#yes i’m aware of the irony of the account name

[lestatslestits]

Lestat de Lioncourt + Wolfpupy Tweets

[cavalierious-whim]

Heel (NeuWrioLette)

Wriothesley gets to spank Neuvillette cause he's had a bad day. Part of 'by the strange pull'.

Read here on AO3. You can also, follow me on Twitter, and here on Patreon!

--

“So good for me.”

Neuvillette jerks as Wriothesley’s hand presses against the curve of his spine. There is hesitation from them both as Neuvillette sucks in a breath, nostrils flaring. It isn’t fear. Gods, no. But there is a thrill there, a tendril of exhilaration that claws through his chest as his alpha perks in interest. A little teeth gnashing, a little bit of fight. A low growl bubbles from his throat, unable to be held back.

Wriothesley’s hand stills, thumbing digging into his spine to rub circles. “Is this still okay?” he asks. Not in judgment but genuine curiosity, a need to know. An out. He always gives him an out.

And despite the way that his instincts squirm, Neuvillette wants to see this through. “Yes.” A soft murmur as he tucks his face into the meat of Wriothesley’s thigh, spread over his lap, ass in the air. Mostly naked—from the waist down, his shirt rucked up above his hips. 

Wriothesley is careful as he touches him. Soft, sweeping motions. Gentle. Intended to not spook. He knows the sorts of instincts that Neuvillette wrestles with which makes his submission all the sweeter. And Neuvillette wants to give into him. Wriothesley needs it that day; needs to unwind and let loose, to take pleasure in something that calms him. To gain back a shred of control after a taxing day of work.

The irony isn’t lost on either of them. Neuvillette is often amused that one alpha is soothed by the other because by all accounts it should be the opposite. But they’ve never been the standard—either of them. Their natures have always been contradictory to others but complimentary to themselves. 

Wriothesley’s chambers are chilly. The air is damp and humid. The couch is utilitarian, unlike the posh fair found in Neuvillette’s home. 

“We’ve never done this before,” murmurs Wriothesley. His hand is hot against his back, unwrapped, bare, searing hot against Neuvillette’s skin. A grounding weight. Already Neuvillette feels his alpha shrink underneath it, lulled by the way Wriothesley drags a thumb down every notch of his spine. 

“I’m aware.”

“We don’t have to—”

“Wriothesley.” He doesn’t immediately answer. Neuvillette shifts, turning his face back to look at him. Wriothesley’s face is pinched, contemplative. He still smooths his thumb over his lower back, tracing the edges of each vertebra, as if he’s counting his words alongside each movement.

Neuvillette doesn’t smell distress. Hesitation, yes—but that is standard when they enter new territory. “Wriothesley,” says Neuvillette again, “do you need this?”

Wriothesley’s eyes meet his. “No.” An honest answer. That was something that Wriothesley always promised him—the truth. Even though he’s had a bad day, even though he’s wound tight and frustrated and just wants to let go; he can do that with cuddling, scenting, and a nice cup of tea.

But Neuvillette knows him. “Do you want this?”

Ah, there it is. A crack in Wriothesley’s composure. His nostrils flare. His eyes glint with mischief. He brushes his knuckles down the length of his back, palming over Neuvillette’s ass. Heat rises. Neuvillette’s alpha shifts, but in arousal, not disgust. 

“Yes,” says Wriothesley.

Neuvillette smirks, the subtlest curve to his lips. “Then do your worst, Your Grace.”

Wriothesley’s eyes narrow at that. The tease never fails to land, which is why Neuvillette often abuses it. A surefire way to rile him up. Wriothesley’s fingertips dig into his asscheek, testing the give. “Safe word?”

Most would roll their eyes. Neuvillette does not. “Sigewenne,” he replies, clear and concise. 

Wriothesley snorts. “Be serious.”

“I am.” Nothing would call their play to a stop quicker than crying out her name. Or Sedene—but Wriothesley is still annoyed that she dumped a pitcher of water on him when he last fell asleep on Neuvillette’s office couch. The levity works; Wriothesley relaxes, the tension easing from his form. “This is about you,” continues Neuvillette. “Do as you wish.”

“It’s…” Wriothesley finds himself tongue-tied. Thinking too much. Battling with those inner demons of his. Taking too long. Neuvillette didn’t think himself needy but growls in annoyance. That earns him a sharp pinch against his asscheek and a heated gaze from Wriothesley. 

There it is. That resolve. That edge of alpha that makes Neuvillette’s blood sing, both in arousal and defiance. Wriothesley’s nails dig into the soft flesh of Neuvillette’s backside and he hisses, jerks, bucks slightly to pull away. But Wriothesley’s grip on him is too strong, holding Neuvillette firmly against his lap.

“Should I punish you?” he muses. And no, no, this isn’t punishment; he’s just teasing, which only makes the alpha in Neuvillette’s chest bristle in annoyance. Wriothesley hums, loosening his grip, thumbing over the red spots Neuvillette knows must be there. 

“I do believe that it’s my job to dole out sentences,” says Neuvillette in a low purr. 

“And if it’s you? Who doles out your sentences?”

Neuvillette’s chest burns, itching to fight back at the question. But he reels in those instincts and bites out, “No one.”

Wriothesley squeezes his asscheeks, spreading them slightly. Neuvillette shudders, feeling exposed and on edge. But pleasure curls, too, heat rising in his gut at the way Wriothesley stares and takes his fill. “Oh?”

“I am the law.”

Wriothesley’s expression shifts, his mouth curling into a feral grin. “You have no jurisdiction here—which was something you gifted to me.”

Neuvillette clicks his tongue. “And yet you don’t use it—”

A crack slices through the room. Neuvillette’s ass cheek burns, white-hot, aching in the wake of Wriothesley’s palm against it. He grunts, sinking forward, chest against his thighs. Ow. But then he groans as Wriothesley soothes out that twinge, kneading at the muscle. 

Hesitating again. Gauging Neuvillette’s reaction. The space is thick with alpha pheromones and mildly tense. But it’s good. Gods, it’s— Neuvillette tilts his face, cheek against Wriothesley’s thigh as he inhales, drowning in the leather and tea scent that he’s come to crave. 

His instincts flare. Claws dig into the meat of Neuvillette’s thigh—but that is it. He shifts, those fingers curling into the fabric instead. 

Wriothesley’s thumb is gentle as it sweeps over the swell. “More?”

Yes, yes yes. Neuvillette lifts his hips and bites out an affirmative, which makes Wriothesley chuckle.

“Should I make you count?”

Neuvillette blinks at the thought. Oh. His knee-jerk impulse is to pull away but there’s something about the request. And the other part of his brain, that rational part, the part that’s laden and thick with lust—he wants that. There is power in giving up control and there is no one that he trusts aside from Wriothesley. A game of cat and mouse as they explore boundaries and to what lengths they can milk their vulnerability. 

Want curls in Neuvillette’s gut. He’s about to reply when Wriothesley beats him to it. “Yeah, count them for me. I want to hear it.”

Another smack, this one against the other cheek, one that leaves stinging pulses. It burns through Neuvillette’s being, heat coiling in his core, winding tighter and tighter. 

“One,” he breathes, eyes fluttering closed as Wriothesley’s hand soothes the hit. His palm is cool against Neuvillette’s ass, light-handed and sweet—and then it lifts to lay another hit across the upper end of both cheeks. A fresh spot, one not yet marked red. Neuvillette moans, head tilting forward to rest against Wriothesley’s leg as he manages a breathy, “Two.”

His ass is hot. Rippling, stripes of pain pulse through his backside, setting his nerves alight. Neuvillette’s nostrils flare. Sensitive, so, so sensitive. 

“Look at you,” murmurs Wriothesley, admiring the pink tint to his skin. Another strike, this one lower, against the underside of Neuvillette’s ass. 

“Three,” he hisses, the word choked off. His cock twitches. He—he shouldn’t… This is for Wriothesley, for him to let loose some of that tightly coiled aggravation. And while Neuvillette didn’t think he’d be uninterested in such affairs, he underestimated how quickly he would rise to the equation. His cock hangs between his thighs, half-hard, aching as it slowly fills out. 

Wriothesley sighs, his tone caught between awe and fondness. “You’re actually counting,” he says quietly.

Of course he is. It’s what he asked, for no? And even if Wriothelsey had been teasing, even if he didn’t actually expect it, the entire point of this is for Neuvillette to submit to his whims. The further their play wears on, the easier that becomes. He craves Wriothesley’s hands against his ass, the bite of his spanking, fingers sinking in and squeezing at his flesh.

Neuvillette could look at him; he could twist to the side and knows Wriothesley would look like a wreck if they locked gazes. The tension has melted away from his body. His touches turn sharp as he settles into his role, delighting in how Neuvillette squirms in his lap. 

Two competing alphas, one at the mercy of the other. A rumble rolls through Neuvillette’s chest and he tamps it down—

But not before Wriothesley hears it. 

He spanks him again, this hit against his right cheek, striking a place that is already tender. Neuvillette gasps, surprised at how the pain radiates, spreading from the center of impact, outwards. He throbs—both his ass and his cock. 

The touch pulls back. Neuvillette chases it. The juxtaposition is too good, the mixture of pain and pleasure. His cock is fully hard now, heavy as it hangs, dripping from the tip. Neuvillette shifts, twisting just so, grinding his length against Wriothesley’s thigh without thinking about it. 

“What’s this?” Wriothesley traces a finger down the smooth curve plane of Neuvillette’s perineum and the seam of his balls. 

“I—” Neuvillette groans, legs spread and Wriothesley's arm slips between his thighs to drag a knuckle down his cock. 

“Oh, you like this.”

“I—”

“Distracted. So desperate. Is that why you forgot to count that last one?”

Fuck, he didn’t— 

“Four,” says Neuvillette. “Four—”

Wriothesley instantly relaxes, his hand falling away to cup his cheek. “Sweetheart.” The endearment curls annoyance in Neuvillette’s chest as his alpha snarls, but he sinks into it nonetheless, tilting his face to kiss Wriothesley’s palm. “I was just teasing. A little fun.” Wriothesley’s thumb traces his bottom lip. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

Neuvillette finally looks at him and finds Wriothesley watching back with a half-lidded, libidinous gaze. He’s just as affected. Arousal spices the air, and not just Neuvillette’s ocean-spray scent—no, the tang of lather and black tea lingers too. 

“Do you want more?”

The expected question, the out that Neuvillette is always given if his alpha isn’t in the mood. Tension coils through him, hackles half-raised, claws tight around Wriothesley’s thighs. Neuvillette didn’t expect to be so affected by this but Wriothesley’s hand, firm against his ass, has him writhing in his lap beyond the point of no return. 

“Please.”

Wriothesley’s throat bobs. “Fuck,” he curses. “You’ll be the death of me, won’t you?”

There are worse deaths to have. They both know it. Wriothesley squeezes Neuvillette’s cheek sweetly before his hand pulls away. “Come on, Sweetheart—”

“Wriothesley.”

A chuckle. “One day,” he says, combing through Neuvillette’s hair, mussing it. 

Never, thinks Neuvillette, even though the name has grown on him. Even though he loves the soft and gentle way Wriothesley says it. Stripped bare as he lays out his intention. It’s quiet, how he does it. Underhanded. Subtle. 

But Neuvillette is no fool. 

Wriothesley’s thumb dips into the cleft of Neuvillette’s ass, pressing against his hole. Rage flutters through him—just for a second. The gnashing of teeth as his alpha jerks, recoiling. “Easy there,” says Wriothesley, stroking from his hole, down to the smooth strip of skin below it, digging his thumb into it.

Just like that, all those instincts that rage settle, far too drunk on lust to put up a fight. Neuvillette moans as Wriothesley’s thumb works its magic, moving back to press against his rim. The barest pressure, not enough to sink in, but enough to be felt, the promise of more lingering there.

And then Wriothesley spanks him with his other hand. It’s jarring. So different from the sweet words that drip from Wriothesley’s mouth and the soft-handed touch of his thumb that rubs his hole. Neuvillette’s skin is hot. It stings, red from his hand, Neuvillette knows. 

He forgets to count, mind fogged as his hips roll, grinding his cock against Wriothesley’s lap. Anything for friction. Neuvillette’s cock aches, his ass stings, his entire body a live wire ready to tip over the edge. 

Wriothesley too. Neuvillette can feel the hard line of his erection straining Wriothesley’s trousers. He rubs his cheek against it, inhaling the musky scent of Wriothesley’s arousal. He moans, a wanton keen that earns him another spank.

“Gods, you’re—” Wriothesley brushes his bangs back and takes in the sight of him. Neuvillette must be a mess, sweat beading on his brow, lips dry as he lips them. He rolls his hips again, his breath hitching as the tip of his cock catches against the rough fabric of Wriothesley’s clothing. “That’s it, Sweetheart. Just like that. ”

Neuvillette is close. Between the white-hot pain that sears through his backside, the thumb against his hole, teasing a promise, and the way his cock is trapped underneath him against Wriothesley’s leg, he’s nearly gone. Wrung thin. Wasted. 

“I—you—”

“Don’t worry about me.” 

How can he not? This was supposed to be about Wriothesley unwinding and instead, Neuvillette humps his thigh like an omega in heat, like he’s desperate to be bred, like he needs to be fuck full with his knot. His alpha snaps at that thought, finally baring its teeth. He should roll them over and pull at Wriothesley’s clothing. Give him his cock instead until he’s settled nice and deep. All those thoughts back from his blasted rut come barrelling back.

Wriothesley tugs at Neuvillette’s chin harshly. “Heel,” he says, authoritative. 

And fuck if that doesn’t—

Neuvillette whines, nodding, realizing just how deep his claws had sunk into Wriothesley’s thighs. He eases off, murmuring an apology, which is promptly ignored.

“So good for me,” says Wriothesley instead, back to palming his sore ass, relishing in the way that Neuvillette hisses at the praise.

And it hurts—but it hurts so good, the sort of pleasure that pricks the base of his spine. He shudders, rutting against Wriothesley’s lap. “Archons.” Neuvillette’s voice is raspy with his. Wriothesley encourages it, lifting his thigh against him. That thumb still rests against his hole, tracing Neuvillette’s rim, a fucking tease. “Please—”

“No, like this,” cuts in Wriothesley. 

“Wriothesley.”

Wriothesley dips close and brushes an errant lock of hair behind Neuvillette’s ear. He nuzzles his temple, inhaling, moaning at the smell of him. “Against my leg,” he murmurs. “I didn’t think you’d get off on the spanking but shit, it’s hot. Almost as hot as you grinding against my thigh.”

He’d rather be fucked. Neuvillette aches to be filled, Wriothesley plastered against his back, heavy and hot. He’d choke on his addicting scent and the heft of this cock. Drown in the feel of him, in his need for him—and even Neuvillette’s alpha has calmed, purring at the idea. 

Heel, indeed, he thinks. Happily so. And maybe it’s because he’s spent an eon training his beast, but Neuvillette feels safe like this. Even with his alpha pushing back the tiniest bit, it always eases, always gives in because Wriothesley is safe. 

Neuvillette rolls his hips, seeking out more friction. Precome stains Wriothesley’s trousers, making a mess of them. Claws dig into his ass, dragging down the swell, leaving red welts in their wake. 

“I should fuck you,” says Wriothesley, that damned thumb of his tugging at Neuvillette’s rim. Not enough to sink in, but the pressure is blinding all the same. “Later. We’ll tuck into the sheets and I’ll slip in and fuck you nice and slow.”

Another spank, a light-handed slap that sings through the air makes Neuvillette come suddenly, spilling all over his trousers. He groans, drunk at the thought of dressing down for the night. Of staying over, wrapped in Wriothesley’s arms.

He hasn’t done that yet. Their trysts and affairs are always cut short, their duties more important than their wants and needs. They haven’t had the chance to explore such things, but Neuvillette thinks that it would work out fine. He buries his face in Wriothesley’s lap, desperate to just feel him, a churring whine caught in his throat.

“Hey.” Wriothesley’s hands leave his ass in favor of Neuvillette’s face. “Hey, come back to me. Are you okay?”

“I’m—”

“Does it hurt?”

Neuvillette hums. Yes and no. The sting has buried itself into his skin and he knows sitting will be uncomfortable. But it’s a good ache, the sort that sinks into your bones, the kind of reminder that stays with you in the most delicious of ways. 

Wriothesley is too kind. Neuvillette moves, twisting, and curling into his lap. Uncaring of the mess he’s made, he just needs to be close, to press his face against his nape. He nips at Wriothesley’s scent gland, nosing at it, licking it.

And Wriothesley just sighs, tilting back against the couch, giving him all the access that he needs. 

Instincts both rage and settle. A contradiction. Neuvillette is pulled in two directions as he mouths at Wriothesley’s neck, fangs catching on his skin, desperate to sink in. A tug at his hair; not hard, just enough to bring him back too. When Neuvillette meets Wriothesley’s face his gaze is sweet, amused, even. The scar underneath his eye crinkles as he laughs, his grip on Neuvillette’s hair loosening. 

“Needy thing,” teases Wriothesley before pulling him forward for a lingering kiss. 

Neuvilllette’s blood lulls, heavy in his veins. Exhaustion wafts over him like a tidal wave, jarring in how hard it hits. “You—you’re—” Neuvillette paws at Wriothesley’s cock, only for his hand to be caught around the wrist. 

Wriothesley tugs it to his mouth, pressing a kiss against his pulse. “No need for that.”

“I want—”

“Oh, I know you do.” Wriothesley presses into his space, nosing at his nape. “Gods, you always smell so good. But you should rest. We can deal with me later.” Then his voice dips lower near his ear. “And don’t think I don’t want you. It’s taking everything that I have not to roll you over and fuck you right here. But.” That tone is gone the moment he pulls away. He brushes Neuvillette’s bangs back and sighs at the sight of him. “I think you’d be a pillow princess.”

Neuvillette narrows his eyes at the accusation. “Not if I fuck you into the bed instead. You’d look so good on my cock.”

A challenge. They always have these little half-hearted spats. Wriothesley gives him a wolfish grin. “Want to find out?”

Time comes to a standstill. Neuvillette sits across his lap, his cock soft, half-naked, thighs smeared with come. His heart is in his throat. His alpha, though—oh, there’s interest. Desire spreads through him, heady and hot. 

“It isn’t fancy,” says Wriothesley then, hesitant. He drags his thumb down the length of Neuvillette’s arm over and over, in a repeated fashion. A nervous gesture. “Meropide. Celestia knows it's cold and damp. My bed is too small too. It’ll be cramped, but—”

“I want to stay.” Wriothesley blinks. Neuvillette’s lips part and surprisingly, his words come easy. “Wriothesley, you don’t need to talk me into staying. The idea appeals to me. I was thinking about it when—”

Wriothesley kisses him again, harder, longer, tongue slipping between his teeth to seek out his own. Neuvillette sinks into it, kissing him back, fingers digging into the back of his neck.

“You’ll have to share my clothing,” murmurs Wriothesley when they part. “And I can’t cook here—I don’t have a kitchen. We’ll have to get breakfast at the canteen. Everyone… they’ll…”

“We are a terribly kept secret.” Everyone knows. They couldn’t possibly not, not with the way they stink up the space together, with the way they smell of each other, drenched in shared scents. Not that they were hiding, to be perfectly honest.

Wriothesley smiles, the tension easing. And then he smirks. “So? Spanking?”

Neuvillette scoffs. “What happened to ‘Wanting to let loose?’”

“No, no, this conversation is about you now.”

“It is not.”

“Sweetheart—”

“Don’t.”

More laughter. More lingering kisses. Wriothesley’s hands smooth over Neuvillette’s sore ass, making his alpha roll over and keen. For now, he’ll indulge. Let Wriothesley’s hands wander before draping himself in his clothing. 

Tomorrow morning though, the game resets, and Neuvillette has his sights set on revenge. 

[thebadboyfanclub]

It’s Alright Darling (Sherlock x Reader)

Ok... Was this requested? No. Am I writing it cause anything Henry Cavill related makes me feel happy? Yes. Enjoy!

Being Sherlock Holmes assistant was something a lot of people would kill for and that makes it even better if you think about the irony of it. However, since Sherlock wasn’t a normal person to mostly everything he did, he had decided to hire a woman as his assistant, Mycroft called him mad and unhinged almost every time he brought up her name. (Y/n) was one of the most intelligent people he had ever been around, combining that with a charming personality was the recipe to success.

“Well, well, well I see my brother is full of surprises”

“Hello there Mycroft is so nice to see you again as well”

She spoke in an clearly ironic tone as she took of her gloves, she was never a fan of hats other than the occasions she knew she would be under the sun for hours. As she walked in the living room area for what seemed like their childhood home, Sherlock had requested for (y/n) to arrive a day later than the brothers, knowing that her and his older brother were like oil and water he chose to “prepare the grounds” first.

“Where is the young little Holmes?”

“Inside, talking with miss Harrison”

“Alright... who is miss Harrison?”

“Miss Harrison is an excellent teacher and a friend of mine, come to think of it maybe you should go in and ask her to take you as well... you might be a bit old but I’m sure she can make an exception”

Mycroft found (y/n) intolerant, she was dismissive, unladylike, mouthy and a feminist, he still does not understand what asset do she brought to his younger brother. She only smiled while sitting at one of the chairs

“I will let you know I was an excellent student in all my academic achievements, although I suppose you were one as well that doesn’t really prove someone’s intelligence or manners, right mister Holmes?”

Sherlock let a laugh be heard at (y/n)’s quick response, even though he would never take sides and sometimes wanted them to get along, he had accepted that it would never happen and simply enjoyed the situation.

“Amused brother? Of course you are as mad as her since you didn’t only hire her, you kept her around and brought her in my home”

“Now Now mister Holmes, what type of gentleman would you be if you threaten to through out not just a lady but your younger brothers guest, unfortunately you are just further proving my point about our little quarrel”

Before he had the chance to respond a young girl walked in, wearing a white undergarment dress and looking disheveled. The girl who (y/n) could only assume was the infamous Enola didn’t even notice her being in this room.

“No, don’t do this to me. Let me remain happy, I am happy here”

“You are a young woman now Enola, you need an education”

“Test me, on anything you think I need to know in order to be sufficient for this world”

“If she taught you so well, you wouldn’t be standing in your undergarment in front of me”

Silence fell in the room for a quick second. His disgusting answer to his own sister made (Y/n) get on her feet, Enola quickly let her gaze fall on the young woman that was now in her house.

“Why is that a problem Mister Holmes? Undergarments are scandalous for the men when a woman they are interested in wears them, she is your underaged sister”

“This is a family matter, it does not- I repeat- does not concern you”

“Of course it does not concern me, but it does concern me when a young girl is being held accountable for walking in her home, to her brothers, completely covered and still being shamed for it”

Enola understood by that quick argument the lady was not here because of Mycroft, so it only meant she was Sherlocks company, she is not his wife since if not invited he would have at least informed their mother, so perhaps a girlfriend?

“Enola you have no hopes of making a husband out of your state, neither do you... miss (y/l/n)”

“I don’t want a husband”

Enola claimed, raising her voice at the ridiculous claim her brother made. Even though they haven’t been properly introduced they had developed a mutually liking for each other, at a brief look they seemed to have the same outlook on life.

“And that is another thing you need to have educated out of you”

At that Enola turned to look at her other brother, Sherlock, who had remained radio silent throughout this entire conversation. Enola kneeled in front of him, as Sherlock looked at her and then broke eye contact to look down at the book he was holding.

“Sherlock, Don’t let him do this to me”

“You are his ward”

“Make me yours. Guide me. Teach me. For him I am nuisance. For you-”

“Enola. I’m sorry, but it’s out of my hands”

“Just like his cruelty to our mother was out of your hands”

Cruelty to their mother? No, Sherlock would have never allowed his mother to go through anything, he is a man of honor... isn’t he? (Y/n) felt her stomach tighten as she saw this tragic scene unravel, she hoped Sherlock would have accepted and took her in.

“She is not dangerous. She is remarkable and always has been. And if you still can’t see that then shame on you both”

“So remarkable she left you in my care”

Mycroft shot back. (Y/n) could almost feel the pain the young girl felt, you could see it in her eyes how that was an arrow straight in her heart. (Y/n) decided to step up and try to help, she approached the young girl with a kind smile and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here to calm down. Seems like your brothers don’t share the same love and admiration you do for the woman that made them who they are”

“I am a self made successful man”

“but you wouldn’t be no man if the woman you frown upon had not broken her hips and went through hours of painful labor. Take that as some food for thought before you school me on my manners”

Sherlock looked at her in awe, as she stood proudly next to his sister and became the shield he should have been. Standing up for a girl you haven’t even spoken to or knew before this.

“Let’s go young Enola, seems like a woman’s presence is wanted here only when she does as she is told”

-

“Come in”

“Can I open this door and be promised that I will remain safe or are you holding a dagger and you are ready to take me out of this world?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, dagger you in your own household? I would probably wait to poison you a few days after we leave and write the paperwork of you firing me”

He smiled at her plan as he closed the door in her room. It was already nightfall and the only light here were a few candles, he had let her take a breather after the unfortunate event that had occurred previously. Even though he wasn’t the one that she went toe to toe with, his silence was as obnoxious to her as his brothers loud ignorance towards the female gender.

“You are upset”

“Of course not, why would I be? It’s not like you let that man embarrass his own sibling and talk down to his mother without her being in the room”

She had remained sited in the chair next to the table, a book open that seemed like she was writing on rather than reading it. He was aware she was holding a journal, he didn’t blame her for it, having a job like she did she was in desperate need of something to keep her sane.

“This is a very wary subject”

“I am aware of it, I just can’t seem to understand why not comfort her, try to change your brothers opinion, anything that will show you care for her, you do care for her, right Sherlock?”

“She is my baby sister (y/n), that’s a given”

She closed her book. She ran her hand through her  through her hair and got up from her sit, her hands going in front of her torso at a defensive demeanor, even when Sherlock should be cold or show his higher position to her, he couldn’t help but seek some type of truce with her, how could he not? She looked so beautiful even when she mad at him, the eyes he was so caught up in looked at him with fury, her delicate feature went harsh and she was dressed more... lightly now.

“I spoke with her earlier, she was in the garden”

“I know, I saw.”

“She asked me about you, asked me if you were my lady”

Her eyes went wide for a split second before regaining her composer and turned her back to him. She approached the window before she spoke.

“If you think of how she became familiar with me, she was probably certain I wasn’t even friends with your holier than God brother”

“You mustn't be angry at me”

“And why is that?”

“Because other than my sister and mother, I care for you and for your opinion about me”

She remained silent. Not only because she was caught off guard by his comment, she also didn’t know what he was talking about. Sherlock stepped closer to her, his steps making her heart flutter and her palms sweaty. He stopped when he was right behind her, he wanted to hug her, caress her, kiss her, still he was uncertain of how she would react.

“I still remember the night you got kidnapped”

Someone that Sherlock had helped uncover had escaped prison and kidnapped her. Luckily, she was retrieved safely yet again she was still shaken up by the scary experience, when Sherlock found her awake next to the fireplace she was so vulnerable and grateful to be alive she launched at him and kissed him passionately.

He shared his bed with her, in the middle of the night though she had gotten up and left, when morning came she acted like nothing had happened, barely even looked at him in the eyes for a week.

“Please Sherlock don’t pick at my brain”

“Why did you leave that night? Did you regret it that much”

“That night... was the most blissful I have ever been.... However you are still my boss Sherlock”

“That’s all I am to you? Your boss?”

(Y/n) turned to look at him, tears welling up in her eyes. Those eyes would be the death of him, it was with no doubt the window to her soul, that pure gentle soul of hers.

“What am I to you then Sherlock? This wasn’t just about me”

“You are.... what I never knew I needed”

His hands went up to her forearms instinctively, a soft caress that made her think his hands were made out of the finest silk, she felt goosebumps as he touched her. Her lips parted slightly as she took in a heavy breath, her eyes searching for a hint of a lie in his words.

“Sherlock”

“Shhhhh, It’s alright darling. You don’t have to say anything”

At that he slowly leaned in, his lips on top of hers at a shy and gentle kiss. Her hand went to his neck, bringing her torso to touch his as the kiss deepened, her entire body felt a rush go through it as they should the passion they held for each other with this kiss. As she pulled back her fingertips traveled to his face, taking in his attractive features

“I had almost forgotten how good of a kisser you are”

“Oh love, you will never forget it ever again”

[therhythmismyblanket]

I was tagged by @drippling-thoughts to do this, thank you !!

I’m really sorry but I’m so exhausted this is lowkey going to be a crack version of the ask (but I didn’t want to put it off any longer and risk forgettign it). So without further ado let’s skip to the task at hand:

Chose an artist you like and use the name of their songs to answer this as close to the truth as possible!

1) Name of the artist I selected: Kacey Musgraves (but only songs from Golden Hour,be cause those are the only ones I listen to lol. Don’t ask me why I chose to limit myself like that idk either) oh and also I’m not taking the actual lyrics into account at all, this is solely based off of the song titles

2)What is your gender?: Slow Burn or Space Cowboy depends on the day I guess (yes I’m aware that the associations I make here probably don’t make any sense to anyone else)

3) Describe yourself: Wonder Woman (lol as I said this is not very serious, but we’re trying not to use self deprecating humor anymore so...)

4) How do you feel?: Happy & Sad

5) If you could go anywhere, where would it be?: Oh, What a world

6)who is/describe your best friend: Butterflies

7) Your favorite time of the day: Golden Hour

8) if your life was a TV show what would it be called?:  Love is a wild Thing (the irony of it would be nice, also trying not to use the same song twice and the options are limited, plus my life as a tv show is literally something nobody would watch tbh)

9)What is life to you? : Oh, what a world (definitely one of my fave songs from the album btw)

10)Relationship status: Lonely weekend

11) What do you fear?: Velvet Elvis

Anyways this was actually a lot of fun so thank you @drippling-thoughts and please excuse my tired rambling

Soo I’m tagging whoever feels like doing it and share with me plus @its-going-les-bien @calliettes-posts (almost searched for boredom-posts, which will forever be associated with you) @illgiveyouahint @lovedust4starlust @mostlyiwant-tobekind @eskamtrash in case any of you case want to join the fun :)

[navigatrixnarrations]

Sometimes Always Part 6: Honor Among Thieves

Are Charles Vane and Margaret Teach learning to talk to each other about their shared past?

Word Count: 3193

Warnings: Canon-typical violence and profanity; discussion of miscarriage

The Adventure floats free of drydock and all is right in Charles Vane’s world. The morning is brilliantly cold, and he’s aboard a fast eight-gun sloop with Margaret at the helm, barking instructions at the crews towing her to a proper slip.

Back ashore, Margaret disembarks first. Vane is about to walk down the gangway after her when a familiar foppish figure stops in front of Margaret. He feels his fists clench at the sound of Ballard’s voice, pompous and a touch too posh. 

“Mrs. Sullivan, I’ve asked around about you.”

Margaret is noncommittal. “That can’t have been very interesting.”

“I learned that you married your father’s quartermaster. And that you used to be, ah, close with Charles Vane, but you and he had a rather public falling out.” Ballard smiles conspiratorially. “I’m sure you’ve heard that there’s a price on his head.”

“I’m aware.”

“Repairing that ship of yours will take some capital. I’m sure that even half that reward would be of use to you.” Ballard’s smile turns downright unctuous, a word Vane learned from Jack.

“You think I’d be willing to hunt Vane down and turn him in for the reward?” Margaret sounds mildly amused.

“Would you not?”

“No.” Margaret starts to take her leave, but turns back at Ballard’s next words.

“Seems to me he must have had some assistance making his escape.” Ballard’s voice is pointed. “And one thing I heard about you is that you’re an excellent shot.”

“Why the fuck would I assist someone with whom I had a public falling-out?” Margaret sounds incredulous. 

“I also noticed that your ship took the kind of damage one would expect from cannon fire. And there are reports that a similar sloop was spotted in the vicinity of Nassau around the time Vane got away, sailing with ships known to be involved in high seas piracy.”

“Then, Mr. Ballard, you’ll also be aware that my father and his crew all took the King’s pardon several years back and retired from the account. And so there is nothing you can hold over my head, or my husband’s.”

“Ah yes, your husband. At first I thought he was your hired help, but he seemed rather too devoted to you for that. Tell me, Mrs. Sullivan, why has he been prize-fighting using the name Thatch if indeed he has nothing to hide?”

“The top black marketeer in New York, talking about things to hide. Surely the irony is not lost on you, Mr. Ballard.”

Ballard attempts to stare her down, but he’s the first to look away. “Are there any little Sullivans?”

Had he not known her so well, Vane wouldn’t have noticed the tightening around her eyes, the way she clenched her jaw ever so slightly: Ballard hit a nerve.

“No, Mr. Ballard. There are no little Sullivans.”

Vane makes his way down the gangplank to loom at Ballard over Margaret’s shoulder. Ballard’s eyes widen in alarm. “You’re a lucky man, Mr. Sullivan. Good day, Mrs. Sullivan.” Ballard finally hurries off.

“So much for honor among thieves, then,” Margaret deadpans to Vane with a wry tilt to her mouth. He puts his hand on her arm, and feels his chest loosen when she doesn’t flinch.

She’s been standoffish since they reunited, and he can hardly blame her. But when he’d gone to comfort her while she wept last night, when he put his arms around her, she rested her head on his shoulder, and for a brief moment, he felt all the tension go out of her strong back. She still fits there perfectly, as though the years and miles never elapsed. The soft crush of her breasts against the muscles of his chest, the way her ribs expanded and contracted as she gulped big lungfuls of air, the bolt of desire that shot through him...she extricated herself from his embrace before he was in a position to either hide that or make it known. He feels safe with her. He’s always felt safe with her. He never felt safe with Eleanor. In the beginning he thought it was exciting, but eventually, Eleanor abused his trust too much, kept him on edge, made him feel caged. He should have told Margaret how he felt, he thinks for the thousandth time. He never should have let her get in that boat and leave, not before he said his peace to her. She can rot in a hole, Charles. I just hope you don’t end up rotting with her. Margaret with her dark hair and her flashing eyes and her fiery temper and her kind heart. She’d knife a man quick as you please, then feel sorry for a seagull with a broken wing. All throughout the intervening years, the comparison would spring unbidden to his mind. 

“Why did you get Captain Teach to take me with you?”

“You needed to be free.” As simple as that. Leaving him there, injured and enslaved, never crossed her mind. He can pinpoint it: that was the moment he started to love her, before desire ever figured into it at all. Though in time, of course, it did. 

The Revenge crew had just come ashore with a prize and were looking to celebrate. The men were heading into Nassau town, pockets bulging with coin. Sully, newly elected quartermaster after Teach shot Hands, turned back at the brothel door.

“Aren't you coming in with us, Sully?”

“Nah,” said one of the newer crewmen whose name Vane can’t recall, Simon or something similar, “he and Vane are having a race to see which one of them gets to be the first to taste Margaret’s tight little cunt. He probably thinks tonight’s his chance.”

The rest of the men fell silent; Sully and Vane were the only among them who’d ever been capable of fighting Teach to a draw. Too full of rum to see this as a warning, Simon continued. “Shame, really, that Teach keeps her on such a short chain. Imagine being the first to stick your cock inside of her.”

Sully shoved his way through the crowd toward him, all of his usual good nature gone from his face, but Vane reached him first. “What the fuck,” he snarled as he lifted the man off his feet by his throat, “did you just say?”

More interested in saving face than saving himself, Simon went for his belt knife, but Sully grabbed his arm and in one swift motion, broke Simon's wrist. Simon tried to kick. This time it was Vane’s turn. He dropped the man to the ground, lashing out with his boot heel and taking satisfaction as Simon’s jaw crunched beneath his foot. 

Having fetched some supplies for the ship, they reboard. The salon of the Adventure is as he remembers it, spartan but cozy. A chart table that doubles as a desk, a bench under the window, the bunk that had been Margaret and Sully’s marriage bed. A cradle, intricately carved, currently being used to store firewood for the galley; he’d recognize Sully’s whittling anywhere. 

Margaret’s eyes flicker from Vane’s face to the cradle and back. “Thought I already burned that.”

“Margaret. Margaret, I didn’t know.”

She sits on the bench and draws her knees to her chest. “You’ve no reason to. I never became a mum.” She looks far away. “It’s just as well. I’d be shit at it.” 

The truth, he sees, is far more complicated, so he sits beside her. “You wouldn’t be shit at it.”

“The first time I was with child, I thought I was seasick. I’d never been seasick a day in my life. And we were so careful. Then Sully asked me when was the last time I bled and I realized I was late.” She frowns. Sully’s own mother was a midwife and she’d sent him into the world with a wealth of information which he shared with his shipmates. “I know it makes no fucking sense — I didn’t want to be a mother, didn’t want a domestic life, but when I found out, I wanted our baby, his and mine, because it was ours. He swore we’d make it work. Swore if it was a girl, he’d never make her feel like she was lesser.” Vane hears her unspoken words loud and clear: unlike how her father treated her. She swallows hard, and continues. “I didn’t go over the side, didn’t drink, and then a few weeks later, I started bleeding anyway.” She shrugs. “Tried a few more times, but it never stuck.”

It should hurt, hearing her talking about the life she built with another man, the family she tried to start, and it does, but mostly Vane finds himself hurting for her, hurting because she hurt.

He covers one of her hands with his. “Sully was a good man. The best I’ve ever known.”

She nods, her face carefully blank. “He was.”

He braces himself as if preparing to hit the water. “I knew he’d be good to you. So I tried to find my way to being happy for you both.” This time, will she understand what he’s telling her? It was excruciating when she chose Sully over him. Why hadn’t he been enough for her? That bastard Ballard was right: he’s devoted to Margaret. Only fell into Eleanor’s schemes because he didn’t want to be alone, he was flattered that she pursued him so hard while Margaret was spending more and more time with Sully. Perhaps this time, Margaret will recognize his devotion. Perhaps this time, it will be enough.

Margaret’s laughter carried on the breeze from where she was sitting by the campfire. Sully was combing out her hair; with her arm in a sling, she couldn’t have easily plaited it herself. Even so, it was such an intimate act, and they both looked so full of joy in each other’s company, that he might as well have discovered them fucking. Margaret noticed him and waved him over with her good arm, but he turned away from her smile and strode away, ignored her calling after him, off the beach and into Nassau Town, his stomach in knots and his heart clenched tight. He’d taken floggings at the hands of the overseer that were easier to bear. And so when that rich little blond girl made a beeline for him, he put up no resistance. For someone who had no skill at physically fighting, Eleanor certainly had a talent for ambushing him at his most vulnerable.

Margaret blinks and looks stricken. “If there was any chance Eleanor would have been good to you, I’d have tried to be happy for you, too.” 

Is she saying what he thinks she is? She goes on. “When Sully asked me to marry him, he said he wanted to face the future with me.” Her big eyes meet his, a challenge in them. “You didn’t marry her.”

He doesn’t respond. 

“Oh, I heard the rumors, tales of your exploits, talk of how Charles Vane is not the marrying kind, but I wondered if she wouldn’t have you because that would have meant she couldn’t keep tossing you out then reeling you back in.” Yes, Deadeye Magpie hit the mark. As usual.

He scowls from beneath his brow. “I never asked her.” Minutes pass. He relents with a sigh. “I always knew there wasn’t a future to face with Eleanor.” There, he admitted it to her. She doesn’t gloat, she doesn’t say she told him so; it’s not even written on her features. She looks...she looks pensive. Pensive and a little sad. He realizes his hand is still on hers. Ever since he first fell out with Blackbeard and then with Margaret, he felt as though he was living on borrowed time. He never considered the future beyond hunting down the next prize, maintaining his captaincy. He couldn’t consider more of a future than that -- there was something painful there, and he was loath to poke at it to see how deep that wound was. When he hit the wharves of New York, all he could think of was how to scrape by, make his way. And then Margaret came to his aid once more, and though he tells himself that it’s foolish, that it’s a mistake, that she deserves better than anything he can currently offer her, he can’t ignore the small spark of hope she ignited, that’s been growing since they reunited.

The clock in Trinity Church chimes the hour, and Vane realizes the shadows are growing long out on the docks. He’s almost due at work at Mr. Fraunces’s tavern; that’s where he’d learned of his recent opportunity for highway robbery.

“You don’t have to, Charles. We’ll be back at sea soon enough.”

“I won’t be kept by you, Margaret.”

The melancholy returns to her eyes before she hides it with a flash of anger. He cuts her off before she can lash out with her words. “I’ll contribute my fair share. I won’t be a burden to you.” He needs her to understand this. Does she?

As fast as her anger arrived, it left. “Charles. You’re not a burden.” Together they leave the Adventure and head down the quayside, to the corner where they part ways. Vane finds himself reluctant, though it’s only for a few hours. They stand there, facing each other, uncertain, neither wanting to leave. And there’s that gentle smile, the one she used to reserve for him alone, well, him and Sully, anyway.

“I missed that look, Maggie-Pie.”

“If you call me Maggie-Pie, I’m going to call you Charlie-Boy.” Has she edged incrementally closer?

Vane smirks, raises the eyebrow she scarred when they were still children. “If you call me Charlie-boy,” he purrs, “I’m going to answer to it.”

“Charlie-boy!” she calls after him. He turns. “Just checking,” she tells him with a wicked little grin. Then she walks back toward the garret, that straight-backed, hip-swinging stride that he can’t take his eyes off until she goes out of sight.

                              ~*~

The sea is rolling this evening, but she sits on the bed, hands steady as she combs Sully’s hair. A habit they fell into well before they wedded, combing and plaiting one another’s hair. It’s comforting, this small ritual of tenderness in a life that is so often anything but.

Why are the long, honey-colored strands sticky? 

“You made a promise, Margaret.” Some of the most serious conversations in their relationship took place during these quiet moments.

“What…”

“You promised you’d find a way to be happy again, Margaret. You promised me.” His tone is accusatory. Sully turns his head to look over his shoulder at her, and Margaret sees the bullet hole in his temple, the gore coating his face, his neck, his hair. His skin is pale beneath its tan, as pale as it was when he was buried at sea, slipping loose from his hammock just as he hit the water, face waxen and brown eyes staring at nothing. Some of the men held her back just then, fearing she was going to throw herself into the sea after him…

Suddenly they’re on deck together, beside each other. Margaret hears the pistol shot, feels the wet warmth of Sully’s blood splatter the side of her face, sees the startled look cross his fine-boned features as he drops.

“No,” she hears herself pleading. “Don’t go.”

Sully’s voice drifts across the waves, even as he slips beneath them.“You made a promise, Margaret.”

“Wait, don’t go!” She hears the ragged desperation in her voice.

“Margaret. Margaret!” Vane’s raspy voice. His hands on her shoulders, shaking her. “Margaret, love, you’re having a nightmare.” 

She squints up at him, disoriented. Where did he come from? She pushes herself into a seated position, and then Vane is steadying her, holding her as though he’s trying to put himself bodily between her and all the world’s pain. 

“Is this going to be a routine?” she grumbles into his broad chest. What must he think of what she’s become, a weepy woman with nightmares.

“Mmhmm,” he murmurs in assent, the rumble of it causing her to burrow herself into him a little bit closer. “And would that be so bad?” 

“What, me making a habit of crying on you and having nightmares?”

Vane grunts in frustration and Margaret feels his pulse speed beneath her palm, but his voice, when he finally speaks, is as soft as she’s ever heard it. “You were the first person to show me any kindness, Magpie. One of the few who ever has.” She lifts her head and risks a look at his face, and as she does so, one of his big hands comes to rest at her cheek, thumb caressing her cheekbone. 

“I promised my father I’d try to keep you alive.” She wants to open up to him, she does. The garret is freezing and Vane’s body is so warm against hers. Why can’t she open up to him?

“And you’ve more than kept that promise.” Vane’s blue eyes are gentle as a calm sea, his gruff voice going nearly inaudible in the small distance between them. “You’re free of me, if you wish to be.”

“I wish no such thing,” she snaps. Damnation, how hard-headed is this man? Did he just...did he just sag slightly in relief that she doesn’t want to be rid of him? 

His arm tightens ‘round her shoulders, holding her even closer, and she works an arm around his waist in return, to steady herself. “Crew should be arriving in the next few days. We can get the hell out of here before winter fully sets in and we end up icebound ‘til Spring.”

Vane looks bemused. He thinks she’s dodging him, and she is, a bit, she knows this. 

“You’re telling me this now, Magpie, because?”

“Because that was too near a miss today with Ballard. I thought he might have guessed who you are, and I’m not sure I fully convinced him you’re not Charles Vane.”

“You don’t want to cash in the price on my head?” He’s joking, but she jerks back anyway.

“Never!” The adamance in her voice startles even her. Vane is peering at her by the light of the lantern he’d brought in -- he must have been having one of his late nights of brooding -- and he nods slightly to himself, as if he’s decided something. Those thin, chapped lips press against her forehead and she bites back a gasp. Yes, she’s been lonely since Sully died, and what of it? She feels herself starting to melt, the realization causing her to stiffen. Vane retracts his body from hers, slowly, as though forcing himself to give her space.

“Get some rest, Maggie-Pie. You don’t sleep enough.”

He stands, walks to the door to the main room. 

“You’re one to talk, Charlie-Boy.” He looks over his shoulder at her, his face softening into one of his all-too-rare boyish smiles.

She hears him sit heavily on his cot. As she gradually drifts back to sleep, she vaguely thinks she might be able to keep her promise to Sully after all.

Taglist: @whenimaunicorn @n3rdybird

[quinntessentiallyglee]

Hailee Steinfeld FC?

from here

send me a FC and i’ll make up a character on the spot.

Okay, so two things before I get into this:

First, in looking up an image to include with this post, I was reminded that Hailee stared in a movie with Dove Cameron (who those of you familiar with this account will know is one of my favs) in which her character was part of a clandestine organization centred around training teenagers-as-spies/assassins(? It's been a while since I saw the film, and they may have also trained up younger children as well) and as a result I am sorely tempted to throw any Hailee FC into my D.E.B.S. verse. But I won't because a) that's derivative of a character that is a canon Hailee FC, and b) even if my D.E.B.S. verse muses are all OC, the D.E.B.S. verse itself is not, and this is for original characters (or at least that's my interpretation of the challenge, and it's too late to change things up now).

Second: Despite the fact that most of the images I came across in my search highlight Hailee as Strikingly Beautiful and/or Bad-ass, she is stuck in my head as 'Adorable Fluff-ball' for reasons I cannot put my finger on. That's right folks; I see this:

And think, "Look at this fluff-ball! Isn't she Adorable!". Yes, I know, this is just one of the many things wrong with me. Regardless, now that I've gotten those points off my chest, we can proceed with introducing you to: Cordelia Harper

FC:  Hailee Steinfeld

FANDOM:  None (Would add her to my FAE Verse)

AGE:  18-30 (30 might seem like a bit of a stretch, but read on and you'll see why that may not be the case)

ORIENTATION:  Pan

Appearance

HAIR COLOUR:  Dark Brown

EYE COLOUR:  Hazel

TATTOO:  TBD (I'm 90%+ sure she has at least one, and almost as certain that there's more than one, and I'm pretty sure the style/purpose/meaning of them, but not sure on the specific shape of them... if that makes sense.)

General

FULL NAME:  Cordelia Ivy Harper

NICKNAME:  'Delia, Delilah, Cor, Cordy

BIRTHDAY:  Sept 30th (even though has been sitting in my inbox for a while)

PRONOUNS:  She/Her/Hers

GENDER:  Cis-Female

HOMETOWN:  Hershey, Pennsylvania (I really, really wanted to say Salem or some other significantly 'Occult' place... Instead I put her in Pennsylvania [which is at least half way to Transylvania... or 75% if you do the math]. And what better place for an [spoiler warning] Adorable Fluff-ball of a Witch than Hershey, Pennsylvania: The Chocolate Capitol of the US)

CURRENT LOCATION:  TBD (I feel like this would be very verse/thread dependant, but I feel like she'd default more towards the eastern seaboard than elsewhere.)

OCCUPATION:  Witch (Though really that's more of a calling than an occupation. What pays the bills are her chemistry skills... which I feel get used most often in a teaching capacity rather than a 'practical' [for lack of a better word] capacity. I could also see her as either a Veterinarian or running her own Landscaping/Gardening company)

RELIGION:  TBD (Wiccan would be an obvious choice, but my own ignorance of the particulars of that faith make me wary of trying to portray someone who follows it. I also get the feeling that she's more of a Granny Weatherwax type Witch in that she'll leave the Gods to go about their business and would like them to do the same for her.)

SOCIAL CLASS:  Middle Class (Default), Verse Dependant

LANGUAGES:  English, Probably some Latin, (and a smattering of one or two Fae languages)

Family

MOTHER:  Tabitha Harper

FATHER:  Unknown

SIBLINGS: None

CHILDREN: (I'm 50/50[/50] on this. Part of me sees her as a mom, part of sees her as just wanting to be one, and part of me sees her as seeing the world at large as her 'child')

Personality

TRAITS:  Friendly (Like, extremely friendly. The sort of friendly where being mean to them feels like you've kicked a lost puppy), Protective, Happy (Her cup isn't just half full, it's an extra large, self filling cup)

FLAWS: Believes a little too much in the goodness of others, Has a very strong sense of right vs wrong, and will act accordingly (including this in the Flaws section because anyone caught on the other end of this would not consider it a positive. Especially when combined with the last point), Not as aware of her surroundings as she probably should be (so many memory erasing spells... that's a joke... mostly.)

ALLERGIES:  None (though I really want to say 'Chocolate' for the irony alone)

SIGN:  Libra

HOGWARTS HOUSE:  Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw (I'd say it's damn near a perfect split, but if I had to give one side an advantage, it would be Hufflepuff))

LIKES: Rain, Rainbows, Sunshine, Cool Breezes, Warm Earth, A Properly Brewed Potion, People Being Kind/Helpful, Fresh Vegetable Soup, Fresh Bread, Chocolate (Semi-sweet in particular, though salted bitter-sweet also works in a pinch)

DISLIKES: People Being Rude/Hurtful, People/Animals In Pain

[allyvampirelass29]

Obsession’s Chains

A NOS4A2 Fanfiction By: Allyssa J. Watkins

Ally watched the snow flurries hurl past the window of the Wraith, feeling its breathing anger as it tore through the oncoming blizzard, and yet the freezing bluster could not compare to the cold inside the car.

She could feel him, even though she couldn't look at him, that distrust, that wounded anger that screamed without him saying a word. I'm sorry, Charlie, I'm so sorry. You damned crazy chick....... Vic's fury ripped through her mind like a howling wind, as she watched the onslaught of the eternal winter, the way the frost formed, etching itself in sparkling trails across the window, shivering in the face of what she'd just done. You just made a deal with the DEVIL, Jane........ Vic hissed. She's right....... I was free....... We did it, we........ won. She thought with another full bodied chill. Damn straight. All you had to do, Ally, was freaking walk away, but you just couldn't do it, could you? No....... Why the HELL not!? Because I was free........ but he was dead.

Ally shuddered as the cool leather of his glove brushed against her feverish cheek, one hand drawing back her curls. His eyes were like black frost as he looked at her, seized with that bitter cold, and seething froth that could only come from the dry ice concoction of love and hate felt to a deathly extreme.

"Charlie-" She breathed his name in the most tender ache, the sweet beguiling sound, robbing him of his clung-to hatred even as he held fast against such audacious charm. Beware that voice....... He could feel it, that desperation to ease his torment, even while she was the one in the cage.

She gasped as his glove moved swiftly over her soft lips, pressing hard, his fingers curling, clasping her mouth tight, coaxing her hot breath against his palm, and his other hand twitched on the Wraith's steering wheel.

"Not so fast, Allyssa Jolene....... Whatever desperate apologies and pleads you have planned for my sake, after so loathsome a stunt, I beg you to spare me," He growled, swerving up to the entrance, met by the towering twin candy canes, and twinkling coloured lights of the Christmasland Gates, his return heralded by the splendid ache of, "Last Christmas," trumpeting through the frosty air. How fitting, he thought with a vicious smirk.

"Welcome back to Christmasland, Mrs. Manx," He snickered cruelly, firmly muzzling her trembling mouth, unmoved by her morose green eyes. "I regret to say you return not as our most beloved queen, but as a disgraced traitor......" He snarled leaning closer, his furious exhale catching in her hair. Thankfully, your slighted husband is kind enough to welcome you back with open arms. However, you may find your festive kingdom far less, shall we say, hospitable. You'll have to toil for my generous forgiveness, My Dear, not in soft, spoken words, but with your entire body, starting with that hand. The crown is yours to win back, but if you dare make a move against me again, I will strike it forever from your dear little head, and I fear you'll find yourself in chains. Take your punishment, like a good girl, however, and I, of course, shall reward you immeasurably."

He felt his injured hatred softening, as he looked at her, so willing to comply, so repentant, making no move to pull away, eliciting no cry of protest, no adverse intent to his will, submitting in silent grace. He gently withdrew his hand from her mouth, feeling that worrisome and familiar ache in his heart, losing yet again to the love of her. I love you, Ally, but I HATE what you do to me, how you rule me. Love....... brings out the worst in us. And yours could be the RUIN of me.

"Charles....... I accept my punishment, though I pray you do not harden your heart against me. That is an admonishment, I could not survive." She whispered, out of breath, as the gates parted to let them pass.

"Nor I," He whispered back harshly, hating that it was true. As badly as he wanted to punish his pretty wife for her unfortunate rebellion, he couldn't carry out the sentence she deserved, and banish her, not from his home....... not from his love.

As the Wraith rolled forward, Charles felt himself melt into a sly smile, and he had to admit, in spite of the scathing betrayal, he was impressed by how clever she'd been, coaxing him out of his gloves, commandeering his car. My Fearless Little Femme Fatale, who knew you had it in you? I'd be lying if I said I wasn't touched, you choosing me over your eternal freedom, not knowing what I'm going to do to you.

He slammed on the brakes, and the Wraith screeched along the snow covered road, an intrusion of loud, white static glowing brighter and brighter around Ally, until she disappeared completely from her seat in a blinding flash, the car door still firmly locked. He let out a furious scream, tearing out of the car, searching for her in the whirl of snowfall.

"ALLYYYYYY!!!! WHERE ARE YOU!?!? ANSWER ME, DAMN IT!!!!"

He howled, dashing through the snow, until he found her, stricken, fighting tears, looking bewildered at him as he grasped her forearms, his eyes murderous, the static still encircling her like a halo.

"Is this h-how you mean to punish me, Charles? Ripping me from your inscape, banishing me from Christmasland!?"

"No, NEVER!!!" He snarled, yanking her along after him. "What fresh treachery is this!? You PLANNED this, you and that BITCH, I'm a damned FOOL!!! What a show, what a performance-!"

"NO!!!! Please!!! Charles, listen to me, I-I'm not doing this- I would never- I don't know what's happening!"

"LIAR!!!" He seethed, his teeth bared, wrenching her arm, dragging her back to the car, when she slammed up against the empty air, colliding with it like an unyielding wall, falling back into the snow.

"CHARLES!!! Charles, I promise you, I'm not doing this!!!!" She sobbed, as he grabbed for her in a panic, trying to pull her through the powerful shield, and this time she managed to go further, the projected force bending slightly with a strobing white haze, but the moment he let go of her hand, she was thrown back.

It hit him full force, as the static and white noise intensified her outline, the glimmering guilt flooding his dark eyes, and he was all too aware of why his Snow Angel was rudely being denied entrance to his merry inscape. I've been doing a little dabbling with your soul, My Sweet....... It appears there are some severely adverse effects....... He flew to her, and she reached for him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and he grunted, pulling her with great effort through the resistant gale of the flashing white glow, backing into it, as he pulled her into him. The wall beating airily against his back like an angry wave.

"Charles!!!! Charles, I'm so scared!!!" She cried out, burying her curly head in his shoulder, and he clinged to the back of it, the wind resistance, sending his coif to skew, her curls to scatter, blowing them in his face, his long, navy coat billowing in the unforgiving wind, her dress snapping around her bare legs.

"Hold onto me!!!" He yelled over the thundering sound, and with one final tug, she broke through the invisible wall, both of them collapsing in a heap, her on top of him, the breakneck gale, reduced to deafening silence.

"Charles, I promise, it wasn't me, please........" She pleaded through her tears, her trembling fingers clutching the blue velvet collar of his coat, and he reached up to brush his lips against hers, swallowing his guilt.

"I believe you."

**********

Charlie Manx cradled his terrified bride in his arms, as she hugged his neck, her long white skirt trailing along the wood floor of the hallway, her bare legs dangling, and he paused at the threshold to their bedroom, struck by the sublime irony, with a sardonic eyebrow raise.

"Ah yes, the sacred tradition of carrying the blushing bride across the threshold into eternal wedded bliss. How amusing....... We neglected the act on our wedding night, and here we are, poised with a second chance. Call me a superstitious man, but I suspect this oversight was where our problems first began. Might I suggest we not tempt fate yet again........?"

Ally's trembling lip eased itself into a fond smile, and Charlie smiled his most charming, as he swept her into the room, with a spin, holding his young bride just as he would have that night, allowing her a taste of heaven, before he let the hell around them rise.

She felt a giggle escape her lips, her windswept curls falling in her alight green eyes, and for the most fleeting of moments, she was again the newlywed Mrs. Manx, her bliss perfect, a woman madly in love, the night alive with such promised passion.

"We did forget, didn't we......? What bad luck we invited into our marriage!!! Might we have fixed it with our cheerful re-enactment, Charles? I suppose there was one other sacred act that fell to the wayside that night.........." She whispered softly, and he felt a quiver in his own lip, as he looked down at her, wanting her even more badly than he had then, choosing to violate her creative power, over letting her bequeath herself to him, body and soul. If given the choice now, Victoria's near fatal collision would not have been his priority. Oh how it could have waited..........

"Surprising isn't it? On both accounts. We were so enamoured, so wrapped up in each other after the ceremony......... I couldn't stop kissing you, touching you........"

He closed his eyes, remembering it in a desirous, besotted haze, this beautiful girl made his forever, with no hope of escape, deliciously oblivious to the horror that lay waiting in her new husband's heart.

"I'm still wrapped up in you......" She whispered breathily, and he sighed deeply, fighting his vicious attraction, and losing. No, I will not be so easily swayed this time. Seduce me twice...... Shame on you, Wife. I'm in control now, I'm the one holding the pen.

He hastily set her down in front of the canopied bed, trying not to look at the curve of her white legs, slightly red with cold. He could feel her disappointment, as he moved away from her, thrashing back the tenderness that always seemed to bloom between them. And yet, she did not run to him, or beg, or plead, she handled the slight with quiet grace, and he looked approving as she hung those mangled curls in shame. Yes, My Bride, submit and show me just how sorry you REALLY are.

"How much BETTER to have waited, Mrs. Manx," he chortled cruelly, slowly starting to pace in front of her, his eyes fixed. "The gesture means so much more to me now, than the pretense it would have been. Now that you know exactly what you're in for........ The man you wed was a LIE, a fiction, a fabrication, created to better woo you. To better USE you."

Ally felt the sting of his words, as they struck, but she wasn't going to make it that easy for him. "No Charles........" She said tremulous in a half whisper, her voice bleeding with that tenderness he couldn't escape. "I see him........ The man I married, the man I loved Once Upon a December........ I see him shining behind coal black eyes, and I know, everything he said, everything he felt, everything he was........ is real. You're not half the monster you insist on being. He's there, and I can save him........ if you'll let me."

Charles turned on her venomously, his black eyes pure poison, watching her wither in the hatred of his gaze, his pacing becoming more violent, with a furious whirl of his coat.

"You SEE only what I WANT you to see!!! The man you seek to save does not exist, Ally, he could not survive the monster, and while his was the light that brought you here, it is the darkness you have taken as your lover."

He stopped pacing and narrowed his smouldering eyes at her, his intense brow furrowed with dark intentions.

"What am I going to do with you.......?"

"You're going to punish me.........." She whispered meekly, in sorrowful defeat, her curly head downcast, and there was that delectable tinge of fear. How intoxicating, for you to both love and fear me in the same escaped breath.

Charles felt his hunched shoulders relax, and his expression softened, gently moving in closer, and she trembled at his touch, his whisked forefinger across her cheek, using his thumb to bring her head back up, as he cooed. "Ohhh my Sweet Wife........ Of COURSE, I'm going to punish you...... He pet the back of her head in a slow stroke, bringing her closer, his voice soothing, "But first....... I'm going to reward you...... for coming back to me."

Before she could take her next breath, Charles forced his lips over hers, taking them mercilessly, kissing and kissing her with reckless fury. She gasped against his lips, and it was like the hypnotic dance in the snowglobe, she couldn't help herself joining him, mirroring his passion, kissing him back in a haunted trance, hungering for his lips.

He forced her up against the foot of the bed, feeling her chest rise and fall against his, both of them breathless, his forceful affection turning her head, as he took control of her lips the same way he'd done with her hands. Effortlessly. He kissed her harder, angry and suffocating, like a man possessed by the darker side of his desire, in such stark contrast to the gentleman bridegroom that kissed and held her like a glass figure. I'm going to shatter you, my porcelain bride, until you beg for me to do it again........ and again.

He remembered how sneakily he'd tried to undo the laces at her breast, to no avail, last time, and he felt the rollicking thrill as he realized no such quarter need be granted now. His nostrils flared, kissing her deeply, his lips possessive, stealing her air, and he tore off his glove, shoving it into his chauffer coat's pocket, his claws poised, yanking open her laces with an open mouthed murmur.

Ally gasped against the violence of the kiss, as she felt the release of the loosened laces, her hand flying to her clavicle to keep her neckline from falling open.

He stopped kissing her in a lustful exhale, his dark eyes darting to the covered indent, and he eyed her until she let her hand fall away, already guessing his demand. He grinned wickedly, eying now the soft, dove white cleavage, biting his lip.

"You are....... the most incandescently beautiful creature ever I have beheld."

The burn rushed to her cheek, and he watched her breath catch, using that moment to fling her back onto the bed, and she acquiesced, falling back, her eyes glittering, nervous, excited, a little...... well, physically enthralled, and he drank in the sight of it, her wanting him, just as he was, not only the pretty paper, but the duplicity wrapped therein.

He hunched over her, a devious glint in his eye, as his lips found the soft curve of her bare ankle, kissing with slow, euphoric relish, in so scandalous a manner, such as Cassie Manx would have found reprehensible. A woman's ankles were a forbidden article in his time....... How unseemly, Charles, do attempt some decorum!!! He could hear her grating chastise, even as his younger wife elicited her own murmur of utter, pleasurable delight. She always was the practical one, the most petulant realist, wasn't she? No open mind, never one to choose her husband's pleasures over her own. Selfish shrew. He felt his heart quicken, pressing his open mouth over her other ankle, watching her toes curl, as she breathed her stunned satisfaction. You're nothing so hatefully provincial, Allyssa, you're just like me...... We crave the elusive taste of the fantastical. We're romantics, impassioned souls, freed from the constructs of reality. She could never love me as you do, because she did not understand my particular magic. Nothing creative or inspired about that miserable woman.

"Charles-" Ally moaned his name, and he grazed his long, razor sharp nails up and down her bare leg, scraping across the satin feel of it, bowing his dark head to kiss behind her knee, granting the slightest little nip, feeling her skin prickle beneath his hands.

"Oh my God......." She whimpered, and he could feel her breathless ache, as he fed her addiction, running his nails up her body, as he crawled over her, clasping a dainty wrist in each of his encircled claws, forcing her head back with the power of his passion.

She kissed him back in a fever, crazed, surrendering her petal soft lips, letting his ease hers open, pulling free one of her hands from his grasp, to touch his face. He viciously broke the kiss, with a scolding growl, both of them breathing hard.

"Did I say....... you could move?"

She sank further back into the bed, and he watched shamelessly as the loosened laces at her opened neckline danced while her chest rose and fell with the exertion.

"No," She whispered, trembling, and he snapped up the wrist she had just pulled free, his eyes commanding.

"Good. Don't. I'm in control. Say it."

"You're- You're in c-control." Ally breathed, feeling disoriented, her head swimming, secretly enamoured by this forceful, domineering side of him, telling her what to do, not being careful with his breakable doll at all, so reckless, possessive, dangerous, it was an intoxication.

Charlie simpered his approval, nodding with an eyebrow raise. "Good girl....... Free will is just an illusion, remember that, My Sweet. We tried it your way, and now we'll do it mine......... My gloves are the ones guiding yours, and deny it as you might, but you're BETTER for it," He besieged her lips again, pressing his thumbs against both of her wrists, feeling her breath hot against his mouth, as he applied pressure.

"I should CHAIN you to this bed, and never let you out of this room......" He rasped salaciously, rubbing his thumbs over and over her wrists, feeling her pulse quicken. "My, how entirely lovely these delicate wrists would look encircled in irons. The thought beckons........"

"Oh Charlie!" She mouthed back, and he kissed her a little softer, though he did not relinquish his hold, spreading her arms, as he pinned her flush to the white linen.

"Things are going to be much changed around here, My Pretty Prisoner........" He smirked, and Ally recoiled as the sharp edge of that hateful instrument of ink and hellfire, brushed teasingly against her lip.

"Do you see this?" He taunted, displaying it with sadistic flourish, releasing her wrists. "This belongs to me now, do you understand? You will use it how and when I want, but your knife is no longer under your control. I own it, and the hands that wield it."

She nodded solemnly, and watched him slip it back into the silk lining of his blood red waistcoat, feeling herself shudder as he pressed his lips hard to the back of her knuckles.

"Your unfettered freedom in my inscape is all but revoked, My Snow Queen. Until you can win back your crown, prove yourself worthy of my trust, you will need to be escorted by me, personally, any place you wish to go, pending my approval, of course......"

He leaned down, tenderly kissing her forehead, and she could feel the sincere apology on his lips, even before he gave it breath. "Forgive me this necessary cruelty....... but you will not be permitted to see your children, until such a time as I deem you do not intend to spirit them away from their home. I am sorry, but it must be this way......."

He gritted his teeth, his gaze a dark threat, his back arching with his ire, as he leaned over her. "And if you so much as touch my car again, or even THINK the name Vic........ I will be forced to take......... measures.

Ally shivered beneath his body, having no need for him to elaborate, and he relaxed against her, kissing her cheek in a soothe. "Nevermind that, for if tonight is any indication, your absolution is soon coming....... He whispered, his voice ripe with desire. Until then....... I am going to take such pleasure in your punishment........."

Her heart stopped in a seize, her surprised elicit escaping in a drawn out, breathy murmur, as he lowered his lips to her neckline, pressing them flush to her feminine cleft, kissing generously with parted lips, inching his kiss down into it, and then in easeful sigh, he nestled his head to her soft, sensitive breast.

She couldn't speak, couldn't even form words, her mind numb, and her hands cradled his head there, against her womanly curves, drifting through his silky, raven hair, stroking his strong, freshly-shaven jaw with her other fingers, her cheeks burning red. It may not be altogether ladylike to admit, but she loved him laying on her chest, so close to her beating heart.

"Don't you EVER leave me again." His voice began as an angry, volatile rasp, but ended in the broken sound of a desperate man.

"I'm sorry, My Love, I'm so sorry." She cried, green eyes miserable, stroking his silky, ebony waves and he hugged her body to his cheek, knowing how much control he had over her, how he could make her want him, make her dance, yanking her strings, and yet he also knew, to a distressing degree, how much control she had over him.......

She hugged him back, closer to her chest, and he loosened his crimson cravat, sweltering in the exquisite heat between them. That lingering, insatiable need to be closer.

"What Beautiful Wickedness, My Handsome Phantom, My Dark-Eyed Dream......." She whispered as she kissed the top of his head, and he felt himself melt beneath her lips.

He could have stayed like this forever, fallen fast asleep, pillowed upon so pleasing a swell, so soothed by her heartbeat's lullaby. Instead of indulging in this long-held fantasy, however, and giving into even more diabolical designs, everything within him sounded its protest as he pulled himself off of her, knowing exactly what had to be done, taking her wrist in hand, and concentrating hard as he encircled it in kisses.

Ally giggled, roving her fingers deeply though his soft, feathery black strands, leaving not even a remnant of his carefully slicked coif, beaming at him, with so much love in her heart that it physically hurt them both. He was so beautiful..... The most beautiful thing she'd ever seen, a miracle named Manx, drawn to his dark allure, and malevolent elegance, with a mad obsession. Punish me all you wish, especially if that punishment is this, but Charlie you cannot silence my love.

"You silly boy!!! Whatever are you doing?" She giggled as he whirled his hand airily around the wrist he'd just ringed in kisses, before snapping her other hand out of his hair, and pressing his lips along the curve of that wrist as well."

He smirked devilishly, his lip curling, his eyes intensifying, and his voice chilled her to the bone as he said it.

"Creating........"

She giggled again, but he sensed a wariness in that music that she tried so hard to hide, and his lips twisted up into a wry smile, satisfied with his work.

He coaxed her off the bed with another demanding kiss, pulling her up against him, as she pressed her lips to his, all too willingly, letting him lead her to the window, a luminous canvas of Christmasland at night.

He broke the kiss with a smug chuckle, playfully pushing her away, his eyes all mischief, stepping back slowly from her, towards the bedroom door.

"Somebody's in quite the playful humour, and I LOVE it!!!" She giggled, and he carefully brushed his finger under her chin, as she moved to follow him.

"As do I, Wife. Let's play. Come give chase. Let us see if absence cannot make the heart grow fonder, and chain anything so fickle as a woman's love."

She frowned, the edge in his voice giving her pause. "Charles, soft........ What mean you by this?"

"Come find out," He taunted with beckoning eyes, curling his finger flirtatiously as he brought it toward him.

Ally shook her loose curls, confused, but willing to play along, rushing to catch him, when she felt herself yanked back towards the window.

No no no, not again! She tried to pull free of the hold, yanking her arm towards her but something felt off, it wasn't a wall like before, it was airy, suspended, yes, but somehow almost..... tangible. She gave one more desperate pull before she saw them form around her wrists, ethereal white cuffs, glowing with a blue halo, appearing and disappearing just as fast with every frantic tug.

"I told you...... You'd look devastatingly lovely in chains, and these were made special just for you."

"CHARLES, NO!!! PLEASE, how CAN you do this!? Do not leave me, not like this!!! Please, Charles, have I not behaved as your perfect saint!?" Ally felt the stunned tears stream from her eyes, and Charlie snickered coldly, as she fought the floating irons, shaking them soundlessly, trying to pry one of the cuffs from her wrist.

"Save yourself the trouble, Sugar Plum, it's no use....... You'll only make yourself tired, and believe me, you'll need your strength for what comes next. My, yes, you have, and your pretty glowing bracelets will make sure you stay behaved."

He turned his handsome cheek inward, snidely, and she reached out for him, in a hopeless ache. "But I-I chose you.........."

He scoffed bitterly, his eyes black and biting. "No....... You chose HER first. You chose her, Ally, and for that you must be disciplined. So have I lavished my affection, now will I STARVE you of it, until you go so mad with the wanting of me, that nothing or no one can use you against me again!"

"Please, don't leave...... Keep me in these binds forged by your own imagination, but I pray you, My Charles........ don't leave me."

Charlie walked coolly towards her, and knelt, white silk stockings in hand, and she froze as he kissed his way up her naked leg, running his nails across her thigh, before sliding her stocking up over it, carefully tying the laces.

He did the same with her other leg, and then moved for the door, before stopping to look over his shoulder at her, marveling at such a pale vision bathed in moonlight from the window. "To keep you warm...... while I'm away........." He simpered, with another eyebrow raise, referring to both the kisses and the stockings.

"I do not understand you, Charles....... You said if I did exactly as you asked, submitted myself entirely to you, I would not end up in chains......." Ally pleaded softly, despaired to the depths, her voice aching, coaxing, and he held fast against the heartbroken sound.

The deed is done, Sweet Wife, your sin already committed. This........" He gestured grandly, twirling his fingers through the air, his eyes haughty, and full of black smoke, "Is your atonement. How magnanimous of your beloved husband to devise a compromise, so that you do not have to feel the shame and weight of steel. It'd be a shame to bruise such delicate porcelain, would it not? You're welcome."

Charlie raised his dark brow cleverly, bowing, mock genteel, with elegant flourish, waving his arm, and then he left her there, just a sad little doll, so forlorn and forgotten. No woman, be she lover or foe, or especially both........ makes a fool out of Charles Manx.

Ally sank to her knees, sobbing profusely, overwhelmed by the inflicted wonder and horror this fateful night had wrought, still feeling his frost on her skin, her lips burning for more of his, and already his dastardly plan was working its will to devastated perfection. Her body hummed with his lashed out passion, kisses smouldering in their trace, reckless caresses with drawn claws, and she craved him more than she ever had before, hugging her knees to her chest to quiet the thunderous pulse of her heart. What have you done to me, Charles? What is this wildness you have unleashed in my heart, this untamed passion and nakedness of thought. She felt like she was vibrating, she could feel it in her spine, tingling all over, breathless. No, no wait. That wasn't the intensity of the craving, that was real, something........ something WAS vibrating.

She reached her manacled hands behind her back, and this time she heard an impatient buzz, slipping her fingers twixt the laces to work it from under her corset. What is this, my surreptitious lover, my scheming husband? Another parting gift? I fear it cannot slake the absence of you that my body laments in every unsatisfied tremble.

She pulled it free, frowning as she held it before her, the screen dark. A mobile? No, no it couldn't be. I haven't seen mine in months, I left it at the library the day I was........ She shivered as she thought the word. "Taken."

She clicked it on to find an angry succession of choice word texts, the last one being,

"Damn you, Jane, just freaking tell me you ain't dead........."

"Vic......." She whispered softly, remembering when the tough, do-not-touch-me girl, had clapped her back in an uncharacteristic show of friendship. You clever thing!!! Her fingers fumbled over the keys, her hands still restrained by the thin air, but she managed to type well enough, with some difficulty.

"Not dead. Not yet. Restricted wouldn't be too far of a stretch........" She bit her bottom lip. "He bought it, Vic. You may despise me for my impulse in the heat of the moment, but I have no regrets."

The ding was deafening, frantic, and her eyes darted back and forth over the scathing reprimand.

"DAMN IT, ALLY!!!! WHAT the FRICK were you thinkin!? You've put me through HELL, worryin' sick about you!!!! THAT WAS SO DAMNED STUPID!!!! I thought you were done for........"

Awwwww, and Charlie swore we, with our unlike natures couldn't be friends. She smiled sadly, tugging on the chains as she tapped out her response. "What can I say? I'm just one doe-eyed, ditzy, damned crazy chick."

"Yeah uhhh sorry about that, I was so freaking pissed at you for changing the game, I got a little carried away there, Jane. You ain't stupid, you just fell in love with the devil, that's all. You're damn right that bastard bought it, hell I bought it. You were right, we didn't stand a chance without somebody on the inside. Congrats on your way too convincing reconciliation, GOD, I sure as hell wouldn't wanna be you....... Stay alive, Harlequin."

"You too, Hell on Wheels. My darling man's gone out....... indefinitely, and it appears I've been....... detained, but I will keep you apprised of the events, and get you an audience with the children, with their father none the wiser."

"Aunt Vicki's gonna take them on a one-way trip out of this hellhole." She replied with a winking face, making Ally smile, feeling hopeful.

"Oh I'm sure they'd adore such an exciting outing! How doting of you! Save them first, Vic........ Even if you must leave me behind to suffer the Wrath of Manx."

"Stop it. I'm getting you out, Jane, I promise. Don't you even talk like that."

Ally looked down, pulling weakly on her chains, watching their soft, transcendent white-blue glow reappear, and then fade, just as fast, her pale face dismal.

"I don't know, Victoria........ I fear I shall remain ever a prisoner of his love. Obsession's chains are not so easily broken."

[exhaustedfander]

When is Enough Enough? [Chapter Two]

Tw Car Crash, mention of injured character

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / Epilog

a03 link to story 

“I’m afraid there’s been an accident.”

“An accident? W-what kind of an accident?” Logan could feel the blood pounding in his ears.

“I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Mr. Knight was hit by a car. You’re the person listed on his emergency contacts, so we needed to inform you.”

Logan's mind swam with panic; why wasn't Roman his emergency contact? He knew the brother had an...iffy relationship, but he had no idea he was Remus's emergency contact. His boyfriend had never mentioned it.

The knowledge that Remus had been struck by a car and was in the hospital weighed on Logan immediately, so much so that he was thankful that he'd been sitting down otherwise he might have collapsed. His boyfriend was hurt, how badly he wasn't yet sure, and right after they'd just had an explosive argument. How could something like this happen?  How could the universe be so cruel?

“How – how bad was it? What kind of condition is he in?” Logan stammered, his voice coming out miserably weak.

“I’m afraid I don’t have all of the details at this time. But it’s been advised that you come as soon as possible.”

“Of course,” Logan could already feel the tears welling in his eye, “I’ll leave now.”

“Good. Again, I apologize for being the bearer of bad news.”

“Right…yes…” Logan hung up the phone, two tears rolling down his cheeks. It had been such a long time since anything has made Logan cry. He prided himself in his ability not to allow his emotions get the better of him, but now he wasn't sure if he's ever felt more strongly in all his life.

Getting in the car and starting the engine happened in a blur. The silence of the drive to the hospital was choking, aside from the sobs emitting from his throat. He did his best not to let the tears in his eyes haze his vision, the idea of an automobile accident happening on account of him crying an irony not lost on him.

Arriving at Bright Orchard Hospital, Logan parked haphazardly, praying he'd parked in the correct space but not being in the right mind-frame to bother checking. His legs carried him to the receptionist's desk, but the actions felt involuntary. His mind was nothing but static, and when he heard the receptionist say, "He's in surgery," it's almost incomprehensible.

Logan collapsed into the uncomfortable plastic chair in the waiting room, feeling the true weight of everything fall over him all at once. He'd gotten a chance to talk to a nurse, asking for anything known about Remus's condition, but the information he received did nothing to reassure him.

The nurse – her name-tag informing him that her name was Jackie – said that Remus had been in incredibly rough shape when they brought him in, bleeding profusely from his left side.

“The doctors going to do everything they can to make him okay again,” she said, clearly trying to uplift his spirits but it does nothing to help. Of course, the doctors would do anything possible to save Remus’s life; it was their job, after all. But that doesn't mean that Remus wasn't going to die.

He was in a position to lose the only man that he'd ever truly loved, and it's just too much to bear.

Logan might lose him, and if that's the case, their final conversation would be that horrific argument. Why was Logan so stupid? Why hadn't he just got over himself and called - Roman. His brother was in the hospital and Roman was none the wiser.

Logan pulled his cellphone out of his pocket, doing his best to make his voice sound as though he hadn't just been bawling his eyes out as the phone rang and he prayed that it would be answered.

“What’s up, Microsoft Nerd?” Oh, thank God he picked up.

“Roman-Roman something terrible has happened.”

“Whoa, what’s going on? Wait…are you crying?” Logan could hear the concern in his friend's voice, a tone that's so unlike him. He supposed Roman had never heard him so distraught.

“It’s Remus.”

“Oh god, what has my brother done this time? Whatever it is, I apologize on his behalf. And judging by your tone, it must have been something really awful."

“No, y-you don’t understand.” Logan’s voice trembled, the last of his composure slipping.

“Understand what? Logan, what happened?”

“Remus he’s – he’s been injured. Badly.”

“Badly?” The tone of Roman’s voice immediately flipped from irritation to panic in a manner of seconds, “How badly?” Logan shook his head despite Roman’s inability to see, feeling the dampness under his glasses.

“I – I don’t know. He was struck by a car.”

“Oh…oh my god.”

“He’s in surgery right now. Roman, you need…I require you to be here right now. I can’t wait here alone…”

“Jesus Christ, I’ll – I’ll be over right away. What hospital?” Despite how fractured his relationship with his brother was, it's clear that Roman had gotten swept up in a wave of deep distress.

“Bright Orchard.”

“Ok – wait, hang on now, how did you know Remus was in the hospital before I did? That doesn’t make any sense.” Logan hardly had enough energy left to panic at the question.

“It appears I’m his emergency contact.”

“You? But why? I wasn’t aware you two even talked much, and I thought I was his emergency contact.”

“Truthfully, I didn’t know I was his until now,” Logan said, the feeling of helplessness welling up inside of him. There was no reason to hide it any longer, doing so would only make things more complicated. “But I would imagine he chose me as his contact because Remus is my boyfriend.”

The silence that hung between them was excruciating before Roman responded, incredulously, “What? You and Remus? I…I had no idea, he never mentioned it. You’ve never mentioned it, either. How long have you –”

“Seven months, but that isn’t important presently. Please, get here as soon as you’re able. It’s so hard to be alone waiting here to hear any news…” And though he’s intended to keep from doing so, Logan sobs into the phone, loudly and brokenly.

“Right, okay. I’m sorry, Logan, I’m on my way now.”

If the situation were different, surely Roman would have questioned their relationship further, or Logan for dating his brother, or so many other possibilities could have played out. But the reality of things was that Roman’s brother was hurt and Logan's alone and frightened. Those things would have to be tabled for another time.

“Please, hurry.”

“I’m will. Hang in there, Logan.”

“I’ll try…” And once the call ended, Logan was alone once more.

[captainmeowvelwrites]

You Times Two (Ch.7)

Pairing: Marinette/Ladybug | Adrien/Chat Noir Words: 4065 Summary: Ladybug knew this was necessary. She was the Guardian. He had the Cat Miraculous. But when his suit evaporated in a glow of pale green, she sure hadn’t expected him to have something far more precious: her heart. Cross-posted: AO3 and FFN

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | ...

Recap: Previously, on You Times Two… In a startling twist of events, our dear, sweet boy realised he's not at all over Ladybug. (Who would've thought?) In search of open skies to tackle his racing thoughts, Kitty Noir somehow found himself on our favourite girl's balcony. With a delicious stroke of irony, our adorkable duo traded tidbits about their love lives. And before our wee cat in black left her balcony, his Very Good Friend imparted a few words of wisdom: Go for the girl that makes you happy. Will Golden Boy heed her advice? Or will he continue down this dangerous path? Read on to find out!

---

Chapter Seven

Adrien shifted on his bedroom sofa, the leather squeaking against his boxer briefs. After an awful sleep, he'd often drag himself from bed at first light. This morning was no exception. For three hours straight, he'd twisted his ring, stared out the window and admired the striking sunrise.

Golds, blues and pinks had danced across the Parisian sky, a reminder of that one time he'd tried out watercolour painting. It'd been a hobby of his mother's—one she'd been so patient, so supportive, so eager to teach him.

He'd been hopeless.

At ten, he'd been vaguely aware of that fact. Now, at nearly fifteen, Adrien was certain. He just hadn't inherited his parents' creative eye, and had immense respect for anyone patient enough to craft something with their bare hands.

Thoughts of a specific individual – and the advice she'd given him – flitted through his head for maybe the fifth time that morning. "Go for the girl that makes you happy," he breathed, a line etching between his brows.

Ladybug obviously made him happy. She was his partner, a beacon of joy in his life. Their bond was unparalleled, and their exchange last night had only reaffirmed his feelings for her, of that he couldn't deny. There was just one problem: she was in love with someone else. Was it really fair of him to keep his sights set on her?

His history with Kagami didn't run nearly as deep, but there'd certainly been a spark from day one. She'd enthralled him with her confidence, her beauty, and she related to the pressures that came with a protective parent and a family name to uphold—but did she make him happy?

Adrien planned to officialise things on their date tonight. Or rather, that had been his plan.

Honestly, he didn't know anymore.

He tipped his head into his awaiting palms, a groan rumbling in his throat. Being the son of Gabriel Agreste meant he was painfully accustomed to having no say. His father controlled his schedule, his conduct, his appearance, everything. Now, his relationship status was being controlled—and the most surprising thing at this point was that his father wasn't responsible.

If he officialised things with Kagami tonight, would that decision be driven by the desire to be with her? Or by a sense of obligation? What was the alternative? Tell her he hadn't thought they were official and wasn't entirely sure that he wanted them to be?

A melodramatic yawn stole Adrien's attention. He glanced right to find Plagg slothfully sprawled across the white sofa armrest, rounder from a morning spent gorging on artisan cheese. "As much as I'd love to laze around here all day," Plagg droned, "don't you have a get together to, y'know, get to?"

Oh no! Was it that late already?!

He was Kagami's ride and an Agreste was never late.

Adrien spent the next twenty-two minutes scurrying around his room, flinging clothes, styling his hair, ordering breakfast to go.

Plagg floated by, defiling the air with a rancid, cheesy burp. "Don't forget my camem—"

"Cologne!" He dashed toward the bathroom. "Thanks for the reminder!" Of course, his kwami then felt the need to list the many perks of smelling like cheese. (He ignored them all.)

Finally, Adrien was outside the Agreste Mansion, thanking The Gorilla for holding the passenger door open. He tossed his bag into the backseat of the bulletproof sedan, the familiar scent of leather lingering, and—

"Adrien," came an unmistakable voice.

When he spun half a circle, his shoulders squared, he was unsurprised to find a pair of pale blue eyes staring down at him. The owner of those eyes loomed from the front steps, his glasses glinting in the sunlight and his body framed by the imposing double doors of the mansion.

Gabriel threaded his fingers behind his back. "I've noticed some rather… excessive purchases you've made of late." His voice was level, as always. "One hundred and fifty euros on flowers? Double that on a rooftop venue?"

Adrien could've kicked himself for being so forgetful. His father had always kept a close eye on his bank account, something he felt was a little unnecessary.

"You're a careless teenager," Gabriel had once claimed. "If you throw your money around frivolously, I need to know."

Thanks to his modelling, Adrien's savings were steadily climbing, and he'd never made much of a dent in them. It's not like he could get out of the house to even do so. In fact, his money mostly went to Ladybug merch and funnily enough, his father never questioned that.

His head dipped beneath the heightening weight of that scrutinising stare. "I've… organised dinner with a friend tonight." He fiddled with the cuff of his jet-black dress shirt, which peeked out from beneath the ironed sleeve of a white, fitted blazer.

"A rather extravagant dinner for a friend, don't you think?" His father cocked his head. "I've seen the news articles of your so-called relationship with Miss Tsurugi. Are they true?"

Adrien peered up from the ground, barely making eye contact. "She's"—of course, his voice cracked—"not my girlfriend."

"But I take it this dinner is for her?"

He managed a nod. "Yes, Father."

Gabriel frowned. Or rather, his perpetual frown deepened. "You should've consulted me before making such plans. Tomoe Tsurugi is one of my most valued partners. I don't wish to see that compromised."

Adrien's polished dress shoes scuffed the pavement with each fidget of his feet. "I'm sorry, Father." It took him far longer than it should've to meet that stare. "Should I… cancel?"

"This once, I will allow it."

Adrien expected the gratifying warmth of relief to wash over him. Instead, quiet apprehension crept in. Had he been hoping for an excuse to cancel the date?

"But," Gabriel added, "I expect you to tread carefully with Ms Tsurugi's daughter. Cleaning up the tabloids after you make a mess is not an effective use of my time." Pale eyes snapped to The Gorilla, who stood in wait on the driver's side of Adrien's ride. "Your bodyguard will pick you up from the venue at eight o'clock. No later. Do not push my good graces again."

Adrien pasted on his model smile. "Thank you, Father." He spun on his heel, ready to slip into the backseat of his ride, when a sudden thought had him re-facing the mansion.

Gabriel was just beyond the doorway that led to the opulent lobby, his white-suited back to Adrien.

"Father?"

Gabriel spared him an over the shoulder glance.

"I've been meaning to ask," he called, his tone now light and laced with hope, "how's Nathalie doing? I've hardly seen her all week?"

Gabriel surprised him with a smile, slight as it was. "She's improving. Slowly, but surely."

"I'm glad she's getting better. I've missed having her around." He met his father's gaze completely. "Will you tell her that?"

Gabriel gave a single nod, his smile remaining. With an echoing thud, the double doors shut behind him, and Adrien slid into the backseat of his lavish ride.

---

Spindly trees lined the cobbled street, their russet leaves rustling overhead, as Marinette scrambled down the sidewalk. "Gonna be late! Gonna be late!" It was a mantra she'd started two streets back, when she'd charged out of the bakery, a warm carton in hand. She still felt awful for nearly bowling over that elderly man—

"Marinette!" came Tikki's panicked voice.

She screeched to a halt at a pedestrian crossing, just as a car zoomed past and turned left. "Gosh! Thanks, Tikki!" Her eyes shot between the kwami in her purse and the pole across the street, where a tiny man glowed red. "I almost became roadkill!"

Tikki's brows creased. "You really need to be more careful!"

Another tiny man now glowed green up ahead, and Marinette raced over the crossing. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry for scaring you." She flipped open the carton, the sweet scent of macarons filling her senses. "Here." Tikki's face brightened as she slipped a brown one in her purse. "Consider it a thank you for being my eyes half the time."

The kwami smirked. "Only half the time?"

Marinette giggled, while Tikki seated herself in the purse and took a tiny bite. "Delicious," she said, crumbs dusting her lips. "Your dad would be proud!"

She smiled her kwami's way. "Let's hope my friends think so too—"

A familiar voice called out her name, and her eyes shot up from her purse to be greeted by the warmth of another's. A breath caught in her throat. The owner of those eyes whirred by in a flash of yellow and teal. Was that Luka?

She looked over her shoulder, staring after the passing bike.

Her feet tangled mid-step.

She stumbled forward, her arms flailing, and the carton slipped through her fingers. Colliding with the concrete wasn't half as painful as the thud of thin cardboard on the sidewalk. Macarons scattered. One even had the audacity to roll right past her face, off the curb and under the wheel of a passing car. Her left eye twitched. Her lower lip followed. Then, she slumped against the pavement, a self-pitying groan squeezing up her throat.

So much for them remaining intact.

Luka's bike clattered on the sidewalk, guitar chords cutting through the air, his shoes pounding on concrete. "Marinette! Are you all right?" His black nail polish caught the sunlight as he settled his hands on her shoulders and eased her to her knees. "You're not hurt, are you?"

Their eyes met. And just like that, a blush crept up her neck. Not from embarrassment. Never from embarrassment. At least, not around Luka. His presence was soothing like that.

No, her blush had another source.

Concern coated every inch of those teal eyes, framed by bangs the very same shade. His hands were still on her shoulders, their warmth seeping through her cardigan as he held her.

Just like the warmth of gloved hands on her balcony… hands that had swept goosebumps from her bare arms, shielding her from the cold.

His gloves were made of leather. His claws were razor sharp. Yet, his hands on her skin—they'd been so gentle, so comforting, so warm.

They always were.

But so were Luka's.

"Marinette?"

When she blinked back to the present, Marinette was sure her whole face had flushed scarlet. She threw him her most convincing smile. "I – I'm fine. Yeah. Totally fine." His sigh of relief wasn't lost on her. "Sorry, I was completely spaced out when you called and I—" Her eyes flew wide. "The macarons!" She scanned the treats that scattered the sidewalk, plucked one off the ground, and her shoulders sagged. "What a disaster."

"Don't worry," Luka piped up beside her, eyes smiling. "Not all of them ended up on the ground." He flourished the carton toward her, five macarons wobbling within it. "Besides, I'm happy to eat the ones that did if no one else will."

Of course, he would. "Thanks, Luka!" It was then that she spied a yellow smoosh near her foot. "Passionfruit!" Her hands flew to her scalp, eyes darting about the sidewalk. "Are they all on the ground?!"

"You mean the yellow ones?" Luka glanced at the carton, then back at her. "No, there are still a few in here."

Time slowed, all else fading to black as she laid eyes upon those three macarons. So help her, she would guard those bad boys with her life.

Luka chuckled. "With your life?"

She froze. Had she said that out loud?

"The passionfruit ones must be delicious if you're willing to go that far."

Marinette tugged at her cardigan collar. "Uh – Yeah. They're very special. I mean – err – delicious. They're very delicious."

In a matter of moments, Luka had helped her to collect the stray macarons. (And as it turned out, the paper lining in the carton made a decent divider between the tainted and untainted ones.)

Marinette beamed up at him, the carton clutched in one hand as she dusted her pants with her other. "Thanks for your help, Luka. And sorry I'm such a clutz." She held up the carton. "Why don't you try one? You can tell me what you think of them."

One look at his eager smile had her heart thrumming fast in her chest. He reached for a macaron on the tainted side. A yellow one. Luka's eyes slid shut as he took his first bite. "Wow." His eyes opened a second later, and he downed the rest of the macaron in one go. "The flavours. The texture. They make the perfect harmony. It's incredible." He met her gaze. "Just like you."

Her breath hitched as she scanned every inch of his smile—so warm and fond and… and she should probably be making words happen right now. "Tha – Thanks, Luk-uka." That counted as words, right? "Hopefully everyone else—" A gasp shot from her lips, her face twisting in horror. "Oh no, I'm late!"

Luka gathered his guitar from the sidewalk. "If you like, I can give you a lift." He scooped up his bike, nestled the instrument in the front basket and retrieved a yellow helmet from that same basket, extending it to her. "I've got a few deliveries near Alya's anyway. And it's probably a safer mode of transport for your macarons."

"Well, you're not wrong there." She tucked the carton under one arm and accepted the helmet. "Marinette Airways is neither fast nor safe." (Fortunately, the Ladybug Express made up for that.) She plonked on the helmet, but struggled as the strap proved stubborn to adjust.

"Here." Luka worked his magic and she tried not to linger on the fingertips that brushed her jawline.

Soon enough, she was holding onto him like a fuzzless koala, as they zoomed down the narrow street, bound for Alya's apartment.

---

Adrien tugged at the strap of his shoulder bag as he rounded the sleek sedan. He reached for the car door handle, Kagami's silhouette shifting behind the tinted glass. "Careful." Their fingers threaded together as he guided her onto the sidewalk, familiar clogs wrapped around her feet. "I know how tricky those things are to walk in."

Kagami quirked a brow.

He released her hand to click the car door shut behind them. "That is"—he dipped his chin—"I've, uhh… seen a few photoshoots end in stumbles and sprains thanks to them."

"I never stumble."

Adrien shook his head, smiling. Kagami certainly wasn't wrong. There was an irrefutable grace in the way she moved, rivalled only by a certain little bug—but today was about Kagami, not Ladybug! And this morning, his father had expressed his views quite clearly.

Adrien refused to mess this up. He couldn't disappoint his father. And he wouldn't disappoint Kagami.

As their ride rolled off, he found himself admiring her outfit. "You look really nice." Her grandmother's shoes were accompanied by a black and red jumpsuit, her waist cinched by a white belt. He recognised it from the movie premiere. She'd looked nice then, too.

The corner of her mouth lifted. "As do you, Adrien," she said, the pink sheen of her lips catching the sunlight. Was she wearing makeup today? Or did she always look that pretty?

Out the corner of his eye, Adrien glimpsed bubblegum pink. Those pants were as familiar as their owner, who was perched upon the seat of a bright yellow bike, behind Luka. The wind weaved through her pigtails, poking out from beneath her helmet.

Adrien clutched Kagami's hand, his face alight. "Look! It's Marinette!" He launched his free hand in the air, waving their way.

Marinette threw back a cheery wave of her own. "Hey, Adrien, Kagami," she called down the street, her words a little muffled by the hum of a passing car.

The bike eased to a stop in front of them, and Adrien watched as she untwined her arms from around Luka's waist. Had they been riding like that the whole time? His brows furrowed. Maybe it was safer than it looked?

She scooched off the seat. "So, are you guys excited for—" Her left foot met the pavement, but before her right could join it, she lost her footing and stumbled forward.

A gasp lodged itself in Adrien's throat. He lunged forward, his free hand outstretched and ready to catch her.

Luka beat him to it.

Pretty impressive—he was still on his bike, after all. He'd planted his left foot, enclosed in his signature converse, firmly on the sidewalk, while his right remained on the bike pedal.

Adrien blinked, his eyes widening, as Luka's fingers took their time travelling from Marinette's shoulders to rest on his handlebars.

She beamed up at her saviour. "Thank you, Luka."

"Ye-ah." Adrien's voice cracked. After a brief clear of his throat, he tried again. "Nice reflexes!"

"Hello, Marinette," said Kagami, and he was reminded of the warm hand he still held. Her focus turned to Luka, her dark bob swaying with the movement. "It's nice to see you again."

"Always a pleasure, Kagami!" Luka's lips lifted. "You too, Adrien," he acknowledged with a nod of his head.

Adrien returned the nod. "I didn't know you'd be coming." Everyone went silent, Kagami shot him a side glance, and his lips curled to one side. Had he said something wrong?

Marinette spoke up first. "Oh! Um." She pressed her pointer fingers together. "Did I forget to mention that?" Her eyes jumped between his and the ground. "Sorry, it's been a crazy week and my brain's a bit—"

"No no, Marinette. Don't apologise!" Adrien rubbed at the nape of his neck. "It's cool that you're joining us, Luka!"

And it was.

He seemed like an awesome guy. There was a reason Adrien had picked him to wield a Miraculous, after all.

Luka nodded toward the yellow box on the back of his bike. "I just have to get through my shift first." He glanced between his three companions. "I haven't played many video games, but I'm looking forward to spending time with everyone."

"Don't worry, Luka." Marinette's pink-dusted cheeks puffed up as she smiled his way, and pulled a double thumbs up. "You'll be a pro in no time!"

"Definitely!" Adrien coaxed his hand from Kagami's to give his own double thumbs up. "With Marinette's help, you'll be a gaming champ before the day is over."

Pleasant memories filled his mind. Puns, deep-and-meaningfuls and her amazing advice.

Last night, Adrien had leaped from one slated roof to the next as though on autopilot. When he'd glimpsed his classmate from afar, tending to her rooftop plants, his legs had carried him the rest of the way of their own volition. And boy, was he thankful for that.

Clad in his catsuit, he'd told Marinette she'd helped him far more than she'd probably ever know. And well, he hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said those two boys, whoever they were, were lucky she cared so much about them.

Clearly, Luka was one of those boys. It was obvious by the way she beamed at him.

So who was the other?

Did he know him?

Kagami leaned in close, her arms looping around his bicep. "Shall we head upstairs, Adrien?"

"—hate to be responsible for any cold pizzas," Luka was saying, his sights still set on Marinette. "Speaking of which"—his hand dipped into the box behind his bicycle seat—"these are under Alya's name." He procured a stack of three pizza boxes, his hands splayed beneath them.

Kagami's arms slipped from Adrien's bicep as he stepped forward. "Thanks, Luka. I'll take them off your hands." As he did just that, the tantalising aroma of spicy pepperoni teased his tastebuds. "We'll be sure to save a few slices for you."

Marinette plucked a carton from the basket latched to the front of Luka's bike, and Adrien heard something – or rather, several somethings – rattling around inside it. "And, of course"—she brandished the carton between two petite hands—"we'll be sure to save you some macarons!" She winked at Luka.

Adrien's stomach clenched. Maybe the sandwich he'd downed on the drive here hadn't filled him up. Though to be fair, the Dupain-Cheng macarons were so good they'd make a stuffed stomach grumble.

With a laugh, Luka pushed off the pavement and his bike rolled into motion. "See you all around three, then!" And with that, he was off.

Adrien's sights shifted between Kagami and Marinette. "Shall we?" With his hands preoccupied by the pizza boxes, he instead nudged his head toward the square-pillared entrance of an aged apartment complex, five stories high and built with weather-worn bricks.

To his side, Kagami's clogs clicked on the sidewalk as they approached an iron gate. And Marinette, two steps ahead, tapped on her phone as she shouldered the gate aside. "It's never locked," she said, as they passed by a row of beige mailboxes, fixed to the wall in the entrance corridor. "I'll let Alya know we're here with the pizzas."

He heard the phone ring twice, then Alya's voice blared through the speaker.

"Hey, M! Let me guess. Your gerbil ate your favourite sweater and your lucky socks have done a runner?"

Marinette snorted, something he wasn't sure he'd ever heard her do. "For your information," she announced, slapping her free hand to her hip, "it'd be a hamster, not a gerbil. We've been through this. And I'll have you know I'm right downstairs. Adrien and Kagami are here, too."

"Come again?" Amusement was thick in Alya's voice. "My phone must be acting up 'cause it almost sounded like you said you're downstairs. As in, on time."

"Yes. Thanks, Captain Obvious, for your keen observation."

"What can I say? It's the journalist in me."

Marinette glanced between him and Kagami, a cheeky smirk sliding across her rosy lips. "Say, guys. We've got three free pizzas. That's one whole pizza each. What say we backtrack to Places des Vosges to eat these bad boys without Alya's help?"

Despite her threats, she led them through a nearby door, into an artificially lit stairwell, and they commenced their five-storey climb—with her up front and Kagami beside him.

"Did you hear that, babe? My girl's threatening to deprive you of your margherita pizza—"

"What?!" came Nino's muffled outcry, followed by the rushed thumps of footsteps. "I dipped into my savings to get triple cheese!" He was louder now; probably right beside Alya. "She can't do this to me!"

Marinette stole a glance back at him and Kagami as they trekked up the stairs. Her lips were pursed and by the twinkle in her eye, she must've been biting back laughter. He couldn't help but grin to himself. He kind of liked her being sassy like this.

"Oh, my sweet, sweet boy," Alya was saying. "Didn't you only have, what, four euros left in your savings? And you spent it on extra cheese?"

"Sacrilege!" Adrien chipped in, his voice teeming with faux horror. "Alya, tell Nino we can't be friends anymore." He felt Plagg writhe inside his shirt and could simply imagine the kwami's outrage at the shade he'd just thrown on his precious cheese.

Up ahead, Marinette's shoulders shook in sync with a giggle.

"Ha! Tell him yourself, Pretty Boy."

"Okay okay," Marinette piped in. Even with her back to him, he could hear the smile in her voice. "Be there in just a sec, Al."

"Can't wait!"

With that, the call ended, and all he heard was the echoing taps of their feet on wooden steps. Then, Marinette stopped on a stair landing like the three they'd just passed and knocked on the second of three doors, its surface riddled with dents of varying sizes.

When the scent of spicy pepperoni again floated through the air, Adrien's eyes flicked to Kagami. "Guess it's a good thing pizza's not on the menu tonight, huh?"

"Two of my favourite foods in one day?" Kagami's mouth quirked up. "That sounds perfect, Adrien."

Perfect.

It sounded perfect.

Adrien looked to Marinette, a grateful smile at the ready. It'd been her perfect suggestion, after all.

But she didn't smile back.

Those blue eyes had fallen to her ballerina flats—and this time, when his stomach clenched, Adrien had to wonder if hunger was truly to blame.

[elixir448]

Beth x Rio and OTP questions -- What’s the first thing that changes when they realise they have feelings for each other? and -- who says I love you first?

I am pretty sure that I am answering this wrong and maybe I’m supposed to create a written piece for the two characters but honestly the thought of writing for these two makes me cringe. I’m sure I’d be terrible at it!! So, I’m just going to answer the questions literally and hope that’s what you wanted!

Right, so. The first question is so painful because I am convinced that Beth and Rio were a little in love with each other. I know it is controversial but the more I think about season 2, the more it makes sense. In order to unpack your first  question, I guess we need to have a think about when they started to have feelings for one another and then when they realised that this was the case.

Honestly, I think that these two caught feels for each other as early as season 1. Certainly, those feelings were mainly comprised of intense curiosity, desire and the fact that they both seemed aware of the electric connection between them, something that neither of them anticipated.

I mean I’m sure if you asked the collective fandom when Beth and Rio developed feelings for one another, the answers would wildly vary.

It’s evident that Rio had been thinking about Beth prior to their conversation in her van (1x05), as indicated by “what are you doing with someone like me?”. Even before then, as soon as Beth and Rio were in the same space as one another, it was like they couldn’t quite remove their focus from the other person, like they were orbiting one another. At this point, after seeing the scale of Rio’s operations, it’s clear to me that he never had to deal with the girls directly after 1x02; initially, it was about using the girls to get his product from Canada and seeing what these suburban mamas could contribute but eventually it was like he couldn’t help himself. I mean, we’ve seen how many times Rio redirects his attention back to Beth whenever Annie or Ruby say something. It seems as though he doesn’t want to look away and it really makes me wonder if, of the two, Rio was actually the first one to catch feelings? Something more than just an awareness of their charged connection.

One of the other reasons I think Rio developed feelings for Beth first is that he’s been making exceptions for Beth for a long ass time, since almost the beginning of their professional relationship. That doesn’t mean he’s not hard on her but it could have, and probably should have, been way worse. It’s not smart for a person like Rio to make exceptions; he never made any for Eddie and I think he knows that he never should have for Beth either. I think it was intrigue that drove him to listen to her and give her some leeway and then I think he was too impressed not to hear her out. Eventually though, I believe he just liked it. He liked seeing her and talking to her in cars and cafes, he enjoyed their loaded conversations and eye-fucking and I think he genuinely wanted her. Like really wanted her. To the point that he let her get away with things that no one else could, like turning him in. Honestly, I oscillate between thinking that he first became aware of his feelings for her at the end of 2x02 or maybe he was full on punched in the face by them in 2x09, after she kissed him and he just stared at her. Or maybe he knew he was f***ed when he retrieved the Dubby for her and stuffed it into her mailbox, instead of leaving it when he confirmed that Jane hadn’t been kidnapped. We saw how soft and open he was with her in 2x08 on her picnic bench. So basically, I don’t know when he realised and I love that it probably snuck up on him, past all the eye-fucks and amusement and exasperation.

So now that I’ve got that out of the way, let’s address your first question, considering Rio’s POV first. I think the first thing that changed was that he suddenly became aware of how dangerous she is to him. In season 2 and probably in the latter half of season 1, I don’t think he could have killed Beth even if he wanted to. There was no way he was going to kill her after he said “Elizabeth. Go home” in 1x09. Also, I’ve said it before but I really do think that throughout 2x02, Rio didn’t know what to do with Beth, who by all accounts was his rotten egg at that point. A rotten egg he couldn’t deal with, despite berating her for being unable to handle her own. I believe that Rio is very self-aware and knew how many exceptions he had made for her but perhaps had convinced himself that it would be worth it, because she was useful. And the thing is she was. But in the business, I think she’d also be considered more trouble than she’s worth.

Realising that he had feelings for her would force him to reckon with the fact that, even though there is a clear imbalance of power in their professional relationship, she actually wields far more power over him that even she is aware of in their undefined personal relationship. And I think as soon as he became aware of that, he was forced to regroup and evaluate what he was doing. This was pretty quickly followed by the realisation that she hadn’t killed Boomer, that she had been lying to him throughout the season despite her insistence that they were partners. I believe that was the driving force behind the “That’s what I am? Work?” scene in 2x12.

Regarding Beth’s feelings, well, she was certainly thinking about Rio early in season 1 as well, “Rio. His name’s Rio.” Annie and Ruby’s responses to that were absolutely perfect and reflective of the audience’s reactions. And come on, with the way that Rio looked at her, called her out and challenged her. There’s no way she wasn’t thinking about him. Sure, she enjoyed it when he blatantly looked her up and down but I think something inside her unravelled when he looked at her with admiration and curiosity in 1x02 (“we’re normal people”) and at the end of 1x04 (“we’re not here to try, we’re here to win bitch!”).

I think Beth has felt undervalued by a lot of the men in her life, including Dean and probably her father (the lack of any mention of him was pretty conspicuous in the 2x08 flashbacks). I think she spent most of her adult life comfortable but not happy. Not unhappy either though. That uncomfortable in-between. Initially, I think she viewed Rio as an opening into the thrill of what she had just done in 1x03, a way to make some money, but part of the thrill was him; I mean, her lies to Agent Turner’s face revolved around both of them having sex. So she definitely thought about that, probably daydreamed about it too. However, I think she also liked what she saw in herself when he looked at her. Her capabilities. And, look, I’m not saying that Beth’s self-worth is tied to Rio. It certainly is not and that would be extremely unhealthy. We’ve seen how much she disregards him lol. What I’m saying is maybe she needed that acknowledgement. Everyone does.

None of this stopped her from turning on him towards the end of season 1, when he “broke up” with her. I am convinced that she was driven by fear of what he would do yes, but mainly by anger and vindictiveness. A bit of a screw you, I don’t need you to do this (and gosh, the irony of that considering the fact that Rio says that to her in 2x06) and how can you just walk away?

We all know that Beth represses a lot, so if she had just sat down and unpacked what she was feeling, she would’ve known pretty quickly what Rio represented to her, a thrill but also a genuine connection. Then, after the bathroom scene in 2x04, her blatant avoidance of discussing it definitely says to me that it meant more to her than she was willing to acknowledge at that point. Then along comes the green-eyed monster when she saw him with Dylan. Come on Beth. Even Annie and Ruby knew that you were jealous but she couldn’t acknowledge it. Instead, she repressed and threw herself into uncovering what his new hustle was. When he returned the Dubby to her and that exhale when she pulled it out of the envelope; Gosh, I think she was confused and decided to avoid what she was feeling even more but maybe it was leaking out without her permission when she and Rio were being so gentle and light-hearted, ribbing each other on the picnic bench.

Interestingly, I’m way more certain of when Beth realised that she had feelings for Rio and that’s probably because we, as the audience, are poised to view Rio from Beth’s point of view. Any insight we get into his character is usually through her, other than his scenes with Turner in 1x01 and Gretchen in 2x03. And we follow her not just in her scenes with him but also through the other aspects of her life, whereas we usually only see Rio in scenes with her. I believe that Beth became aware of and couldn’t repress her feelings anymore when Dean presented her with a choice. Their family or Rio. When she was presented with a time stamp on their relationship, it jolted her. I think by that point, Rio and her had been through a lot and yet always ended up in the same story anyway. Like none of it mattered. Their connection wasn’t erased by any of it. So, she must have stopped thinking that anything could permanently rip them apart. Like, she turned him in and yet there they were, doing what they always do and so what if it means something more? In those moments where Beth’s sitting at the bar, knowing what she had to do, she must have been dreading it. Maybe a little of that was fear of how he might retaliate but Beth knew by that point, in her bones, that Rio would not harm her. No, that dread was because she knew how she felt now and she knew that what she was about to do was going to hurt. Strangely, acknowledging her own feelings was what spurred her to act and seek out that “one last time” with him.

On to your second question, who says I love you first? Oh lord, honestly, I can’t imagine these two every fully exposing themselves like this, not verbally anyway. The Dubby was a pretty obvious declaration of Rio’s feelings (come on, the episode was called “The Dubby”), even if he was probably pissed off while stuffing it into her mailbox. I think, in his own twisted way, presenting her with Agent Turner in 2x13 was another, more f***ed up declaration of something. I’ve thought about this a lot but I can’t even imagine Beth and Rio hugging. Like, it blows my mind to even think about it. Part of the reason is that they are not there yet. They didn’t trust each other, not even before Beth shot him. Telling the other person they love them would expose them in ways that I don’t think either of them can stomach yet. I think it would make itself known in other ways and, hell, it already kind of has with the way they looked at each other in 2x09 before going to Beth’s house. Also, I think the music (Love and War by Fleurie) was an excellent choice for the final scene of the season 2 finale and it was also very telling of what these two represent to one another.

I low-key think that in season 3 or 4, Beth may end up making a declaration of her own, through her actions, of how she feels about Rio. Like saving his life or refusing to flip on him or protecting him in her own way. Her equivalent of the Dubby. And honestly, I will be living!

What I’m trying to say is that Beth and Rio are definitely those two that everyone would eventually know are in love but they would struggle to say it to each other, even if they knew it. If it did happen, I kind of think Beth would be the one to say it. The show is called Good Girls and it’s about our three gals. Beth left her pearls for Rio, lifted up her dress for him and crossed the distance between them to kiss him first. So, in keeping with that theme, it makes sense that she would be the one to say it.  

That being said, I can vaguely see both of them saying it. But in a resigned way. This is killing me. You could kill me. I know. I’m tired. I love you.

Like, all those thoughts and emotions swirling together, until it it just came out, leaden with exhaustion.

Anyway, that’s that. I am so sorry that it took me so long to answer this ask but I got ridiculously insecure with my answer and then realised that I had actually written that everyone will have different opinions, so I thought screw it. I’d really love to hear other peoples’ thoughts! Also, feel free to send in asks (they’ll defos be as rambly as this one, sorry)!

Btw, this is pretty irrelevant but can you imagine if we get to see scenes of Rio in the next season, thinking about her when she’s not there (maybe with the pearls)? Followed by Beth thinking about him? Probs won’t happen but I can dream.

[blackbatsnwitchshats]

Irony is an Understatement

Chapter 1 

It wasn't often All for One ran into people, not literally, and certainly not people taller than him. Partially because he generally had better spacial awareness than that, and partially because he was a rather tall man himself. Standing at a height over one hundred and eighty-two centimeters, he was by no means easy to push around. Not even when his extra abilities weren't taken into account. Yet there he sat on a wet sidewalk in Tokyo, feeling like he'd run face first into a brick wall.

He looked up to see who he'd walked into.

The sight that greeted All For One's eyes nearly sent his heart racing. Not out of fear or attraction, but anticipation. However, as he looked closer, he realized they weren't who he'd thought they were.

All the colors were off. The eyes blinking down at him were a light seafoam green, not pure electric blue. Thick and fluffy créme-colored hair sat where wild sunshine blond should be. Their skin was quite a few shades lighter than the tan in his mind's eye. Not a stitch of red, yellow or blue could be seen in their predominantly black and orange clothes.

Though... he'd be lying if he said there weren't any similarities.

All Might's harsh influence was moreso in his facial features and body build. They were smoothened by traits from a clearly Asian mother, but the longer All For One looked the more he could see his nemesis in the young man before him. He had a sharper chin from his mother, but the cheekbones had All Might written all over them. His eyebrows, though tapering to thinner points as they got closer to each temple, began thick and his nose wasn't quite as sharply pointed, but still very narrow. All on top of a trained athlete's body that, while not nearly as heavily musculed, certainly wasn't anything to scoff at.

Of course, he couldn't forget how tall he was either.

"Excuse me? Are you alright, Sir?"

It seems he'd gotten a bit distracted.... The young man was holding a hand out to him now, waiting patiently for him to take it.

"I'm fine. Just a bit jostled," All For One grinned as he took the other's hand.

The green-eyed man pulled him to his feet with a skeptical look on his face, "Are you sure? Your suit's soaked."

All For One's grin fell and he looked down at himself. His suit was indeed soaked, and that was just the front. He didn't even want to see his rear.

"So it is..."

"I'm awfully sorry about this," the taller man apologized, "Is there anything I could do for you? Pay for your dry cleaning? Get you some coffee to keep you warm until you can get home to change? Both?"

He'd have to be an absolute fool to not take advantage of this situation. Even more so if this person truly did have a connection to that blond pest of a successor. There was no way there wasn't either, not with how similar the two were. It was a leap, but small one he was willing to take. After all, the gain was far greater than the loss if his theory turned out to be true.

Not only that, but it was dreadfully chilly after the earlier rain and if he was offering then who was All For One to turn him down?

All For One hummed. "I'd appreciate it if you would."

"What? Pay for the dry cleaning? Get you a coffee?" The green-eyed man asked, "or did you mean both?"

"Both if you can." All For One replied, thumbing a wet spot on his suit coat before looking up at him.

The young man smiled and nodded resolutely. "I can do both."

____________

"Thank you," All For One said as he took his offered cup.

He held it close to his chest. Having taken off his coat to tie it around his waist, he was feeling a bit chilled after the walk to their chosen café. The first sip was heavenly as it warmed him from inside.

"You're welcome." The blond sipped at his own drink. "Again, I'm sorry about your suit. Normally I'm a bit more self aware, but today I got a bit preoccupied with the sights."

All For One waved a hand, nonchalantly dismissing his concerns before tilting his head. "Are you new here?"

One wet suit was a small price to pay for what he was hoping for. Just a thought of the look on All Might's face upon the future reveal was enough. In the meantime, he'd focus on gathering as much information as he could.

The other man shook his head. "Not quite. I was born and raised here in Tokyo, but have been elsewhere for schooling until recently. I came back about a month and a half ago and have been busy moving in since then. Today's my first day out and about."

"Really?" All For One looked up from his coffee. "Where did you go for your education and what for?"

The polite smile he got in return wasn't quite a smile at all. It was more of a secretive smirk, half hidden behind the blond's coffee cup. Interesting.

"Various places for various things," the taller man answered, "The United States for Forensic Science and Criminal Justice, Germany for Chemistry and Physics, and the United Kingdom for Advanced Communications among others."

All For One whistled. "My, that's quite a list. Are you planning on working in law?"

That'd be even better for his plans, honestly. If he gained this man's trust, he'd have a new informant! An unwitting one, but sometimes those ones were the most useful. He'd be sticking it to All Might while also having an ear within the police. Two birds with one stone!

"Somewhat." And there's that cheeky smirk again.

The blond took another sip from his coffee and asked, "What about you? What do you do for a living?"

"I work in a media firm," All For One hummed, first looking down at his coffee then back to the green-eyed man, "One that primarily deals with touchy, controversial topics. My focus is mostly in the editorial process, before the articles are sent out."

Of course, he neglected to mention the fact he owned the aforementioned media firm.

"That sounds interesting. You must be very busy," the young man suddenly frowned, his face pinched. "I'm not keeping you from anything important, am I?"

Yes, he technically was. There was a business meeting he was supposed to attend to today. However, All For One merely waved off his concern once more, "Certainly not! Besides, even if you were, I can't very well go into work in drenched clothes, can I?"

"No, I suppose not," he chuckled then asked, "Do you mind me asking what media firm you work for?"

"Not at all. It's the Heroes Exposé."

The blond whistled, "When you said controversial, you weren't joking. The Heroes Exposé writes some of the most critical and scathing articles I've ever read."

All For One quirked an eyebrow, a smile curling on his lips. "You read it?"

Well, well, wasn't that a pleasant surprise.

The other man nodded, "I do. It's hard to find media that isn't just straight up praising heroes for unnecessary violence and property damage or outright drama such as which heroes are sleeping together and who's no longer a couple. The Heroes Exposé is down to earth and dedicated to getting to the important truths of today's society. I admire their work ethic."

Goodness... They were going to get along like a house on fire. All For One could feel it.

All For One laughed, "That's good to hear. It's nice to know we're coming across exactly how we hope to!"

They continued talking for a while longer. At some point, they moved from standing outside the cafe, preparing to go their separate ways, to sitting at a table inside. Eventually they realized both their drinks were long gone and the day was slowly inching toward early evening. The autumn sun was beginning it's descent across the sky and casting everything in amber light. Larger groups of people flooded the sidewalks, most likely walking home or to the nearest train station.

"Well, we sure lost track of time...," the blond noted, "It really flew by."

"Right." All For One agreed.

The taller man went to throw his cup in a bin, only to stop halfway and turn back. A rather embarassed flush of red painted his face. Again, he apologized, "I'm sorry. We've been talking this whole time and not once did I think to give you my name."

Just as he had earlier in the day, he extended his hand to All For One, "I'm Kishimura Akira. It's nice to meet you, ...?"

"Shigaraki," All For One filled in, shaking his hand, "Shigaraki Ichidai. It's nice to meet you too."

"Despite me accidentally knocking you into a puddle?"

"I'll consider us even with the coffee and dry cleaning."

"Fair enough. And before I forget...," Kishimura reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a memo pad and pen. "Speaking of the dry cleaning, I'm gonna give you this."

He scribbled something down on a small sheet of paper and ripped it out. He then handed it over. "Here. My phone number. Have whoever you go to give me a call and I'll stop in"

All For One almost couldn't contain his glee. He just barely managed to keep it contained within a polite smile as he took the little note and stuffed it carefully in a pocket. Everything was going according to plan.

"Will do. Thank you."

With that, they wished each other a good day and turned to walk separate ways. However, All For One didn't get far before he heard Kishimura call out to him. He turned back and the blond bashfully rubbed the back of his neck.

"Ah, ...would you like to get coffee again sometime?"

This time All For One didn't bother keeping the glee off his face. "I'd love to!"

____________

Later that evening, All For One reflected on his day.

After having Kurogiri pick him up and changing clothes, he called in a favor. He wanted information. However, there were other more pressing things he needed to focus on. Namely another meeting that, unlike the other one, he couldn't miss. The business partners attending this one wouldn't be nearly as forgiving if he did.

While he didn't particularily care whether they were angry with him or not, he had a reputation to uphold and skipping things generally wasn't conducive in maintaining said reputation.

Giran picked up on the first ring. "Hello. What can I do for you today?"

"I need you to find all the information you can on a man named Kishimura Akira."

"New target? You want everything everything or just the usual?"

"Everything."

"Alright. I'll get right on it," Giran stated, "Expect it within the next two weeks."

"Excellent."

"Same routine?"

"Fifty percent upfront and the rest upon completion, yes."

"Wonderful. It's a pleasure doing business with you as always, Sir. Have a good evening."

Oh, he certainly will.

"You as well. Good-bye." All For One responded.

He ended the call and put his phone away. He had a meeting to get ready for. If anyone asked about his cheerful demeanor, well, it must be the coffee.

[genderpunktheo]

hi so i saw ur post about adam on my facebook feed randomly and i already knew u from twitter so i went on ur profile and saw that ur salty about people sharing ur “content” without credit and i’m like??? u bringing awareness for a shitty film is not “content”? ur name is in the screenshots and u still reply to people like “tag me in this and tell everyone to subscribe to my youtube channel” & literally said the person stole ur post when the post says to spread it around???? +

+ it just seems to me like ur mad about not reaping the benefits of this situation which is really annoying because u were literally just spreading facts but as soon as posts used ur screenshots (literally doing what u told them to do in the post) u got mad because ur sub count didn’t go up. u made a tweet like “literally thousands of people are seeing my work and i’m getting nothing from it” like WORK? it’s not art? i’m sorry but ur being so rude and entitled on twitter it’s embarrassing

Uh… it’s essentially a book review?? Of an incredibly triggering, transphobic book?? That I a trans person had to write up??

What exactly do you think my work is? I make content. I educate about queer and trans issues. That’s my work. And sharing “facts” like that is, in fact, part of my work. 

I asked people on Tumblr to reblog it to help get the word out. It says “please reblog” not “please spread this wherever you like without bothering to mention the OP.” 

Reblogging does not equal reposting. Because my name and link are still attached to it.And I’ve said multiple times I’m happy for it to be posted on other sites but I ask that people tag my account on that site. Because having it in the screenshot does me no good whatsoever, people don’t bother checking to find my account - having me tagged provides a clickable link that does help me. 

It’s not about my sub count not going up. I suggested people could add my channel link if they wanted to because that’s where I do most of the educating similar to the post they were sharing but all I actually said I needed them to do was tag me. 

I don’t think you understand how much work I put in. Or how hard it is to work your ass off for a year, uploading two videos a week, and see very little growth only for someone (multiple someones in this case!) to come along and take some of the education you’ve been providing people for free and not credit you. 

Me talking on Twitter about how hard that is, isn’t me being rude or entitled. It’s me being honest about this process. I have worked hard. And I do it because I’m passionate about the topic and 99% of the time that’s enough. I have a small channel and a small but very lovely audience and I’m okay with that. 

But it’s very hard to stay happy about that when all of a sudden thousands of people (an infinitely larger audience than my work ever usually receives) are looking at something I wrote and engaging with it and responding to it… but not responding to me because I wasn’t tagged.

Yes, obviously I’m glad that word is getting out there. But there’s a certain irony in raising awareness of transphobia by taking work from a trans creator who’s struggling to make it don’t you think?

Please respect the people who do this kind of work. It’s not easy being a trans person who educates about trans issues. The kind of transphobia I receive for it, the pressure I am under, the mental and emotional strain of talking about my gender all day… and I do it all for free. Because it’s important and I care about it. 

But that doesn’t mean I don’t deserve to be recognised for what I do. 

And I haven’t accused everyone who reposted of stealing. I accused one person of stealing it because they made their tweet AFTER all my posts asking for it not to be reposted without a tag, and when I requested credit they said they would add it… and then didn’t. At that point, I then tweeted them again saying that I was considering this stolen content. Because I can forgive just finding the screenshots on Facebook and not really thinking about it, that’s nothing and not malicious at all, but knowing damn well it’s my content and that I want credit but refusing? That’s a dick move.

I don’t know what you think the point of sending me this is. It doesn’t really matter whether you think it’s real content or not or that it’s not as important as art - the fact is that I wrote it and I am requesting credit. That’s…. all the information anyone needs?? It doesn’t matter what the content is, if the author of that content wants to be credited for it, they should be. 

There’s nothing entitled about wanting to be recognised as the author of your own work. That’s just asking for basic respect. 

[goldenkamuyhunting]

Well i think that kidnapp operation is good for koito too, he goes from pampered rich kid abt to fail exam to pass it and made up(or get his father's love again). And that time was before battle of murken so Tsukishima had not completely obey Tsurumi yet. Thats why he didnt know abt anpan. Lastly, i dont think its randomly that ogt is in Tsurumi's division, Tsurumi must have scout him before he joined army(may be) like what he did with koito. Anw Great analysis again, hope to see ur next post😘

THANK YOU FOR ENJOYING MY ANALYSIS!

You make interesting observations...

so I hope it’s okay to answer to them dividing them according to the character you talk about.

Koito.

It’s true something bad can also have positive effects. The most used example in narrative is how losing someone/something teaches to a person the importance of someone/people/something.

There’s plenty of tropes who play on something misfortunate turning fortunate like Lifesaving Misfortune, Unluckily Lucky (which is more or less the trope which characterizes Kadokura), Necessary Fail, Happily Failed Suicide to name some.

It’s however not something I would refer as ‘good’ because it feels misleading.

Being kidnapped wasn’t good in any possible sense of the word and nor it was a necessary misfortune Koito had to overcome.

Sure, the immediate consequences of the kidnapping were good.

Since his father realized he wouldn’t let him die, he tried to fight to save him. Since he discovered his father actually loved him a lot this caused him to manage to cope with his loss, his inferiority complex toward his brother and his sense of abandonement. This, coped with the fact he was tricked into thinking fate sent him a kinght in a shiny armour to save him, helped him to find his inner strenght to pass the test.

It’s fate’s sense of irony (or Tsurumi’s calculate manipulation work) what caused, from something so terrible and cruel, something apparently good to be born. I say ‘apparently’ because actually we can’t be sure what the domino effect set into motion by that kidnapping will eventually lead Koito.

He has, after all, ended up on letting himself be charmed and tricked by the one man who set his kidnapping up, and now he’s following him in a rebellion against the Japanese government which can very well cause a civil war, the destruction of his family and his own death.

Sure, Koito wasn’t happy prior to his kidnapping, but the thing is we can’t be sure his father wouldn’t have realized his son’s worth without it. Or Koito could have just overcome his own problems on his own for other reasons. And would it have been so bad if he had never passed the exam?

Sure, it would have been a big blow for him but, if he this were to eventually lead him to give up on being a soldier and live a long commoner life with a person he loved... would that have been bad?

Of course those are all theories.

We will never know if Koito’s life would have been or worse better without the kidnapping... though we will probably find out if it’ll be good or will end in tragedy due to it.

It’s worth to mention though, that, after the kidnapping, Koito hadn’t graduated from being a ‘bonbon’.

After the kidnapping he was still rich, pampered and unable to realize how the world worked and, so far, he has remained as such.

Sure, his view about himself was likely hugely affected by how he discovered his father loved him and was proud of him, and this pushed him to became a hard worker, which allowed him to pass the exam, while previously he likely wasn’t putting much care in anything.

We’ve also seen in the circus arc how Koito was doing his best even if his performance was already amazing.

However he’s still an elite kid who can’t realize he’s being tricked and manipulated and can’t really focus on his mission, wastes time in irrelevant things and, although he cares for his underlings, he doesn’t fully know how to take care of them or how not to look down on them.

It’s ironic in a way because Koito wants, very hard, to prove he’s not a spoiled brat but that’s exactly how he acts as he doesn’t seem to be aware his behaviour is not one he should keep.

I don’t fully blame him as Koito’s behaviour is perfectly fitting of the time he was in and many wouldn’t consider him a ‘spoiled brat’ but him just acting according to his rank and social status... but well, he’s a brat. A brat I love and for which I hope everything will end well, but a brat noneless.

We’ll see if he’ll change in the future.

Tsukishima.

I’ve discussed it at lenght in my ramblings so I’ll try to keep it short.

The problem with Tsukishima is he’s taking part to Koito’s kidnapping.

I mean, which order would be more difficult to obey, ‘kidnap the teenager son of a rear admiral’ or ‘give to said kidnapped son some sweets’?

Tsukishima is okay with kidnapping Koito... which hints at how he was already very willing to go at great lenghts for Tsurumi... but would draw a line at feeding sweets to a kidnapped kid?

Tsurumi didn’t have to tell Tsukishima what the anpan would mean for Koito, and, if it were to turn up he previously shared anpans with Koito (which is exactly what happens), he could have said he had forgotten about it.

Or something else. Tsurumi is possibly the smartest guy in the whole story. He would be surely capable to find an excuse... if Tsukishima were to hold him accountable for giving anpan to Koito and not for kidnapping him.

So I’ve hard time thinking Tsurumi would think Tsukishima doesn’t have to know because if he were he wouldn’t agree. It can be just me though and as I’m just human I can be wrong.

Ogata.

The idea Ogata was actually lead by Tsurumi to join the army seems plausible considering Tsurumi likes to prepare his plans carefully and therefore he should have been planning something regarding Hanazawa as well.

It’s interely possible he discovered Hanazawa has an illegittimate son, searched for him and pushed him to join the army when he was 17 and then tried to make out of him one of his loyal followers.

It’s entirely too early for us to tell for sure but yes, there’s a huge possibility that’s the case.

THANK YOU A LOT FOR YOUR MESSAGE!

[amisbro]

Point of View:  Shining Live 1 yr later

(I considered making the “Point of View” part just “PoV” but ehh...here we are) Been a while since I have done something like this but it is that time of year when Shining Live is going to have an Anniversary and its my first full year officially with the game...this is why its being called “1 year” and not 2 so that we can get that out of the way. Yes this IS the first full year officially that I have had Shining Live installed coming up and that actually happens around the middle of the month which is always an interesting time.  Its interesting because its timing is LITERALLY going to be around the following Aniversaries “Stand my Heroes” “Idolish7″ and then of course “Shining Live” To say the VERY LEAST this is going to be a brutal month for me just when it comes to mobages because the funny irony here is that I haven’t been playing really ANY of them that much right now.  I think I play “Heroes” more on and off and I played i7 like 3 times But the big one (and the focus of this piece) is Shining Live...where are we nearly a year on from the time we came back to the game? There in lies the problem See when I first started playing Shining Live originally back when the game came out in English in January of 2018 (ironic when you think about when I started watching the Anime like 4 years earlier) I actually had a lot of fun with it and was enjoying it for the most part.  I think I only really had one time I uninstalled it and that was brief because of the fact that DST had come up last year and I didn’t feel like playing the events at 1 AM in the morning ET. Okay that’s only a half truth...one of the other reasons I stopped playing the game at that time (and completely wiped my old account) was because at the time I had actually spent $$$ on the game which I was not proud of.  Yeah at the time I had gotten one of my favorite Photos in the game (”Aqua Crystal” Camus) but after what happened I refused to keep up the account because of the fact that I didn’t like what I had done.  At that time (after fighting the damn game and Google) I completely wiped out the account and eventually started over Here is the kicker about what I just said I had started the game in January but come early March I had deleted it completely.  I could tell we were going to have a weird relationship When I eventually came back to the EN Server this was sometime in August and when this happened we were getting ready for what would come to find out to be the final two chapters of the main story with the last one eerily enough being on September the 11th! I had thought that in October we were going to get a new chapter but it was around then that they were making a few changes with one being the “3 pull Birthday Boxes” and the other being they were adding “Collection Events” which now meant the month was going to be hell for anyone that wanted to play every event The thing was that now you had 1 Set List event 1 Collection event And they were still going to do “Score Battles” too...matter of fact this month is #19 which makes things interesting especially with what they brought into the game earlier this year I think I was wiling to flat out give a pass to the idea of NOT having a story part for October because they were introducing the “Collection Event” and doing the update to the Birthdays...surely November would go back to normal right and they would double up? NOT QUITE! For reasons that I can’t fathom STILL the game’s final story update still remains 9/11 and the thing is that ,while I know its only a minor group of people, (including myself) that have started looking at their story passes as they go up and up and up with nothing to use them on it gets to the point of “Why Bother?” Why bother playing a game (even for the “reruns” that came up) when the company is just trying to distract you with the fact that they haven’t done a story update in almost 1 year and not explained (when they should have and no apologist can tell me otherwise) why in the God’s Name the game has not been updated as far as the story content. Oh but they DID manage one thing recently Because of an issue (which from my understanding only a small # of players got) the video ads have been disabled and they don’t know when they are going to come back...CUTE! Alright to be fair... If the ads aren’t working for one group of people and they do for another then that gives an advantage when it comes to LP hoarding later on so it DOES level the playing field in THAT respect...not in the respect of “Pay to Win vs. F2P” despite the fact that in Belgium they have discontinued ways to buy certain things because in that country they made Lootboxes illegal (NOTE:  I am fully aware that there is almost nothing in SL that is considered a “Lootbox”.  You MIGHT consider Gachas “gambling” but even then that is a stretch especially with the changes that were made to the Gachas recently...putting that out there) Now think about this November December January February March April May June July And now August It’s been damn near 1 year since we have had story content in the game and yet the fandom has been so trained to accept the fact that the story mode has all but been abandoned.  In this time we have had Renewals for B-Project Idolish7 got a Part 4 AND had like 2 Lives (and I own one of them already) TsukiPara has had its 2nd Anniversary Oh and Stand my Heroes ,A3! and i-Chu have had Anime Projects announced along with Season 2 of Idolish7 for next year Do ya get it or nah? Like forget the fact that Shining Live has given some of the most paltry of rewards for the # of days you played the game but its just so funny to me that when you try to explain to people “This ain’t right!” They have become so conditioned to the fact that the game has issues with keeping people’s interest to the point ,and this is hysterical, where I got people on my twitter timeline that legit start showing how many story passes they have saved up because its been that damn long OR they now start making a hashtag about whenever they see a HEAVENS member pop up in the game at some point (I’m talking about when they show up on the Duet covers) You know this is funny that I am writing this because of the fact that there was a fan project or whatever you want to call it where I had been shown a link to “apply” for a position on the staff and I outright refused because honestly the fact of the matter was that I had gotten so frustrated with Shining Live that they couldn’t handle my honesty...PERIOD! No joke on tweets that the “Shining Live” twitter put out I QT’d them and let my feelings be known about the fact that they haven;t done anything for the people that don’t care about the flood of events we have and we just want to play the story (and have HEAVENS added too but I’ll take “story” at this point) and honestly it cost me a friend...oh well...pack up and move on Here is the reality and it smacks you in the face as we nearly are up to September I am going to hang around this game for as long as needed because all I want is to see when they are going to add to the story...might be announced for something in the Anniversary or it might be legitimately the 1 year anniversary (that would be creepy) but I think people deserve to hear how frustrated a person can be when you have a progression wall and you just can’t move on and its not because of your level or being out of story tickets but its because of the fact that a company is so infatuated with MONEY that they have basically said to the people that might not care about that to go dunk! Now I will say this Does this year of frustration hamper my enjoyment of UtaPri?  No not really...there is a scene I saw from one of the PVs from MLKingdom that kind of Skeeved me that ,no matter how it gets explained away to me, its still creepy af and I have seen things on the a series about the “Deep Web” that made me cringe but you know how it is. I think its time that people understand that people are allowed to be frustrated ,pissed off or however they want to feel about the game.  I wish more people would “get it” and understand but sometimes it feels like you are talking to a wall and that’s not fun!  It just makes you miserable because trying to explain WHY you haven’t touched a game in a good long time and not being able to have a genuine conversation so you don’t walk away more pissed off than you already are is just not cool...at least playing “Mirror’s Edge” is FUN frustration and this just makes you want to pull your hair out! I’m morbidly curious about what is in store for Shining Live for 2019-2020 and here is hoping that come the time that we get to this point NEXT YEAR its a bit more of a pleasant experience My name is Amisbro...and this is my “Point of View”

[auskultu]

Valerie: Assassin With Balls

Mary Reinholz, Los Angeles Free Press, 28 July 1968

A sign on the bulletin board of New York’s Chelsea hotel asks if anyone has a copy of the play by Valerie Solanas.

You must have heard of old Valerie—she’s the tough chick who organized the male-hating organization SCUM (Society for Cutting Up Men), authored a misanthropic manifesto by the same name and used pop pope Andy Warhol as target practice for her philosophy.

Olympia Press publisher Maurice Girodias (first with LOLITA, CANDY, etc.) told me at the Chelsea restaurant that he had refused to publish SCUM last year—but had given Valerie about $600 on contract for a novel which she failed to produce.

Now, however, Girodias has changed his mind (“it took her drastic publicity to convince me") and will print her manifesto in paperback along with the elusive play—a little thing with four alternative titles: “Up Your Ass;” “The Big Suck,” “From the Cradle to the Boat;” “Up from the Slime.”

Realist editor Paul Krassner, who is looking very elegant these days in a pair of albino jeans (basic white streaked with blue) will provide an introduction titled “Wonder Waif Meets Super Neuter.”

Now—St. Paul is eminently aware of the ironies involved in the publication of SCUM and its friendly companion piece. His introduction puts down, among other things, the advertising industry which has numbed consumers to violence and notes that “it took the shooting of Andy Warhol for the SCUM manifesto to be published by Maurice Girodias, commented on by me and read by you.”

In other words, it took a gun to publish Valerie’s mighty penmanship. Concludes Krassner: “Be sure to watch for the film version, starring Christine Jorgensen and Mr. Clean.”

Before she went after Warhol, Valerie hawked her dittoed document on the streets (men always had to pay more than women who sometimes received SCUM FREE) and, from all accounts, seems to have made most of her living from panhandling. Oh yes. She appeared in Warhol’s I, A Man—a title which must have offended her.

All of this does not necessarily imply motive—it’s just that SCUM will now have a wider circulation. As for Valerie herself, Girodias, a melancholy Frenchman, sighs and says “I’m probably her first and last publisher.”

On a happier note, he adds that she looked “rather sweet” behind bars in her prison uniform.

Could it be that all old Valerie did was exhale? A week after she shot and critically wounded Warhol, I was in New York, expecting to see Anne Miller tap dancing down Broadway. But no-I was splattered with spit as I strolled along 12th St.

A writer had told me earlier that “everyone in New York operates on a high level of hostility,” which may explain Valerie’s hangups. But not everyone in marvelous Manhattan takes the environmental view. At least two men I met implied that her violent action was part of the lesbian syndrome.

Whether Valerie was the Village’s unfriendly neighborhood dyke seems beside the point. Let us not forget that Medea, Lizzie Borden and Ma Duncan could have been portrayed by Joan Crawford in I, A Woman.

So what, then, IS Valerie? Another “lone assassin?” A deranged female? The apotheosis of the Feminine Mystique? The flip side of the Kitty Genovese recording?

Some people view the attempt on Warhol’s life as symbolism, a form of guerrilla theater. Following the blast of real bullets, a Village group (reportedly a revolutionary organization called “Up Against the Wall, Mother Fuckers”) issued a leaflet in which Valerie emerges as the white female equivalent of Nat Turner:

"VALERIE LIVES!”

“Andy Warhol shot by Valerie Solanas. Plastic Man Vs. the Sweet Assassin—the face of plastic/fascist smashed-the terrorist knows where to strike—at the heart—a red plastic inevitable exploded—non-man shot by the reality of his dream as the cultural assassin emerges—a tough chick with a bop cap and a .38—the true vengeance of Dada—tough little chick—the ‘hater’ of MEN and the lover of MAN— with the surgeon’s gun—NOW—against the wall of plastic extinction—an epoxy nightmare with a dead super-star—the Statue of Liberty raped by a chick with balls—the Camp Master slain by the slave-and America’s white plastic cathedral is ready to burn. VALERIE IS OURS AND THE SWEET ASSASSIN LIVES. — SCUM in exile."

A few folks in Los Angeles responded to the shooting as if it were staged by Warhol himself. Exclaimed a journalist: “Can Norman Mailer top this?” Even the fact that Warhol was at first given a 50/50 chance to live seemed like a put-on.

About 12 hours later Bobby Kennedy was mortally wounded at the Ambassador Hotel and there are those who still believe it was just another bad commercial...

But back to SCUM in exile. As far as anyone can tell at this point, Valerie is the lone  member of her female-supremcisst society. But to many, SCUM, as a group is much less dangerous than SCUM as an idea.

During my nine days in New York, I mentioned to several people that I was interested in doing a story for the Freep on Valerie’s literary bag. Invariably, the men would retreat a few steps, laugh nervously and remark, “You don’t BELIEVE in that stuff, do you?” Or, “Please don’t shoot me!”

A friend of mine half-jokingly refused to let his wife read Valerie’s manifesto, the inference being that a sweet assassin lives in every woman, so let’s not stir up latent tendencies. Well, that’s hardly news. Men don’t have a corner on violence—just more opportunity.

The difference between Valerie and a long line of violent ladies is that she has a political plan (namely sabotage and murder) for the elimination of the male—whom SCUM describes as “an incomplete female, a walking abortion...To be male is to be deficient, emotionally limited; maleness is a deficiency disease and males are emotionally crippled.”

Obviously, here is a woman untroubled by penis envy.

Valerie allows that all females have a “fink streak” in them but this, she explains, is due to living among men. “Eliminate men and women will shape up.” Or, Martha Raye is salvageable, but John Wayne isn’t.

Perhaps Valerie should have been called “the sweet Nazi,” but that would have spoiled the anti-Andy symbolism.

[steverfan]

Still waiting for evidence...

steverfan

This is a conversation that was cut off. I’m putting my reply here..

Italics is littlemissstark.

There are some interesting assertions here. Do you have any evidence?

How can u have a history of us imperialism where the us actively ravaged the Middle East and countries in the global south for oil and resources, refuse to allow those countries to flourish or even SURVIVE under the covid pandemic, and then be like ‘Steve Rogers was right in cw.’

You are aware that Tony Stark traveled to the Middle East to show off his Jericho missile and suggesting that the American military let one “slip off the chain,” right? Tony was the American imperialist for decades, making weapons to enable the U.S. to maintain military superiority in the Middle East and other countries that the U.S. exploited and continues to exploit. And Tony kept all of his blood money even after he started making his WMDs for his private use.

‘Governments have agendas’ tell me Captain AMERICA who has govt agendas?? Enlighten me.

If you think it is okay for private superpowered Americans to ravage other countries wearing their pretty little costumes and kill other people in the name of ‘saving the world’ with zero consequences, then you’re moronic. And so helplessly, stupidly American.

This is really funny, because Steve has rejected the American political and government structure in every movie he’s been in. It’s Tony who is Ross’s and the U.S. government’s lapdog. And it’s so amusing that you’re dismissing the fact that the Earth would be a wasteland if the Chitauri or Tony’s murder-bot hadn’t been stopped by the Avengers. The Avengers didn’t ravage anything or anyone, they stopped the invasions. It’s like you can’t tell the difference between the arsonist and the person putting out the fire.

Because NEWSFLASH, the whole concept of the Avengers is propaganda. Americans invade other countries in the name of ‘saving them’ when actually they’re killing innocent civilians with no impunity. Sound familiar?

The Avengers are killing innocent civilians with no impunity? Really? You are aware that if people die during a fire, the firefighters aren’t considered murderers, right? Or are you claiming that Iron Man was executing women and children in the streets?

Interesting how they made Tony Stark the villain for saying ‘hey how bout we don’t do that?’ And people hate him for it.

No, Tony Stark is a villain for being a hypocrite who tried to blackmail and guilt people into signing away their rights, then turned around and not only violated the Accords he claimed to support, but committed multiple additional crimes. Tony blackmailed Peter into becoming a child soldier, brought an unregistered enhanced across international borders without permission from Germany, the U.N., Secretary Ross, or even Aunt May. Tony shot unarmed people and shot Bucky in the back. Then Tony hid all those crimes rather than accept responsibility and face the consequences. That is why he is considered villainous.

And then people wonder why Tony Stark is beloved globally and Steve Rogers isn’t.

Evidence? Because the polls I’ve seen rank Steve Rogers higher, and Captain America merchandise sells far more than Iron Man.

littlemissstark

I’m not gonna argue with your dumb ass who doesn’t even crack open a history book to look up American imperialism. My country’s people are dying bc of america’s commitment to suffocating developing countries. Tony’s entire purpose as a character is to show someone who pushes for accountability because he recognized that he was wrong. I don’t need your patronizing ass to tell me who to consider a villain or not esp when Steve refuses to take responsibility for civilian casualties who are mainly poc and innocents from the global south. Also if Tony employed Peter as a child soldier , then how come Wanda isn’t considered one since y’all bend over backwards defending her and calling her a kid. Hypocrisy. Get off my post with your smooth brained ass, block me, and fuck all the way off with your MERCHANDISE STATISTICS FOR GODS SAKE. the jokes write themselves.

I’m not gonna argue with your dumb ass who doesn’t even crack open a history book to look up American imperialism. My country’s people are dying bc of america’s commitment to suffocating developing countries. 

America’s commitment to suffocating developing countries was fueled by Tony Stark’s weapons for two decades. And Tony created EDITH, which violates everyone’s privacy and like Project Insight, will kill anyone anywhere at the user’s whim. That seems pretty imperialistic, don’t you think? Also, Steve was on ice, so it’s ridiculous to blame him for America’s actions when he was not there. Also note that the Avengers are not furthering an American agenda when they are saving people. Steve was right in Civil War because 1) You do not sign a contract you disagree with, especially one that strips people of their rights; 2) The Accords strip people of their rights. This is a bad thing and in violation of the Geneva Conventions and Declaration of Human Rights, along with many constitutions.

Tony’s entire purpose as a character is to show someone who pushes for accountability because he recognized that he was wrong.

Really? Because Tony’s arc seems to be pushing for consequences for everyone but himself. Did Tony not recognize it was wrong to blackmail a 15-year-old into becoming a child soldier? That is was wrong to lie to the child’s guardian about his intentions for the child? That it was wrong to sign the Accords, then violate them by going without permission to a country that did not give permission for him to be there, or even know he was there? To hide his crimes, rather than take accountability and face the consequences? And never did Tony admit he was wrong to force people to sign the Accords. He also decided that Ultron was a great idea, and that his “suit of armor around the world” was worth the loss of people’s “precious freedoms.” So while he may have decided to make weapons for himself in Iron Man 1 (rather than selling even more to the U.S. government), he hasn’t actually pushed for accountability or admitted he was wrong.

I don’t need your patronizing ass to tell me who to consider a villain or not esp when Steve refuses to take responsibility for civilian casualties who are mainly poc and innocents from the global south.

Evidence? Steve has only been awake for a few years and was working for either Shield or the Avengers. The person putting out the fire is not responsible for the fire, the arsonist is. In the same way, the people failing to stop the bomb are not responsible for the injuries caused by the bomb, the bomber is. Steve has never attacked civilians, unlike Tony, who fired his Iron Man weapons into a crowd during Iron Man 2. So you agree that Tony should have accepted responsibility for that, right? That he should have been jailed for endangering innocents?

Also if Tony employed Peter as a child soldier , then how come Wanda isn’t considered one since y’all bend over backwards defending her and calling her a kid. Hypocrisy.

You do recognize the difference between a young adult who is called a kid and an actual child, right? Peter is 15. It’s not hypocrisy to call him a child. Tony should never have gone near him, never threatened him with exposure, never taken him over international borders without permission and full consent from Aunt May, never violated the Accords by failing to register an enhanced person, never endangered him by putting him in a battle with trained fighters, and never hid the crimes Tony committed by involving Peter.

Also, no one is defending Wanda here, so your claim seems to be an attempt to avoid providing the requested evidence.

Get off my post with your smooth brained ass, block me, and fuck all the way off with your MERCHANDISE STATISTICS FOR GODS SAKE. the jokes write themselves.

You do recognize the irony of your statement, yes? You bulldozed your way onto someone else’s thread. So you really don’t have any standing complaining that someone asked you to provide evidence for your assertions. You don’t like my evidence, why not prove me wrong by providing your own? I noticed you still haven’t provided any evidence that Tony is “beloved globally.” Do you actually have any evidence? Or is this just another Tony stan head canon?