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ficclings · 1 year ago

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Lost - Chapter Five

Previous Chapter

Taglist: if you would like to be tagged or I forgot to tag you, let me know! @laymegentlytorest@im-sinking-in-mud @hydroyaksha @hehe-24-hehe @neohyxn

Minho and Felix’s relationship was a quietly sweet one and it had very quickly become one of her favorite things to observe as they had decided it was a good idea to stay inside for a few days after just being reunited.

Though Minho would be quite stoic with her, put on a harsher front, with Felix, he seemed to hold that back a lot and often made sure to smile at the other man and choose lighter jokes rather than the dry humor he often used with her.

Felix liked physical contact and even though it was quite evident that Minho wasn’t the biggest fan of such a thing, he made sure to put an arm around Felix’s waist, hand on his shoulder or even play with his hair.

She wanted to coo at them but held that back very quickly once she locked eyes with Minho, who somehow sensed that she wanted to do such a thing.

When she was a small child, back with her adopted parents, she also had a friend who was very gentle with her; often being a tall wall of don’t you dare bully her.

She frowned to herself as she thought about him, lips slimming as she bit them.

She genuinely hoped that he was okay as they had been friends right up until the middle of high school; before he had to move schools due to his family moving away from the city.

He was also a hybrid and one of the few hybrids that she had ever come across, friendship-wise at least.

A ridiculously tall Bullmastiff hybrid that had already started to develop broad shoulders and a shy but confident demeanor which only made him more protective of her.

Grabbing a hold of her soft left ear, she began to stroke it sadly as she remembered how they used to hold hands and compare their tails whenever they were in a ‘random mood’; he often taught her about hybrid customs as she wasn’t familiar.

He came from a whole pack of hybrids, whereas she was brought up by humans; very kind humans.

She was often flustered that he seemed so excited about the fact she was a Dalmatian and had to hide her face in her hands whenever he fawned over her.

“Your spots are so pretty, you shouldn’t be ashamed of them,” he smiled brightly at her as he knelt before her, trying to get a look at her face which was all red and itchy from crying.

Children were cruel; especially to those who were different.

“But they cover my skin,” she whispered as she touched her face where a large black patch sat around her eye; she then waved her legs around, pulling the leg of her trousers up, “I look like I’ve been beaten,” she stuttered and quickly hid in her arms as she broke down in tears again.

The Mastiff paused as he eyes her leg, breath catching as he noticed that she had tried to use something to hide her spots, his ears and tail falling sadly.

“Please look at me,” he urged with a gentle nudge of her elbow, “Hey, c’mon I know you like looking at me,” he grinned as she laughed at his joke and soon her eyes met his once again.

“Your spots are a part of you and you, are great,” he buried his hand in his school blazer pocket to find his pack of tissues, handing one to her, “if they can’t accept that then that is their problem; you don’t need everybody to like you and I know it hurts when somebody doesn’t,” he offered another gentle smile, “but you can’t please everybody and your time is much better spent on those who you know like and love you,” he arched his eyebrow when his tail wagged ever so slightly, but ignored it.

“I guess,” she whispered with a sad smile, “I’m just fed up with being picked on,” she added as the Mastiff got to his feet, groaning at the strain on his legs from the awkward position he had been in.

“I’ll come with you if you’re ready to report them,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “Nobody should have to put up with that shit,” he smiled as she giggled again at his swearing, a habit that she had started to pick up on.

“I don’t want to get people in trouble,” she waved her hand a bit and jumped when he gently caught it and held her hand.

“They did something wrong; they shouldn’t get away with it,” he squeezed her hand watching her carefully as she fell into silent thoughts, “only when you’re ready,”

It didn’t take her long to nod at him; making their way to their homeroom.

“Thanks, Yunho,”

Felix stretched as he finished making some food for them (instant noodles with boiled bottled water), pausing as he noticed the Dalmatian hybrid deep in thought; a sad expression on her face.

Sharing a quick look with Minho, who was currently trying to improve the few weapons they had by gluing or taping cutlery to them, he gently put his hand on her shoulder; making her jump.

“You okay?” he tilted his head with a soft expression, and she felt her face heat up under his gaze.

“Yeah, just thinking about things,” she answered quietly, fingers picking at her tail now.

Loud scratching sounds and moaning echoed from above, clearly, Miss Lorn and her boyfriend had turned.

It was a shame, Miss Lorn had been routing for her and Felix to finally get together.

“I should make a trip back to the building soon,” Minho yawned before slurping up some noodles, making her cringe a bit, “the vending machines have so many things in them, and we have fruit vending machines too, so it isn’t all crap,” he waved his chopsticks around in the air as he spoke and the action made Felix grin.

“Hyung,” Felix started with a sigh, “if you are going back to that building, then we are all going back to that building,” he pointed out with a firm tone and then looked to the Hybrid, “No splitting up this time either, I can’t handle that again,” he admitted and flushed a deep red when his free hand was grabbed by her.

“I don’t think any of us can,” Minho explained, and the admission seemed to catch Felix by surprise as his eyes widened, teeth soon showing in an affection smile which only made Minho regret speaking as he suddenly became a bit shy under the gaze of his younger friend.

“Shut up,” he muttered making the other two laugh.

“Let’s save the trip for a few more days, we have enough food and enough bottled water to last until then,” she flinched at the spiciness of her noodles and immediately felt her nose start to run as she tried to calm her body down, “honestly, I think the only things we are low on are toilet paper and,” she cleared her throat feeling a bit awkward, “ladies things,” she sniffed loudly as she began to pant quietly at the spiciness still coursing through her mouth.

“Ladies things,” Minho nodded his head as if he was keeping that information, “right,” he added making Felix shake his head.

“Hyung, you don’t have sisters, do you even know what she means by that?” Felix asked with genuine curiosity before yelping when Minho flicked the side of his head.

“I have a mother and a brain,” Minho looked at her with a determined look on his face, “I’ll make sure to look in the women’s restroom, I know that they have those machines in there,” he noticed that she became more relaxed at the information despite currently looking incredibly uncomfortable with the noodles.

“Why do you have spicy noodles when you clearly can’t handle them?” he laughed when she let out a puppy whine in between her panting and she quickly rushed to the water bottles, downing half of it.

“She doesn’t like the fact that she can’t have spicy food; she knows that it’s tasty and that makes her eat it,” Felix explained with an eye roll.

“Shut up,” she pouted and nudged the back of his head with hers, “not my fault that you and Minho have iron tongues,” she grinned at the laughter that came from them, and she could almost mistake this for a normal day.

One without creatures from horror media running around the place with their flesh falling off.

“But seriously,” Minho started, and she immediately felt the light-hearted atmosphere die, “we need to go back to the building, get the supplies, women’s bathroom,” he pointed at her, “we also need to figure out how to find the others,” he looked to Felix who nodded with a melancholy expression.

“I am pretty sure that we can find Changbin and Hyunjin close by,” swirling his noodles in thought, Minho puffed out his cheeks in frustration as he tried to remember when he had last met up with them, “the only issue is getting to their part of town,”

“Why is that?” she asked taking her seat once more and braving the spice.

“Usually, we need to take a train to get to them,” Felix answered with a very worried tone, “the easiest way to get there would be to go through the train tunnel because it just leads right there without having to jump over fences and ducking and diving into hiding spots,” he added, taking a small sip of his water.

“It’s super dark in the tunnels though and the electricity isn’t exactly reliable at the moment,” Minho groaned slumping in his chair.

“We have the lights on our phones though?” Felix noted, “The internet is down but our phones can still function without the internet,” he explained but then paused as he checked his phone, just to see how little battery he had left.

“Do you guys have any flashlights?” Minho asked watching as the hybrid got to her feet and searched the cupboard under the kitchen sink.

“We do,” she answered with a slight cheer and tested the switch just to make sure, her face falling a bit as the light was quite dimmed due to the old batteries and she continued her search for the jar of charged batteries she and Felix had kept.

“Here,” she smiled as she showed them how bright it now was with new batteries before switching it off, “I can also help,” she pointed to her eyes, “My eyes are a lot more dog-like than human and they can see well in the dark; so any area that isn’t lit by a light, I can see for all of us,” she beamed at the smiles that were now looking at her.

“You hybrids are honestly, a gift,” Minho slurped up some victory noodles, eyeing Felix as his younger friends' gaze stayed on the hybrid girl.

“I wouldn’t say that,” she replied with a quiet voice, clearly quite flustered at the comment, “I’d just thank biology,”

“You’re amazing,” Felix insisted quickly and gently nudged her leg with his foot, “take the compliment,”

She simply nodded bashfully as they settled down to finally finish their food.

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

“Don’t,” she whispered as she noticed Minho’s hands coming close to opening the front door; her finger pressed to her lips and her ear firmed against the door as she listened for danger.

“I think somebody has broken out of their apartment,” she kept her voice low, “I can hear so many footsteps out in the corridor, but I can’t fully tell what floor the noise is on,” she chewed her bottom lip and Felix placed a comforting hand on her shoulder when she knelt back down to listen more.

“If you think it’s unsafe, we stay,” Felix reassured her and he looked to Minho who just nodded in agreement, clearly staying quiet to try and listen as well.

“Wait,” she waved her hand at them both to silence them.

Her eyes closed as she tried to focus on the small, whining noise from a few apartments down, the voice was very familiar to her and they were crying out for help.

“Somebody is asking for help,” she let out a response whine to let the other know they had been heard.

“I can’t hear anybody?” Minho frowned as he tried to arch his head in a different direction to try and hear better.

“Me either,” Felix agreed.

“No, no,” she shook her head, “it’s another dog,”

“Another hybrid lives on this floor?” Felix said with a surprised, wide-eyed expression.

“It’s Pepie,” she stated with another whine, “he’s on his own,” she looked to the two men currently staring down at her.

“Wait, Pepie as in Pepie the Yorkshire Terrier, Pepie?” Felix finally connected the dots and then smiled in disbelief, “you can communicate with full dogs?” he asked with a small laugh and she nodded.

“You never told me that!”

“It never came up!”

“Guys,” Minho hissed and pushed his hand down as a signal to keep their voices down, “are we saving this dog?” he asked with a look on his face that told everyone he had already decided that they were.

“I’m doing this by myself, they’re only a couple of doors down,” she stated and got to her feet, looking at Felix when he grabbed her wrist.

“Together or you stay here,” he stated firmly and although she wanted to argue, she knew there wasn’t much point; especially when she looked at Minho and found that he shared the same expression as Felix.

“Okay, but please,” she sighed, “let me go out first so I can try and pinpoint where these arseholes are,”

Slowly opening the front door, she peered her head out, baton now in her hand a squeaky toy for a distraction in the other.

Nothing moved in the corridor, but she knew that they could easily hide in the shadows.

The lights had been flickering on and off for several days now and the sound had been getting on her nerves but during the small window when the lights were on, she could see silhouettes wandering around outside the double doors that led to their corridor.

“Right side, clear,” she whispered and noted the hums that answered her back.

Looking to the left had never been so anxiety inducing as she could already smell a significant amount of blood and something coming from that direction.

She could see a few small piles of remains littering the corridor, chunks of grey-ish flesh drying out as they had been left by the zombies, clearly even zombies had a desired taste.

“Left isn’t” she noted upon finally being able to see two zombies staring at the wall together, heads snapping backward and forwards as if they were glitching, the clunk of their teeth making her shrink into herself.

“How many?” came Minho’s voice.

“Two,” she replied, “if we sneak, we could take them down quietly,” she suggested and all three of them came out of the apartment crouching; Felix made sure to close the front door but left it unlocked so they could hurry back if anything went wrong.

“Out of the way,” Minho pushed them behind him protectively as he practically crawled towards the two zombies, barbed wire bat twirling in his strong hands.

Both Felix and her held their breath as they watched Minho bravely trudge forward, a mess of blood smearing against his shoes and up his trousers.

The smell of the gunk he was sneaking through made him stop; having to swallow down his vomit as he pushed himself forward and as soon as he got to the zombies, he lunged at them.

The bat made a satisfying clunk as they smashed into the heads of the creatures, black blood and melted skin sticking to the walls as their bodies fell.

“Go, go,” Felix patted her back before hurrying forward to where Minho was staring at the bodies, “you good?” he touched Minho’s arm and the other man looked to him with a tired smile.

“Yeah,”

Peering behind them, they noticed that she had been pressing her ear to each door she went passed, clearly not sure where Pepie lived, exactly.

“Pep?” she whispered and let out the quietest whine she could muster, hoping she wouldn’t draw the attention of the zombies on the other side.

“Hybrid Lady?”

She gasped as she heard the whimpering coming from apartment 8J and placed her hand on the handle, testing it to see if it was unlocked, and to her disbelief, it was.

“Pepie, it’s Hybrid Lady and two friends,” she made sure to make that known as she knew he’d most likely panic and start barking and that was the last thing that they needed right now.

When she got the door open, she nearly let out a shriek when a small brown and grey bundle charged at her and landed in her arms, shaking and licking her face in gratitude.

“You came to get me, thank you!” he whimpered, and she shared a sad but comforting whine with him, “my mum and dad didn’t come home, I’ve been stuck in there with my brother, Harvey,”

This piqued her interest, and she tilted her head to the side.

“Harvey?” she looked to Felix and Minho who were watching the two of them with utter confusion on their faces.

“He’s a bunny,” Pepie let out a mumph as he spoke, “in a cage,”

“There’s a rabbit in there,” she informed them, and Felix immediately went in with Minho quickly following.

“Do you guys have food in there?” she asked and this time, Pepie was the one to til his head to the side.

“In the cupboard above the toaster,” he informed her, and she slowly made her way in, struggling a bit with the weight of the dog.

Pepie was a bigger Yorkshire Terrier, being just slightly smaller than a fully grown Cocker Spaniel.

“Guys, they have food in that cupboard!” she pointed to the one Pepie had told her about and Minho ordered Felix to go, clearly quite enamored with the bunny in the cage that he was holding.

It didn’t take that long to finally, get back inside their apartment and they piled their usual barricade up against the front door.

Pepie was currently nosing at the cage, making sure his brother was okay and his soft chuffs made her look over with a warm feeling in her heart at the sight.

There was still much more life out there, that wasn’t just humans and hybrids, but that were just as important.

“So,” Felix grunted as he offloaded the dog and rabbit food onto the kitchen counter, his hands on his hips, “you can talk to dogs?” he chuckled feeling quite exhausted.

“Well...those who speak the language!” she pointed out with a slight annoyance in her tone as she remembered the time she had gone to France and couldn’t understand a very lost Poodle, who was asking for help.

“Is it all animals?” Minho asked as he knelt by the rabbit cage and wiggled his finger at the lionhead, who hopped over, and both nibbled and licked at him.

“Just dogs,” she replied with melancholy as she also looked at the rabbit, wondering what he was saying.

“Hyung is in love,” Felix whispered with a giggle, and she shared that thought, also giggling, catching Minho’s murderous gaze.

“I’ll lock you two outside, I swear,”

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oddfvck-claudie · 1 year ago

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Donation Blogs, click here!!

!!INTRODUCTION!!

Hey yall! Im Claude! but you can call me Jonathan, Spencer ,Johnnie, April, Billy, or Copter. I'm an self-taught artist who loves doodling and drawing ideas from my own mind

I'm a Filipino, just noting that

I'm a Verian, Orchidromantic, and Aegosexual (or just AroAce) person who goes by He/It/Any pronouns (DO NOT CALL ME SHE/HER UNLESS WE ARE CLOSE)

I come from Deviantart, Reddit, Discord, and much more places I couldn't list off

This blog is not suitable for younger users since I tend to sometimes post more mature things and have a dark sense of humor at times so if you are younger than 14 or uncomfy about it, please do not scroll further

BLOG LISTS:

@radiokbox (FANDOM BLOG)

@coneyslittlefandomzone (OLD FANDOM BLOG, HERE FOR ARCHIVE)

@the-inverted-painter (ARTIST GIMMICK BLOG)

@deviantart-official ("OFFICIAL" BLOG)

Old introduction

also please click on this

#Idk #bored #introduction #self promo

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faraway-sunshine · 6 months ago

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Wow, kinda late for the diagnosis.

I got the diagnosis when i was 7, but my mom said even that’s late. I heard that autism related “illnesses” diagnose at 3-4 years old. I guess symptoms are obvious even then.

And the stuff you told about your experience in school due to that? Very relatable.

When i was in primary school, i was, i guess, the weird kid everybody hates. Too emotional, strange sense of humor, “strange” interests, didn’t fit in with others and etc. That definitely didn’t help me, so i was bullied not only by the kids, but also by the teacher that taught the class, because i genuinely didnt like her. She was mean, strict, couldn’t teach us good and she was overall not so likeable. When i was hiding out whenever i felt hurt or when i was just too overwhelmed with work, she would tell me to get back up, because i acted like a toddler.

Also i argued with her all the time, because everytime she did something i deemed unjustified, i would “stand up” for the others and argue with her. Of course it didn’t help, but it felt good knowing i was the one who “defended” the class from her.

I also recently got a call from my ex friend from primary and he said he wants to continue talking and stuff. He ignored my calls for two years. When i asked him why he ignored me, he answered with “you was kinda weird in primary, but it seems thats not the case anymore”. Btw, he was the only reason i even had the strength to go to the school. I hung on him after that.

I also didnt even tell nobody i had aspergers, bcz i didnt thought its a big of a deal, so i was targeted just for being weird. How lucky of me..

Also i left out some (many) details because frankly im kinda embarrassed i was even like this, and the stuff i did is even more embarrassing, but you get the general idea

God. I relate maybe too strongly to this. Even though I had my friends, I didn't always. And I've had a few teachers that are pushy like that too.

And I remember a little from when I was at kindergarten at another school and all of that happened with no respite.

I hope you're doing better these days and have better people to surround yourself with.

(Thursday 14th September, 2000, 6:24 PM)

#omori #ask sunny from omori #omori sunny #sunny omori #ask answered #rolzyguy

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umbral-stigmata-unbound · 2 years ago

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𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍

——— BASICS! ♡

(PEN)NAME: Ash/Ashton/Jordan

PRONOUNS: He/Him & She/Her

ZODIAC SIGN: Aries / Pig

TAKEN OR SINGLE: Single

——— THREE FACTS! ♡

1 - I used to believe that a specific anime show was real and I was destined to go there and be a part of the main cast hero group, I just had to be a certain age and a certain size/build/weight so once I achieved that, they’d come to get me. So, technically, up until 12 or 13 yoa I was waiting for my isekai destiny.

2 - Jumped back and forth between normal school, homeschool, then normal school again, only to end off with virtual so my school experience as well as my school-taught knowledge is all over the place.

3 - If you ever need to make me laugh, just link me ‘The Lochness Monster Song’ from Youtube. Because I have horrible humor and that whole thing kills me.

——— EXPERIENCE! ♡

PLATFORMS USED: I think MSN messenger, Max/Dan/Wiz before they removed the forums, then facebook communities (both via actual pages or just making friends a few or a group at a time and building an indirect community and plot from the overflow of people. idk how i used to handle that lmao), other forums and eventually on and off tumblr, discord, wire. occasionally omegle to email or discord when im desperate.

PLOTTING / WINGING IT / MEMES: I am open to all, but if it becomes a thread, I definitely prefer reasonable plotting somewhere along the lines, and occasionally popping in for plotting refreshers if needed to keep the plot going!

——— MUSE PREFERENCE! ♡

GENDER: I can write both, but I generally prefer males, unless I just really vibe with a female characters personality and plot and such.

MULTI OR SINGLE: Multimuse half the time, mainly on this blog. I tend to take on a few characters if I have interest and/or experience, just depending on the fandom.

LEAST FAVOURITE FACECLAIM(S): I don’t have any big opinions on faceclaims, honestly. i’ve used them in the past for OCs or RL examples of book or animated or other such characters. for stuff that has reasonable picture options, i would generally expect those pictures to be used, but im not gonna complain otherwise.

——— FLUFF / ANGST / SMUT! ♡

FLUFF: I love it, especially as a sort of balm over formerly stressful content, or its just...so dang cute and addictive. So long as it stays in mine and my partners personal parameters of believable/fitting/appropriate for the scene and our characters unless otherwise being wish fulfillment content.

ANGST: I generally live by it. Sometimes I might have moments where I get really caught up and i overthink the comfort level or consequences and try to solve issues like a RL person rather than trying to tell and enjoy a story but, when I can control that, I thoroughly enjoy some good angst with roleplay partners.

SMUT: I’m totally on board with it. I’ve been known to just throw out fling moments, moreso with characters it makes sense for, but I generally prefer some believable build up. The long pine, slow burn can be amazing, but I also understand and relate to partners who might have those moments of just feeling they and their muse have both gotten a little impatient/it feels like a moment is there and you just take it.

BONUS: I don’t always manage it well but I’ve come to enjoy developing HC’s/fanon for my muses and I adore moments where I get to share that and build some realism and relatability, within reason and accuracy, to my characters..

Tagged by: stolen from @roleplay-abiogenesis2 just cause~ been meaning to do it for a while lol

Tagging: anyone who wants to do it!

#dash stuffs #ooc #ooc post #ash talks #dash meme

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sotogalmo · 7 months ago

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Hey Kellie!!

I saw your post about Flor interaction- two questions, though you don't have to answer either ofc. One, what does Flor think of Dian? I have them as friends because I think they would enjoy each other's company but I don't actually remember if I ever. asked you about that. *sighs*

Two would be, what do you think Flor would think of Yumi? Just because Yumi gives me latent clown vibes (its her eyes im sorry its her eyes) and I honestly don't know if Flor would vibe with Yumi's intensity and deadpan sense of humor but I'm curious!

I hope you're doing well, remember to drink water and eat if you haven't in a while!

First, YAYAYAYYAYAYA YAYAYYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYYA YAYAYYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYYA <- is currently circling round you like a hamster

Second, I don't care/mind if you didn't ask me for Flor and Dian to be friends. I love that idea so so much, her: the clown and the hype man being friends is so smart, and hell yes <- I had this whole idea of like. Flor just sometimes being round the therapist stands and such. Moran ( @geospiral ) THE therapist, Castor ( @lookatmysillies ) the fun uncle, Dian the hype man and then Flor the clown. It's such a fun dynamic that I made up in my head, and I'm so thankful that you made Flor and Dian friends, and that you even thought of them being friends!!!! That you even thought of my silly daughter!!!!!!. — I do think that they would enjoy each other's company tbh. Dian's likes for Animals + Flor's curiosity kinda leads them to ask Solei bout the animals that Dian talks about.

Hell, sometimes I just think that Flor would sit like those cats who sit weirdly human, but not tooo human. Yk?? Or just, sitting with her knees up and her arms on the floor. <- imagining a scenario where Dian and Flor rlly have nothing to say and Flor is just comfortable, and starts showing that by how weird she sits and such (autistic girl, who listens to both Solei and Dian talk about animals and she is like "I want that to be me": wishing to be animal, so she acts like one cuz that's the closest thing to being one).

I think Flor would think of Dian as like a milder version of Castor? If that makes sense,, they also somewhat have things in common,, I think

Third, Flor and Yumi. Tbh I think Flor would somewhat easily get on Yumi's bad side, via how childish she acts?? And just her general child-ness,, and just kinda how Flor (unintentionally!!!) makes weird hand symbols back that might make Yumi offended, she wasn't really taught sign language and she really wasn't made aware of it? She was isolated a lot when she was a kid so she doesn't know much bout other people's conditions if it ever appeared in conversations close to her. But in some ways I also do somewhat think that they would?? get along. Via their whole acting stuff; Flor being as confusing as she can be, but in a way that is true to herself and I think that's similar to how Yumi also acts (masking). Without being true to herself, since she is masking-

I dunno how to really explain Flor and Yumi's relationship, it's just as confusing as their acting ways. But at least, Flor just randomly, oddly somewhat- shows up to Yumi sometimes since they are the same age and all.

I can see Flor just walking to her covered head to toe in mud (that one silly post I made of Flor, covered in mud again and saying how it tastes sweet). And- being silly. Which I think somewhat makes Yumi just not want to hang out with Flor

I also hope you're doing well rock!!! <- is wagging their tail

#ask #rockwgooglyeyes #alien stage ocs #alien stage oc #alnst ocs #alnst oc #alnst oc: flor #alnst oc: dian #alnst oc: yumi

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officerjennie · 11 months ago

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* I apologize for the crude language

I FUCKING LOVE HOW YOU DRAW TUMMY

It's so Cute IM RABID

Like I wanna just

Hold gently

But also

HOT DAMN

MY EYES ARE BLESSED

I'm looking respectfully but the mildly leaking disrespect too im SORRY SO SORRY BUT

How can I not

I'm not even that religious but thank you God for allowing human form to look like this and thank you for spreading the beauty of this world

Nobody truly gets it like you do

I vividly remember the first time I was self conscious about my body.

I was in middle school. I was down a gravel road with woods on one side and my neighbor's house on the other. My mom was with me. We were going to go see my grandpa who lived a five minute walk from my house.

My mom pointed at me out of nowhere, and said I had a "muffin top". My stomach bulged out over the top of my jeans. I didn't know why she felt the need to point that out, or comment on my body, but suddenly I wanted to hide my stomach and my shirt wasn't long enough to do it.

Up until she moved out west, which was when I went off to college, my mom had been fat. That was just a simple fact. She was strict in some ways and became one of my best friends when I was in high school. She had a silly and adorable laugh, and a white streak in her hair from a stressful event that I won't get into. She had a dark sense of humor at times and was as sarcastic as they came. She was beautiful. She was fat.

I vividly remember how my brother and all of his friends would say the most vile things about her because of her fatness, and how that drilled into me that the world was cruel about weight. It still upsets me, because my mom wasn't perfect but she deserved so much better than that.

There's some post or blog or something, whatever, that I read once that said "Your first thought is what you were taught, and your second thought is how you actually feel" - something along those lines. And how your ingrained, learned thought can be corrected if you do it enough. I had to correct myself for Years after that because my first thoughts were not kind. I never said anything out loud and I hated that my thoughts could be so cruel, and I fought to be kinder to myself and others over their looks.

I weigh more now than I ever have, and I can love myself not only because of my own efforts but because there are others out there who love fat people. Because there are fat people out there who fight against the stigmas and the cruelty. Because there are people who create art and write stories of fat people, and because there are people who love art and stories about them too.

At the end of the day, it's art and stories that are so human and real to me. It's making a point to the cruel people who said nasty things about my mother. It's the child in me arguing back that yeah, I have a muffin top, and I'm fucking adorable. And it's me telling my brother to shut his damn mouth because I was too much of a coward to say it back then.

#i didn't mean to cry or rant but #thank you #your words meant a lot to me #I'm going to go doodle some tummies now

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alfonzone · 1 year ago

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Sarah

Anon,

I have to be honest, that name made me think of the only Sarah I've known in my life. At least so far. We're no longer friends— that's not a correct way to put it because I have absolutely no resentment towards her? I actually appreciate her or who i knew then? Aghh, I'm not making sense. What I am trying to say is that we are no longer a part of each other's life. But that's okay!! It's just something that happened? Do i miss them? Am i getting sad thinking about them? YES, Yes. That's why I was and am so confused about this ask. Do i answer this? HOW DO I ANSWER THIS?

Sooooo I then spent like twenty minutes scrolling through my blog to see if i reblogged an ask game that had names on it just in case? WAIT —okay, i checked again and nothing?

..Was this more of a 'talk about the Sarah's or Sarah I know' thing? I feel rude and intrusive speaking about someone without their permission or knowledge :/ but I know I have a "right" to speak about whatever and whomever — SIGH.

I think she blocked me, which again i was okay with because i think i asked her to, plus she has a right to do so if she wanted to, BUT

Sarah if you ever see this and you want this deleted, just let me know 👍🏼

Full disclosure, people grow and are not necessarily who they were in the past. This is my recollection or perspective of how i saw them and knew them then.

First off, she was smart, thoughtful, well opinionated if I may add, funny, FUN, a dork and supportive. She was one of my best friends 😊😊

One thing about our friendship that i loved so much was that we didn't have to force anything. It was or at least, for me, it felt so easy to talk to them about anything.

I stll remember that time she told me, "when i say im here for you i don't want you to say okay and never reach out. i want you to message me." Something like that. I appreciated that accountability so much because it was true. Some people say that and don't mean it and some people say okay but don't reach out. She taught me accountability when it came to wanting each other involved and being there for each other when able to.

She's super artistic and creative!? she crotched two stuffed animals!? She's an excellent baker!! I miss her cookies so much. She bought me insomnia cookies? And as much as i appreciate it and enjoyed them, NONE of them compared to the homemade cookies she sent. Yummm.

I'm someone who loves trying my friends interests once I deeply care about them. I'm saying that because she got me into chocolate covered strawberries for a bit hahaha, and I also bought some trunks from meundies thanks to her!! Speaking of which, EITHER I HAVE A BIG BUTT (WHICH I DO), AND BIG THIGHS OR THE MATERIAL IS CHEAP QUALITY because those underwears didn't last me a month or two before they ripped 😮‍💨. It's probably my fault because I i used them for jogging as well.

I miss her smile, her evergreen sea eyes, her humor, her randomness, her friendship.

I hope she's doing well in graduate school, if she hasn't already graduated?? I hope she's updated the Wreaths for fall, I hope life is treating her well and that she's doing okay. I hope that groundhog is still being a menace. I hope Pegasus is doing well. I hope she already wore those same leggings/outfit she uses for Halloween every year for the past 3 years? haha. I hope she's excited for the next three months. I hope life keeps blessing her. Most importantly, i hope she knows that no matter what happened between us, I will always be grateful for her 😊😊😊

—

Okay, i gotta go for a jog before the heavy thunderstorms hit. Thanks for this ask, anon. I'm sad now. I'LL BE FINEEEE 😊

Sorry for the typos!! I'm not proof reading and fixing till later!!

#asks #personal #about s

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kindred-spirit-93 · 5 months ago

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good evening yall! time to share some more of my most recent oc! long post and bonus bad art at the end :D

general:

i havent settled on a greek name for her yet but jazzy is her working title lol (jasmines are her favourite flowers and she likes jazz lmao)

she goes by kore though, an homage of sorts to persephone

vague design ideas as of now are perpetual dark undereye circles, short dark hair somewhere between waves and curls, and her colour scheme is rose olive and black.

aroace potato!! still figuring stuff out but rn shes demiromantic ace and makaria is aromantic demisexual. yes this is very important information.

dark sense of humor, deadpan delivery and sarcasm befitting a child of the underworld. loves dad jokes and puns tho.

aloof. very calm, extremely quiet. guarded. always has ink on her fingers. warm and caring to the few people in her inner circle

background:

underworld diety; daughter of makaria (goddess of blessed/ merciful death). her father as of now doesnt exist but there are implied implications later.

as grandaughter of hades and persephone not only does she have a special place in their hearts, but the entire underworld adores her (sometimes begrudgingly lol. shes adorable)

case in point when she was smol hades would have her on his lap while on his throne and persephone would make both of them flower crowns :')

mama makaria was busy but always did her best to put her to sleep and tell her stories of decorated heroes and beloved figures as well as good hearted mortals who died for good causes

is very close to her mother but also distant? theres work to be done and she isnt a little girl anymore...

loves collecting pebbles and shiny things. has quite the collection.

godly stuff:

psychopomp & minor goddess of night blooming flowers and poisonous plants

speaks multiple languages (courtesy of hermes cthonios) and was kindly taught by asklepios the medical arts esp medicinal herbs

she grew up reading all sorts from hades' extensive library, is well versed in history, classical literature, and some mortal works too

has accompanied persephone a few times to the living world. the first time she was overwhelmed by the light and went straight back home lol. it took time but she enjoys microscopic quantities of sunlight. just like me frfr

great grandmother demeter infodumps about advances in agriculture and she nods along enthusiastically, unsure how to tell her shes significantly more interested in blights affecting the crops

the three of them have an interestic dynamic; enjoy herbal tea and swapping tea lol

persephone teaches her how to whisper to flowers to make them bloom and hades shows her how to bend shadows to her will

general ii

in essence she is a juxtaposition of a bunch of things; life and death, coolness and warmth, sweet and bitter.

shes pleasant to look at and wears a lil smile at all times (her mama taught her that), but has a death glare that can kill. duh.

shes also very (facially) expressive, somewhat compensating for her mutism. you can clearly read everything from her face

doesnt shy away from making her feelings known but is so chill it isnt that much anyway (did i word that right?)

prefers to stay in the sidelines and observe life (and death) around her. no im not projecting shush. she enjoys the peace and quiet of it all

every once in a while though she craves some change from the monotony, a little choas if you will, so she ventures to the living realm no prizes for guessing whos attention she catches hehe

miscellaneous lol:

has been to olympus a grand total of 1.5 times. there was a wedding and she went with persephone (twas also a kind of debut, yk how grandmothers want to show off their beloved grandkid lol)

idk the other time yet. maybe she ran an errand? anyway

she caught athenas eye (she managed to coax one of her owls), artemis spoke of nightshade and constellations, whereas hestia upon sensing how out of place she was softly gave her a rundown on the pantheon and its politics. shes a sweetheart i love her

still working on her 'work clothes' but its basically muted rose robes over a black turtleneck and trousers. something to this effect:

dont look too hard lmao i cant art :')

look shes guiding souls all day and tending to gardens after shifts she might as well be comfy.

ankle boots bc i love them. satchel for trinkets and stuff.

her fancier clothes reserved for occasions are still comfy & simple:

turtleneck stays bc i said so.

alternatively:

everyday jewlery is super simple; floral ring (gift from her mother) and bar earrings (engraved with smth i havent decided yet lol).

anyway more jazzy

mortal clothes!! are cool!! and super nice!! :D!!

her aesthetic of choice is somewhere between forest gremlin and chaotic academia.

ill get to colouring and real stuff eventually in this lifetime. maybe

hope yall enjoyed and goodnight (or good morning its 3am here lol)

apollo has found himself a new muse

she is less than jazzed. can you guess what pick up line he dropped?

#if u see me recycle old art no tf u di'nt #oc art dump #oc lore stuff #oc #jazzy #makaria #my art #my oc #greek mythology oc #my beloved potato #apollo #my other beloved potato #oh btw homeboy dropped some shakespeare #'shall i compare thee to a summers day?'#lmao #shes so confused #like bruh ur the sun why tf are u asking me??

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michael-aftons-nonbinary-lover · 3 years ago

Note

hun

Hun

hUn

huN

HUN

lOVEBuG

ilyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

<333

okok but uhhhhhhhhhhhhh- ur gae. very gae.

and I. Love. You. Sm.

The world shall knowwwwwwwwwww!

ohyeahuh- maybe uhhh- ill order a medium size of your best headcanons of dad? i miss the old days and im yearning for what could have been good about them? and no worries you'll get a tip, darlin' ;] /t

-🦊

William Afton with kids Headcanons

Very good with kids

Like, kids love him because he can do funny voices and make balloon animals and tell jokes and make up stories and has a weird fake laugh that they love

Secretly does not hate children, contrary to belief

Threatens people who know that information

Especially good with his own children

Can sense when something has gone wrong with one of his kids. He calls it his "dad senses"

He says he has a special set of dad senses for each child

He can tell when Mike is hiding something, when Crying Child is about to have a meltdown, and when Elizabeth is somewhere she isn't supposed to be or doing something she isn't supposed to do. And not just in a, "you're here and I can sense it" way, they could be at school while he's at the pizzeria and he's on the phone before the teachers call him to tell him something's up

Any form of actual brutality or mean-spiritedness towards his children results in an automatic ban from all Freddy's locations

He once broke a man's nose because he pulled Michael by the shirt on Mike's first day of work

Almost got arrested for it and had to be physically pulled off of the man and restrained by Henry

He put a recording of "Lavender's Blue" into C.c.'s Fredbear plush, so that when he was upset, he could listen to it to calm down

Does Liz's hair everyday

Paints her nails once every two weeks

Does her make up on special occasions and occasionally let's her do his make up

They all bond over tea and other British people things/lh

He tried to bake cookies once and they turned out deformed. Although they tasted the same, Mike still teases him for it

This one is from the Walten Files universe, but I feel like he def took the kids to Bob's Burgers at least once, to let them have their fun while he scouted out competition

He taught all his kids how to swim. Michael constantly swam farther out than he was supposed to as a small child

I feel like he would have a dry, sardonic, sarcastic sense of humor, but would still be able to make any kid laugh because he purposely uses a monotone voice and kids somehow find that funny?? Idk, but yeah

That's about all for now but thank you for the ask and ily too<3

#michael afton #fnaf fandom #william afton #dave miller #mike schmidt #fnaf fanfiction #crying child fnaf #elizabeth afton #fnaf headcanon #fnaf headcanons

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omg-foreverfilledwithweird-posts · 3 years ago

Text

A Siren Song

Pairing: Robert Dubois/ Bloodsport x Reader

A/N: so I just finished watching the new Suicide Squad for the second time and I’m even more obsessed now than I was the first time I watched it. It’s a brilliant film with actually good humor, a non-sexualizing and actually empowering view on Harley Quinn (that leg scene?? y'all-), the rats?? Rat-catcher 2?? THE SHARK?? FLAG?? Who looked really good in this movie, he might be another contender for a story as well as Harley Quinn so lmk ;) but Bloodsport immediately piqued my interest because it’s Idris Elba and he’s gorgeous, I loved the complexities of his character and I want to write for him and no one else has done it yet?? so shoutout to @honey-im-emotional for the support and push to do it! also love The Bodyguard movie, helped with the inspo <3 and i’m so sorry all of my stories are similar but I HAVE A TYPE enjoy and feedback is always appreciated loves and there will be SPOILERS so be warned, also if you want a Harley one next lmk ;) (it’s so long I’m so sorry lol)

Summary: You’re a highly targeted member of the royal family, the last in your line. Bloodsport is hired to be your bodyguard to both watch and assassinate the men after you. He believes it’s below his pay-grade, but reluctantly agrees, doing so to the best of his abilities. But the closeness brings more intimacy than you two expected, and sparks fly.

Warnings: foul language, sexual content, smut, choking, light bdsm, fluffy fluff, dirty dancing, dirty talk, violence and bad guys getting murdered, mentions of Harley x Reader (y’all sexy dance and kiss), reader likes women, dom! Bloodsport, age gap, alcohol consumption, jealousy, heavy kissing, slight angst, just a good time honestly

Word Count: 3,825

You dangle from the ceiling with your aerial silk, fitting your leg in the loop you’ve created, and dangling upside down. The rope wraps around your waist as you hang gracefully from your marble walls, flying. Your friend Harley Quinn taught you how to do this years ago, it now being your favorite form of exercise and relaxation when you need a moment to clear your head.

As you lightly spin, twirling and dancing in the air with your chandelier reflecting light everywhere, a dazzling fairy floating in a sea of stars. You hear footsteps approach and move to hang upside down, facing towards the grand door. Robert Dubois, a.k.a Bloodsport, walks forward to stand directly in front of you.

You have known him a few weeks or so now, him having to watch your every move and tracking down your family’s killers. He stands and meets your eyes as you dangle, hair falling below you.

“Hi,” you giggle, face flushed with heat. “I probably look ridiculous right now.”

He composes himself so he doesn’t crack a smile, but you see his lips twitch when he speaks, “No, Mrs. y/l/n.”

“I have a first name, you know,” you grin widely. “I’m younger than you, which hardly warrants such a professional title.”

“My apologies, y/n,” he fixes himself.

“It’s alright,” you ease, filling him with a sense of softness he hasn’t felt in a long time. You flip and land on your feet, letting go of your silks.

You don’t notice as his eyes glaze over your body in your sports bra and shorts, something his cold, calculated stare should never succumb to, but he does anyway and he kicks himself for doing it. You’re his client and should therefore remain as such, no conflict of interest or thoughts other than to protect. He didn’t want this job, hell, he still doesn’t know why he said yes. Maybe it was the money. Or maybe it was upon seeing you that first time, in that star-studded gown the night of a charity gala you were attending, the way the diamond littered fabric hung over your figure, absolutely dazzled. The way you looked at him and smiled, like you were used to with all the other nobles and adoring fans. But he let himself believe it was different.

He can’t do that anymore, however, because he can’t allow for any complications. And falling for his boss is certainly a complication.

You look at him and your eyes widen with realization, “Oh, I’m sorry. Let me cover up.”

You grab a tee shirt and toss it over your exercise clothes. He looks down as you do so and clears his throat. This brings a small smile to your face.

“You called me in here,” he gestures to the necklace charm hanging around your neck that you can squeeze and send an instant distress signal whenever you need it. “What can I do for you, y/n?”

“Wanted you to spot me,” you tease, a smile overtaking your delicate features. You have a sort of stunning beauty about you that takes him by surprise every time he lays eyes on you. Which is often. You lay on your yoga mat and sit up straight with that same damned smile.

“I’m here to do a job, y/n,” he says, his deep, honeyed voice coating the way he says your name like heat to sugar. “Not aid you in your workout routine.”

“What? Your assassin training didn’t include sit ups?” you smile, tongue in cheek.

“No, but if you need a way to kill a man with a book,” he presses a foot over both of yours as you begin to do sit ups. “Then I’m your man.”

“Yeah, you and John Wick,” you breathe out with a laugh. “And shouldn’t you be in here watching me already? Not by the door?”

“This room has no windows and no other door or entrance besides the one I was standing by. I thought you would want privacy,” he averts your gaze. “I’m sure it’s a hard thing to come by these days for a woman like yourself.”

You stop what you’re doing and look up at him, blinking, “Well, you’d be right,” you tuck your hair back. “So thank you.”

He meets your eyes, bordering on a smile, “You’re welcome.”

“Is that a smile I see?” you chuckle.

The smile shines, “It was a diversion. And you failed.”

You laugh loudly, “Will the next diversion be an actual laugh?”

“Wouldn’t be a proper diversion if you knew what it was.”

You tap his feet so he’ll get the hint and let you up. You rise to your feet and dust yourself up, “I appreciate your spotting.” You press a hand to his chest and hum. Warmth radiates from your palm and he inhales sharply. “For someone who wasn’t trained, you sure are a fast learner.”

He looks at your hand and back to your eyes, heat sprouting from where your hand touches. His hand flexes at his side as he looks around the room, to the door, seeing if it’s closed.

“I-” he cocks an eyebrow then settles. “I think I should go.”

He watches you look at him with wounded eyes, brow lowered, you open your mouth then close it.

You nod, moving away from him, “Right.”

You move to walk away when he stops you, mouth by your ear, voice dropping an octave when he whispers, “Just so you know-” you tilt your head up almost instinctively to hear him better. “-my assassin training did include reminding people who they are when they’ve forgotten their place.”

You look up at him fully now, “You work for me, remember?”

“I work for money. And you didn’t hire me. I was employed by Mrs. Waller to keep you alive,” he cocks his head slightly.

“So it would be frowned upon by her when you’re unable to walk if you touch me like that again.”

You couldn’t believe he had just said that. Your eyes widen and your cheeks once again heat up, blushing. Your chest gets hot when he doesn’t break the stare like he’s calling your bluff, and fuck, did he do just that. You turn away from him.

You can hear the smile in his voice, “That’s what I thought.”

~~~

“Robert said that!?” Harley exclaims, eyes wide. Her jaw is dropped as she does her mascara aggressively in the mirror. “He’s usually so...”

You tug down your tiny halter top over your head, your bright, flattering makeup complementing the colorful swirling pattern, “An empty void with no emotion?”

She nods emphatically, agreeing, “Exactly! I had no idea he had it in him?” she raises her brow and smooths down her leather black and red dress, “Or that he wanted to put it in you-”

You slap her arm, chastising, “You don’t know that. It might have been a threat to actually paralyze me in a very not sexual way.”

“I say both are arousing,” she shrugs, platinum curls bouncing.

You roll your eyes with a small smile aimed at the floor, “Anyway-” you slip a belt through your tight jeans, hitting at your waist when you cinch it in. “We should get going if we want to get to the club on time.”

She pauses. “Y/n. Are you sure we should be doing this?”

You do a double take, “You’re telling me that we shouldn’t sneak out and have a good time?”

“I know the irony is apparent,” she looks at you with a knowing stare. “But not if it means you’re in danger. Which you are.”

“I know,” you frown. “But I’ve been locked in this house for months, I miss going out and having a life. I’m tired of being coddled.”

“I know, sweetheart,” she sighs, looking past herself in the mirror to flash me a sympathetic smile. She thinks for a beat and finally spins around, “Alright, screw it, doll, let’s go paint the town.”

You buzz with excitement, grinning, “Yay! Thank you, thank you! I wonder who will be djaying...” you trail off.

Harley’s face falls and her mouth goes in a solid, straight line, looking past your shoulder, “I don’t think anyone will be.”

You laugh, completely oblivious, “Of course there will be. There has to be music. Dancing in silence would be pretty fucking awkward.”

“This moment is pretty fucking awkward.”

“What do you mean?”

A deep, irritated voice sounds off behind you, “Because you’re not going.”

You jump out of your skin, “Shit, Robert! You scared the hell out of me!”

“You’re not going to that club,” he folds his arms over his chest. You look over him and his casual, night wear: a loose tee and low hanging joggers. You almost wipe your mouth from salivating. Your outfit elicits the same reaction.

You pinch your eyebrows together, “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Yes, I can. I’m tasked with protecting you.”

“Yeah. And nowhere on your job description does it say ‘become my parent’. There’s not an opening now just because I don’t have one. I am a grown ass woman and I have been a prisoner in my own home. The same home where...” you pause, a lump in your throat at the reminder of your family’s passing. You shake it off, “I’m just tired. I want a piece of my life back. You can either stay here or come. Either way I’m going.”

He gives you a quick once over and contemplates his options before dropping his arms to his sides and letting out a long exhale.

“Fine.”

You somewhat relax at his defeated tone, “Fine, what?”

He relents, “You can go, but I’m coming with you. But if anything happens to you, I’m not to be blamed. I will leave your ass in that club.”

You grin and jump up to give him a tight hug around the neck. He stiffens before slowly rubbing your back. You sink into his embrace, feeling like you were floating in water, now above the surface as he brings you back to oxygen. Harley smiles at the exchange and she winks theatrically.

He glares.

It’s not long before you three arrive at the club, music blaring and colorful lights flashing over the crowded floors. From his stare and intimidating aura, the club staff thought he was a bouncer and let you all in immediately. But before he was roped into working, the three of you bee-lined to the bar.

“The prettiest and strongest drink ya got, sugar,” Harley smiles at the pretty bartender.

“And what if that’s me?” she responds, ebony hair falling onto one shoulder.

“Then I’ll have to drink you later,” Harley gives her a flirty once over and you roll your eyes.

The bartender grins and gestures towards me for my order, I answer quickly, “Scotch on the rocks.”

Robert looks at you, poorly covering his shocked expression. “Really?”

“Yeah, why?” you look up at him.

“Didn’t peg you for a straight liquor type, Ms. y/l/n,” he finally lets his hidden laugh show through, butterflies erupting in your chest. The diversion definitely worked, whatever you were thinking about before this has immediately left you.

“Then this is going to be the first surprise of many tonight, Mr. Dubois,” you return the smug look as he orders the same thing. You both share a look.

The bartender slides you all your drinks, each of you taking a long swig for liquid courage for the night. Harley’s favorite Doja Cat song comes on and she gasps, clapping excitedly when she grabs you by the wrist, pulling you on the dance floor, “Come dance with me.”

You mouth a small ‘sorry’ to Bloodsport who you left at the bar, he shakes his head with a smile over the rim of his glass, watching you guys’ drinks.

She dances wildly, jumping up and down, spinning to let her hair fall in many beautiful angles. She’s a powerful force and your greatest friend. She puts her arms around your neck and the two of you move in time with the music.

“So...” she motions to Bloodsport who’s being forced into a conversation with a woman at the bar. The woman puts her hand on his and he visibly shrinks back and whispers something to her that causes the most horrid look from the woman and for her to walk quickly away. You smile at the relief that interaction has brought you.

“So what?” you spin her around and pull her back.

“Quit with the good dancing, or I’m gonna fuck you myself,” she teases with a lightheaded giggle.

You smile, “We’ve tried that already, remember?”

“Too much history, I know, I know. Doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be nice...” she whispers into your neck, kissing the soft spot under your chin. Your skin heats up under her touch as she drags her hands down your sides, pulling you close to her so that you’re flush against her chest.

You give into her and kiss her slowly, her soft lips melt into your own when her hands tug in your hair. Harley and you have always had a complicated friendship, with enough sexual attraction to fuel a nuclear bomb, but not enough romantic. You love each other but not in the way you both need. You were in love with Robert and she is continuing to explore her sexuality because she likes women and so do you. So as she trails her hot mouth down your neck in the middle of dozens of bustling bodies and you lock eyes with an angry Bloodsport, you knew exactly what she was doing.

You whisper, out of breath, “Are you trying the jealousy trick?”

“It worked in college, didn’t it?” she kisses your cheek, smiling gently against your skin. “And it’s working now.”

“I think you’re just obsessed with kissing me,” you kiss her back.

“It was a win-win situation, doll,” she grins devilishly and you can’t help but agree. “So when you’re done with him, come see me. But right now, I have a sexy bartender lady to drink up.” You grip her hand and let her make her way to her next conquest.

Robert had seen the tail-end of your kiss, his deft fingers clenched around his whiskey glass. He knows he shouldn’t let this sort of thing affect him, something as juvenile and simple as jealousy. But he couldn’t stop that feeling of being stuck, unable to think about anything except the fact that it wasn’t him with his hands on you like that, lips marking you as much as he pleases. Sadness washed over him in a tidal wave and he set his glass down, about to get up to leave when he spotted a man eyeing you from the door. He looked familiar and it wasn’t just attraction he sensed in his eyes but something far more sinister.

A few more men followed suit and began making their way to you in the middle of the dance floor. He had no time to consider the facts, just to get you out of there as soon as possible.

You feel a rough hand tug your arm and turn to face who you think to be Dubois, you smile, “Enjoy the show?”

“Very much,” an unknown voice answers, and you look up, eyes wide. “Now why don’t you come with me for a little talk, beautiful.”

“Get the fuck off of me,” you yank your arm back, slamming your heel down into the perpetrator’s foot. More men surround you on all sides, making it impossible for you to escape or use your subpar martial arts skills. Aerial yoga was a very different ballpark than kicking ass. And you were just a beginner.

You poorly punch a man in the face, only making them all angrier when you’re grabbed from all sides, being dragged towards the exit kicking and screaming. You didn’t want to be that helpless damsel in distress, but as all of these men, men you recognized from your family’s death, were surrounding you, you couldn’t breathe. Their hands felt familiar, grabbing your arms like they’d done that night before you hid in the secret door in the dining room. You had watched these faceless men through a hole in that door, stifling your cries when bullets sprayed the room your family was having dinner in. So while they were coming after you and pulling you outside, it’s all you felt. That same feeling when he wasn’t near.

Drowning.

There’s a hand that pulls you back and you watch, dazed, as Bloodsport puts every man who touched you on the ground. It’s filled with swift yet aggressive and barbaric movements, controlled, expert chaos and it happens within moments. His chest is heaving when he looks down at you and scoops you up in his arms. You’d object in any other circumstances, but this time, head against his chest and tucked in his arms, you were okay.

His voice rumbles against your side, “We’re going home.”

~~~

Harley’s tears hit your shoulder as you sympathetically pat her back.

“I’m so sorry, y/n. I shouldn’t have left,” she sniffles loudly. “I should’ve been there.”

You laugh softly, fitting your head into her shoulder, “It’s okay, Harls. It’s not your fault, there was no harm done.”

“There could have been,” she sighs. “I’m not letting you convince me to go out next time, you’re staying here forever.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, “Alright.”

She gets up and sniffs, wiping at her nose that’s now flushed from crying, “Good because I’m serious.”

“I know,” you laugh again, hugging yourself in a hoodie much too large for you, (because you stole it from Rick Flagg) swallowing you whole.

Your eyes wander down the hall to where Robert is no doubt pacing around in your bedroom, the only room not laden with cameras (ironically for privacy). You kick at the floor in your fuzzy socks and think of an excuse to go check on him, even though you’re probably the last person he wants to see right now. You, frankly, don’t care.

“I’m gonna go-”

“Check on Robert?” she finishes. “I know, honey. I was a psychiatrist, I’m not stupid.”

You crack a smile and grip her arm affectionately as you walk past her towards the bedroom. You don’t even take the risk of knocking for fear he’ll lock it and try your luck with just simply opening it. You see him, shirtless with a towel over his shoulder, a low hanging towel wrapped around his waist, while nursing his knuckles. He looks you over once you enter the room, trained eyes on you and the intimidation is definitely working already when he takes the damp towel on his shoulder and dabs the cuts on his skin.

He remains silent and you move to sit down on your bed, the awkward squeak filling the already high-tension atmosphere, thick enough to make your ears pop like you’re in an airplane too far up in the sky.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, drawing his eye.

He hums and steps into your bathroom, washing off his hands.

You frown at his lack of response, “Are you really going to pout this whole time? Because honestly, it’s beneath you, Robert.” You lean forward, watching as he walks out of the bathroom, still half naked, still silent.

The silence is beginning to slowly kill you, especially when he looks this good, water droplets running down his chiseled torso from a hot shower. You didn’t let your mind wander because if the reaction your body is giving from the image before you was any indication, you want him. He walks in the room once again, mouth in an amused yet firm line.

In actuality, he was ashamed of himself. Not so much of you. He would’ve left as that despair overcame him back in that bar. He would’ve left you there and abandoned his mission, leaving you to be hurt. If it hadn't been for those men, you could’ve been killed and it would be his fault. He alerted Waller of the attack, making up a lie about the two of you going for a walk at night and getting ambushed there rather than at a club. There’s a hit on each of those men being taken out as we speak as well as a search for their boss. Even though that still got him chewed out. He couldn’t imagine what she’d do to him if she found out the truth.

Robert walks slowly towards you, leaning against the bed frame, gesturing for you to continue. You watch him, distracted, as he wraps a bandage around his knuckles.

“I shouldn’t have kissed her to get a rise out of you, that was hurtful,” you exhale your words, quiet enough he wouldn’t be able to hear you if you weren’t within a breath of one another. You hang your head, “And it was stupid to go out in the first place when I am in this much danger. I could’ve been killed, and you could have been hurt. I’m sorry.”

He represses a laugh at the idea of him getting hurt, when the two of you both know that would never happen. But as the silence from him grows thicker, the more you start to ramble.

“Okay, this silent treatment isn’t going to work for much longer. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but you need to stop.”

He gives you a look that says ‘make me’. But you both know you couldn’t if you tried, and vice versa. He thinks of you as a siren, one of those alluring creatures in old sailor tales that lured unsuspecting men to their painful deaths. As if he has no control of the way he feels about you. Which in a way he does, but he knows better. He knows better than to fall under your enchanting song, but he can’t help but be pulled beneath the surface of the water.

Robert tenses when you move forward and the hoodie falls off one of your shoulders, revealing more of your chest, the smooth skin that lays there.

His chest tightens when you look up at him and sigh.

“But thank you for saving me,” you say, both because you think that’s what he wants to hear but also because you mean it, you wouldn’t be here at all if he didn’t come with you.

He licks his lips and nods his head in simple recognition. He appreciated the apology, truly he did, but a part of him enjoyed the way you continued to ramble on, so he remained silent. This was an old interrogation tactic he learned when he served, keeping quiet always got people talking. He looks down at you and leans to meet your face, hands on either side of you.

“I don’t know what else you wish for me to say,” you admit quietly, fiddling with your hands.

He didn’t know either but whatever you would say, he would listen.

“So I take it you’re not mad anymore?” you infer from his relaxed posture, heart beating out of your chest, fast enough that it catapults to your throat.

He tilts his head down so he’s an inch before your mouth, breath fanning over your face. when he tugs you up to your feet, hands gripping the sides of your waist when he pulls you close. Your heartbeats began to sync up, chest to chest.

“I’m fucking furious, sweetheart.”

You meet his eyes, looking up in that seductive stare of yours you never knew you were capable of until him, and close the distance, kissing him lightly. His arms falter by your side and it’s the first time you’ve seen him hesitate, losing his cool. It’s the most gentle thing he’s ever experienced, everything in his life being forced, hostile, and malicious, while your soft lips against his are anything but. You kiss him like he’s not the monster he thinks himself to be.

“Then let me make it up to you.”

“Fuck,” he grips your sides harder, palm moving to push you closer with his hand flat against the small of your back. “We shouldn’t.”

You search his face for uncertainty, but all you sense is a profound sense of clarity, in the both of you. “I know.”

“Will you regret this?”

You shake your head, hand against his cheek, “No.”

His dark eyes fall to your lips, pupils filling his dark brown irises, lust blown, “You’re so good, baby. You’re too good for me.”

Before you can tease him about the new nickname and object to that, his lips have crashed against your own. His hand slides up to cup the side of your face, drinking you in with his intoxicating kiss. You hum, content, against his feverish mouth and he opens it, vulnerable and on display. You feel his guard still up, tense and calculated, so you rest your hand against his chest. You press a kiss to his eyelid, his cheek, his nose, his chin, his jaw, his neck. He softens beneath you, groaning aloud as his hands tighten.

“You don’t need to be afraid with me,” you whisper to him, tender fingers trailing down his shirtless chest, hot skin against hot skin. It’s enough to make you sweat.

He exhales and captures your bottom lip with his own, holding your face in both of his hands. The kiss grows heated and rushed, like you’re running out of time, as if at any moment those men would come back and find you and take you away from him again. His tongue expertly works with your own, licking the pout of your bottom lip, and coaxing you open. He slides his hand down between your legs, dipping his finger to find the slick in the middle of your thighs. You moan into his mouth, his other hand at the back of your neck when he buries his face in your shoulder. He kisses you there, the crook where your neck meets your collarbone, that damned sensitive spot. You succumb to his touch. His beard tickles your skin and you gasp when he sucks hard, a bruise forming.

You breathe a laugh, “Everyone will see if you leave a mark,” you tug on his hair when you thread it through his coarse curls.

He falls under your spell and there’s something so ironically beautiful about this trained assassin with a heart of gold and the scars to show for it, being so open with you.

His hands, his entire life, have been forced to be instruments of death and violence. But as they slide down your figure, holding your face, and pulling you into him, they’re his greatest gift. He’s surprisingly tender with you.

But then he has enough and pushes you down on the bed, arms trapping you on both sides.

He responds bluntly, “I don’t care.”

You part your legs for him and he releases a shaky breath. He slowly unzips your sweatshirt and it falls off you just as you do the same and tug his towel down. Both of you are bare before the other as you take a moment to drink each other in. You were just as, if not more, beautiful than he imagined you to be.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says quietly as his hand drapes down the line of your figure. He touches you how someone would handle a glass vase filled with flowers.

You take his face in both of your hands and kiss him, “So are you.”

“I don’t think you know what you do to me, baby.” His hand finds your breast and squeezes while he kisses your neck.

You moan when he uses his other hand to grip your neck, thumb against your pulse point, “If it’s anything like how I feel right now, then yes, I do.”

He lifts his head up to watch your face as he chokes you, softly so he doesn’t hurt you but hard enough to play with your breath. His thumb opens your mouth and your legs tremble.

“So I take it you’re into choking, my love?” You nod excitedly, unable to speak, and his grip tightens.

You let out a squeak and he releases, face etched with worry, kissing your neck where he touched you. “Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head and smile comfortingly, “No, baby, I’m okay. I’ll tap out if it’s too rough, I promise,” you tease.

His grumbling voice deepens, “Good... because, darling, right now all I want to do is bury my face in between those gorgeous thighs of yours.”

You inhale sharply when he opens your legs once again, looking up at you and you nod in consent.

“I need words, beautiful,” he smirks with his mouth just above your center.

“Yes, please,” you breathe out and he responds with a swift lick to your pussy. He looks up at you and when he catches your eye, it’s as if the sensation grows stronger and your head hits your pillow.

“I’ve barely even touched you,” he mumbles into you and you feel his smug smile in your thigh. His fingers dip into you as he flattens his tongue and crooks them towards himself, you grip your sheets.

“Don’t... flatter yourself,” you sigh out. “I-it’s just been awhile.”

He removes his mouth and fingers from you, “So anyone can make you feel like this?”

You enjoy the feeling you get when he looks at you like that, his eyes dark and dominant, so you play along and nod. “Yes, in fact, I’ve had better.”

He licks his lips and gets up from the bed. He opens his drawer and you sit up to look what he grabs: a belt. Your heart beats excitedly in your chest even though you know you shouldn’t be. He gets back on the bed and climbs over you.

Robert looks at you, “Hands.”

You extend them to him wordlessly, watching as he ties your wrists together and puts them over the bedpost so you’re trapped there, unable to move.

“Now,” he holds himself above you, pressing a kiss to your lips. “You’re to stay tied up until I say so, anything like that again and they get tighter. Nod if you understand me.”

You nod emphatically. You had never seen this side of Robert before, so in control and not afraid to go too far, it was so unbelievably sexy.

The best part was he didn’t tie it tight enough, afraid of hurting you, so you could easily slip out your hands at any moment.

He kisses, painfully slow, down your chest and wraps his lips around your nipple. He swirls his tongue around the erect bud and you gasp, desperate to touch him. He looks up at you from you chest as he switches to the other, massaging the unattended one as he sucks, the pleasurable feeling overwhelming you. So much so you have to clench your thighs together, longing for some sort of relief for the tension building in your abdomen.

“Baby, please,” you whine, squirming beneath him.

He shuts you up with a bruising kiss while his hand slips down to enter you, two fingers in already. He pumps them in and out of you before sliding back down the expanses of your body and letting his mouth latch onto your clit. He sucks hard and you stifle a loud moan that would surely alert everyone in the home of your arousal. He holds you down against the bed with a palm flat against your stomach as you begin to lift your pelvis. His tongue enters you while his fingers take over, stimulating you with gentle rubs and flicks. But just before you feel that euphoric release, his actions cease and you’re left hot and flustered.

“Robert,” you look at him with a deep frown.

He grins, “Y/n...”

You blow hair out of your eyes, “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” He puts his lips near your ear, “Are you ready?” You nod as he pushes himself inside you and you bite back a moan into his shoulder.

You finally have enough, slip your hands out, and he pinches his brow, unable to hide his shock before you bring him down to press your lips against his. He melts into you, arms wrapped around you while he holds you close, filling you out in all the right places. He quickens his pace and you whine into his mouth, nails digging into his skin. You wrap your legs around his torso and he hits you so nicely. He was right, it’s the best you’ve ever had. He rises and looks at you, lips swollen and red from kissing, eyes clear and pupils large, and face flushed with heat. Your hair is in messy tendrils at all angles and you’ve never been more attractive.

“You’re doing so good,” he praises in your ear, placing kisses across your jaw. “Taking my cock so well.”

You whimper and his movements stiffen as he approaches release and so do you, walls tightening around him. He reaches down and rubs your clit with his expert fingers. You finish together, mouths open and hands all over each other’s bodies. It overcomes you in a tingling, perfect sensation, it continues on, leaving you aching and wanting more.

He rubs his knuckles over your cheek, softly and adoringly he looks at you. You tuck yourself into his arms under the blankets. Everything you both have wanted for a long time, laying right in front of you.

“Still want to make me not walk?” you tease, looking up at him.

He kisses your eyelids and you giggle, “Fuck yes.”

Part 2?

#harley quinn #harley quinn x reader #rick flagg #bloodsport #bloodsport x reader #robert dubois x reader #robert dubois #idris elba #suicide squad #suicide squad 2 #dc #dc smut #dc fanfiction #fanfiction #smut

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attourney-at-lycan · 3 years ago

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i wna talk about my ocs! they’re just small concepts but they’ll be under bc im somehow really embarassed about my ocs. so warning if u dont like oc stuff giygrfyueiwuy (these characters take place in a ... second? rewrite where i morph the plot/lore where they all fit bc this is all self indulgent) im gna reblog this for each character to make this a little bit easier? bc i might... spam on them too... much?

GENESIS ACORSO *human & jo9 member

so first up i have genesis! she’s one of my favorites so far. she’s a jury of nine. she’s not v liked? i mean this as a public figure.

she’s the one that zane goes to when he wants a dirty job to be done, a true puppet.

this is bc with the other jury members, he’s either had to pay for them to join him or he’d have to blackmail them into doing his dirty work or other reasons that make them loyal but still untrustworthy.

take ivy for example, she probably enjoys her job (maybe a bit too much) and then there’s jeffory, whom he blackmailed into staying. (i think. idk its sMTHN along those lines)

with genesis, it’s different. she was raised from a child to be a weapon basically. her family, the acorso family, are known for having the strongest and most productive guards. they’ve prevented horrible tragedies from happening yaddah yaddah.

however, they were taught w/o morals, almost like empty and dangerous puppets to do anyone’s bidding.

growing up, her mother would remind her daily “we are weapons. we cannot afford to have attachments, only enemies.” she was taught to listen to anything her future.... ‘boss’ would tell her to do and it was dishonorable to disobey orders.

this makes genesis the perfect go to for zane when he wants a specific job done quickly and quietly.

so far, i have planned for her is- her relationship with jeffory and katelyn. i love the concept of people with different morals just chilling together.

genesis has a sorta curiosity? with him. she’s never truly been around someone who was as kind hearted as him? she thinks he’s not fit as a member of the jury and thinks it’s a pity someone like him is in this place.

jeffory feels pity for genesis because she’ll never understand what amazing things the world has to offer. it’s not a secret how children of the acorso family are raised so, he sorta feels bad that she had to grow up in such a strict and warped environment.

their interactions usually consist of jeffory trying to be friendly and genesis shooting him down.

also, sometimes he’s sorta her consciousness during missions?

for example, if she’s about to do something cruel, per say.... killing an innocent bystander because they saw too much, jeffory would try to reason with her, keep her from killing that person until they run away or he manages to convince her.

i feel so fucking bad for jeffory for having to deal with her plssss.

do i think she likes jeffory? i think so? or i mean.. at least she finds him favorable? basically if she had to kill him, she’d hesitate. at least that’s what she thinks.

with katelyn, they..... constantly fight. i think she’s the only person so far who’s gotten genesis to show any emotion other than slight annoyance. she’s gotten genesis to get pissed pissed. this is because i think genesis sorta respects katelyn’s strength? they’ve sparred a lot and their scores are always even (yes, they keep score). also yeah genesis has pissed off katelyn way too many times. they just at each other’s throats constantly with snide remarks to the side. but zane puts them in missions together a lot bc their teamwork is remarkable.

and uhhh I THINK THAT’S ALL MY BRAIN CAN MUSTER ON GENESIS RN?

here are some tiny facts from the top of my head.

strong mommy issues

i do have a “faceclaim” for her and it’s casca from berserk bc fuck she’s so pretty

her sense of humor is.. nonexistent. she’ll easily make a funny situation into a serious one.

she surprisingly gets along well with ivy. ivy always goes to place to complain about anything while they spar or while genesis is getting ready for bed

if someone were to ask for her opinion on irene she’d give a generic vague answer but doesn’t personally believe irene was a goddess

has a pretty big family all scattered throughout the ru'aun region (and later on the tu’la region) serving different people of power

she’s a magicks user which makes one of the few acroso family members to have magic. (i just................. have to find out what that power is)

i dont know what weapons she uses which means i dont have a title for her yet. but im thinking she either uses a flail or a polearm

also these are her picrews! i think she’s pretty hot ngl. she keeps her hair short because she can’t be bothered to spend time on her hair when she could be out training. the white streak is there for........cool character design purposes idk i just love characters w/ gray/white streaks and once again, these ocs are for self indulgent purposes.

#I HAVE LIKE... THREE MORE OCS?#they're not as developed as genesis is tbh so i might put them all in one post #also im so sorry if this shit dont make sense #I KEEP APOLOGIZING FOR MY INCOHERENT RAMBLES I SHLD STOP #aphmau #minecraft diaries #mcd rewrite

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iwishtobekind · 2 years ago

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hi im in my richard siken obsessed gay era so here are some of my of his poetry that makes me cry!!

“ You said I could have anything I wanted, but I just couldn’t say it out loud. “

okay this one reminds me a lot of i bet on losing dogs from mitski and it just makes my heart breaks in a million pieces because i am so so so very lgbt and i still struggle to say my feelings out loud! thank you richard siken and mitski for destroying my life i love you guys

You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you didn’t even have a name for.

this one is so so very gay and it reminds me of the book “two boys kissing”. and it reminds me of the first love that most of lgbt people experience, i think it usually happens when we are in our starting teenage years, we start to feel such strange things for this beautiful person (that prob is one of your besties) and sometimes we just want to scream at the top of every roof of the city of our heart how much you love them, but its strange because !!oh no friends dont do that thats sus!!! then we feel like we discovered something disgusting about us. we feel horrible and unworthy of love, because thats what society taught us, feeling like this is horrendeous. then you just keep those feelings to yourself. but how can’t help but feel your heart skip a beat everytime that person touches you. so you just repress it forever and pretend it never existed!

maybe im just projecting, but now i realize how much i have grown, like, oh my god, how could i ever thought that loving someone was wrong? how could someone convice me of that bulshit!

“A man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it in the river                     but then he’s still left with the river. A man takes his sadness and throws it away                                                                         but then he’s still left with his hands.”

reminds me of that philosophy dude (heraclitos, idk his name in english im sorry)

“If you love me, Henry, you don’t love me in a way I understand.”

made me rethink about all of my conception about love.

“He was pointing at the moon, but I was looking at his hand.”

did you guys ever just yearned for someone so much that everytime you are with them you just kept focusing on them because they are literally stunning shining just like the sun and you just don’t seem to care about the world, like, you could be in a street with the most beautiful and amazing people in the world but you just can’t take your eyes of this person in front of you that has the most pathetic sense of humor and a doubtful inteligence. BUT YOU JUST CANT CARE ABOUT THE REST!! because they are simply the most stunning thing in the world.

yes, that’s how i feel when im with my favorite person. and i still don’t know if its platonic but its so so embarassing like oh my god what did i do to deserve this feelings for the most pathetic human being (love her sm)

That I would name the stars for you? That I would take you there? The splash of my tongue melting you like a sugar cube?

I JUST- IM AT MY FUCKING LIMIT RICHARD SIKEN THIS ONE DESTROYED ME BECAUSE OH MY WHO IN THIS EARTH WOULD NAME THE STARS FOR ME RICHARD SIKEN

“Oh, the things we invent when we are scared and want to be rescued.”

reminds me of nobody from mitski<3

I take off my hands and I give them to you but you don’t want them, so I take them back

so true.

“You'd break your heart to make it bigger, so why not crack your skull when the mind swells.”

#richard siken

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years ago

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We Were Something, Don’t You Think So? [Chapter 2: The Middle Of Nowhere]

You are a Russian Grand Duchess in a time of revolution. Ben Hardy is a British government official tasked with smuggling you across Europe. You hate each other.

This is a work of fiction loosely inspired by the events of the Russian Revolution (1917-1923) and the downfall of the Romanov family. Many creative liberties were taken. No offense is meant to any actual people. Thank you for reading! :)

Song inspiration: “the 1” by Taylor Swift.

Chapter warnings: Lots of shouting, if you never learned about the Russian Revolution then here's your mini crash course, references to historical stuff like violence and disease, Kroshka the mule emerges as the only emotionally stable character.

Word count: 4.1k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

Taglist: @imtheinvisiblequeen @okilover02 @adrenaline-roulette @youngpastafanmug @m-1234 @tensecondvacation @deacyblues @haileymorelikestupid @rogerfuckintaylor @yourlocalmusicalprostitute @im-an-adult-ish @someforeigntragedy @mo-whore

I wake up feeling harder, as if sleeping on the ground with all its stones and cool indifference has taught my spine to straighten, to endure. This is a welcome revelation. I will need to be resilient, for my family and for myself. I also wake determined to set things right with my rescuer. I am a perfectly charming person, Mother and Papa have always said so; I’m not painfully shy like Olga, or aloof like Tati, or rather dull like Maria, and I certainly don’t run around putting frogs in people’s shoes like Anastasia. I make for excellent company. Surely Ben will realize this and we will become inseparable travel companions.

Outside in the overcast brisk morning air, Ben is already busy tacking the mule. He glances over and tosses me an apple. It bounces out of my floundering hands and rolls off into the woods. This is not an auspicious start to the day.

“You’ll still have to eat that,” Ben says. “There’s no extra food. I was only able to ask for as much as I could justify needing myself.”

“Right.” I go fetch the apple—rummaging around in leaves and sticks and shrubs—and take a bite, even though it’s bruised and definitely tastes like dirt. I beam at Ben triumphantly. I am tough! I am daring! I am enchanting! I can pull my own weight on this journey!

Ben doesn’t seem to notice. He pats the mule’s thick brown neck and smiles fondly at her. “How are we feeling this morning, Kroshka? Hmm? Who’s a lovely mule? Who’s going to take us all the way to the Trans-Siberian Railroad without even one measly word of complaint? That’s right, you are! Yes you are!” He lands a smacking kiss on the velvety grey fur of her muzzle.

I attempt polite conversation; more than that, I endeavor to learn about my dashing yet evasive rescuer. “So, tell me Ben, have you worked for Sir Buchanan long?”

“Four years,” Ben replies curtly.

“And you are…” I think of his notebook. “A…writer of some sort for him…?”

“I’m his press attaché.”

“Ah.” I recognize the French word for ‘attach,’ but not its meaning in the context of employment with an ambassador. “I can’t say I know what that entails.”

“I handle Sir Buchanan’s relations with the Russian newspapers. Drafting statements and briefing him on local opinions and the like. And since his health has declined, I find myself delivering some of his particularly confidential correspondence.”

“Oh, I see. And he could spare you for this mission? It seems like a burden that would be better carried by a man with military or exploratory experience.”

“My Russian is passable. And I can tolerate rougher conditions than most.” He points to a pile of clothes he’s laid out on a tree stump. “Those are for you. There’s a stream out that way.” He flicks a thumb towards the east. “Get ready however you need to, but be prepared to leave in fifteen minutes.”

I examine the clothing: plain and practical undergarments, a heavy wool sweater, stockings, boots, and something unexpected. I hold them up with clammy hands. “These are…” I swallow noisily. “Trousers.��

“Yes. They’re travel attire. Comfortable and easy to maneuver in if we need to move quickly.”

“I’ve never worn trousers before.”

“I thought you were amenable to a…a…what did you call it? An adventure. A grand adventure.” He says this melodramatically, like there’s some humor in it. Like he’s mocking me.

“I suppose I am,” I mutter, still scrutinizing the trousers.

“Fifteen minutes,” Ben reminds me sternly. Then he begins to disassemble the tent.

I trudge off through the woods until I find the stream. I clean myself with ice-cold water, drink it down until my teeth ache, change out of my nightgown and into these strange new clothes—Trousers! Mother would lock me in church for a month!—and gaze up into the cloudy, pastel blue sky that peeks between the fingers of the trees. It is very still here, and cold, and deathly quiet. I try to remember the last time I was truly alone, without Mother or Papa or my siblings or servants or guards within shouting distance. There is none that I can remember; perhaps there is none at all. Out here in the Siberian wilderness I feel unmoored from civilization, diminutive, vulnerable, peculiarly inconsequential. I decide I don’t like being alone. By the time I return to our campsite, Ben is ready and waiting beside the loaded cart. His right hand is resting on a clunky metal monster with ‘Olivetti’ written on it.

“I’m a press attaché,” he says with a mischievous grin. “And you’re a typist.”

“A what?”

“You work for Sir Buchanan’s office as a typist. That’s our story, anyway. You came along to assist me during my audience with the former tsar, and now we’re traveling back to Sir Buchanan’s headquarters in Saint Petersburg. So if anyone happens to ask, that’s what you are to tell them. Oh, and you’re British. Your English sounds clean enough.”

“Alright,” I reply, still gaping at the metal monster like a black box with gnashing fangs. “But what is that?”

Ben’s jaw falls open. “You don’t…?” Then he rubs his forehead, sighing deeply. “Jesus Christ. You’ve never used a typewriter. Of course you haven’t. Great. Fantastic.”

“We always write by hand. My penmanship is flawless, Mother saw to that.” She’s still battling with Anastasia, but that’s a war that may go on as long as the one between the sun and the moon.

“Okay. Okay. This works out, actually. Because I’m not going to entertain you all day. So here is your assignment.” Ben slaps the back of what he tells me is a typewriter, and then waves for me to come closer. He reaches into the pocket of his coat and produces a British passport. Every line is filled out except for the name. He slides the paper into the machine and makes some bewildering adjustments. “So, you insert the paper, set the carriage—that’s this roller-type piece here—and type.” He taps forcefully on the keys until two words appear in the blank reserved for the passport holder’s name: Lana Brinkley.

“That’s me?” I ask doubtfully.

Ben smirks, amused. “That’s you.”

“So you could have given me a better name if you wanted to!”

“But then how would you learn humility?” He removes the fraudulent passport, shakes the paper until it dries, folds it into a neat little square, and slips it back into his coat pocket. “If you’re typing a longer message, the typewriter will ding when you’ve reached the end of each line. Then you use the lever to move the paper down, reset the carriage, and resume typing.”

I nod, but without much confidence. This seems complicated.

“You said you wanted a carriage,” Ben teases.

“Yes, one with magnificent draft horses and velvet seats and preferably no less than two servants. Not…whatever that is.”

“Well, if you’re going to pass for a typist, I’m afraid you must learn to type.” He finds me a stack of blank paper in his collection of bags and trunks, and then climbs into the front of the cart as I get into the back. The trousers, I hate to admit to myself, do make it easier to move around, although I’m not sure I approve of how much they accentuate the shape of my body. The thought of Ben looking at me in them gives me a plunging sort of feeling that is half-mortification and half-thrill…not that he has exhibited any interest at all. “Before we go any farther, do you have anything with you that I don’t know about?”

He means things like the heirlooms I have squirreled away in the large steamer trunk: the jewels sewn into my dress, the photograph. I can sense that he wouldn’t want me to have them, although I’m not sure why. In any case, I have no intention of giving them up. The jewels are the only thing of value that I have to trade if we find ourselves in a desperate situation. The photograph is the only string left that connects me back to my family, my home. “No,” I reply primly.

“Good.” He whistles at the mule and she tugs us through the trees and out onto the dirt road that leads, eventually, to the train station. As we ride joltingly along, the creaky cart wheels bumping over every rock and mound and muddy trough, I practice my typing: very slowly at first, and with only my index fingers. I read aloud as I go, gradually picking up speed.

“There once was a German princess born in the Duchy of Hesse. She was very beautiful but very shy. She had a wonderful talent for playing piano, but would run and hide if anyone asked her to perform in public. One day, when she was attending the wedding of her sister, the princess met a prince from a distant kingdom. They were only children, but they instantly knew they had found true love. They snuck off together and carved their names into a window pane. Over the years, each conspired to marry the other. They refused many suitors and wrote each other hundreds of letters. His family did not approve of the princess’s religion and lack of charisma; her family did not approve of the prince’s distant and troubled nation. But at last it became apparent to all that no earthly forces could keep the couple apart. Ten years after their first meeting, the prince and princess were finally married. And they lived joyously and peacefully in each other’s service for the rest of their days.”

Ben lights one of his hand-rolled cigarettes. The smoke doesn’t bother me; on the contrary, it reminds me of Papa smoking his pipe in his study, in the garden, as he read to us by the fireplace, as he danced with Mother in ballrooms back when she could still dance. It reminds me of home. “I’m not sure if you’ll ever give Shakespeare a run for his money, but I’ll admit I’m marginally entertained.”

I smile to myself, sentimental warmth rising in my face. “It’s Papa and Mother’s story.”

“Huh. I didn’t know your people were allowed to marry for love.”

By ‘your people,’ he seems to mean royalty, and there is some derision in his deep voice. “Well, surely duty must come first. But when love can accompany it, that’s a happy coincidence.”

“And what if duty compels you to marry a man who is, say, cruel? Or dreadfully boring? Or in love with another woman? Or who closely resembles a mole-rat?”

I resume my typing with a new exercise. For each letter of the alphabet, I type a French word that begins with it. “I don’t think that sort of thing happens very often.”

“But if it did.”

I shrug, not especially enjoying this topic of discussion. “Then duty comes first, as I said. But I believe most royal couples are perfectly content. At least nine out of every ten.”

“That many!” Ben marvels sarcastically. “Have you ever considered that your own personal experience, as pleasant as it may be, could be coloring your perception of how the world works?”

I ignore him and continue my typing. Attaché for A, bisou for B, croissant for C, doux for D…

After a moment, Ben says: “You aren’t going to regale me with another fairytale? I’m devastated.”

“I’m busy practicing my French now. Please don’t intrude.”

“You speak French as well as Russian and English?” He sounds impressed; for a split second anyway, just long enough for me to catch it like a firefly in my fist.

“And Italian, and Latin. And I’ve just started on Japanese.”

“But no German? That seems like it would be an easier beast to slay.”

“I’ve always purposefully avoided learning it, even though Mother’s family is German. I never envisioned myself marrying a German. I figured Maria could take that bullet. She doesn’t care, she’d marry anyone who could give her a castle and ten babies and a bulldog or two. I would say she was a milkmaid in a past life, but Mother’s heart would stop dead if she thought I subscribed to reincarnation.”

“Not fond of Germans?” Ben asks. “Well, who can blame you. Half the world isn’t fond of them at the moment.”

“I suppose they weren’t so awful before the Great War. But they’re rather boorish, aren’t they? They always sound like they’re angry. Like someone just stole their horse and they’re screaming at them from the front porch to come back or else.” I smile dreamily as I type. “I’ve always fancied the thought of marrying a prince from a glamorous, romantic kingdom. Maybe Italy or Greece. There has even been talk of me marrying Uncle George’s eldest son David. He’s rather beguiling. Tall and slim. Clear blue eyes like a lake. And he’s going to be the king of the British Empire one day, you know. We could holiday together in beautiful, sunny colonies like the Bahamas.”

“You’re still as important as all that? Important enough to make a marriage of that political significance, I mean.” Ben glances back at me and lifts one thick, dark, inquisitive eyebrow. “Seeing as your family doesn’t have a kingdom anymore.”

This is an insensitive thing for him to say. I frown down at the typewriter. “A wife almost always assumes the kingdom of her husband, so why should she require her own? She needs only sound breeding and a suitable temperament. And besides, we might yet return one day.”

Ben twists all the way around to stare at me, the reigns falling out of his hands. Fortunately, the mule seems to know her own way around. “I’m sorry, what?”

“It has been a brutal few years. The Great War, the supply shortages, the bad harvests…the people are frustrated, and understandably so. They lashed out blindly, at those who didn’t deserve it, at us. But the dust will clear. And when it does, I think the Russian people will come to their senses and realize that they want us back. That they need us.”

“Are you insane?” Ben snaps. “Are you utterly brainless? What’s floating around in that skull besides fiction and languages you’ll never use once you’re married off to some prince who only sees you as a broodmare?”

“How dare you! You can’t speak to me like this—!”

“For years, for a bloody decade, Sir Buchanan warned your father about what was coming. He tried to get him to moderate his views, to give the people more voice in government, to stop murdering them when they protested. And when none of that worked and the end was apparent, Sir Buchanan tried to convince your father to abdicate long before he did. Don’t you understand?! None of this needed to happen! Your family could have fled to Britain years ago, before the animosity against your father spread like wildfire across the globe, and Russia could have established their own parliament like Britain’s and negotiated a peace treaty to stay out of the war and none of us would be here now if not for your father’s selfish, pointless obstinacy—!”

“My father is a good man,” I choke out as hot, furious tears burn in my eyes.

“And he was a terrible ruler!” Ben shoots back like artillery. “He ordered protesters to be butchered, he sent untrained boys to die in some other country’s war, he clung to the throne for no one’s benefit but his own—”

“And what about my benefit?” I demand, still weeping, feeling monstrously like a child. “What about my mother’s and my sisters’ and Alexei’s? He must have feared for our futures if we were dethroned and left without any resources, any security, anyplace to call home—”

“He did you no favors,” Ben says harshly. “Half the country—the country that you obviously have not even a rudimentary understanding of—are moderates scrambling to secure the Provisional Government and disentangle themselves from the war while still somehow preserving their dignity and that of the millions of dead soldiers Russia has already laid on the altar. The other half are trying to instigate a wholesale communist revolution. There is no one, no one, who wants the tsar back. And you better pray to God that the communists don’t manage to seize power before King George gets your family out, or your father just might be guillotined on the steps of Saint Basil’s Cathedral.”

I bolt to my feet unsteadily, grip the side of the lurching cart, and leap out onto the dirt road.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Ben shouts after me.

I take off sprinting down the road, the wind whipping my face, sobbing as I run beneath the shadows of trees until my lungs are columns of flames and my legs feel wobbly and boneless. I can hear the pounding of the mule’s hooves approaching, the hurtling of wooden wheels, the slapping of leather reins. I am forced to slow to a vigorous march as my body betrays me, wheezing and aching and as ineffectual as a woman is so often assumed to be. The salacious trousers have come in handy once again. Who would have guessed.

Ben pulls up alongside me, reining in the mule to match my pace. “Hey! Get back in the cart!”

“I’ll walk the rest of the way to the railroad station.”

“It’s 200 more kilometers!”

“See you there.”

Now Ben jumps out of the cart. The mule, perplexed but not rattled, comes to a halt and waits in the middle of the road with her long ears angled in opposite directions. Ben rushes in front of me and leans down until we’re at eye-level, breathing heavily. I can smell smoke on him, and something else too: maybe cologne, maybe soap, maybe aftershave, maybe just the scent of a man in his prime. His lips are pink and full and soft-looking, I notice, as if for the first time. His cheeks are irritated and red from the wind; the ruthlessness of the climate here doesn’t agree with him. It is the only way in which I am stronger than he is. His green eyes are wide and blazing. “Get. In. The. Cart.”

“No,” I whisper, tears all over my face.

“You can’t just run off like that,” he pleads, less angry now. “Where are you going to go? There’s nothing out here except trees and…I don’t know…probably bears and wolves and maybe even Siberian tigers. You can’t get ripped apart by wild animals. Don’t you want to make it to London? To argue for your family’s liberation? They could find no fiercer advocate than you, of that I am convinced.”

“How would you possibly protect me from a bear?”

Ben unbuttons his coat and pulls up his white wool sweater to show me a pistol tucked into the holster clipped to his belt. “Just in case,” he says, smirking crookedly, lowering his sweater again. “Now I am keeping no secrets from you, and you are harboring none from me. We’re even.”

I nod, sniffling, thinking of my jewels and photograph hidden in the steamer trunk. My words are so strained I can barely hear them myself, my hands are trembling; hell, I’m trembling all over. The possibility is unimaginable. “Do you really think they’re going to kill Papa?”

Ben sighs, shaking his head. “No, I don’t,” he replies gently. “I think the Provisional Government will be able to keep the communists in check for now. I think they will leap at the opportunity to ship the former tsar off to Britain without the potential controversy of a trial and execution. And I also think we should get back in the cart and keep moving now.”

“I’m sorry your boss gave you this assignment and now you have to risk your life for a family that you evidently hate,” I lash out like a cornered animal, hissing and brandishing its glinting claws. “For a grand duchess that you hate. This must be an awful inconvenience for you.”

“It’s rather more complicated than that,” Ben says. “There’s some opportunity in it as well.”

Of course: his leather-bound notebook full of observations, his scrawled recollections to one day build into a famed article about our journey. An article full of what he truly thinks about me. I feel suddenly, violently nauseous. I feel horrified.

What happened to the grand adventure that I imagined? Where did it go?

And all at once, I can’t even remember how I pictured this journey unfolding; I can’t conjure up some rose-colored vision of me and Ben falling into an effortless friendship, flirting lightly and innocently, discovering new corners of the earth together, parting ways in London as lifelong confidants. Now I can only see Papa as he murmurs folktales older than Christianity with candlelight dancing on his smiling face, as he chases me and my sisters around the gardens with outstretched arms and sparkling eyes, as he carries Alexei from one room to the next when my brother’s joints are inflamed and excruciating and useless, as he never unburdens his mind to his wife or children but spends long afternoons chopping wood as the sun sinks into the west and the lines in his pale face grow deeper.

He couldn’t be responsible for bloodshed, for mercilessness. He’s not that kind of man. He’s never been that kind of man.

“We really should keep moving,” Ben prompts.

“Fine,” I fling back as I shove by him. I mop my tears away with the sleeve of my wool sweater, climb into the back of the wooden cart, and sit as far as I can from Ben with my bent knees hugged to my chest. I stare silently off into the forest as the mule drags us towards the Trans-Siberian Railroad, towards Moscow and Saint Petersburg and the Baltic Sea and London, towards the conclusion of this tenuous partnership and the redemption of my family. I am looking forward to soon never having to see Benjamin Hardy again, and yet I’m also not; and this is a difficult paradox to put into words of any language.

We don’t stop until it’s almost dusk. Ben hops down from the cart, leads the mule off the road by her bridle (and gives her an encouraging scratch on the forelock when she hesitates), and begins to set up camp in a small clearing encircled by heaps of frost grass. Dinner is loaves of bread again—even more tough and dry than yesterday—and metallic-tasting water from canteens. Dessert is a hand-rolled cigarette for Ben and a handful of honeyberries I found in the bushes for me. And when Ben grapples with the tent, I come over to help him with it just to prove I can.

Ben builds a fire, and we sit wordlessly on opposite sides of it with the reflections of flames in our eyes. Ben jots down today’s thoughts in his notebook, every so often glancing off into nowhere and tapping his chin thoughtfully with the end of his pen, biting his full lower lip absentmindedly as he sifts through the ocean of word in his head to fish out the right one. Meanwhile, I read my copy of Tarzan of the Apes. I stumble across a few English terms I don’t know—quixotic, cartography, constellations, ruminate—but I don’t ask Ben about them.

After a long time, when the moon and stars have emerged bright and ancient in the night sky, Ben closes his notebook and watches me. At first I ignore him. And then, eventually, I can’t anymore.

“What?” I ask irritably, keeping my place in Tarzan of the Apes with my pinky finger, which is nearly numb from the cold.

Ben’s words are calm, restrained, painstakingly chosen. Firelight is fierce and bloody on his face. “I had two infant brothers die of pneumonia, a perfectly preventable illness had they had access to good doctors and proper nutrition and a warm dry home, which they did not. I had a sister die in childbirth because there was no midwife available to attend to her. I have had friends come home from the war with limbs or half their faces missing, a fate which I myself am spared only because of my employment with Sir Buchanan. You have no idea what the world has been through while you were off playing board games and reading novels in greenhouses and lounging on lakeshores with your idyllic little family. You have no idea what life is like for the rest of us. And perhaps that’s not your fault, and it is unjust of me to resent you for it, and I must learn to temper this wrath I’ve been carrying around in my chest since childhood. But it’s still true.”

He stands, clutching his notebook with hands that are red from the savage Siberian wind, and vanishes into the tent.

#ben hardy fic #ben hardy x reader #borhap cast fic

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