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naquey · 3 months

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His Butler, Recovering

A/n: Raziel is kind of a dick. I have a lot of fun with his "holier than thou" personality, believing humans are below him. This is a direct contrast to Sebastian, who, in Black Butler, is amused by mortals and fits in nicely. I honestly feel that he is like a black sheep amongst other demons or even celestial beings (if eventually there are not just demons).

Summary: Grell lets Sebastian stay at her townhouse, which was given to her by Madame Red. She and Raziel read the letter that Ciel left the demon and have quite a discussion about it. Grell's butler, Reginald, checks on Sebastian, aware he is a demon. Sebastian makes the human take him to a nearby cemetery, still grieving the loss of Ciel Phantomhive.

While he recovered, Grell let Sebastian and Raziel stay at her house. It was a townhouse that belonged to Madame Red. She had given another of her possessions to the reaper; after all, she knew she would die as Jack the Ripper. Sebastian slept upstairs, leaving the angel and reaper to themselves in the drawing room. Grell kept the letter. She took it out again and ran her manicured fingers over the envelope, gently tracing the azure blue wax seal.

"Do you even know what's in this?"

Raziel, who had been looking out the window and watching people pass on the streets, looked over at her. His eyes weren't focused. He was already lost in some other thought. The letter meant nothing to him. He was silent, zoning out in her direction. Grell tapped the letter against the small table she sat at, chewing the inside of her cheek. Confusion was written plain on her face like a piece of art. The angel tilted his head.

"Why does it matter? He's dead. Humans die." His voice was monotonous.

"I see why angels are unlike demons now." Grell let out a heavy exhale. "You worry not for humanity but only yourself."

Raziel scoffed and turned to look out the window once more. He felt more disconnected from humanity, like watching a colony of ants underfoot. They scurry around, steal from one another, lie, and cheat their way through life. The human existence for some was terrible. Thrown to the side like spoiled food. But, he wasn't so disconnected from mortals as he once believed. He, too, like Zariel–Sebastian–succumbed to the greed and arrogance of the nobility. He allowed the feelings and morality of man to taint him, who was once holy and virtuous.

"I worried for Oscar."

Grell glanced over her glasses at the shape by the window. Her posture softened, and she looked back down at the table, toying with the ends of her sleeves. She, too, cared for Oscar. Worried for him. His absence felt like something had been ripped from her, but she could feel him in the angel. He was not wholly lost.

“I… I came to him that night in the cathedral. The despair and anguish had taken its hold. He prayed for his mortal life to be ended that night.”

Grell was silent, staring at him while he talked.

"He needed to know that his mortal life was not worth ending; I tried to convince him a bargain for his soul would be a miserable, meaningless fate."

"You didn't want to help him?" Grell's brows furrowed. "He was in pain, he was trapped— "

"I didn't want him throwing his life away for something so stupid! He could have lived far longer than when he met me!" Raziel snapped at her.

"Why?"

"I'm not as involved as my brother. I watch from the sidelines. We— I do not give in to human desires."

"Because you don't think people should sin?"

"Sin does not exist. It is a mortal concept." Raziel let the curtain drop from his hold, covering the window.

"Do you want to know what is in the letter?" Grell asked, holding it up, vertically.

"I can only assume you wish to know the contents, and I cannot stop you. Regardless of if it is addressed to the demon."

"So, if I tell you, you will be okay with it?"

"I see nothing wrong with this notion. I'm not the one opening the letter." Raziel sat in the seat across from her.

Grell stared down at the letter, gently touching the delicate cursive that bore Sebastian's name on the back. Carefully, using her nail, she pried the wax seal of the letter. Doing her best to keep it intact. Her goal was to make it seem like it hadn't been opened, in case Sebastian gets upset. He had every right to; the letter was addressed to him. Once the wax seal was pried off, she pulled the folded paper from within the envelope and set it aside. The atmosphere suddenly shifted, and she paused. Glancing up at Raziel, who had a bored expression on his face, she took a deep breath. It was as if a weight was pressing down on her heart. Her hands began to shake, her ears and face heating up.

Unfolding the letter that was inside, she read the delicate cursive slowly. Taking in each word like it was used with Ciel's dying breath. Raziel rose a brow. He didn't understand her reaction or why she was being so careful with it. A letter from a mortal meant nothing, especially if it was a letter from a dead mortal. Some time passed, and he surmised she had finished reading; without a second thought or manners, he snatched the letter from her to read for himself. He assumed she would read it out loud to him from what she asked. Her face opened up in surprise, then began to twist into anger, but she stopped when he started laughing. Head thrown back, shoulders bouncing. His laugh rang through the room like a jovial sound. She had never once heard him laugh or experienced his other emotions. He wasn't one to wear them on his sleeve.

"He thinks he can command a higher being!" Raziel tossed the letter to her, a grin stretching across his features. "He truly thinks he can make Zariel do what he asks!"

"Sebastian can do what he pleases. Including listening to what Ciel said." Grell crossed her arms over her chest. "He needs something to busy himself."

"You act as if that mortal was his friend. Ciel Phantomhive was food. Mortals don't befriend the animals they kill to feed themselves, and the same goes for angels and demons."

"And you act as if he can shut those emotions off." She shot back with a scowl on her face. "Stop acting like you're so high and mighty; if anything, you are a hypocrite condemning your brother for caring about a human when you did the same."

"I don't throw a tantrum." Raziel's eyes were glowing golden. The smile on his face disappeared.

"That wasn't a tantrum; he was hurt and alone because you couldn't be bothered to help him!"

"It was no one's fault but his own because he ate that human. There was nothing I could do."

"Stop saying that! Just because you've disconnected yourself from the situation, doesn't mean it doesn't matter!"

"It doesn't because I truly don't care." Raziel rolled his eyes. "For someone who deals with reaping souls daily, you wear your heart on your sleeve. Is that how you killed yourself? Because people took advantage of that?"

The chair was scraped against the wooden floor, screaming in agony. Grell slammed her hands down on the table, leaning over him with a firey look in her eyes. Raziel noticed that he may have taken it too far, but his face remained stoic under her gaze. She slapped him. It happened within seconds. A red handprint began to form on his cheek, but he didn't move, dazed. Of course, he deserved it, so he wasn't protesting.

"I admit, I took it too far."

His fingertips lightly grazed over his reddened cheek. The skin was tender but wouldn't affect him in the long run. Grell was startled. He looked so unbothered by the slap across his face. His eyes were dark, sucking up light that came in contact with them. She stepped back, first and foremost worried about her safety. Moments passed, and the grandfather clock in the room chimed. Raziel didn't move.

"I apologize."

"You stepped way out of line." Grell crossed her arms over her chest, popping one hip out. "I'll accept your apology this time."

"Is everything alright in here?"

A young man in a burgundy three-piece suit and a trenchcoat stood in the doorway. The coat was buttoned all the way, and he wore white gloves. His hair was as red and as long as Grell's was, pulled back into a ponytail with two little strands pulled out from either side of his head. Heavy bags discolored the skin under his eyes, and his smile didn't even reach his dark brown eyes.

"Raziel! I do believe you haven't met Reggie, my butler." She had a closed-eyed smile.

"You have a butler? Does he know..."

"That you're an angel?" Reggie tilted his head to the side. "Yes, I'm well aware."

"Then what are you?" Raziel inquired.

"You don't have to answer that!" Reggie opened his mouth to speak, but Grell beat him to it. "Just consider him my butler."

"Yes, but is he human? Vampyre? Werewolf?"

"Is that important?" Grell rolled her eyes.

"I... Well, I suppose it isn't." The angel looked away.

"Reggie, could you be a dear and check on Sebastian for me? He's just upstairs in my room."

"Of course, my lady." Reggie bowed and disappeared around the corner.

The red-haired man ascended the stairs with quiet footsteps. The sun was already setting, and there weren't many lights on the second floor. Stopping at the landing, he peered down the corridor, barely able to make out a shadow in the distance. Typically, it was only ever himself and Madame Sutcliff. Although she told him that Sebastian and Raziel would be staying with them, he still assumed the worst when he saw the large shadow at the end of the hall. He was merely a human, and the other three in the house could get rid of him in the blink of an eye. So, he approached Sebastian carefully.

"Mr. Michaelis, are you alright?"

The demon was hunched over, leaning against the wall with a hand pressed to his side. His eye illuminated a vibrant fuschia, and his nostrils flared as he inhaled the human scent. He made no move to jump to harm the redhead. His pale skin looked far sicker than usual, and within his eyes was a type of pain Reggie could easily understand. Sebastian took a step forward, trying to push back whatever consumed him. His joints and limbs screaming at him internally. As soon as he started to go down, leaning toward the floor, Reggie quickly put his arms around the demon, hoisting him up.

"Sir, I... I think it would be best if you went back to lie down."

"I don't need to rest."

"I'm quite literally holding you up at the moment."

"I can smell your soul rotting." Sebastian scoffed. "I don't need your help."

"Fine, then. Walk on your own."

Reggie pulled his arms away and stepped back from the demon's reach. He watched as the demon clung to the wall, shakily trying to upright his posture. Sebastian took one step forward and plummeted to the ground again, falling with a thud to the floor. It was a pathetic demon in such disarray relying on a mortal for help. Reggie could see in his eyes that he was pleading with the man, not as vile as he had previously been described.

"Is everything alright up there?" Grell hollered up the stairs.

"Yes, everything is quite alright, my lady!" Reggie yelled back to her.

With an arm under Sebastian's, he picked the demon up with great effort, the dark-haired man only helping him slightly. It wasn't as if demons recovered faster than mortals regarding flesh wounds. He may have been covered in bandages and no longer bleeding, but there was another reason for this sluggishness. The vitality of his being was gone. What only remained was an empty husk of who he once was. A poor, pathetic demon who flew too close to the sun like Icarus in the labyrinth.

"Look, mate, I don't quite care what happened, but you must return to bed. Madame Sutcliff will not be too happy you're up and about."

"I can't." Sebastian winced. "I need to go outside."

"Are you restless? Too bored? Need a glass of water? I'll be happy to fetch you anything you need."

Reggie helped Sebastian back into Grell's room, sitting him back on the bed. Turning on the bedside table lamp, he stretched. Sebastian looked worse than Reggie assumed. His cheeks were hollow, and the bags under his eyes were about as grey as his own were. The powerful demon looked pitiful and dejected. The life practically sucked out of him.

"Take me outside."

"I'll ask Madame Sutcliff–"

"No! Take me outside to see him." Sebastian snapped at him.

"Who would I even take you outside to see?"

"Ciel. I need- I need to see Ciel again."

Sebastian reached forward and grabbed Reggie's arm. His eyes were pleading, brimming with tears of the same color. The human tried to pull back, but it was as if the demon had a vice grip. He wanted to call out for Grell or Raziel, but his throat closed. Sebastian and Reggie stared at one another in silence for minutes. The clock on the dresser slowly clicked away.

"Let me go." Reggie finally spoke, trying to pull his arm back.

"Take me to Ciel." Sebastian's nails dug into his arm; he wouldn't be surprised if he began to bleed eventually. There most likely would be bruises, though.

"Will you let me go if I do?"

"Yes."

Reggie wasn't trying to consider this, listening to the demon. The last thing he wanted was to get his soul consumed. He also didn't want the demon to get up again and worry Grell; that was the last thing she needed. Sighing and hanging his head, Reggie nodded slowly. He also didn't want to stand there for hours while the demon stared at him. It was creepy, and prolonged eye contact scared the shit out of him.

So, he took Sebastian outside while Raziel and Grell continued to talk in the drawing room. It wasn't like he was trying to be sneaky. He went out the front door with the demon and neither noticed. Sebastian refused to use the crutches that Reggie had offered him. The human held up an umbrella, just barely able to hold it over Sebastian because he was inhumanely tall for someone who wanted to blend in amongst humans.

"Where is this Ciel person? I can fetch a carriage– "

"The nearest cemetery." Sebastian gave him a closed-eyed smile.

Reggie deflated, waving his arm out to call for a carriage to stop in the weather. The two climbed into the compartment and told the driver where to go. Sebastian sat stiff and tall across from the shorter human.

"How do you know Grell?"

"Well, she saved me from a house fire. My hair stuck out to her more than my cries for help."

"Yes, she has always adored the color red." Sebastian chuckled. Trying to be polite.

"Sometimes she tells me I looked like someone she used to know."

Sebastian could almost recognize it. Reggie did look awfully similar to Madame Red. He was, of course, human just like her. His eyes held that same kindness, and his face had a similar shape. The demon could only assume that was why Grell had chosen him to be her butler, to keep some semblance of the woman close even though she had already taken her jacket and was living in her townhouse. Reggie shrunk under Sebastian's gaze, playing with the ends of his sleeves and looking away. He wasn't all that confident in himself.

"When did Ciel die?"

Reggie didn't know. He wasn't aware that Sebastian had devoured his soul, that there was no grave for the late Earl of Phantomhive. It was such an innocent question that stung so profoundly. Sebastian masked his pain with a smile, something he has always done. There was no need for this mortal to see him as weak, or to see him suffering.

"Months ago." Sebastian lied, his hands clenching in his lap. "I wasn't able to attend the funeral."

"I think it's kind of you to visit his grave, even if you couldn't attend the funeral."

"Yes, yes. Kind of me, indeed." Sebastian chuckled dryly.

Reggie thanked the driver and paid him once they got off at the nearest cemetery. The rain continued without stopping. Drenching the soil and turning it into mud. The cemetery was empty, all except for the graves of the dead. Sebastian asked him to help find the grave, a proper distraction because of the large area around them. He may have been hurt, but that wasn't going to stop him from using his inhumane speed to dig a makeshift grave for Ciel Phantomhive. He was done quicker than expected even with the pain in his ribcage and side. At that time, Reggie had wandered over to the plot he had chosen; it was secluded from the others. He couldn't go back to Phantomhive manor and face seeing his actual grave. No, this would do nicely for now. Sebastian hid the shovel behind some other graves just as Reggie approached him.

"I'm sorry I didn't bring flowers; I feel rude."

"Nonsense, the only flowers he ever liked were white roses, which are quite expensive."

"How long did you know him?"

"It felt like forever." Sebastian knelt, gently touching the grave he haphazardly used to make the spot he dug. "He... In a way..." Sebastian fell silent; he didn't want to admit his thoughts. Especially not to a human.

"I'm sure you'll be able to visit him in heaven." Reggie put his hand on his shoulder.

Sebastian was startled, not by the hand on his shoulder, but by the notion that he would ever see Ciel again. Heaven didn't exist. Humans only believed so to keep them from freaking out once they realized the truth. Humans were such simple-minded, innocent creatures who could never handle reality. Reggie jumped when Sebastian began to laugh. The demon swore it wasn't his laugh, that he could hear Ciel laughing from within him for a moment. But he cackled hysterically. He wanted to believe the notion true, that he would ever be able to see Ciel again. To be reunited with him after death regardless of his soul being food. Reggie watched him cautiously. He wasn't afraid of demons, but he wasn't entirely sure if Sebastian brought him here just to kill him. He didn't believe demons had feelings, but seeing the dark-haired man doubled over on the floor laughing his head off, part of him thought for a second that he was wrong. Reggie looked around as the rain poured harsher. He noticed a shovel behind a few grave markers and saw that the dirt had recently been moved.

He wasn't going to tell Sebastian he knew.

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duskrize · 1 year

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More Dusk outsiders rambles (all names unless otherwise specified are referencing characters!)

cw // murder, abuse, general outsiders smp cws

cc!Owen mentions in his Q&A that candidates are chosen on a case-by-case basis. Obviously they can't pick everyone who comes asking to be in a season of STARR, and they can't trust a bunch of serial killers together, so those cases are probably "who makes the best content?"

Take Kyle and Acho for example. In the grand scheme of things, very simple crimes. Kyle kills a man. Acho assaults an offer. Things that could've landed them very easily in normal jail. But imagine the story! Two lovers, forced to end up fighting for or against each other with no memory of how they knew each other. Makes for an incredible story, especially as Kyle by the finale seems to have remembered more than Acho (the watchers making it one sided)

Also contrasting people. Owen, as insane as he is, isn't fit to kill early on. He has to be used as a grand finale of sorts, otherwise the show will be way too short. So you have someone like Oeca, who killed a few people, and is probably shown in questioning to be generally unstable even with a memory wipe. (I think the idea that Evil Oeca wasn't as affected or wasn't affected at all by the wipe is very interesting) Oeca's teenage rebellion is done through far more violent means. Through throwing knives and just barely missing people, doing it for fun while still having that childlike whimsy. It makes him the perfect creator of tension without anybody actually dying. On a totally different side of the spectrum, you have Graecie, who from the beginning, as the first person in the maze, is seen as meek and afraid. Was never a fighter or a criminal, simply sold to the maze for drinking money. She is one of the many people to balance out the murderers of the group. And despite that, she is seen to actually be a pretty confident leader when she needs to be.

And then the things that happen purely by chance. I wholly believe that in-universe, Owen and Apo were the Katniss and Peeta of The Outsiders. War criminal known for slaughtering 10s if not 100s of demon villages pairs with a demon who killed a human officer in rage. The demon is partially responsible for the deaths of nearly an entire clearing, and they separate. Owen goes through the inner turmoil of knowing his friend is a criminal but missing him, and Apo has to go through everyone hating him. And then Apo and Bek run into the maze, and Owen still misses his friend.

Until finally, they reunite. They're so happy to see each other again, and then that's when the Watchers decide to just. bam. let go of the chips. They remember everything. And Apo keeps his cool, is still a new person, but the audience finally meets Outside Owen. The bloodthirsty monster they'd been waiting for.

And the idea that Magic has chip pro. head chip+. idk

But some upgraded/special version of it. Because she needs to. If she remembers anything at all, she could remember that this is a show. Magic before the maze probably knew the maze was the next season. So if she remembers the show, the chips, everything is over. Everyone breaks their chips and either kill each other or all get out, totally self-aware.

And what kind of show is that?

#outsiders smp #magicsings #apokuna #owengejuicetv #oeca #graecie #kyleeff #ggacho #mcyt #rats smp #outsidersblr #mcytblr

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bluerevs · 4 months

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ﾟ✧ closed, @lovetique .

marcus wholly understood the importance of these events. government funding wasn't anywhere near what it used to be for museums and money had to come from somewhere. at $2500 a ticket, these black-tie affairs helped keep doors open and exhibitions moving. in the same vein, it helped his boss' restoration studio with the work the museum not only contracted, but also referred their way. it all worked in a perfect symbiosis. but even if marcus was fully aware of all of the moving parts and particulars of why these fundraisers mattered so much, he still loathed that he had an obligation to come to them. but, tonight, marcus had brought along a much needed reprieve. for the first time, he brought a plus one. from the moment that they had walked through the door, marcus could feel the room's eyes move with them. she was radiant, wearing the glow of an event like this one much better than he ever could. marcus could feel the envy of nearly every other man in the room — she had clung to him all night, always touching him in some capacity, whispering witty remarks about the other partygoers in his ear. they were, and looked the part of, a full-blown couple. recently, he could feel something inside of him stir again. it had been four long months since mila had pulled marcus out of that bar and into an abandoned alleyway, and things between them had completely metamorphosed.

the night moved at a methodical efficiency. the museum's director allowed everyone enough time to get a few drinks in their system before they began their persuasive begging, then a lull. the curator comes to say a few words, another lull. more persuasive begging follows. trays of champagne and tiny foods moving throughout the room perpetually. admittedly, he wasn't having a terrible time. having mila at his side made this move faster and easier. once they announce they have live entertainment this year, marcus notes that most have made it to the halfway point of the night. but when the ' live entertainment ' walked onto the stage, his heart practically fell out of his open mouth and onto the floor. this could not be happening. suddenly, he was acutely aware mila's presence next to him, of his arm snaked around her waist, how her body was pressed against his own. and of course, because fate and the universe persistently colluded against his happiness, elena's eyes immediately picked marcus out in the large crowd. her eye contact transports him to that night in a room much different from this one, but her the performer and him the spectator all the same. knew that she was given a strict list of boring songs to stick to, that there was almost no chance of him having to hear her croon a love song that he could falsely assign meaning to, but marcus couldn't do it. he refused to sit through this again. as if she were finely attuned to his racing heart, mila asked if he was all alright. marcus brushes her off, lying that he needed to find his boss and that he would be back, and she presses a small kiss against his mouth as a temporary goodbye. he leaves her directly after this, treading opposite of the large crowd that seems to be completely focused on the stage. when he can hear elena's voice start to seep through the speakers behind him, he doesn't even turn around.

marcus stands outside of the main hall, the closed doors that separated them doing little to muffle the sound of elena's voice. he holds up a wall next to a supply closet as he's still reeling. seeing her has him completely shaken, and his mind revolves around two thoughts. the first thought: the last time he saw elena, he was admitting that he was in love with her. she was kissing him like never before, and telling him that he was in her heart, too. he couldn't stop thinking about the note he had left her, saying that he was grateful for everything, but maybe she had been right to ask for distance. marcus wrote that he loved her, and she knew where to find him if she needed him. he pressed a kiss into her hair before he left, taking the sight of her perfect face as she slept. and the second thought: how eaten with guilt he had been that mila would never know that he spent the night with elena on the same night that he had met her. marcus felt disgusting that he had used her as a rebound, even if now he could feel his heart begin to thaw from her warmth. so wrapped up in his thoughts that he doesn't hear when elena stops singing. instead, he only notices that she's materialized in front of him, walking toward marcus with a purpose. eyes are wide as he straightens up, his nerves set alight. he has only one question: "why are you here?"

#･ﾟ∗ marcus ⸻ thread .#lovetique #this got stupid long bc i'm dramatic!#but #(laughs) i'm in danger...

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adonaldson · 1 month

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ooc:

so some brief thoughts on challengers for now (i'll write more later)

The person who described their relationship as dom, sub, and switch for Tashi, Art and Patrick respectively nailed it.

Art despite what Z was saying did not cause the argument tashi and patrick's responses to his comments are. Especially since they both recognized art for what he was doing which was trying to get in their heads they both acknowledged it and couldn't let it rest.

Art seemed unaware of his love for patrick cause it was so natural to him, but was wholly aware of his love for tashi not because it wasn't natural but because he was aware of how she always kept him at arm's length.

Art always let tashi make the first move, it was her pace he was following.

I don't care if lily is actually patrick's (a popular theory) but that girl is art's daughter and he cares about her. he mutes the tv when she complains about tennis, he wakes up during that one night, likely because of her having a nightmare if anything is to go by with tashi not being able to get her to sleep on her own, and he goes to comfort her

Art suspected that tashi and patrick did something the night before the final. he asked tashi to hold him til he fell asleep, and when he woke up she was gone. patrick just solidiefied it. his little cursing bit is definitely at both of them cause he knew about atlanta

despite him being at boarding school then stanford i do not think art comes from money. his demeanor and clothes do not indicate wealth (coming from a person who was not rich but parents did everything in their power to keep me in a private school he has that air about him)

Art won the final match

That final service was finally art and patrick turning the messing around back on tashi, she had been fucking with the both of them the entire movie, including that kiss... this was their time to consensually do that again to fuck with her those smirks (that wasn't in the initial script neither was that hug and stuff soooo)

Art messing with Tashi and Patrick at the beginning I think he was spot on with his observatons

I think both take advantage of Art, and assume he is stupid or something, but no one is more observant than Art as he does his best to mold to what both need. Also boy got into Stanford likely on a scholarship but to get those you still need the grades.

Both Art and Patrick were better as a doubles team than on their own as singles players

I do think the three would have been better as a true poly relationship... OR even better I think Tashi should have stuck with her gut and tried to get her two boys actually in an official relationship

that's all for now

#ooc: out of challengers

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acourtofthought · 8 months

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What do you think about this?

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPR7YcsHV/

(if I sound heated here, it's not directed at you anon!)

I think people are going round and round with the exact same information we've known since 2017 (even before) while continually claiming it proves who is getting the remaining books though SJM has only confirmed one person who is (but not the order that it will be released).

Feyre was the focus of the trilogy however at some point the sisters journey's surprised her. Where initially she thought they'd be cookie cutter versions of the "evil stepsisters" in a fairytale only to realize they had their own stories to tell.

Even back then SJM said she'd like to write books for each of the sisters some day.

Then she was signed on for the three spin-off novels that would follow a new romantic pairing and said she knew who the first two would be about but that she was leaving the third open as she was deciding between 5 possible pairings (with one possibility being a story set pre ACOTAR). She later confirmed Nesta would be getting the first spin-off and that she had done research for Elain's book and laid crumbs for Elain's book in various interviews.

So yes, we have always known Nesta and Elain were getting books but......

Three spin-off novels, each spin-off featuring a new romantic pairing......two sisters.

I'm not sure why anyone continues trying to sell that this series is about the sisters and only about the sisters. Of course it's about them BUT it's about other characters too. As she keeps writing, the world keeps growing. SJM has even said she struggles with the thought of stopping at three spin-offs because there are so many stories she wants to tell for so many characters. SJM also said that when she was writing SF, the ACOTAR world expanded for her and she enjoyed exploring old and new characters. Just like the sisters journey's surprised her and she realized she wanted to write their books, it sounds like the exact same thing happened when she began writing the spin-offs.

I do think the series started with Feyre then expanded to the sisters. It developed into a story about three humans turned fae and what part they'll play in the future of Prythian. But we've gotten hints that new characters are also changing the future of Prythian:

"Gwyn lifted the blade. Nothing can break me." "Emerie said, Nothing can break us." The world seemed to pause at the words. As if it had been following one path and now branched off in another direction. In a hundred years, a thousand, this moment would still be etched in his mind. That he would tell his children, his grandchildren. Right then and there. That was when it all changed. Azriel went wholly still, as if he too, had felt the shift. As if he, too, were aware that far larger forces peered into that training ring as Gwyn moved."

It was with Gwyn and Emerie's words that brought us that path changing moment.

The remaining sister has nothing to do with the above paragraph. That was the moment where SJM foreshadowed that the history of the Illyrians only allowing men to be warriors was altered, where a new era has begun and that era includes the Valkyries (who we haven't even seen in battle yet).

SJM has many storylines that are happening at the same time and not every storyline is going to involve Elain, the only remaining sister who is getting a book.

While the two series are not merging, we know the crossover will be setting up future ACOTAR books (I'm guessing it will involve the Asteri finding their way to Prythian which was their goal in CC2).

Maybe things will change in CC3 but as it stands, Elain has nothing to do with Bryce arriving in Prythian or time travel. Not only are the Valkyrie's still relevant considering Cassian and Az said they were compiling a list of the mistakes the females made in the Rite, that their training wasn't over but Gwyn helps Merrill with her research which means she's connected to the crossover storyline in a way Elain is not. Az having TT makes Az connected to the crossover in a way that Elain is not.

On the flip side, there have been outstanding storylines since ACOWAR. Tamlin, Koschei, Vassa and the girls being held captive, Eris, Beron, Spring, etc and Elain is connected to those things while Az, Nesta, Gwyn, Emerie are not.

We know Elain is getting one ACOTAR novel but we don't know who is getting the other. However, with these two very different paths SJM has laid out for us and Elain only being connected to one of those paths and Nesta and Feyre already having their stories told, I'm not sure why people keep saying these books are only about the sisters. The other book (along with any others SJM signed on for) have to be about other characters.

If SJM planned on this series only being about the sisters then why is she continually introducing brand new characters with mysterious backstories? Why are there open ended storylines that would involve Nesta and Feyre except we know their POVs are over and that Elain has nothing to do with?

And yes, ACOTAR through ACOWAR is about Feyre's journey and less about Rhys. SF is Nesta's journey and less about Cassian. Elain's journey will be about Elain (though Lucien also has a pretty major journey of his own to go on). And 6 books of the TOG series are about Aelin's journey. But.............Tower of Dawn was not Aelin's journey, it was mostly Chaols and is often referred to as Chaol's book even though Nesryn and Yrene shared POVs.

So.......just because something happens a majority of the time when SJM has proven it's not 100% of the time, why is it still being spread around that Az can't get his own book?

Sorry I rambled with that. My sentence structure is probably awful but I have a head cold and don't feel like staring at what I wrote any more than necessary 😂

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bitchfitch · 1 year

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The cup of tea was warm in his hands. The few leaves that had escaped the strainer floating placidly on the surface. Esti focussed on their gentle paths, swirling the cup occasionally to keep them moving as for every second he was focused on them he could avoid looking at his mother across the table from him.

Corvus was the image of matronly patience as she waited for him to break the silence. Her own cup on the table in front of her, neatly sat on its little plate like it was to be the third participant in what Esti was predicting to be an absolutely miserable conversation.

"I love him," Esti started. It was a fact. It deserved to go first. He only said it because he knew it would be the absolute last thing she would want to hear.

"I'm aware."

Her plan wasn't difficult to parse out. She needed him on his back foot and knew nothing was harder for him than having to ask for what he wanted. Especially when it went so far against the will of who he was asking for it from. She would deny him either way, but making him ask meant he wouldn't ask so him failing this negotiation would be wholly his fault instead of her refusing to just let them be happy-

"I'll allow you to marry him so long as you give me a way to keep you safe."

"What?" Esti couldn't believe what his brain was telling him he'd heard her say.

"Did you already change your mind?" The teasing smile on her voice was full of the summer night warmth he'd almost forgotten she was capable of.

"No! No- Of course not. But, really? I- Thank you," he bumbled through a few words as every question and expression of gratitude tied themselves in knots in their race to his tongue.

"Yes, Esti. Pavo is... not my first choice for you, but he argued his case and made a few promises that, should he keep his end of the deal, were too good for our people for me to refuse," she sighed and rested her hands palm up on the table between them, a silent invitation that Esti gladly accepted. He set his cup aside and placed his in hers. His deep grey skin looking so much lighter than it was against the true light eating darkness of hers. "I hope he is good to you. I hope and wish and pray to every deity that might listen to my words as though they are coming just from a mother instead of one who is a demon as well, that he proves me wrong in every way," she squeezes his hands, "I worry I am sacrificing you to a monster for the sake of those who pretend you aren't my eldest son. I want to be wrong, but I still worry."

"You are, I- I promise it Mother. He's kind to me. He's never once been a monster to me and he never will be. I swear it."

"Do you think the brides slaughtered by their beloveds thought they were beasts before they sent them weeping to their graves? You can not know he will remain kind... That's why my approval of your marriage to him is conditional."

He felt a twinge of something curl in the back of his gut. Suspicion or anxiety or some worry he may not be able to give her what he needs to to have the groom he desires more than a bat with shredded wings desired the open air of the night sky.

"All I ask is that you give me a way to bring you home should he prove unworthy of your love. Tell me how to see through the wards that keep his village hiddencfrom demon-kind so that I can come save my son should he ever need me to."

Esti swallowed hard, trying to drown out they growing growling feeling with the hope and joy earning her permission will bring him. If sharing one secret was all it took to have Pavo's hand he couldn't possibly deny her it right? It was just one secret.

"In the clearing before the gate, face away from it and walk forwards while making yourself believe that you will pass through it. When you should be stood below the archway make the sigil of his house in the air before you. You will be within the village when you take your next step," his dread built with every word.

She let go of his hands. Her next action was nearly lost to the thick shadows that clung to her fingers, but still, he saw her remove the wedding band his father had proposed to her with.

"Thank you, I know what sorts of suspicions he has probably filled you with, so I hope this will be a strong enough gesture to convince you I do truly intend to only use that information if he goes back on his promises of your safety in his care," she sets the ring on the table before him. "I would like it if you proposed to him here in your maiden home so that we may celebrate the engagement as a family. As you do not just have my permission, but my blessing as well."

The ring didn't feel real when he picked it up. It was heavy in his hand, and warm from her skin. The metal hard and smooth and the gems glittered in their settings, but it still didn't feel real.

He had spent weeks pacing and trying to think up back up plans for his back up plans. Never, in any of his anxious strategizing had he thought she would say yes without an argument about avoiding war and breaking his heart. Even then, her blessing was something he had written off completely. A quick disowning was what he presumed would be the best result not... this.

She came around the table and wrapped him in a hug as she shushed him. He hadn't even realized he had begun to cry.

"Thank you. Thank you. I- I I have nothing else, just thank you," he leaned against her, wiping at his eyes and trying valiantly to stop his tears. The relief and elation drowned out his worry. Of course he was just being paranoid. Of course she wanted nothing but what was best for their family. He tried to apologize for doubting her, but his blubbering mangled the words beyond what was recognizable.

Corvus chuckled and rubbed his shoulder when she let go. "Go now. Your groom is probably planning something stupid. Give him the news before he has time to act on those plans."

Esti nodded, and was on his feet in a stumbling trot to the door before he could think himself into a new anxiety spiral.

Beyond the door, Pavo leaned against the wall, his agrivated grimace turning to an expression of worry as he saw the tears. Esti was in his arms and burrying his face against Pavo's chest before he had time to demand to know what had happened.

Any thought of grand romantic gestures Esti might have had were eaten by his eagerness as he grabbed for Pavo's hand the instant he could bare to back away enough to do so. Wordlessly he put the ring on Pavo's little finger, the band being sized for someone with much finer hands barely fit but the implications of the action still rung loud and clear.

Pavo looked between the ring and Esti and Corvus. His worry turning to surprise then to the same elation Esti clearly felt as he wrapped him in his arms again. Heftig him up and spinning him with giddy love sick glee. Cackling his acceptance of the proposal and looking more like a person than Corvus had ever seen him as before.

Pavo barely set Esti back down on his feet, still not letting him go, before he was addressing her, "Thank you. You won't regret this. I swear it on my life that I will keep him safer and happier than anyone else could, and if I fail that it will be my own blade I fall too."

#dramatic irony is a literary device by which the reader's understanding of events or individuals in a work surpasses that of its characters

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highwaytothedangerzone502 · 1 year

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Foxtrot Alpha Alpha - Chapter 2

Pairing: Hangman x Female OC

Word Count: 1505

Warnings:

Summary: Hangman learned his lesson a long time ago to never show his true feelings when someone's words or actions hurt him. To do so showed weakness that could be exploited, and Seresin men couldn't show weakness. Of course, there was an exception to every rule, and Jake's always came in the form of women, three in particular: his mom, Juliette Kazansky, and the girl whose name he could no longer bring himself to speak. She was the girl that got away; she was his biggest 'what if' and his biggest regret; she would forever be the ghost that haunted his dreams. Jake believed that's where she'd stay, for he would surely never see her again after what he did.

Or so he thought.

Notes: This is the sequel to India Lima Yankee; I'm using the same callsign for the Female OC as in Ghost Story because I just really like it, but they are different characters; chapters in italics are flashbacks.

Chapter Songs: Man I Feel Like A Woman Out of Sight Out of Mind

****

Hangman

People packed into the Hard Deck, not unusual for a Friday night. But unlike most of the patrons, Hangman found himself and his brothers-in-arms dressed to the nines in their whites and, in the case of Phoenix, Juliette, and Halo, their cocktail dresses. They'd gone out to celebrate Juliette's big promotion at work. Of course, she couldn't drink being pregnant, but Juliette apparently didn't need alcohol to have fun. She happily sang at the top of her lungs when Rooster played the piano or at karaoke with whoever would join her (mainly Phoenix and Fanboy), although Jules put all other singers to shame. She hustled unsuspecting pilots at pool and joked around with the Daggers like they'd grown up with each other. Rooster kept a careful eye on her. Hangman noticed his comrade had become extremely protective and concerned about Juliette since she passed out Christmas morning, a side effect of the pregnancy. The doctors assured them it'd been a one-off, but Rooster, traumatized by an unspoken tragedy, refused to wholly believe them.

Hangman knew this. Hangman understood Rooster had every right to be protective over Juliette and that he himself had no rights at all, but he couldn't help the jealousy that rose up in him every time he noticed the longing gazes the couple exchanged, how Rooster would watch Juliette with the softest of smiles as if he wasn't even aware he did so, the way Juliette leaned into Rooster whenever he stood next to her. They were so helplessly, madly, head-over-heels in love with each other, and as happy as Hangman was for them, it still hurt. Hangman had fallen swift and hard for Juliette, although he'd never admit that. Jake understood he could never compare to Rooster. Bradshaw had a history with Juliette, and Hangman didn't. He was just the resident playboy with the reputation of never wanting to settle down, whose one true love was the open sky and his career. Juliette had made him question those beliefs, and he hadn't felt that since-

"-ghost. Blasted past me on the freeway like the devil himself was after them and disappeared in the blink of an eye, they were driving so fast," Coyote said, interrupting Jake's train of thought. He took a swig of his beer, keeping a carefully calculated expression of nonchalance despite his meandering mind.

"Or maybe you were driving like you're on a Sunday drive, like you always do," Payback jested.

"This stranger wouldn't happen to have been on a red and black Kawasaki, would they?" Juliette queried, her eyes glittering with intrigue.

Coyote cocked his head in surprise. "How'd you know?"

"It's Princess," Hangman said, shooting her a playful smirk. "She knows everything."

"As much as that is usually true-" Jules began, returning the compliment with an appreciative smile- "it was a hopeful guess. If you'll excuse me for a moment!"

She slipped out of her fiancé's arms and darted through the crowd, leaving the Daggers confused. Hangman bit back his amusement at Rooster's puppy dog eyes trailing after her, obviously restraining himself from following. Jake's attention was diverted to the pool table when Phoenix called out his name. He acquiesced to her request to join, grabbing a pool stick. She teamed up with Bob while Coyote joined Hangman. The pairs used the ever-trusty "Rock Paper Scissors" to decide who went first. Phoenix, as usual, won.

Right as Hangman bent over to hit his shot, a familiar guitar riff and voice broke out near the karaoke machine. Cheers went up, especially from the Daggers, as the sound of Juliette belting out to 'Man, I Feel Like a Woman.' Hangman failed to remember ever knowing she played guitar, but he'd add it to the list of ways she kept surprising him. The Daggers would've moved closer to cheer her on, but the crowd prevented that endeavor. Rooster managed it, but he also didn't appear to give anyone blocking him a choice, shouldering his way through to get to Juliette. His piano skills soon joined the guitar, along with a second female voice harmonizing with Juliette. Could it be the mystery person Juliette raced out to greet?

Hangman sang along at the top of his lungs, thoroughly enjoying the song and the killer cover by Juliette. When it ended, she received a well-deserved ovation. The crowd parted for her, Rooster, and their mystery guest. Only when they rejoined the Daggers did Hangman wish he'd caught a glimpse of the person beforehand to prepare himself. The face that haunted his dreams appeared before him, wearing eyeliner sharp enough to kill a man and red lipstick that surely received its striking color from the blood of her enemies, namely him. For the first time, Hangman purposefully faded behind his wingmen, desperately needing a moment to catch his breath and gather his wits. He locked eyes with Coyote on the way, and a silent understanding passed between the two friends.

"Well, I'll be damned," Payback said, smiling at Ghost. "Where the hell have you been?"

"You know I can't answer that," Ghost chastised teasingly.

"If she tells us anything, she'll have to kill us," Coyote remarked. His voice immediately garnered her attention. For Ghost, she had always figured that wherever Coyote was, Jake most likely wasn't far away.

Still, Ghost's voice held nothing but sincere happiness when she said, "Hey, Coyote."

"Hey." He strode up to Ghost and gave her a rare hug. "Good to see you."

"You as well." She scanned the room, her eyes finally landing on Hangman. Then, curtly, she nodded and said, "Seresin."

"Blackwood, as I live and breathe." Shooting her his hundred-watt smile, he looked her up and down, admiring the black dress hugging her curves. "You look good."

"How do you all know each other?" Juliette asked. The question sounded casual enough, but he saw her analyzing the situation before her, picking up on the tension he tried so hard to hide. For better or worse, that analytical mind of hers wasn't limited to engineering and designing aircraft.

"Stationed with most of these guys at some point," Ghost answered. "Went to school with Coyote, and as you already know, Top Gun with Rooster."

"What about you and Hangman?"

"Old acquaintances," Jake said casually before Ghost could even open her mouth to answer. Juliette stopped her questioning like he knew she would. She remembered what those words had meant for her not too long ago. Still, Hangman would prepare himself for the interrogation from her later because it would undoubtedly be on its way.

Coyote wagged his finger at the two girls. "Where did you two meet?"

"In passing at Top Gun, but we didn't actually talk until a month or two later by happenstance," Juliette said, grabbing her water and taking a few gulps. "Not much bonds girls quicker than having each other's back when a creep starts following one of you in a store."

Noticing her friend's drink, Ghost said, "Please tell me that's vodka. You're celebrating a huge job promotion!"

"If I could drink, I would, but I can't." Juliette slung her arm over her friend's shoulders. "Girl, I have so much to catch you up on, but for now, long story short? Rooster and I are engaged, and I'm expecting twins."

Ghost's mouth fell open, shock etching itself onto her face until Jules's words fully processed. Then, the pilot let out a joyful scream and hugged Juliette tightly. "Oh my God, I'm so happy for y'all! When are you due? When's the wedding?"

"Thanks! I'm due in August, and the wedding will be sometime next year. Still deciding on a date. Obviously, you're invited." Juliette sat on an empty bar stool to get off her feet. Rooster stood behind her, and she leaned against him. Hangman watched Jules and Ghost shoot the breeze.

Coyote stood beside him, mumbling the question loudly enough only for Hangman to hear, "You good, man?"

Not wanting to worry his only ally in this situation, he lied, "Yeah, I'm good. Wasn't expecting this. Did she say she was-"

"No. I had no clue." Coyote had stayed in touch with Ghost, but he never said much, if anything, about her, understanding Hangman would rather talk about anything else but her. Hell, Jake would rather face an angry Juliette than utter Ghost's name, and that was saying something. Even speaking her last name made his heart constrict painfully in a way it hadn't in years, the last time being when they'd parted ways, never to speak again until now.

Hangman glanced at the clock, estimating how much longer the group would be here. Dismay settled in. It was only nine o'clock, and the Daggers were far from ready to leave. They'd be going until at least midnight. Hangman, typically the last to leave, couldn't be the first tonight. It'd look too suspicious with Ghost's arrival. No, he'd have to play it cool until some of the others departed. Then he could make his escape. How difficult could it be?

****

Tags: @lgg5989 @shanimallina87 @polikszena @summ3rlotus @icemansgirl1999 @supernaturaldawning @thedarkinmansfield @lyannaforpresident @lapilark @getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth @simpofthecentury @shadeops21 @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @double-j @bradshawsandbridgetons @majdoline @catsandgeekyandnerd @peachiicherries @multifandomcnova @fandomsstolemylife00 @bookloverhorses @mak-32 @midnightmagpiemama

Chapters: Chp 1 Chp 2

If you're on the tag list, it's because I copied from the India Lima Yankee tag list. If you don't wish to be tagged for this story, just let me know! If you're not on the tag list and want to be, comment below :)

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firelxdykatara · 1 year

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So I just got into Unicorn: Warriors Eternal (obviously), I was gonna pace myself on episodes but then I just kept watching but at least there should be another one soon lmao ANYWAY THOUGH I have some preliminary thoughts.

I am absolutely fascinated by the dynamics presented here. There's a lot of messy potential in the way none of their reincarnations worked quite right, but the only one of them who has a true FIGHT for their new identity is Melinda/Emma/Emmelinda and I think that's both telling and tragic. Edred seems to be the one who is the most "himself" in terms of his identity being the most recognizable (though I suspect his current personality was affected by the merge considerably more than usual, as he seems far less stoic than he was in his previous lives--which makes me wonder if Dimitri will make another appearance), while Seng feels the most actualized--he has the mind of a child but the cosmic awareness and connection of his reincarnation, but there still don't seem to be any traces of "Alfie" there (especially given what we saw of him before he got seng-ified).

But Emma is fighting. She is the only one of the three original hosts still struggling to maintain her own sense of self and identity. It is interfering with Melinda's ability to control her powers, but given how we saw her powers corrupt her mother in the past, I wonder if that might not be for the better. I wonder if the show is going to turn all of this on its head--the writing has been surprisingly clever (and far more emotional than i expected, eps 4 and 5 had me bawling), and it's an adult cartoon not a kid's show, so I wonder if we're not meant to suspect that there's more to the current set up than might be assumed at first glance.

In the flashback to Melinda's childhood, Morgan (and her parents being Merlin and Morgan le Fay tickled me pink) is immediately incensed that Merlin lied to her about their daughter having magic--he says "I knew your intentions", and it's framed like we're supposed to think that he believed Morgan would use her magic for evil. But perhaps she was telling the truth when she said she only wanted to protect their daughter--and given that it seemed to have almost a self-awareness not wholly connected to Melinda herself, I wonder if the more malicious or devious parent was actually Merlin, which would explain him immediately turning on his own child and blaming her for what had just happened even though it was not her fault.

(And so tragic and heartwarming in equal measure that Emma spent the next episode trying to convince Melinda that it wasn't her fault, despite the echo of what have you done ringing in her subconscious over every life she lived the past thousand years. Despite Emma's understandable resentment of the situation she's been forced into, she is a deeply compassionate soul and I think that perspective is what Melinda has been lacking for so long. She has been fighting evil [on her father's say-so] for over a thousand years and yet lost sight of what she was truly fighting to protect. It is telling that she had such trouble making herself access her powers the episode after chasing down the fox lady and terrifying that woman and her baby.)

Emma herself is interesting to me, because while reluctant chosen ones tend to start grating on me very quickly, the fact is that she can't resist the call for long--Melinda quite literally will not let her--but she provides a humanizing element to this fight that otherwise had not been present in who knows how many centuries. At the same time, lives are on the line and every time she tries too hard to balk at using her powers and taking up the mantle, she manages to make the situation worse. (See: bringing up the kraken instead of busting through that barrier herself, resulting in Copernicus' destruction)

And then, of course, there's the romantic entanglements. (I'm very much on Edred's side here if that weren't already obvious. Winston may get points when he goes all wolfed out but at the end of the day, it's white-haired pretty elfboy and his goth wife for me all day every day.)

I don't agree with a lot of the sentiments i saw while scrolling through the tag--Edred has very good reason to be pressuring Melinda (Emmelinda) to accept her powers and fucking use them already, because, again, lives are on the line constantly with this Evil around fucking things up and terrorizing the city and killing people. Plus, of the three of them, he's the one with the clearest memories of his own past. He has a thousand years of fighting this fight with his wife by his side, and I think quite apart from how fucked up things got with the reincarnations this go-round, he doesn't know how to FUNCTION without her. A thousand years is tough to let go, especially when they've done this whole song and dance so many times before and it was always relatively smooth sailing--a quick merge and then fighting on as if no time had passed at all. Of course he believes Emma is holding his wife back, not allowing her to reach her full potential with her powers OR their shared past--she's the only uncommon factor!

("She's not yours anymore" may have been a bit petty, but he wasn't trying to gloat there--I don't think he was even really expressing jealousy or possessiveness. He was delivering a hard truth. I wonder how many times in the past they were awoken inside bodies and souls that did have entire other lives planned out. Families. Children. We know they had descendants after awakening, given the quasi-doppelgangers that tried to tell the police chief the truth about them early on, but I wonder how many times they awoke, went to each other, and had to tell someone who loved them--who perhaps they had loved in return--that their husband or wife or mother or father was gone and never coming back. I think Edred was trying to tell Winston to accept the inevitable before he got hurt even worse.)

All that said, this time is obviously very different. It may be the key to breaking the cycle once and for all. There may be key truths they could never have learned while operating the way they had been, executing Merlin's 'flawless' strategy. I think, in the end, Emma and Melinda may have to find some common ground--as it sits of course there is prime fodder for fics exploring the consent or lack thereof involved in a dynamic like this, and I'm fully on board for Emma starting to catch some of Melinda's feelings in spite of herself and allowing Edred in, allowing herself to feel for him.

That half-second where Edred saw Melinda's spirit and she said his name before being shoved back into the custody battle for Emma's body--that hit me where it hurts. I have to believe they'll find some way to come back together. Especially given that brief but delicious shot of Emmelinda going absolutely berserk after seeing Edred get hurt.

(Meanwhile, my kingdom for fics exploring Melinda getting sick of waiting and just taking over completely. Emma stuck along for the ride and not at all sure she hates it as much as she should. I'm just saying, it'd be delicious.)

#and don't start age gap or non/dubcon discourse with me i will bite you #let the hot thousand year old elf prince have his thousand year old goth wife in his controversially young gfs body #it's fine #unicorn warriors eternal #uwe #melinda #edred #emma fairfax #uwe spoilers #also the realization that this show is by the same guy who made sym-bionic titan made so much sense

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helria · 1 year

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Fireworks - Killer

Word count: 1807 | Link to AO3 | Contents: Implied Sexual Content | Pairing: Killer x Nameless Female Character (reader/oc, your choice)

Summary: After arriving in Wano and being assigned a cover position as a teahouse waitress, MC develops a rather interesting relationship with the capital’s resident crossroad killer... one they both knew would never last.

Excerpt: She wished there was more she could do, a way to capture and replay that tender moment thousands of times, but was that fleeting, forbidden feeling not what made it so special?

He looks happy.

She couldn't help but steal a glance at the Kid Pirates, their vice captain still in her thoughts while confident she wasn't in his. She told herself that the only reason he sought her was because he had no other choice. She held nothing against him for it. Solitude was more than enough to make someone foolish, and it had done the same to her, and yet even while knowing that... She had grown attached, and she wondered if he felt the same.

Her gaze turned away before she could notice that he'd glanced as well. While she had been comfortable with him at the teahouse, he could tell that it was a different sort of act. He wanted to know what she was like when given the space to express herself. Wanted to see if she would ever show those sides of herself to him. It was a useless sort of hope, one of those thoughts that only served to be comforting rather than compelling, and yet he couldn't push it away.

He remembered the look on her face whenever she held his between her hands, gazing at him with pure, unadulterated desire along with genuine attraction. Her lips were warm next to his own. Chest soft against his firm muscles. Her weight felt perfect in his lap, thighs free to sink his touch into, knees lightly pressing to his sides as she embraced his broad shoulders... He looked away before his thoughts could go too far, all too aware that they'd never do those things again.

More than her touch, which was still heavily on his mind, he was confused by her kindness. Why she chose to invite him in when he was already a wanted man. A murderer both on the seas and in Wano. She gave him a gentle smile, a warm, quiet place to stay, handmade refreshments without a single ask for payment. He took her at face value for the sake of staying distant. She wouldn't have answered any of his questions even if he asked.

Everything she'd done had been on a whim. She took a chance on Kamazo, guessing that he was under Orochi and assuming he'd be foolish enough to leak secrets to a woman. It wasn't until she saw his weapons and could observe his mannerisms that she connected the dots. Her heart bled for him, that day. The only thing she wanted was to ease the weight on his mind, even if just by an ounce.

But he had found his true companions once again. He had no use for her superficial comfort. It was only then that she began to question whether they ever should've met, a rather belated sense of shame beginning to creep through her thoughts. Would he really have been that lost without her? Or would he have focused more on his crew without her there to take up his thoughts? Was there something more she could've done, more information she could've gathered to help the raid go more smoothly, and had she missed that opportunity while fooling around with him...?

Her thoughts were only interrupted by the sound of fireworks above, her attention turning to the sky just in time to see the vibrant colors covering the stars. A faint smile tugged at her lips. She found it difficult to manage anything more. The Flower Capital was filled with some of the most wildly energetic pirates in the world, and yet she couldn't find the strength to match their light. If anything, it made her feel more out of place, wondering why she chose to take her Captain's invite in the first place.

Killer glanced at her again, unsure of what he was looking for and being wholly caught off guard by what he saw. The woman that dared to embrace a twisted man like him, confident and brazen enough to deepen that connection into touch, overwhelming to the point her presence could be felt on every corner of Onigashima, was standing alone in a way that would tug at anybody's heart. She quietly held the sleeve of her kimono as she gazed up at the stars, taking a subtle bite on the inside of her lip to try and gather her scattered thoughts.

She was alone in a sea of people, alone surrounded by her crew, alone without even herself inside her heart. It felt as if the time had stilled in her clouded eyes. "Give me a minute," he quickly excused from his crew, making his way through the dense crowds until she was within his reach. She was too transfixed on the fireworks to notice that he'd come so near. He looked at her for a moment, asking himself what exactly he intended to do before standing right by her side.

He watched a couple fireworks burst and fizzle while trying to emulate the same sights that she saw. When her head was tilted so far up, it was easy to let the bystanders fade away. His gaze drifted back to her to see if she'd noticed him yet, lifting his arm to rest lightly around her waist once he saw she hadn't. Her posture stiffened beneath him. She glanced over to see his signature helmet in place of the bandages she'd memorized the feel of, the cold sides of his handguard pressing to her hip as he pretended not to watch her face.

Her lips parted for just a moment, only to let out nothing but a quiet sigh before pressing back shut again. She let her head tilt towards him until it rested on his familiar shoulder. His laughter spilled through his mask as he brought her closer to his side. Both of their gestures, however different in subtlety, were the same answer to a question that had always hung in the air.

I would've chosen you regardless.

Nobody was forcing them, then. He chose to approach her out of everything he could've done. She chose to accept his time and company even while knowing full well the weight that it carried. She could feel butterflies in her chest the longer she stayed beneath his arm, the nervous energy that came with being beside the one she cared for starting to replace the painful anxiety she had faced before. It was a warm, buzzing sort of feeling, her hands loosely clasping together to keep from reaching for his. He wouldn't have minded if she had.

His crew could only stare in shock at what was happening before their eyes, with their vice captain making a rather ballsy move on what they only knew to be a stranger. Not only that, but it had worked. Anyone with eyes could see how smitten she was with him, how the very tips of her ears had blushed a vibrant shade of red, the corners of her mouth struggling to stay down as she tried to keep her gaze from him. She wanted to see his face. Longed for the way his sharp blue eyes would focus on hers. She felt foolish in a way, already knowing the kind of reaction she'd get if she mentioned it aloud, but the thoughts still felt comforting however immature they might've been.

On the other side, it was impossible to tell what was on his mind. Even those that knew him had trouble trying to figure out what he'd done. Why he was showing such a sudden, confident interest in someone of a different crew after so long spent on his own. He held her in spite of what it could've meant. In spite of all the unwritten rules and strained façades they were both tired of keeping up. He wasn't shy to admit he cared deeply for her, at least within his own thoughts, though just like her, he would never say those words out loud. Something that deeply intimate would only cause more harm than good.

And so the couple only stood there, silent, staring at the sky. Her frame was warm against his own. She could feel each rise and fall of his broad chest with every breath. She wished there was more she could do, a way to capture and replay that tender moment thousands of times, but was that fleeting, forbidden feeling not what made it so special? She knew that she would likely never have the chance to speak with him again, much less see beneath his mask or have him hold her in his arms. He held no hope for being able to reunite after parting ways. They were resigned to their quiet, bittersweet ending, a trick of fate that would stay embedded in their paths for the rest of time.

"Kamazo," she started as the show moved towards its end, resting her hand over his own as her thumb slowly traced his scars. "Thank you."

Those three soft words held everything she couldn't say. That, even though she had been the one to provide for him, she was grateful for his continued visits and acceptance nonetheless. Grateful that he'd chosen to watch the fireworks however finite they might've been. Her use of that name wasn't a mistake. It wasn't a slip of her tongue or some kind of playful tease. It was a warning, a forlorn, reluctant one that they both knew was for the best.

This is as far as we can go.

The only thing he could do was laugh even as she bore her heart to him. The sound didn't do so much as make her shift. Her thumb continued to press warmly against his skin, her build still resting against his with every ounce of her faith and trust. "Don't mention it," is all he said, shelving each and every last thought he had to respond.

For all they'd learned about the other, the fact remained that it had only been a few months. A sum of weeks that they had truly spent in the other's company, offset by grueling days of paranoia and regret. He had no right to pry further. To ask that she call him by his name when it would only deepen their graves. Their only choice was to stand there and savor their ignorance for what little time they still had left.

The last firework came and went. Cheers filled the air as the festival continued on. He let her go, her posture straightening once again as his arm fell down to his side. They shared a single, silent look amidst the endless mess of noise, the very tips of her fingers curling inwards to her palm once she saw his mask. "Enjoy the festival," she bid with a slight smile, already turning away before he had the chance to respond.

She could hear his laughter through the noise as he walked away.

#killer (one piece)#right person wrong time #x reader #fanfic #killer #kid pirates #one piece #x oc #fanfiction #wano #post wano arc #oneshot #bittersweet #one piece fanfiction #killer x reader #one piece x reader #op

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cryptidcasanova · 2 years

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Steve Rogers

Steve had known envy; he felt it in the crevices of his mind. He sheltered it deep in his heart. He had been envious of men, especially before the war. And he had been jealous of a quiet, humble life. He was jealous of those around him with a wife, kids, and a home to go back to. He was envious of people who had that.

But this feeling was new. The knot in Steve's stomach was suffocating. He had you. You were at one of Tony's parties with your fingers laced in his own, but someone else was vying for your attention.

It was a lowly member of Shield. He was just an agent in training. Steve had your heart, but at this moment, he wanted your attention. Steve demanded your sole attention. So the Captain did the only thing he knew how.

"Soldier, we're leaving," He addressed the man with his Captain's voice, turning to face you. "We have our own mission to attend to."

His innuendo was understood immediately.

And that was all it took for him to whisk you away from the party, practically melting into his hold.

Oh, Steve.

He had no need to be jealous. He already had you; hook, line, and sinker.

Bucky Barnes

Bucky was always watchful of the street vendors. However, this morning, his attention was trained on the curve of your ass. He was aware of the plane of the skin of your thighs as you walked from stall to stall. You were unaware of his gaze, wholly invested in the produce on the table.

Plums. It was always plums.

You were smiling. The salesman helped you bag the fruit, and Bucky watched as the grocers’ fingers danced across yours.

Oh.

His belly ached. He didn’t like that one bit.

Bucky hadn’t moved so fast since under HYDRA’s control, and in four smooth steps, he was there, surrounding you in his safe embrace. It was precisely where you were supposed to be.

With a kiss to your temple, you hummed, unaware of the glare he was giving to the grocer. His metal arm was securely around you, and the man flinched back. He knew who Bucky was, and it made him crack a smirk.

Bucky didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

Sam Wilson

If you could pinpoint a pinnacle moment of happiness in your day, it was early in the morning. It was when you could go on a jog with Sam, listening to Marvin Gaye and Stevie Wonder and singing brazenly to your heart's content.

The morning jogs weren't required, and you had gotten plenty of training and exercise during the week, but this was when the rest of the world wasn't up.

You could let your heart flutter and joke with the man next to you. Sam was a perfect guy. Your heart was so full of love for him.

And then something happened. One morning, two recruits had seen you two jogging and decided to invite themselves into the group.

The recruits wanted to change the music. They wanted to pick up the pace. They kept trying to find out personal things about you.

The recruits were awfully nosy about your personal business, and it got under Sam's skin.

Sam was a patient man; however, these two fools had decided to break up his time with you. He couldn't let that slide.

So maybe one of them tripped. And fell into the other. And just maybe, they both rolled down the hill and into the duck pond.

And maybe, just maybe, you hadn't noticed it because you were busy tying your hair back and out of your face. Sam's timing couldn't be better, and when you heard the splash, you turned around with a curious expression.

"Sam?"

"What? They just tripped."

If there was one thing that could get Sam out of trouble, it was his warm eyes and toothy grin.

You couldn't be mad at him even if you tried.

Natasha Romanov

The nightclub was raving, and you and Nat were undercover. Between dancing and drinking and partying, you had lost her. Knowing her, she was probably breaking into a safe or interrogating a mobster. Still, Nat's job was on a need-to-know basis.

Your job was to keep the party going with the mob boss's son.

And you were doing a pretty good job at it too. The goon invited you to the dancefloor, free from his own bodyguards, and you just danced. You were lost in the music, the soft lighting, and the feelings of hands at your waist. There was a gentle tug, and then the set of hands was back on you, pulling you back against a hard, lean body.

"Who said you could dance with anyone but me?"

Nat.

A soft giggle left your lips.

"I wasn't expecting you." You turned in her arms, and her smirk was the only reply she offered in response, but her eyes were pools of liquid fire.

Oh, that sly dog.

The mobster's son was nowhere to be found. But you danced until the nightclub closed, and if you had looked a little closer, you would have seen him in the corner with a busted-up nose. Maybe he should have been keeping his hands to himself.

Tony Stark

To Tony, it was a game of his to make you jealous, but once the cards were reversed?

Oh no. He didn't like that at all.

He was your perfect match, and yes, he had done the math to come up with that conclusion.

But sometimes, he would forget that you weren't like him. Your mind had worked differently from his own. Genius, billionaire playboy philanthropist or not, you didn't care. You cared about Tony, the man. You cared about him.

And maybe, just maybe, he didn't like the attention that you were getting at one of his conferences. You were sitting in the front row, and Tony watched the room as stares lingered on you, how people tried to make small talk with you. It made his blood boil.

"Any questions?" He finally asked, ready to get off the stage.

The lights and the cameras were blinding, and a wave of hands went up.

"What about Y/N?" One reporter asked, and a slew of cameras turned your way.

"Are they here with you today?" “Yes, we have a question about them!" "Are the rumors true?"

"What rumors?" Tony finally snapped into the microphone, falling for their bait.

"That they are single. That you two aren't actually together."

It would have been beating out of his chest if Tony had a heart. An unfamiliar feeling washed over him. He was going to squash them like a bug.

"I don't know what your sources say," Tony gave you a sly wink, "But it's not true. Keep it in your pants, boys. They're taken."

He extinguished their questions with his boyish smirk, but you were fuming.

He was going to be in big trouble later.

#the avengers imagine #steve rogers imagine #captain america imagine #bucky barnes imagine #the winter soldier imagine #sam wilson imagine #the falcon imagine #natasha romanov imagine #black widow imagine #tony stark imagine #iron man imagine

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1016anon · 2 years

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Title: No Repeats or Hesitations Author: 1016anon Fandom: Bridgerton Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton/Kate Sharma, Benedict Bridgerton/Henry Granville Summary: The world is ending and Kate isn't here.

Trigger warnings: disordered eating. Content warnings: panic attacks, obsessive tendencies

A/N - I hate Violet, what else is new. Yes, I'm pairing Benedict with Henry. I haven't read any of the Bridgerton books. If you have a problem with teh gays, you can show yourself out: any complaints about it will be deleted and user blocked.

The world is ending and Kate isn't here.

She's on the other side of the world, exploring the last and only piece of herself untouched by Anthony.

He hasn't heard from her because that's what she wants. Otherwise he'd be glued to his phone, waiting for her to reply to his texts, constantly checking to see if she's going to call. He'd have gotten into at least forty car accidents by now and he wouldn't care if his car flipped over and he was trapped, about to die, so long as she called and he heard her laugh at him for driving like a maniac.

Anthony's vaguely aware that a good person would wish her well and want her to find herself. A healthy person with a sense of self would agree that her journey is important, essential, the first step to healing and becoming an individual with her own identity.

The thing is-- Anthony doesn't know what any of that shit means. She doesn't need to find herself; she never needed to search because he's here, not in India. Wishing for Kate to succeed in her expedition is like wishing for her to excavate a desiccated skeleton. Anthony wakes up almost every night in a cold sweat, heart beating like the timpani in Thus Spake Zarathustra without any of the triumph.

Whenever he woke like this, or she woke like this, they'd go to the rink and skate; nothing elaborate, just stroking around the rink together, going through basic edgework drills they did as kids, doing their forwards and backwards crossovers as one body, so close together it was considered-- by others-- not only dangerous but indecent.

Here, skating together in the middle of the night, they were alone without all eyes watching. They were themselves without apology.

Now she wasn't here and Anthony couldn't bear to go to the rink, so he went running instead.

He ran for hours.

It didn't feel like hours-- in fact, he didn't feel time pass at all. He got runner's high and stayed there until he practically collapsed.

Until he did collapse.

Because he was becoming that desiccated skeleton.

He didn't do it on purpose; there was no conscious intent behind his actions. It's just that he was never hungry and when he did eat, it all tasted too bland, too sweet, too rich, too salty, had the texture of sand, felt like eating cardboard, smelled like dog food. It was difficult to chew and swallow, let alone keep any of it down. Of course he hydrated-- water was one of the few things he enjoyed.

Protein shakes were too thick, smoothies were never smooth-- they always ended up in clumps. Energy drinks tasted like sugar and artificial coloring.

Anthony ran, and ran, and ran, and became wiry, and ate when he felt like it, and had panic attacks. He couldn't sleep, he had nightmares, everything during the day was too sharp and exposed.

He ran, and ran, and ran, and became skeletal, and ate almost nothing, and developed insomnia. He began fixating on certain things.

Like his phone.

He knew his phone was in his pocket, or in his bag, or in the other room. But he always had to check. Violet would drag him to the rink, convinced somehow she could persuade him to find another partner because he was supposed to retire having won gold at the Olympics-- Anthony had to leave his phone on the bench while he skated with girls who didn't match the rhythm of those midnights around the rink when he had Kate wholly in his arms and her hair in a thick braid. She had a way of braiding it so there was always with a divot perfect for him to catch her scent.

The tryouts were disasters. As soon as his phone was out of sight, he felt this absolute certainty that he had to make sure his phone was still there. Anthony and the girl would skate to the far side of the rink, then immediately leave her because he had to return to see-- to know-- his phone was where he left it.

Consciously, he knew it was. Probably. It obviously didn't grow legs and walk away, but it could have fallen off the bench. Someone could have moved his bag. It might not be in his bag. He might have left it at home and never put it in his bag. He might have left it in the car. He might have lost it. Someone could have stolen it.

Just one more time-- he had to check one more time. To be sure. Consciously, yes, it was there. Most of the time. There were a few times it wasn't where he'd left it; someone helpful soul had moved it, or Violet had hidden it because she was tired of Anthony abandoning his potential partners to check on his phone. That one time he could not find it, Anthony had a full blown panic attack-- the ones where his vision narrowed until he saw spots rapidly spiraling; he hyperventilated so much, he passed out from the lack of oxygen; his chest hurt so much, it felt like a heart attack.

He was going to die, but he didn't have the capacity to care; raw, instinctual, uncontrolled panic was not the same as caring whether you lived or died. There was a finger pressed firmly on his brain's fear response as soon as the phone was out of sight.

After that panic attack, Violet had him carry it with him in his pocket. Even then, he had to take it out of his pocket every so often to see it. He gained a reputation of being aloof, condescending, temperamental in the worst sense. A perfect technical partner, but unbearable to work with. Anthony may as well have been skating with those anthropomorphic test devices they used to gauge car safety features in simulated crashes.

He didn't need any more issues with food, but it became another thing he fixated on. Anything and everything, when he managed to eat something, had to be an even number of calories, packaged in an even number of servings, and each serving had to have an even number of calories. Even if a granola bar was 100 calories and contained four servings, each serving had 25 calories and was therefore inedible.

Violet was exasperated, but catered to his needs. Anthony was her fractious, perfect, racecourse winning stallion into whom she's poured all her lost figure skating dreams. It had taken over two decades to get him to this point. He was going to win that second gold medal, come hell or high water.

Between his insomnia, disordered eating, emotionally draining tryouts and training sessions which never seemed to end--

He collapsed.

Literally.

Woke up in a hospital and informed that he was severely underweight, definitely malnourished, and the doctors were concerned. They wanted him to see a psychiatrist for his anxiety, panic attacks, insomnia; he was developing obsessive tendencies and they believed therapy would be of great help. They suggested he see a dietitian; he needed to cut back on his running and skating, do balanced, modified, less intense workouts because it was a miracle he hadn't suffered a grave injury yet. If he kept going at this pace, it was merely a matter of time.

Anthony didn't care.

None of it mattered. Not without Kate.

Doing those things wouldn't bring her back; what did it matter whether he injured himself if she wasn't there?

He didn't say as much-- Anthony wouldn't have known how to say any of it. It's just how he felt.

She wouldn't even let him drive her to the airport-- for good reason. He would have begged her not to go, and she would have capitulated.

Besides, Violet was more than concerned enough for them both.

The doctors were speaking to Violet over him (literally: he was lying on the hospital bed, Violet on one side and the team of doctors on the other) when Anthony went into another panic attack when he realized he didn't have his phone.

The situation was worse. It dawned on him that he'd collapsed on his midnight run and--

The monitors he was hooked to started beeping at an alarming clip, heartrate jumping and rising continuously. People, faces, were asking him something, maybe, their mouths were moving but Anthony couldn't hear anything anything.

He didn't know where his phone was.

He didn't know where it was, where he'd last seen it; he needed to find his phone; it could have been dropped; it had probably run out of battery; they must have thrown it away because he woke up in a hospital gown; it might be in the ambulance; it might have been run over by a car; his running gear nowhere to be seen. Anthony was filled with fear fueled energy as he tried to tear all the tubes off or out of his body.

Orderlies came running. Anthony was unusually strong but more than that, he was unusually wily, body trained in all kinds of twists and turns. It took a team of six to hold him down as the doctors sedated.

He was discharged later that day, Violet carrying a stack of referrals for counselors and psychiatrists, specialists for this and that.

Unsurprisingly, it didn't work. Anthony wasn't willing to put in the effort to help himself. In order to achieve the timeline of recovery Violet had set out, it required Anthony to actively participate and want to work through his issues.

He might have been able to hit her benchmarks and reach those lofty mental health goals if he'd been given years. Violet gave him a few months.

Anthony was hospitalized twice more before Violet called Benedict and asked for his help.

India was lovely.

It was beyond lovely, it was beautiful.

It was more than beautiful, it was Kate's only hope to build her identity.

There were so many stories about people discovering who they were by traveling abroad, reconnecting with the culture of their parents, having all sorts of epiphanies as they rode the train from one end of a country to another. Thoughts about how ephemeral life is; how precious the time on earth; what's really important; what do they really love and what do they really want to do with their lives.

Kate felt anxious when she left her skates behind, but told herself it was for the best.

The first week in India, she was fine. She called Mary and Edwina every day; she explored; she did not think of Anthony or ice or skates or how the anxiety in her gnawed a larger hole every day.

But it was best to go cold turkey, she was convinced. She just needed to get through this detoxing period.

All of that went to hell when she went to visit Appa's family.

Because that's all they wanted to talk about: ice dancing. Her Olympic medals. How proud they were.

Of course they showed her around; any normal human being who achieved something as momentous as medaling in two Olympics would be happy to speak of it, proud of their accomplishments. A normal human being would (likely) understand that the joy of their relatives was not a subliminal message that ice dancing was the only thing she could do, the only thing she was worth, that even in India ice dancing and Anthony would always stalk her with menace.

They had been disappointed to learn she had not brought her skates; she hadn't thought she would be skating. The rental ones at the local rink were not Olympic quality and she didn't want to let her relatives down-- especially when they had helped so much when Appa became ill.

Kate spent her money (which she'd earned through her many sponsorships) on a new pair of skates, then spent an entire day at the ice rink teaching her cousins and aunties and uncles how to skate. She ended the visit by doing part of her Olympic short program step sequence and a bunch of twizzles, always reaching for Anthony and finding no one there.

Her family was so impressed. And it felt good to have so many people proud of her achievements; it felt terrible when they asked about Anthony. Skate practice. What was the Olympic village like? How many hours a day did she practice?

The number of hours per day, days per week, weeks per year where used to admonish her younger cousins to be more like her: hardworking, disciplined, determined. With that attitude, they too would go far in life, just like their two-time Olympian Kate.

Her father would be so proud. Her mother would be so proud, they were certain. She looked so much like her mother; she had her father's laugh; the entire family was so proud. Some of the cousins asked why Anthony hadn't come-- they wished he was there so she could show them her really cool lifts.

It sucked that she didn't get gold, they said. Her routine was beautiful and definitely amazing, very smooth and classic. But the other one was exciting-- next time, at the next Olympics, maybe she and Anthony could do something exciting.

Were they really retiring? They were so young! Surely they had at least another Olympics in them. Another chance to get that gold! Did she have any pictures of the medals? Were they really not made of pure gold? How heavy were they? Come to think of it, she was actually a three time Olympic medalist, wasn't she? She and Anthony had participated in the team event-- it was too bad they didn't get gold, but they could get two gold medals at the next Olympics.

Kate smiled during her entire visit with her family while something in her broke inside.

Before she left, her family went so far as to rent out the rink and hold a big party for her, inviting all her father and mother's friends, relatives-- people who she didn't know but were excited to meet her, excited to skate with a three time Olympic medalist. People who asked her the same questions as her family did:

Was she going to go to the next Olympics? She was still young, she couldn't let the last Olympics discourage her. It only meant there was room to improve-- there was always room to improve. Where was Anthony? Waiting for her at home to practice skating again? They looked so good together on the ice, when were they getting married? He had to come to India and receive their blessings before he married her. They had to make sure he was good enough for her.

The children wanted to see her medals, which she hadn't brought with her. Their parents used her as an example, again: see how far hard work can take you? All the way to the Olympics! Everything was possible if they put their mind to it. If they thought something was too difficult, all they had to do was think of Auntie Kate.

And this time, throughout the party, she performed segments from all of her Olympic routines, to thunderous applause and wide smiles. Surely, surely her mother and father were so proud of her. They were certainly proud of her. She might be skating for another country, but Kate was inspiring a whole generation of girls in India to learn to skate.

When she was about to leave for the next leg of her trip, she tried to leave the skates with them.

She couldn't take them with her on the plane; she didn't bring a suitcase to check her baggage.

They'd ship it to her, they'd said. These could be her new lucky skates-- the ones she used for the next Olympics. Anthony would be there to keep them safe for her-- they'd even included a note and a gift for him.

Kate cried and hugged them, touched by their thoughtfulness and heartbroken by their expectations, their hopes, their joy.

She cried on the train all the way to her next destination. She couldn't come out of her room; all she did was sleep, take a few bites to eat, and stare into nothing.

Because Anthony was right.

There was nothing left to salvage.

Kate was Anthony, as her own being.

She took the next flight out.

Henry was the one who signed for the package. He and Ben were staying in Anthony's guest room, cooking all sorts of delicious things to coax him to eat, doing modified workouts with him, never speaking of skating.

He signed for the package; thankfully Anthony wasn't home. He still had Ben follow him upstairs to discuss it quietly.

Should they give it to him? But the handwriting wasn't Kate's. What if it was a box of Kate's things, a final farewell? That would send him spiraling even further, and he was only just beginning to recover. They decided to hide it, for now, and give it to him when he was in a better place mentally.

The next flight happened to be delayed, then they had to all go on another plane after having waited for three hours, unfortunately there were two connections, the next nonstop flight was completely booked, there was another flight with only one connection that would leave tomorrow morning--

Therefore, thanks to the caprices of traveling during Mercury retrograde, she finally got out of the taxi at four am. Kate was exhausted out of her mind, automatically opened the door, left her suitcase, coat, shoes, purse, everything downstairs because she couldn't be bothered to carry it up.

She stripped down, put on one of his clean boxers and an oversized t-shirt he got her as a gag gift, and climbed into bed.

Anthony had always been a light sleeper. Kate had long mastered the art of climbing into bed without waking Anthony.

He reached for her in his sleep; held and tangled legs unconsciously, out of habit. She vaguely registered that she could feel his ribs and that he had apparently picked up the habit of sleeping naked, but between one thought and the next, she fell asleep.

Kate was in his arms, sleeping as though she'd never left.

Only she had left; he could tell because her scent was different, her hair was longer; the shadows under her eyes were more prominent.

He didn't really have any notion of what he'd say or do when they reunited. Anthony rather assumed it would happen at the arrivals gate in an airport, rather than her having teleported from India. Not that he was complaining-- a plane, a train, a boat, a fucking wormhole in the spacetime continuum-- as long as she was here, he didn't care.

Benedict and Henry weren't used to waking up at 4am to go to practice. Kate's circadian rhythms must be off, that she was still asleep.

Like a completely reasonable person, Anthony stared at her for two hours.

That was it.

Stared.

Held her, obviously, but that was a foregone conclusion.

During those two hours, he probably could have thought of something reasonable to say.

You're back was a strong contender.

I missed you was a solid follow-up.

Never leave me again sounded pretty good.

He could probably tack on a please to that last one.

How was India was most definitely not in the running at all. If she wanted to tell him, he would listen. But right now, all he wanted to do lie there, staring at her like a cat trying to remind its owner it needed to be fed.

You're beautiful was something they said a lot in movies, he probably couldn't go wrong with that.

Hello was an oldie but a goodie.

I'm so glad you're home was an I statement telling her how he felt; his therapist said those were good.

But no, Anthony did not think of anything reasonable to say, since that presupposed he was a reasonable person.

When Kate opened her eyes, she stared back at him.

Neither said a word.

For probably a solid ten minutes.

Then, she yawned and it was apparently this which spurred Anthony to say:

"Marry me."

"Okay."

She didn't even hesitate.

Most important order of business settled, Anthony nestled her into his body like he had when he'd rescued her. He brought the duvet over their heads and promptly fell back asleep to the even cadence of her breaths.

#bridgerton #kathony #fanfiction #ice dancing au

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alan-duarte · 1 year

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TIMING: Friday, 7th of April, 5pm LOCATION: Whitlock Wares PARTIES: Ariadne @ariadnewhitlock & Alan @alan-duarte SUMMARY: Creating models takes time, money and quite a few materials. What better place than Whitlock Wares for all your crafty needs? CONTENT WARNINGS: Unsanitary tw

Good afternoon White Crest. It’s 5 o’clock and you’re listening to WWMJ. This is your hos-

Alan reached out for his phone, the sound drowning out as he scrolled through his emails. Though he had a secretary who dealt with responses, he liked to keep an eye on the messages they sent to the office. Just in case. He got out of his car, making his way toward the hardware store, this time with his eyes focused on his surroundings.

He was aware of the importance of timing, caution and knowing how to get your point across when it came to the essential matter that was problem solving. So far, there had been no problem Alan couldn’t find a solution to although his creativity had been challenged quite a few times already by the locals. In the end, what mattered was that his business was thriving, and so was he.

Although he had been very busy with work, Alan also knew how to take time to recharge his batteries, and this was a far cry from massage parlors, pilates classes or the kind of bullshit where people seemed to waste time, energy and certainly a lot of money. He wasn't stingy, but he didn't like throwing his money away either. That was not how he had been brought up.

“How are you doing Simon?” Simon Whitlock was about 5 years younger than Alan, which meant that they hadn’t really grown up together and yet were familiar with one another for a long while. Back when Alan was a teenager, Simon used to sit on the counter, by the register. That had changed, but there was always a Whitlock kid not too far away, working at the store. Speaking of… “Ariadne, Alan’s here !”

Her family’s store had always been a second home - in more ways than one. Her father claimed that it had been where she’d taken her first steps, and though video footage technically proved otherwise, the rest of Ariadne’s family went along with it. It added another layer of wholesomeness to the store - not that it was something the store was in need of, but it certainly added to the familial feel of it.

Today she didn’t have classes in the afternoon, and so she’d stopped by the store, electing to organize some new boxes of nails and tape measures. Something about the sheer sameness of it, the fact that she could restock the shelves with her eyes closed, served to at least somewhat help the constant nerves that crept all throughout her body. Nerves that she couldn’t get to go away no matter how many hours of mediation she attempted to listen to on any of the applications she’d downloaded onto her phone. Nerves that felt wholly and entirely constricting, that left her with little ability to focus on much else.

Her dance professor had noticed, multiple times. Even pulled her over at the end of class, to check in, to make sure that there wasn’t anything she could do to help. No, Ariadne had said, I’m just not sleeping well, just trying to do too much, probably! and even she knew that the grin she’d flashed had to have seemed completely and entirely faked.

Her dad’s voice startled her for a moment, and she looked up and over to the counter. Ariadne set her work down, and made her way over to the counter where her father stood. “Mr. Duarte,” she bowed her head, briefly, because there was something about the man that commanded an extra layer of respect, even beyond what she would normally have offered to any adult. “How can we - I - we - help you today? My dad was just about to run out and get us some smoothies, so I’d be happy to help you, if that’s quite alright with you?”

We - I - we. Wasn’t she the poster girl for confidence ? Then he couldn’t say many people her age qualified for the position either. He was certainly glad to be out of his twenties. What a dreaded time that was, sitting with your ass on two different chairs, one for teenagehood, one for adulthood. Being in the army, and being the eldest of four forced him to grow up faster, yet he still recalled not liking it all that much. His thirties were a lot more comfortable, but he found that this new decade of his life was his favorite one yet. Nostalgia who? Alan smiled at her, his fondness forming wrinkles at the corner of his nose and eyes. “How are you doing Ariadne?” Crossing his arms over his chest, Alan picked at a piece of lint on his sleeve.

“I’m in good hands then,” Alan pointed out with a polite nod to her father.

He liked a challenge, but the store was such a landmark of the town that Alan never dared trying to purchase it from the Whitlocks. Alan would not have many qualms about investing in a commercial zone should the chance arise, but until then, he wouldn’t lay a finger on that family or their business. Too much trouble for too little profit. The thought left his mind as swiftly as it had arrived. “I’m gonna need plastic for the 3D printer,” he fished a piece of paper out of his wallet, a list he’d scribbled on the back of a receipt while waiting for a client to return with a complimentary coffee cup. “It’s probably best if I just hand you the list,” he smiled politely, and turned his eyes toward the shelves. Paper, wood, glue, paint, led lights and batteries, they had everything. He could have gotten it all from Amazon, but his networking would have suffered from it and it was a good look, politically, to avoid purchasing from the internet giant.

Her face brightened at his smile. “Pretty well - school’s wildly busy, but that’s okay! Better than being bored, I figure.” She fiddled with her necklace for a moment. “Which is pretty much super obvious, but figure it’s worth being said, still.” Ariadne nodded. “How are you doing? The real estate market still good?” Even if she certainly didn’t know all too much (or much at all) about real estate, she knew a bit here and there, and she knew that it was Alan’s business, and therefore something he’d enjoy being asked about.

“I mean, I do know my way around this store pretty well. When I was about seven, I even helped to reorganize the housewares section…” Ariadne let her voice trail off. “So I promise I’m not going to lead you astray or misguide you or anything at all like that!”

She tapped her fingertips against her thigh. If nothing else, helping out at the store gave her reason to focus on something besides the very thing she was so avidly avoiding - and she liked it here, it was familiar, and Ariadne had gotten a new blush to add some extra color to her cheeks. She wasn’t sure if she looked as pale as she imagined she did, but a light bit of extra color wasn’t going to do anyone any harm, right? “Oh, yes, of course.” Another nod. “You can give me the list, and we’ll grab you a basket and we can go about the store and make sure we’ve got everything you need. Does that sound good? I’ll hold the basket if it’s easier for you, too, even.”

“School?” His eyebrows furrowed while he tried to remember what the girl was studying. Alan didn’t actively try to keep tabs on everyone (though he did do that for people he needed to keep dirt on), but the Whitlocks were folks he saw at least once or twice a week, every week for the past ten years, and that tended to help with remembering details. “School’s alright, it’s the exams I used to dread,” because that meant learning every little detail about a lesson, just in case the teacher would ask about that. It wasn’t practical, and he’d never been one for pure theory.

“I know,” well, he certainly wasn’t aware of those details. His parents weren’t running a business, which meant that he was never exploited that way. This being said, they expected him to keep the house in good shape on the weekends, especially when they were working, and he did more than a fair share of dishes and cooking from the age of 12 until the age of 18. He assumed first that the second oldest sibling would help out in turn, but his parents bought a dishwasher the very year he left home to be in the Air Force. Ouch.

A smile graced his lips as she took charge and Alan happily handed the list over to her, following her around the store while she went to get a basket.

“Yeah, that thing where you get a degree so the wilder world accepts you as like, legit or whatever?” Ariadne shrugged. “I like college better than I liked high school, so that’s something, at least?” An emphatic nod followed his comment about exams. “Oh, absolutely. Exams are the worst. If I could learn without worrying about grades, I’d be all set.” She made a face, “grades are not fun.” She shook her head. “Am I talking too much?”

Ariadne glanced down at her feet. “Right, okay, sorry.” She wasn’t even sure why she was saying sorry. Just that somehow, it felt right - she hadn’t talked this much about herself to anyone in what felt like forever, and the last thing she wanted to do was overburden someone - a patron, no less - with random facts about her childhood.

Grabbing the list, she quickly scurried over to get a basket. “Do you have a preferred brand for any of these things, or would you like me to just give you the best we’ve got? Also, any restrictions on cost? Just ‘cause I don’t want to suggest something that’s out of an allotted budget, if there is an allotted budget for this.” Ariadne grabbed a couple packs of batteries. “These good?”

“And for a great price too,” Alan chuckled. Things weren’t so bad in his youth, and doing the army was his way of being debt free all while getting proper education, though he would never blame anyone for not being willing to do the same sacrifice. “College is supposed to be about learning about something you’re passionate about, I sure hope you prefer it to high school,” otherwise it would just mean she picked the wrong major. As if he had decided that this was enough chit-chat for now, Alan fell silent then, and picked up a can of paint from a shelf, to have a look at the color on the lid, and then at the one next to it, repeating the same course of actions over and over until he set his hand on the right shade of white he needed. Eggshell white. “What? Talking too much?” Yes. “No, it’s the contrast. Contrast is beautiful,” he offered a kind smile and put the small can of paint in the basket.

“Reasonable quality, I’d say. Not the cheap stuff, but I don’t need a top brand either,” what mattered was that he could tend to his hobby in peace, just him, his paintbrush and a tiny world growing beneath his fingertips.

“AAA batteries. That sounds right,” with an encouraging smile, Alan turned his attention to the front of the shop, glancing toward the front door as he heard it chime on her father’s way out. He could have asked her if she planned to take over after them. The store was in their family for two centuries after all. He remained silent instead. Chit chat wasn’t his thing and he’d already done his fair share of it already, yet when his eyes settled on something that looked straight out of an infomercial, he had to open his mouth. “That thing actually works?”

“I don’t hate school, but I like learning more than I like actual school, if that makes sense?” Ariadne shrugged. “I don’t actually normally talk a lot, but maybe it’s the whole ‘I want to be good with customer service’ that’s turned this on.” Anyhow… she shook her head, taking in a steadying breath. There was no reason to be worried right now.

“Okay, that makes sense. I’ll make sure you get stuff that won’t go bad or whatever on you, but also isn’t like the super high-end fancy stuff.” Luckily, her father saw it fit to stock a wide variety of items, and Ariadne at least liked to believe that he charged as reasonable a price as was possible - though of course, she knew full well that she had a certain level of bias at play with everything.

“Good, good.” Ariadne offered a tentative smile back to him. “Sorry?” Her head whipped toward him. “What thing? Batteries work well, yeah -” she followed his gaze. “That? No, I - that isn’t anything we’ve ordered, I don’t think, at least. Unless you want it! In which case, we can grab one and see about it.”

“If that’s the case, I hope you picked a job where you’re going to be learning every day,” if Alan honed his skills each day that passed, he didn’t feel like you could really learn to be good at it. It was a matter of temperament. Some jobs just required the right attitude, or a good amount of charisma, some others, diplomas, diplomas and truckloads of experience. “Less is more sometimes,” he pondered. “But for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing well,”

With a polite smile, he nodded along as she told him his purchase wouldn’t go bad or whatever on him. What a completely positive and non worrying thought that was. Maybe not doing so well after all. Alan figured she was just clumsy with words, like most kids were, and instead turned his attention toward a dog brush - glove fusion that seemed a whole lot too good to be true.

As seen on tv, the product read. Not on my tv, Alan thought as he reached out to get a look at the cardboard box. “Removes hairs from clothes, dogs, cats, and all living things,” he read out loud. If the first bit was enticing, the last part provoked in him an urge to put that thing away. Yet, instead, Alan started to turn the thin box around to find a way to open it. “Do you mind if we have a look?”

“I might be a professor, maybe.” She wasn’t sure, but that seemed like a good enough answer to keep away any further questions about her future. Ariadne had used to have elaborate dreams about what her future held, but those had all been brought to a halt, doubly so, now. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

“We can look.” Her face scrunched up, puzzled once again. “But I don’t remember my dad ordering this, but I mean, I’m not like, in charge of keeping track of what we have in stock, or what we order. Maybe they were a freebie or something?” Ariadne shook her head. “Regardless, feel free to open it, I think we probably should look to make sure it’s not something dangerous or otherwise questionable.” She adjusted the basket on her arm.

“That’s one way to do that,” it sounded exhausting, and he heard it didn’t pay well. All those years in school to be broke? No thanks. Alan gave a courteous nod to the young girl, and finally found the tab to open the damn box. “Well that was easy.” With a raise of his eyebrows, the wolf pulled on it and folded aside the top of the cardboard.

The object within seemed to resemble the one on the package, except for one highly disturbing detail. Glancing at Ariadne Whitlock, Alan gave a grimace, holding his fist to his mouth while he tried not to feel too sick over the gruesome sight. If this was a marketing strategy, he certainly wasn’t buying it.

The glove looked exactly as the one on the box, yes, but by the look of it, it had been used. Covered in hairs, wet hairs, the object, inanimate as it might be, had a threatening aura the wolf was quick to get as far from him as he could, even if that meant throwing it away back on the shelf. “What.” Pause. “The fuck is that?”

“Yeah,” she shrugged. Of course, she probably wouldn’t end up doing that, but having some sort of stock answer at least helped a little bit with Ariadne’s nerves. Alan not giving her too many followup questions was also something of a relief. She could help with finding things in the store; that was easy enough to fake being normal about.

A small scream escaped from her lips. “I - what?” She glanced around, “I don’t know.” Whatever it was, it absolutely wasn’t supposed to be like that. “Maybe - maybe someone used it and brought it back, and didn’t want to try to return it?” Except that didn’t make sense because, again, until Alan had pointed the box out, Ariadne couldn’t remember seeing it at all.

“Do - I - I can look at it, if you want?” She did her best to contain the look of disgust on her face. If he said yes, she’d just have to imagine it was like looking for roly polies under rocks as a kid. Curious, a bit strange, but not bad. At least the glove couldn’t kill anyone. Ariadne bit down on her tongue. “I’ll have to tell my dad about this.”

“Why is it wet?” Saying it outloud was enough to make him feel like gagging, and Alan put his wrist to his mouth, shaking his head in disapproval. “You’re gonna want to look at the security cameras,” did they have any? They didn’t look like the type. They looked like the type to trust everyone blindly, which was beautiful, he supposed.

“Look at it? Do you expect it to suddenly not be disgusting?” That made absolutely no sense, and he was protective enough of innocent folks that he had to raise his hands on that. “Absolutely not. You want to burn this thing to the ground,” his eyes went toward the other boxes on the shelf, who weren’t supposed to be there either. “Do you think the rest of the boxes are like that ?”

“I don’t know.” This time, the look of disgust was clear all across her face. “I - we don’t have those. Or I don’t think we do. Maybe one by the cash register, because of the money and stuff but…” Ariadne’s voice trailed off. “I - I’m confused.” Which didn’t even begin to cover it, but still.

“I don’t know, I just - well,” she bit her lip. “I don’t think we should light things on fire in the store. Which - I doubt is what you meant, but I - shouldn’t we show my dad? In case it’s someone playing a rude prank on us?” Ariadne sighed. “I think it’s probably worth checking out, at the very least? Maybe this one’s just faulty, or something.”

Alan raised both his hands, as if to say : your shop, not mine. He didn't have to make decisions for them although he did hope that they'd decide to get rid of that thing in the most brutal way.

"A prank which consists of putting your shower drain," or something that looked like it, but also not like it, as if the hairs were human, but not quite. "On a glove. In a closed box." With a deadpan stare, Alan took a step back, turning his heels on her. "What if there's something else in each box? A surprise per box?" As horrifying as it was, he preferred to fear the worst than be surprised.

"It's not faulty," she knew that, right?

“Please. Let’s not further visualize it.” Ariadne made a face. “It’s gross and really quite mean, if it’s some sort of prank. Like, why would you do that?” Except she was with a customer, and that meant you had to be as professional as possible.

“That’s a very good point. Would you like me to open the next one?” Tongue pressed against the roof of her mouth to steady herself as much as was possible. Which wasn’t a whole lot, but Ariadne figured anything counted, at this point.

“Defective, then?”

“Quite mean?” It was none of his business, really, but had it been, Alan would have tried to track the scent on that box back to whoever had brought it here. Depending on who it was, his reaction would have ranged from casually leaving that glove in their mailbox to breaking in and putting it on their pillow, like a fucked up redo of the Godfather. “Why would you do that? I don’t know. Maybe people are disgusting, maybe your dad has beef with someone. I don’t know kiddo.”

Opening another might not have been such a great idea, but he was too curious not to nod along, all while standing further from it.

“How can this leave the factory looking like this? Those must get made by the thousands, it’s not that,” how could someone be so naive? Alan bit on the inside of his cheek and glared over at the box in her hands instead, as if to urge her to get to it.

“I don’t think anybody’s ever been mad with my dad, ever.” Ariadne shrugged. “Though I guess I am biased, so I don’t know.” There was a lot she didn’t know, she was discovering. Which wasn’t a comfortable feeling to sit with, but one that she was realizing more and more than she didn’t really have any sort of choice about.

“I don’t know, there should be some quality control, right? I don’t know what to call it, if not defective or just confusing. I - well, gross, I guess. That just seems rude though? The glove didn’t ask for this. Not that it could - I -” Ariadne opened the next box and, with a small squeak, dropped it on the floor. “Okay. Safe to say they might all be like that.”

"That's not possible. Your dad sees too many folks every day for this to be true," it didn't have to be something bad either. Sometimes saying no sufficed to make a certain brand of people offended. He learned the kids like to call them Karens and Kyles but Alan, from what he gathered, understood that these people were usually all about words and not about actions. Pathetic shits.

"The glove didn't ask for this?" Rather than to ask ok, and, Alan gave Ariadne what looked like a sympathetic smile. Who the fuck cared about the glove's feelings ? His answer to that question promised not to be pleasant, which was why he preferred to remain quiet. "Alright, well while you settle this troubling case of folks being unjust to gloves," with a raise of his eyebrows, Alan turned his attention toward the list he gave her, in the basket, with the batteries and the paint. Being alone with his thoughts at home didn't seem so enticing anymore. "I'll go get myself a drink," or more. He'd probably find a former client to chat with, and hopefully forget about that damn horror. Alan didn't suspect it already, but anytime he'd come to Whitlock’s Wares ever again, the mental image of the hairy moist glove would come and haunt him.

“I guess, but this just feels extreme. Like, he doesn’t even really have bad reviews on Google or Yelp or whatever.” Ariadne made another face. “I guess I’d expect something like that before whatever this is.”

She paused, offering him a somewhat awkward smile, “I mean, I know it’s not sentient, that’s not possible, but I - it’s not fair to try to do harm to anything, really. Even non-sentient gloves or whatever.” At his next comment, Ariadne swallowed. “Oh - okay. I’ll just save everything for you to come by and pick up whenever’s good for you?”

“So, whoever did this is too old for Google Reviews. You should be wary of the elders,” ominous as the warning may have sounded, Alan shrugged it off. “Harm gloves? Wait...Do you not eat vegetables? Fruits? Cause I have some bad news here.” His eyes narrowed in faux suspicion, and it was about then Alan picked up just how silent the store was in this instant, how silent she was. With the sound of their footsteps, of clatter and chatter, he hadn’t really paid attention to the fact that she lacked a heartbeat. Right. Alright, perhaps was this his cue to get the hell out. “I’ll be back in the morning, I suppose.” There was another full moon tonight but he could probably get a drink or two in his system before it started. Maybe it would dull some of the pain, and maybe he’d forget about the lack of a ticking inside of her. “And there’s your dad back with smoothies. I’ll let you tell him about the non sentient gloves,” his nose wrinkled as he scoffed. “Good evening you two. See you next morning.”

#wickedswriting #ariadne threads #ariadnewhitlock #under blue moon threads

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fictionalmenmistress · 3 years

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🌸🍡Taehyung with a chubby darling🍡🌸

In which our best boy reacts to having a bashful girlfriend who happens to be volumptous and curvy... and chubby and soft... and he finds it to be SO SEXY she has no ideaaaa! *Y/N insert story!*

Some NSFW but mostly SFW, some angsty self image views, but soft and fluffy praises. Not requested, but I felt like doing it for a little self-gratification since he'd likely be exactly like this... enjoy lovelies~ 😚

All of my work is labelled under the hashtag #fictionalmenmistress, in the tags 🌸🍡🌸

"Hey baby~" Taehyung devilishly smirks, tucking his head into your shoulder.

"AHH!" You shriek, as your boyfriend squeezes you from behind. You pull out your earbuds and pause your music, spinning around to face him before you. "You SCARED me, Taehyung!"

Taehyung softly chuckled, taking you into his arms. "Awwww my baby... I'm sorry." He cooed, not taking your scolding seriously.

You pull your face away from his gentle hands, as he leaned closer to cup your cheeks... but pouts when he's denied.

"What if a sasaeng broke in and grabbed me or something? Its scary enough to be in such a big house all by myself, you know I'm always looking over my shoulder... because I'm scared of ghosts, and stuff going 'bump' in the night."

"But not us going 'bump' in the night, right?" He mischeviously smirks, taking your hand into his, examining your face with half-closed, lulled eyes.

"Taehyungieeee-" you whine, playfully scolding him to pay attention, as a blush surfaces over your whole face. "You know I scare easily."

"I do too, precious." He quietly assures, before groaning. "OKAYYYY, I won't suprise you off guard anymore... no matter how cute or amusing your reaction may be-" he murmured in submission, letting out a long sigh. "Can't I just... hold you now?"

You blush, as he guides your hand to his lips, pressing a delicate kiss against the back of your hand. "I missed you all day... you're usually with me at the studio, or waiting with those yummy muffins after dance practice."

You giggle. "You mean the ones I lie to PD-nim about? Saying they're faux muffins, that are really veggie-based, to enhance protein and carb burning?" You ask, lifting your eyebrows in an amused way.

"Yeah, those ones..." Taehyung sighs with a pout. "All the guys love them... even Mister Bang now."

"He does, doesn't he?" You grimace, remembering the tray you made their boss recently, per-request. "I feel bad about lying, now that he thinks they're okay to eat all the time..."

"NOOO we can't lose our muffins!!" Taehyung playfully whines, clinging onto your arm. "He'll make us diet if he knowssss!"

"It sounds like you miss my muffins more than me." You smirk.

Taehyung scoffs, shaking his head, before planting several, slow kisses, up your arm.

"No, there's nothing I wouldn't give to have you by my side. Every day... muffins or no muffins." He giggles, towering over you and gazing into your eyes. "I missed you today."

"I missed you too, Tiger. I had been needing to do some artwork for my webtoon panels." You smile, booping his nose. "I'm trying to build an audience for my own work!"

Taehyung gently groans, pulling you in close by your waist. "You know... I can reccomend it to army on weverse or twitter. You've always been the best story teller I know... so its not like I'd be making up any praises about how amazing it is..."

You run your fingers through his soft hair, as he nuzzles into your neck. You can feel his breath slowing, huffing against your skin to breathe you in. He sends a shiver down your spine, slowly squeezing his hands over your hips, almost like... he's kneeding dough.

"Tae... y-you know I want to make something for myself..." you blush, as his hands sensually explore their way up your back. "I want to have self-made sucsess, doing what I love. It means a lot to me, to say that I did it, without anyone's help."

"Mmmm... my pretty little buisness CEO... I love it when you're ambitious and driven."

You scoff, wriggling in his hold. "Oh please, Tae... I'm not little, c'mon." You blush, this time out of embarrasement.

He can feel your body grow stiffened in his arms.

"Why can't I just praise you?" He whispers, almost saddened that you won't accept the admiration.

He leans back and stares into your eyes, with a small childish pout of dissapointment on his lips. His eyes are big and glossy as they penetrate your soul... like that of a puppy.

Its so wonderfully strange how he can look so intimidating and sexy sometimes... then all of a sudden so soft and baby-ish.

And right when he had you where he wanted you, softening your attention to be on him and distracted... of COURSE he would try to snag a move on you again. There went his large, manly hands... gently gripping and easing into a subtle squeeze on your waist skin... before sliding so slowly and delicately down to your bubbly buttcheeks.

Ah those thick buns and 'thicc' thighs. You love them then you hate them... they jiggle when you move, they always have. And... they have those small dimples in them. You always felt hesitant to let your boyfriend touch the soft spots, worried he may be turned off by the texture of your squishy skin, or how your body isn't tight like his own body. And yet... his gaze and hands always wandered there most... he was so needy for those areas, always trying to weasel his way into exploring them.

You were pretty confident about your big breasts, however. Those didn't make you feel like 'too much' for him. Well... besides the faded stretchmarks from them growing so quickly during middle school. Puberty... it just kinda hit you like a truck. You went from looking like a scrawny child to looking like a shapely woman with a baby doll face.

Parents would get mad at you trick or treating, assuming you were a college student dressing up and requesting candy. And those pervy older men were always such a pesty, creepy problem. All this to say, you became very aware of your body, very fast. Your other classmates were still skinny and shapeless, with more boxy frames than curvy frames, and none of the boys in your class ever seemed to be attracted to you, over the girls like them.

As Taehyung has said once before though... a young boy wants to knaw on bones, while a grown man hungers for the meat.

"Did you just compare me to meat?" You asked him after the fact.

"No! No... that's not what I..." He giggled, shaking his head. "Its just an old saying, that I only really understood when I grew up. Basically, women with shape are the sexiest to men... but teenage boys are attracted to a more child-like, thinner look." he quietly said.

His words echoed through your head, before you attention re-gathered in the moment happening now.

"You're little to me..." he innocently cooed.

Yes, I suppose height-wise you were shorter than your tall boyfriend. But you always wondered if you looked too... big... standing next to him. He was so lean... with practically no fat on his firm, toned body. But you were soft all over. And seeing Taehyung at award shows... surrounded by all of those dainty, tiny girlgroup idols... they looked like they could fit in his hands. But you... you felt so big sometimes, with your foreign genetics.

Taehyung never seemed to care, and he never said anything but praises, but you still wondered in the back of your mind. Did he think you were too much for him?

Taehyung liked a challenge. The more you shyed away, the more he pressed into you, cradling you in his grasp. (He knew the difference between you being shy versus being non-consenting, and NEVER went against your limits or desires. He read people quite well, especially you...)

"Taehyung..." you gulped, feeling your lips trembling to get the words out. "D-do you think I'm... f-fat?" You stammer. The look on his face is almost appalled, angered. Who would make you have such a false impression?

"What?" He repeated. "Fat? Absolutely NOT." He corrected, tilting up his chin confidently.

"B-but... according to Korean standards..." you muttered, beginning to ramble now that pandora's box had been opened. "I'm-"

"Don't say it." He coldly ordered. "Korean beauty standards are unrealistic and drive even the skinniest and prettiest of Korean women to get surgeries that promise an 'ideal image'. But, everyone is perfect exactly as they are. I know you know that, and you know I know that too. So, screw what advertising comanies call the 'ideal image' in my country or yours. Ideal image, my ass."

"Taehyung!" You gasp, suprised that he swore. Your boyfriend wasn't one to swear... it was a rare quality about him.

The way he worded it made you chuckle at a realization.

"Well, your butt is indeed the ideal image..." you murmured, making Taehyung smirk to see you amused and feeling a little better.

"I'm glad you think so, Jagiya~" he cooed, guiding you to the couch without his arms leaving your waist. You trusted him wholly, to guide you backwards, or anywhere.

Taehyung suddenly slipped his arm under one of your knees, making you yelp as he pulled your thigh up against the side of his body. He confidently smiles all the while, his intimate gaze never leaving your eyes. You feel his hand squeeze the thigh, and you could tell he was doing it less for support to lift you onto the couch, and moreso to feel your volumptuous form in his grasp. Ohhh he loved your thighs... your soft, lovely thighs...

He slowly leaned into you, guiding you to recline back onto the expensive, large, comfy couch.

You giggled, as he leaned all of his body onto you, squishing you playfully under him.

"Taehyung!" You laughed. "You're squishing me!"

"I want all of my body to be against your perfect body." He sweetly grinned. "There's not an inch of me that doesn't belong to you."

"Well, you're suprisingly heavy..." you playfully pout, succumbing to the comortable pressure his body was pressing into you. It was arousing, actually...

"And you're suprisingly light." He gently remarked, flipping you both so you were on top of him. You knew he didn't mean that in a bad way.

"Or you're just strong..." you sighed.

"Maybe I'm strong... but your body is perfect to me. The way you FEEL..." he began, greedily squeezing his palms over the softest parts of your thighs. "The way you LOOK..." he hungrily growled, almost an octive deeper... sending a shiver through your core as he drank in the image before him. His eyes widened as they scanned over your bouncing large breasts in his view, as he watched you sit up, straddling him as he lied there. The smile on his face was pleasured, pleased. He was a happy man to have you on top of him, no matter how light or heavy you were... he WANTED you to press your lovely form into him. "The way you walk... so bouncy and sexy... I feel jealous about how the hyungs check you out when your back is turned." His voice turned devilishly lower... deeper... as if wrathful for revenge. "Its a crime that any man gets to see your godess-like form standing before them, besided me."

"Th-they do that?" You blush, not realizing the rest of the boys saw you in that way.

"Mhmm... all of them do. Its soooo not fairrr..." he grumbled under his breath, almost purring as he took in the sight of your squishy tummy against his chest, and your juicy thighs around him. "Kitten~" he desperately sighed. "I get so HARD, just IMAGINING how you look IN clothes that cover you completely... let alone the f-fantasies of you naked~" he humms, with a hitch in his breathy whispers.

"Hh-huhh..." he sighs, his breath hitching again, as his eyes lazily roll into the back of his head, before re-drifting back down onto you. Just the remembrance gets him THAT hot and bothered??

"For realsies?" You coyly, bashfully ask.

"Of course, kitten. Would I lie to you?" He asks, raising his eyebrows with a confident smirk.

"Maybe... if it would make me feel better..." you dissapointedly assume.

He sits up, supporting himself on one of his arms, making his chest press against your breasts through your shirt. You were face to face now... just staring into one another's eyes.

"NEVER." He assured. "I would never lie to you. There's no reason for me to lie to make you feel better, Jagi. You're literally a goddess."

You feel your cheeks flume red. "G-goddess?"

"Yes! Renaissance masters didn't sculpt ideal greek godess statues with soft curves for nothing..." he grumbled, blushing at the sight of your innocent face.

"Ohh Taehyungie..." you dreamily sighed, leaning fully against his chest as he slowly lowered you both down, to lie against one another horizontally.

"The way our bodies are so different... the way yours is so soft comared to how hard and stiff mine is... its perfect." He gently cooed. "I'm surpised that you're so comfy in my arms."

"Oh Tae, you're my safe place. I love how you feel... I love how you hold me." You intimately whispered.

He stared deeply into your eyes, as a gentle smile rested on his admiring, sculpted, handsome face.

"Didn't you find me during our Love Yourself era?" He asked, cocking a brow.

"Mhmm." You responded, rapidly nodding your head up and down in such a soft, innocent way.

Taehyung giggled, endeared at your cuteness. "Okay then. I want you to love yourself... because I love you. All of you."

He gently lifted your loose shirt up enough to grab onto your waist, running his hands slowly down the sides of you, to squeeze your soft tummy in his hands, his eyes practically glistening with desire.

"Ever inch of you... every hair, every patch of skin, every tint and shade, every texture. You belong to me, and you're the sexiest being in existance. And all of me belongs to you, only you, forever. Alright?" He romantically assured, gazing hopelessly into your eyes.

The soft smile that pulled into his lips, let you know the fullest sincerity of his tone. "Okay." You smile, leaning into his lips to kiss him.

Slowly, passionately you kissed, deepening the intimate act with every second. Soon enough, your hands were running all over one another, tilting your heads to reach your tongues into the deepest parts of your mouth. Body to body... you both were perfect, together and apart, exactly as you are... he loved you.

🌸 the end 🌸 (for more, visit my hashtag: #fictionalmenmistress in the tags 🥰 requests and headcannons are also open!)

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thevindicativevordan · 3 years

Text

On Kong Kenan/Super-Man

It should've been him. He should've been the Superman of 5G/Future State/right now not Jon, and he should be the one getting an HBO Max series not Val. Hell he should be getting a movie!

God this dude is literally the best legacy character Superman has ever gotten, wholly his own person with his own lore and status quo while still building on the idea of "Superman". I am so pissed at DC for essentially just dropping him after his ongoing ended, what the hell Lee? You keep trying to make the Wildstorm characters happen, I need you to get my man Yang another Kenan book.

Have to admit I was a bit nervous at first about whether or not Kenan would be a worthwhile character. Yang's New 52 Superman run had been a disappointment to me overall, with only the the arc where Superman has underground wrestling matches against forgotten gods really sticking with me. Now he was introducing a brand new Superman? Didn't feel like he had "earned" that yet. But from the first issue I was hooked on this new character.

Kenan was unlike any other member of the Superfamily. He wasn't kind or sweet, he was an asshole! He was a bully! He was fantastic! Right from the start Kenan was set up to undergo a very different kind of character journey than the other members of the Superfamily. Empathy, humility, respect for people weaker than himself, these are all traits most heroes wearing the S-shield already posses by the time they first don the crest, but not Kenan.

Like all bullies he was even a bit of a coward himself at first, trying to bail on the experiment meant to give him Superman's powers right as it begins. After "saving" Lixin (the kid he bullies and steals lunch from every day) from Blue Condor he demands all the money Lixin has on him as payment. He's not courageous or selfless either at the start, Kenan is as much of an opposite of Superman as you can get short of being Bizarro. Learning the appeal of these traits formed the basis for his growth over the course of his series.

Seeing Yang bring in a lot of recognizable "Superman" elements in the series, but with a twist, was also great. Kenan is the one who bullies "Luo Lixin" rather than the traditional Clark/Lex friendship of Pre-Crisis and Birthright. Initially Kenan develops a crush on intrepid reporter for Primetime Shanghai, Laney Lan, but she dismisses him as too young and Kenan eventually ends up pursuing Avery Ho (Flash) instead. Baxi the Bat-Man of China has a similar relationship with Kenan as the traditional Superman/Batman in terms of being vitriolic best buds, however Baxi is the one who has the most respect for authority while Kenan is the rebel. Kenan is a part of the "Justice League of China" which does not meet with the approval of the already established Chinese superheroes, the Great Ten. That contrasts nicely with the good relationship the Justice Society and Justice League have, as well as seeing Yang lampshade the "Chinese copy" trope and incorporate that into his storytelling.

One of the funniest differences is how Kenan chooses to immediately reveal his identity as Super-Man to the world by taking off the compliance visor he was forced to wear, contrasting with Clark's choice to hide his identity. He was so eager to impress people that he never gave any thought to the danger he could put himself or his family in by revealing his identity until it was too late, something Clark is well aware of and has taken great pains to keep his identity secret. Was a missed opportunity for DC to have Kenan comment on Clark copying him for once when he outed himself under Bendis.

But one of the most poignant differences between Clark and Kenan is the gulf in separation between their relationship with their parents. Clark has a loving relationship with Ma and Pa Kent, trying to live up to their lessons as best he can. In contrast Kenan's mom was believed to have died in an airplane crash when he was just a child, and he never really knew her. His father was distant from him after that and the two weren't really close despite Kenan's attempts to impress him. So Kenan lacks that strong connection while still clearly loving both of them.

Pa Kent's death is one of the most tragic examples of Clark's love for his parents, and I've always been a fan of takes where Clark promises his father to fight for the powerless on Pa's deathbed. Kenan gets a similar scene at the start of his career, his dad "dies" (after being exposed as Flying General Dragon, a pro-democracy "supervillain" from the Chinese authorities perspective) and wants Kenan to promise he'll fight for Truth, Justice, and Democracy. But because Kenan's dad never really bonded with him, Kenan doesn't know what those mean, and can only promise that he never wants to see people die, something his father takes comfort in at least. In classic comic book fashion it's revealed that Dr. Omen, Kenan's "boss" and the one who gave him his powers, saved Kenan's father, because she is Kenan's mother! Kenan's relationship with his parents forms a lot of the crux of his character arc, and seeing how Yang utilizes the classic Superman concept of family kept the storytelling exciting.

Yang's brilliant exploration of the concept of "Superman" through the prism of Chinese culture was a great way to differentiate Kenan as well.

I absolutely freaking love how he tied to the concept of Qi to the S-shield in particular. Connecting the shape of the shield with the way Kenan has acquired his powers along the path of the Bagua (eight trigrams used in Taoism that represent the fundamental principles of reality), with his octagon S-shield outline representing all eight principles together, was mindblowing! So was the idea of restricting Kenan's access to his powers unless he was actually acting in a Superman manner, that tied his character growth to his power growth in an entertaining manner. There were so many characters and concepts that meshed Chinese and DC lore together, like how Emperor Super-Man was Kenan's "Doomsday", they even recreated that iconic dual kill shot! The Chinese Wonder Woman Peng Deilan, being based on the Chinese Legend of the White Snake! There was even some Korean mythology referenced with the Aqua-Man member of the JLC "Dragonson".

Yang also managed to do a Superman Blue/Superman Red story with Super-Man Yin/Super-Man Yang!

Shameful that it took me a while to realize what Gene Yang was doing but once I caught on I was touched. You can tell how much Yang loved Superman and his mythology, and how he was excited to incorporate as much from Clark as he could, while still using it in a way that was solidly Kenan's. And not just Superman's mythology, but the history and lore of the entire DC Universe. I-Ching got to be brought in, fleshed out, and used as Kenan's mentor! The "Yellow Peril" villain from Detective Comics #1, the comic DC gets its name from was brought in and revamped as I-Ching's twin brother All-Yang! Hats off to Yang for taking a racist caricature and attempting to make him into something more.

This series was a beautiful attempt by Gene Yang to build a space for Asian heroes and villains where they could be more than stereotypes, Kenan himself being a defiant mold-breaker in every regard as the complete opposite of most Asian characters in Western media (a jock, a bully, loves his dad but not on great terms with him, a powerhouse as a hero, etc). So much thought and hard work was poured into this by Yang and his team of artist collaborators.

Especially the costumes, man Kenan had so many great looks. From his starting outfit (which is my favorite Superman variant not worn by Clark himself), to the one with the Yin/Yang shield he acquired later on, to his Super-Man Yin & Super-Man Yang outfits, Kenan looked damn cool. Part of me is bummed they didn't go with the Chinese character shield they toyed around with, but I loved how Yang used the "s-shield" as a plot point, so I'm not too broken up over it.

All that great work Yang did to build that space up has been more or less forgotten sadly. It was nice to see Kenan in the DC Asian Month Celebration issue. Avery is going to be in Justice Incarnate at least (unsurprising considering she was created by Williamson). So fucking bummed that Superman Family Adventures cartoon didn't happen, they were going to have Kenan and John Henry Irons in it! Would've been a dream come true for me to see Irons in animation again, and Kenan making the jump to outside media! Maybe that would've encouraged DC to let Yang keep writing New Super-Man, or at least encouraged them to use him elsewhere instead of allowing him fall into Limbo.

Unfortunately I'm not sure what the future holds for Kenan. Jon is being pushed as Clark's replacement in the comics, with DC keeping all the other contenders such as Kon benched. Calvin is leading the Justice Incarnate team likely due to the upcoming Coates reboot that will make Clark black. Val will probably get something once Taylor leaves Jon's book or once they officially announce the HBO Max show is happening. So where does that leave Kenan, my new favorite PoC legacy hero? Currently my only hope is that Yang is working on something for DC involving him. Yang left Batman/Superman, where I was hoping to see a Baxi/Kenan team up, to go work on "exciting other opportunities" per his Twitter. So fingers crossed that there's something in the works for Kenan!

One day I hope he gets his day in the sun again.

#kenan kong #new super man #gene yang #justice league of china #superman #dc comics

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