”

Bucky leaned forward, “So, even in death, they can look at you from the other side and feel no peace.”

“Please … please just kill me.”

“Where’s the fun in that, my little treasure?”

+

Mina hated her parents. 

She loved them because they were her parents and hated them because they were the reason this happened to her. She would never see them again, never see Manhattan or Brandon ever again. 

When Bucky walked into the small room later that day, he had a black box as well as a tray of food. Mina held her knees to her chest, staring at the wall, “Leave me alone.”

Bucky sighed, “I think you’re gonna need your strength,” Out of the corner of her eyes she could see his shirt was short-sleeved, his metal arm fully exposed. He set down the tray by her sad excuse of a bed. 

He waited but she didn’t move. Bucky gently placed down the box before moving towards her. She flinched away from him but he grabbed her leg, pulling her flat on her back, “No, don’t! Please don’t!” His metal arm wrapped around her throat and with a swift movement, he ripped off her nightgown. She was weeping again as he did the same with her bra and panties. She grabbed at his arm which was completely useless. 

When he was done, Bucky stood up, watching as she scrambled to cover up with her arms, “You’re sick!” 

Bucky tossed the remnant to the side, “Good girls get to wear clothes. Eat and I’ll think about getting you some clothes. I’m in control here, I won’t put up with your tantrums,” Mina stared at him and Bucky was relieved that she was scowling at him instead of crying, “Eat.”

Mina flinched at the sound of his voice but moved forward. It was heated up canned soup and a plastic cup of water. She was glad that he splurged on her. Sitting on her knees, she covered her breast with one hand and moved the plastic spoon with her other hand. 

It was lukewarm and not that appetizing but she ate most of it. Bucky had pulled the wooden chair closer and taken a seat, “C-Can I have clothes now?” Her face was completely red and, now, she found it hard to even look at him. 

“I’ll think about it in a few days,” Bucky answered simply, and, as it were even possible, her face fell even more, “Considering your reaction, it seems like a good punishment.”

“Why do you want to punish me?” Mina asked, her voice timid. Was not taking her from her family enough?

“Oh, doll,” Bucky’s face softened as he leaned forward in the chair, “I don’t want to punish you but you won’t be obedient otherwise.”

To Bucky, she was a prize. A product of all that he had done and all that he had overcome to get to this point. He had survived her parents and now he owned their lives as well as their daughters. He’d spit on their graves by making her loyal and obedient to him. 

“If I promise to behave, can I have some clothes?” Bucky grinned, thinking she was smarter than she looked. 

Bucky’s eyes went to the black box and he swiftly picked it up, “I have something else for you to wear. A temporary one until you graduate.”

“Graduate?”

“I’m thinking of calling it Bucky’s Reformatory School for Troubled Little Girls,” She couldn’t tell if he was joking but he seemed very proud of the name he came up with. He opened the box, pulling out a plain black collar with a single silver loop, “Crawl over here, pet. Let me put it on you.”

“Mr. Barnes, please-”

“Call me Master.”

+ 

It took Mina two months to even earn a pair of panties. And the panties he chose for her were skimpy, to say the least. 

Mina was used to being naked now and she was almost used to Bucky. He insisted on complete order in his house. They woke up at the same time every day, ate breakfast, Bucky went off probably to murder people and came back in the afternoon to torture her.

That morning, she sat at his feet, eating her breakfast from a plate on the floor. Apparently, she wasn’t allowed the luxury of eating at the table or even sleeping in an actual bed. It was her job to make the food, the way he taught her, and she wasn’t even allowed to enjoy it. 

She wasn’t sure exactly where this rustic house was and Bucky didn’t care to answer questions like that. It wasn’t like anywhere she had lived when she was growing up. Though it wasn’t the biggest it was quite homey and somewhere she probably would’ve liked if she weren’t stuck here. The place had a big porch and there were trees surrounding most of the property except for a pond she noticed one time. 

Bucky was going through his computer, looking at codes Mina couldn’t understand. It probably had something to do with whatever mission he had to go on today. 

Mina itched at her collar, a reminder that she was not yet perfect to Bucky. 

“Mina,” She looked up quickly. Every time she heard him say her name she hoped he’d say something along the lines of giving her freedom. It made her think about what would happen if she was free. Where would she even go? She didn’t have any more family and she’d be surprised if Brandon hadn’t forgotten all about her, “Dishes.”

She gave him a solemn look, standing up with her plate in her hand. She grabbed his too and she felt his eyes over her body. He seemed to resist his urges well. Mina knew he desired to touch her and it would be a matter of time before he violated her that way. 

She walked the dirty dishes over to the sink, still feeling his eyes on her as he sat at the kitchen table, “Do you want to do something fun today, pet?”

“What do you mean, Master?”

She heard his chair creak as he rose from his seat, “We’ll go into town. We’re in dire need of groceries.”

Bucky watched her carefully, wanting to see her reaction. This was all another test, of course, to see if he could trust her out in public. 

She turned her head and Mina almost smiled for the first time in a long time. He moved behind her and Mina focused back on the dishes, “Yes, yes, that would be very nice.” He smacked her hard on her bottom and Mina winced, “I mean yes, Master.”

She felt his body heat on her skin as she turned off the water, setting the dishes into a drying rack. As she turned around, Bucky grabbed her by her neck. Luckily for her, it wasn’t the metal one, “You’d be very grateful to me, right?”

Mina nodded as best as she could, forced to look into his eyes, “What would you do to thank me?”

Mina hesitated but not for long as she felt his hand tighten, “Whatever you want, Master.”

Bucky smirked, “Hmm, and if I wanted your lips around my cock? What would you say?”

He loved this, watching her squirm. She actually thought about it and she wasn’t strong enough to defy this. Throughout this whole process, she thought she’d be stronger than this. All she knew is she’d do anything to escape this house,  “I … I-If that’s what you wanted, Master.”

The accomplished look on his face told her enough, “Let’s get dressed then.”

+

The drive from the house in Bucky’s truck was shorter than she expected. That told her that she wasn't as far away from civilization as she originally thought. She watched all the road signs but she still couldn’t quite tell where she was. It looked to be maybe that they were in the South by the type of trees. 

It seemed to be a very small town with one main street and a few more buildings. 

She was wearing a pair of regular jeans that were a little too big for her and a black hoodie that only partially hid the collar. It was another reminder that she was not a regular person anymore. Perhaps she never was.

Bucky grabbed her hand as they walked into the practically empty Piggly Wiggly. He grabbed a cart with his other hand, greeting one of the old ladies behind the cash register. 

She was not to talk to anyone unless they addressed her and Bucky would kill anyone that she tried to ask for help. Violently, he made sure to add. 

She tried her best to enjoy what little freedom she had but her mind kept wandering back to what she had “promised” Bucky she’d do in return for this outing. 

“Can we get something to eat?” She blurted out, before whispering, “Master.”

Bucky thought for a moment, pointing out the brand of Milk he wanted, waiting for her to fetch it for him. 

“Want to spend even more time in my company?” She scowled on the inside but nodded anyway. 

Bucky chose a diner on the edge of town and they seemed to get stares from everyone inside as they walked in and chose their booth. Bucky looked around as if he wasn't used to being in places like this either. 

Bucky asked her what she wanted so he could order her, avoiding as much human contact as possible, “ … and a chocolate milkshake.”

“That might cost you extra later, Mina,” Her lips pressed down into a thin line. 

“Whatever you wish, Bucky,” It was brave, saying that when he couldn’t reprimand her. Bucky smirked, knowing what she was doing. 

Bucky proceeded to order for them, including the milkshake she wanted, “Can I use the bathroom?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, “Do you think I was born yesterday?” Quite the opposite, she thought. 

Mina slouched back in her seat. It was only recently that she looked at him and actually thought he was attractive. Maybe they would’ve worked together if he weren’t so cruel. 

“Maybe if I pee my pants, someone will notice and-”

“Mina,” He practically growled her name, “Don’t ruin this opportunity I’m giving you.”

As the waitress approached with their food, Mina slowly slid the knife on the table into her lap and then the pocket of her sweatshirt. Bucky actually smiled at the waitress and she seemed to swoon. 

Mina enjoyed her milkshake and the two sat quietly for most of the meal. Bucky watched as she devoured her food and felt a little bit better about rewarding her. It had been a long two months but she was coming along a few more months, and she wouldn’t have a single thought that didn’t involve making Bucky happy. 

He grabbed her hand as they both went up to pay the check, “You two are a lovely couple,” Mina didn’t even react and the woman only smiled awkwardly, “Have a good night.”

“What do you say?”

“Thank you, Master.”

Bucky could sense the tension between the two of them growing as they got into his car. As they traveled down the dirt road, a feeling swept over both of them. A feeling of knowing and worry. Bucky put the car in park, sighing, “You’re clever but not clever enough, Mina.”

Mina froze, “Give me the knife. I won’t ask again.” Bucky’s words were sharp, demanding. 

Mina reached into her pocket and gripped the knife. As quickly as she could and with as much force as she could muster, she shoved into him. It only entered a few centimeters into the right of his chest but the motion stunned him. Mina opened her door and jumped out. 

It was one last valiant effort at her freedom. Bucky’s chest rumbled with anger as he opened his own door, causing it to almost fall off its hinges. He chased her as she ran into the treeline. Bucky was unnaturally fast and she was only a few seconds ahead of him. 

She didn’t even make it thirty feet before a metal arm wrapped around her waist and through her small body over his shoulder. She fought with the last of the strength she had as he brought her back over to the truck. 

“You have no one,” he threw her body down, pinning her against the front side of the truck, “No one except for me. Do you understand that?”

She nodded, trying to ease his wrath. He was bleeding, she could see it seeping through the plaid of his shirt, “No one else who’s going to give a shit about whether you live or die.”

“I’m sorry,” She whimpered but it wasn’t enough. 

By her shoulder, he forced her down to the ground. She didn’t move as he began to undo his jeans. She closed her eyes but Bucky roughly grabbed her chin, “Look at me!” She did as his erection sprang from his underwear. It pressed against her closed lips, “Open.”

Whatever gentleness he was previously going to give her was gone. He shoved his erection inside her mouth, instantly making her gag with how deep it went.  

He groaned as he moved inside her with animalistic lust. Saliva dripped down her chin and her eyes filled with tears from the lack of oxygen. He even pinched her nose shut to torture her further.

She’d grab onto his thighs for some sort of balance and he’d simply push away her hands, using her mouth like a barbarian. 

Bucky didn’t want to finish in her mouth, he hadn’t waited this long for that. He pulled her up from her position on her knees only to pull the jacket over her head. Luckily, there was no one around to see what was happening in his driveway. 

He turned her around swiftly before easily yanking down her pants and panties as well, He pressed her front into the hood of the car, positioning himself at her entrance. Mina’s body had betrayed her and Bucky could feel her wetness. 

“You’d enjoy this more if you weren’t so stubborn, pet.”

He entered her slowly and Mina cried out, the pressure incredibly intense. 

Bucky held her waist, dragging her body back onto him and then pushing it forward as he moved in and out. He grunted, noting how tight she was around him. It felt like they were perfectly matched together. 

Bucky sped up his pace, his hand reaching around to rub her sensitive bulb. She flinched from the touch but he could tell it was from the sudden pleasure. She was tightening around him and he could tell she was already coming. Bucky made a note about how sensitive she was. 

The first orgasm ripped through her, completing shattering her world in the process. How could she be turned on by this? Maybe what she felt had been wrong all along. She tried to hold in her moans but that proved futile quickly. 

Bucky wasn’t done with her yet, turning her back around to face him and lifting her leg so he could slide into her again. She looked tired from the first one, tears still staining her face. Bucky held her neck in his metal hand as he slammed into her a few more times. He finished inside her with his lips on hers. As he came, he removed his hand and he felt Mina return his kiss. They moved well together, his tongues brushing hers as it became sloppier. 

Mina was crying still, not because of the gagging but because she realized what Bucky said was true.

“I’m the only one you have,” He spoke, starting to kiss her chin and then her neck. She nodded vigorously in agreement. 

“I know, I-I know,” Her eyes didn’t leave his. 

Bucky pulled away, looking her over, loving how perfect she was, “Let’s get you in the bath, doll.”

+

Hope you enjoy this! I have another Sebastian fic called plaything and a bunch of dark Peter stuff. I’m currently trying to write a Bucky/Steve/Peter related Walking Dead AU so hopefully my idea for that works out lol. 

[kyber-crystal]

➳ pickup lines || s.w.

summary: you’re oblivious to the fact that sam, your best friend is hopelessly in love with you. and it kills him inside because he’s been dropping hints for as long as he can remember. 

warnings: none, just fluff and a cliche best friends to lovers trope :) 

words: almost 2k

a/n: for @marvelsswansong​ ‘s late birthday present! sorry this was so late and that it’s so bad RIP i tried to write it in one go...anyway our boy sam deserves some more recognition sksksk

“Guess what this shirt is made of?” Sam smirked as he pointed at himself. “Boyfriend material.”

You rolled your eyes, suppressing a chuckle. “Oh, stop it.”

He slid into the seat next to you at the kitchen counter, swiping the spare muffin from your plate. “Y’know what’s on the menu today? Me-n-u.”

You just shook your head, spreading jam across your toast before biting into it. “Wow.”

“They say Disneyland is the happiest place on earth,” he cleared his throat, “well, apparently, nobody has ever been standing next to you. You are absolutely breathtaking.”

“I look gross,” you argued as you tried to hide your face with one hand, “I got three hours of sleep after helping Bruce in the labs and I’m a mess.”

“Don’t be silly, Y/N. You always look beautiful. Especially to me.”

Even if he was joking, you couldn’t help but feel the butterflies in your stomach at his comment.

“Oh my god, will you shut UP,” Bucky groaned. “You’re cheesy as fuck, Wilson.”

“You’re just jealous because nobody likes you,” Sam retorted. 

“Ooh, shots fired,” you whispered, cupping your hands around your mouth, “need some ice for that burn, Barnes?”

“He isn’t wrong, though,” Wanda shrugged, pouring herself a mug of coffee, “the chemistry is evident here. I’m surprised you haven’t gotten together yet.”

You let out a long sigh and went back to focusing on finishing your meal, not noticing the several glances Sam stole out of the corner of his eye at you.

...

“Y/N. “

“Natasha,” you replied without breaking your concentration on murdering the punching bag in front of yourself. 

“Girl, how long are you going to keep this act up for?”

You dropped your fists by your side, sighing. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You and Wilson.”

“What about it?” you questioned as you began unwrapping the tape from your hands. She handed you your water bottle and you took a long sip, “We’re best friends. I don’t see anything special about that.”

“Best friends or not, he clearly likes you. I’m not gonna sugarcoat this: you’ve been the most oblivious idiot ever. If what he’s doing isn’t obvious enough, then I don’t know what is.”

“He does not. Sam’s just being Sam. That’s who he is. It’s in his nature to joke around.”

“Does he use pickup lines on me in every other sentence he speaks? No. Does he do that to Bucky? Never-”

“Because him and Bucky are rivals, and you guys are just f...”

“Just friends! Babe, you proved my point.”

“Oh, shut up...”

“If you don’t take matters into your own hands, then I will. You keep turning the poor man down and you don’t even know it. Tragic.”

“Natasha, I do not like any-” The redhead gave you her signature ‘look’, crossing her arms over your chest. Your shoulders sagged in defeat. “Fine. I don’t know. I guess I’m scared.”

“What reason do you have to be scared? You’ve gotten shot, you’ve led countless teams into battle before, you’ve taken out aliens with the power of your fists alone. Hell, we survived the Red Room together, and you’re afraid of catching feelings?”

“What if I embarrass myself by telling him?”

“Are you nuts? He’d be over the moon if you did so much as react to what he said. Poor guy’s feeling discouraged by your poker face. Give him a chance. He’s your best friend, you don’t wanna ruin the relationship you have together.”

“Fiiiiiine.” You whined and tossed your sweaty towel at her. “Now leave me alone so I can go take a shower.”

She laughed and tossed it back. “Alright. Tell me when you’re officially dating!”

“I hate you!”

“Love you too, babe!” she called out after you as you left the facility.

...

“SAM!” you yelled from the bathroom “Get your ass over here!”

“Am I in trouble?” he asked innocently as he peeked his head through your doorway. “You need something?”

“I forgot to bring a shirt with me. Can you get mine from the laundry? The black one?”

“Yeah, of course.” You heard him shuffling around before falling silent, then there was a knock on your door. “Here. Take this.”

“Thanks,” you nodded before taking the shirt and closing the door behind you. 

You looked down and let out a groan when you realized he’d mixed up the shirts and given you his instead - a V-neck you’d seen him wear plenty of times when you, him, and Steve went on morning runs together. It was ridiculously tight on him and you absolutely hated it because you couldn’t help but stare. But you didn’t like him. Definitely not.

Right?

Right.

You trudged down the hall to the kitchen, walking into to see Bucky’s and Sam’s awaiting smirks.

Crossing your arms, you raised an eyebrow at him, “Samuel, where is my shirt?”

“Dunno,” he feigned innocence, “I got mixed up.”

“Okay.”

“I’m no photographer, but I can picture you and me together,” he sent you a finger gun and a flirty wink. 

You rolled your eyes for what felt like the millionth time that day. “You’re such a sap.”

“Y/N! Hi!” Peter dropped his backpack and rushed forward, tackling you into a big hug. 

You stumbled backwards in surprise but quickly returned the gesture, ruffling his hair playfully. “Hey, kid. How was school?”

He made a face. “Sucked. I actually need your help with an assignment. I’m supposed to interview three role models in my life about stuff and Mr. Stark is in the middle of a conference call right now so...yeah.”

“Oh!” Your eyes widened in pleasant surprise. “Me? I’m not special-”

“If you weren’t special then Ned wouldn’t constantly fangirl over you to me. He always asks me if it’s true you can shoot lasers out of your eyes and hands.”

You chuckled. “I feel honored. Count me in, Queens.”

The two of you headed off to the labs together, and as soon as you left, Sam let out a loud groan, his face falling into his hands. “She doesn’t get it. I keep throwing hints her way but she doesn’t get it at all. I don’t understand. What exactly am I doing wrong?”

“Y/N isn’t an openly affectionate person. She rarely ever tells people how she feels. She usually conveys her emotions through killing her enemies and channeling all her energy into punching bags,” Bucky replied simply. “And the occasional Mario Kart deathmatch. She’s not very easy to read.”

“Even I had a hard time getting to her,” Wanda admitted. “She’s very...private. Prefers to keep her feelings to herself.”

“Does she even have any sort of clue?” Sam looked over at the young woman with a desperate look in his eyes. “Otherwise I’ve been humiliating myself all this time, for nothing.”

“She likes you, but she’s too afraid to admit it,” Steve suddenly spoke up. All heads turned in his direction. “It’s a thing I picked up from my ma when I was young. I can read into body language. And hers, well...she likes you, Sam. She’s just very subtle about it.”

Hope glimmered in his eyes. “She does? So she doesn’t mind my pickup lines?”

The super-soldier laughed. “As terrible as some of them may be, yeah, she doesn’t. I’ve seen her walk away flustered many times.”

“What do I do now?”

“You’re gonna win her over, once and for all,” Natasha declared. “And we’re making sure of that.”

...

“Y/N.”

“Pete.” You glanced over at the teenager, who had stopped furiously scribbling notes down in his notebook, “what’s up?”

“What’s up is you and Sam.”

“What about us?” You quirked an eyebrow. “I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” The boy wrinkled his nose, “I know he likes you, and you like him. So why do you keep pushing him away?”

“Peter-”

“Y/N, I’ve known about this since we first met. So why haven’t you made a move yet?”

“I don’t know.”

“He’s trying his hardest to win you over and you’re refusing to budge! I bet he feels so bad about it.”

“Oh, God, I know...” you rubbed your forehead and let out a long sigh, “I just don’t know how to react.”

“Send a pickup line right back at him! He loves pickup lines, so gauge his reaction on that!”

“Alright...”

"Back to Chemistry! Which you two clearly already have...”

“Queens!”

“Okay, okay!” You both burst into laughter. “Okay!”

The team had all agreed on an outdoor barbecue, so you all gathered outside on the massive rooftop of the compound to eat dinner. Tony, Thor, Steve, and Rhodey were busy flipping the meat, Wanda and Pepper were setting up the refreshments, while the others were lounging around and casually conversing with one another. 

You noticed Sam standing alone by the edge, hands stuffed in his pockets as he stared out ahead at the horizon. He seemed to be deep in thought, but as soon as he turned around and saw you approaching him, his face lit up with a grin that the others knew he only had when you were around. 

“Hey,” you offered him a small smile. You felt your heart skip a beat as you locked eyes - the early evening glow only made him look better than he already was. “Penny for your thoughts, Wilson?”

“Are you a magician? ‘Cause when I look at you, everyone else disappears,” he stated.

“Are you a parking ticket? Because you’ve got ‘fine’ written all over you,” you replied smoothly, taking him by surprise. This was a first --

“Am I dreaming, or did Y/N just send me back a cheesy pickup line?”

“I did,” you laughed lightly, breaking into what he thought was the most beautiful sight on earth - a million-dollar smile. He’d never forget it. “How’s your week been?”

“Uneventful. You?”

Your face fell momentarily, and he felt his heart drop at the same time. “Could’ve been better.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

You took in a deep breath before responding. “Fury’s got me leading Team Alpha in a recon down south in the Outer Banks. Then as soon as I get back, I’m called to represent the team at a press conference about disaster relief. After that I’m stuck filing reports for a solid six hours and I end up only eating one meal that day. So yeah...it’s been pretty rough.”

“Did you make up for all that lost sleep, though?”

“A little. Compared to my typical three hours, I’d say 5 is a good enough improvement.”

“Progress is what matters. And you did that,” he nodded. “Look, if you ever need someone to talk to...you know I’m always here, right?”

“Definitely. That doesn’t eliminate our weekly Mario Kart competitions with Bucky, right?”

“Of course not.”

“Good.”

You stood there in silence for who knows how long, until he spoke up again.

“Did you know that when you smile, you can’t breathe?”

“Really?” You looked straight at him and gave him the brightest smile your face could produce. 

“I’m kidding. I just wanted to see you smile.”

At that moment, all the Avengers immediately stopped what they were doing and froze on the spot. 

“I think you broke her,” Peter whispered as he poked you in the shoulder multiple times, and you didn’t move. “That was smoother than butter.”

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish but no words came out, face burning with heat - the butterflies in your stomach had turned to hummingbirds. Since when did he make you feel this way?

“Yup,” Bucky coughed, “she’s definitely in love with him.”

"I’m not in love with him, I love him. I have for a while,” you muttered so quietly that he almost didn’t catch what you said. 

Now, it was Sam’s turn to be left speechless.

[gobletofweasleys]

Burning Red

Summary: Soulmate AU where your chest glows red when you meet your soulmate. Sirius Black meets you at the worst possible time.

Pairing: Sirius Black x Slytherin!reader

Word Count: 2,011

Requested by @spectralbucky: dude dude dude if you can, pls write a sirius x reader with the soulmate au where your chest glows on meeting/realising/accepting your soulmate? i just think it would be beautiful and i'd love to read the way you write it 🖤

There was no sound, not even the faintest shuffle, apart from his and James' breaths. Sirius couldn't see his own feet, owing to the Invisibility Cloak covering him and his friend. He could feel James right behind him though, their steps slow, trying to keep the Cloak on both of them as they walked. It was getting harder to fit two people under it now as compared to their first year. They had both grown a lot since then, both now in their sixth year.

It was nearly 2 in the morning, and they had just finished bringing Remus back to the castle after a particularly rough transformation. For some reason, this month had been harder than ever before, and after they had settled him into his bed with a million blankets, they left Peter with him while they grabbed the Invisibility Cloak and decided to run down to the kitchens and get him as much stuff with chocolate as possible.

So far, they hadn't run into anyone, and as they descended the stairs to another dark corridor, they were ready to pull off the Cloak when footsteps sounded.

James swore quietly behind Sirius, pulling them both nearer to the wall so they wouldn't run into whoever crossed paths with them.

It was a girl, one Sirius had never seen before. He assumed she was not in their year, but a gleaming green badge on her chest showed she was the Slytherin Prefect. That explained why she was on this floor. The dungeons weren't far away.

She seemed to be humming to herself, unaware of their presence of course, before she halted. Sirius saw, to his horror, that she was looking right where he and James were standing.

"What the…?" She took a cautious step forward, eyebrows furrowed. Sirius couldn't fathom for the life of him, how she could see them, but then he heard James hiss in his ear.

"Your chest! Get behind me." There was silent scrambling before James was before him, arms now tiring from holding the Cloak in place. James' back nearly flattened Sirius into the wall, barely biting back a swear of his own. He looked down and his throat tightened at the sight of his chest, which he couldn’t really see. All he saw was a light radiating from where his chest should have been, glowing a dim red colour, right through his shirt, and apparently through the Cloak as well.

Shock and horror were Sirius' first two emotions, unable to even process what this meant. But once he had, his head whipped up, watching the girl's retreating back. She had written off whatever she saw as a trick of her eyes. She was walking away.

Sirius didn't even realize he had started to walk towards her until James was pulling him back, continuing to loudly whisper about how they couldn't afford to get into trouble again when they already had so many detentions.

"We'll find her, Padfoot. We will. But not right now. Please. We need to get the stuff we need and get back. Remus needs us."

It took everything in Sirius to consent to what James was saying and letting him tug his body the other way. His chest was still glowing, which was going to be a problem, since apparently the Cloak didn't hide soulmate glows. James took the lead this time, and Sirius followed silently.

He heard James curse in the dark of the corridor, nearly crashing into his back when he stopped abruptly.

"Dude!" He hissed. "Turn that off! It's still going!"

He was poking Sirius' chest, which was still glowing red, a sign that he had just met his soulmate. Sirius scowled at James, though he doubted his friend could see it in the dark.

"How the fuck am I supposed to turn it off?" He whisper shouted back. There was scuffling as him and James tried to find a way to cover Sirius' chest, but nothing worked. It was so bright and so visible that it shone even behind his jacket. He knew they were both making way too much noise to not be noticed, and he should have heeded his own words, because the next minute, a blast of cool air hit him as the Cloak was pulled off, both him and James freezing, eyes snapping up to meet those of Professor McGonagall.

Her lips were set in a tight line, hands clutching the Cloak, wearing a dressing gown and a cloak of her own. Her eyes were stern behind her rectangular spectacles, and Sirius knew for certain that this time, him and James were done for.

Maybe he should have been a little more worried that their best weapon, James' Invisibility Cloak, had been discovered and would be confiscated, and they would probably get detention for the rest of the year. James might even get kicked off the Quidditch Team. But at that moment, his mind was reeling with the realization that he'd met his soulmate. So as McGonagall screamed herself hoarse in her office at them, he didn't hear a word she said.

"Please Professor," James' voice broke him out of his thoughts. "I know you know what you saw. Sirius' chest- he found his soulmate!"

"I do not care." McGonagall retorted. "You two were out of bed and roaming the halls at 3 in the morning, using this-" She held up the Invisibility Cloak. "to sneak around. Unacceptable! Outrageous! And from my own house-"

She took a deep breath, face so red from all the screaming that she had to physically stop and rest her throat. Sirius didn't respond.

"She's a Slytherin." He heard himself blurt out. "All my life I've done everything to stay away from that House. And now my soulmate…"

His voice cracked, and his mind drifted off to his many Slytherin cousins, all rotten to the core and with no aim but to one day be Death Eaters. Was his soulmate planning on…?

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, and Sirius saw that her face had considerably softened. She knew very well the relationship Sirius had with the rest of his family. He hated them. They hated him. Maybe it was her awareness of his situation that made her delicately sit on the seat before him, giving him a forlorn look.

"Mr. Black," she began. "she is your soulmate. And there are no two soulmates in this world who aren't the perfect match for each other. You best believe that she's like you, and not like her housemates."

Sirius didn't reply, praying with all his might that it was true, nodding slowly. As his acceptance for his soulmate gradually grew, the red glow in his chest slowly dimmed until it was gone.

"Right." McGonagall said after a few minutes. "This is the first and last time I'm letting you off. But-" She raised a stern finger before James could start grinning. "The last time. Hear me, Potter? One more of these shenanigans and both of you are out of Hogwarts."

Sirius should have been happy, he should have been hollering of joy that being caught so badly didn't get them any severe consequences. But he couldn't bring himself to. His mind was scrambling to remember the fleeting glance he'd gotten at the girl, his soulmate.

He wanted to see her again.

James and him didn't speak until they had gotten back to the common room, pockets overflowing with sweet treats for their friend. They dumped them all on the foot of the bed, and seeing that Remus was asleep, they both decided to retire to their own beds as well.

Everything was silent for a few minutes, before James spoke up from his bed.

"We'll find her." He promised. "We will. I'm sorry we couldn't stop. But we’re already walking a tightrope Sirius, now more than ever with what happened with McGonagall."

Sirius sighed and turned on his side. "I get it, James. It's okay."

Silence took over for a few more minutes. Sirius could practically feel that James wanted to say something. To comfort him. To tell him everything would be okay. But exhaustion weighed on both of them. And before Sirius knew it, he had drifted off.

………………..

It wasn't hard to find her. She was a Slytherin Prefect, so Remus already knew her. According to him, she was a year below them, and extremely smart. Remus made it a point by repeating over and over how nice she was, as if trying to make Sirius shun all the doubts and fears in his head. It did alleviate his worries a little, but he knew he had to talk to her himself before he found out.

He found her in the library just an hour before lights out, a stack of books on the desk and rolls of parchment scattered before her. The only sound in the space was the scratching of her quill as she wrote, bent over the table. Sirius watched the back of her head, feeling his heart beat a little faster. He wondered how to approach her. What would he say?

It turned out that he didn't have to say anything at all. Because she'd sat back after a moment, sighing and rolling her shoulders a bit. Her eyes flickered to the figure standing to her right, falling on him and stilling.

Sirius saw it immediately, under the green and black of her robes, a faint red glow exactly where her heart was. It made a warm, almost peaceful feeling wash over him, watching her react to meeting her soulmate. She seemed to realize what was happening, gasping and standing up in shock, hand pressing to her chest. The light shone through the cracks in her fingers.

Five minutes passed in silence, both of them doing nothing but staring at each other. Finally, she drew in a breath, biting her lip.

"You're the one I saw yesterday." She began. "The red floating light, that was your chest. But you were….. I couldn't see you."

Sirius nodded slowly, shuffling his feet. "Invisibility Cloak."

Again, a small bout of quiet as the information sunk in. Slowly, Sirius saw the light in her chest disappear, making his breath catch. She had accepted him.

"Sirius Black." He felt himself say, moving with hesitantly towards her. Her eyes widened.

"Regulus' brother?"

Of course she would know Regulus. They were classmates and housemates. Sirius nodded.

"Y/N Y/L/N." She offered a hand that Sirius took. He felt his breath catch again, feeling the heat on his cheeks at the contact. It took him every ounce of self control to not squeeze her hand or pull her closer to him. One look at her told him she was feeling the same way.

It was still awkward though, as Sirius watched her wring her fingers over and over. He realized she was just as nervous as he was. He understood it couldn't be easy. He was just as much of a stranger to her as she was to him. And who knew what Regulus had fed into her brain about him?

A deep fear hit him when that thought processed in his brain. Oh Merlin, what did she think of him?

"Come sit." Her voice broke him from his thoughts. She was stepping towards him. He felt her hands, the gentlest touch, take his own and tug until he was walking towards the table and taking a seat. He didn't let her pull away. He tightened his fingers around hers, holding them in place.

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips, shoulders hunching as if trying to disappear into herself. And all it did was melt Sirius' heart further, a grin taking over his own face.

He knew in that moment, that this would work. That this was the only person he would ever want to be with. It would take a while to get to know her, but McGonagall was right. This was the one person in the world that was made for him.

This was it.

...................

Permanent Tags:

@fluffymadamina /  @sophiaxtorres​ / @jedi-in-hogwarts​ / @allknowingnerd​​ /

If you want to be tagged, pls send an ask x

[satsuki2406]

OPEN SKY Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

“…And never, ever forget that, your dreams are the wings that’ll help you fly.”

(L/N)(Y/N) has always been forced to live according to others’ expectations. As a member of the powerful and influential (L/N) Family, she has had to live with the heavy weight of seeing others write her destiny with no choice but just obey. But when (Y/N) finally decides to risk it all to take the only opportunity to regain the control of her own life, everything ends up going horribly wrong. Surrendered and disappointed, she receives one last chance to prove to herself and to U.A, along with some unexpected help that this was not a crazy and meaningless waste of time.

Maybe this plan could work after all…

PAIRING: (Bakugou Katsuki x Reader)

GENRE/WARNINGS: Romance, Fluff, Angst, Mentions of sex (nothing explicit tho), dark themes, My poor attempt of comedy, family dysfunctionality, toxic relationships, Strong language (Courtesy of King Lord Explosion Murder 💥), Manga Spoilers.

STATUS: On going

Masterlist \(￣︶￣*\))

6- Have We Got a Deal?

✒A/N:

I rewrote this chapter like three times, and hopefully, now it turned out better. I read my progress again a couple of weeks ago and it was simply, not right. I hated it so much that I decided to delete it and work again on it. The essence is the same of what I planned for this chapter and although it is a bit longer now, I took the chance to get into more detail about certain things and express better about others. The conversation between Reader-chan and Kaguya may have become a bit deeper than it used to be, but I really liked the outcome and gave me more ideas for the future plot. That's all for now.

Hope you enjoy it! q(≧▽≦q)

.

.

So, my dear sweet cousin, do you accept or not?

“W-Wait a minute! You can’t be serious, do you- do you understand the implications of what you’re saying?!” You said incredulously.

“Of course I do, why do you think we are here?” Kaguya said while she took another canape and bit it. She chewed slowly while you watched her attentively, the dread in your stomach growing by increments, exasperated for her to continue. She finally swallowed and took a sip of wine.

“So? Would you care to explain what on earth is actually happening, because you don’t expect me to believe that the cause of such an unprecedented change is because of some internet gossip” You said in a demanding tone.

“Of course it’s not, but if you are patient enough I’ll explain it to you with pleasure, so you better watch your tone with me, brat.” She hissed.

You puffed out your cheeks but nodded in cue for her to continue.

“Approximately three days ago grandmother convened a last-minute meeting in her abode to discuss this problem. At first, I thought she was overreacting about this whole ordeal, after all big corporates and companies are attacked and critized all the time, but after a long, long discussion, we all agreed that the situation should not be taken lightly and it needed to be addressed as soon as possible.”

“That bad it is?” You asked slightly concerned.

“Unfortunately,” Kaguya answered. “Walls covered in graffiti in Kyoto, people protesting and messing with the employees at the ER main entrance in Hosu, broken windows in Deika and thousands and thousands of emails and nasty messages in all our social media accounts. We had to hire the services of a whole publicity agency so they could deal with the problem, hardly. It has been difficult to contain, but it paid off because it hasn’t been leaked into any important newscast. Internet, the origin of the problem, has been another story, unfortunately, in these cases, it can be very difficult and unforgiving to work with; once something enters, is nearly impossible to pull it out and if you succeed there’s always a risk it would pop up anywhere when you least expect it.” Kaguya said while she rubbed her temples.

“Internet is a huge source of news and information for thousands of people nowadays, even millions, fake or not, and also the main responsible that this situation slipped out of control faster.”

You contemplated your next words as you soaked in all the information you just were provided with, so you could express your ideas and queries as clear as possible. “Okay…but why is everybody so angry about our current family situation? I get it’s messed up, but why go as far as vandalize privite property and nag about it on social media?” You asked slightly hesitant.

“As an institution, we had always presented and preserved ourselves as a family, working to, and for the Japanese families generation after generation, no matter where we went, we always went together, always radiating the image of a happy, healthy, and unified family. Throughout the time several members of our family had made multiple presentations in public inspiring kindness and charisma, earning the trust and love of the people, which is impressive considering the heavily hero centered world we live in. Now that there are strong rumors putting all of these apparent facts into question, some people feel mocked, disappointed, and cheated… besides other things.” Kaguya mumbled.

“Sorry I could not listen the last part Kaguya.” You said puzzled.

“Don’t worry, I was just talking to myself, the important thing is that the problem is been solved, millions will be invested but is necessary. We have already started a huge ad campaign, a lot of important heroes will be involved so we can reassure and remind people why we have been their number one choice during over a century, that we still the same and will always remain the same, that we do not change, we improve.”

“I see, but you haven’t explained what does this have to do with me going to U.A-”

“As I told you she decided to make exceptions, due to the unusual situation we are going through right now we need unusual solutions as well and as part of our ad campaign and for the sake of our image she decided that two fortunate souls would have the chance to pursue a carrier of their choice, you know to placate the masses.”

“ Of course, a different series of factors would be taken into account when examining the option chosen and its potential benefits for the interests of the company, if these results are not satisfactory, the other alternatives will be analyzed to find a more suitable one and the aforementioned process will be repeated. Once we find satisfactory results, grandmother will proceed to revise everything once more and give her approval or deny it.”

“So, what you’re telling me is that we are doing the same thing but with more options? And they are going to evaluate if we can actually perform well in these new career options?” You asked unimpressed at your grandmas’ unwillingness to let the leash lose a bit even in a situation like this.

“Exactly right, it’s a change but there are still rules nonetheless.” Kaguya affirmed as she refilled her cup again. “Don’t get me wrong, she is really mad, just the thought of sacrifice two pawns in one single move is driving her crazy”

“Which selection system will be used in this case?” You asked.

“Nominations. As you already know there are two potential candidates, besides you of course.”

“Two? But there’s other three-”

“Aya has already been selected by grandmother herself, he’ll be enrolled into U.A next year via recommendation, everything is ready and processed the only thing left is to break the news on him.”

You grimaced, anxious, and preoccupied to see your already thin chances narrow even more. Your cousin, Aya was a famous vlogger and influencer with a strongly settled fanbase in and out of Japan. His videos generally focus on his daily life, trips to cool and exotic destinations, and the typical ‘eat this’, ‘do that’ challenges that always went around the internet.

He also participated in different campaigns to raise funds for different charitable causes and was a fervent advocator of animal rights and the environment, even donating millions from his own pocket. He always did his best to involve the name of the (L/N) Group, allowing them to organize, participate and sponsor some of these events helping bust their image as a caritative, conscious, and woke organization.

The bastard overflew with kindness and charisma and knew how to surround himself with the right people to manage his channel properly, although no relatable for the regular mid-class YouTube user, you had to admit that his videos were fun, entertaining, interesting, and sometimes, informative, that was the reason they were always flooded with millions of views, comments, likes and overall the crushing success he was experiencing every time he uploaded a new one.

He’s rich, famous, handsome, and had an appealing personality, add hero to that list and you’ll get the recipe to success. It wouldn't surprise you at all if he reached the top 10 of the HBC in a year just out of sheer popularity. His quirk is also fitted for a hero, he’ll need some serious training, but nothing that money and elite PT could not manage.

“How am I supposed to compete with that?” You whispered with your head down watching how your knuckles turned whiter as your hands crinkled your uniform skirt.

“Don’t trouble yourself with what you’re not supposed to, Aya is not competition, not anymore, instead try to focus on the actual competition, and may I add that you got a really big chance with my brother out of the picture. Kaguya smirked at you confidently.

“You think so?” You asked doubtfully.

“Believe me (Y/N), my sister is really smart and competent, but has the charm and social skills of a cardboard box, and Himeko, well… we could resume all her virtues, abilities and skills to shopping, makeup, gossip, selfies, social media, being pretty and an absolute headache. Grandmother got big plans for her after she graduates though, so I’ll take her out of the picture as well.”

“Big plans?” You said arching your eyebrow.

“Let’s say that, right now, we have a great, juicy, and very convenient deal that is in negociation right now and she is a vital piece to close it successfully. Don’t worry, your curiosity will be satiated soon enough.”

“What worries me is that I think I got a grasp of what you’re talking about.”

“Aw. Come on, businesses are businesses (Y/N), C’est la vie.” She said as she shrugged uninterested.

“Yeah, because is not you.” You grumbled.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, why don’t you continue.”

“You are right, where we were? Oh, right.”

‘Was she really just dismissing the topic like that?!’

“Tell me (Y/N), do you think that I would have brought you here and propose this plan to you if I didn’t have an ace up my sleeve? Please. There are some important and positive points that can grant us success if we exploit them properly, but we must play our cards wisely, unfortunately, that’ll have to wait until we are completely alone.” Confused your arched your eyebrow, until your ears were met with the sound of the wheels of a certain golden cart rapidly approaching.

“Hello again ladies, let me take this off,” Hiro said while he took the almost empty canape plate along the rest of the dishes. “Is there anything else you would like? Would you like another beverage (L/N)-sama?” Hiro said looking at your semi voided glass.

“Y-Yes please”

“Alright!” With the swift and skill of years of experience, Hiro served your plates, removed the shiny silver food covers, refilled both water cups and Kaguya’s wine cup as well in less than a minute. “Please enjoy, if there’s anything else you would like I’ll be happy to assist you! I’ll be back in a minute with your drink miss.”

You spent the next couple of minutes in total silence waiting for your drink in order to continue your conversation privately and interruption-free. Just as said, Hiro returned instants later with the promised drink and finally left you two to converse calmly.

“Well, now that the coast is clear, let me fill you up with what you have to know and do in order to obtain a favorable outcome for both of us.” Kaguya began as she sliced a bite of quail breast.

“So, this is my plan…”

.

.

Now with your dinner night already finished, you were now heading to your house. This ride was as quiet as the one to the restaurant, but without the suffocating weight of uncertainty. Your head was filled now with the echoes of your conversation with Kaguya, debating, analyzing, considering, comprehending every single word of it.

“You seem troubled, you are doubtful, aren’t you?” Said Kaguya interrupting your thoughts.

“I’m more scared than anything if this doesn’t work-”

“It will, you already know what to do, just focus on that. I’ll keep in contact with you anyway, in case of emergencies or any last-minute matter.” She then proceeded to rummage in her purse and took out a brand-new phone, it was one of those not so high-quality flip phones that you can get for a really low price, probably a disposable one.

“I already put my phone number in it, so we can communicate without issue. This phone is a really basic one, so it has no internet access but you have unlimited calls and texts. Just make sure to keep it hidden from your mother or that blabbermouth maid of yours.”

“Yes, I’ll find a place.”

“Perfect, remember, the announce dinner will be this Saturday, surely your mom would tell you, everybody will be there, they must at least.”

Another twenty minutes passed before you were at the main door of your lavish home. Silently, you excited the car after Soichiro opened the door for you and you headed to the front door.

“We’ll keep in contact, until then, (Y/N).” Kaguya said softly, once she finished Soichiro shut the door, bowed his head, and wished you a good evening. He straightened up his posture and proceeded to hop in the car again. Quietly you observed the car get farther and farther until it disappeared. You stayed there in silence, while the nightly wind swayed your hair delicately. The sound of the door opening distracted you, then, you turned around to be met with the gentle smile of Nobu-san.

“Okaerinasai, (Y/N)-sama, how was your dinner with Kaguya-sama?”

“Pretty…unexpected.” You looked everywhere, making sure that nobody else was listening to your conversation. “I’ll fill you out on the details later” You whispered and Nobu-san nodded knowingly. “I see, your bath is ready (Y/N)-sama. Please take your time and relax, it’s been a long night after all,” He got slightly closer to you and cupped his hand around his mouth, and whispered. “I’m pretty sure you’ll make good use of this time to ponder any thought that is troubling your mind.” He distanced from you, crossed his arms behind his back, and gave you a gentle closed-eye smile. “Would you like a cup of tea after your bath?”

You smiled at him fondly.

“(F/T/F), please.”

.

.

You’ve been lying if you said that you could actually sleep the night before. Your head could not stop to reproduce in a loop your conversation with Kaguya the night before, like a broken record you couldn’t escape from. Before you noticed, the outrageous melody of your alarm resounded in the spaciousness of your room. You groaned in protest, unwillingly getting up to start your day.

Dressed and ready, you took your bag and went downstairs to have breakfast. Before you could finish hopping down the stairs you caught a glimpse of your mother sitting at the head chair, like always with your father by her side, she was holding her morning coffee while she read some emails on her laptop.

As always she looked stunning in her soft pink and golden outfit, she crossed her legs, put down her cup and started typing in her laptop.

You straighten your posture the best you could and approached the table with delicate steps. “Good morning mother, good morning dad”

“Good morning dear, how did you sleep?” Said your mother without taking her eyes off the screen in a somewhat flat tone as her fingers tapped nimbly over the keyboard. “Pretty well, and yourself?” You said while you took a seat at the innecesarily expansive dinning table.

“Not so well sadly, there’s been some… issues I had to take care of.” She hissed a bit irritated as she rubbed her temples.

“I-I see, hopefully, you’ll have a better day today, mother.”

“I doubt it, unluckily, but thank you for your words, darling. Now hurry up or you’ll be late.”

“Yes, mother.”

“You should have some fresh fruit honey; the mangos are delicious!” Said the cheerful voice of your father. You smiled fondly at him while he reciprocated with a smile of his own. “I’ll do then, thank you for your suggestion dad.” You answered while one of the maids served you a portion of fresh mixed fruit in a bowl and Nobu-san poured tea in your cup.

“(Y/N)” Spoke your mom.

“Yes, mother?”

“Your grandmother had organized a family dinner this Saturday that we must assist, of course, I expect nothing less of you than be on your best behavior, also is imperative that you choose your outfit today so I can determine if it’s appropriate for the occasion. If you need to go shopping just tell Sasaki, I activated your debit card again just this time.” She said authoritatively.

“Yes mother, I’ll do it today after class.” You said as you topped your fruit with some honey, yougurt and granola. 

“Splendid, now if you excuse me, I have to go now, Haru, hurry up or we’ll be late”

“Yes, cara mia” Your father beamed. Your mother then rose from her chair took her handbag and draped her coat over her shoulders. Your father then finished his coffee as soon as he could and went behind her. “Have a good day princess!” Exclaimed you dad. “Thank you, you too!” You answered while you saw them get escorted by an army of bodyguards.

Soon enough the door was closed and you were left alone. “(Y/N)-sama I advise you to hurry as well, school starts in thirty minutes” Said the familiar voice of Nobu-san. “What!? Oh, I’m going to be late! Ok, I got this! I’ll brush my teeth and I’ll be ready-please ask Sasaki-san to start the car! I will be there in a minute!” You stuttered while climbing up stairs.

“Sure thing, Ojou-sama,” He said with an amused smile.

.

.

“Thank you again for joining me for shopping Momo”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all, I’ll also take the chance to buy some new accessories as well,” Beamed your ravenette friend. It was the end of the school day and you had asked Momo to help you choose new accessories to complement a dress you already had.

“But to be honest I never imagine that your mom would lose her grip on you so soon even if it’s temporary, what surprised me more was what Kaguya-san told you yesterday,” She whispered trying to no let your conversation be known by Sasaki-san although the automated partition window was up as a precautionary measure. “Are you sure you can trust her?” She said concerned.

“I still don’t know, suddenly everything became so complicated, I mean her plan is good and has a high probability to work, and right now I don’t have a better option, I don’t even have any options, to begin with!” You groaned, confused.

“What’s still bugging me is why is she helping you in the first place? I can’t help but find it suspicious no matter how much I think about it. Did you ask her something about it?”

“I did, but she went into this mysterious and enigmatic mode and just said something like ‘You’ll know soon enough’ It would be easier to pinch a glass than get something out of her.” You said with a tone of frustration.

“I guess that the only thing we can do now is to wait and see,” Sighed Momo while she shrugged her shoulders. “By the way, what are we going to do first?” She said more animatedly.

“Let’s start with the shoes and then maybe a new jewelry set, a new clutch as well would be good. What you think?”

“I think is a splendid idea!” Momo exclaimed.

.

.

.

🏷Taglist:

@bakasbitch18 

[illfoandillfie]

5 Simple Rules for a Successful Fake Relationship: One Small Hitch

READ PART 1

Pairing: Ben Hardy x Reader

summery: You and Ben have your first official date and settle into your "relationship". But, with filming coming to a close, you'll need to be more committed to the act than before, especially when Ben's keeping secrets.

Warnings: Again, nothing much. Some language. Drinking. Nothing else I can think of.

Words: 8355

AN: Chapter 2 is finally here! Sorry for the delay but hopefully the next part will be up faster. I'm really really enjoying writing this series and I am so very excited about what's coming! The song mentioned is Reckless Serenade by Arctic Monkeys. Sidenote: Can anyone work out the theme of the chapter titles?

Taglist:  @laedymoon​  @dtfrogertaylor​  @vee-ndetta​​ @atomic-watermelon​ @kellypenac​​ @labessieisallama​​ @deakyclicks​​ @jennyggggrrr​​ @drowseoftaylor​​  @hannafuckingsucks​​  @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming​​ @queenmylovely​​ @supersonicfreddie​

“I’ve got something for you,” you half shouted at Ben when you saw him walking towards you from across the field you were filming in. You shuffled your shitty takeaway coffee into your other hand so you could reach into your bag, pulling out a piece of paper folded in half. He took it and pulled you into a hug, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.  “Funny cause I have something for you too,” Ben said as he let you go, reaching into his backpack and handing you a magazine, “Oh, shit, it’s our rules. You want page 15 by the way.”  “Figured you’d want a record of them. What exactly am I looking f-” you let the word hang as you found the right page. It was decorated with a photo of you and Ben kissing on his doorstep, his hand around your back, the shirt you’d borrowed riding up just enough that it was clear you didn’t have shorts on underneath as you clutched at him. There was some text beside it, mentions of your most notable roles and his, a brief description of the movie you were in the process of making, and some speculatory remarks with a couple of innuendos thrown in. The usual gossip mag fare. On the other side of the paragraph was another photo, both of you leaving set the previous Friday, hand in hand and smiling.  “We look pretty good together,” you laughed, getting only a noncommittal grunt in return. He’d suddenly become very interested in the sheet you’d handed him, staring at it like he hadn’t been there when it was written. You reread the brief article, trying not to gawk at the photographs. It certainly looked believable.   “I’ve had about four people wish us well this morning,” Ben suddenly said, seemingly pulling himself together, folding up the rules and shoving them into his back pocket, “and I’ve not been here long. It’s kinda weird having everyone know we’re together. Or think we’re together,” he quickly corrected himself.  “Yeah, Mel kept asking me questions about it while she was doing my makeup this morning, so I hope she took my awkwardness as me wanting to keep things private and not me not knowing how to answer some of them.”  Ben chuckled, “yeah, Gail gave me a bit of a grilling too. I just told her we’d been sort of seeing each other for a few weeks and had only just like made it official or whatever and she seemed to buy it.”  “Good, I told Mel the same sort of thing. Hopefully that’s enough for them.”  “I’m more concerned with what my friends are going to say. I don’t think any of them read Heat though so hopefully it doesn’t come up any time soon,”  “Lucky. My friend Felicity has the dumb site bookmarked. Checks it religiously. Bloody miracle she hasn’t called yet.”  “Better turn of your phone then,”  “And come back to a full voicemail and about a hundred texts demanding to know why I’m ghosting her?”  “Tell her you were filming. I do it all the time,” he was grinning at you and you couldn’t help but grin back as you pulled your phone out and shut it off, “atta girl,” he pulled you into his side and gave you an affectionate squeeze that you leaned into , fully aware of how many people were around you, potentially watching. It was a feeling that didn’t really let up. You knew, rationally, that everyone there was focused on their jobs, but you couldn’t help feeling like you were constantly being scrutinised, and not just for your acting. It didn’t help when Seth had to stop recording to fix a problem with the boom mic and, good-humouredly, said, “don’t worry lovebirds, we’ll have her running in a second.” Or that one of the ADs delivered your call sheets for the next day with a, “I always thought you’d be cute together.” And it certainly didn’t help when you turned your phone on at the end of the day to find a series of texts from Felicity each with more exclamation points and capital letters than the last, and a missed call from Mary.   “Better call her back,” Ben said, following you towards the carpark.  You rolled your eyes, already holding the phone up to your ear listening to it ring.  “Y/N, I was just about to try you again,”  “Sorry, Mary, I had my phone off while we were recording, what’s the matter?”  “Are you free this weekend?”  “Um yeah, I think so, why?”  “We’d like for you and Ben to go on a date this weekend. Somewhere in London preferably but it’s up to you. You saw the article in Heat? It seems to be going well. The hits your names have got on google have increased and there have been a few tweets about it. Nothing huge, you’re not trending or anything but you’re still relatively unknown so we weren’t expecting that to happen, certainly not overnight. But we think if we get a date story out quickly it’ll really help get people interested.”  You rubbed your temple as you tried to process everything she’d just said, “Okay, I’ll talk to him and we’ll organise something. I’ll text you the details once I have them.”  “Okay, let me know as soon as you can though. And send Peter the info too.”  “Will do. See ya Mary.”  “Was that about me?” Ben asked, smiling as he leaned against your car.  “You up for a date this weekend? Apparently the first story went well and they want a follow up ASAP.”  “Sure, where are we going?”  “I don’t know, somewhere around London would apparently be best, but we get to choose. Any thoughts?”  He thought for a moment, “This isn’t our first date is it? Like, we’ve said we’ve been on others before, right?”  “Yeah, why?”  “Well normally for a first date I take girls out for dinner and then, depending on the girl and how the dinner went, either a quiet drink or like a romantic as fuck walk in the park or something.”  “That’s pretty standard stuff, Ben,”  “Yeah, but in the fiction of us as a couple, this isn’t our first date. This’d be, what?”  “Fifth maybe?”  “Fifth. So I’m still trying to impress you a bit, but it’s like, more relaxed. We’ve done the dinner date, we’ve done coffee and a movie, we’ve even done the Museum. Now we’re getting into the fun shit.”  “Museums don’t count as fun shit?” you chuckled, not sure where his train of thought was taking you.  “It’s a bit overdone is all.”  “What do you have in mind then?”  “There’s this place that runs art classes during the day, right? Life drawing or like painting for beginner's type stuff. But a couple of nights a week they run these art and wine nights. They’ll give you a canvas or a ceramic figure or something like that and some paints and you can have a few drinks and do something arty. I did it with some mates a while ago, had heaps of fun. Seemed like the sort of thing yo- a girl might like to do on a date.”  “That definitely sound fun.”  “Really? You’re into it?”  “Yeah, for sure.”  “Okay,” Ben pulled out his phone and began typing, “shall I book us in for the Saturday night ceramics session?”  “Go ahead. What time was that, so I can let Mary and Peter know.”  “Seven thirty. If we get a cab in a little earlier we can grab something to eat on our way.”  “Cool, okay I’ll text them. Is it BYO?”  “Yeah. They do sell some stuff but it’s a pretty small selection.”  “Okay, well that’s something to look forward to. Anyway, I should be going since I have about a million texts to sort through, I’ll see you tomorrow.”  “Wait, one thing,” Ben said before you could open your car door, “There’s a few people coming off set now so I’m going to kiss you, okay?”  “Thanks for the heads up,”  “No worries,” he stepped closer, his hand rising to cup your cheek as he kissed you softly. He took longer to break away than you’d expected, letting the kiss deepen instead, but you didn’t mind too much. It was a good kiss. And if it hadn’t been for Ben and the movie, you would have been severely lacking them recently. Which explained the vague feeling of disappointment that hit you when he did step back.  

On your way home your phone beeped with another text from Felicity but you ignored it until you were inside and changed into the comfiest clothes you could find, flopping down on your bed to scroll through what she’d written. They varied from, “omg why didn’t you tell me about this Ben guy?” to “Y/N!!! Answer my texts!!!” all the way up to, “BITCH!!! CALL ME!!!!”   She picked up on the first ring.   “Where the fuck have you been all day?”  “Some of us don’t have office jobs we hate,” you laughed, “I actually had to work, funnily enough, and because we were on location I had to keep my phone off while we recorded.”  “Well I’ve been going crazy over here. Imagine my shock when I boot up my computer and open Heat and see your fucking arse being grabbed by your co-star.”  “He was not grabbing my arse.”  “Close enough. You didn’t tell me how fucking gorgeous he is.”  “No, well, I don’t usually think about the people I work with like that, do I?”  “Which is why I was so surprised to see you’ve shacked up with one of them.”  “It’s not quite that serious.”  “One night stands aren’t your usual thing. Definitely not with guys you work with anyway.”  “I never said it was a one night stand, just that it wasn’t super serious!”  “How many times then?”  “We’ve been on like four dates.”  “You fuckhead! You mean to tell me you’re actually dating this guy, who by the way looks like he could be a fucking underwear model, and you didn’t think to tell me? No so much as a I got dicked down by a total babe aren’t you jealous message?”  “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it if it wasn’t going to go anywhere.”  “But still, I’m your best friend, I tell you about every shag I have.”  “In graphic detail,”  “Exactly.”  “Look it’s just a bit weird still. Neither of us have really hooked up with a co-star before and we didn’t want to say anything until we worked out what was happening.”  “I guess that makes sense,” you could tell she didn’t mean it, “But, now that it’s out you owe me. I want to hear all about it.”  “There’s not much to tell. We became quite good friends during all the pre-production stuff when we were rehearsing and all that. Our director wanted to make sure we clicked and had the right chemistry and stuff, since it’s a romcom and our characters get engaged in the first scene, so we hung out a lot. And then just before filming started he asked me out. Took me to this nice Chinese restaurant. It was fun so we agreed to go out again and it’s sort of just kept going.”  “Those photos, was that the first time you’d stayed over at his?”  “Second. First time was a couple of weeks ago. The night that led to the photos was just a few drinks after work with some of the others and we ended up ducking out a bit early and wound up at his.”  “And?”   “And what?” You had a hard time not laughing when you heard her groan. Her eagerness to know every sordid detail made her easy to fuck with, and that made the whole business of being secretive a lot more fun.  “And, how was he?”  “I mean…y’know,”  “Y/N, I swear to god,”  “He was good, okay? Really good,” you remembered what Ben had told you to say, trying not to laugh too much while you repeated it, “like, three orgasms good.”  “Shit, really?”  “Uhuh. And then another in the morning.”  Felicity replied with a long whistle, “shit, girl, hold onto that one then. That’s definitely worth any trouble working together could cause."  “Believe me, I know. We’re going out again this weekend.” It was surprisingly easy to lie about dating Ben. Though, of course, you weren’t technically lying since you would be going on a date.   “Shit man, date five. That’s serious shit. You better tell me everything, in graphic detail.” 

When you told Ben about the conversation the next day, admitting you’d spent ages praising his sexual prowess, he laughed and then thanked you, pulling you into a tight bear hug. You thought it was a slight overreaction considering he’d been the one to tell you what to say but his happiness was infectious, and you found yourself smiling more than normal as you hung out between scenes. An attitude which could only help your performance, making people more ready to believe you were a couple. His easy laughter and bright smiles continued until the afternoon when you were telling him more about Felicity and what you’d talked about.   “She thinks you’re a keeper and kept telling me not to let you go.”  “Your friend knows what she’s talking about.”  “Lucky for you I can’t let you go since it’s all written up in a contract,”  Ben laughed but when you glanced at him his smile seemed to falter.   “You okay?”  “Brilliant. Just had a bit of a late night and it’s catching up on me. Think I might try to have a quick nap before we’re needed again.”  “I was thinking of grabbing another coffee if you want one?”  “Thanks Y/N but I think the nap will do me more good.”  “Probably better people don’t see us heading off to a trailer together anyway or they’ll suspect we’re getting up to mischief.”  “Very true. I’ll see you a bit later.”  “Sleep well!”  Ben turned to leave, his smile seeming more forced than earlier. You would have worried except he seemed to be back to normal when he was called for your next scene. And it continued on through the week, his happiness only getting more pronounced the closer it got to the weekend.  

You couldn’t quite match his energy on Friday, anxiety over your date getting stronger the closer you got to it. Hanging out at his place had been easy, even if it did include leaving half dressed. All you’d had to do was kiss him which you’d done enough times during filming that it was no longer too odd. But a proper date was something else. It was going to be the first real test you faced, the first time you’d really have to sell yourselves to the public as more than co-stars and more than a hook-up.  “Hey are you okay?”  “Huh?”  “Your jiggling your leg a lot which you only do when something’s worrying you, what is it?”  “Oh,” you forced your leg to stop moving, “nothing,”  “Is it about our date tonight?”  “What if it’s bad? What if we don’t look like we’re actually together and Mary and Pete have to cancel the whole thing?”  “I’d get a decent night sleep not thinking about us,” he muttered.  “What?”  “I’ve been worried about it too,” he said louder, “but I think we’ll be okay. It’s not like we’ll be starved for conversation and we’ll have the paint and the wine and we’ll be fine. Plus, weren’t you the one who said this would be easy?”  “Yeah I was,” you said sheepishly, “but -”  “No buts. It’ll be a piece of cake. We go and have a good time painting a couple of plates or bowls or whatever, and then hold hands while we head home. They’ll get whatever shots they get, and they’ll spin it so we look like a couple.”  “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry,”  “It’s okay,” he reached out to rub the back of your hand, smiling softly at you, “the nerves might actually help you look like you’re legit. And worst comes to worst we can always run lines. I’m honestly so much more nervous about shooting that scene tomorrow.”  “The one where we’re playing matchmaker?”  “Yes! Have you seen how many names are in there?”  “Theres like six, Ben,”  “Yeah but they’re all repeated, and I know I’m going to get the order wrong,”  You giggled and shook your head, “You’re unbelievable,”  “Oh whatever,” he pushed your shoulder almost making you overbalance, “Just cos you know the lines already.” 

Ben’s efforts to calm you down worked and you got through the rest of the workday without a hitch. Though your stomach was once again tight with nerves in the hours before the date. You spent a solid half hour standing in front of your wardrobe, freshly washed hair slowly dripping down the back of the towel you had wrapped around you, trying to settle on what to wear. When you were finally dressed you checked and rechecked the contents of your purse, and, in a moment of panic, you grabbed the heavily highlighted and notated script pages with the matchmaker scene and shoved them in beside your lipstick and bank card. By the time Ben arrived in an Uber to pick you up, ushering you into the backseat with a kiss on the cheek and a complement about how lovely you looked, you felt like you were on the verge of throwing up. But, once again, Ben’s natural charm eased your mind. The way he talked to you and smiled constantly had your heart rate slowing and your stomach settling within minutes. Even the way he squeezed your hand when he helped you out of the car, and the way he laced his fingers with yours as he led you towards your destination were welcome comforts.  “D’you wanna grab something to eat?” Ben asked, stopping on a corner and looking around, annoyed people passing by on both sides.  “Uhh, s’pose so.”  “Has anyone ever told you you’re indecisive?”  “I swear I’m not normally.”  “Oh? Do I make you nervous, snookum?” he asked, playfully.  “No, you git,” you laughed back, though you found it hard to meet his eyes, “I just don’t know I’m that hungry.”  “Well, keep in mind there’ll be wine drinking. Don’t want to do that on an empty stomach.”  “Valid argument. What’s nearby?”  After some wandering you ended up in a McDonalds, Ben wolfing down a burger while you picked at the fries, not quite certain you’d be able to keep your food down. It was when you were coming out of a bottle shop, Ben holding the wine you’d agreed on, that you spotted the photographer. It was the same one who’d been outside Ben’s house when you stayed over, camera aimed at the two of you. Quietly you nudged Ben. He just wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into his side as you walked. You struggled to not watch the photographer as he followed you towards the art studio, having to keep reminding yourself to pretend he wasn’t there.  “Relax,” Ben said softly in your ear, “He’s not important.”  You nodded, afraid if you said anything you’d lose the meagre dinner you’d had. Ben’s thumb rubbing over your own gave you something else to focus on, counting each soft, smooth stroke, until you reached the right place.  

You weren’t the only couple there, far from it. Most of the claimed tables were taken by pairs sitting close together, hands clasped or laying on thighs as they talked. A few tables held larger groups, double dates maybe or perhaps just friends. You felt a few eyes on you as you found a table close to the clear glass of the shopfront, but they turned away again quickly, more interested in their own little bubbles than yours. You glanced outside to check if the photographer was still there but couldn’t see much more than the reflection of you and Ben. His knee bumped yours under the table as he leaned toward you, pressing a finger to your jaw to turn your head towards him.  “Forget the photographer. Forget Mary and Peter. Forget our arrangement. We're just two friends having a fun night out, okay?”  “Okay,”   “Okay. So what are you thinking of painting then?” He unscrewed the bottle of wine and grabbed one of the glasses you’d been handed on arrival.   “Well what are my options?”  “Well there’s your classic teacup, mug or plate options. There’s a couple of different jewellery boxes, I think. And then there are the statues, ummm, fairy, dragon, alien. Maybe a princess one, I can’t remember.”  “More than I thought there’d be. What were you thinking?”  “I did a dragon last time I was here. But I think I’m going to do a mug this time. Need some extras if you’re gonna be staying over more often.”  “Maybe we should both do mugs, then? Something we can use at each other’s places.”  “Alright, deal. But we can’t look at what the other is painting until they’re done.”  “That’s going to be so hard!” you laughed, feeling properly relaxed for the first time all night.  “Yeah but it’ll be fun though. Wait here, I’ll go grab us the mugs.”  You took the opportunity to look around the room, trying to think of what Ben might like on a mug. There was art everywhere – paintings hanging on walls, examples of what the classes could teach you, decorated ceramics lining windowsills and shelves. Judging by the wildly differing levels of talent displayed, you assumed at least some of them were left behind and never claimed. There were plates decorated with fruit trees and ocean scenes, jugs covered in splatters of different colours, aliens in shimmery blue and princesses with green hair and orange dresses. But nothing that sparked your imagination. The noise of the room was steadily growing as everyone got stuck into their creations. Ben sat down, took a drink and got to work mixing colours.  “You know what you’re going to do then?”  “I have an idea. But I will warn you I’m not a particularly good artist so it might not look anything like what it’s meant to.”  You picked up your blank mug and put it down again, tapping the end of a paintbrush against the table as you tried to come up with an idea. What did Ben like? He liked coffee. And dogs. And his guitar. More than once he’d brought it to set, playing it in his downtime. He’d been embarrassed the first time you mentioned overhearing him as you passed by his trailer, but you’d assured him you’d liked listening to him. You’d had the song stuck in your head for a week afterwards.   “Made up your mind, have you?” Ben asked, glancing up from his handiwork as you mixed a pale peach colour.  “No peeking,”  “I wasn’t peeking. If I’d been peeking, I would have done this,” Ben craned his neck, leaning over to where your mug was.   You laughed and pulled the mug closer to you, pushing him away with your other hand.  He caught it in his own, taking the paintbrush from you, “Oi, careful with that.”  “Oops, sorry,”  Ben laughed and kissed your palm before letting you have your hand back, “No harm done. But y’know if you splattered me I’d have no choice but to get payback.”  There was no need to reach for the script you’d brought as you and Ben fell into conversation while you painted. He asked if you’d had any more awkward phone calls with your friends and told you about what had happened when his mates had found out. Nothing like the conversation you’d endured, though there’d been plenty of teasing. You had to admonish him for nearly getting paint on your work when he began using the largest brush he had to artistically spray drops of paint over his mug. And then he’d laughed when you paused, admitting out loud that you weren’t actually sure how to paint the thing you’d planned on painting. He’d promised not to peek while you whipped out your phone to look up a reference image, going to far as to cover his eyes just to make sure. Once you gave him the okay he went back to painting, switching to a thinner brush and shushing you so he could concentrate. It was ridiculous how cute he looked, tongue between his teeth, bent over the mug as he slowly outlined the design. You shook your head to clear the thought and went back to your own work. 

“Okay, I’m done. You wanna see now?”  “Yes, absolutely. Unless you think we should wait until after they’ve been glazed?”  “Fuck that, we can’t pick them up for a couple of days, I wanna show you now.”  “Alright, show me then,” you put down your brush, focusing all your attention onto the mug in Ben’s hands. The base coat was a light purple, with splatters of darker purple over top. Slowly he turned the mug to show you the design on the front. It bore a slightly wonky engagement ring, similar to the one his character gave yours in the movie. On either side of the ring, in thin, not quite straight lettering, was the words we’re really good at this dating thing.   You smiled as soon as you read the quote from the script, “I love it, Ben”  “Thought it was kind of fitting,” he chuckled, “plus it’ll be a nice little souvenir once the movie wraps.”  “That was a fun scene to shoot. Best proposal I’ve ever had.”  Ben smiled and carefully turned his mug back towards him, “Best proposal I’ve ever given,” He seemed to be about to say something but stopped himself, shaking his head.  You lowered your voice, “Promise I’ll get to keep it after we break up?”  “Promise,” Ben said, matching your level and leaning in close, “Until then maybe you can use it as a reminder whenever you feel anxious about this whole dating thing.”  “Thanks, I will.”   You were suddenly very aware of how softly you were speaking, how close you were sitting, leaning in to hear each other over the rest of the room, and for a split second you thought he was going to kiss you again. But then the moment passed, the noise of the room intruding as Ben leaned back in his seat, “So do I get to see mine?”  “Uh, it’s not quite done,” you said, picking up your brush again, the moment gone, “give me another couple of minutes.”  “Masterpieces take time, I get it,”  “This is by no stretch a masterpiece,”  “I’ll be the judge of that thanks very much,”  Ben turned to look out over the room while you tried to finish your painting without smudging anything, occasionally making comments about other people there or the art that decorated the room.  You took one last look at what you’d painted, the guitar with the words stun gun lullaby written in cursive beside it, “Alright, I’m done now, you can look. Careful, some of it’s still wet.”  Ben gently took hold of the handle and turned the mug so the design faced him. He broke out into a grin and you felt relieved that he liked it.   “It’s definitely a masterpiece. For someone who didn’t know how to draw a guitar you’ve done an incredible job. And how did you know that’s one of my favourite songs?”  “Is it? It's just the song I overheard you playing that one time. I thought that line was a good one for a mug. Nice and short so I didn’t have to paint too much.”  “This is definitely my new favourite mug.”  “Oh stop it.”  “And hey, they kind of match.”  You laughed when he pointed out the similarities, “Guess they do. Y’know that’d make a pretty cute Instagram post.”  “You going to tag me as my mug?”  “Of course. You could post a photo and tag me in it too,”  “I don’t know. I don’t really post much personal stuff online.”  “Well at least comment on mine,”  “I can do that.”  

After you’d taken a decent photo and posted it online you cleaned up, handed your mugs over to the woman running the night’s activity and stepped back out into the night. There was no sign of the photographer anywhere and you supposed he’d got what he needed and then left.   Still, Ben grabbed your hand as you walked back up the street, just in case you’d missed the photographer in the crowd.   “Guess that means we don’t have to worry about going home together,” you said, nudging Ben.  “Guess not,” his lips quirked down in a soft frown.”  “What is it?”  “Nothing, nothing, just...feels kind of weird to just end the date here, I guess,” he scratched the back of his head and laughed, “Normally I’d offer to give you a lift home. Or at least give you a good night kiss, but I guess that’s not really needed now.”  “Well, it’s like you said, we’re just friends having a fun night out. We could share a ride home though, if you wanted. You live near enough to mine it wouldn’t matter.”  “Nah, don’t worry about it. I actually might go grab something to eat, don’t think that burger was quite enough. See you on Monday?”  “Oh, yeah, okay, see you Monday.”   There was a pause, both of you hesitating and then Ben gave you a much too quick hug before he walked off, disappearing into the crowd. You sighed and hailed a passing cab, spending the whole ride home wondering what the hell had just happened. But you pushed it from your mind once you were home, going through your usual nightly routine and very deliberately thinking of anything other than Ben. It didn’t help much. You still dreamt about him. Dreamt about the goodnight kiss you’d missed out on.    

When you woke you had to laugh at yourself. You were sure that, had you binged a few episodes of a tv show or read something before you’d gone to bed you would have dreamt about it instead. Brains were suggestable like that. When you felt awake enough you rolled over and grabbed your phone finding a text from Ben and one from Felicity and an email from Mary. You opened Mary’s first, skimming over it and vowing to look at it properly once you had a coffee in your system. Ben’s was much easier to understand, a short message to say he had fun last night and that he’d pick the mugs up on his way to work on Monday. Felicity’s was just a series of question marks. You sent back a short response saying the date had been a lot of fun. It wasn’t enough and she was bound to come back at you asking for more details, but it would have to satisfy her. Slowly you got out of bed and made yourself a coffee, setting your laptop up next to you at the kitchen counter so you could try to read Mary’s email again. There was some information about some scripts she was going to send you, a couple of potential future roles, but the majority of the email was about you and Ben. She’d already seen the photos, apparently, and some of them would be run in the coming week’s magazine while others were being put online. She’d also seen the Instagram post and commended you for thinking of it. Another date would have to be organised, but it was better to wait until the next weekend or even the one after, so as not to fatigue the public.  

So you and Ben fell into the routine of it. An email from one or other of your agents sometimes as vague as just telling you to organise a date, sometimes much more specific in what they wanted you to be doing, then the date itself, and in between work where you played up the romance as much as possible. You got good at pretending to stay over at each other's places, often just hanging out watching TV or running lines until the photographer called it a night and you were free to leave. Once or twice you’d opted to sleep in your own bed but get up early and head over to Ben’s for the required morning after shots but that process got old very quickly so you ended up actually staying over more and more. There was one day when your period came unexpectedly while you were at Ben’s. You were halfway through asking him to take you home when he offered to run to the store for you instead.  “No, no, you don’t have to go out of your way like that, I’ve got plenty at home I just didn’t think I’d need any today.”  “Y/N, I promise, it’s no trouble. I feel bad I don’t have anything here for you already. Been a while since I’ve lived with a girl and it didn’t even cross my mind. Seriously, it’ll take me two minutes.” When you still weren’t convinced he continued, “Plus, if I go we won’t ruin Peter and Mary’s plan for today. And the Paps can get a shot of me staring at boxes of tampons like a good caring boyfriend. It’ll help our image.”  “Oh alright, as long as you don’t mind.”  He was out the door a second later and back within ten minutes, though you did get a call from him at the shop, asking what brand you preferred. Once he was home, he made you a cup of tea, gave you a painkiller and, after checking you didn’t mind, cuddled up with you on the couch, teasingly calling you his cuddle bunny as he pulled you back against his chest. You almost complained, almost cited Rule 5, but it wasn’t so bad. Some might even go so far as to call it cute. It was better than snookum at any rate.  

 The dates themselves got easier after the first. You knew what to expect now so it wasn’t as nerve wracking as before. And Ben was always fun to be around, your list of inside jokes steadily growing as he became the one person you spent the most time with. You let yourselves relax a bit. On your third date Ben’s arm stayed glued around your waist as you walked around the zoo, only losing contact when a lemur jumped on his shoulder and you stepped back to take a photo. It wasn’t low enough to violate the rules you’d put in place but his hand was dangerously close to falling below your belt, and it was definitely something you would have put a stop to when you first started the charade. The Instagram posts had got more frequent too, though Ben still refused to post anything to his own profile. But he commented on everything you posted whether it involved him or not. And people were buying it. You’d been moved from page 15 to page 13 and then to page 10 in the magazines. You both picked up more followers online as your photos were shared across Twitter and Facebook and Tumblr. There were some downsides like rude comments and nasty messages but mostly they were easy to ignore. Worse were the phone calls and messages from family members and friends asking when they’d get to meet Ben. He’d had to fend off his own family as well, but you both stuck to Rule 4, making up excuses and promising it would happen eventually, but it just wasn’t possible right now. But your biggest problem was the issue of intimacy. It wasn’t the lack of sex itself, that was easily managed. It was that Ben had started to intrude on your fantasies. You’d be there with your fingers or your toys and suddenly it was Ben’s voice you were thinking of, Ben’s hands, Ben’s teeth and tongue and chest. Ben’s name falling from your lips. And you knew it was just because you were pretending to date him, on and off set. It was the dumb suggestable brain thing again. The thoughts were only there because you were pretending to be in love with him and usually sex was tied up with love or at least relationships. And really, you hadn’t been attracted to anyone much lately because you hadn’t been looking because you’d been pretending to be attracted to Ben so it’s really no wonder you’re brain got all confused and mixed him into those other thoughts. The first time you saw him after it first happened you wondered if he could tell, a slightly flustered awkwardness hanging over you. But it wasn’t worth mentioning to anyone. You just vowed to push him out of your mind as much as you could.  

Nearly two months later you found yourselves back in the office where the idea of pretending to date was first floated. With filming drawing to a close Mary and Peter were keen to check in with you. The first thing either of them said when you and Ben turned up is how well the story was going.  “Projections have the sales for this movie increased by five percent, just because of your relationship and that number is expected to grow as we get closer to release,” Mary spoke fast though whether that was excitement at the boosted numbers or just a busy schedule rushing her along you weren’t sure.  “What happens now?” Ben asked, “I mean, since we won’t be filming together anymore after this week,”  “That’s exactly why we wanted to talk with you both today,” Peter opened a pocket notebook and thumbed through a couple of pages, “so not much will change but we may occasionally need to balance out the loss of on set photos with shots of you out and about together. Nothing stressful and all very easily staged. You probably wouldn’t even need to be out for more than an hour or so at a time. People have been loving the domestic sort of photos you’ve been putting online, Y/N, that one of you using the coffee mugs you painted was especially good. So we’d like a few more of those sorts of moments. The two of you grocery shopping or walking a dog, do either of you have a dog? No? Hmmm, we could hire a dog and write a story about you sitting for a friend. We’ll put a pin in that for now. But yes, just some candid shots of you walking around London and doing regular everyday things together.”  “We’ll also need to schedule the argument soon. We’re thinking somewhere within the first two weeks of filming being over. It means we can run speculation about whether the relationship is on the rocks now that you aren’t working together anymore. We’ll see how things go this week and make some decisions later, but we’ll give you plenty of warning before you have to perform it. Obviously, it has to be scheduled so we can guarantee someone will get photos but we need it to seem as natual as possible so we’ll leave the specifics of the argument up to you.”  You nodded along but Ben had more questions.  “What does this mean for any jobs we might be looking at taking after this movie wraps?”  “You can still take on whatever roles you want provided they’re filming here. It’s harder to keep you in the public eye if you’re separated and while the drama of a long-distance relationship might be interesting at first, it’s not sustainable.”  “If it was filming somewhere else in the UK we could maybe organise something. We’d have to look into it and see if it was possible to stick to our same plan but just shift the location. Maybe have a weekend visit angle to it, Y/N flies out to see Ben, Ben comes home to see Y/N, that kind of thing.”  “Leave it with us Ben and we’ll get back to you on the logistics of it all.”  “Oh, that’s okay, I don’t have anything set in stone, I was just curious.”  “Is there anything else you have questions about?”  “No, I don’t think so,” He looked towards you.  “No, I’m all good.”  “Okay, well, if you think of anything you can message us any time.”  “Really, though, this is going very well. It’s already paying off but we need to keep the momentum during the post-production phase, so we need you both to be committed to this.”  “We are.”  “Unbelievably committed,” Ben added. 

You and Ben left the meeting joking about potential arguments you could have and for the rest of the day, whenever you passed each other in the halls or had a moment alone you’d try to one up each other's suggestions. It was a good way to keep your spirits up even though the end of filming was fast approaching. One by one each cast member recorded their last scenes, saying an emotional thank you to the crew when the director called cut. You and Ben were the last to finish since you were the leads. A small pillow talk scene that you could do in your sleep. It was a nice way to end it, lying in bed with Ben’s arms around you, even with the heat of the studio lights. While you were waiting for the cameras to be positioned you and Ben joked around with the crew that were flitting around angling mics and adjusting set decorations.   “Hey, Seth,” Ben said suddenly, “can you pass me my phone. I think we need to document this moment. What d’you say, cuddle bunny?”  You laughed and poked him in the side but agreed. Ben stuck his arm straight up into the air, trying to angle the camera just right but he couldn’t quite get the photo to take without blurring. Seth took pity on you and offered to take the photo himself, allowing you and Ben to snuggle in close.  “If you post it on Insta you better credit me,” Set laughed, turning it round to show you.  “I’ll do that,” He said with a smile, “It’s pretty cute, I think I have to post it.”  “Really?” you asked, surprised he’d volunteer to do such a thing.  Ben didn’t have a chance to respond because everything was ready to go. Seth put the phone back away so you could film the scene, laughing in between takes until everyone was satisfied.   “That’s a wrap on Ben Hardy and Y/N Y/L/N everybody,”  A round of applause started as you pushed yourself to sit up, trying to stop yourself from welling up.  “And that’s a wrap on The Perfect Match.”  The applause continued and Ben pulled you into a tight hug, rubbing your back and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You had to say a few words but you managed to get through it, and Ben’s little speech, without completely losing it. Afterwards, as people packed up the equipment and you headed back to your trailers to change, Ben pulled out his phone again.  “I guess I should post that photo now, how’s this caption,” he said each word slowly as he typed it out, “Thank you Y/N for being the perfect Edith to my Andy. And thank you @theperfectmatchmovie for finding me my perfect match.”   “Did you tag me?”  “Of course,”  “Did you tag Seth?”  “Uhhhh, camera emoji by @seththesoundman. Now I have,”  “Then it’s perfect. Little bit cheesy but I’ll let it slide.”  “I’ll post another lot of photos with everyone else later and write a longer thing about how much fun this movie was and all of that, but I think this’ll do for the minute. Mary and Peter better fucking appreciate it.” 

That evening most of the cast and crew headed out for drinks at the local pub. The official party would come later but everyone needed to get out and celebrate for an evening. You and Ben stayed for a few hours, Ben getting a little more clingy with each drink he finished. You limited yourself to only a couple. Ben wasn’t going to be able to drive so you decided to fall on that sword, switching to water quite early on. When he reached the point of intoxication that had him constantly complementing everyone you decided to call it a night, taking a final lap to say goodnight to everyone. There were a few wolf whistles and slurred comments about getting some as you left, Ben’s arm around your waist and his laugh in your ear, but you waved them off and led Ben out to your car.   “C’mon Benny boy, I’ll drop you home.”  “What about my car?”  “Well you’ll have to come get it in the morning, won’t you.”  He hummed and lay his head against the back of the seat, chatting animatedly as you made the trip to his. You wished him goodnight as he got out of the car and watched him make his way up to his front door. There he paused, patting his pockets.  “Everything alright? You called out to him.  “I don’t have any keys,” he laughed, turning around to come back to the car.  “You fucking goon, did you leave them at the pub?”  “Guess so,” he shrugged, “Can I crash at yours?”  “Get in,”  “Thanks cuddle bunny, you’re the best”  You rolled your eyes, “Guess this means I’ll be your taxi tomorrow, running you around to find your keys and your car,”  “That’s what girlfriends are for,”  “If you say so.”  

Once at yours you headed to the kitchen to make tea, Ben following to grab a glass of water and a snack. He knew where you kept everything by now, making himself a sandwich with whatever he found in your fridge, and then carrying it out to the couch. By the time the teas were made Ben already had Netflix queued up, ready to play the next episode of the series you’d started watching together. Nearly Twenty minutes into the episode Ben’s phone dinged.  “Ah shit,” he said as he glanced at it, “forgot I said I’d call Joe. Do you mind if we pause the ep? We’re trying to organise travel stuff for him and it’s easier if we talk it through rather than texting it all.”  “Sure,”  “I promise I won’t be long.”  “Take your time, it’s fine,” you were already reaching for your laptop.  Ben smiled at you before ducking out of the room. You head him walking down the hall, footsteps fading as he got further away. For a while you just enjoyed the quiet as you checked your emails and social media profiles but after commenting on the photo Ben had posted and replying to a few messages from people you knew there wasn’t really much left to do. You drummed your fingers on your keyboard trying to think of another website you could visit. There was still no sign of Ben and you didn’t want to continue the show without him so you stood up, stretched, and headed back to the kitchen to grab some chocolate from the stash you kept. You were just about to shut the fridge when you heard Ben’s voice coming from the other side of the wall. Your spare room where he’d clearly gone to make his phone call.   “Yeah, Joe, I fucking know. But I don’t have much choice.” He sounded more sober than he had when he’d got up. There was a pause as Joe spoke and then you heard Ben again.  “I don’t know what I was thinking getting into this mess…..Yeah maybe. Doesn’t really matter though now does it…. What’s that supposed to mean? I can’t just call it quits now, the story is doing too well and Peter has assured me that the numbers are promising or whatever I don’t really know how they measure it. All I know is that people are going to see the movie because of us.”  There was a long pause. You quietly shut the fridge and took a step back towards the doorway. This was not a conversation you should be listening in to. But then Ben spoke again, and curiosity got the better of you.  “It doesn’t matter Joe. It doesn’t matter how I feel.” He laughed but it was completely devoid of humour, “Of course it sucks. It’s fucking shit, man. I just keep waiting for her to tell me she feels the same but it’s not happening…... No, I know it’s completely one sided…..No, I don’t think she knows. She wouldn’t have wanted to do it in the first place if she knew…. I just wish things were different. I love being around her and being able to hold her and kiss her but it fucking sucks that it’s only in public….. I don’t know. Maybe not filming together will ma-”  You could feel your cheeks burning as you tiptoed back towards the lounge room, not quite sure what to do with yourself. You paced back and forth for a moment before deciding to go to the bathroom, at least then Ben couldn’t walk in on you as you tried to process it. You let the door shut loudly behind you, hoping that if Ben had heard movement he’d think you’d just got up to use the loo. He couldn’t know you’d overheard him. You leaned against the sink and tried to make sense of what you’d heard. Ben couldn’t have a crush on you, he just couldn’t. But it was the only thing he could have been talking about. What the fuck did that mean for your arrangement? What the fuck were you meant to do now?

[yjk-imagines]

"Will you marry me?"

"Out of every sentient in the galaxy, you are the only one who would propose over a fresh grave."

The assignment was simple. Get into the bar, get the message from their contact, and get off of Takonadona.

But when did anything ever go simple for the Solos?

Zekk noticed the bounty hunters first. He had been one of them, once. A quick scan of the bar proved no sign of the contact Uncle Luke had sent them after, and they quickly theorized who the bounty hunters were after. They followed them into the forest.

Jaina tried to keep her mind on the positives, like Mom was always telling her. For one, she had Zekk by her side. Two, running through the forest reminded her of her days running through the Massassi Jungles with her friends. And lastly, if they were still running, the bounty hunters definitely had the information they wanted, whether or not they had nabbed their contact.

Jaina swatted aside a low-hanging tree branch in time to see the three bounty hunters standing over a blue-skinned Twi'lek in a yellow poncho. The Twi'lek lay on the ground, all resistence beaten out of him as the red-haired bounty hunter in the mask aimed their blaster at him.

"No!" Jaina flew across the clearing between the trees, her lightsaber igniting mid-way.

The blaster hit the Twi'lek in the stomach, and Jaina's lightsaber sliced off the bounty hunter's arm.

The Twi'lek cried out, curling in around his wound. The bounty hunters, including the wounded one, all backed up several paces. The red-head with the face mask might have been human, but they were too obsessed with their arm to introduce themselves. The smallest one with the perpetually grumpy face looked somewhat like a sentient version of a kowakian monkey lizard, all wrapped up in bandoliers strapped with ammo and bombs. Their final bounty hunter was a Weequay, with at least five piercings in one ear, and a long braid hanging against the back of his jacket. He immediately drew his own blaster and aimed it at Jaina's head.

Zekk's lightsaber was already drawn. He stood just a few paces behind Jaina.

"Don't you know it's impolite to read other people's mail?" he asked.

"Finders keepers, eh mate?" The Weequay asked.

"If you're done, there's a man on the ground in agony," Jaina stood over the Twi'lek, shielding him with the hum of her lightsaber. Though by the sound of his ragged breaths she wouldn't be needed much longer.

"Make the shot, I dare you." Zekk warned, "By the time we're done, you'll be so full of blaster holes, you'll look like asteroids."

"I got a thermal detonator, Mel, let's see them try to stop an explosion." The tiny, goblin-like creature hissed behind pointed teeth.

The Weequay motioned his little friend back. Unlike his violent little friend, Mel was well aware that the detonator would kill them as well as the Jedi.

Jaina eyed the human member of the party, who held his shoulder and kept glancing down at his arm on the forest floor.

"Anyone else feel like ditching a few more limbs tonight?" She grinned her classic Solo grin, and narrowed her eyes at the human. He thought it over for a moment, and then took off at a run back in the direction of the bar.

Mel stared after him for a long time, and then glanced at the Jedi's lightsabers, dancing in the shadows of the forest.

"C'mon Grek, we're goin'."

"What?" Little Grek asked. Mel grabbed Grek by one large ear, and dragged him off after their friend. It wasn't until the bright red of Mel's vest vanished that Zekk turned off his lightsaber and took a deep sigh of relief.

"Do you practice little speeches like that?" Jaina sheathed her lightsaber as the bounty hunters disappeared.

"Like what?"

"That, 'you'll be so full of blaster holes you'll look like asteroids'?"

"No, it just came to mind."

"You practice, don't you?" Jaina asked.

Zekk didn't answer. He knelt at the contact's side, and Jaina joined him.

"Isseon Maud?" Zekk asked, his hand on the top of their head.

The contact nodded, his hands shaking as he tried to pull something out of his belt.

"Calm down, calm down, it can wait." Zekk urged him. Jaina tried to see to the blaster wound, but there was too much blood. Too slick, too fast. She tried to shake her head at Zekk without letting Isseon see.

"No," Isseon rasped firmly. With one arm, he grabbed the side of Zekk's head and pulled him closer to hear. With the other, he pressed a holochip into the palm of Zekk's hand.

"This," Isseon coughed, and a trickle of blood spilled out onto his lips. "This is our last hope for the Jedi."

Isseon's grip on Zekk slackened, and his arm fell, smacking against the ground as a slave to gravity.

Zekk breathed heavily, and Jaina reverently folded Isseon's robe back into place. Hope. Those were her mother's words when she needed to deliver the Death Star's plans to Obi-Wan Kenobi. She had heard that story many times before. She had been in that sort of situation millions of times before, and she wasn't so sure she wanted to be thrown back into that again. Whatever Uncle Luke wanted from Isseon Maud, it was worth dying for.

"Do you have a datapad?" Zekk asked suddenly. Jaina stopped her ceaseless wondering and pulled the datapad from her pocket. Zekk inserted the chip and sat back on his heels, waiting for the screen to load.

"It's a map," He said, blinking at the star charts that rapidly flashed across the screen.

"Several maps," Jaina came around to look over his shoulder.

Zekk shook his head, "They all go together, just like pieces of a puzzle."

"And what's the picture?" She asked.

The last of the pictures flashed onscreen, an ancient stone wall, carved in an unholy, jagged script.

Zekk's face went pale. "That's Sith writing." He said.

Jaina recognized some of it from the deepest, darkest parts of the Massassi temples, and she shook her head. "What does it say?"

Zekk exhaled deeply, "It talks of weapons, civilizations, a place called Exegol."

"Exegol?"

Zekk nodded, "Brakiss mentioned it once, he said the Emperor would meditate there sometimes."

"Sounds lovely."

"For a Sith, yes." Zekk shuddered. "How did Maud get his hands on this? This is dangerous, even for people who aren't force-sensitive!" "Uncle Luke mentioned he was a junker. He probably scavenged up something he shouldn't have."

Zekk looked over his shoulder, in the direction of Maz's Palace. "And the word got out a little too quick."

"The galaxy can't afford to get into another war," Jaina said definitively, "Especially not with the Sith."

Zekk turned off the datapad, handing it back to Jaina, and slipped the chip into his pocket.

"We gotta get back to Uncle Luke," Jaina stood, still gripping her lightsaber's hilt in her hand.

"We can't just leave him," Zekk said, looking down at Isseon Maud's body. He was eerily still, and the Jedi could sense the distinct absence of life emanating from him against the teeming flora and fauna of the forest. It wasn't so much of a gap in the force as a sort of dimness in the force. The force connected every living thing, which also meant connecting them to death.

Jaina sighed and looked around. They didn't have shovels, and digging would be a pain even with the force. She nodded to a couple of large gray rocks at the base of one of the trees. "Let's make a cairn."

Zekk nodded, and the two began the silent, monotonous task of collecting enough stones to properly cover the Twi'lek.

"What do you think your uncle will do with this information?" Zekk asked, weighing a smaller stone in his hand.

"I don't know," Jaina kept herself occupied with arranging the rocks in a perfect pile around Isseon's body, "The first thought is use it, but what would he use it for? I doubt he'd be teaching younglings how to create Sith Thought Bombs."

Zekk chuckled, "He's definitely not that crazy."

Jaina smiled at him. It was a sad smile, but filled with love all the same. She stepped back from the cairn, marked with a scrap of Isseon's poncho. "Would you like to say a few words?"

Zekk nodded, and Jaina waited patiently. He said nothing for a while, though his lips parted as if he were about to.

"Go on, then. Unless you'd like me to." Jaina encouraged.

"I will, I will," Zekk murmured. But he was silent for a few moments more.

"Will you marry me?"

Jaina's ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton, and the fuzzy sensation slowly moved to her brain as she struggled to process the question.

"What?" she asked, though they both knew she heard.

Zekk nodded, and instead of looking at Isseon's grave, he looked over at her.

"The first time i held my lightsaber, I knew. It felt right, like I was finally doing what I was supposed to. And that's what I feel about you."

Jaina's breath caught in her throat. Zekk was her closest, dearest friend. She had been in his mind, she knew how he felt about her, and she loved him. But hearing him say these things out loud was so much different than feeling it in his mind.

Zekk continued when she didn't say anything. "Every time we go out together, I promise your parents that I will protect and look out for you. But it works both ways."

He held out the hilt of his lightsaber, "I take care of my lightsaber because it protects and looks after me. Together, we're stronger.

"So," Zekk got down on one knee in the soft dirt.

"Jaina, will you marry me?"

The classic Solo grin had melted into an ear-to-ear smile, the same smile that each of the Skywalkers allowed themselves to feel in their entire body when everything was going right with the universe for once.

"Zekk, out of every single sentient in the galaxy, you are the only one-"

"Is that a yes?" Zekk almost stood up.

"Will you let me finish?"

"Sorry."

Jaina shook with laughter. He hadn't seen her laugh like this since one of Jacen's particularly bad jokes. "--the only one who would propose over a fresh grave."

"Is that a no, then?" Zekk was getting ahead of himself.

"Zekk, stop," Jaina knelt on the ground in front of him, "I love you more than anyone else, and I would marry you in a heartbeat, I just..." She glanced down at his lightsaber and wrapped her hand over his.

"This comes with a responsibility. When Luke made me the Sword of the Jedi, he told me I'd never find peace. I don't know if I can drag you into that."

"I'm already wrapped up in it every moment I spend with you," Zekk told her with a soft exhale, "I dragged myself into it when I chose to drag you and Jacen from the underworld back to your home."

Jaina gave a huff of laughter and looked down at the dirt. "So you want this, then?"

"I want you. And whatever comes with it."

Jaina pressed a chaste kiss yo his lips, "And I want everything that comes with you."

"Then say it," Zekk said, pulling them both to their feet, "Jaina Solo, will you marry me?"

Jaina squeezed his hands in her. "Yes, yes I will marry you Zekk." Zekk grabbed her by the waist, and with just a touch of the force he lifted her in the air, spinning her around with their long dark cloaks. Jaina couldn't help but laugh as she soared in her fiance's arms, coming in for a soft landing a moment later.

"So we get back to Ossus, figure out whatever it is that's going on with Exegol, stop another war between the Jedi and the Sith, and then get married." Jaina grinned, her hands interlocking behind his head.

"And then get married," Zekk whispered, his emerald eyes searching her amber ones. They sparkled with joy in the sunlight that came through the trees, and he had never been more in love with his best friend.

[itsclydebitches]

Is buying the new Harry Potter game supporting transphobes because I've been seeing a lot of that on twitter? Not playing it. Pirating is fine, but actually paying for it.

Hi, anon!

I’ve seen a lot of the same and had initially thought to post my thoughts on the issue… before I got a very angry ask condemning me for a post where I admitted that I thought the game looked great and was excited to play it. I can no longer link to that post because I deleted it: a late night, impulsive decision made in an effort to try and protect myself from further flaming. Thus, I considered ignoring this ask under the same justification… before realizing that it might not matter in the long run. The Harry Potter: Legacy trailer has been out for just a few days and already I have gotten that furious ask, been told off by a friend for mentioning the trailer, and was questioned (antagonistically) about why I had added a Harry Potter related book to my Goodreads list. They’re small and potentially coincidental anecdotes, but it feels as if any engagement with Harry Potter is slowly coming under scrutiny, not just the (supposed—more on that below) crime of purchasing the new game. Given that I will always engage with Harry Potter related media, if there’s any chance such subtle criticism will continue regardless of whether I make the “right” choice to boycott the game or not, I might as well explain my position. Especially for someone who asked politely! Thanks for that 💜. 

Which leads to the disclaimer: Any anon hate will be unceremoniously deleted. This is a complicated issue and I intend to write about it as such. I ask that any readers go into this post with good faith and a willingness to acknowledge that this situation isn’t as black and white as they may prefer it to be. If that’s not something you can emotionally handle—which is 100% fine. Some subjects we’re simply not inclined to debate—or if you’re just looking to get in a cheap shot, please hit the back button.

Right. Introduction done. Now here’s the tl;dr: saying things like “Buying this game is inherently selfish/transphobic” isn’t the hot take people want it to be. Is boycotting Legacy one (very small—we’ll get to that too) way of showing support for the trans community? Yes. Is buying the game proof that you’re a selfish transphobe?  No. This isn’t a bad SAT question. Legacy boycotters are to trans supporters as Legacy buyers are to  ___? The argument that someone is selfish for buying the game is basically that you are choosing a non-essential video game over the respect and lives of trans individuals, but the logic breaks down when we acknowledge that purchasing a game has no real life impact on a trans individual’s safety, support, etc.   

“But Clyde, you’re giving Rowling money. She is then using that money to support anti-trans organizations. Thus, you have actively put more harm into the world.” Have I? I’m not going to get into whether/how much/what kind of money Rowling is receiving from this project because the fact is we don’t know and we’ll likely never know. Suffice to say, she probably will get some portion of any $60/$70 purchase. The real question is whether those sales have any meaningful impact. Reputable information on Rowling’s net worth is hard to come by, but it seems to be somewhere between 600 million and 1 billion pounds. Or, to put it another way: a fuck ton. And money keeps rolling in from a franchise that is so, so much bigger than a single video game. It literally doesn’t matter how much money you might put in her pocket via Legacy because she’s already so goddamn rich she can do whatever she wants. If Rowling wants to give a million dollars to the heinous “charity” of her choice, she can. She will. You are not directly contributing to this horror because that money may as well already exist. Every person in the world could refuse to buy this game and she’d shrug, going about her disgusting life because it literally does not affect her in any meaningful way. You’re refusing to give the murderer a knife when they’re got direct access to a knife-making factory. Horrible as it is to hear, you can’t stop them from doing something horrific with that tool. 

For me, this is the straw argument of the Harry Potter world. Not straw as in strawman, but literally straws. Remember how everyone was talking about plastic straws, swore off them, and subsequently deemed anyone who still used one to be selfish people who didn’t care about the environment? It didn’t matter if you had a certified “good” reason for using one (disability) or a “selfish” reason (carrying straws everywhere on the off chance you wanted a drink is a pain in the ass)—you’re a horrible person who wants the planet to die. Same deal here. If you can swear off straws, great! Do what tiny bit of good you can. But if you can’t or even don’t want to give them up, the reality is that your “selfishness” doesn’t make a significant difference in the world. The amount of plastic corporations are pouring into the ocean makes your actions inconsequential. It’s not like voting where every small, individual act adds up to a significant total. This is your lack up against others’ staggering abundance. It’s not adding a few drops of water until you have a full bucket, it’s trying to un-flood the boat with a teaspoon while someone else is spraying it with the hose. Have you, on the most technical level, made a difference by moving that teaspoon of water out of the boat? Yes. Is it a difference that holds any meaning in regards to the desired outcome? Not really. Now apply all that to Rowling. She is so phenomenally wealthy—with additional wealth coming in every day—that your purchase of Legacy is a teaspoon of water in her ocean of funds. It’s inconsequential.

“But Clyde, buying this game would support her and supporting her sends the message that what she believes is okay.” Exact same argument as above. JKR’s fame is so astronomical that no video-game boycott could ever make a dent in it. For every 100 people who swear off her work there are another 1,000 who continue to engage with both her writing and the writing related to her world because she is that prominent. Harry Potter is one of the largest franchises of all time, second only to things like Pokémon and Star Wars. This isn’t some indie creator who you can ignore into silence. The reality is that Rowling is here to stay and we have to take far more substantial acts to counteract that influence. 

Even more importantly, buying the game is not evidence that you support her views and the black and white belief that it does is an easy distraction from those harder “How do we improve the lives of trans people?” questions. I started compiling a list of stories with problematic authors only to realize the number of incredibly popular texts with awful histories attached to them unnecessarily increased the length of an already long post. Everything from Game of Thrones to Dr. Seuss—if you love it, chances are one of the authors involved has a history of misogyny, racism, homophobia, etc. Which I don’t say as a way of excusing these authors, nor as a way to silence the justified and necessary call outs on their work. Rather, I bring this up to acknowledge that engaging with these stories cannot be concrete evidence for how you view the minority group in question. The reasons for consuming these stories are incalculable and at the end of the day no one needs a “correct” reason for that consumption (my teacher forced me to read the racist book, I only watched the homophobic TV show so I could call out how horrible it was, etc.) If fiction were an indicator of our real life beliefs we’d all be the most horrifying creatures imaginable. I may be severely uncomfortable with the queer baiting in Supernatural, but if a friend says they bought the DVD collection my response is not, “How dare you support those creators. You’re homophobic.” In the same way, someone purchasing Legacy should not generate the response, “How dare you support her. You’re transphobic.” There’s a miles’ worth of pitfalls in connecting the statements “You purchased a game based on the world created by a transphobic author” and “You yourself are transphobic.” 

So if buying Legacy does not add additional harm to the trans community from a financial perspective, and it doesn’t make a dent in Rowling’s platform, and playing a game is not evidence of your feelings towards the group the author hates… what are we left with? “But Clyde, it’s the principal of the thing. I don’t want to support a TERF” and that is an excellent argument. Your morals. Your ethics. What you can stomach having done or not done. But the “your” is incredibly important there. People need to understand that this is their own line in the sand and that if someone else’s line is different, that doesn’t mean they’re automatically a worse person than you. For example, I have made the choice not to eat at Chick-Fil-A. Not because I believe that me not giving them $3.75 for a sandwich will make a difference in their influence on the world, but because it makes a difference to me. It helps me sleep at night. So if not purchasing Legacy helps you sleep at night? That’s a fantastic reason not to buy it. But the flipside is that if someone else does purchase it that is not a reliable reflection of their morals, no more than I think my friends are homophobic for grabbing lunch at Chick-Fil-A now and then. Sometimes you just want a sandwich. 

“But Clyde, why would you want to buy it? Rowling is such a shit-stain I don’t understand how anyone can stomach supporting her—whether that support has an impact or not. Maybe someone eats at Chick-Fil-A because it’s close to them and they’re too busy to go elsewhere, or it’s all they can afford, or they don’t know how homophobic they are. There are lots of reasons to explain something like that. But you’re not ignorant to Rowling’s problem and there’s no scenario where you have to play this game, let alone spend money on it. So why?”

The reality is that I will likely be buying Legacy, second-hand if I can, but new if it comes to that, so I’ll give some of my personal answers here, in descending order of presumed selfishness:

5. Part of my work involves studying video games/Harry Potter and as a researcher of popular culture, my career depends on keeping up with major releases: good and bad. I often engage with stories I wholeheartedly disagree with for academic purposes, like Fifty Shades of Gray.

4. I find the “Just pirate it!” solution to be flawed. I’ve spent the last four months struggling to get my laptop fixed and I currently have no income to buy another if it were to suddenly develop a larger problem. I am not going to risk my $2,000 lifeline on an illegal download, no matter how safe and easy the Internet insists it is. 

3. We’ve been told that Rowling has not been involved in Legacy in any significant manner and I do want to support Portkey. No, not just financially because I know many others have insisted that everyone good has already been paid. Game companies still need to sell games. That’s why they exist. There’s a possibility that a company with just two mobile games under its belt will be in trouble if this completely flops. Is my purchase going to make or break things? No. Same reality as whether it will put new, influential money in Rowling’s pocket to do horrific things with. But I’d like to help a company that looks as if they put a lot of heart and energy into a game only to get hit with some real shit circumstances outside of their control. Even if they’re not impacted financially or career-wise… art is meant to be consumed. I know if I wrote a Harry Potter fic and everyone boycotted it because they want nothing to do with Rowling anymore, I’d be devastated. Sometimes, you can’t separate supporting the good people from supporting the bad. Not in a media landscape where thousands of people are involved in singular projects.

2. I’m invested in reclaiming excellent works created by horrible authors. That’s fandom! We don’t know much about Legacy yet—this is pure, unsubstantiated speculation—but this new story could be a step forward from Rowling’s books, giving us some of the respect for minority groups that she failed at. That’s the sort of work I want to promote because Harry Potter as a concept is great and I think it’s worth transforming it for our own needs and desires. The reality is that as long as Rowling is alive she’ll benefit from licensed material, but if that material can start taking her world in better directions? I want to support that too.

1. I literally just want to play it. That’s it. That’s my big justification. I think it looks phenomenal and I was itching to get my hands on it the second the trailer dropped. And you know what? I’m not in a good place right now to deny myself things I enjoy. I don’t need to tell anyone that 2020 has been an absolute horror show, but for me certain things have made it a horror show with a cherry on top. Not a lot gets me excited right now because we’re living in the worst fucking timeline, so when I find something that makes me feel positive emotions for a hot second I want to hang onto it. I have no desire to set aside that spark of happiness in a traumatic world because people on the Internet think it makes me selfish. Maybe it does, but I’m willing to let myself be a bit selfish right now. 

Which circles back to this issue of equating buying a game with active harm towards the trans community. It honestly worries me because this is a very, very easy way to avoid the harder, messier activism that will actually help the queer community. When someone says things like, “You’re choosing a stupid video game over trans lives” that activism is performative. Not only—as demonstrated above—is purchasing a game not a threat to trans lives or ignoring the game a way of protecting trans lives, it also gives people an incredibly easy out while still seeming ‘woke.’ Not all people. Maybe not even a significant portion of people, but enough people to be worrisome. “I’m not purchasing that game,” some people post and then that’s it. That’s all they do, yet they feel like they’ve done their duty when in fact they’ve made no active difference in the world. Are you donating to trans charities? Are you speaking up for your trans friends when someone accosts them? Are you circulating media by trans authors? Are you educating your family about trans issues? Are you listening to trans individuals and continually trying to educate yourself? These are the things that make a difference, not shaming others for buying a game.

All of this is not meant to be an argument that people shouldn’t be absolutely revolted by Rowling’s beliefs (they should) and that this revulsion can’t take the form of rejecting this game wholeheartedly. This isn’t even meant to be an argument that you shouldn’t encourage others to boycott because though the financial impact may be negligible, the emotional impact for you is very real. I 100% support anyone who wants to chuck this game into the trash and never talk about it again—for any reason. All this is meant to argue is that people shouldn’t judge others based on whether they purchase this game (with a side argument that we can’t limit our activism to that shaming). That’s their decision and this decision, significantly, does not add any real harm to the world. Your fellow Harry Potter fan is not the enemy here. We as a community should not be turning our visceral on one another. Turn it on Rowling. She’s the TERF, not the individual who, for whatever reason, decided they wanted to play the game only tangentially related to her.  

If Twitter and Tumblr are any indication, I can imagine the sort of responses this post may generate: “That’s a whole lot of talk to try and convince us you’re not a transphobe :/ ” For those of you who are determined to simply things to that extent, there’s nothing I can say that will change your mind. Please re-read the disclaimer and consider whether yelling at me over anon will benefit the trans community. For those of you who are still here, I do legitimately want us to think critically about the kinds of activism we’re engaging in, how performative it might be, whether it harms the community in any way, and (most significantly) whether it’s actually moving us towards a safe, respective world for trans people to live in. Personally, I don’t think telling Harry Potter fans that they’re transphobic for buying Legacy will generate any good in this world, for them or for the trans community. 

At the end of the day only you can decide whether you can stomach buying this game or not. Decide that for yourself, but make that decision knowing that there’s no wrong answer here.  

[f-nodragonart]

Vertebrate Wings, PART 3: Flight

Return to main post + TOC >>HERE<<

Flight TOC

  Basic Flight Theory

  Bird vs. Bat vs. Pterosaur

  Aspect Ratio and Wing Loading

  Special Cases: Hoverers

Basic Flight Theory

I will openly admit here and now, I’m not well-versed in physics. I apologize if this section is a bit disorganized, since I’ll be stitching together others’ more comprehensible flight descriptions/explanations.

This first bit is from a kind follower, Rahjital, who sent us this quick explanation of flight theory a while back (sadly the images they added no longer seem to be working, so I tried to find fitting images as substitutes):

The first step to learn how lift works is to debunk the popular explanation of how lift forces are created, called the Equal Transit Time theory. The reasoning is that air flowing around the wing splits into two streams, one of which has to travel over the wing and another which travels below it. Due to the shape of the wing, the upper stream has to move faster to cover the same distance. This difference in velocities generates a difference in pressure and therefore lift.

However, what happens if you fly upside down?

The upper side of your wing points towards the ground, and so does the lift force. I would have said you’d fall like a rock, but the fall would actually be faster since your wings would drag you down. We all know that’s not how flight works, though, so how is lift actually created?

All you need to do is tilt the wings a bit. Seriously, I’m not kidding. No need for a specialized wing shape, as the majority of people seems to believe. (although it helps.) Why? Let me explain:

There are two phenomena causing lift to be created:

1. As air flows around the wing, its direction changes downwards and it leaves the back edge of the wing moving slightly more down. Mister Newton tells us that every action has its reaction, so if the air moves down, our wing has to rise.

2. Due to the tilting, the air flowing on the underside of the wing ends up colliding with it and slowing down, raising the pressure. On the other hand, the air flowing over the wings goes upwards because it has to get over the raised front edge, but as it can’t get back down immediately, it ends up travelling in an arc over the wing. This forms a small ‘pocket’ of low pressure straight above the top surface of the wings. These two fields of pressure then generate additional lift. (this is similar to how the Equal Transit Time theory states lift is generated, but with a very different reason, and not as important as the theory states it to be).

Next time you are traveling in a car, try reaching out of the window with your arm when going reasonably fast. As long as you keep your hand parallel to the ground, not much is going to happen, but once you tilt it even a little, the wind is going to push it up. (or down, depending on which direction you tilted it.) That’s it - your hand is generating enough lift to hit the frame of the car window. Just imagine how much lift does a properly built wing get in a similar situation.

The tilt I am talking about the entire time here is called the angle of attack, often abbreviated just AOA. The greater the angle of attack is, the more lift is generated, but the more drag there is, too. For airplanes, the AOA is negligible from an artist’s perspective, but for winged creatures, this is far more of a concern.

Therefore, the flight theory rule #1 is: Whenever you draw a flying creature, always make its wings slightly inclined. It wouldn’t be able to fly otherwise.

~~end quote~~

Bird vs. Bat vs. Pterosaur

This first bit will be borrowed from Koryos’ article “Bat Flight Versus Bird Flight” (which I highly suggest reading in-full for a deeper explanation). Fair warning though—from the short explanation they give of basic flight/lift, it seems they do believe (at least at the time of writing the article) in the now-defunct Equal Transit Time Theory, though their points on bird vs. bat flight are still valid otherwise:

If you look closely at the above gif, you’ll notice that at several points during flight, the bat actually bends its fingers, which dramatically changes the shape of its wings. Birds do not have joints in their feathers, so they cannot do this.

....

Flexible joints are not all the bat has in its arsenal. Its actual bones are flexible, due to a lack of calcium in its diet. This means that they deform and reform their shape during flight.

Birds minimize air resistance by rotating their primaries during their upstroke, allowing air to slip between the feathers. Bats, with solid membranes, can’t do this- so they have an even finer means of control. There are lines of muscle present within the bat’s wing membrane that can actually change the stiffness and malleability of its skin. You can see them quite clearly under the skin of our entangled bat friend.

This is a big brown bat (Eptesicus fuscus), by the way.

These muscles allow the bat to make their membranes flexible during their upstroke to decrease resistance, yet stiff during their downstroke in order to provide lift. It also allows them to change the camber (angle) of their wings on a whim!

This slow-mo video really displays just how incredibly flexible bat wings are.

Bat wings are also covered by millions of tiny, hyper-sensitive hairs that allow the bat to sense air currents and adjust accordingly.

So what does all this control do for the bat?

Well, for one thing, it means they’re not limited by symmetry. Bird wings will almost always mirror each other in shape, while bats may form two different wings shapes at the same time, allowing them to perform some crazy aerial acrobatics. Some insect-eating bats will actually grab an insect by wrapping one wing around it midflight (don’t believe me? You can see it in the beginning of this video!) and then get the insect in their mouth all in a split second, while still flying.

Now, in terms of speed, birds can generally outpace bats. But in terms of maneuverability, bats can fly circles around birds.

The fact that bats’ bones, unlike those of birds, aren’t hollow, and that their skin is heavier than feathers might seem like a disadvantage- but it isn’t. Birds have much more mass in the center of their body than they do in their wings; by contrast, bats have more mass distributed through each wing (12-20% per wing). This means that bats can actually push off their own mass to do things like flip, spin, roll, etc. No bird can stop midflight and flip over to land upside-down, but bats can.

Because they have such fine control over their airfoil shape, bats can also generate lift using less energy than birds. Remember when I talked about minimizing surface area during the upstroke and maximizing it during the downstroke? Bats can bend their fingers and ‘crumple’ their wings as they raise them, conserving energy. Think of it like opening and closing an umbrella. While birds can pull their feathers together more tightly, they can’t exactly clench them like fists.

Decreasing energy costs is good in any situation, but particularly for fliers. It takes a lot of energy to fly. In this case, bats can outcompete both birds and insects for energy efficiency- one study found that nectar-feeding bats, though the largest in size, expended the least energy hovering when compared to both moths and hummingbirds.

~~end quote~~

As for pterosaurs, I’ll leave it up to Mike Habib’s article “Feathers vs Membranes”:

The structure and efficiency of pterosaur wings is obviously not known in as much detail as those of birds or bats, for the simple reason that no living representatives of pterosaurs are available for study.  However, soft tissue preservation in pterosaurs does give some critical information about their wing morphology, and the overall shape and structure of the wing can be used (along with first principles from aerodynamics) to estimate efficiency and performance.

…((I’ll just be pasting the basic findings, but please read the full article if you’re interested in specifics))…

Now, for some punchlines...

Based on the structural information above, we might expect the following regarding pterosaurs and birds:

- Pterosaurs would have a base advantage in terms of maneuverability and slow flight competency.

- Pterosaurs would also have had an advantage in terms of soaring capability and efficiency

- Pterosaurs would have been better suited to the evolution of large sizes (though this was affected more by differences in takeoff - see earlier posts about pterosaur launch).

- Birds will perform a bit better as mid-sized, broad-winged morphs (because they can use slotted wing tips and span reduction).

- Birds would have an advantage in steep climb-out after takeoff at small body sizes (because they can work with shorter wings and engage them earlier).  This might pre-dispose them to burst launch morphologies/ecologies.

~~end quote~~

(other articles by Habib about Pterosaur anatomy and flight can be found here and here, for anyone interested)

When Exdraghunt linked us this information about pterosaur wings, it was in relation to a question about pterosaur keels and why they differed from bird keels. Exdraghunt suggested this might be due to pterosaur preference for soaring compared to bird flapping. However, plenty of inland pterosaurs could have been flappers, so I think the shallowness is more likely caused by their muscular setup compared to birds, discussed in more detail in the Basic Anatomy section.

Aspect Ratio and Wing Loading

Now that we have a basic understanding of the different modes of vertebrate flight, we can get to the fun stuff—wing diversity! Believe it or not, my friends, wing shapes and sizes can drastically effect an animal’s flight style.

Aspect ratio is the ratio of length to width in a wing, where high ratio indicates narrow wings, and low ratio indicates wide wings.

Loading is the ratio of body weight to wing size, where low loading = large wings + small weight, and high loading = small wings + large weight.

Measuring these two aspects against each other helps us determine different flight styles.

For a short n’ sweet rundown:

1)      Long, narrow wings (low loading, high ratio)= gliding, low speed

 2)      Long, wide wings (low loading, low ratio)= soaring

 3)      Short, wide wings (high loading, low ratio)= high acceleration (burst speed), maneuverability

 4)      Short, narrow wings (high loading, high ratio)= high speed

Though there are other aspects of wing shape to take into account as well.

(via^)

Pointedness refers to a wing tip’s position on the leading edge; IE- is the longest point of the wing further back behind the leading edge (A, round), or does the longest point lie along the leading edge (B, pointed)?. Rounder wings increase thrust, and lend towards greater maneuverability-- particularly in short/wide wings. Pointed wings reduce drag on the air (which increases speed), particularly in short wings, and can make for smoother flight.

Convexity refers to the acuteness of a wingtip; IE- is the shape of the wingtip curved relatively inwards (C, concave) or outwards (D, convex)? Concave wings are better suited for constant high speed. Convex wings create more lift, so are ideal for slow flying and increase acceleration.

Measuring these two aspects against each other gives us another fun chart of wing types.

(via^)

And let’s not forget that slotted wings—those whose primary remiges have notches which create gaps between these feathers—reduce drag and tend to be found in wide (low ratio) wings.

Put all these aspects and little details together, and you can observe some very unique flight patterns. Most ornithologists tend to organize wings into 4 different types, as shown below.

Though I personally like to use a few more types as organization (list via):

  1) Marine soarers are birds that fly for long periods over the open ocean and have very high aspect-ratio wings and average or low wing loading that reduce the energetic cost of flight. Birds in this category include the albatrosses (Procellariiformes).

  2) Divers/swimmers are birds with medium to high aspect ratios and high wing loading, including murres, loons, grebes, scoters, mergansers, ducks, and swans. These birds fly rapidly, but with limited maneuverability, characteristics useful for birds that often fly long distances (e.g., during migration or to feeding areas) and take-off and land on water where precise maneuverability is not as important.

  3) Aerial hunters are birds with high aspect-ratio wings and low wing loading, a combination permitting rapid flight and excellent maneuverability. Aerial hunters include swallows and martins (Passeriformes), swifts (Apodiformes), nightjars (Caprimulgiformes), Swallow-tailed Kites (Falconiformes), frigatebirds (Fregatidae), terns (Sterninae), some falcons (e.g., hobbies and Eleonora’s Falcon), and tropicbirds (Phaethontidae).

  4) Soarers/coursers include birds with low aspect ratios and low wing loading, characteristics that allow relatively large birds to either soar or fly just above the vegetation in open habitats in search of prey. Birds in the soaring category include hawks and eagles (Falconiformes), vultures, condors, and storks (Ciconiiformes), and cranes (Gruiformes). Coursing birds include some owls (e.g., Barn Owl and Short-eared Owl; Strigiformes) and harriers (Falconiformes).

  5) Short-burst fliers are birds with low aspect ratios and high wing loading that fly infrequently and only for short distances. Birds in this category include those in the orders Galliformes (e.g., turkeys, pheasants, quail, grouse, and megapodes) and Tinamiformes (tinamous).

  6) Hoverers are birds capable of flying in one position without wind and have high aspect ratios and, surprisingly, high wing loading. The high aspect ratio reduces the energetic cost of flight, whereas the high wing loading permits relatively fast, agile flight (Rayner 1998). The only true hoverers are the hummingbirds (Apodiformes).

~~end quote~~

I don’t have an outside source to verify this observation, but I’ve found that a longer “hand” section and shorter arm generally correlate with high-speed flight, while a shorter “hand” and longer arm correlates to low-speed gliding. I can only assume this may be due to a shorter arm section being easier to flap rapidly, but again, this is conjecture.

While much of this information is bird-specific, I was able to scrounge up a graph of bat aspect ratios and loading, so I can only assume these concepts similarly apply to bat flight.

(via^)

There sadly seems to be much less information available on bat wing/flight diversity…

As for pterosaur wing diversity, exdraghunt sent in some great input (as well as that chart of different bat wings featured above~):

There actually is a fair amount of wing diversity among pterosaurs, and it fairly closely parallels that in birds. (Though they do not reach the extreme variety in shapes that birds do, due to the limitations in variety of “arm+wing finger” combos)

One of the most extreme examples is Nyctosaurus gracilis, a long-distance marine soarer, similar to albatrosses. They have very long, thin wings (and also lost their other wing fingers, presumably because they came on land rarely)

Other species of pterosaur, like insect eaters (which need short, broad wings for manuverability) or over-land fliers would’ve had different wing shapes.

Some of this difference was achieved by varying the ratio between “arm” and “wing finger” lengths. You’ll notice that smaller, earlier “Rhamphorhynchoids” (the top half, with the long tails) tended towards  short arms vs long wing fingers. While larger, later Pterodactyloid species developed longer arms in relationships to the wing finger. (Especially in the wrist)

Wing shape silhouettes, by Mark Witton. (Not to scale, obvs.)

~~end quote~~

Special Cases: Hoverers

Hoverers such as hummingbirds are special cases in the world of vertebrate flight, because much of their lifestyle and physiology mimics that of insects-- including their flight.

The basic rules of flight theory discussed above won’t exactly apply to these guys, because air doesn’t travel over their wings in the same way it does in other vertebrate flyers. Take a look at this post and compare the animations between the hummingbird, goose, and bat. What exactly is unique about the hummingbird animation compared to the other two?

A few things-- for one, hummingbirds don’t have nearly as many points of wing articulation during flight. If you look closely, you’ll see there’s no bend at the elbow or wrist for a hummingbird; they move their whole arm in a completely stiff, figure-8 pattern. Such high-speed flapping can’t handle that much articulation.

Why a figure-8? Here’s the thing-- hummingbirds don’t technically have an upstroke they have to account for. Every stroke of their wings is a downstroke because when they pull their wings back, the topside of their wings tilts down and also pushes against the air as a “downstroke”. Thus, there’s never a gap between downstrokes-- they’re always efficiently pushing down against the air.

This is also why, unlike most every other flying vertebrate, their flight is more vertical than horizontal. In order to properly swing their wings in a figure-8 motion, they have to tilt their bodies up.

While hovering flight is cool as hell, it comes with a lot of restrictions; mainly, hoverers are always small. The energetic restrictions required for hovering are so incredibly high that bodies much bigger than a hummingbird wouldn’t be able to consume enough energy to make up for hovering. Plus, hoverers tend to live right on the edge of starvation because what energy they do manage to consume is used up so quickly.

If you do want to integrate hovering into your dragons, consider making it a secondary form of flight that they can only keep up for short bursts, rather than their primary mode of flight. Unless you’re ready to give your dragon a lot of physiological restrictions, which is cool too.

-Mod Spiral

[lettheladylead]

avoid the unhappy ending (ch6)

ships/characters: Goldie, Huey, Louie, Beakley, Scrooge/Goldie words (ch6): ~2200  summary: Goldie comes to town to see Scrooge. Instead, she somehow manages to run into literally everyone else. ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27108943/

[1 & 2] [3] [4] [5]

Chapter 6 below the cut:

Goldie, finally alone, took the opportunity to climb down the stairs. Duckworth had said Scrooge was down there at some point. Of course, Scrooge was all around the manor at some point. Not the most helpful clue. But still, there she went.

Quietly creeping down the staircase to ensure the housekeeper wouldn’t notice her, she poked her head around the side and glanced every which way. There was definitely someone in the kitchen and she had no doubts who that was. It was not a confrontation she was interested in having. Sure - Goldie could take out Twenty-Two with minimal effort. But did she want to? Not particularly.

She tip-toed her way towards the dining room, hoping to see Scrooge eating some of his disgusting family recipes or reading the paper. And as she opened the door, she saw someone sitting at the end of the table right underneath the large portrait of Scrooge’s parents.

Even with the giant newspaper covering his face, she recognized the signature top hat.

“Finally.” Goldie stepped forward and leaned on the table flirtatiously. “Scroogey, where have you-”

The newspaper was pulled down to reveal the red triplet, who just happened to be wearing Scrooge’s hat.

Goldie and Huey stared at each other for a full second before they both yiped.

Huey grabbed the top hat and threw it across the room. “I-I wasn’t pretending to be Uncle Scrooge!”

Goldie watched the hat’s descent. “Um…”

“Wait, what? Miss Goldie?” He blinked several times and then shook his head, focusing on neatly folding up the newspaper. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m - ”

“Stealing something? Visiting Scrooge? Come to talk to Louie?”

“...it’s -”

“Are you going to tie up Mrs. Beakley again? She probably won’t appreciate that.”

“...”

“Well?”

Goldie crossed her arms over her chest. “I was waiting for you to stop talking.”

Huey stood up straight and popped his normal hat back on his head. “I’m done.”

“I’m looking for your uncle. Contrary to apparently popular belief, I don’t need to steal something every time I’m here.” She glanced around the room and a few items of significant monetary value stood out to her. “...of course, that doesn’t mean I won’t.”

He followed her eyeline and frowned. “Why are you looking for Uncle Scrooge?”

Goldie picked herself up and sat on the edge of the table, one leg crossed over the other. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“You being in my home makes it my business,” Huey said matter-of-factly. “I don’t think I’m wrong to assume that you broke in here, which means the manor isn’t as secure as it should be considering the types of people who try to just come in whenever they want to.”

Impressed, she smiled down at the kid. “So serious. You know, I spoke with your brother earlier and he’s busy putting on a show, while you’re down here pretending to be an ancient businessman with a back problem.”

He stiffened. “What’s your point?”

“My point…” Goldie leaned over and flicked the brim of Huey’s hat, knocking it off his head. It was easy to change the subject with kids. “...is that you don’t seem to know how to have fun.”

Huey reached over and grabbed his hat to put it back on. “I make my own fun! The girls have their sleepovers and Dewey is...Dewey. And Louie doesn’t do anything! Scrooge is alone all the time so I thought imitating him might give me some ideas!”

She frowned at that. “What do you mean, alone all the time? He has a million people living in this house with him.”

“Well, yeah, sure. But he still has his alone routine he fell into before we moved in.” Huey scratched his arm. “He takes long baths, usually eats meals by himself, drinks a lot of tea alone on the couch, spends hours writing stuff at the desk in his room…”

Goldie’s frown deepened. Was this kid trying to pull one over on her? Those specifically sounded like activities she could be joining in on if she were a more regular resident of the manor. “I’m sure he prefers it that way,” she said with a shrug.

Huey gave her a suspicious look, almost like her reaction was not what he thought she’d say. He clearly gave his response some consideration before saying, “Yes, well...that’s the life of a bachelor, I guess!”

She laughed. “What would you know about a bachelor’s life? You’re, what, 10?”

“I’m 11, thank you very much.” Huey clasped his fingers on the table in front of him. “And I may not know a lot about bachelors, but I know Uncle Scrooge! Plus I know you’ve,” He pointed at her dramatically, “been running around all afternoon trying to find him and you won’t tell anyone why. So I think you miss him, and he’s lonely. And Duckworth thinks it’s some anniversary for you guys. So you can keep pretending that you’re just here to get on Uncle Scrooge’s nerves, but I think it’s pretty obvious that you just want to spend some time with him and it’s kind of ridiculous that even at your age, you two can’t seem to just sit down and have a normal conversation about it. Considering what Webby told us about your little adventure down in Florida, I would’ve thought you two would be better at communicating by now. I guess one good trip can’t undo over a hundred years of messiness.”

Goldie stared at him, quite taken aback. She wasn’t used to anyone speaking to her like that.

“I’d say I know quite a bit, Aunt Goldie.” Huey stood up and grabbed the paper in front of him, stuffing it under his arm. He shuffled towards the exit. “Tell Uncle Scrooge I said hi when you finally find him.”

She was still staring at the empty chair when Huey left the room. This was really turning out to be some kind of day, wasn’t it? Scolded by children. Lectured by children. Pitied by children. Interviewed by children. There were too many kids in this house, she didn’t need to tell Scrooge that. Communication wasn’t the problem - he knew exactly how she felt.

Goldie hopped off the table. She brushed some dust off her shorts and considered the possibility that maybe Scrooge didn’t one hundred percent know how she felt.

...no, no. He knew.

She looked at the doors around the room. That was the one she entered from, that one went to the kitchen, and...she didn’t remember where that door led. So…

The door creaked quite a bit as she pushed it open, revealing the living room. Oh, yeah. Now she remembered. And there was someone sitting on the couch, sipping a drink and watching television.

Goldie smiled and walked over, plopping down on the armrest and leaning against the back of the couch.

“Hey, can you get me another Pep? I’m almost out.”

Her smile turned into a smirk as she realized Louie wasn’t paying enough attention to figure out who was with him. She snatched the soda out of his hand and chugged the rest of it.

Louie stared at his now-empty hand. “Hey! What do you think you’re…” He turned his head to confront the soda stealing culprit and then froze. “...wait, what?”

“Hey there, Sharpie.”

“What are you doing here?!” Louie jumped over to the far side of the couch and checked his pockets to see if anything was missing.

“Just hanging out. Talking to your entire family, for whatever reason.” She shrugged. “And what are you up to? Judging from the number of empty cans here, I take it there’s no scheme in the works.”

“I’m not constantly scheming,” Louie said with a frown. “Unlike you, I have a life outside of that. Y’know, family and friends.”

Goldie didn’t let his comment annoy her. (Almost.) “More proof that family just bogs you down. Let me guess; they ruined your last scheme?”

Louie shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket. “Nope.”

“Oh?”

“They actually saved my last scheme. I guess having a family isn’t as bad as you seem to think it is.” He smirked at her, feeling like he was on top again.

Goldie scowled and turned her body to face him, letting one leg droop onto the couch while the other hung over the edge of the armrest. “What is with everyone today?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve spoken to ninety percent of the people who live here, including several random children that I’ve never seen before, and everyone is just constantly talking about how great and important family is.” She shook her hands for emphasis. “Are you people always like this or is it just a special topic for me?”

Louie let out a short, rude laugh. “Ever think you might be a little paranoid? If everyone’s talking to you about family, that’s probably your own fault.”

She scoffed. “Paranoia is good for a person like me. It’s the only reason I’m still alive.”

“Oh, really?” He sat back down, leaning against the other armrest to look at her smugly. “It’s not because of magic? Or fountains of youth? Maybe some dimension hopping?”

“That all came later. Before I found my first fountain, I was just a normal duck who had to be better than every other duck or dog or pig that came to town. No family or friends to support me or fall back on.”

Louie snapped a finger and then pointed a finger gun at Goldie. “You just brought up family again with no prompting.”

“What?” Goldie frowned and thought about what she’d said. “No - you know what? That’s because I’m surrounded by you people!”

“So you admit that it’s your own fault.” He smiled and adjusted his position so he was facing the TV again. “Does denial come naturally when you get old or is it just you and Uncle Scrooge?”

She glared down at Louie for a moment before picking herself up and plopping down on the couch next to him. “So what are we watching?”

Louie glanced up at her, surprised that she hadn’t left. “Ottoman Empire. It’s my favorite show.”

“What’s it about?”

“I don’t even know, it’s so stupid.”

A minute passed with them silently watching the show together. Louie was clearly very comfortable, and Goldie had to admit that just sitting and watching some nonsense with her favorite of Scrooge’s kids was...nice.

As annoying as the day had been, there were a few moments she enjoyed. This was definitely in the top three, as embarrassing as that fact was. There was something about Sharpie that made her feel lighter. Sure, she’d betrayed him, but he didn’t seem to hold a grudge like his uncle tended to. He didn’t seem to care at all. He even told one of the other ducklings that she was soft.

“Why’d you tell Lil Vanderquack that I’m, quote, a softie?” she asked suddenly, cutting through the boredom of a commercial break.

Louie didn’t even look at her, taking a sip from an old can of Pep that still had some liquid at the bottom. “Cause you are.”

Goldie hummed in response. What would be the point in disagreeing with him? Clearly he’d made up his mind. And here she was, snuggling with him on a comfy sofa, watching bad reality TV while not twenty feet away was a woman who wanted to rip her head off and not five feet away were treasures worth more than her home. Maybe he had a point.

“Do you always think you’re right?” she asked.

“Do you?”

Goldie frowned deeper and put a hand on top of Louie’s head, brushing her fingers through some of his little feathers. “Of course.”

He didn’t stop her from playing with his hair, enjoying it more than he’d admit. “Then there’s your answer.”

She was tempted to get into a whole pointless argument of ‘well we can’t both be right,’ but it would get old fast. “So I’m looking for your uncle.”

“No kidding.”

“...he wasn’t in his bedroom -”

“Ew.”

Goldie rolled her eyes. “Have you seen him?” She removed her hand from his head and started to stand up.

“Ehh…” Louie sat up straight for a minute and combed through his hair to set it back to normal. “I’m not sure. I thought I saw him looking at some old treasures earlier. Near the garage.”

“Alright.” Goldie looked at the TV again for a moment, genuinely interested in where the episode was going.

But the sound of footsteps walking towards them from the kitchen took her out of that stupor. She leaned down and left an unprompted smooch on Louie’s head. “Seeya round, Sharpie.”

“Wha-?! Gross!” Louie angrily rubbed a hand over the spot she’d kissed and when he looked back up, Goldie was gone.

“What’s gross?” Beakley asked as she stepped into the room with a fresh can of Pep.

Louie smiled and grabbed it. “Oh, nothing. Goldie’s here, by the way.”

“That is quite gross.”

[cxmetery-gates]

OBSESSIVE TEACHINGS - DARK!TOM HIDDLESTON

CHAPTER THREE: A GOOD SCARY STORY

SUMMARY: With teases and friendly banter, Lynn can’t help but fall under Mr. Hiddleston’s charming spell. WORD COUNT: 2.1k NOTES: Thank you to everyone reading! Dark!fics get a lot of criticism and though the story has not turned into one ((yet)), I’m very humbled by all the likes and reblogs :) WARNINGS:  dark!tom hiddleston, teacher!tom hiddleston

OBSESSIVE TEACHINGS MASTERLIST

"I'M NOT ONE FOR COMPLAINING," I pant– while simultaneously lying with a straight face– dragging my feet up another flight. "But can I ask which floor your room is on?"

Only a step ahead of my slow pace, the male teacher smirks. "Not fond of stairs?"

I shrug. "Not really fond of anything involving exercise."

"I would agree," he glances back, a grin marking his face. He makes a huff, more than likely on my same page, but perhaps better off. He appears to be fit so I'm doubting three flights of stairs is killing him like it's slaughtering me. "But, a morning run isn't the worst way to start the day."

My nose wrinkles. "So you're one of those guys? Gotta make those gains, hm?" I'm not sure where my overly confident attitude is coming from. It's not like me to make comments like these to my teachers, Mrs. Gibbons being the exception but even then I am reserved. Something about being close to Mr. Hiddleston has completely altered my professionalism around people of a higher authority. Hopefully it doesn't last long and I don't run into the principle any time soon.

Finally, after what seemed like climbing Mount Doom, we reach the last step. Pausing, Mr. Hiddleston looks down to me. "You've got quite the nerve talking to your superior like a classmate."

It's obvious he's teasing, so I go along. "My superior? What, because you're a hundred thousand dollars in debt thanks to a fancy piece of paper and you've got a couple more decades on your shoulders?"

"'A couple decades?'" He repeats, quite amused.

I shrug with sass coating my entire being. "Give or take. What are you, forty? Nearing fifty?"

His gives a chuckle. "Try thirty-three."

"Really?" I ask doing a small run down while he looks away. I don't find myself in the company of thirty-somethings all that often but I can't lie; he's looking really good, especially from the backside. Mr. Hiddleston hums, and I'm not sure if that was a positive or negative sound. "You sure? Because I could have sworn I saw some grays up there."

"Oh, ha ha, you're so clever," he mocks, voice suddenly raising just a couple octaves. It causes me to jump but I giggle, feeling a strange girly feeling arise from my stomach. All I can do is tell myself not to throw up from nerves, over and over in my head.

Feeling just as confident, I reply with a whisper. "Shh! There are classes in session! You're going to get detention!"

He shakes his head. Mr. Hiddleston attempts to be serious but there's humor and teases filled between each word. "Funny you mention that: I happen to be the teacher in change of detention this week. And don't think I won't put you there because you're helping me: any other teacher would have landed you a weeks worth just from your comment on my age."

My eyes roll. "As if. You're too nice."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Positive," I reply, a smirk hanging on my lips.

He looks down, given my lack of height, and I move my face towards him comically. There's a smirk playing on his thin lips, the corners desperately trying to form a smile. Eye contact remains steady, but I see it more as a funny, friendly game of domination. A moment passes before he looks away, a small sigh parting his lips. "We'll see about that," Mr. Hiddleston retorts, causing me to chuckle.

From his belt, he wears one of those mini extendable cables that can hold all sorts of keys and chains. I'm honestly not quite sure what they're called. Fumbling with the keys, Mr. Hiddleston flips through several before find the the right one and pulling it towards the door, a thin wire keeping a hold on the instrument. When I was much younger, my mother would wear one clipped to the pocket of her scrubs, but hers was smaller, only allowing another clip for her RN tag. Each night consisted of me as a toddler pulling on the name tag and watching the cord return to the circular piece of plastic, unable to see the thin cable coil within. The small piece of nostalgia sets a comforting warmth in my chest.

Despite the insignificant memory, I snicker at his device. The sight of such a young and handsome man keeping his keys together with such an instrument is dorky, and definitely cute.

"Welcome to my humble abode," he sighs, flipping the fluorescent lights on. I follow him in while getting a look around his classroom.

It's relatively simple and mundane, surprisingly enough. Not like I was expecting red velvet walls or a jacuzzi, but maybe something with a bit more personality. The walls are neatly littered with the typical English teacher posters, from "Best Shakespeare Quotes" to the differences between "to," "too," and "two." There's a blank white board in front of rows of desks and a projection screen pulled down over it. Across the room are a few book shelves consisting of dictionaries, thesauruses, and books worth reading. From the distance I can easily spot several of my own favorite books, instantly earring couple brownie points from me.

I follow Mr. Hiddleston who takes a left, as a wall with a pencil sharpener blocks the right. We walk parallel to a wall which is entirely ceiling high cabinets, all closed to the curious eye. His desk sits catty corner and is much like his classroom: mess free and boring. I consider making a comment but stop myself when I notice a few photos on the filing cabinet. One is him with a graduation cap and gown, his hands bearing a diploma. The next looks like a guys night out with Mr. Hiddleston wearing a (distractingly tight) black shirt and two other men accompanying him. And last, and the one that is set before the others, is a picture of the teacher with an older woman. I can only assume it's his mother. This causes a heart warmed smile to etch across my face. It's always lovely and precious to see older men respecting and appreciating their mothers. My own tells me "mama's boys" are the worst type of man to date because in her mind, they are still children who cling to their mothers for support, emotion and financially. I have to remind her that it's not the case for every man, just for the guy she chose to marry.

"Please, set the books wherever you like." My random tangent gets interrupted by a voice, causing me to jump six feet. Mr. Hiddleston places his stack of books on his desk. I would follow suit but looking at the small space, I decide to give his personal bubble some room and I move to the nearest student desk.

Brushing my hands over my black jeans, I turn around. While the teacher shuffled through stacks of papers, I awkwardly and silently stand close to his desk. Only a few second pass do I actually realize my situation: me with the hottest teacher, all alone. I can only imagine all the jealous teenagers clawing at this chance. However, I have a job downstairs waiting for me. "Is there anything else I can help you with, Mr. Hiddleston?"

His eyes quickly shoot up. "Oh, uh no. No, thank you." Mr. Hiddleston pauses a moment to set his papers down. "I'm sorry for keeping you. I was looking to see what hour of the day I have you, but it appears there isn't one."

My eyebrows knit together at his comment. "Well, you'd have to look for a "Carolyn" if that were the case." I pause for a moment, confusion riddling my face. "Wait, whaddya mean?" Almost instantly, I'm repulsed by my southern slang, despite myself not having any drawl to my words. My voice is basically that of an incoherent cave woman compared to his smooth, charming accent. Aside from this, I feel myself floating; he's looking for a time to see me again. I have to contain a girlish squeal just as reality sets in. He's probably just curious if he actually has me or is considering making a "see you at this time" comment. Nonetheless, my heart skips a beat or two.

"Most seniors take my course as their final English requirement. Are you not a senior?"

I feel myself dimming at his comment. Unfortunately, it would appear reality strikes again. But it was honestly quite ridiculous for me to even consider the reason why he was looking for my name was for something other than educational. However, I simultaneously feel my body lighting up. "Oh, no, I definitely am a senior. I chose the writing class for my English elective. I, uh, want to be a writer so I figured it would help in the long run."

Mr. Hiddleston seems interested in what I have to say. Most tell me writing isn't a career or I have a one in a million chance in making it big. Well, if George Lucas can write the three prequels all alone and still make bank, I think I've got a pretty good shot. "Fascinating! What is your preferred genre?"

With some hesitation, I blurt out, "Fantasy, but also some horror and thrillers. I've tried sci-fi once; didn't work out too well."

"I love a good scary story," he comments, giving me a wink. I take this as a small gesture, but my insides are literally screaming. Never has a friendly wink turned me into a flustering mess. Part of me say he knows what he can do, and if that's the case, he's quite the cocky bastard.

Playing along, I give my shoulder a shrug and coolly reply, "Perhaps I can run a rough or final draft by you."

"I wouldn't mind that at all."

How does such a small statement cause all my organs and two hundred and six bones to turn into jelly?

Brushing my long hair from my face, I peek over at the clock. It's been a bit longer than I expected, the hands informing me I have five minutes left of my first class period. "Well, I ought to get going if there isn't anything else I can do for you?" I make sure to say this in the form of a question. I wouldn't mind being late to my next class just to see a gorgeous face a while longer.

Mr. Hiddleston's lips part for a moment just before clamming shut. The look in his blue eyes tell me he wants to say something, but doesn't. I'm not sure what would constitute such a hesitation; initially, I thought he would have asked me to help shelve the twenty-or-so books. The look is intense, or appears to be, just for a flash, less than a second. My own anxieties begin to shake just as a kind smile grows along his lips. "No, but I do appreciate the offer. Thank you, Carolyn."

I visibly cringe at my legal name, this look not going by the teacher so easily. He bursts a small laugh. "Not a fan or your name, are we?"

Shaking my head, I say, "No particularly. It's a bit vintage. Well, not terribly so, but I'm not over the moon about it." I pause awkwardly, my flustered nerves getting the better of me. I croak out some sounds before finishing my tangent. "I go by Lynn, though."

"Lynn it is then," Mr. Hiddleston announces. "I'll let you get going then. The bell will ring soon and I don't want you to be late on your first day back because of me."

I smirk while crossing over to the door. "Nah, I don't mind." Instantly I want to smack the back of my head. To anyone listening it would sound like I had been flirting with a teacher. Well, to be fair it would have sounded like it not matter what time someone were to jump in at. Even so, this comment I naturally came up with put me in a case of "oh fuck." With reddened cheeks, I take a look over my shoulder so see Mr. Hiddleston unfazed by my comment, thank the holy lord, except a ever growing smile. He takes his eyes off the paper in front of him, meeting me with his pretty blues.

"I'll see you around, Lynn."

"Likewise." And with that, I part down the hall, this time invested in taking the elevator.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

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[ozymandiascezn]

schrei es in die winde ||1|| chapter one

fandom original pairing original oc x original oc warnings potential/references to depression and dark thoughts - “What are you staring at?” “You.” “Why? You see me every day!” He can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips, his eyes remain on her, on the dress she wears and how she twirls in it. How she smiles when she’s wearing it. She’s the air that he breathes. “I know.” She’s so drastically different than him, smaller, petite, but filled with so much fight. Brown hair curls around her shoulders, long and wavy, eyes doe-like and brown, filled with love that only she could harbor for him. The dress is red, a compliment to her pale complexion and dark eyes. It’s his least favorite color, but when she wears it, his whole world topples upside down and robs him of his breath.

He remembers the red dress vividly, the last dress she had worn. He despises it now, he despises every color, but not nearly as much as he hates red. It was the last thing he saw her wear. He doubted he could ever look at a single thing of hers and feel the love and adoration he once had — it’s all replaced with voices that say it’s his fault. The study is quiet, the room is dark. The curtains cover the windows and not even the lanterns are on. It’s the only comfort he can afford himself, the only grief he can allow himself to feel. The tears he has cried so far burn, denting his skin with their bitterness. They followed the creases in his skin, leaving a trail of fire. The saltiness of his pain burns, it burns far more than he ever wanted it to. Papers on his desk draw his attention; business papers that need resolving and responses. A textile factory and several printing presses are all under his name and they need funds, ideas, plans on where to go next. What new clothing pattern is “in”, what is going on in the world, all of it belongs to him. And all of it needs him to be at his best. There’s no time for grieving, no time to just sit and wonder how it all fell apart. “She’s all settled into her new room.” The voice startles Andrej more than he’d care to admit, but when he recovers and notices Victoria standing in the doorway, he relaxes. “Lovely,” he coughs, returning his gaze to the papers before him, “can you take a look at these samples for me? The factory wants to know what to go with for the summer styles.” She approaches, quietly, staring at him as if he’s lost his mind. “You just suffered a great loss and you’re working? I’m sure all this can afford to wait.” “The world doesn’t wait for those who grieve, we just accept our fate and move on.” He replies gruffly, and though his heart shatters a little more at his own words, he knows he’s right. The world continues to move, he can’t afford to stop while everything else carries on. Weakness makes him easy to prey on. “I appreciate your concern, but work must continue. Now, which sample should I send back?” Frustrated, Victoria just points to one of the samples and watches as he tosses the other two away. She can tell he’s hurting, it’s in the way his hands shake, it’s in the way he won’t meet her gaze, and it’s in the way the room is so dark. “At least take some breaks, okay? The world needs you, but we need you more.” She sighs softly, eyeing him for a moment longer. “You should come down to dinner. Get acclimated with the things shifting around.” He looks up, eyeing her suspiciously for a moment. “Vic, I appreciate whatever it is you’re aiming to do, but I just want to be alone. Please.” “Okay, okay, just… just remember to look after yourself. I’ll be up to bring you something to eat around dinnertime.” She leaves, the door clicking shut behind her. He’s alone again and it’s something he hasn’t felt in such a long time. The loneliness is soul crushing, especially when you know just under this roof is someone you once held so dear. But he’s done what he can do, now he must work. Ink meets paper, twirling to meet words that fall from his fingertips like a lie falls from the lips of an experienced thief. He’s done things like this a million times that it now all feels so natural to him. It’s clockwork. If the amount of fabric exceeds the amount of money they have, he siphons money from Engelbrecht Printing to pay for whatever they can’t, and vice versa. Though people could afford to go without the newspaper, but clothes were a much needed necessity. Sometimes people needed favors, be it through opening a tab or sharing information. On occasion this information has aided him in freeing many mutants from a fate worse than death. They were a hunted species, one whose only crime was being born with powers beyond the general public’s understanding. Time and time again he had witnessed his brothers and sisters be murdered in their homes, in the streets, anywhere they were found. You could be accused of being a mutant and if you had no means to silence such

accusations, you would be. Andrej was the Jack of All Trades. There wasn’t a thing he couldn’t do — though it all comes at a great price. He’s learned long ago to keep everything under wraps, but the randomness of his mutant ability comes in handy when he rescues others like him. Especially when he smuggles them across the border into Canada. Though he isn’t lucky enough to decide what ability he gets to use, it is still a useful tool regardless. Oftentimes it’s set at the ability to control the final destination of a bullet. It’s what he’s known for. He’s grown tired of it — reasonably so. He’s been fighting the fight for mutants ever since he was old enough to understand the severity of existing as a mutant. He fought to protect mutants in Germany, now he has to do the same in America. But after the fall of New Tech after the twenty-first century, having to constantly monitor what goes into the daily paper before it’s put out has its toll. He controls what the people see, typically only making sure everything is propaganda free, but oftentimes, something slips by. To the untrained eye, the things that slip by are just jumbled messes, but to Andrej, they’re threats. They’re hints at where to find bodies, where they’re going to strike mutants next, etc. All of which has puts a large burden on his shoulders. The papers can wait, he decides, heading out of the study and downstairs. Papers like that can always wait. He’s never been one to enjoy the sights they had to offer anyways. She’s down there, with Victoria, and the paperboy he often uses to deliver most of his messages. Elizabeth, Victoria, and Philip. They’re playing a game of chess with Philip watching, but the moment he enters the room, they look at him. “Oh! I got a letter for you, boss!” Philip is on his feet, rummaging through his pockets to produce a slightly crumpled letter. “Came all the way from Germany, Sir! Just for you!” Andrej eyes him with suspicion before taking the letter. “Have you had coffee today, Philip? It’s not healthy for you. You get too hyper.” Philip is a little over a foot shorter than he is with golden hair and dark green eyes. He’s freckled, but his face is covered in dirt from his run to the shared home. He’s content with fulfilling his duties though, sparing Andrej a sloppy grin. “Maybe, Sir, but it looked tasty!” He retorts, keeping his lopsided grin. “Whatcha gettin’ letters from Germany for?” “It’s nothing of importance,” he tucks the letter away, “most likely in regards to my sister, but I’ll read it later.” “Sister? You have a sister?” Elizabeth perks up and he tenses incredibly. She’s beautiful, a lot more than he ever seemed to recall. But he forces his mind to think of her as average. She has average brown hair, average brown eyes, average voice. Nothing outstanding about her. He purses his lips, as if deciding whether she was worth talking to or not. “I do. She writes often.” “Then shouldn’t you read it and respond to her? I’m sure she’d be eager to hear your response!” She’s bright and happy, a complete opposite to everything he’s become. To everything that stands in Old York. She doesn’t belong here. “When I read and respond to my mail, is not your concern.” He returns, sharp and quick with his words. “She can wait a while until I have time. For now, there’s stuff to be done.” “Not more work is it? You’ve been working way too much for someone who lost the love of his life.” Victoria warns, eyeing him suspiciously. “I guess we’ll never know what I’m up to, then,” he retorts, returning her warning gaze, “I have to go drop by the factory and after that a trip to the main printing shop. I’m looking at buying more property, a bar, maybe. Can never have too much alcohol, besides, people talk when they’re drunk. We need that information.” Victoria leans back, brows raised. “Don’t make any quick decisions on the bar, then. We should look at locations that’ll provide a higher chance of accurate information.” “I’ve got a few places picked out, they’re in a folder on my desk somewhere. You’re welcome to look through

them,” Andrej nods, distracted almost, “and while you’re at it, there’s a few pages I pulled from printing that mention some young mutants. I’ve found where they are, just bring them here so we can get them set up.” She watches him curiously. “Can I take Elizabeth? Show her how we roll around here? Philip can come too, they’ll probably trust him more if they’re near his age.” “Take who you like, Vic. Just keep an eye out. Things have been getting rough all around.” He pulls out a watch from his vest pocket, opening it to check the time. “Three hours. I’ll need you back in three hours. Not a minute later unless you’re looking for trouble. I’m short staffed already, I don’t need more.” Philip lets out a small whoop of excitement much to Andrej’s utter dismay, but at least someone was enjoying themselves. He’s only thirteen so Andrej can’t quite fault him for the excitement, even if it’s a little false and wrong to feel such an emotion in a time of great turmoil. Not like people were dropping like flies every day. “Andrej, you’re doing the thing again,” Victoria snaps her fingers in front of her eyes, “you zoned out again. You should see someone about that, you’ve been doing it pretty often recently.” “It’s just stress, I’ll be fine. A little rest is all that can cure stress, I’m afraid, and right now I can’t do that.” He shakes his head, though, every part of him whines for him to just stop and rest. He can’t let his mind wander to darker spaces, not when there are still people who need to be saved. If he falters once, he might not come back from it. “I’ll rest when I can, okay? Just give me some time.” “Alright,” Victoria relents, smiling, “you should take a stop by O’Conner’s when you come back. Pick up some of that good bread, and maybe, just maybe some sweets? We all deserve it.” He snorts. “Yes, yes. I’ll bring back some good bread and sweets. You’re all a bunch of addicted fools, but I’ll do it anyway.” He can feel Elizabeth’s eyes on him, but he shakes the uneasy feeling as he finally heads out. He doesn’t like being looked at like that, nor was he a fan of her, really, but the staring made him feel like he was in some sort of freak show. It robs him of everything in one fell swoop, as if he’s nothing but a freak to throw things at.