#yes i do and i mostly kept discussion about all of this limited to private spaces/convos with people i trust

[lovvecherrymotion]

i've had more than one friend harassed over fanfic/shipping now and i'm so fucking done.

i know i don't have a lot of followers and i'd hope most people around here don't do it but if you think this is in any way acceptable, unfollow me. there are real people behind the screen and bullying them and sending them hate is not justifiable at all.

if you don't like something, unfollow/block/ignore. move along.

[obae-me]

Hi again! If it's not too much trouble, can I request the brothers reacting to an MC who usually bottles up their anger (they have a LOT of patience) until one day they just explode? You are an amazing person, and thank you for everything! I hope you aren't pushing yourself too hard!!

Hi, welcome everyone to another episode of Mara Doesn’t Know When To Stop, this time featuring this lovely request! I had a small idea, which then turned into five whole pages for Lucifer alone, so, I will also be doing this request into parts, I really hope you don’t mind! I get a bit carried away sometimes...I admit it... Anyway, Lucifer’s part is first! I hope you like it! 💜

Warning: Angst, arguing, cussing, It does lead to a happy end though, it’s a bit cheesy but sometimes we love it

We All Get Angry Sometimes

Word Count: 2707

He was fully aware of MC bottling up their true emotions. Being well acquainted with angels, he knew, despite all their holy patience, that even they had their limits. He will admit, he was impressed and proud with how far they had taken it, being human after all. Their control was practically as good as his own. No matter what his brothers did, what they said, how much they pushed them, for weeks MC just smiled and swallowed it. He was pleased. Until they could no longer retain their anger, and turned it all on him.

It had been at dinner, nothing unlike their meals every day, except recently Lucifer’s nerves had been on edge. It had been a few days since he had been blessed with adequate sleep, and his brothers were more bothersome than usual. Little did he know, MC’s mental state was about the same, close to the breaking point. An unhappy MC meant unhappy brothers, which meant it would all lead back up the ladder to Lucifer. There was only so far MC could be shoved around, only so long they could stay calm, and Lucifer had been the last straw. No one can really remember how it started, it hadn’t been important, simply some passing comment from one of the brothers discussing recent school projects. MC had scoffed, explaining their thoughts on how ridiculous the rules of said assignments were. Then it all went downhill from there.

“I’m not sure it’s your place to be making claims like that based on what your grades have been looking like recently,” Lucifer quipped. The rest of the siblings prepared to stand up for the human, knowing that MC was typically passive in nature.

Only, that same human beat them to the punch. “So, you’re saying that because I don’t meet your lofty standards, I’m not entitled to my opinions?” MC set down their fork, sending chills down the other demon’s spines as the room went silent.

Lucifer narrowed his gaze, already annoyed with their tone. “I’m merely explaining that maybe your statement would have more merit if you worked a little more at your studies instead of slacking off. And for the record, no, you haven’t been reaching my standards. I honestly expected more from you.” Every member of the household felt that line deep in their bones.

MC’s jaw clenched, the fire building up in their chest overwhelmed them to the point where if they shoved it down any longer, they felt like they would explode under the pressure. “You expected more from me? What more could you possibly want?! You’ve taken my home, my family, my friends, my culture, my time! You’ve constantly belittled me, ordered me around, expected nothing but perfection from me, and you still want more?! What have you possibly done to deserve more of me?!”

He was stunned at first, yes, but it didn’t last long. The shock factor was quickly replaced with a wave of fervent irritation. There’s no surprise he was already in demon form, doing his best to intimidate MC into submission. His eyes were glowing that deep red of his, looking down at the human as he got to his feet. His siblings slowly raised up from their seats as well, at the ready to intervene at any second. This whole event had them astonished to their core. Mammon and Levi had their jaws open. Asmo had his hand covering his mouth. Satan would have appeared proud of MC if not for the wary frown. Beel was instantly engaged in protection mode, already in a stance to grab onto Lucifer if he needed to. The eldest was barely able to control himself. Somehow MC had gotten deep under his skin, his body prickling with anger. “What have I--I’ve brought you into my home, ensured your protection, done nothing but make sure your experience down here is sufficient for your fragile little life! Do Not speak to me that way. Know your place.”

MC was physically vibrating from rage and frustration, their mind clouded with fury. Logic was far out the window now, they simply were saying whatever came to mind. Profanities were no longer held back. “I’m sick of your pompous holier-than-thou shit! I’m sick of working my ass off for you and not being good enough! You have a serious fucking lack of respect for everyone around you!”

The air was thick with his aura, his wings fully extended from his body. “Not another wor-”

“Fuck you!”

In a quick blur of motion, everyone worked together in tandem. As Lucifer lunged forward, his brothers held him back. Mammon scooped MC up in his arms and raced to the safety of their room before MC could get hurt, although deep in his heart he hoped Lucifer wouldn’t resort to violence. Lucifer growled inhumanly, flinging his brothers off of him in a single swift movement, ready to pursue the person that dared attempt to say such things to his face.

“How pathetic for you to have gotten so riled up over a few words from a human,” Satan shouted at him as he got up from his spot on the floor. Swallowing the small lump in his throat, he hoped this would prove a decent distraction as well as a way to snap his brother back under control.

Lucifer loomed over him. Satan seemed hardly disturbed. “Watch yourself.” But Satan’s words proved efficient, Lucifer’s Pride wounded as he realized how quickly he allowed MC’s words to get to him, how quickly he had lost control. All of his sibling’s eyes were on him, observing how he was acting. His head was pounding, but instead of heading up to MC’s room, he swiftly retired to his private study where he locked the entrance behind him. He paced around the area for a while, magically turning on some soothing music as his wings twitched in vexation.

He had been completely unprepared for MC’s retaliation, for their venom towards him, but perhaps he knew there was only so much a living being could take before they snapped. Had he been pushing them too hard? Expecting too much of them? Mistreating them? Had he gone too far? What if this spat ended up becoming a problem for the program? What if MC relayed this to Diavolo? His image, his reputation, they would be tarnished. Did MC think less of him now? Did he really care what they thought of him? He was better than this. He expected more from himself. He lowered his head as he sat heavily down into the chair behind his desk. He sunk down low, proper posture be damned. As he took a deep breath in, he realized he hadn’t been breathing for a while, lungs aching. He hadn’t meant to rub MC the wrong way. He simply strived to lead them towards the potential he knew they had. All he wanted was for them to feel proud of their accomplishments, to show the world what he knew they were capable of. But perhaps, it was unfair for the same standards he kept for himself to apply to MC as well. He pinched the bridge of his nose as that deep breath turned into a heavy sigh. He had failed in nurturing the success they’d already accomplished. He’d made them feel like they weren’t good enough, and now look at what he had done, in front of his family no less. Humiliating.

Meanwhile, Mammon was in the process of rubbing MC’s back as they lay on their bed, screaming into their pillow as angry tears fell from their eyes. They hadn’t meant to snap at Lucifer, it all...was just so much. They finally had cracked from the pressure. Everyone’s expectations had gotten the best of them. Be a human representative. Don’t let anyone down. Don’t show weakness. They weren’t purposefully slacking off from their studies, they just were burnt out, almost completely. Lucifer demanding even more from them...was the last thing they needed to hear today. Their own words made them feel sick to their stomach. Being angry wasn’t like them, it never sat well, which is why they always attempted to bury it in the first place. Mammon continued to tell them to breathe and calm down, doing his best not to freak out himself. He’d never seen his human act like this before. After some time, they both heard a polite knock on the door. As MC tensed, Mammon got up to answer it on their behalf. Lucifer was waiting, back in his casual clothes as his arms were settled folded across his chest, foot tapping impatiently against the floor.

“You’ve got a lotta nerve coming back here so soon,” Mammon scowled. “I won’t let anything happen to them, ya hear?”

“Nonsense, Mammon, I have no intention of harming them, I just want to talk. Calmly.”

“Yeah? Well I don’t think they’re in the mood for talkin’.” Mammon did his best to let his body block the entrance to the room, his shoulders nearly touching both sides of the door frame as he made his stature appear bigger. Lucifer peered over his younger brother’s figure, spotting MC sitting with their legs crossed on top of the bed, mostly calmed down as well, refusing to look at him. He noted the tear stains on their cheeks, and he resorted to having to clench his own teeth to stop the bubbling guilt rising up in his chest. He would make this right, if he couldn’t do this, how could he possibly call himself the wise and mature older brother?

“It’s...okay, Mammon,” MC assured him. The demon of greed scoffed, stating much too loudly that he would be right outside the door. He threatened his older brother not to even think about laying a single finger on them, unafraid of any punishment when it came to protecting MC. Lucifer waved him away with a single hand, too exhausted to deal with him further. As the door shut, he strode over to MC’s bed, chin high but spirits low. He had no intention of apologizing first, but if he could just persuade MC to start, he might be able to swallow enough pride to follow.

“Have we calmed down now?” He asked, MC simply nodding in response. “Very well.” He paused for a moment, letting an uncomfortable silence settle over the room. He did have many things he wanted to say, things he wanted to rectify, but for the life of him, he couldn’t bring himself to say them. Not yet. “Did you have anything you wanted to say to me?”

He observed them fight back their irritation before slumping their shoulders as they gave in. “I’m sorry, Lucifer.”

“And?” His voice sounded like a parent scolding a child, causing MC to nearly flinch in humiliation.

They bit their lip. “And the things I said to you were uncalled for. I know how much you do for all of us...for me.” They sat up a bit straighter as they stammered over the thoughts they wanted to say, to explain their feelings. They were afraid to be honest and vulnerable, much like he was, but they had the courage and humility to be open. It was a trait he secretly admired. “I just...I’m finding it difficult to--to find the--the energy and motivation to make everyone happy. And...and it hurt when…” They looked down, swallowing their emotions once more as they halted their watery eyes from crying again.

Lucifer let his body unwind ever so slightly. It would be rude of him now to not follow their example. “I...regret my words and my actions. I allowed my emotions to get the best of me, it won’t happen again.” He let the conversation fall once more as he took the time to straighten his coat around his shoulders and his gloves tighter over his fingers. “It was not my intention to invalidate your efforts. You’ve already accomplished more than I originally thought you were capable of, and it was foolish on my part to expect more from a simple human.” His rather backhanded compliment forced MC to rest their face in their hands in shame. The nerves in Lucifer’s spine shot a jolt up his back as he realized how terribly this was going. His temples were pounding, and he finally put his pride aside for the sake of reconciliation. He couldn’t stand to be the cause of their distress. MC stiffened as he sat himself beside them on their bed. A gentle hesitant hand hovered above their body before it settled between their shoulder blades. He glanced at the door where he knew Mammon was behind, probably listening in, and so he spoke softer. “I’m...sorry.” He had to ignore how harshly the words hurt him, but something about it was freeing. “I seem to have pushed you too far. I am thankful and truthfully astonished of what you’ve done during your time here. Not only did I cross a line today but I was blind to the fact that you’ve been overtaxing yourself. I know how hard it is to juggle my siblings and my work.”

He allowed his hand to drift up and down their back in a soothing rhythm, relaxing some himself as their muscles eased at his touch. MC finally raised their head from the confines of their palms and looked him in the eyes. “Do you think I’m a disappointment? A burden?” He found himself stunned for the second time today, and for a while he wondered when it was that he could be so easily swayed by the words and emotions of this human. Here he was, not only apologizing, but expending every effort he had in consoling them. He wanted MC to be happy again, because somehow it seemed to make his days a little brighter, his mood a little softer. Perhaps...he cared more for them than he realized. Their shouts had wounded him deeply at dinner, but somehow these new words hurt him more. Their forlorn face spurred an unfamiliar pain in his chest. 

“I’m sure it will be hard to convince you after the unforgivable things I said to you today, but it could not be further from the truth. I suppose the fact that you question yourself is one of my biggest failures. Clearly, we have not been communicating properly. For that I am..s...sor…” The words got caught in his throat. Apologizing once had been difficult enough, a second time seemed impossible. Out of the blue, he felt a tight set of arms wrap around his torso. He held his arms up in the air, his body turning rigid as his little hairs stood up on end. MC had pulled him into a tight hug, burying their face in his side. He felt their nose nestle against his ribs. As soon as he found his breath, his arms slowly lowered, settling around the smaller human. His body felt warm. Allowing himself a small smile, he cleared his throat. “I would prefer a situation like this to never happen again, do you understand?” MC detached from his sides, sitting back up as they nodded silently. “So, for the future, instead of quarreling with me, I expect you to come straight to me to discuss any woes or issues you may have. Fair enough?”

“Yes, Lucifer.”

He gingerly brushed his fingers against MC’s cheeks. “But it would be remiss of me to ignore the faults of my own. Since our meal was interrupted, what do you say to me taking you out to dinner, as my way of making amends?”

MC felt themselves blush a bit. “Sure-”

The door burst open, Mammon leading the charge as the rest of the siblings spilled into the doorway. They’d all been eavesdropping. Mammon came over and tugged MC further away from Lucifer. “Oi, what did I say about touching MC?!”

“And our dinner was interrupted too, I think we deserve something!” Asmo whined.

A loud grumble echoed from Beel’s gut. “I’m starving…”

Lucifer’s eyelid twitched a bit, and he gave MC one last apologetic look before he sighed. “Fine...we’re all going to dinner then.”

[glimmerglanger]

For a possible Make Your Bed snippet - reunion with Rex and/or Ahsoka, perhaps??? I also find myself super curious about how things ended up between Mav and Mirrti. Anyway, gorgeous finale, I was having heart palpitations throughout the last two chapters and I thank you dearly for them. ♥

remyblue said:

If you're still taking prompts for Make Your Bed, background Mav/Mirrti? Finding Rex and Ashoka? Also your writing is lovely and every update of Make Your Bed was a highlight/a wonderful gift these past weeks so thank you! >_<

Gooood morning! Since I’ve done Rex and Ahsoka, this one focuses on Mav and Mirrti. Set during Chapter Five. Angst and a lot of feelings. Discussion of mind control.

~~~~~~~

It had only been a handful of days since Mav stepped through the door to Mirrti’s quarters.

It felt like a lot longer.

He looked over the space while Mirrti made her way in, moving over to the small bench that served as a couch and just sinking down. The quarters were tiny, but they were private. He had...a lot of pleasant memories about the bunk along one wall; all the blankets were in order. Usually most of them were on the floor.

Last time he’d been in this room, Mirrti had helped him put his armor on, because they’d indulged, and he was running behind to get down to Utapau. She’d kissed his forehead before he pulled his bucket on.

He reached up, rubbing at his brow, chest and gut tight, and she said, “I’m sorry.”

Mav winced, looking over towards her. She’d bent over her legs, pale hair loose and falling down around her face. Parts of it were stained dark with blood. Not hers. He’d checked. She was still wearing a jumpsuit from the brig. And, when he’d first come around the corner, after she’d commed him, he’d thought--

“I know you must be furious,” she said, voice muffled by her hands, over her face.

Mav considered that. His emotions were all a tangled mess. They felt sharp-edged, in a way he wasn’t used to. Like they’d been sharpened into blades and turned against both him and everyone around him.

He said, “I think I am angry, yes.” He watched her nod, watched her shoulders shake, something simmering up his spine, thinking about the feeling of being trapped in his own head, screaming where no one could hear. Thinking about the nat-borns. Jocobi and Tullop had gloated, and - and gone further, but--

He flexed his fingers in and out, looking down at his own hands, surprised by the itch in his knuckles and the hot boil of emotion in his gut. His voice was sharp when he said, “You just left -- us.”

He heard her make a sound. Her voice cracked when she said, “I didn’t know--what was going on. Admi--Jocobi got a message. Over Utapau. It said - it said the Jedi had attempted a coup. That they were traitors. And that you - you all had received new orders. That you’d--listen better. Follow your orders. I… and then you were. Blank. Empty.”

He stared at the far wall, his jaw aching. He was grinding his teeth together. He tried to make himself stop, with limited success. She said, quietly, “You wouldn’t talk to me.”

Mav swore, and it was easy enough to slam the side of his hand into the closet wall. The wash of pain down his arm felt… grounding. Mirrti made a ragged, startled sound, and-- He’d wanted to talk to her. To beg her for help, at first.

And then to beg her to stop.

The thing in his head hadn’t appreciated her continued attempts to speak with him. It had taken him back to his bunk multiple times and grabbed a pad, opening a form to report behavior that indicated sedition and--

Mav had fought it, as best he could. He’d tried to focus on the fact that she was a junior officer - she had no real power, he’d tried to convince the thing in his head. And - and he’d focused on his memories of their time together. The way they tangled close. 

It wasn’t sedition. Just - just a lonely officer, who wanted physical release from his body. 

The thing in his head must have believed it. It hadn’t filed any of the reports, anyway. 

“I couldn’t talk to you,” he said, finally, his voice in shreds. 

She looked up, her hair stuck to her cheeks. “You could have, I would have helped, don’t you know that I--”

“I couldn’t, Mirrti. Physically. There was.” He blew out a breath, gut sour and burning. Cody hadn’t given him orders not to talk about the thing in their heads. But, likely, that was because Cody was barely managing to keep things running. He looked terrible and was furious with the nat-borns. All of them.

Mav had never seen Cody really angry, before. It made him uncomfortable. The way he’d looked at Mirrti, like he wanted to shake her or - or worse, had made something burn in Mav’s throat. He shook those thoughts aside and swallowed. He said, “There was something in my head. In all of our heads.”

Mirrti turned to look at him, finally. Her face was streaked wet, darkened to purple under her eyes. “What?”

Mav grimaced, waving a hand out to the side. It ached, where he’d slammed it into the wall. “Some kind of kriffing chip. I don’t know. The Kaminoans put it there and when they turned it on…” He snorted, an ugly sound. “We got blank. Empty. I couldn’t do anything except watch what was happening. And you - you just stood there. You watched Tullop--”

He trailed off, throat closing around the words, strangling them. Strangling him. Jocobi had been smug and awful, but mostly kept to his own quarters. Tullop had taken inordinate joy from wandering among them, in ordering them to do degrading little tasks, just because he could, and--

“So, yes,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m angry, Mirrti.”

It felt good, naming the emotion. She nodded, head dropping, shackles still around her wrists because Cody had been lenient enough to let her come back here, but there’d been limits to how far he was willing to stretch any magnanimity.

She hadn’t asked to have them removed, anyway.

Mav swallowed, his own eyes burning. He was angry, and didn’t know, really, how to process the swell of it. There was so much. And it hadn’t crept into his chest alone. He panted out, voice cracking all at once, “And scared. I was so - the chip wanted to report you, Mirrti. As a traitor, and you wouldn’t stop coming around. And…”

She looked up at him again, expression frozen into place, fresh tears on her cheeks. And he’d thought Cody was going to throttle her, earlier, after the breakout. After she commed him, told him in stuttering breathes that the other nat-borns had gotten away, and--

She could have run with them. They’d have been able to reach a comm station. The Empire would know. Know what they were doing on the Vigilance. Even if they’d caught the nat-borns after that, it wouldn’t have mattered. A single message could undo all of them.

His heart had lurched when she commed him, going so fast it had hurt. It was still racing. He was angry and he’d been worried and currently he did not know what he was feeling, only that there was too much of it, all crowding together inside his head, tangled with memories of - of being in this room, of Mirrti leaning her arm on his chest, her skin so blue as he trailed fingers through her hair and they discussed taking leave together, her body soft and warm against his, the way she laughed when he got tired of talking--

He blew out a breath, running a hand back over his head, wondering what the kriff they were supposed to do next.

[elionwriter]

Since I'm not sure I want to write new, full Fanfictions right now (I'm already working on a Good Omens one) I'm just gonna post some Star Wars/ Dinluke headcanons and prompts and ask you guys if you want me to flesh them out.

PART 1:

Their meeting and the events on board of Moff Gideon's light cruiser change things quite radically for both Din Djarin and Luke Skywalker. On Din's side, without the child actively in his care he is left without a proper goal and without a proper path. He can't go back being a simple bounty hunter, mostly because the ones he did it for are gone...

So what now? He always knew he would do anything to bring Grogu's mission to a proper end but he never actually thought of what would happen after. Nor did he immagine that it would leave him so shattered, broken and lonely.

Is it stubborn denial that his business with the child is over that makes him investigate further about the matter? A part of him wants to believe that yes, yes it is, but something about it just doesn't sit right with him. As Dr. Pershing is brought back as a prisoner to New Republic forces he is thoughtfully interrogated about his work and his part in the operations of the empirial cell. The man doesn't give his interrogators a hard time, answering everything as honestly as he can, but doesn't seem to know much afterall. Din can't help but feel somewhat sorry for him: he was taught cloning engineering by the last Kaminoans alive, apparently another species the Empire had decided were better off exterminated and forgotten after fulfilling their purpose. Except they hadn't, not completely, and now experts on the subject were even more rare than beskar. The Dr. was one of them and his knowledge and capacity was the only thing keeping him alive after the empirials sought him out. Whether or not he had any real sympathy for the imps was rather irrelevant and they were his one remaining shot at doing his actual job (there wasn't really a high demand for clones nowadays). He followed Moff Gideon's orders but he knew that the orders were actually coming from much higher up. Who was pulling the strings and what they ultimately wanted, he didn't know. They didn't trust him with those informations. All he knew was that they needed him to create a body with the kid's life expectancy and his M count. They had kidnapped and experimented on other force sensitive children but none of them seemed to have Grogu's qualities and were disposed of. When the guard told him to stand up to be brought back to his cell, the doctor looked at Din and asked "Is the child safe?" "Yes, he is." Answered the mandalorian and the other nodded exhausted "Good, that's good. Thank you." Din nodded back to him and watched him leave.

The only reason Din had been allowed to follow the interrogation was obviously Cara Dune, which had delivered Dr. Pershing and Gideon to the authorities. Cara was however busy talking with someone he didn't know, another woman, a very elegant and majestic one at that. He couldn't help but notice the friendly and intimate tone the conversation seemed to have. Cara later introduced her to him as senator Leia Organa -Solo, a legend of the Rebellion and the Princess of Aldeeran. Suddenly the two's steadyfast bond became very clear. Apparently, the Senator found the story about the two prisoners extremely distressing and had already "her best man" look into it. She spoke very kindly to Din and, as a true politician, thanked him for his services to the Republic. Din quickly changed subject and asked if Moff Gideon had revealed anything more useful than the doctor.

As expected, Gideon hadn't been as collaborative and hadn't spoken a word since he was brought in. Something in his demeanor, however, had definitely shifted and below the ever guarded and secure facade there was worry. 'That's the face of a man in deep shit! We aren't the ones he's scared of though, one can only guess what makes a guy like him fret like that...' said Cara without bothering to hide her worry.

That was the reason why Din, in the little breakes he stole from the collaboration he had fallen into with Bo-Katan and the other mandalorians, kept searching for answers. The something or someone that scared Gideon had to mean danger. And if there was danger out for Grogu it would ALWAYS be his business.

That's when he realized who the princess' "best man" was. Luke Skywalker had apparently been searching for answers too and it's during one of these occasions that they newly meet. They have a common goal and pupil to protect but very diverse skill sets and areas of expertise. That's why on the hush-hush they agree to meet occasionally when either of them seems to have some new information or lead. Neither of them properly introduces to the other, there's really no need for that, and their partnership remains for some time elusive at best. Din is a naturally secretive and private man, the Jedi on the other hand, seems to have become it, a necessity rather than an inclination. Luke doesn't ever bring Grogu along nor does he mention him, after assuring the other that the child is safe and well. Din doesn't ask. And yet, the most restless one of the two about it is the Jedi. Just like Luke can feel Din's ever present affection and sense of duty toward Grogu, Din can sense that the other is very uneasy on the matter, like two parts of him are constantly battling over something. Again, he doesn't ask.

Despite all this, however, their relationship is far from strained. There is a mutual and instinctive trust and respect between them and it becomes quickly very clear that they work well together. During the nights they have to camp or during the trip in hyperspace the two talk. They discuss about their dying creeds, their principals and beliefs, fighting techniques and recount some of their old adventures. After a while, they open up enough to discuss of their situation and daily challenges and earnestly seek the other's opinion and advice on how to face them.

Din learns that Luke is still a figure on which the New Republic sometimes relies upon, even if only for extremely delicate situations; that he spent the last few years travelling throughout the galaxy looking for lost Jedi artifacts and knowledge, hoping to learn how to best bring the order back to life for new generations of force users (expecially his young nefew); that during said travels he always made a point to help those in need and right wrongs where he saw them; that he still found himself dealing with loose ends of the Empire.

On the other hand, Luke learns of Bo-Katan's quest to reclaim Mandalore; of Din's search for knowledge and history on a culture that should be his own but that he progressively realizes he knows very little about; of his uncertainty on where he stands both with his creed and his peers and the aggravation of the dark saber which he is currently the wielder and protector of.

They feel for each other. No, they understand each other. Even as words completely fail to reveal the most critical parts of these conversations. What they do understand is this: nothing seems to make anymore any fuc****ng sense in their lives! That everything was much more simple when they were just a bounty hunter and a farm boy.

It's not that Din doesn't want to find other Mandalorians and help his people. He and Bo-katan may not always see eye to eye, but they both made extremely clear how loyal they are to their creed. It's just that Din doesn't know anymore if he still has a right to that title and to the armour he wears, if everything he was taught was a lie or not. He broke a lot of rules for the child and can't decide if that is for the best or not.

Luke, on the other hand, can't decide what to make of the Jedi teachings and contradictions he has collected. How can he act like expected and pass on lessons he himself isn't really sold on. It was his family and his ties that kept him alive and safe from the dark when facing the Emperor and his father, but it was also attachments and the Jedi's taboos that had damned his father to begin with. Should he encourage the complete detachment the old texts preached about, should he too talk only of light and cast a shadow on everything that didn't fall in that limited range of the force? But most importantly: should he keep his young apprentice from his beloved father and pointedly ignore the warm flame the mandalorian had effortlessly lit up in him?

Luke can't help but notice that when he slips and gets a bit too close, a bit too intimate and touchy with the other man, the mandalorian doesn't push him away and seems to answer this boldness with an awkward, shy breathlessness. While a part of him knows, Luke doesn't allow himself to hope or acknowledge that flicker in his chest might be mutual.

[hale-13]

Slipping Through the Cracks

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 5 - Broken

Just when his life was finally leveling out Parker luck struck again. Peter has had four opportunities with parents and has lost all of them. The way he sees it, this is the least of what he deserves.

Post-Homecoming - Tony didn’t meet with Peter immediately to offer him a place on the Avengers.

Words: 3856, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen-Teen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Happy Hogan, Ned Leeds

TW: Depression, Dissociation, a single line of Suicidal Ideation, Referenced Child Abuse

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

Peter was silent as he exited Midtown with Ned keeping a quiet pace with him. Seven months ago they would be just as excited as their classmates for the weekend, for the plans that they surely would have made to build Legos or marathon movies or even to just study together. Ned would have been ecstatic to set up in Peter’s bedroom as his ‘guy in the chair’ while Peter did a quick patrol or two. If they were at Peter’s instead of Ned’s, May would attempt some new dish that would, inevitably, be awful and they would order pizza from their favorite place for dinner.

Now Peter never saw any of his limited friend group outside of school. He didn’t build Legos or watch movies or eat take-out pizza and he certainly wasn’t Spider-Man anymore – he had given that up after the Homecoming disaster when he had destroyed Mr. Stark’s plane.

It had been just over six months since he had found May dead in their kitchen and Peter didn’t really do anything at all anymore.

The ER doctors told Peter that she had an undiagnosed aneurysm that had finally burst – there was no way for anyone to know. She went quickly. She felt no pain. There was nothing that Peter could have done even if he was there when it happened.

The reassurances meant nothing really – Peter was numb. May was his last living family member, he had no one else and nowhere to turn. He can vaguely remember telling the social worker that was with him when they told him the news about May that he was alone now. He can remember being taken forcibly from the hospital before he was ready to go, wanting to kick and scream and drag his heels but too shocked to do so. And then everything was a blur.

Somewhere in his mind he knew that he had been allowed to pack up everything important from their apartment to go into storage until he was eighteen besides the bag of essentials he had for himself. He knew that everything else was donated or sold to pay off their remaining debt and the medical bills he had incurred by calling for help when he found May on the kitchen floor. He knew that the social worker told him that, even after selling everything, they couldn’t afford a funeral. He has a business card in his wallet with the number of the crematorium that was holding May’s ashes until he was old enough to retrieve them and, hopefully, give her a proper burial in their family plot next to Ben.

He spent the two weeks after in a group home, mute and dissociating with seven other boys in similar situations. He didn’t go to school, but he remembers the constant stream of unanswered texts and calls from Ned and MJ before his phone plan was discontinued then his phone became a dead relic in his bag. There were a lot of discussions about school that Peter didn’t take part in but, thanks to his full scholarship, he was able to continue at Midtown at least until the end of the year.

And then he was placed with his foster parents.

The Fishers seemed to be pleasant people when Peter first met them; they didn’t force him to speak, they had extensive fostering experience with teenagers and were willing to pay for his subway pass so he could get to and from his school even though there was a decent public school in walking distance. It didn’t take long, however, for their true colors to show.

Now, though, Peter knew the rules. He was always home by his curfew of four on school days and he never went out on the weekends. His grades were perfect. He kept his undecorated room spotless. He cooked supper every evening and breakfast and dinner on the weekends. He kept the house presentable. He stayed out of the Fishers way. Mostly he drifted. His days slid together to the point he had difficultly remembering entire weeks passing him by but it was fine.

He was fine.

“I’ll see you Monday,” Ned muttered as he split off to get in his mom’s car, not acknowledging the pathetic little wave Peter offered in return. A coiling feeling settled in his gut and Perter felt guilt rise up to swirl in his throat. Ned was his best friend and he was treating him like shit. With Peter basically unresponsive, bullies had taken to picking on Ned instead… well except for Flash. Flash had been the only one to back off and stand up for both of them – it helped but didn’t fix everything.

“Better if he leaves you now,” a little voice in his head whispered. “It’s better to be alone.” And maybe at one point he would have fought against that mindset but now he couldn’t help but agree. Peter destroyed everything he touched and everyone around him was doomed for misery. Better for Ned to get out while he could.

Lethargically, Peter began across the empty football field toward the subway entrance – his trip home was always a little tight and he couldn’t afford to miss this train.

“Peter!” A harried voice shouted as his shoulder was grabbed and he was roughly turned around to face a red-faced and irritated Happy Hogan. Peter’s mind blanked for a moment in total shock at seeing the man again after so long. “Didn’t you hear me calling for you?”

“Sorry Mr. Hogan,” Peter mumbled, not making eye contact. He felt the phantom sting from the slap he had gotten for that when he first moved into foster care burning his bare cheek.

“The Boss has been calling you, he wants to chat. You screening our calls now?” Happy asked, accusatory as his eyes raked down Peter’s form. Peter felt a shiver crawl up his spine and kept his sight locked on Happy’s chin, trying to remain as relaxed as possible. It was important to not draw any unwanted attention to himself.

“No sir,” he answered, voice a little rough and quiet with disuse. “I don’t have a phone anymore.” Happy huffed and narrowed his eyes at Peter before steering him to the expensive Audi parked in front of the school.

“No matter, he wants to talk to you in person anyway. Hop in and I’ll take you to the Tower.” Peter gulped and fought the urge to dig his heels in – it wouldn’t be polite.

“I have a curfew of four,” he protested weakly as Happy pulled open the door for him and motioned for him to climb in. Peter hesitated but relented when Happy gave him a little shrug.

“I’m sure May will understand and Tony can always give her a call to clear anything up.” And with that Peter was gone. No one had said her name since she died and the thought… the very implication that he could still be living with his aunt, happy and carefree, was insane. His mind floated away and he felt like he was watching himself as a specter. He saw his body relax but his eyes were distant, cloudy. Happy, for the first time that Peter could remember, didn’t raise the partition between the front and rear seats and, instead, watched Peter in the rear view mirror.

The drive to the Tower took over thirty minutes with traffic and Peter would be panicking about how late he was going to be if he had any capacity to feel at all. Instead, he let his mind wander as the skyscrapers of Manhattan blurred into a grey mosaic outside the window, fat raindrops sporadically hitting the window as a drizzle started. “We’re here,” Happy told him as he parked the car in the underground garage that was reserved for Mr. Stark and other high level staff of the Tower. Peter popped his door open and followed the man to the private elevator that he assumed would take them to Mr. Stark’s office.

“Hello Happy. Hello Peter,” the disembodied voice of Mr. Stark’s AI, FRIDAY, said as the doors closed and the elevator began to move. “Boss is awaiting your arrival in his workshop.”

“Thanks FRIDAY,” Happy said, texting intently on his phone. Peter just remained silent as the elevator began to slow before stopping completely, the doors trundling open soundlessly. Happy nudged Peter out but remained inside the car as the doors closed, leaving Peter alone in the sleek room.

Tony was seated in front of a large hologram of his armor, code scrolling past on his monitor as he made adjustments. “Mr. Parker,” he said as Peter edged closer to him, not looking up from his work. “You’re a hard man to get in contact with.”

Though Tony sounded more forthright than angry, Peter still had to fight the cringe in his shoulders as he came to a stop about ten feet away from the work bench – out of reach and with enough time to prepare if the man were to make any sudden moves. “Sorry,” he murmured, keeping his eyes low and doing his best to keep his shoulders from curling in – the last thing he needed to do was show any weakness.

“No need for apologies,” Tony said, light, as he fiddled with a holo mechanism in the right repulser. “Just a statement of fact. According to the news Spider-Man has also been just as difficult to find.”

Peter just hummed in response, choosing not to comment on his previous alter-ego. He didn’t much feel like a hero these days.

“A man of few words,” Tony commented, shutting down the programs in front of him and turning to face Peter fully. “Are you the same kid who was talking my ear off in Germany a year ago?”

“Yes sir,” Peter said, keeping his eyes focused on Tony’s chin. He could feel his mind slipping as his heart rate sped up and he struggled to keep present – it was getting harder and harder to stay in the moment the more he allowed himself to get lost in his head. He occasionally dreamed that one day it might be permanent; one of the few good dreams he had.

“Sir?” Tony parroted, his eyebrows raising and a flash of guilt washing over his features quickly before disappearing. “Look kid, I think I owe you an apology. Actually, I know I owe you an apology. I didn’t communicate with you about the whole alien weapons take-down thing. I underestimated you and treated you like a side-kick and ignored you and then I left you alone and without any protection and you saved my bacon anyway.”

“I deserved it,” Peter said matter-of-factly. “I was in over my head and I disobeyed. The punishment fit the crime.”

“No it didn’t,” Tony told him bluntly but firmly, looking surprised but resolute. “Maybe we both share some fault in the situation but I’m the adult and the one with experience and I didn’t do anything to teach you or help you and for that I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Peter assured him, allowing himself to tap his index finger against his thigh once to let out his stress. Mr. Fisher didn’t like his constant fidgeting and Peter knew that it was pretty annoying so he had done his best to learn how to stand as still as possible to not incur any extra punishments – the index finger tap he was able to normally get away with.

Mr. Stark’s eyes were narrowed as he surveyed Peter. “I wanted to offer you a real spot as my intern. You could spend a few days a week in the shop working on tech and I made you a new and improved suit for the other part of your ‘internship’. I promise that you’ll always have the support you need to be New York’s Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man. You’re the future of the Avengers, kid, its pretty clear to me now. Your spot on the team is there whenever you want to take it.”

For the briefest of moments, Peter was overwhelmed with excitement and incredulity. Ever since Tony had announced he was Iron Man to the world, Peter had wanted nothing more than to be a superhero as well, to be an Avenger. If Tony had offered him a spot on the team after Germany, Peter would have taken it in an instant. Now…

“Thank you Mr. Stark,” Peter said, voice still a little broken and hoarse from how little he spoke these days. “But I can’t.”

“Oh you don’t have to join now,” the man assured, misunderstanding. “You’ll need some training first but Rhodey and Vision are always down to join us at the compound for some group work. You have a lot of potential.”

“Thanks but that’s not what I meant,” Peter clarified. “I have to decline all of it but I appreciate the offer.”

“Oh,” Tony looked a little crestfallen, a dark expression of acceptance on his defined features. “I understand. Broken trust and all that. Sure.”

“It’s not that,” Peter reassured quickly. “I don’t hold anything against you – I was the one who messed up. It’s just I have a four o’clock curfew every day so I can’t do the internship.”

“That’s easily remedied!” Mr. Stark said, his eyes lifting with a smile and looking relieved. “I’ll just give Aunt Hottie a call and work things out and we’ll have you in the lab and out swinging through the streets in no time!”

Peter’s ears fuzzed out again, a sharp high-pitched note cutting off Tony’s excited words as a feeling of immense emotion flooded through Peter before he could tamp it down. His breathing felt a little ragged in his chest and he squeezed his eyes shut for just a moment to gather himself. “My aunt is dead,” Peter gritted out, interrupting Tony and rendering him speechless. “She died six months ago. My foster… the people fostering me are a little more strict.”

“Oh,” Tony said, face blank and an awkward silence filling the space. Peter gripped his worn down backpack straps and backed toward the elevator.

“Thanks for the offer,” Peter said earnestly. “It really is an honor I just…” he trailed off. “Thanks. For everything.”

And with that, he entered the elevator and pushed the button for the lobby, the doors shutting on Tony’s pitying expression before the man could say anything much to Peter’s relief. The metro card the Fishers had gotten him only had a set amount of money on it every month so Peter would be hoofing it back to their house from the Tower. His cracked watch face told him that it was already close to four-thirty and his stomach bubbled with anxiety. At this rate he wouldn’t be back in time to have dinner on the table at five-thirty.

Resigned to his punishments, Peter left the building through the shining lobby and pointed himself toward Queens, moving as fast as he could.

——————-

“You’re late,” Mr. Fishers’s tone was short and monotonous from where he was seated on the couch. The house was otherwise quiet which meant Mrs. Fisher was out that evening.

“I’m sorry sir,” Peter whispered looking at the floor and making no excuses. He had learned the hard way that trying to justify his poor behavior only made things worse for him in the long run.

“Go to your room,” Mr. Fisher told him making Peter cringe. “I’ll join you in a moment.”

Later, when Peter was lying on the bed with silent tears still leaking from his eyes and his back and ribs stinging in pain, he thought about Mr. Stark’s offer with selfish desire. In another universe, in another life, he would have been elated but now he only felt desolation - life always did like to dangle things in front of him he couldn’t have.

Setting his alarm for five-thirty so he wouldn’t oversleep, Peter let his consciousness slip away into the ether, mind going blissfully empty and blank.

——————-

Monday came both faster and slower than Peter wanted. His body still ached from his well-deserved punishment and he was exhausted from the extra chores and minimal food he had been offered as a result of his actions. School passed in a lonely blur for him as he drifted from class to class, hiding away in the deserted music room during lunch to avoid Ned and MJ. They didn’t ask as many questions anymore but Peter didn’t want to put himself in a situation where he would have to lie to his friends again.

When the final bell of the day rang, Peter chose to not stop by his locker where he may be ambushed and, instead, left the school, headed directly for the subway. He had nearly made it when a body physically blocked him from the stairs.

“Howdy Pete,” Mr. Stark said, peering over his glasses to look at Peter and Peter did his best to school his expression into indifference. He couldn’t be late again. He couldn’t take another punishment, he was just so tired all he wanted to do was sleep. Maybe forever. “Where are you headed?”

“Back to my fosters,” Peter told him, trying to skirt around. “I have a four o’clock curfew.”

“I remember you saying something about that,” Mr. Stark agreed with a nod. “Tell you what – let me give you a ride home. You’ll get home well before your curfew and I can talk to your foster parents about the internship. Who can say no to Tony Stark right?”

“NO!” Peter said loudly before smacking a palm over his mouth. He could feel the blood draining from his face as his body tensed, preparing for the correction he knew was coming. Mr. Stark’s brow was furrowed now and his eyes behind his blue glasses had a twinkle of understanding in them.

“Peter,” he began, reaching a hand out with the intention of lying his hand on Peter’s shoulder but he never got that far. Seeing the hand coming towards him and already being on high alert after his exclamation, Peter violently flinched away, only barely able to catch himself from falling over due to his enhanced reflexes, and squeezed his eyes shut tight. “Oh Peter,” Tony said, a desolate understanding in his voice.

Peter cracked his eyes open to see Mr. Stark with both hands raised in the universal ‘backing off’ signal, a soft look on his face. “Sorry sir,” Peter croaked out. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. It’s fine.”

“Do you have something you need to tell me kiddo?” Tony’s voice was soft and gentle and Peter felt his eyes well up with tears he hastily blinked away as he shook his head quickly. “It’s okay buddy. You can tell me.”

“I’m fine. I’m okay. It’s fine.” Tony looked even more crestfallen at Peter’s answer and tapped the side of his glasses to activate FRIDAY.

“Can you I’ve me a scan FRI?” He asked and Peter flinched again knowing there was no way to hide the broken and healing bones and skin that he had been doing his best to conceal. Tony’s face was tight as he stared at Peter and Peter felt all of the blood left in his face drain away.

“I deserved it,” Peter told him desperately. “I disobeyed, it was my fault.” Mr. Stark just looked even more beaten at his words and Peter felt his breathing picking up.

“It’s not,” Tony said, voice still unbelievably soft but firm. “It’s not your fault and you didn’t deserve it. You’re a great kid Pete.” Peter shook his head no and couldn’t stop a couple tears from leaking out before furiously wiping them away. “I promise that it wasn’t your fault Underoos. Will you let me help you?”

“You can’t,” Peter said, feeling hollow. “Everyone… everyone close to me dies. I’m cursed and I can’t do that to you too Mr. Stark.”

“Can I hug you?” Tony asked suddenly, arms twitching with need. After a seconds hesitation, Peter nodded and was hastily folded into the man’s arms; one arm tight around his shoulders and the other snaking up into his hair to pull through the too long strands carefully. Peter felt more tears leak out and, suddenly, he couldn’t hold it in any longer, throwing his own arms around Tony to return the hug and letting out a gut-wrenching sob into the man’s shoulder. Tony just shushed him and let him take as much comfort as he could. “You’re not cursed and none of this is your fault. I get the feeling no one has told you that yet and you need to hear it.”

Peter sobbed loudly again, curling in tighter. He had always thrived on positive affirmation and had grown up in a family where hugs and shoulder pats and forehead kisses were the norm. To go so long without… he had forgotten how nice it was to just be held and cared for. “Thank you,” Peter said, his voice clogged with emotion. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Tony said firmly. “Anyone decent would do the same thing and it’s the least of what you deserve.”

Peter squeezed him one more time and took a deep breath before pulling away. “Thank you,” he reiterated, fighting to make eye contact so he could show just how sincere he was. “But I need to get back before four and I already missed my train. I can’t be late.” Tony, who still had one hand resting on Peter’s shoulder, gripped him tightly to prevent him from escaping up the stairs to the train.

“You aren’t going back,” he said firmly, ducking his head and forcing Peter to make eye contact. “You’re coming with me back to the Tower where I’m going to call CPS and my lawyers. You’re never going back there again.”

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Peter insisted. “It’s really not that bad if I’m home on time and do my chores and stay in my room. And its only two more years until I’m eighteen and then I can get a job and an apartment.”

“Pete,” Tony said, eyes shining as he wrapped an arm around Peter’s shoulders and started leading him away from the subway and toward the Audi that was parked in the pickup lane; Peter could see the outline of Happy’s silhouette in the driver’s seat. “You deserve better. You deserve somewhere safe and you deserve to have someone care about you. I know you don’t believe it now and that’s okay – I’m just going to keep telling you until you do.”

Peter sniffed back another onslaught of tears and allowed himself to be pulled away. “Thank you Mr. Stark,” he said, voice clogged with emotion.

“It’s Tony kiddo,” the man told him with another squeeze that warmed Peter to the core. “And you don’t need to thank me for this okay?”

“Okay,” Peter agreed, fully aware and present and wanting to be for the first time in a long time. Things were never going to be the same, but maybe, just maybe, they would get better.

[rayne-storm]

AUgust 5 - Science Fiction

Cooking With Crewmates - Hannigram & Among Us

This is some violent self-indulgent garbage, and also by far the longest thing I've written for AUgust so far, and I've had to edit this intro to fit the Tumbl's block limit. Contains violence and gore inherent in the fandoms. Possibly extraordinarily ooc. No beta, we die like men.

William Graham had not always wanted to do space things. In fact, if you had asked him ten years earlier if he would ever want to do anything on a space station, he would have flipped you off and run the other direction. He hated being cramped up. He hated not having control of his immediate situation. He would never describe himself as "works well with others" in any capacity.

Yet there he was.

In a fucking tin can in space. With a horrible murderer loose.

Fuck.

And all he could do was grumble as he went about his day, desperately trying to repair a rapidly failing piece of garbage, trying to avoid air vents and being followed anywhere.

His antisocial tendencies had never come so in handy.

There was one member of the team, however, that seemed determined to undermine his self-imposed Exile. The ship's cook and doctor (everyone tried to do double-duty where they could) Hannibal Lecter seemed hellbent on following him everywhere, and it would have been cute if it weren't so frustrating.

The other man wore bright red, with (of all damn things) a chef's hat on top of his helmet. He stood out, in every way possible. Admittedly, Will's little clip-on dog ears weren't the most subtle of accessories, but at least he was a solid color and could blend into shadows if he so wished. Like a ninja. Not like a fire engine.

But it was sweet, kind of, how insistent the older man was that he be with Will so often. He seemed to get his tasks done quickly, and his cooking really was delicious. It was enough, almost, to make Will forget there was a gruesome murderer on the loose.

Almost.

The first time he saw a dead body was back on Earth. He had, for a time, worked with the FBI's Behavior Analysis Unit. He had a sort of "superpower" to be able to get into people's heads, hyper-empathy they called it. He could still remember that first case. It didn't haunt him like it used to, but it was there, the first in a file-folder in his mind that he kept locked tight until he had space to process the things inside.

The things he had seen on this ship were leagues beyond the worst cases on Earth. These bodies weren't just dismembered, they were ripped apart, like they had encountered some kind of… well, creature. Whatever had done the things he was seeing wasn't human. It simply wasn't possible.

He had to reevaluate a lot of personal beliefs very quickly.

The crew eventually came to the conclusion that whatever was doing this to their members was hiding Among Them. They decided on the moniker of "imposter" for the thing.

Now to figure out who it was.

Will had his suspicions. Of everyone, unfortunately. But suspicion kept him alive on Earth, it would work alright here too. Especially as there were fewer and fewer people left.

Will imagined how it would go, if he were face to face with whatever had been destroying their Crewmates. He never came out alive. Best-case was he would airlock it and shoot it into space. Like they had done to several people already (he had refused to participate).

Curiously, Hannibal had also refused to vote, or participate in the discussion. Will wondered if it had anything to do with the Hippocratic Oath, or just personal morals. The strange thing was that the doctor didn't get nearly as much protest against his refusal to participate in these death sentences as Will did. Something about the man radiated this calm, cool authority that Will guessed people just accepted.

Whatever the case, he supposed it didn't hurt that the man was seemingly always on his side.

"They condemn you because they do not understand," Doctor Lecter had murmured to him one evening as another crewmate was launched into the cold void of space.

"Don't understand what?"

"You feel their pain as if you were the one out there, freezing and choking."

Will looked down, shaking his head. He knew that in the empty vacuum of space, ship walls between them, he couldn't really hear the screams, but he felt his ears ring all the same.

"Who are we to play God?"

"I think God must be laughing at this. He kills all the time, and are we not created in His image?"

Will felt a shudder ripple through him. Whether fear or something else entirely he wasn't certain.

He knew he was in trouble, falling way too hard for this mysterious doctor chef. It was ridiculous, frankly, to have even remotely romantic feelings for a fire-hydrant in a chef's hat, but here he was. He wondered numbly if Hannibal had any sort of reciprocity, feeling something for the little edgelord wolf boy Will was dressed up as.

He didn't have to wonder long.

He was in his private quarters after a long day of doing medical scans and fixing wires (reminding him so much of his former hobby of tying his own fly-fishing lures), and was halfway out of his suit when there was a knock at the door.

He debated putting the bulky gear back on, but chose against it, instead walking to the door and opening the little peephole.

It was… an extremely handsome man, in a tweed suit of all things. Will realized immediately who it was when he saw the gorgeous dish of food the man was carrying.

"Doctor Lecter?"

"Please, just Hannibal. We are friends, are we not?"

Will couldn't help but smile. Yes, somehow, despite everything, they were friends. Possibly more?

Will opened the door, stepping back, and he realized that they had never actually seen each other before, without the privacy afforded to them by their suits.

Hannibal was so much more than a red space man with (again) a comical hat. He was slender, and older than Will had initially anticipated. His hair was combed back neatly, and his gorgeous cheekbones looked like they could cut glass. His eyes were just as lovely, and Will realized he was staring only as he became aware Hannibal was as well.

Will wondered what the other man thought of him beneath the wolf ears. He knew he was scruffy and unkempt, far more so now in front of this immaculately groomed man. But Hannibal was looking at him like he was something… beautiful. He felt himself blushing.

Hannibal caught himself and smiled, glancing down as he stepped inside the room. He set the food down on the little table in the room, and Will shut the door behind him.

Hannibal took some cutlery from an inside jacket pocket, setting it down on either side of the dish.

"I didn't see you at dinner tonight, and I thought it might be kind to bring you some food myself."

Will smiled sheepishly and nodded. "Thank you. That is very considerate. It looks and smells amazing."

He sat carefully, wary that he still had his suspenders that attached his suit bottoms to him. He was rather mismatched. But Hannibal didn't seem to care.

He sniffed the meal experimentally, it was some type of meats and noodles in a thick dark sauce.

"What culinary delight have you served me tonight, doc- Hannibal?"

Will caught the little grin that the other man tried to stifle at the mention of his name.

"Teriyaki udon. With blackened chicken."

Will nodded.

"Will you partake as well, or..?"

"Oh, no, I ate earlier. Please, feel free."

Will nodded again, taking a cautious bite.

It was amazing, like everything the man cooked.

He couldn't suppress a small groan of delight, and he didn't mess the slight shiver that seemed to run down Hannibal's body. Interesting…

He devoured the meal, though he did try to at least remember his table manners. He felt embarrassed, honestly, but Hannibal looked so damn happy.

"I am so glad you like it," Hannibal murmured with a smile, packing the container and cutlery away.

"And, I must say, you are… exquisite. If we survive this ordeal, would… could…" he paused, glancing down, and Will felt jitters.

"I would, yes," he answered.

Hannibal blushed - blushed! - and smiled.

"That… makes me extraordinarily happy. Thank you, Will, I… I am so glad I have met you."

Will smiled and nodded. "I am too."

Hannibal ducked his head and waved as he stepped back out into the ship.

Will couldn't help smiling as he watched the man walk away.

--

This became their routine. A break from the monotony of every day, both the anxiety and the boredom. Will felt himself growing ever more attached to his companion, and found that he no longer disliked the doctor's seeming constant desire to be nearby as Will worked. In fact, Will would sometimes speed through his other tasks just to be able to meet Hannibal in Medbay as Hannibal finished his work.

Their evenings were spent together usually with Will eating something amazing Hannibal prepared, the other abstaining due to having eaten already. That was fine. They were together, talking about everything and nothing, confiding secrets. Will told Hannibal about his panic attacks, about how he couldn't work on Earth at the BAU because he felt himself becoming some kind of monster.

Hannibal in turn revealed his own tragic childhood, and confided that the Imposter (and subsequent hunts and ejection) made him uneasy enough to keep a knife on his personal at all times. His left rear pocket, he said, "in case something happens."

They tried to avoid that sort of talk, though. It just led to somber silences.

Mostly, Will enjoyed talking about folklore and food. Two universals of humanity. Hannibal had rich tapestries of experience in both, and Will was content to listen to his companion speak for hours on end, well into the night.

Will wondered, sometimes, when Hannibal walked back to his own quarters, what would happen if Will asked him to stay. To just… be with him, through the night. Nothing more. Nothing less.

He wondered what would happen if they survived this. What would happen if it came down to just themselves and the monster hiding in the ship.

Will knew, without a doubt now, he would die for Hannibal.

It didn't matter if that wasn't reciprocal.

--

One evening, they were down to six, and Will and Hannibal were having dinner (Will was eating, Hannibal talking). There was a knock at the door and Hannibal frowned as he stood to see who it was. He didn't make it to the door when it was forced open and their three remaining Crewmates were there, running in and seizing Will.

"It's you!" Pink screamed.

Will looked around, confused and terrified as hands grabbed at him, dragging him literally kicking and screaming from his own room.

"What?! What's- hey! Stop-!"

The crew didn't pause as they dragged him out, one staying by to keep Hannibal from following.

"We always knew you were a creepy little freak, but damn, Graham, I can't believe we've been so blind."

"It's not me! What the fuck?!"

"It has to be you. You and the Doc were the only two missing when we found the body, and we all know it's not him."

Will tried to process everything happening. He counted, there were only three people surrounding him and Hannibal, who was still shouting (he had never seen the man so upset, so animated), and it clicked.

It was Hannibal.

All this time, the man he was falling for was the monster he was afraid of.

He felt like the realization should have hit harder, should have hurt more, but…

Well it didn't really change much, now.

Hannibal was still the only one who had shown him a shred of decency. Hannibal listened to him, consoled him, cooked for him… cared for him.

Will felt everything move in slow motion. He met Hannibal's eyes. He saw the fear there, of what he couldn't be certain.

He felt a wave of calm come over him. All of this proof, and the crew still had not put it together (he, at least, had been blinded by affection and antisocial tendencies). Hannibal would almost certainly win this morbid game.

He didn't expect Hannibal to go full monster.

His jaw unhinged like a snake's, and his nails became claws, and there was just a pile of meat where the crewman holding him back once had been.

Everything stopped. The pair holding him let go and Will fell to the floor with a sharp cry, the air leaving his lungs all at once. He tried to catch his breath as Hannibal turned to the Crewmates. Will saw how terribly inhuman he seemed, even without the snake-jaw and claws, in the cold light in his eyes, the hard line of his mouth, the fury that Will could tell was bubbling just beneath the surface.

"You!!"

Will wheezed a chuckle. It was so obvious now to him. How Hannibal had almost always just "eaten," how he had so much knowledge about so many things, how he seemed to finish his tasks so quickly. He had attached himself to Will, who protested the ejections, who never noticed whether Hannibal could complete their tasks or not…

Will had to wonder if any of it was real. If he fell in love with a monster incapable of returning his feelings. It had felt real, had felt mutual, he knew he had seen affection in the man's eyes as they talked.

Maybe Hannibal could fake it. But it had been real enough for Will, realer than the simpering cowards who were rapidly backing away, cowering behind Will. As he got to his feet, one shoved him back down, towards Hannibal. Hannibal glanced down at him, worry briefly passing through his gaze as he continued to walk towards the pair of fools.

Will panted, slowly working his way back up to his feet, leaning against a wall. Hannibal stalked towards his prey, and Will was surprised at his own feelings of vicious satisfaction.

They deserved this. They deserved to suffer for all the lives they'd taken in their squabbling.

Hannibal reached towards the pair, a thick black… something… stretching from his hand and wrapping it around the pink crewmate. It squeezed, and with a sickening crunch, that crewmate was no more.

Will staggered towards the action, and saw the remaining figure pulling their gun up, aiming at Hannibal, still busy mutilating the pink body.

Time slowed down for Will. He ran, as fast as he could, reaching for Hannibal.

Back right pocket.

He felt the knife in Hannibal's pocket, gripping it as he felt himself fall, then what his brain could only describe as a chair leg punching through his chest. He gripped the knife as he lay on the ground, and while Hannibal had his attention torn between the crewmate and himself, Will threw the knife.

He hoped that his sense of aim was at least passible and as he felt himself starting to black out, all he could think was that he had been right.

He would die for Hannibal.

--

He hadn't expected to wake up, later. He gasped and sat up, hands reaching blindly, frantically, into nothing. A burst of pain in his chest forced him back down, and he nearly blacked out again.

He looked around, body slick with sweat as he panicked, looking around to figure out where he was, mind trying to figure out what had happened.

He felt a gentle pressure by his feet, and a warm hand pressed to his forehead.

"Welcome back, Will."

That was Hannibal's voice. Quiet, sure. Perhaps it was his own confusion, but Will could have sworn there was something… different. Perhaps a bit of a warble that inferred something beyond the man's usual brand of steady confidence.

It didn't matter.

"I… you… you're okay?"

Hannibal came into view, the same composed man in the tweed suit.

"I am. You very nearly weren't, my silly, foolish, brace Will…" he murmured, sitting down by Will's side.

Will looked down, his chest was covered in bandages, a couple little tubes running from them. So he really had been shot.

"Why did you do that? Why did you put yourself in the way?" Hannibal sounded nearly… angry.

"Because I couldn't lose you," Will croaked.

Hannibal's hand stroked Will's hair, soothing, tender, nothing one might expect from a creature that had done so much damage.

"Even though you knew what I was?"

"You were the lesser evil in my eyes."

"And what now? Will you try to flee as soon as you are well? Will you kill me yourself?"

Will chuckled softly, leaning into the warm hand.

"Seems a bit pointless. I'd starve to death without your cooking."

Hannibal managed a smile, though it was very nearly a grimace, and Will realized with some amusement (and some sadness) that there were tears in the man's eyes.

"Hey now, I'm the one with a hole in my body, no crying," Will chided gently, his own hand reaching out to wipe the tears away.

"I am sorry. I never intended to… get so attached."

Will hummed in agreement. He hadn't either. But that's what they got for being lonely fools, he supposed.

"Just to clarify," Will started, carefully adjusting, "did you feed me my Crewmates?"

That would be… problematic, to say the least, but he would understand.

"I… yes."

"To get rid of evidence?"

"Partially. Partially to… initiate you."

Into what? Was there some kind of monster cult? Hannibal saw his confusion and continued.

"I… wondered, perhaps, if you would… ever consider becoming… more. Than you are. Becoming the purest form of yourself."

"Becoming like you, you mean," Will interpreted, and Hannibal nodded.

"I confess, it gave me great excitement to think about."

Will could imagine. Hannibal must have been even more alone than Will felt, with no one truly understanding anything about him.

"Why not finish it?"

"I would need your consent. I could, in theory, turn you, but…"

Hannibal looked down.

"I would rather you kill me than resent me for turning you against your will. I knew you would likely starve yourself in protest. I… I could not watch you do that."

It was the most vulnerable Will thought he had ever seen Hannibal. There was something deeply endearing about it.

"Well, now what, then? Will you turn me now? If I consent?"

Hannibal looked up at him, tears even greater than they had been.

"You would want to become such a thing?"

"I think I would. If it means I can be with you. If you'll have me."

Will scarcely had time to blink when Hannibal's lips were on his own, and those tender arms were cradling him to the monstrous man's chest.

For such a powerful creature, Hannibal seemed so delicate and fragile now. Will carefully returned the embrace, mewling into the kiss.

He'd never felt like this before. He felt… known. Perceived, all that he was. He loved it.

"Are there many like us?" He murmured as Hannibal pulled away to rest their foreheads together.

"No, there is no one like us."

Will chuckled softly.

"You know what I mean."

"No, I can't say I do, please enlighten me."

"Now you're teasing me."

"I would never," Hannibal purred softly.

"Right, right. I mean, are there more, I guess, imposters? What are we called?"

"Probably. I never cared to know any before. All I need, all I desire, is here, with you."

Will laughed, shaking his head.

"You're lucky you're so charming."

"I am. I'm lucky you appreciate my special brand of charm."

Will hummed in agreement, leaning up for another kiss. He could easily see himself getting addicted to this. It seemed Hannibal could to, because the man was straddling his hips.

"Easy, now, I'm grievously injured, remember? You have to play nice with me," Will teased.

"Of course, of course. Just getting comfortable" Hannibal retorted.

"That so? Well alright, I suppose I can't be mad at that, then."

Hannibal smiled, genuinely, pressing gentle kisses to Will's forehead.

"Don't worry. I'm a patient man. I've waited this long for you, I can manage a few more weeks. Just be patient with me as well. This… is all new."

Will nodded, yawning and adjusting himself again. He felt exhaustion tug at his mind, and though he tried, he couldn't resist just resting his eyes.

"It's alright, my Will. Sleep. You have time to Become something amazing."

[hopelikethemoon]

Unspoken Words (Ezra x Reader)

title: Unspoken Words rating: PG-13 length: 2000 words content: angst, fluff, miscommunication  summary: reader ends up stuck with Ezra on an expedition.  for: @just-add-butter​

Before the galaxy fell apart around you, you had been an esteemed archivist at the university on the Zulpho space station. Word of your specific skill set eventually reached the ears of a wealthy prospector who frequently hired teams of harvesters to venture onto uncharted planets and moons, hoping to strike rich. He approached you about a team he had engaged to ship out to a relatively unknown system to collect information about the alleged Rhivorium Crystals that could be harvested from the mineral lakes on one of the terrestrial moons. You had researched the system at length during your tenure at the university — if anyone knew about Rhivorium Crystals, it was you.

And Ezra. 

A man whose sole purpose in life seemed to be to drive you crazy. 

He knew everything, despite having no formal education to claim. While he didn’t directly question your authority on Rhivorium Crystals, he went on, at length, about his own knowledge on the topic whenever the subject was broached.

Clearly, the man loved to hear himself talk. You had never encountered someone quite like him and you had worked with some infuriating blowhards on Zulpho. 

Despite thorough preparation, none of you had anticipated arriving on the moon in time for a poisonous atmospheric event. Due to a filtration failure on the main freighter, the team split into pairs to make use of the jump pods attached to the vessel which were better suited for inhospitable climates. 

The leader of the expedition, a rather soft-spoken man named Rue, chose the pairs at random in a clear attempt to make the unexpected quarantining as unbearable as possible. At least in your opinion. 

Ezra was a large personality to share three hundred square feet with. 

“I’m quite keen to know what your thoughts are on the truly tragic loss of the Library of Alexandria. I am quite the avid reader, whenever I can avail myself of the time to get swept up in a work of fiction — I do.” He drawled out as he worked to dismantle his blaster. “It’s a damned shame I didn’t think to better prepare for an occasion such as this.” 

You barely resisted the urge to roll your eyes at him. “I don’t have any opinions on the Library of Alexandria. It was a tragic loss, I’ll agree with that.” 

“Ah,” He nodded his head. “The funny thing is that having no opinion is, in fact, having an opinion.” Ezra used his teeth to facilitate removing an element of his blaster and despite yourself, you caught yourself watching the way his lips wrapped around the piece. You had been skeptical of his abilities when you realized he was missing his right hand. Harvesters required their full facilities, especially when dealing with extracting valuable minerals. But he’d adapted well to his situation. 

“Did you hear me?”

You blinked at him. “How could I not? You never stop talking.” You regretted the tone you had taken the second his expression fell. You hadn’t meant to sound so angry — you were overcompensating for the flush of embarrassment you had felt from catching yourself watching his mouth. For the fleeting thoughts of what his lips might feel like against your own. 

Ezra’s tongue darted out over his bottom lip, before he gave a stiff nod. “I see.” He lowered his gaze and focused his attention on cleaning the newly dismantled blaster. Silently. 

The silence was worse than his near-constant talking. In the silence you could hear the violent rains that poured down around the pod. You could hear the whine of the engine, the perpetual hum of the generator keeping the filtration system operational. 

You stared at him for a long time; watching the way he handled the blaster, how delicate his fingers were as he worked oil into the barrel. You watched until your heart ached because you knew you had ruined whatever delicate friendship you might have had with him. 

——

You tried to apologize twice, but both times Ezra was quick to shut you down. Your conversations were limited to idle commentary on the atmospheric levels outside the pod and how the generator was functioning. Mostly it was just you talking to fill the silence and Ezra offering clipped responses before he found something to busy himself with. 

You worked on compiling your notes about what you had learned about the planet through your readings of the atmosphere. You annotated your experiences trapped in quarantine with Ezra, making notes in the margins about how much you regretted losing your temper with him. 

Despite your initial opinions about the weathered harvester, you actually did like him. Of all the members of the expedition, he was the only one who could hold a meaningful conversation. Sure, he talked excessively, but at least he was intelligent. The notes were meaningless to the expedition, but you had to get them out of your mind. 

Ezra barely even looked at you and you hated that you actually missed the way his warm dark eyes would light up as he discussed something he was passionate about. You missed him, even though he was sitting only a few feet away from you. 

——

On the second week of the quarantine, a generator malfunction spurred on the longest conversation you had had with him since your falling out. Ezra had tinkered with the generator while you slept, adjusting the baseline levels to match the ever-fluctuating atmosphere beyond the pod. Somehow he’d miscalculated the formula sending the system into a downward spiral.

“Wake up, little bird.” He urged, giving your shoulder a shake. “I need you to wake up. I’ve made a grievous error.” 

The crisis was easily averted once you set to work on it. “You woke me up just in time.” You assured him as you sank back onto your bed, tucking your legs beneath you. 

“I do apologize.” Ezra remarked, catching your eyes as he made himself comfortable on his own bed. 

“No.” You shook your head. “If either of us should be apologizing, it’s me.” 

Ezra sighed heavily as he laid down. “I suppose you ought to be.” 

“I—”

“Good night.” He whispered as he turned his back to you. 

——

You were always careful about keeping your notes tucked under your pillow when you weren’t actively working on them. It wasn’t that there was anything dreadfully private in them, but you would rather Ezra not read what you had written about him. Once the quarantine was finished, you planned to duplicate the expedition notes into an official file and put away your personal commentary. 

Midway through the third week of the quarantine, you panicked when you couldn’t find your notes anywhere. They weren’t under your pillow, under your mattress, or sat on the crate you used as a makeshift writing desk.

You froze when you saw them clenched in Ezra’s grasp. “Looking for these?” 

“Yes.” You swallowed thickly and stood a little taller, as if you could possibly stand eye-to-eye with him. “Why do you have them?”

“You left them out.” He shrugged, holding them out to you. 

“Did you…” 

“Yes.”

You snatched them back from him. “Oh.” 

Ezra sighed heavily, rubbing at the back of his neck as he kept his gaze fixed on your face. “Little bird, you needn’t continue to apologize. I accepted your first apology at face value.” He revealed, scratching at his chin (which had grown significant scruff since quarantining). “But I thought, since you were frustrated by my loquacious nature that I would limit myself for the duration of this unpleasant situation.”

Your lips parted, words poised to escape you, but you struggled to make your voice work. Your cheeks burned hot as you realized everything he had read in your notes. 

“In all my years of life, I don’t believe I have ever had the pleasure of someone describing me with such ebullience. I can’t imagine what I might have done to be worthy of your kind and considerate words, despite them not being intended for my eyes.” Ezra took a cautious step towards you and you didn’t retreat. “When I learned that you would be joining this wayward expedition, I admit that I was thrilled at the prospect of befriending you. You have been afforded experiences that I have only dreamed to be part of.”

“Ezra—”

“Let me,” He held up his hand to stop you. “Had I been born into a finer stock, I might’ve been a learned mind like you.” 

You took a step towards him, ignoring his protests. “You’re the smartest man I know.” You hated that your outburst at the onset of this whole situation had caused him to think less of himself. Hadn’t he read your notes? At length you had praised his knowledge. He could talk circles around the most learned men you worked alongside at the university. 

“I know.” He nodded towards the notes still grasped in your hand. “Am I wrong to think that your commentary alludes to another layer of intrigue between us, little bird?”

You glanced downwards and mumbled, “You can’t blame me for longing for a little human contact.” 

“I should hope that it’s a great deal more than just that.” He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Once this quarantine has run its course, you and I will still have to see this expedition through.”

“And after?” 

He smirked. “It would be most fortuitous that we should have an after.” 

“I know you’ve read my notes.” You started, fingers trembling as you sat the notebook aside on a crate. “But I want to say it too.” You drew in a shaky breath as you met his eyes. That affectionate warmth you had longed for had returned. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I was just… scared.” You gestured around the pod. “I am at ease with the thought that we might be trapped in this pod until the generator runs out, but I was terrified at the prospect that I might genuinely care for you.” 

He arched a brow and chuckled, “Little bird, caring for me is an imprudent endeavor, but I am deeply grateful that you should open your heart to someone like me.”

“Ezra,” You whispered as you stepped close to him. You rested one hand at his shoulder as your other moved to cup his cheek, your thumb stroking over the bristly scruff you found there. “I’m not very good with my words.” You admitted. “That’s your expertise.” Where he excelled at verbalizing his thoughts, you favored putting pen to paper. “But I want to explore whatever this is between us.” 

“As do I, birdie.” Ezra murmured as he looped his arm around your back and stroked the small of your back. He drew you closer, dipping down to brush his lips against yours. 

You rose up on your toes to meet his lips, your hand sliding from his cheek to cradle the back of his neck. Finally, you were free to rake your fingers through his hair, finding out for yourself just how soft it was as it slipped through your fingers. 

——

A month had passed since the start of the quarantine and the daily readings seemed to indicate that the atmosphere was being to normalize — harkening its end. You and Ezra no longer slept on opposite sides of the small space. Shortly after you mended bruised feelings, your beds had been pushed together to make the most of them. Not that you ever slept very far from Ezra’s side. 

You fit perfectly into his side and the steady beating of his heart beneath your ear eased you to sleep night after night. And each night he would entertain you with stories of his past until your quiet snores drowned him out. 

Perhaps you weren’t perfectly suited for one another, but throughout your life you had learned that nothing was perfect. The most important parts of your broken pieces fit together. With each other, you finally felt whole. 

[youarejesting]

Femme: 50 Finale

Pairing: BTS - OT7 x Reader, GDragon x Bigbang, Erik Nam, Hyuna x Dawn, Black Pink x Female oc, TXT x robot oc, Got7 x Female oc Rating: Mature themes mentioned but not really explored. Length: 2.8k Announcement: This is the last chapter. I may have cried writing this piece. Beta: @lpayne612​​

You saw him waiting by the car, eating a donut, and drinking a cold coffee, and you went up to the service counter, “Can I borrow your PA system to tell my husband that he is pregnant?” The man at the counter grinned and handed over the microphone, explaining how to use it.

“Park Jimin,” you said facing the forecourt - grinning watching him lookup, “I took a pregnancy test, we’re pregnant!” 

You saw him drop everything before falling to his knees and crying, covering his head with his hands. “I love you.”

He got up and ran inside dodging cars. People were clapping happily, and he grabbed you, kissing you fiercely, his fingers brushing against your neck, and hooking his thumb under your soft collar.

“We did it, princess!” He sniffed.

“We did!”

“Am I going to finally be a dad?’

“You are.”

“I dropped my coffee!” He laughed, his cheeks glistening.

“One coffee for the father to be,” a man smiled. “I remember when my wife said we were pregnant, it is such a good feeling, so this one is on me”

Driving home his hand was in yours, and he would occasionally bring your hand to his face and kiss your knuckles, whispering how much he loved you. You had explained to him you mistook implantation bleeding with a period because you were stressed and tightly strung with thoughts of letting him down.

He told you that he would never want you to stress and that there was nothing you could do that would ever let him down. “Just you breathing, and in my life, means the world to me.

Jimin came home and received a hug and kiss from all the children, a few crying saying they missed him and he cried back. “Where did you go?”

“Well, DaddyJii had to buy mummy a special drink so she could have a baby,” Jimin smiled at the children.

“Don’t be silly, Daddy Goo told us how mummy has babies in her belly,” Jae Eun said.

“Yeah, he says mummy eats a special fish and then the fish swims around in her belly and changes like a tadpole,” Jae Hwa smiled proudly.

“Yes, well the special drink has the fish in it.” You smiled at them, not ready to explain the birds and the bees just yet - wanting to preserve their innocence  for just a few more years.

“Does it tickle Ama?” Huimang asked, “The fishy in your belly?”

“Sometimes, but the fishy is too small to feel just yet. When the fish turns into a baby, you will be able to feel the baby move in my tummy.”

There was a big family celebration; you made a huge donation to the Femme rehabilitation organization and, honestly, had a really good pregnancy. The number one hashtag as you entered your ninth month was ‘#SugaTheMusicProducerAndBabyInducer’ which made said man pout and avoid you whenever he heard it in mock fear. 

He had written a few songs boasting that any pregnant woman listening to his album may go into labour at the sound of his voice. You went live with your family talking about things and what you all planned to do as a family. 

“We have shared our whole world with you and it has been so long. You, have seen our ups and downs, and we want to continue to show you everything until the end. Just recently, with my struggle with fertility, we realized we don’t want to hide all these natural things from the world.” You grimace at the camera, another cramp taking over. You were secretly timing them so as not to finish the livestream early. 

“We were lucky to fall pregnant, but not everybody gets that chance, so we are so thankful and are giving a donation to the specific fertility group we went through who was absolutely lovely.” You knew that the contractions were slowly getting closer together, but you would rather stay in the comfort of your own home and keep yourself busy with a livestream than going and sitting in a hospital room bored - and uncomfortable - waiting to go into active labour and dilate.

“Someone asked if we will have any more children?” Seokjin was designated to read the comments.

“No, we are already blessed with so many we won’t be greedy. Plus, I’m getting older and there are more chances of complications the older I get, so I do not wish to push the limits of my health. I want to be around for my family for as many years as I can.”

“Have you thought of any names?” Seokjin genuinely seemed interested by this question.

“Many.” You smiled, “We don’t know the gender of our baby, so we haven’t really settled on one - but a few.”

“Have you had any weird cravings?” Jungkook read some comments over the older man's shoulder, and they all began discussing your weird eating habits. 

“Yoongi, if you had to induce a baby what would you do? I am due today, and the baby doesn’t look like they’re coming any time soon.”

“Well, I would lean down and whisper, ‘alright little one, it’s time to get out or you can start paying rent,’” Yoongi laughed at your belly, rubbing it gently.

“No, I am determined to entice my own child out,” Jimin leaned down so he was cupping your belly, his lips almost brushing the fabric of your dress. “Come on now baby, daddy wants to meet you.”

You could laugh at the timing as your water broke, thanking the heavens you were shooting from the waist up. “Did…” Namjoon gasped in shock.

“Did you just pee?” Jungkook shouted

“No my water just broke.” You gripped your tummy, breathing through the pain while trying to stop the laughter.

You had all decided to take the audience with you. It was mostly the camera on the boys and a nervous looking Jimin who was doting on you in the ward. You were having a blast talking and laughing with the audience while Seokjin was texting Erik and Namjoon’s dad, trying to make sure the kids were all fine getting ready for bed.

You were taken up to the VIP labour ward and you were having a great time. Your audience was super supportive, and you said goodbye getting wheeled off to the birthing suite. This labour was the easiest - you were so experienced you knew all the cues, and your body relaxed understanding what you were supposed to do.

A little boy. He was tiny in Jimin’s hands and he kept saying thank you. “Thank you for giving me this opportunity, this miracle who I will cherish everyday, I love you both so much, I love you my princess” 

He held him in his arms as they wheeled you back to the private ward where you met the others. Jimin hadn’t stopped crying and Taehyung, Hoseok, and Yoongi engulfed him in a hug. The live stream was still going on with a million-person audience waiting to see the baby.

“It’s a boy,” Jimin said, “and we both agreed his name would be Byul.” 

You were happy and the boys grinned. You all looked up at the camera and waved, signing off - spending the time alone together. The nurse came in, “We have to check the baby's hearing and heart and take a full screen of his blood. All routine stuff.”

Jimin nodded, taking the baby in his arms and following the nurse. It wasn’t a long process, but when Jimin didn’t come back you started to get worried. You visibly began stressing the blankets. “What is taking so long?” your laugh was forced and there was little semblance of a joke.

“It’s okay, there are other babies. maybe they are waiting on another?”

Jimin stepped in and he was crying holding his son preciously in his hands, as if holding him too tightly could hurt the newborn. “Byul might be deaf, they will have to um, check him again soon.”

“What do you mean?”

“They said it could just be fluid in his ear, but they will check again in a few hours,” Jimin sniffed.

Upon the second third and fourth hearing test, it was almost clear that Byul was partially deaf. He could hear a little, but the doctor explained it would forever be super muffled. That didn’t mean he couldn’t recognize your voices, though. He still could just hear, and you were fine with that - any hearing was a blessing at that point.

You headed home, and Jimin took leave from work. He spent time caring for his son and even signed up for classes on sign language. Everyone went to the classes together and began learning, as it would be easier if you all learnt early.

Byul was not a typical happy baby spending most of his time crying - it was mostly due to the fact he scared easily. Being unable to hear when you were there, Byul would call for you and you would press your lips to his forehead and against his skin so he knew you were there. The vibrations running through his body. 

He loved when you would do this but especially enjoyed Taehyung’s deep rumbling voice, it made him giggle.

He learnt cues differently. Instead of mum and dad, you taught him to touch his cheek in certain ways for these words. He wasn’t a shy baby, but he still only made a few noises. He was quick to learn how to walk and run and play. 

Jeongsan was so good at sign language, he was quick to tell you what byul needed and took it upon himself to help his younger brother where he could. 

You were still learning, and you had a discussion with the boys about your channel and what you should do. It was a mutual agreement that you would make your final broadcast that evening before a hiatus - which you didn’t know when or if you would come back. 

It was a rainy afternoon, and Byul sat on your lap on the back porch, watching the rain and lighting and feeling the thunder shake the sky. 

He laid back in your arms, and you sang to him and signed in front of him to sing along. He tried his best, his voice sweet like his father’s, and you did the signs the whole song. 

His little gold hearing aids helped him out so much, but he sometimes preferred to not wear them, as he didn’t always like the feeling. 

“My son,” you signed with a big bright smile “I love you.”

“Mama love you,” he answered, repeating your gesture as big as he could and you laughed hugging him tightly.

You all had just posted your live stream as a family saying you were going on hiatus. You felt like you wanted to cry, walking towards the kitchen to make yourself a calming cup of tea. When Kyungju asked, “Ate you okay mum?”

Turning, you looked at your family all looking back at you, all your beautiful children smiling at you, and then there were your husbands. 

All looking beautiful. Seokjin still with a gentle smile, Yoongi looking impassive and yet now you could see the emotions in his eyes. Jungkook with the same bunny toothed smile, and thirteen years washed away like you were falling in love with them all over again. They stood in front of you just like they had that day, eyes bright and curious and you smiled. Speaking clearly in English while signing so every member of your family knew what you were saying. 

“I love you.”

Everything was good, until I completed everything ready to post. I attached the last header for the last time and I just sobbed. Saying goodbye to this story is the hardest thing, I have experienced to this day. It was one of my safe havens a world I created to escape all the bad and well it has reached its happy ending. 

Thank you for joining me on this journey.

Ever your Jester.

Femme Media 50

[The End]

Tags: @obeythehemmings​ @delightfuldela​ @zxlla​ @dopefrancistheturd​ @h5naaa​ @topthis808​ @bubbletae7​ @narcissism-iskey​ @gqmf-bangtanmama​ @beach-bitch-bitch-beach​ @kthstrawberryshortcake​ @latina-nerd-deactivated20200611​ @domaindopemancom​ @rosita7703​ @knjkitten​ @notruercolors​​ @kpopnonous​​ @ladytaja @take-u-2-an0ther-w0r1d​​ @bluehairedotakugem​​ @moments-of-melancholy​​

[intensitystoner]

Adjective Challenge 10 – Idiotic Sifki ~ 1100 words

-

When Father made a decision, not much was to be done about it. Loki knew from experience that the following things didn’t work at changing the King’s mind: reasoning ¤ yelling ¤ begging ¤ emotional blackmailing ¤ vague threats ¤ open threats ¤ illusions ¤ hypnotic spells ¤ memory spells ¤ humble refusal ¤ firm refusal ¤ passive resistance. 

All of these led to Odin having his way sooner or later. Thus out of ideas, Loki was currently on his way to unleash the ultimate weapon on him, the one with extremely limited availability, saved for the direst times.

He knocked on the door despite catching the sounds of a chatter from inside; a palace maid could wait while her Prince dealt with his own issues.

“Do come in,” Mother called and smiled at him as he entered. “If you’ve come to discuss your undesired marriage arrangement, your timing couldn’t be better.”

“Indeed I- Sif, Lady Sif, what a- why- I am truly sorry for intruding, I’ll come back when-”

“Oh, shush, sit down, quick,” said the Queen, and there was no going against her word, so Loki moved over to the farthest sofa and lowered himself on it mechanically.

“Where were we?” she turned back to the maiden. “Yes, you were saying why you would have me excuse you from my son’s wedding in Vanaheim.”

“Uh, well, err, I’m, err,” Sif told her diligently.

Frigga smiled, which she hoped came through as encouragement, and not as the delight she felt. Because she was right once again about people, and that always brightened her mood. These two kept trying to murder each other on the training grounds, sometimes in battles as well; everyone believed they despised each other to the core, and wondered how long she’d live after marrying Thor, which was an untrue gossip, according to Thor’s telling, but it was a regular topic on people’s lips nevertheless. Frigga had been looking out for an opportunity to learn more about this peculiar triangle, and this right here seemed just perfect: a place where crude behaviour was not allowed. After the veil of conceit had been swept aside, anyone could have noticed the flustered shyness it was hiding.

“There was something about a wolf pack, as I recall,” Frigga helped the maiden huskily.

“Yes, a woof, a wolf, is, are tormenting my, my great uncle’s,” the Warmaiden faltered as her look strayed towards Loki for a second and darted back at her Queen; “my great uncle’s cattle, fire wolves, you know-”

“Fire wolves,” Frigga hissed in sympathy.

“And, and, I made- it is a matter of my honour to help, imminently.”

“Of course, darling. Every night of delay is another loss. Loki, fire wolves!” she turned towards her son in dismay.

“Yes. Horrendous. You- you- you would not- not accompany my brother, then?” Loki inquired of the young lady while adjusting his sitting like he had swallowed a spear on accident. “To my- to Vanaheim.”

“Yes. No. With your leave, of course. I am deeply sorry. Prince, Your Majesty, Highness.”

“The sorrow is Thor’s,” he pointed out firmly, and then frowned, “not yours, I mean, mine too, but obviously, it’s his. Mostly. Although, he will still- Mother, there is something I came to talk to you about,” he turned to the Queen with a sharp movement with a new surge of determination. “If I may have a word with you in private.”

“Oh, but we just got such a dire issue,” Frigga wailed, taking the Warmaiden’s hands into hers. “We’ve got fire wolves on the borderland. Loki, what are we going to do about it?”

“Well, she, the L-Lady Sif is going to- Am I correct to assume you’ll let her go, Mother?”

“Of course I will, but are we just going to let her go alone?”

That stirred up the Warmaiden.

“I assure you, my Queen, I am fully capable-”

“It is too dangerous to send one of my finest warriors to face those beasts alone,” Frigga pointed out firmly. “And if you think about it, they’re also living beings just trying to get by. Perhaps there is another solution besides slaying them down.”

Sif didn’t usually consider vicious beasts as things worthy of life, so she wasn’t sure what to answer, but Loki had been fidgeting for a while in preparation of speaking up, and now he grabbed the opportunity, clearing his throat.

“In that case, I could- There is no harm in letting some of our finest soldiers go as well. I am travelling to a peaceful realm, so there really is no harm in bringing a smaller entourage. Mother, if you insist on sending my brother with- with the Lady-”

“Or,” Frigga perked up, seemingly at a sudden idea. “Perhaps we’d need someone who knows his way with wolves. A whisperer, or, I don’t know, a shapeshifter? That way, we could find an agreement with the pack and put an end to the nightly massacre without taking further lives unnecessarily. What do you say, my precious young ones?”

They stared at her so wide-eyed that they almost forgot to nod simultaneously, neither venturing to speak up first, or to look at the other. Under the Queen’s heavy gaze, Loki cleared his throat and adjusted the pillows under him until it was all impeccable, and thus cornered with nothing else to do, he spoke.

“In- in fact, I happen to have those qualities. Skills. So, as a sovereign of the realm, I will have to take it up as my duty to- tackle those- the problem.”

“Oh, that was not at all my intention,” Sif quickly replied, “to have you, to have you tackle my problem. I will seek out a wolf whisperer in-”

“I cannot allow that,” Loki interrupted with chin raised but a flustered blush on his cheeks. “My honour, that is, it can’t, I will have to go.”

“But that would delay your wedding-”

“Yes,” he agreed vehemently before he could have thought about it, so he had no other choice than to go through with it, sitting straight like everything was under his control. “It is a sacrifice, it has to be made, done, for the good of the realm. Isn’t that so, Mother?”

The Queen nodded articulately, her smile content behind her fingers that supported her on the table.

“You will depart at dawn,” she declared, her tone like she was dealing the warmest compliments. “For a swift travel, take few things and let no one else accompany you. I will take care of everything else. Now off you go.”

Sif was still agitated as the three of them stood up.

“But my Queen, the wedding-”

“-will be delayed,” Frigga smiled at her, taking her hand. “Vanaheim is my homeland, I know how to appease them. Leave that to me, and you take good care of my son on the journey, will you?”

She all but laughed as the two youngsters quickly said their farewells and skittered out of the room to hide their deepening blush.

[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

20. Sink

Word Count: 3989 Trigger warnings for religion and mentions of child pornography

Previous

Lord, if it’s you,” (Simon) Peter replied, “tell me to come to you on the water.” “Come,” he said. Then (Simon) Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, “Lord, save me!”

Matthew 14:28-30

Simon had never been very religious. Scratch that… Simon had never been very mystical about religion. Whenever he was younger, his family went to church and he was quite studious and learned a lot in that time period. His father still believed in God and country or whatever and his grandmother, he imagined was praying over his mom every single day. But, he had never really known what it felt like to have that kind of faith in anyone or anything… until he was given Grace. It wasn’t lost on him the religious implications of being a boy named Simon (like Simon Peter, aka The Apostle Peter - huge name in the Bible world) being granted a savior, being blessed with Grace after a terrible sin, whether intentional or not, of killing Hope… His mind was in a daze right now. 

It was the fourth religious dream he had since that interview, and in this one, he was Simon Peter, calling to his Savior in the storm. Grace was just across the water. All he had to do was get to her and she would rescue him from all of this, just like she always used to. But, he looked at the impending storm, instead. He had Grace, but he was focused on the storm, and he sank… He jumped up from his sleep and literally felt like he had been drowning. Ugh. 10 years of church and 4 years of private school could definitely mess with one’s mind. Then again, so could 6 years of Grace and 5 years without it… her… 

He had begun to try to stop rationalizing that she wasn’t human. Unfortunately for him, before he considered her the void, she hadn’t been human for him either, then. She had been a deity. He worshipped her. She had been a vessel to save him, to help him, to comfort him. She had been what he built his faith system upon, his religion, his Apex, his lifestyle… Then, she was gone and he tried to continue without her. He tried to rebuild in his own image, in his own name. He tried to walk on water, as he had seen her do, now all he was doing was sinking…

In the aftermath of the interview, Simon noted that his faithful followers went on one of their ravenous attacks in Shana’s comment sections. She could even just post a photo of herself in the newsroom at Spelman as an inspirational post and they appeared in her comments to berate her for speaking about inspiration when she would attack an abuse survivor and have his abuser on her show, trying to make her sympathetic. Shana seemed entertained for some of the comments, replying things like a simple “K” or “Lol” and never addressing the person again, even if they supplied a melee of character attacks at her.

But, on the video link, whenever people started also attacking Grace’s fakeness and the fact that she still gets to abuse Simon indirectly by doing things like this, Shana had enough. She let them know that she had no regrets about the interview with Grace, no regrets about anything that she said about Simon, and none about all of her opinions of him. “Even if he’s a different person today, considering that he never got any backlash for the sex tape from high school, which i firmly STILL believe that he should be held accountable for, which I am convinced that he leaked, and I think that if he’s truly changed, he would have wanted to make that right at some point and free Grace from the uninvited attacks for that CRIME AGAINST HER, committed by him.”

There was an explosion of mixed reactions. Everything from, “This is the first that I’m hearing of this” to “Simon would never have done anything like that to Grace” to “WHERE CAN I FIND A SEX TAPE OF SIMON AND GRACE???” Many people were blocked. Many people were rocked, as Shana went live to address the massive amount of comments coming from her spilling that tea.

She made mention of the facts that while the statute of limitations of revenge porn had been exceeded, they didn’t exist for child porn. “And in case anybody is confused, yes, I am including links to inform you about how what he did is in fact child pornography creation, possession, and distribution, AND what the law says concerning them.” After replying to many of the comments, mostly in an amused fashion, she got bored. 

“Listen, I’m getting ready to go chill with my lady and get ready for class tomorrow, but I’ll just say this one more thing, “I’m not taking my foot off of Simon Laurent’s neck. As long as Grace has had to suffer in silence, because she’s no longer the vengeful type or whatever, she’s on right now in her journey, the journalist in me and the enraged victim in me will always come for Simon and the way he used the privilege that he did have - not to say that he didn’t lack in certain areas like money and common decency, but the ones he DID have - his race, his gender, his orientation, his proximity to education, etc, in order to vilify and humble this girl with false accusations of crimes, and get away with unconfessed crimes. Yeah, this IS about my Sassy Strawberry keychain, Simon you bitch! I know you watching. To those of you who can’t be bothered to use your Googles, I don’t know what to tell you, kinfolk. Shady Shana has said all that she needs to say for now. Tata, from the perfect place for shade.”

Then her accusations, the search for the information of said accusations and the buzz from back then resurfacing went even more viral than the things that he had said about Grace whenever he reached notoriety from the stories. Now that the Internet and social media were even bigger and just kept growing with time, Grace still being a huge public persona, despite the few short years that she wasn’t online and the time she had been inside, she made an explosive comeback at least as an Internet personality, and Simon was never as frequent online as he was a short time in the eye of the public to get himself established, but several professors had used his story for various seminars and lectures, his books did pretty well, and he was a very established young mind in his academic circles… So, he was a big deal in his world, but on the grand scale becoming infamous for this new attention. 

Shana and Grace’s worlds were very large, and both of those were combining to infiltrate his world with these not necessarily new pieces of information, but things that he thought would have been forgotten or left alone. He had not even considered that Shana would ever… Like… why was SHE so damn upset? Because of a small scuffle? Because of somebody else’s alleged injustice? Somebody that she didn’t even LIKE for most of her life? “Journalist” she was a shit-stirrer! All of her muckraking was making things complicated for simple Simon. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like dreaming about Grace as his savior. He didn’t like the idea of reaching out to her to get her to grab her dog. He didn’t like that he was suffering from nights more sleepless than usual and beginning to become counterproductive in his work.

Worrying about ramifications of the words “child pornography” and “sexual predator” being tossed about in conversations with his name led to nightmares, paranoia, guilt, intrusive thoughts, and mistakes in class and at work. One of them turned out big…

Amelia came up to him in her lab, with her arms folded and her face stern, “Is there anything you think we should discuss, Mr. Laurent?” He frowned and glanced her way, still working on the formula for the next tests in the prosthetics serum they were spending time discussing as one of his potential next big things. She raised her eyebrows and asked, “Not even an acknowledgment of what I’m speaking of?”

“I know what you’re speaking of and I decided that no, we don’t need to discuss it. It’s a personal matter.”

“A personal matter? Simon, you are supposed to be seeing a counsellor once a week, and now I find out that not only did he recommend that you see him twice a week, but that you haven’t seen him in several weeks! It is part of your ability to stay here, and I don’t appreciate that you’ve ducked out on this requirement, especially considering the personal matter you’re referring to.” 

He furrowed his eyebrows and set down his supplies. “This is about the shrink? I haven’t been able to see the guy, because I’ve been working on the new formula nonstop. I need a breakthrough, and if I can get the formula right for enhancing the prosthetics, I’ll be famous for that. I’ll be closer to the goal of enriching artificial organs, maybe even organic ones!”

“I know what this work would mean if successful. That isn’t the point. The point is that you are not allowed to be here without the help that you need and you agreed to. I’m going to have to speak to the committee, now that I know you haven’t been…” She turned and he caught her wrist really hard. The woman jerked away. She was stronger than he thought.

“Amelia… Please. I need this. People are out to get me. Out to destroy everything that I’ve built for myself, without parents, without love, without an inheritance. I got here on my own merit, my own mind! I can’t have it be the thing that gets me sent away.”

“You needed to consider that after we gave you another chance! We can’t keep going back and forth with you while you refuse to take the help that you need in order to get to your next rung!” She was loud. He felt like she was yelling at him. He didn’t like people yelling at him, especially women, especially older ones… It made him extremely angry and he yelled right back at her, only to find that she either hadn’t been yelling or she had an even louder yelling setting.

“I’M DOING MY GODDAMN BEST!”

“MAYBE YOUR BEST ISN’T GOOD ENOUGH!”

And in addition to the yelling, the thing yelled was extremely hurtful. But, Simon was an angry hurt type. So, he was hurt, but it manifested in anger, “LIKE YOURS WASN’T! YOU HATE ME BECAUSE I CAN BE A BETTER YOU!” She laughed. That made him even angrier. “ADMIT IT! YOU’RE SO HARD ON ME BECAUSE I AM BETTER THAN YOU!”

“Simon, you’re a child. A foolish, often incorrect child. There are many things that I credit as better than me. You aren’t one of them.” He was breathing hard and clenching his fists. “I advise you to immediately set an appointment with your therapist and I demand that you leave the lab at once. At the very least, you need to take a break. At worse… you broke our agreement, Simon.” She began to touch his research, to put everything away, as he stormed out, trying not to let her see him cry and trying not to explode in the lab and further mess things up for himself. He didn’t get far before there was a different explosion in there. Not an extremely loud one, but loud enough that he turned around as others rushed in. 

Simon got on the phone, calling the last counselor that he had spoken to as everyone else scurried about trying to get help and rushing in various directions. “She was just arguing with Laurent, he rushed out and then this happened,” he heard someone say and he watched the three students who had been talking stop and look right at him.  “Are you calling 911?” One of them asked. He shook his head, because he hadn’t been. Once again, it wasn’t his first thought when he witnessed an emergency. One of them grabbed their phone out, presumably to do so and he… left. He probably should have stayed, but he couldn’t breathe and needed some space and needed to rage.

.

It didn’t take others long to start whispering. Simon had found a dumpster to kick for a while before returning to the scene and seeing them rushing Amelia into an ambulance. Police were there and wanted to talk with him. He knew that people would talk. They had been talking. He also knew that sometimes he imagined that people were talking more than they actually were and he hoped that perhaps, this would be one of those times that he imagined the criticism. It was not.

On top of the internet’s allegations of child pornography, learning that the state of California might be investigating these allegations, for the Monroe Estate, and being questioned about his chemical engineering “mistake” with the formula that became unstable as Professor Hughes attempted to put it away… 

Simon was whatever the opposite of numb was. He felt all things, everything, anything, all at once and at a peak. He hadn’t felt this way in a really long time and the only times he had, he had Grace to think of and settle him. After that, he had his own greatness to reflect upon… but that was slipping away from him and Grace had slipped away… No… He had shoved her away, and he needed her so much right now. Because he didn’t know if he could pull himself up from sinking. “Lord save me!” He heard himself yelling from the water in the storm… But Grace couldn’t hear him. She was too far away, and she wasn’t his savior anymore. He looked up for something to latch onto, but all there was, was the Void.

Its big black, form, with an aura of fluid black smoke, and hovered over him and charged at him, its face stopping just short of his own and he looked up to see it. It was nothing but a pale mask, much like one of the ones that Grace used to wear. Maybe… Maybe she was still inside of the void somewhere. Maybe she would rescue him after all. “Grace?” he called, “Is that you?” It had nothing in it’s face. No feeling, no warmth. There was no way that Grace was there. It had no reply. He blinked it away and looked at the police. They had just released him… so… something had saved him… for now. Probably just dumb luck, or lack of evidence. There had to be a lack of evidence, because he knew that he had done nothing wrong.

Despite having done nothing wrong, he had apparently made some type of mistake with the formula, but he figured it was more likely that Amelia had made some mistake in putting it away. It was too soon to voice that opinion. Students were upset, like she was some lovable figure. She was a bitch. He didn’t feel bad at all that she was hurt and he hoped that nobody expected him to act like he did. But, they were talking again. He felt like whenever he was a freshman at the academy and the staff and students didn’t appreciate him because they hadn’t seen his value yet… but these people knew him. He was important! He was significant now! He had done everything to become valuable and honored, including giving up Grace when she was holding him back! 

“Simon, it sounds like you’re just blaming everyone else for your problems again.”

“I’m only saying what happened. I matter, and they treat me like I don’t. They look at me like I’m a criminal. They’re handling me like I haven’t done great things! Like they haven’t heard of me or something! Who do they think they are?”

“To not value you? Maybe they’re just strangers, Simon. You’ve spoken to me a few times, and I don’t know you, either. That doesn’t take away from anything that you might have done, but it doesn’t give me the insight that you have of yourself. The same can be said about any of the people here,” the counsellor said. Simon resumed his meetings, but it was too little too late, as he was called back to the committee.

.

Grace was really just trying to enjoy her life. She only did the interview with Shana because Shana had REALLY come through in finding Hazel for her. She explained to the people keeping Hazel how she knew her and how she found her (not mentioning Shana’s name, but that she “hired an investigator”) mainly because she just wanted to see how Hazel was doing. The short answer was “not great,” but the long answer was Grace hated the fact that everyone that she talked to about Hazel didn’t seem to really know her or how to deal with her. That made her afraid that Hazel would continue to get bounced around, and eventually be lost to her again. After being approved as someone who could visit and spend time with Hazel (a longer process than she would have liked, and one that she knew could have been shortened if she just went crawling back to her parents), but one that was worth the work, because not only was she able to see Hazel and talk to her, but she also got her a phone, in case they were separated again and Hazel needed to reach out to her. 

The last thing that Grace wanted to do was be dragged into Simon’s situation. So, whenever people asked her about him, sent her messages, intruded into her comments, @ her in posts… she declined from responding. She made a statement on her linked social media accounts, reminding everyone that 1. She doesn’t speak about Simon. 2. She said everything that she intended to say to people outside of the situation to Shana in the interview. 3. She is not responsible for Shana’s feelings about the incident in question (the recording and sharing of the recording) 4. She has never spoken to anyone but Simon about the incident in question and doesn’t plan on going much more in depth with anybody about it any time soon. 

Whenever asked about the recording, since she did say in the statement that she had spoken with Simon about it, and it was presumed that meant that maybe they had made it together and it got leaked, as those things tend to do, she confirmed that she didn’t know anything about the recording until after everyone else had seen it, that she doesn’t like to think about it or that time in her life because it was one of her most embarrassing and painful experiences and she doesn’t want to have to relive it simply because people are curious about these details that don’t affect them one way or another…

People were relentless and dedicated to being in other people’s business. What about Simon? It affects Simon! Why aren’t you helping clear Simon’s name? Why are you still hurting Simon? What about affecting Simon? She’d punch every last one of these people in the mouth, just like she did Simon when she found out, if they were in front of her. Even, now, being  someone trying very hard to be peaceful and patient… “Simon already knows everything about that time that I would be able to say, so telling anyone else anything wouldn’t help him or me. If I was silent about it whenever it might have actually changed my trajectory in a favorable way, I’m certainly not going to begin going off about it now that I’ve been given another chance at a positive life, despite the things that caused me pain. Simon knows more than I do and more than you. Perhaps you should ask him, if you want someone who doesn’t seem to mind speaking about these subjects.”

That was what did it. Simon watched in a panic as former Apex members, arose to defend Grace and admit that during the time, Simon was open with certain people about having orchestrated the recording and using it to oust Grace from her throne. “We were mean kids, and I don’t know if we thought far ahead enough to really see what something like that could do to somebody. We all found it either funny or scary and weren’t brave enough to stand up for her back then, but Grace did nothing wrong and people should let her live her life instead of bringing this back up and hurting her again.” They basically all said some variation of that.

He became immediately notorious as #GraceDidNothingWrong began trending and multiple Apex members, former nonessentials, declared nulls, and actual victims of some of Simon’s direct attacks come forward, opening up about their experiences with Simon’s Apex, the Apex in general, including anecdotes, quotes, confessions, etc to further prove Simon’s guilt. To top it off Simon was put on academic probation as everything unfolded including the way he had been handling his psychiatric deal with the committee being unmet and the negligence that led to Professor Hughes’ accident. When he began losing various deals, gets major backlash for the accident, on top of the allegations of child pornography being investigated, he began to spiral as he considered possible charges from CA to MA. He deleted all of his social media accounts and shadow cyberstalked Grace, only to see that she really wasn’t participating in all of this.

He was SO CLOSE to his first Master’s degree. He couldn’t let all of this throw away his future! He was young and stupid and maybe he was wrong, but he wasn’t going to say that and he definitely didn’t feel like he deserved to be punished for it right now! 

He had been trying not to think about that interview, but the more he tried not to think about it, the more he obsessed over it - over her wondering how he was doing, over the potential for her to actually still care. It was so stupid. It was foolish. There was no way that she really felt like that, but all of his distraction had caused him to possibly make some type of stupid mistake. The police were investigating, but he was the main one working in the lab, so whatever happened was most likely due to some type of misstep on his part. He certainly had not rigged anything to explode in Professor Hughes’ face, like some seemed to be trying to suggest! 

The fact that they did not get along wasn’t very helpful to him. The argument right before it happened made it even more suspicious, and where they should have been able to speak with his psychiatrist to ensure that he was doing fine… he hadn’t been consistent with any long enough for them to know that he was doing fine… which brought attention back on him from the committee, which he guessed felt like he was jumping through loopholes in their deal. He saw the Void again, it's voice like a chorus of succubi singing, “I’ve come to take everything from you. It’s what you deserve.”

He rushed to the airport. He didn’t even have a place to stay. He rushed to the Monroe’s, snuck into their gate and beat on the door. It was 2 am, but he couldn’t wait. The Void was after him, and he NEEDED his Grace.

Next

[kaibacxrps]

Name / Alias: Vani Are you over 18?   Yes  / No Is your muse(s) over 18?    Yes /  No  / Verse Dependent / Depends on the muse you’re asking Kaiba & Set = yes | Atem = no When was your blog established? Kaibacxrps: May 2020 (the og sideblog) moved him to here on Jun 2020 // Quebracabeca: Sept 2020

– W R I T I N G  –

Are you selective about who you write with?

No (anyone)  /  Semi (most people) / Yes (some people) / Highly (few people) / Private (mutuals only).

Are you selective about who you follow?

No (anyone) / Semi (most people) /  Yes (some people) /  Highly (few people).

If your muse is canon, how much do you adhere to canon?

Not at all  / A little  / Some / Mostly /  Strictly / Not Applicable. (I try to expand on the areas that were left vague, or the serie didn’t get into.)

What post lengths do you write?

One-Liners  / Single-Para / Multi-Para /  Novella / All of the aforementioned. (one-liners are only for cracks/dash shenanigans)

Do you use icons and/or GIFS?

No  /  Gifs / Icons /  Yes / Sometimes.

Do you write on other platforms?

No / Yes (discord)

What level of plots do you write?

Unplotted /  Open-Ended Plots  /  Semi-Plotted /  Fully Plotted Epics / All of the aforementioned (I have a preference for plotted stuff. Knowing the course of events and my partner’s muse makes things a lot easier for me.)

How quickly do you usually respond to threads?

Very Slow (more than a month) / Slow (3-4 weeks) / Average (1-2 weeks)  / Fast (less than one week) /  Very Fast (less than three days)  (It depends on the kind of thread & the size of it TBH)

What types of themes do you like?

Adventure  / Romance / Fluff / ANGST / Violence (I won’t write gore in great detail) /  Tragedy / Domestic / Family

WHAT GENRES DO YOU LIKE? ( Feel free to add! )

High Fantasy / Supernatural / Science Fiction / Historical / Horror /  Comedy / Romantic / Drama / Action / Smut / Adventure /  Espionage / All of the aforementioned

Are there any themes you’re uncomfortable writing on your blog? (Not triggers)

No  / Yes /  Sometimes

Very descriptive gore can leave me feeling ill. I’m not against delving into taboo territory, but I feel like somethings are best left outside of tumblr and should be kept in discord- privately. I only do them with people I trust on, because I don’t want to romanticize anything.

Do you have any triggers? How do you request it tagged?

I have no triggers! But I ask for my mutuals to tag anything related to politics/IRL stuff, I’m not here for those things. Sorry, not sorry.

I also have some ships filtered/blacklisted, because I have 0 interest in seeing them on my dash. (They are: Puppy/violetshipping & corruptshipping).

– S H I P P I N G –

What types of relationships are you open to?

Romantic /  Platonic  /  Familial / All of the aforementioned

I’m open to anything really, however be aware that most of them just really aren’t made for certain things. I’m even more picky/selective when it comes to my Atem.

What types of pre-established relationships are you open to?

Romantic  /  Platonic /  Familial / All of the aforementioned

Again, I’m game to anything with my muses. But we need to come up with something that works for our muses, and doesn’t feel forced.

Do you have OTPs?

No /  Chemistry Only / Yes

Kaiba: Rival / Money / Master / Pride Set: Headdress / Truth / Mizu / Historychannel (Rosenkreuz/Set) Atem: Scandal / Pride

Do you have NOTPS?

No / Yes

Kaiba: Tabloid / Mirror / Puppy or Violet Set: Corrupt Atem: Caste / Dark / Fragile (just don’t put Atem with any of the Bakuras, thanks.)

What is your muse’s sexual orientation?

Heterosexual /  Heteroflexible  / Bisexual / Pansexual /  Homoflexible  / Homosexual / Demisexual /  Sapiosexual /  Asexual / Still trying to figure it out / Depends on the muse you’re asking

Kaiba is homosexual

Atem and Set are bisexuals

What is your muse’s romantic orientation?

Heteroromantic /  Heteroflexible  / Biromantic /  Homoflexible  /  Homoromantic   / Panromantic / Demiromantic /  Sapioromantic  / Aromantic / Still trying to figure it out / Depends on the muse you’re asking

Kaiba is unable to fall in love with/develop any bonds with anyone due to his upbringing, because of that he can’t be considered aromantic.

Atem and Set are biromantics.

Are you comfortable writing smut?

No  / Selectively / Yes

Kaiba and Set are completely open to it, I’ve got an entire smut blog just for that! Atem however, I’m keeping smut only for the people I ship him with after extensive plotting/discussion has been made.

How early in a relationship do you ship romantically?

Autoship / During plotting  /  After a couple IC interactions / Several IC interactions / Slow burn / Plot dependent /  Never 

Are you open to toxic ships?

No / Selectively  / Yes  / I am not sure

And it won’t be sugar-coated or romanticized.

Are you open to problematic ships?

No /  Selectively / Yes / I am not sure

Depends on the ship. While for the most part I’m not opposed to delving into darker subjects, there are certain things where even I have to draw a line. This is especially important, considering how young the YGO cast really is. Yes, this especially includes Atem. Who by all means, is still technically in a way- a 16 years old.

Are you open to polyshipping?

No /  Selectively  / Yes / I am not sure

I personally have no problem with them, but most of my muses just aren’t open to something like this. Set is the only one I have, who might be into it.

Are you an exclusive shipper?

Never / Sometimes / Yes / I would be open to discuss it

Atem is the only exception to this, and even then that’s only from my end. For Kaiba and Set, I cap the limit of doubles from the same character by 3. No more than that, otherwise it just becomes overwhelming.

Does crack shipping ever happen?

Nope / Yes / depends / altho they normally become normal ships

[zukuthehero]

Lessons and Torture

First Chapter || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter || AO3

##  Izuku POV  ##

I nervously entered the Principal’s office.

Rescue theory hadn’t been hard, we’d gone over the basics of what disasters happened the most and discussed what we would be learning in the future.

But now I had private lessons.

With the Principal.

I was nervous.

“Hello Midoriya-san.”

I swallowed, “Hello Principal Nedzu.”

He waved a paw at me, motioning to the couch. He perched in the chair across from it.

I moved to sit down.

“Now then, lets discuss One for All.”

I paled, “ah, One for All? What’s that?”

The bear/rat/dog smiled at me, “I know about your quirk Midoriya-san, All Might himself told me.”

I relaxed, oh good, thank goodness I hadn’t screwed up.

“Let’s discuss it, and your cover for it shall we?”

I nodded.

He wants to discuss my quirk, okay, I can do that. Oh wait, then he knows I lied ‘about having a mental enhancement, am I going to be in trouble? Did I only get my classes changed because he’s covering for me? Did I not-‘

“Oh no Midoriya-san! You absolutely did well enough to get your classes changed on your own. Have no fear of that.”

I flushed, I’d been mumbling again.

“And I wasn’t certain if you’d lied about the mental enhancement or not, your analysis abilities certainly are skilled enough to have some sort of enhancement.”

I shook my head, “No, I was quirkless.” I looked away, my gut twisting.

“I see.” There was a long moment of silence, “Would you like some tea?”

I blinked, breathing in and noticing the scent of Jasmine as I peered at the Principal, who had a teapot and two delicate teacups in front of him.

“Oh, um, s-sure.”

He smiled brightly and poured me a cup. I took a small sip when he passed it to me.

“Now then, the tests you completed showed that you were above the basics of our curriculum. You’re easily skilled enough in Math, English, and Strategy. On the other hand, you’re lacking in the sciences, or perhaps only some of them?” He looked at me expectantly.

I shifted, “My dad sends me books on subjects I like, or he thinks are important. He works overseas,” That’s what we’re always supposed to say, and he might be overseas, his job is top secret, “and knowing different languages is important, so I’ve focused on them a lot. And strategy is a lot of fun. Math is really useful to so…”

He nodded, “What Languages can you speak? And how fluent are you in them?”

“I’m fluent enough in English to hold a conversation and write with it. Um, I can- I can speak Mandarin pretty well, writing Mandarin isn’t, uh, it isn’t hard for me either, so I mostly have it down. I can also speak some Russian…. Just like, important phrases and basic conversational speech mainly, and I can read most of what I can speak, um, plus a fe- a few random words.” I hesitated.

“That’s impressive, any other languages?”

I chewed my lip, I wasn’t sure if it counted but, “I know French in theory? I can’t… I can’t really speak it well, the sounds are hard to make. Writing it is hard to, it’s spelling is difficult. But I can read the most important stuff that would be on signs, and I know how to ask for directions and stuff… I’m not good at pronunciation though.”

He nodded, sipping his tea. “French is a hard language, it took me some time to get learn it. I’ll give you some instruction on the languages if you’d like, it is a very useful skill to have.”

I straightened, “That would- that would- that would be great!”

I groaned mentally at my stutter, I need to stop doing that.

“Surprisingly your scores at your old school, Aldera? Didn’t show your knowledge of math or English. Your scores were fairly average?”

I shifted, “Ah, well….”

I really couldn’t think of a response.

“I know you do not have a mental enhancement quirk,” He sipped his tea, gaze locked on me, “But…” He hummed tilting his head, “You are extremely smart. I don’t quite understand why you wouldn’t showcase your skills?”

I clutched the tea cup, this was just the beginning of the lesson, we’d barely begun and we were already onto hard subjects.

“People don’t like being outdone by a useless quirkless person.”

I didn’t look up in the ensuing silence.

I heard the sharp clink of his cup being placed back on the saucer.

I clutched my cup tighter.

“I see.”

I breathed in slowly, one, two, three, four.

“Well, that will not be the case here. I expect you to showcase your full potential at UA.”

I peaked up, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

“Yes sir,” I breathed.

The principal smiled brightly, “If you have any trouble with any of the students because of your knowledge, inform me please.”

I nodded, hiding my smile by taking a sip of tea.

I like UA.

“Now then!”

I jolted.

“Let’s continue with the subjects you’re best at. Math?”

“Uh, dad said it was really important to be good at math, just for life in general. Plus, it helps me calculate stuff for my analysis.”

He nodded, “Of course of course, math is very useful. And your analysis, how long have you been doing that?”

I brightened, “Oh for a long time! My dad used to sit with me and watch hero fights and would help me break down their quirks and fighting styles. I think I still have some old notebooks I wrote in crayon.” I laughed, those notebooks were so old, but mom kept them right where dad put them.

“Oh? What does your dad do? His file is very sparse.”

“Ah, he works overseas…” I’m not supposed to talk about dad’s work, really not supposed to know either but I’d considered going into the same career as him.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, does private work…”

“I see.”

I’m glad he didn’t continue that questioning.

“Now then, have you studied any sciences?”

“Um, some physics, it’s pretty hard but I’ve studied it some.”

“An excellent science to study! If you continue studying it now then perhaps you’ll be able to test out of it by your third year.”

I brightened, that would be nice.

“Now then, are there any other subjects you’ve studied? Anything that might not be taught at the school as well?”

“I studied a lot of quirk history, for my analysis, and some pre-quirk era history. It’s all really interesting.” I forced myself to stop there, I could go on for hours about the history of quirks and how they worked and how they had changed with time.

“An wonderful area to study, you can learn a lot from the past.” He offered the tea pot, then refilled my cup.

“Now then, what are your plans for the future? To be a hero obviously, but there’s so much more than that.”

I chewed my lip, “I uh, I want to help people?”

He looked at me expectantly.

I took a deep breath and paused to consider the question.

What do I want for the future?

I want to help people, whether as the number one hero like All Might is, or as an underground hero that works from the shadows.

I want to make sure people aren’t hurt like I was for something they can’t control, I want people to feel safe and content.

Isn’t that basically just being a hero?

No, I suppose it’s more. I don’t have to be a hero to help people. But it would give me a platform that would let me help them more. I could do campaigns and I could make a lot of money, that I could give to charities. I could do a lot more to help people as a hero, beyond just being a hero.

I nodded, “I want to be a hero, so that I can help people, not just… not just as a hero, but also by making sure that people know and understand that hurting people isn’t right. I want to be someone that can help everyone, someone that people can look to and know if they need me I’ll come. I want to be available to anyone that might need help. I want to be able to help everyone.”

Nedzu smiled, “Well, that’s certainly a very large goal.” He placed his teacup down, “Now, let’s talk about how I can help you do that.”

##  Aizawa POV ##

I eyed the problem child as he left the building, he was clearly thinking very hard. I fear what Nedzu is going to turn him into, one Nedzu is bad enough.

I shook my head. The poor kids don’t know what’s coming.

Hopefully Nedzu would keep the mischief away from his class at least… hopefully.

But now, I turned to head home myself. I have to finalize the training schedule for my students. They don’t really need the afterschool time, right? They’ll be fine.

“Aizawa!”

I bit back a groan, what now? Did All Might have nothing better to do than constantly follow me around and make sure I’m not “overdoing it”?

“How are you feeling?”

Like killing the number one hero.

“Fine.”

“Do you need a ride home?” He stared down at me, dumb tall hero, looking worried.

“No, I drove.”

“Do you need help grading? Oh, let me get that.” He hurried forward and opened the door for me.

Ugh.

“Here.” I shoved some papers into his hands, “These need to be graded by tomorrow, they’re from my communications class. Here’s the syllabus,” he shoved another paper into All Might’s hands, “I have to go.”

He turned and hurried as fast as he could with the bandages limiting him.

“Oh, well, Okay! Be safe Aizawa!”

Aizawa sighed.

Now then, he had some friends to call to help him train his kids. They need all the help they can get. Maybe Ingenium? He owed Aizawa a favor…

Maybe Aizawa could call Memory Bank? She was a good underground hero. And he knew she was on leave for another week.

He’d have to see what heroes would be willing to come in from the daylight heroes too, a lot of his kids were going into the daylight hero area. Best if they could get some advice from those heroes.

Hmm, he heard Gang Orca was going to some training events, maybe he could get him to come?

Well, he had some final phone calls to make but otherwise he had a good outline for his kids training schedule.

He wouldn’t let anything happen to them again.

He wouldn’t fail them again.

##  Tomura POV  ##

I studied the bedroom I set up.

There was a soft bed, lots of pillows and blankets, I even got them in *shudder* All Might colors.

That was the biggest concession I was willing to give.

The TV was set up with the gaming console, and of course a few hand-helds. There was a box with the games we bought, and a comfy sitting area in front of it.

The shelves were filled with empty notebooks and theory books and books on the history of quirks and heroes.

The desk had the new laptop, lots of pens and pencils, and plenty of light.

The room had some gear for underground heroes and a few of the more tolerable daylight heroes, plus some vigilante merch.

I hummed, did I get everything?

“Shigaraki Tomura, do you need anything else?”

I turned to Kurogiri, he’d done a lot of warping today to get everything back.

“No, I think I’m good.”

I should tell Sensei!

I hurried downstairs to do just that. Now Otouto’s room is all set up, he’ll be nice and comfy when we finally bring him home.

“Sensei I finished setting up his room. Can we go get him now?”

I stared at the screen, back to audio only.

“Patience Tomura, It’s only a few weeks till the Sports Festival. I need the data on his quirk to decide how to help him. And besides don’t you want to see how he does?”

I huffed, of course I want to see how Otouto does. But I’d rather him be here, safe and sound, away from those filthy heroes that were surrounding him.

“Yes Sensei…” I glared at the wall.

“Perhaps you could gather more data on the teachers at the school?”

I considered that, I knew the main one’s, like Eraserhead and Thirteen and All Might. The other’s didn’t seem so important. But then again… They had interfered with the attack.

I nodded, I’ll do that. I should know who’s influencing Otouto as well, if some of them are particularly bad I may have to get rid of them.

I grinned, yes, I should learn about them so I could be sure that they wouldn’t be an even worse influence on Otouto than them just being heroes makes them.

“Okay Sensei!”

I hurried off, I’d need some info from Giran, he has the best sources.

##  Tokoyami’s POV  ##

I settled into my seat, waiting for class to start.

Watching the other classmates was interesting, we were all still mourning Mineta.

Not me.

Except Dark Shadow.

We were all waiting for Aizawa-sensei, he had promised that we would finally get our schedules of doom today.

Maybe we’ll be able to play!

I sighed, we cannot play Dark Shadow, we need to get more powerful.

I’m plenty powerful if you’d let me have some fun.

I shook my head, we cannot bring harm to our classmates.

Ugh, so boring Fumi.

I turned my attention back to the class as Midoriya slipped into his seat. I did worry for him, him and Asui. The two of them had not been prepared for the banquet of darkness that losing Mineta brought upon them.

He seemed alright though, I was glad. He is a very bright presence, but not overwhelming, even Dark Shadow enjoys him.

Ooh, Midori is here. He’s muttering again! Get closer, I like hearing him talk about everyone’s weaknesses.

Okay so maybe Dark Shadow liked him for a different reason.

“Settle down,” called the muffled voice of Aizawa-sensei. I must’ve missed him coming in.

Aww, but Midori mutters…

Hush, you can listen to his thoughts later.

“All right, I have a few announcements for today.”

I listened attentively, this must be our schedules of doom!

“You all will be adding another hour onto your school day three days a week. On Monday, Thursday, and Saturday. So they don’t interfere with your active days.”

I considered that, I would need to be sure that it doesn’t interfere with my schedule, but I think it would be okay.

“If this does not work for you then you may come early instead, but you won’t be able to get as much work in, and it would be better if you could stay in the afternoon. I understand that you would be staying till five thirty then, but the extra work will be worth it.”

He studied us his gaze intent.

“What a mad banquet of darkness,” I muttered.

“I have called in some favors and some heroes have agreed to come some days and give advice. The heroes will only be coming in the afternoon though, so you will have to consider that if you don’t want to stay late.”

I nodded, that seems interesting. Assorted heroes would give us a better idea of what we would be doing and be able to teach us a lot of different things.

I wanna go, Fumi I wanna go!

Well, it did seem interesting. I suppose we would go.

“Aizawa-sensei!”

I turned to see Iida with his hand raised.

“Yes Iida?”

“Are we able to come to both morning and afternoon training?”

“You are, in fact I would prefer it. Regardless, any extra training you come to will count as extra credit for your Hero Combat Training class, and your Hero Fundamentals class. Some will also give extra credit for Rescue Theory or Combat Theory, depending on the hero that is helping out that day.”

That got a lot of excited murmuring.

I can appreciate that, it wouldn’t just be extra work, we’d get extra points too. I would definitely be trying to go to as many as possible then.

“Now then, the Sports Festival date has been confirmed. It will be three weeks from next Monday. While all of you voted to have the Festival, it is up to you individually if you want to participate. You need to decide a week before the Festival, so take the time to consider carefully.”

We’re definitely participating.

I smiled, yes, me and Dark Shadow would most certainly be participating. It would be very exciting.

“Are there any questions?”

His gaze swept over the class once, “No? Alright, you have the rest of homeroom to yourselves, do whatever.”

He promptly curled up in his sleeping bag.

Dark Shadow snickered, then perked up, Go over to Midori! He’s muttering! I want to hear weaknesses!

I sighed, Dark Shadow…

##  Doctor POV ##

I finished adjusting the tank of my grandson, or the Nomu that was left of him.

It had been an interesting experiment and using him for it had helped me figure out how to adjust mutation quirks to work with the other quirks All for One gives them.

I hummed, moving on to the next tank.

I was still annoyed that they had lost the other Nomu. I spent awhile working on that one. It had the best regeneration yet! Though I was working on a few other’s that would hopefully have similar level, if not higher, regeneration.

I adjusted the concentration slightly before moving on again.

I’m extremely curious about how All for One’s son got a quirk so late. I hadn’t had a chance to read through the file the Shigaraki brat retrieved.

I’d have to do that soon. Late appearing quirks were rare, and it could be useful to study it and see what might have made it come in late.

But nooo, All for One wouldn’t let me so much as touch his precious son without supervision. He valued his son a lot it seemed.

It’s annoying, but it does mean that I have a fun project, so I suppose I can’t complain too much.

Speaking of, I moved to check on the special project.

It was a difficult one, to keep the integrity of the quirks in a different kind of form. I studied the project.

It was looking good, I should adjust the nutrients just to be safe.

The regeneration quirk had taken well, and the fire breathing quirk was settled perfectly now.

It still looked as it should, that’s the hardest thing to make work. He doesn’t want it to look like the other Nomu’s at all. He want’s a very specific form for it, while still insuring it’s able to accomplish its job.

Next up was the tracking quirk, I would be adding that in a few days I think. Let the empath quirk settle a little more. It was the newest after all.

“How is it coming doctor?”

I straightened, “All for One.” I nodded politely, “It’s coming well. It still holds it’s form well. I should be able to add the tracking quirk in a few days, and then it will likely need another week to settle. The intelligence quirk would be the next best one to add I believe.”

He nodded, stepping closer to the tank despite his inability to see.

“And you’re certain that it looks correct? Will it’s attitude be correct? Will it be able to pass as simply an animal with a quirk?”

“It should, I’m unable to test how it acts until we finish adding the quirks, I don’t want to take it out and risk destabilizing it.”

“Indeed.

All for One seemed to consider it for a moment.

“I may need it sooner than originally planned. The tracking and empath quirks are a necessity, but the other quirks I’ll need to decide about.”

“I think the gigantification quirk is a priority, and possibly the strength quirk.”

He hummed, “I agree with the gigantification quirk. How long will that to settle? That kind of quirk usually takes longer.”

I nodded, that was true, prioritizing it would delay the project by at least two weeks.

“Perhaps we add that as soon as the tracking and empath settle? Than move on any other quirks you think should be prioritized?”

He nodded, “I’ll decide which are most necessary. Inform me when the next quirk can be added.”

He left through one of Kurogiri’s portals.

I grinned, this project was so much fun. I would be sad to complete it but interested to see how it completes its job.

Ah well, time to get back to work. The Nomu’s wouldn’t make themselves.

[linebreaker]

Birthmark

Also on AO3.

Warnings: light angst; brief mentions of past violence; mentions of past discorporation; discussions of historical anti-Semitism and violence against Jewish people.

=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=

Aziraphale first noticed the mark one morning when Crowley was puttering around the kitchen. The buttery sunlight was filtering through the herbs in the cottage window and fat bees were bumbling about outside, bumping against the glass in their search for flowers.

Crowley had just awoken from one of his week-long naps and stumbled out into the kitchen. Aziraphale regarded him over his reading glasses. He looked soft and sleep-worn, red hair flattened charmingly on one side. His yellow eyes were half-lidded and he was rubbing at one of them with his knuckles.

“Coffee?” he grunted.

“Afraid there’s nothing fresh, dear, but I can—” Crowley flapped his hands at him when Aziraphale went to snap his fingers.

“No, no, no. No. I can get it,” he muttered and then promptly banged his hip against the table corner as he made for the kettle. “Shit!”

Aziraphale huffed out a breath of laughter. “If you insist. That’s what you get for doing it the hard way.”

“It doesn’t taste the same when it’s miracled.”

Looking no more alert—but decidedly more aggravated—than he had before, Crowley went about preparing the kettle. Aziraphale’s morning paper was open in front of him, but it was mostly for show now. He enjoyed watching the demon do mundane things like cook and tend to his garden, so he took ample time to glance up and observe between each line he read.

—carry out services themselves rather than employ private firms, the chancellor has said. John McDonnell said he—

Crowley was still in his sleep clothes. He normally kept to his waistcoats and jackets and sinful trousers, but he’d been noticeably more lax in his apparel over the last few months of their retirement. Aziraphale didn’t mind.

—wants to limit the outsourcing of services such as bin collections by obliging councils to run them—

His loose-fitting pyjama bottoms were slung low on his hips. The long-sleeved grey shirt he wore looked soft, its collar wide enough to drape aside and expose a portion of the demon’s shoulder. Aziraphale let his eyes trace along his skin, forming constellations out of the freckles there.

—when existing private contracts expire. Cleaning and school dinners could also be taken back under the plans. The government—

Crowley was barefoot. As he filled the kettle, Aziraphale watched his toes curl against the tile. He rocked up onto the pads of his feet, exposing their delicate arches briefly, before settling again.

—said decisions should be left with local councils. The Confederation of British Industry said Labour’s proposal was “an extreme move devoid of evidence yet—

He managed to get the kettle on without further incident and turned to rest against the counter. With his back to the window, the morning light streamed in around like a halo, silhouetting him. Dust motes drifted lazily through the beams of sunlight.

—dripping in dogma.” In a speech on Saturday, Mr. McDonnell said outsourced contracts were costly and lacked accountability as decisions—

“What’re you looking at, angel?” Crowley asked when he glanced up again. The sunlight made it hard to see his face, but Aziraphale thought he sounded amused.

He smiled and, heart stuttering, answered, “You.”

Crowley froze momentarily. Aziraphale watched as his entire frame went rigid, his edges rippling like a mirage in the desert, before he relaxed again. He scoffed and grumbled something incomprehensible, then turned away again.

Something small and fragile unfurled in Aziraphale’s chest like a blooming flower. He smiled to himself and went back to his paper.

It wasn’t much longer before the kettle started whistling. Crowley moved to take it off the flame and go about preparing his coffee. It was while he was reaching to retrieve (see: steal) Aziraphale’s novelty angel mug off of the top shelf that his shirt rode up to reveal a band of skin. Aziraphale’s eyes were drawn briefly to the divots at the base of the demon’s spine, a little thrill running through him at the sight of them.

Then he noticed the mark.

It was a swath of skin—paler than that which surrounded it, a small swirl of white—that sat just above the jut of Crowley’s hip. Aziraphale squinted, but the shirt fell down and obscured it from view before he could get a decent look.

“Crowley, what is that?”

“Hm?” He was distracted adding heaps of instant coffee to his mug. Personally, Aziraphale detested the stuff, but Crowley was unaccountably attached. Probably because he’d had a hand in inventing it. “What’s what?”

“That mark—there, on your side.”

Crowley finished his preparations and took a sip, smacking his lips in satisfaction. Then he seemed to take in Aziraphale’s question. He paused, rim of the mug pressed against his mouth, and blinked his reptilian eyes at him. “Huh?”

Aziraphale scowled at him as he made his way over to the table—he had a feeling that the demon was being deliberately obtuse. “What is that mark? I don’t think I’ve seen that before.”

Crowley looked bemused as he took his seat across from Aziraphale, mug firmly clutched between his palms. “Never seen it before? You’ve seen me without my clothes on, angel.”

He lifted one eyebrow suggestively and Aziraphale felt his face go hot. Images flashed through his mind—Crowley beneath him, his sweat-slicked thighs up around Aziraphale’s hips, his body arching up like a bow and his slitted pupils blown wide as he came—and he quickly looked away.

“Yes, well.” He cleared his throat and focused on folding his paper for a moment. “I was rather preoccupied at the time.”

When he glanced up again, he noticed that Crowley was sporting a lopsided grin and there was a rather fetching shade of pink staining his cheeks. “Yeah?”

Aziraphale huffed and rolled his eyes. “You know perfectly well that I was, you wicked thing, so stop trying to distract me. What is that mark?” he asked again, pulling off his reading glasses and pointing them at the demon. He knew he sounded petulant, but he was terribly curious.

Crowley’s grin faded slowly, an ember burning out until it curled black and lifeless at the corner of his mouth. He shrugged and the wide neck of his shirt draped further down his shoulder. “That mark’s the reason I hate the 14th century.”

Aziraphale, whose gaze had been inextricably drawn to the gentle slope of demonic clavicle that was now on display, blinked and looked back up into his eyes. “What?”

“Well,” Crowley quickly amended, “it’s the main reason, anyway.”

“I thought you once told me that you hated the 14th century because of the Papal Schism?” Aziraphale asked.

“That was certainly part of it, yes,” he confirmed and took a sip of coffee. He looked more alert now. The soft, sleep-mussed air that hung around him after his naps was quickly dissipating. “As well as that Hundred Year War thing and The Plague.”

“As I recall, those were both terrible things that you took credit for,” Aziraphale reminded him with a quirked eyebrow. As much as Crowley seemed to despise the 14th century, it hadn’t been all fun-and-games for Aziraphale, either. Three simultaneous popes, millions dead, revolts and uprisings—it was all enough to make an angel crazy.

“Yes,” Crowley whined, slumping forward in his seat dramatically. “It was full of terrible things and I was terribly busy.”

“Oh, well, you poor dear.”

Crowley scoffed. “Angel, I get the distinct impression that your sympathy is not entirely genuine.”

“My sympathy for devils—you or otherwise—is limited, but I do genuinely adore you, so do with that as you will.”

“I shall,” Crowley said with an absurd waggle of his eyebrows. Aziraphale’s stomach swooped and he rolled his eyes with a fond tolerance.

“Crowley,” he said mildly and tried again. “The mark on your side?”

The demon’s bright yellow eyes regarded him over the top of his mug and, for the first time, Aziraphale could see weary resignation in them. It suddenly struck him how difficult Crowley was making this. A frisson of worry ran down his spine.

“Is—is there something you don’t want me to know? I mean, if so—” he hastened to say when Crowley’s mouth opened. “—that’s perfectly fine. We don’t have to tell each other everything. I just—Well, I just thought—”

“It was an exorcist.”

The rest of Aziraphale’s sentence died in his throat. He felt it whither and turn to dust, coating his tongue with bitter ash. He coughed and asked, “I, uh—beg pardon?”

“An exorcist gave me this mark,” Crowley repeated calmly and gestured towards his left side with a nod of his head. He’d put his mug down and was now focused on Aziraphale. “Back in 1349.”

Aziraphale’s mind began to race. 1349? Where did this happen? Italy? It must have been. Wasn’t I in Italy around that time? Why didn’t he call me for help? Unless—no, we still weren’t really considered acquaintances then, were we? Let alone friends. I don’t think The Arrangement was even in place for another few hundred years—

“Stop.”

The gentle command cut through his increasingly distressed train of thought and Aziraphale jerked in his seat. He sucked in a breath through his teeth and blinked up at Crowley. At some point, he had gotten up and come around to stand beside Aziraphale’s chair, half-sitting on the edge of the table.

“W-what?” he asked, thrown by the demon’s sudden proximity and still reeling from his confession. An exorcist. Why would—

“I said stop.”

Aziraphale blinked. Crowley crossed his arms with a beleaguered sigh and stared down at him. He’d pushed his sleeves up to his elbows and Aziraphale’s heart gave a squeeze at the dusting of light freckles he could see across his skin.

“I know your brain,” Crowley said. “I know it’s going hell for leather right now trying to figure everything out and I’m sure you’ve somehow managed to blame yourself.”

Aziraphale swallowed and looked away, his eyes lowering to study the wood grain of the table.

“Angel, we weren’t even friends back then,” Crowley said in exasperation, echoing his earlier thoughts. Aziraphale looked back up at him. “You thinking that you were in some way responsible for a run of bad luck I had nearly 700 years ago is just your—” He stammered briefly, jostling his shoulders like he was trying to knock the right words loose. “—angelic guilt or whatever.”

“You saved me more times than I can count and I couldn’t even—”

“I saved myself,” Crowley insisted.

Aziraphale swallowed around the lump in his throat. “You shouldn’t have had to,” he said softly, heart fluttering like a wounded bird within the cage of his ribs.

Crowley made one of his incoherent little noises and then turned away, casting his angular features into profile. The corner of his mouth was pulled down in a frown, jaw grinding back and forth. Aziraphale wanted to reach out to him—to press love in the shape of fingerprints into his warm skin. However, he didn’t think his touch would be well-received at the moment.

Instead, he asked, “Will you tell me about it?”

Crowley looked at him out of the corner of his eye, seeming to consider him. “I think it’ll just upset you,” he finally said.

“I’m afraid that ship has sailed, my dear,” Aziraphale told him. His throat squeezed around the words as he spoke them, rasping against them until they were little more than a whisper. “Please tell me.”

The sigh that passed Crowley’s lips was an ancient thing—something he’d been carrying around for nearly a millennium in his chest. He rolled his neck back and forth. Then he said, “It was in Basel.”

“Switzerland?” Aziraphale asked, blinking in surprise.

“Yeah. I mean, it wasn’t Switzerland at the time, but the sentiment is the same. That’s where it happened. Y-you remember how, after The Black Plague, there were—well, um, there was a lot of hatred towards the Jewish community?”

Aziraphale nodded once, a grim set to his mouth. “I remember,” he said. “The pogroms.”

The Jewish Black Death massacres. They’d started up in 1348 as a result of the plague sweeping across Europe and had lasted for a few years. Christians killing Jews because they thought they were somehow responsible for the disease that had ravaged the continent—that they had invoked the wrath of God or were poisoning the well water. Ridiculous, Aziraphale thought viciously.

Crowley uncrossed his arms so that he could gesticulate while he spoke. “Right. It was a crazy time; everyone was dying and people wanted someone to blame.”

“They usually do,” Aziraphale said without humor. He reached across the table for Crowley’s abandoned coffee, brushing his arm against the demon’s hip. “Human nature.”

“There’s nothing natural about wanting to wipe out an entire race or religion.”

“I don’t disagree.” He took a tentative sip of the coffee and grimaced, quickly holding it out to Crowley. “That is terrible,” he coughed, smacking his lips to try ridding himself of the burnt flavor.

“You just don’t have my exquisite taste,” Crowley sighed, taking the mug out of his hand. His fingertips slid across Aziraphale’s knuckles and an involuntary shiver ran up the angel’s spine. “Anyway, that’s what I was doing in Basel. My people had sent me there a few days before the massacre—I didn’t want to be there and I didn’t have anything to do with the previous pogroms in Savoy or Erfurt or Toulon, really. I think they just assumed I had.”

Aziraphale believed him. Though Crowley had definitely softened during the course of their 6000 year acquaintance, he had never seemed the type to tempt people into mass-slaughter. He was more the inconvenience-people-into-sinning kind of demon. He’d said so himself that, many times, the humans basically took care of the big stuff themselves. No tempting needed.

“And Basel is where you met the, uh, exorcist?” Aziraphale asked.

“Mm-hm,” Crowley mumbled, staring down into his mug with pursed lips. “And, really, I use the term exorcist extremely loosely. He wasn’t what I would consider a professional by any means. I think he just got lucky.”

What Aziraphale wanted to say was that, if the man had truly been an amateur, maybe it was Crowley who had gotten lucky. He bit his tongue, though. Crowley’s posture was hunched, defensive—his shoulders curled forward and his back bowed. His eyes had a distant, vaguely haunted look to them. So Aziraphale swallowed down his anxiety and waited.

Eventually, Crowley blinked like he was coming out of a trance and looked over at him. His yellow irises were blown out, encompassing his eyes. “He got me the day after the riot. There was still ash in the air from, um—from where the townspeople had locked the adults up and set the building on fire. There were kids that the Christians were forcibly converting and I was—I had been drinking. I just, uh—” Crowley paused. Took a breath. “I just don’t like it when they get kids involved.”

“I know,” Aziraphale said, infinitely gentle.

“Anyway, I think my—my glasses slipped and he saw my eyes or—I dunno, he smelled sulphur on me or something—”

You don’t smell like sulphur, Aziraphale thought, but didn’t dare interrupt. You smell like frankincense.

“—but I p-passed out or he knocked me out and the next thing I remember is that I was strung up somewhere. It was dark and smelled like—like hay and shit. Probably a barn. He, uh . . .”

Crowley trailed off, looking away again. He was running his nails along the rim of his mug, filling the silence with a low, chittering resonance that set Aziraphale’s teeth on edge. He longed to reach out and lay his hands over Crowley’s—to still them and imbibe some comfort. He linked his fingers together on the tabletop instead.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked in an even tone, trying to sound as though he wasn’t crawling out of his skin.

Crowley’s eyes skittered back over to him. Tension was evident in the set of his jaw and the stark whiteness of his knuckles where he gripped his mug. “Do you want to hear about it?”

Aziraphale frowned, his heart clenching painfully in his chest. He’d been present at an exorcism before. Rome, around the turn of the 19th century. He’d stood back and observed as two Catholic priests attempted to drive the demon Leraje from the body of a young woman.

It had laughed and snarled threats, and Aziraphale had felt its opalescent eyes rake over him. Then Father Cancio had begun chanting his Latin phrases and Father D’Agostino had thrown blessed oils and holy water in its face. The demon’s skin had split and steamed, blisters forming over blisters as Leraje writhed and shrieked. Its dirty fingers had gouged marks into the arms of the chair it was tied to, blood pooling along its cuticles as the nails snapped off, its joints buckling. It bit off the woman’s tongue—spat it onto the floor at their feet—and blood had boiled in its mouth as it shouted obscenities at them.

It had lasted for hours. In the end, Leraje had been exorcised and the woman had died in the chair. Aziraphale could still smell the blood; could still hear her skin sizzling under the holy water.

Then he imagined Crowley in Leraje’s place and his stomach turned so violently that he nearly threw up.

“I never want to hear about you getting hurt, my dear,” he eventually whispered. “But I am here if you want to—”

Crowley waved a hand, cutting him off. “No, I, uh—I’d rather not discuss the details of that, if it’s all the same to you, angel.”

Aziraphale’s breath left him in a messy rush and he felt lightheaded with relief. He had asked Crowley to tell him. He would listen if the demon wanted to explain what had happened to him during his own exorcism attempt, but Aziraphale would rather peel his own skin off than have those images in his head.

“Of course,” he said, voice weak.

Crowley set his mug down on the table behind him, then folded his arms across his midsection, hands grasping loosely at his own elbows. “In any case, after—after everything, I managed to get loose and kill the silly bugger.”

Good, Aziraphale thought viciously.

“I was in pretty bad shape,” Crowley continued, staring blankly off into the middle distance. There was a fine sheen of sweat glistening at his temple and Aziraphale watched his throat move with a swallow. “I got out of Basel and only just managed to make it to the next town before I collapsed. The exorcist—he didn’t have any holy water, thank Somebody, but he did have this, uh, I dunno—a coin or a pendant. I didn’t get a good look at it. It must’ve been a holy relic or something, because it burned like a blessed sonofabitch; left welts all over that I couldn’t heal.”

Crowley reached down absentmindedly and touched his side where Aziraphale knew the mark to be. “This one was the worst. It got infected and I got a fever. I’m sure you can imagine what that looked like back in 1349.”

A lump of dread settled in the pit of Aziraphale’s stomach, poisonous apprehension seeping out into the rest of his body like lead into drinking water. “Like you had the plague.”

Crowley clicked his tongue and said cheerlessly, “Got it in one, angel.”

“What happened?” Aziraphale asked and Crowley sighed wearily.

“The fever wiped me out—put me into a coma, most likely. The townspeople thought I had died, so they buried me in a mass grave with other plague victims—”

“What?” Aziraphale gasped, horrified.

“—and I don’t remember much after that. I discorporated at some point; wound up back in Hell. After lots of paperwork and whatnot, I got back topside around 1378.”

“Y-you discorporated? How—how did I not know that? You, erm—” Aziraphale stopped. Drew a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to center himself. When he opened them again, he found Crowley’s gaze on him. The yellow of his irises had retreated back to their centers. “You don’t look any different,” he told the demon. “You got—what? A-a copy of your body?”

“Did I mention: lots of paperwork,” Crowley said and Aziraphale was relieved to hear humor in his voice.

“1378?” he asked, then sighed, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Just in time for the Papal Schism, I see.”

“Three popes are three too many, angel.”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” he said lightly, letting a small smile pull at his mouth. Then he amended, “In this case.”

Crowley chuckled and the pressure seemed to ease off of his shoulders, the tension that had gathered around him like graveyard mist breaking apart and abating. The soft morning sun had transformed his hair into a coppery halo; it caressed his face, highlighting the delicate lines around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth.

Aziraphale watched him for a few moments, then asked hesitantly, “And, um—the mark was, uh, still there when you—when you came back?”

“Yeah,” Crowley said. “It was the only one. Everything else hadn’t left so much as a scar, but this one—it stayed. Dunno why. Maybe because it was the deepest wound or maybe because it was the one that eventually discorporated me. Or maybe Hell just left it there as a reminder when they remade my body.”

“A reminder?”

Crowley shrugged, the loose nonchalance he was trying to affect ruined by the way his eyes flitted away from Aziraphale’s face. “A reminder that I’m weak or—or maybe reliant on them?”

Aziraphale ached for him. His heart was a crushing weight in his chest. You aren’t weak, he thought.

He swallowed and lifted a hand towards Crowley, hovering just shy of touching him. “May I see?” he asked in a quiet voice.

There was a moment when he thought that Crowley would refuse; would push himself away from the table and disappear into the bedroom; would hole himself away and sleep for a hundred years. But then Crowley sighed, resigned. He reached down and lifted the edge of his shirt, pivoting slightly so that Aziraphale could view the back of his hip.

The mark was obvious, but Aziraphale let his eyes drag over the rest of Crowley’s golden skin before he examined it. He ran his gaze along the shallow dips between each rib, counted the lumps of his spine. Patches of freckles stood out like tiny galaxies.

“You’re beautiful,” he said absentmindedly. Then he blushed.

Crowley huffed out a laugh, relaxing. “Thank you, angel. You’re not so bad yourself.” Aziraphale looked up at him just in time to catch a cheeky wink. He rolled his eyes.

“You’re also ridiculous.”

“You like me.”

“I certainly do not,” Aziraphale said airily and his heart gave a little flutter when Crowley chuckled. With a smile, he returned to his perusal of the warm skin before him, finally letting himself look at the white mark on Crowley’s side.

It was smaller than Aziraphale had initially thought—no bigger than a two pence—and was almost perfectly round. He suspected that whatever had made the mark had been intricately decorated, but the curving lines it left behind were now blurred and he couldn’t make out any details.

“You didn’t try to miracle this away?” he asked.

“Oh, I did,” Crowley said, sounding resigned. “No good. It’s one scar that I can’t make go away.”

It doesn’t really look like a scar. More like a patch of vitiligo, he thought, reaching up unthinkingly to touch the mark. He laid his fingertips against its edge and Crowley hissed out a shocked breath.

Aziraphale jerked his hand back, distraught. “Oh, I’m sorry!” he stammered. “I-I didn’t—”

“You’re fine,” Crowley said, a slight tremble in his voice. His shirt was still pulled up, but he’d reached down to cover the mark with his own hand, rubbing at it. “Just startled me is all.”

Aziraphale watched him run his fingers along the skin, worry gnawing at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. You can touch me, if you want.”

“Well, dear, I always want to touch you,” he said without thinking and with far more levity than he felt. Crowley lifted his eyebrows at him and Aziraphale huffed. “Oh, hush. You’re hardly scandalized.”

Crowley grinned. “Here,” he said with a little sigh and reached over to take ahold of Aziraphale’s hand. His grip was a loose circle around his wrist, fingertips stroking over his pulse point and sending frissons of pleasure up his arm. Crowley pulled and Aziraphale went willingly, his heart in his throat. He let the demon press his palm against the mark, his own fingers smoothing over the back of Aziraphale’s hand before he let go. 

His skin was warm and pliant, and Aziraphale let himself enjoy having it beneath his fingers once again before he really focused on the mark. He ran a thumb along its edge. It was smooth, not raised like he expected a scar to be—more like a birthmark.

And then it struck Aziraphale. That’s exactly what it was: a birthmark. Crowley had been tortured, branded, killed, and then had carried the mark into his new body after his resurrection. A reminder of his failings.

Before he could think about what he was doing, Aziraphale leaned forward. He placed his lips over the mark, sucking a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the white skin. Above him, he heard Crowley hiss in a startled breath. Fingers wove through his hair, caressing his scalp.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley asked, sounding breathless.

He kept his mouth where it was. Using his tongue and teeth and lips, he pressed love and reassurance down into the skin, marking Crowley’s side. The demon’s ragged breaths filled the kitchen and his fingers dragged through Aziraphale’s curls when he pulled back to examine his handiwork. Where the white birthmark had once been, the skin now stood out red and blotchy.

“Did you just give me a hickey?” Crowley asked, sounding equal parts offended and impressed.

“Not really,” Aziraphale said and passed a thumb over the red mark. Angelic power tingled like a static charge as he miracled the erythema away and Crowley gave a little jolt.

“Hey! What did you do?” he huffed and craned his neck to take a look.

Then he froze.

Aziraphale watched him, his pulse thrumming like hummingbird wings in his throat as Crowley touched the skin where the mark had once been. In its place, a mass of dark freckles now stood.

An angel’s kiss.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Aziraphale told him, his voice reedy. “I just—I adore you. I worship every inch of you. And if there is a part of you that causes you pain—a mark that reminded you of an event so traumatic you would despise an entire millennium because of it—Well, if I could take that mark away . . .”

Crowley looked up at him, his eyes wide, but said nothing. Aziraphale swallowed down the worry that threatened to choke him and continued.

“You aren’t weak,” he told Crowley. “You are wily and resilient and you care so much. I know that you’re a demon and you don’t want to hear it, but I see so much good in you that naming everything I love would be like counting the stars. I can’t do it. You are made of starlight. I wish that I was half as strong as—”

He didn’t get to finish. Crowley swooped down and caught his mouth in a bruising kiss. Aziraphale gasped into it and reached up to catch ahold of Crowley’s shoulders, hanging on. The demon’s fingers traced over the tops of his ears and down along his jawline as he kissed him, eliciting tiny shivers from Aziraphale.

It lasted only for a few seconds before Crowley retreated, playfully nipping at Aziraphale’s bottom lip as he went, but the angel was left winded. Crowley smiled at him, looking beautifully rumpled, and said, “Thank you, angel.”

It sounded remarkably like I love you, too.

Aziraphale grinned back, relief and happiness pouring out of his bones like sunlight and warming the garden blooming in his chest. His heart pounded. “You’re quite welcome, my dear.”

They spent a few moments quietly regarding one another, Crowley absentmindedly touching his side through his shirt. Then he reached out to Aziraphale, laying a hand against his cheek.

“I,” he said in a gentle voice, drawing out the syllable as he swept a thumb across the skin just beneath Aziraphale’s eye, “am going to take a shower.”

Aziraphale blinked. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Been asleep for a week,” Crowley said by way of explanation. He dropped his hand and pushed himself away from the table. Aziraphale watched him go, eyes drawn to the sway of his hips, and tried not to feel disappointment that Crowley was walking away instead of kissing him.

He sighed and mumbled, “Well then, I suppose I’ll make some tea.”

“Or you could join me?”

Aziraphale looked over at Crowley. He was standing in the kitchen entrance, leaning heavily against the doorframe. There was a smile on his face, and he looked soft and vulnerable in his too-big shirt and bare feet. Then his eyelids fluttered and his smile morphed into a predatory grin, lips curling up to reveal his straight, white teeth. Arousal dropped into Aziraphale’s stomach like a lead weight; his breath shuddered out of his lungs.

“C’mon, angel,” Crowley said, his voice a deep rumble like the beginnings of a summer storm. “I’ll put marks all over your skin this time.”

Then he disappeared through the doorway, leaving Aziraphale gaping in his wake. The angel sat there for a moment, listening as Crowley moved about on the other side of the small cottage. The shower started up.

Aziraphale thought about Crowley’s naked skin; about steam curling up around his legs and hips and back; about water beading along freckles instead of white birthmarks. He smiled and stood.

The tea could wait.

=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=  

Based on the prompt: “Why does Crowley hate the 14th century?” Requested by @needscaffeine. This took FOREVER, as I had to wrestle it to the ground and get it back on track several times.

[hurtcomfortetc]

A fill for Setting a Broken Bone featuring Jim Kirk and Nyota Uhura!

Uhura had volunteered for this mission, but the poor newly-recruited science officer had not. It felt unfair that the young man had been plucked onto his first ever away party into an Enterprise-grade shit show. 

Although, at the moment, Uhura wasn't even sure he'd made it down to the planet's surface. The moment that'd materialized, it was immediately apparent that they were in for trouble. 

“Where the hell is Ensign Roberts?” Kirk's voice came from somewhere close to her. 

To Uhura's eyes, she was on a flat, desolate landscape. It appeared to be made up mostly of packed brown dirt, oddly reminiscent of the quarries in Iowa where the Enterprise had docked when she'd met Kirk. The air was filled with glistening particles that looked like crystal dust particles. Uhura took in a cautious breath, expecting to choke on a breath of sand, but it felt smooth as butter. 

She spun around, searching frantically. There was not a single, solitary figure on the horizon. 

“Captain?” She said, trying desperately to keep her voice level. 

“I'm right here-” Kirk replied. After what must have been a subtle shift in position, he appeared beside her like a mirage. She grabbed his upper arm like a life preserver. He took a look at her expression and pulled up his communicator with stormy eyes. 

“Sorry, Captain, there was a glitch in the transporter and we delayed his arrival.” 

“Good,” Kirk cut in, curtly. “No one else is coming down here until we figure out what's happening.” 

“Sir, from our readings, you should be in the center of the civilization, as planned.” 

“I know where we were supposed to be, what I need to know now is where we actually are.”

“We're on it. But, Captain, we're also detecting a frequency from the planet's surface that seems to be contributing to the misfire in location. We can't beam you and Lieutenant Uhura back until it's resolved or we risk-” 

“Send Chekov to the transporter room. If he can't figure it out, then we're in trouble. Let me know once you have news. We're going to see if we can find anything on our end.”

“Understood.”

“Kirk out.” 

Kirk took a long, surveying look at the planet's surface.

“Reminds me of that summer I got sent to work in the salt mines,” he said, smiling wryly. 

“Is that some type of backwards Midwest expression for 'oh, shit'?” Uhura countered. She was only marginally steadied by his attempt to lighten the mood. There was something sinister about the desolate horizon, the 360 degree optical illusion of it, the silence. 

“Ladies pick the direction,” Kirk offered. Uhura rolled her eyes, and pointed straight ahead, towards the descending orange sun. He nodded. 

“Weird, that was exactly the direction I was thinking,” he said. He started walking forward, his steady steps portraying a nonchalance in the face of their surroundings that almost seemed natural. 

Nyota followed her captain, but couldn't help staring out into the mysterious swirling horizon, trying to make a semblance of visual sense out of it. 

They had just settled into a rhythm when Uhura heard a strangled yelp from Kirk, and then scraping sound followed by a low thud. She spun around, heart pounding. 

By all appearances, she was alone. 

“Captain!” She yelled. 

“Down here!” Kirk's voice came, sounding both further away than she expected, and very near. 

“Down where?” She called. 

“Right in front of you,” he replied, voice strained. Uhura took a step forward, peering around and wondering if this was all an elaborate hoax. 

“Wait, careful! You're right on the edge,” Kirk cautioned. Uhura inspected the surface in front of her carefully. It looked like a shiny, mineral covered pathway, not a cliff's edge in sight. Still, and possibly only because no one was there to witness it, Uhura lowered herself gingerly onto her butt and tentatively pushed herself forward, prodding the ground in front of herself with her feet. 

Sure enough, just as she was about to be overwhelmed by the ridiculousness of her position, her foot dropped out. Uhura took in a sharp breath of air, horrified to see her foot seemingly disappear in the swirling mineral ground. Her stomach swooped, but she crept further forward until the illusion dissipated, and she spotted her captain lying on the ground about eight feet below. He was gripping his arm near his elbow and his face was milk white. 

“There you are,” she breathed, still working to shake the ambient unease from the optical illusion. 

“No shit,” he grit out. Uhura set her face against a grimace, deciding to allow the slip-up in light of the clear pain Kirk was in. 

“How badly are you hurt?” She asked. Kirk looked dismally at his crooked arm, and then back up at her. 

“I'm fine-” 

Uhura shot him a warning look. 

“-just this arm is for sure broken,” Kirk continued, wisely. 

Uhura took out her comm. 

“McCoy here.”

“Doctor McCoy, Captain Kirk just fell about eight feet off of a ledge. Other than a broken arm, he seems fine, but I don't know what to do.” 

There was a heavy pause during which Uhura was sure she could hear McCoy pull his most lethal “disappointed but not surprised” face.  

“Dammit, Jim. Are you with him?” 

“Yes.” 

“Dammit, Jim!” McCoy repeated. “Are you physically incapable of not -” 

“Thanks for the concern, Bones. Can we skip the lecture and get some actual medical advice?” 

“What type of fracture is it?” 

Uhura peered down at Kirk's mangled limb, but couldn't manage to make decipher anything about it other than “gross.”

“I'm not a doctor, Bones.” 

“Come on, Jim. You're practically an expert at broken bones.”

Kirk rolled his eyes. 

“Fine. It's closed, probably displaced.” 

McCoy sighed heavily on the other end of the line. 

“Uhura, how much do you remember from your field medicine training?”

“Enough,” she replied, without hesitation. It wasn't exactly true, but Uhura figured she would be better than nothing in a pinch. God, she'd hated medical training...

“Good, you're going to have to set and stabilize it. You two need to be mobile on that godforsaken rock.”

Kirk's face managed to lose even more color, which Uhura hadn't thought was possible. 

“Ugh.”

“I heard that. Sack up, Jim. This is what you get for being more danger prone than a fucking medieval princess. Now hang tight, I'm filling Spock in on the situation. McCoy out.” 

For what it was worth, McCoy's ribbing seemed to restore some of the vitality to Kirk. He now looked more delicately pissed off than immediately corpse-like. 

“Sorry about this, Lieutenant,” Kirk said. Uhura felt a flare of anxiety. She much preferred her Captain unrepentant, demanding. 

“No need,” she stated. 

There was a moment of heavy silence. 

“So, you and Spock.” Kirk said, plainly. 

Uhura started, and then briefly wondered if he'd hit his head, after all. 

“What?”  Her sharp tone made Kirk shift nervously, then attempt to stifle a wince when he jarred his broken arm. 

He cleared his throat uncomfortably, but forged on. 

“Look, we have some free time here, and I would love a distraction.”

“It would be unprofessional to discuss my personal, romantic life -” 

“Actually, this is a professional question.”

“What?” Uhura was just about to reach her maximum limit for surreal experiences for the day. 

“I'm actually supposed to write a report on interpersonal relationships between crew men. In the event of a possible need for intervention.”

Uhura felt like she'd been clubbed over the head. Of course James T. Kirk would find a regulation to follow in order to gossip. 

Kirk seemed to recognize her tacit assessment of his thought process. 

“Look, I've been putting it off for a while now, since you guys have seemed fine. But I need something to write, officially,” he explained, and at least had the courtesy to seem genuinely apologetic. 

Uhura might have told him to stick it where the sun don't shine, but the thin lines of pain around his eyes were a powerful incentive to speak. 

“We're both entirely capable of working together. It ended amicably.” 

“You're still friends.” He didn't phrase it as a question. 

Uhura actually thought about it. Friends didn't fully encompass how she felt, but it wasn't incorrect. Not exactly. 

“Yes.” 

Kirk didn't miss her hesitation, but he looked away, unable to conjure a follow up question that might not provoke her more. 

“We grew apart,” she found herself saying. At the same time, she realized that she hadn't really spoken to anyone about her relationship with Spock. Everyone on the Enterprise kept a careful distance from the topic, as he was her commanding officer. While no one had ever been rude or spoken against her, Uhura had convinced herself that she appreciated the privacy, the way that their feelings were so personal and covert. 

For the first time, she wanted desperately to talk about it. It felt like a physical urge, like hunger or exhaustion. 

“He was always bound by his duty, to his people and to the Enterprise. I wanted something else,” she said. Her skin was crawling with the bold honesty of the statement. She forced herself to look at Kirk, to regain some sense of casual calm. 

Kirk's lips quirked up from some private sense of irony. Then he caught her shooting him a questioning look. 

“Sorry, I just – I get it. Spock has an interesting set of priorities.” 

Uhura wondered whether Kirk was marveling at Spock's undying need to put his job before his chance at meaningful relationships, or if he was relating to it.

“Is that enough for your report?” Uhura asked, wryly. 

“I can paraphrase if I need to.” Kirk matched her tone. 

Uhura opened her mouth to attempt to say something meaningful when her communicator signaled her. 

“McCoy here. You guys ready for this?”

[leavyes-a]

meta on media consumption as beholding, and the creation of the conservator role, based on conversations with @hdtvtits​. content warning, as always, for addiction, compulsive / obsessive behavior, aggressive hoarding, and implied terminal illness, all of the eldritch variety. also allusions to real-life hollywood dramas, though nothing remotely specific is discussed in this post.

foreword: this is just the first part of a bunch of meta i’ll likely end up posting on why levi is what they are and why their beholding manifests the way it does, because like... for secrets and the underbelly of film production i have a lot to say but a lot to source as well. but there are a few things i want to address in this post, namely: what the eye feeds off of, whether or not levi is feeding the eye in their media consumption ( and how ), and how it ultimately serves the eye’s purposes to have this be levi’s method of feeding. this probably won’t even be my last post on the subject as i keep sort of logicking out the way that beholding works and how it can manifest. it’s important to me though that it exist and function outside of just what happens in the institute ( which is proven in the statements ), mostly because fear entities are global and primal and jonny said that the story really is britain-centric. now, media consumption isn’t particularly groundbreaking; it addresses a more american culture, but that’s still western-centric and sort of ‘typical’ of europe and america, though i will say that european filmmaking as an institution is... different. it has its own history and quirks. hollywood is its own beast. someday i’ll make a post on levi’s judaism and how that interacts with beholding and manifests as more than their aesthetic, because they haven’t even used their ayin hara on this blog yet though it’s a ( minor ) power they possess, but that deserves its own post. ANYWAYS. with that said.

what does the eye feed off of? the eye doesn’t just function based off a primal fear, it has a drive that it imbues its servants with: “it is the manifestation of the fear of being watched, exposed, followed, of having secrets known, but also the drive to know and understand, even if your discoveries might destroy you.” i think that most of the entities function in a similar way, with the things they inspire and feed off of on the one hand, and avatars with a desire to evoke that fear in the other; i.e., avatars create food to feed their entity, and if they don’t, the entity devours them instead. that’s pretty basic knowledge. ( i also have stuff to say about entities consuming themselves because every time claire says autocannibalism i go absolutely hog wild about it but that’s for another day. ) there are, then, multiple ways that an avatar can go about gathering fear for its entity, but what sets the eye apart from others, i believe, is that it doesn’t need to directly cause the fear it consumes -- though i think that it finds the fear of being watched more filling than just watching other people be afraid, it can still ‘survive’ off of that. this is where eye shit starts to get confusing and it’s why these posts are so longwinded and involve me talking myself in circles, because the eye both has a specific fear that it’s linked to and can devour other people’s experiences of fear that it did not cause, yes even before the apocalypse. that’s just how jon feeds for the majority of the series. for a good long while, he’s not going out and getting statements himself; and even when he does, he’s double dipping on both the fear they convey to him about their experiences ( knowledge gained ) and the fear that this man is pulling information out of them ( secrets exposed ). 

but that’s jon and we’re not talking about jon, we’re talking about levi, and my ever-evolving thesis on voyeurism in / and media. 

so what does an eye avatar need to do, exactly, to eat? it needs to accumulate knowledge, that’s the baseline that it can survive off of -- knowledge of the other entities is best, but i don’t know that it’s a requirement... and i don’t know if it’s not! i am going to make the call that eye avatars can survive off of just hoarding information because the eye isn’t super picky and wants to know everything anyways, but not feeding off of fear for a long time is going to leave the avatar really weak. and for an eye avatar to develop its powers and grow, it needs to take statements directly, or else give other people the distinct feeling of being observed against their will. the more people it feeds off of as a result of its own actions, the more powerful it becomes. that said, i don’t think this is common, which is why watchers ( heads of institutes ) have set up these systems where they’re generating food for themselves on two axes simultaneously: fear of people who give statements, and fear of people who have to work at their institutes ( either taking statements or working directly under the eye ). that just sort of accumulates power upwards within eye bureaucracies, though the archivists who take and sort the statements are also going to become remarkably powerful if they lean into their role.

( also side note: these systems work for the english, american, and chinese institutes, but there are ways for beholding avatars to thrive outside of them, and again someday i’m going to post about oral traditions and the ability to craft stories in different regions of beholding that feed the eye. but i need to do research first and we’re talking about levi! )

here’s the thing... levi is not an archivist. levi is not powerful. levi does not have a strong connection to beholding. they worship it, but fanaticism does not equal feeding, sadly, and the role they’ve been given is not one that pushes them to go and gather statements for themselves. they have taken read and statements at afi, because wyatt was raising them into an avatar, but, though conservators and archivists can overlap in the real world, they ( in my word of god for this blog’s canon and the monster i made up ) are two very different things under the eye. essentially, conservators serve archivists ( and watchers ) by witnessing, recording, and playing back statements that archivists can then maneuver through. the more experienced the conservator, the more they can shift the camera, allowing the archivist to comb through statements in detail and pull the knowledge that they want from them. remember that the beholding grants knowledge, not understanding, and while that may be fine for the eye, sometimes its ‘human’ servants need to put the pieces together in order to advance its plans.

the conservator is a relatively new position within beholding, because it does function like a film camera. i think that, in other times, places, and cultures, there were similar avatars who filled a similar role, but it wasn’t the same. the conservator really is a miskatonic / american experiment to help the institute delve into the information it already possessed. for one example of how conservators are useful, consider what happened with sasha: the archivist had his voice recordings of her, because it can’t effect magnetic tape, but jon the person still had her wiped completely from his memory. that wouldn’t happen to a conservator, because all of their memories are converted into (meta)physical tape stock. they are a lockbox that cannot be opened or altered unless you’re a more powerful beholding avatar. ( the limitation here is that they only have so much storage space, they will need to expunge some memories to store more; though those memories can be kept in physical containers, film stock obviously degrades and is a very unstable and extremely flammable medium; their body will also internally decompose to make room for more data and that is a painful process that eventually renders the conservator just a storage without any ability to function beyond sitting still and replaying witnessed / read events. )

we’ve established that levi feeds normally. they take statements, they are present in an archive, they’re hearing the scary stories. finally, finally on to why levi consumes media and how levi consumes media, because the one is intrinsically linked to the other. let me start by saying that just watching television or films does not a beholding avatar make. yes you are watching, but the distinction is in whether you are passively or actively viewing. and the power that is drawn from someone zoning out and being addicted to passively consuming media does not go to the eye. that is neither a fear of being observed ( for the one watching or for the actors / writers, because nobody is going to care about an audience that doesn’t form an opinion at all beyond basic emotional reactions; uncritical consumers are milk and honey to them ) nor a pursuit of knowledge ( passively accepting knowledge is, according to elias, far less effective in raising up eye avatars than letting them learn to ‘see’ on their own ). all that power goes to mx media ( @hdtvtits​ ) or, if you don’t like crossovers, Just Definitely Not the Eye. it’s when you start performing analysis that the eye takes interest -- which is why the eye continues to thrive in academia ( au where i write meta on just how bad that gets, historically, but again there are things we don’t get into until we research thoroughly ). the more you lose yourself in compiling information, to the exclusion of everything else, the more you appeal to beholding. and when you start unveiling secrets, which there are plenty of in film and film production, things kept private from the audience, ‘movie magic’, then feeding can begin.

this may come as a surprise, but levi does not have a response to whether or not they ‘like’ movies. if you ask them, ‘did you enjoy that movie?’ they will not say ‘yes’ or ‘no’, they will just start launching into ripping it apart. levi probably started out enjoying movies recreationally, but at some point, they became not just unwilling to but incapable of watching films without analyzing -- and what separates this from normal people who are conscientious and engaged viewers is that this is a mania that spans hours. their ‘digestion’ of a film is obsessive and has a physical component because it is eldritch in nature. i can’t stress enough that levi isn’t just a pretentious film buff who says ‘oh i can’t consume media for pleasure or uncritically’, though they may have been at some point in their college career! they have a physical and metaphysical makeup that drives them to frenzy over what they watch. the instant they finish a film, they’ll begin a rapid accumulation of knowledge of anything they can dig up: the who, what, when, where, why, how. if they do have an emotional response, it’s incredibly removed, and their way of processing it is to drill into how and why the film made them feel that way. 

if they try to avoid this step in the process -- if they just watch a movie, turn it off, and attempt to go to bed -- they will start to weaken immediately. watching the movie isn’t enough for feeding. if it was, the eye wouldn’t take any interest at all. it’s the genuinely out-of-control driving impulse to keep researching and researching until there is nothing left about a piece of media that isn’t known, shredding through academic papers and script drafts and director’s notes and interviews and everything they can get their hands on, that stems from and feeds beholding. they do not settle for what is put on the screen. they will even cold call creators in a fit and try to get them to talk about the production ( which is, yes, invasive -- beholding is an eldritch entity, it is not healthy or good and does not inspire healthy or good habits! ). 

they may not even be capable of enjoying a piece on its own merits; it’s all about the world it opens up to them, it’s about stuffing themselves with information until they can’t breathe and overstimulate and pass out. then recovery from that can take days as they process what they learned and sort it all out in their mind. they don’t really do much with this information; just knowing it is enough. if an archivist or watcher wants to take action about it, they can ask levi to spit it back up for them. but ultimately, despite the impact that this has on their health, this is still low-level feeding for a low-level avatar. unless it’s a truly gruesome movie or has an exceptionally shady production background, it’s not really the fear that the eye is looking for. levi is feeding one half of beholding, the half that wants them to consume knowledge and secrets. if levi didn’t take / read statements as well, or go out and witness live horrific events, they would probably starve -- their body would eat itself processing knowledge.

and i will talk about the component of parasocial relationships, anxiety that stems from being an actor / director / content creator in general and having your work and your image spiral out of control as it’s ripped apart and dissected by consumers, because that is beholding territory as well. it’s just not actually what levi does, but because it relates to the media-beholding relationship, i’ll have it on this blog.

[thorscock-y]

Out of character (NSFW)

Request:  Can you do one Steve and the reader (his girlfriend) are not that experienced but she always saw things about being blindfolded and always wanna to try? And she's a little shy while asking to Steve? She talks about being blindfolded and tie up? But Steve totally get on board and teases her every time by not letting her come (we all know Steve would do that), and goes completely slowly and is all about pleasing her? Smut one

Warnings: Smut, Dom Steve, Bondage kink, Captain Kink, Just a teeny tiny little spanking, oral, female receiving, fingering, Steve being a freaking tease, NSFW IMAGES, 18+

Author’s Note: I’m sorry if this is bad, this was slightly rushed. My requests are currently over flowed and I just want to share that after going out and watching infinity war for like the fifth time to get inspiration I got pretty excited to write this.

Disclaimer: No gifs belong to me, rightful credit to owners :)

Masterlist

“Y/N, stop getting excited over there. It’s weird.” Natasha said.

She had noticed the way you were squeezing your thighs together every sex scene of the movie and biting your lip while paying extra attention. Not only did she notice but so did Wanda. She laughed at Natasha’s comment while looking at you.

“I am not getting excited.” You scoff, attempting to lie. “What are you talking about?”

You, Natasha and Wanda were having a fun girl’s movie night with ice cream, candy, and a lot of movies. Movies that consisted of hot guys with their shirts off. Right now Fifty Shades of Grey was on and you were getting slightly turned on at the sex scenes.

“Yeah, okay then let your legs separate and breathe.” She said in a challenging manner.

“No, I’m cold.” You lied and grabbed the blanket off the bed, throwing it over your body.

“Cold or horny?” Wanda asked with a raise of her eyebrows.

You widened your eyes then playfully threw a pillow at her which she stopped with her power and threw right back at you.

“For the love of Jesus, I am not horny.” You tried once again to fool them but they both knew it was a lie.

“You know I can read minds right?” She asked you, cocking her head to the side.

Oh shit, you had been caught and your cheeks flamed slightly.

“You know it’s okay to want to try a little fifty shades of grey action with Steve? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” Natasha said.

“Are you kidding me? Are we thinking about the same Steve Rogers? Captain America? Tall guy with blonde hair, beautiful blue eyes?” Sarcasm was evident in your voice though you couldn’t help it. It was just apart of your personality.

“Okay look all I’m saying is it wouldn’t be a bad idea to speak up and present the idea to him.”

“How do you even know I’m interested in that kind of stuff? Okay, I may just be thinking about it right now and forget all about it later.” Another lie.

“Lies, I’ve been seeing the articles you’ve been reading about being blindfolded with your partner. And also being tied up.” Natasha chuckles digging in her ice cream with her spoon. “Yeah, stop leaving your laptop open on the dining room table so the whole tower can see your sexual interests.”

“Not to mention the receipt you dropped last night.” Wanda added, giving you a mischievous grin.

A confusing look spreads across your face. “What receipt?”

“You purchased a blindfold and bondage rope.” As soon as the words leave her mouth, the two of your best friends began to laugh horrendously while you sit there, bewildered that you had made such a little mistake as to dropping a receipt.

“Did anyone else see it or find it?” You ask in panic.

“Well only me, but Vision knows but that’s only because I tell him everything.” Wanda replies.

“Vision knows?! Oh my gosh, he probably thinks I’m some kind of sex freak.”

“Who cares what other people think, Y/N? If you want to do that with Steve, then go for it.” Natasha says, urging you on.

“Well the thing is we’re not experienced guys, I mean neither one of us have much sex with other people. I know he and Sharon had a little thing going on before him and I began to date and I maybe have dealt with one other guy? And the sex wasn’t even amazing so I’m just not sure about trying something like this when I’m not experienced.”

It was true.  And because the two of you had very limited knowledge of how sex really went it was very gentle, full of passion and love and yes it felt good.  But that’s how every sex session went and after a while it got pretty plain. You hated to think that way about Steve because you loved him so much but you couldn’t help it. You wanted more so when you were reading through a catalog and found a little passage of how to spice things up in the bedroom, one certain kink caught your attention. You couldn’t stop thinking about it.

“Hell, do you think Bruce and I were experienced? No, and we still do it when we roleplay.” Natasha says, casually popping a sour patch in her mouth while looking at the TV.

“Wait, Bruce blindfolds you and ties you up and-“

“Yep,” She nods, smirking to herself. “Almost every now and then we like to try something different but that was one of our first trial runs and let me tell you sister.” She turns towards you and holds up three fingers. “Three words. Mind. Blowing. Orgasm.”

Wanda covers her ears, shaking her head.  

“Okay, I think I’ve heard enough.” She says, her cheeks forming a little red.

Ignoring Wanda you become interested in Natasha’s topic. You’re also surprised Bruce would do something like that, you honestly saw him as more of a vanilla guy like Steve. The inner hulk must come out and turn him into a huge freak in the sheets.

“Would you be willing to tell me how it goes?” You ask shyly. It’s uncommon of you to share your sexual desires with anyone other than yourself because no one even suspected Steve and you had sex. Everyone saw you as an innocent flower and everyone saw Steve as a church boy.

“Wanda, you might want to exit the room for the night.” Natasha said but kept her eyes on you, preparing herself for this outlandish conversation.

“Alright and that is my cue,” Wanda stood up, grabbing her pint of ice cream. Before leaving she leaned over, pressing a kiss to your forehead.  “Be safe if you decide to go through with your plan, Y/N.”

“You know I always am, love ya.”

“Love ya too.”

After Wanda is gone, you turn to Natasha, the both of you have that same knowing look of what’s about to go down.

To put it long story short, Natasha booked a small cute condo for you and Steve so your first time experiencing this could be more private and you could be as loud as you wanted. Because God knows the whole team would be on your ass about your loud moaning. To be honest you weren’t so sure about this plan, you were actually on the verge of calling it quits.

You were just soooo nervous and shy to ask of such a thing from Steve. Mostly your biggest fear is that he would reject you and maybe even leave you, thinking you were weird. Natasha ordered you not to think that way but how could you not? Steve never gave off that type of vibe that he was a dominant man in the bedroom whatsoever. Just hope for the best, the worst he can do is say no.

The next night you were dressed in a large black coat with nothing but some black lace panties underneath. Natasha had instructed you that that was the best way to do it so you decided why the heck not. Packed away in a suitcase under the bed was a whole pajama outfit, just in case he turned you down you wouldn’t have to stick around in just panties.

You sat on the bed, heart beating like crazy, nerves going like crazy as well. Your phone rang and you picked it up, putting it to your ear.

“Hello?” You said.

“He’s on his way. He just left the tower. You all dressed and ready?” Natasha asked.

The plan was for Natasha to tell Steve that you wanted to get away from the tower for a little bit so you were staying in a condo and wanted him to come along with. He had just come home from a mission so of course he would come and see you, he always missed you after missions.

“Umm, yeah. I’m ready. Nat I don’t think I can do this, maybe we should just forget this whole thing.” You say, chewing on your bottom lip nervously.

“Y/N, everything is going to be fine. Just calm down okay, I can practically feel your anxiety through the phone.”

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna have an anxiety attack, I can’t stop shaking.”

“Listen to me. If there is one thing I know about Steve Rogers it’s that he is incurably in love with you. When he was with Sharon he never even talked about her half as much as he’s talked about you, scratch that he barely even talked about her unless she was brought up. With you, you’re always the topic of discussion and even Wanda says you’re always on his mind so what I’m trying to say is even if he does say no, which he won’t,” You giggled. “He will still be your loving boyfriend that adores you and loves you so stop putting too much thought into it.”

Natasha honestly knew how to lighten things, and this is the exact reason why you love her so much and she’s your best friend.

“Thanks Nat, I really needed that. “ Your spirits were lifted by just a bit.

“Of course, now get up, stop being nauseous and have fun tonight. I expect a text by the end of night saying “it happened”

“Alright, we’ll see. But I gotta go, love you bitch.”

“Love you too bitch.”

And with that you hung up the phone then put it on the bedside table. The condo is a ten minute drive from the tower so he would most likely be here pretty soon. To calm yourself down you take deep breaths and then breathe out. It’s not really doing much but it’s helping just a little.

About seven minutes later you hear the front door of the condo open making your heart leap in your chest.

“Y/N, honey?” His sweet voice rings all through the condo. Okay good, he’s in a good mood.

“In here.” You say, your voice cracking a bit. Right now you’re nervous more than ever because it’s happening now and there’s no going back afterwards.

You hear his footsteps striding over into the bedroom and then he appears. Fuck he looks hot. A white tight shirt that’s hugging his bulging muscles and khakis to wear as pants. He makes khakis look so good, he actually made anything look good. His hotness was so distracting.

“Hey doll,” He says smiling sweetly at you. He leans down and pecks your forehead then plops down on the bed, sitting right beside you. “Are you cold? Why do you have that coat on?”

Heart still palpitating, you stand up in front of him. Gathering all your courage you decide that this is it. As badly as you want to wiss out, you don’t knowing you also want this man to dominate you more than anything.

“Um, well, that’s kind of why I invited you here tonight.” That shy feeling crept over you and you couldn’t help but look down at the ground, avoiding his eyes. “I wanted to try something new tonight. L-Like where you maybe blindfold me and tie me up, and j-just do anything you want to me.”

Finally you felt the boldness to glance up at him to see he has an enigmatic look on his face. You look back down, fumbling with your nails.

“I understand if you don’t want to and-“

“I can do anything I want to you?” His question causes you to snap your head up and look at him, this time he’s smirking while biting his lip. The shy feeling slowly slips away and is replaced with excitement.

“Yes.” You reply, your voice soft and shallow.

He stands up, his body towering over yours. He looks down at you, a hard look now on his face.

“Anything?”

You nod, looking into his eyes.  You trusted Steve not to do anything you couldn’t handle or didn’t like so you were giving him full control. He came closer to you so now there was no space between the two of you. Slowly he slid his hand down the curve of your waist, the other hand on the other side and then he gripped your body towards his with such force. That was so unlike him.

Before you could react to it, he leaned down, his lips colliding with yours. This kiss was so different from the other ones you usually have. This was rough and hard. Needless to say you liked it and were enjoying yourself. You wrapped your hands around his neck, causing the kiss to go deeper but as soon as you do that he pulls away. He looks into your eyes before untying the ties of your coat and letting it fall down on the floor so now you’re bare naked in front of you soldier boyfriend who is turned on even more to see you in nothing but panties.

Your nipples perk up in response to the cold feeling.

Steve leans back down, kissing you once again. His hands move to your ass, gripping it with need. He pulls away from the kiss then moves over to your ear.

“Did my naughty kinky girl, provide a blindfold and bondage for this occasion?”  He asks his voice deeper than usual.

You’re still in shock at his new behavior so when you don’t respond right away, his hand comes up then comes back down against your ass giving it a hard smack. You yelp in surprise but answer.

“In the gore of the bedside desk.” You say quickly.

“Good, now I would like you to lie down on the bed. Can you do that for Captain?” He comes back in front of your face so he can see you.

“Yes, Captain.” You respond, knowing that that is what he would like to be called.

“Now do it.” He demands.

You walk around him then go and lie, back down on the bed while he goes to the gore that you said the items were in. He gets them out then decides he’ll blindfold you first. You lie there, staring up at the ceiling, afraid to look at him after his tone of voice earlier. You were more turned on than scared to be honest. It drove you crazy how dominant he was being with you and the best part hadn’t even begun.

Steve crawled in between your legs, blindfold in his hand. He looks down at you darkly before placing the blindfold over your eyes and tying it to the back of your head as well but not too tight. He didn’t want to hurt you. He grabbed the bondage ropes and took your arms, placing them over your head. He tied your wrists to the headboard, once again making sure that it wasn’t too tight but just tight enough so that you wouldn’t be able to break free.

He stood back up, admiring his work and admiring how beautiful your body looked, all laid out and ready for him. You didn’t know what was going on or what he was doing for it was pitch black and you couldn’t see anything. Nothing at all. It just made the moment even more exciting.

“I’ll be right back.” He said and then you hear his footsteps walking away out of the bedroom.

Where was he going? You wondered.  Your body was ready, heat flooding your face, stomach, and especially between your legs but he had walked out? Did you do something wrong? You wondered. You decide to let the anxiety pass through you and trust that Steve knows what he’s doing.

Five minutes later, you’re still lying there and as you’re about to call out his name, you suddenly feel the warm touch of something sliding up your thigh. Your body jumps at the sudden touch of Steve’s tongue gliding up your thigh, slowly. How had he came back and you hadn’t even heard him? He was very quiet, you guess.

He plants soft like kisses all the way up your stomach, licking over your navel causing your hips to jerk up in response. He moves his kisses painfully back down to your already soaked clothed folds and licks over your panties before capturing it into a kiss. Your breath hitches in your throat as your body is now in flames.

Instead of continuing to eat you out he decides to tease you. He firmly kisses your clothed clit and you wish he would just take off your panties so you can feel his mouth. But you said he could do anything he wanted so you stick to your words.

You then don’t feel his lips at all and instead you feel the bed lowering beneath you as he’s crawling in between your legs. Lowering his head, he moves his mouth close to your breasts so you can feel the heat of his hot breath against you causing your nipples to harden in response. He teases your nipple with the tip of his tongue then sucks it into his mouth, earning a soft moan from you.

Pulling away, he looks up at you briefly before going to the other nipple, teasing it just the same then sucking it into his mouth, this time a bit more rough.

He grips your breasts, one in each hand before ravishing them, every now and then nipping with his teeth making you jump and gasp. When he sees you can no longer take it, he kisses up your neck, sucking at your pulse point where he knows is one of your weakest points.

After making a few hickey’s to show you are his, he moves his face in front of yours. He kisses your cheek then licks the side of your face right next to your mouth then kisses you roughly.

Without hesitation you kiss him back, craving his lips against yours, swallowing your moans and biting on your lip.

“You like that don’t you, huh?” He asked then didn’t let you reply as he yet again pulled you into another hard kiss. “You like it rough?” He says against your lips.

“Yes, Cap-“ You’re interrupted by the feeling of his fingers on your pussy, rubbing you making you moan against his mouth.

He looks down at you, loving how beautiful you look beneath him. Even if he can’t fully see your face , hearing you is enough.

“Damn doll, already soaked through your panties and I’ve barely started.” He kisses you hungrily one more time before pulling away. He stands up next to the bed.  “We’re going to play a little game, okay? No coming until I allow it, do you understand?”

“Yes.” You say with a nod.

You feel Steve grab your breasts rather harshly and you jump in surprise.

“Yes what?”

“Yes Captain.” You quickly correct yourself.

“Mmm, good girl.” He rubs his thumb over your nipple then leans down kissing your neck for a few seconds before moving away from you completely leaving you wanting more.

You hear the movement of something, not sure of what it is but it left you impatient. Once you hear the zipper of his pants, you know he’s taking his clothes off and that’s gets you excited to feel your strong soldier above you. But then you remember your hands are tied above you so you won’t be able to touch him.

Out of nowhere you feel him kissing along your inner thighs, placing a kiss everywhere, except where you needed him the most. He was such a tease and he enjoyed watching you squirm in anticipation, tugging on the ropes uselessly.

Finally after a little bit of teasing, he grabbed the hem of your panties then pulled them off, throwing them somewhere in the room.

And just like an animal leaping towards its prey, Steve’s mouth went straight to your pussy, greedily licking in between your labia.  Clenching your fists against the rope, you moan loudly. He licks along your mound before he nibbles on your pussy lips, testing the waters to see if you like it. Steve isn’t one to eat you out much, like you said it’s just basic sex.

So you’re surprised that he’s so well at this certain task. It feels so fucking good. He licks his tongue over your clit causing your back to arch. He quickly puts his arm over your waist to hold you down then continues on eating you out as if you’re his last meal on earth. Wanting to take special care of your entrance he darts his tongue inside of you, glancing up at you to see your head thrown back, moaning breathlessly. Just the reaction he wanted.

And as soon as you feel the ting in your stomach, preparing you to come he stops eating you.

“What the-“

Your words are stopped. His index finger slowly slides into your slick pussy and it’s a second later when another finger joins in. He pumps them slowly inside of you, purposely to tease you.

He licks over your clit before stopping immediately causing you to whine. He was teasing the fuck out of you and it had you sexually frustrated as hell. He pumps his fingers inside of you and out of you, keeping the slow pace up, every now and then he’d speed up causing your orgasm to arrive but then he’d stop just as soon as you were about to come. It was the most painful pleasure you’d ever experienced.

Soon enough you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Captain, please let me come. Please.” You begged, sounding so desperate but you were too in the moment to care.

Steve almost fucked you right there because you sounded so beautiful begging but he fought off the urge knowing it would be better to tease you first.

“Not until I say.” He attached his mouth back to your clit, licking figure eights while his two digits sped up and by this rate you were for sure to come. If he pulled away, you’d lose your mind. “Come for me, princess.” He spoke darkly and then watched as you released yourself all over your fingers and he couldn’t help himself as he leaned down and lapped up all your juices, drinking down every drop making your high more enjoyable for you.

“Good girl.” He murmurs placing one more kiss on your heat. You smile to yourself. You liked being his good girl. “But we’re not done yet, darling.”

You hear movement of the bed and wonder what he could possibly be doing now. You feel his hands on your legs, spreading them apart and you know he’s going to fuck you.

“Same rules apply, don’t come until allowed to. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Captain.”

He rubs his cock over your soaking folds then over your slit, coating his shaft with your wetness. You moan at the contact and roll your hips over his cock, eager to have him inside of you.

“Did I say you could move?”

Like a good girl, you stop your movements and lay there even though you’re dying for him.

He chuckles and under the blindfold you roll your eyes.

He’s such a fucking tease, you think to yourself.

He flicks his cock over your clit and your breath hitches. He wasn’t gonna fuck you that easy without an agonizing amount of teasing.

For a moment he doesn’t do anything. He does this on purpose to keep you thinking of what’s gonna happen next. And all you’re thinking is this is the most impatient you’ve ever been in your life yet it felt so exciting not knowing what was going to happen next.

Without any warning Steve thrusts into you, roughly, stretching you and filling you to your fullest. No matter how many times you and Steve had sex, you were never used to his huge cock. The serum definitely made him gifted under the belt. Moaning out, your mouth fell open as he didn’t give you time to adjust and just kept fucking you.

“You like that doll? Like my cock buried inside of you?” He asked and smirked at how you moaned “captain” in contentment.  You loved his out of character words, it was a major turn on.

One hand gripped your waist while the other wrapped around your throat applying pressure, his thrusts continuing on. You honestly weren’t sure you would be able to hold on for much longer, first off because you had never been fucked so thoroughly and hard by anyone so your orgasm was arriving faster than you had expected. You felt his breath close to your lips and felt him lean down, sucking on your bottom lip.

When Steve felt the clench of your walls around him, he pulled out of you to once again tease you. You whimpered at the loss of contact and wanted to scream. Months of thinking about this and the lust that it had created was pushing through making it harder for you to keep calm.

With quick hands he loosens the rope on your wrists then flips you over and lifts your ass into the air. Whoa, that was so unexpected. You’ve never done this position before, another new thing you’re trying tonight.

“Ready sweetheart?”  He asks, placing a sweet soft kiss on your ass.

“Yes.” You reply panting and as soon as the words leave your mouth, he enters you once again, you now perfectly stretching around his length. Both of you moan in unison at the intrusion then his hips snap into yours in a fast rhythm as he plows into you.

His grip on your hips is surely to cause bruises but you don’t mind. It will be a reminder that this is real and Steve actually did all these amazing things to you. A sinful grin spreads across his face as he watches your beautiful ass bounce on his dick, each thrust a moan leaves your parted lips.

Having not achieved your previous orgasm you can feel that build up radiating from your belly button down to your clit, your walls grabbing ahold of Steve’s cock, getting ready to let go.

“Fuck, you feel so good around me, babydoll.” He groans lowly. “But you may not come yet.”

You really weren’t sure if you could hold off until he said you could come. Almost every nerve in your body was aroused to the point where it was painful for you not to come. Yet once again the pain felt good and excited you. Natasha wasn’t lying when she said the thrill of this was so much fun.

“Oh, gosh, Cap, please!” You cry out as he rubs over your g-spot, perfectly hitting it.

“Please what, Y/N?” he asks, tauntingly knowing how badly you want to come. Watching you beg turns him on.

“Please, let me come captain!” You whine.

With a smack of your ass he says darkly. “Come Y/N.”

You don’t have to be told twice as you let your orgasm go and a feeling of electricity hums throughout all of your body. Somehow having to hold it, made it more mind blowing than any other you have ever had. Minutes passed and Steve hadn’t stopped which sent you into waves of pleasure as you were having multiple orgasms. Once again another thing that had never happened before in the bedroom with the two of you.

Somewhere along the time you were coming, Steve found his own release and growled deeply as he pulled out and came all over your back, stroking his cock and moaning. The obscene sound of his masculine moans could make you come but you knew you had no more left in you. For once you were full of complete contentment and were pleased with the sex session you just had.

Still panting and breathless, Steve flips you over on your back then removes the blindfold from your eyes. Your eyes flutter open, trying to adjust to the light. Once you’re used to it, you see Steve in front of you, looking down at you with that knowing grin. The grin he usually has after just completing a mission.

“Hi, doll.” He says, then rubs his hand over your cheek lovingly.

Blushing you say, “Hi, Captain.”

He chuckles, adoring how you’re still calling him by his title. After a hot shower together you’re cuddling and talking about how much fun that was. As  you’re about to fall asleep, you then remember Natasha. Grinning ear to ear, you grab your phone from the bedside table then text Natasha “It happened and it is SO happening again.”