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simpforanyanimeguywithdarkhair · 1 year

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BUT NOT ENOUGH 4

#Genre: Fluff, angst

#Includes: Whoever you wish, no character descriptors.

#Description: Period piece. King ML x Maid FL.

#WC: 2.1k

♛ Part 1 ♛ Part 2 ♛ Part 3 ♛ Part 4 (Final)

The following morning was hectic to say the least, your mind preoccupied with the events of last night and the Kings life altering words swam around your mind like the earth orbiting the sun, yet you hope to find an answer to the Kings question faster than it takes the earth to orbit said sun. You were in two minds, while nothing was keeping you tied to your Kingdom, leaving was easier said than done and you were unsure of what was detaining you here – was it the safety or the fear of the past repeating itself? You strongly believe King Isenad would not be a repeat of your king despite only knowing him for a short time but the way your heart beats for him cannot be overlooked and the feelings you hold for him outweigh the ones you ever held for your Kingdoms King.

However, you knew what would become of you if you did leave and you were unsure if you would ever be ready for that drastic of a responsibility. ‘Be mine’ he had said, and you knew what that entailed – you would become Isenads Queen, and this was and is something you are wholly unprepared for and the fear itself begs you to say no to the King. You were not born for this life like Queen Nearan was and you know you would not fall into that role as gracefully as she had once done. But alas you are selfish, you long for King Isenads heart, dreaming to possess it fully as he posses yours and you wonder if that love is enough to uproot your peaceful life to start a new one, one where you would hold imaginable power. Only time will tell.

°• ♔ •°

King Isenad had not felt this at peace in a long time, the usual furrow in his eyebrows is smoothed out and his lips that used to be pressed in a fine line are now relaxed. Instead, they twitch up at the memory of last night, your bare form lying against his as your breathing syncs up to his is something he could very much get used to and he hopes by the end of today It will become a regular occurrence – but that is only if you agree to leave with him and for the first time in a while he prays to whatever gods are above that you deem him worthy enough to follow.

However, at this moment he stands in front of the Kings large oak doors that lead him to his office and he prepares himself for the inevitable fight that is sure to ensure once the words in his mind come forth. With a steady breath he raps his knuckles against the door and a voice from the other side welcomes him inside. “To what do I owe the pleasure, King Isenad? Have you changed your mind about your current stance on our alliance?” the smug smile on the Kings face as he questions King Isenad has him wanting to wipe it from his face and he is sure his next words will succeed in that, “I am preparing to leave your Kingdom your highness and it will not be with an alliance” the smirk drops from the Kings face as he studies Isenads expression but not one thing gives away the meaning of his words.

“You will have to forgive me because I do not understand the implications of your words” only then does he let a smile flit against his lips “I have happened to take a liking to the maid you assigned to me, I believe she will be coming with me”, the shock of his words has the King stilling in his chair before he bellows out an unconvinced laugh “you are a lot of things King Isenad but I did not take you for a jester” he says while wiping away imaginary tears. “That is because I am not jesting” all humour is stripped from the Kings face as he takes in the other Kings serious expression and dread weighs heavily on his chest “And what do you plan to do with her if she agrees to leave with you?”, the king ponders on this for a beat before firmly replying “I plan to make her my Queen” and there is no doubt in his tone.

It dawns on the King that you leaving is very much a possible outcome now and the tightness in his chest does not relent. While he may not have been with you, had you in his arms in the late of the night like he once used to, just being able to see you around the castle was satisfactory enough, it satiated the desire to be with you but with the prospect of you leaving, the hollowness that was once filled with your mere presence opens up and leaves a gaping hole in its wake. Grasping onto anything that could deter King Isenad from taking you, he snarls his response “Do you think your kingdom will accept her?”. The King cannot stop the cruel twist in his face as he hears those words, affronted from the accusation “My kingdom and my people will accept whatever I want them to, especially her” he spits. The King bristles at the double meaning behind Isenads words, now knowing without a doubt that he is aware of your previous relationship and the unpleasant way it had ended – the reason it had ended.

He could or rather would not have made you his bride, the fear of his people turning on him and the backlash he would have received not only from his family but from other Kingdoms. They would have seen him as weak, resulting in his current and potential alliances crumbling. He despises the fact that King Isenad does not require alliances to stay the strongest, court whispers have no affect on him and his ability to marry you without large consequences is yet another stab in his heart. King Isenad takes his silence as his answer “just because you were a coward and could not does not mean I will follow your same mistakes; you had your chance” and he has no rebuttal because he knows it is the truth yet he would rather take a sword to the heart than admit it.

“You do not love her” it is the last card he could pull and unfortunately it does not work in his favour, King Isenad stands taut with fists clenched at his side, the picture of your horrified face if you saw what he wanted to do to the King in front of him was his only life line that held him back and in a dangerously calm voice he spoke, “Do not try to tell me how I feel your highness because it will not end well. I suggest you pay more attention to your Queen and mind your tongue when it comes to mine”

°• ♔ •°

You pace the gardens, searching for answers you do not have yet, but the orchids, pond and weeping willow trees also do not hold the answers you seek – only you do. You decide to take a break from your hurried strides on one of the benches, hoping that the clear sky can offer some insight into your decision but all it offers you is a pigeon that takes a break on a branch before soring off into the sky once again. Maybe that is your answer, you are but a bird that does not require being confined to one place your whole life, you deserve to stretch your wings and fly to wherever your heart desires instead of worrying about if your absence will have any affect. Before you can ponder on this for any longer a voice calls out behind you and your heart stills “Will you go with him?” you cannot see his face yet, but you can imagine his expression just from his tone and you hesitate to answer “I…I have not decided yet”.

You were unaware of the fact that King Isenad was going to make the King aware of his offer and you shudder to imagine the dispute that must have occurred considering that not only was he possibly leaving with the Kings staff but also without an alliance indefinitely. “Do you have no loyalty to your kingdom?” and only then does your head snap back to look at him, reeling at the audacity of his words “loyalty” you scoffed “you dare question me about loyalty”. He clenched his jaw, knowing he was in no place to question you on that, but he could not shake off the unsettled feeling that was consuming him “I am worried”, a mirthless smile settled on your face “that is no longer any of your concern your highness, it has not been for a while” and with that you stood from the bench and with a bow made your way inside in search of a certain King, ignoring the shouts of your name that came from behind you.

You hesitate at the threshold of the Kings chamber, building up the courage to knock but before you can the door swings open and startled you jump back. The King looks at you with pleasant confusion “I apologise for startling you my lady, I was just on my way to see you”, “then I guess I saved your highness some time” you smiled which was met with his own. “Would you like to come in?” he asked after a pause, not wanting to cross your boundaries despite you laying in his bed bare the previous night “that would be most appreciated”, you wanted to have this conversation away from prying ears and eyes. The king sat on a chair beside his bed as his eyes tracked your every move and he patiently waited for you to gather your thoughts before you spoke, “I have been thinking about your proposal… and I have come to a decision” you rush out. Despite your quick tone he did not miss a single syllable and suddenly sat straighter, heart thumping and hands trembling in wait of your answer “and what would that be?” his calm tone gave way to a slight tremble, and you quickly put him out of his misery “I would like to come with you”.

Eyes alight, he jumped out of his chair and before he reached you asked “truly?” with a hint of disbelieve, with a brief chuckle you excitedly nod your head while making your way to him, throwing your arms around his neck as you bury yourself into his shoulder and let his scent overtake you. He wasted no time in wrapping his own arms around your waist as he lifts you off the ground and spins you, revelling in the laugh that shakes his whole being, “I had hoped…dreamed of your answer but never let myself believe it, too afraid of the disappointment that would consume me if you were to answer no” he admits.

“You will never have to imagine the disappointment as my answer is yes and will always be yes to you my King” your comforting voice washes over him and it sounds so much like home, “I have so much I want to show you, places I want to take you to and memories to create with you my love”, “and I will impatiently wait for those days” you whisper before drawing your lips to his and he matches your passion with his own, letting his tongue invade your mouth and letting out a content sigh at the contact before he reluctantly draws back with a final peck “we have much packing to do”.

Three Years Later

Strong arms wrap themselves around your waist as you gaze into the gardens below your balcony, “the orchids are starting to bloom” “that they are” he whispers against your neck. “But what has my Queen distracted this fine morning?” he questions. His hands make their way to your stomach before he drops to his knees in front of you and places a slow peck to your protruding tummy “I am guessing it is this little scoundrel” he looks up at you, gaze full of adoration and warmth. “He has been kicking a lot more these past few days”, “mmh, he’s going to be a fighter” he states proudly, and you stifle a laugh while responding “like his father then” “and mother” he adds while smiling up at you. You stroke his cheek with gentle fingers, drawing him up to his full height where you place your lips against his, and you think every touch of his lips against yours feels the first.

REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED

Note: it’s finally complete !!! I loved writing this series and hope you guys enjoyed their journey and well deserved ending 🤍

;)

🏷️:@adreamofleftoveromens @tirzamisu @bogbiddiesworld @pshwaa @crystal-lilac @princessatoru @milk-and-cherryjuice @itsmeteiiteii @the-massive-simp @momoewn @euryale16 @mitzwinchester @0ni0m @1-800-mocha @a-book-lover-things @wolffmaiden @warrior-of-justice @atlaincorrect @dee-zbignuts ༺♡༻

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coquelicoq · 5 months

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🦊

- for one, i think this fox suits you +

despite (or because) your absolutely wonderful mind that i get to witness through your posts (dico adventures etc), even or especially your nerdy interests are both so fascinating as well as you having so many talents that you are indeed quite intimidating.

in a very nice way. <3

you are the person that - when i ever get caught in a showdown on a street - i will pull by the sleeve of their leather jacket out of the shadow of an alley and next to me. and the other party will sense that they came wholly unprepared. they don't even know the etymology of half the words they are using! how can they compare to you?! not that this fight wasn't going to get physical. but if she radiates that amount of cruciverb competancy and when the taste of artfully crafted excel sheets is palpable in the wind, whose to say that she couldn't also square off in hand to hand combat.

🦊 for fairly intimidating

wow as usual your game is off the charts babe. i never thought that etymological knowledge could be weaponized but i am on board and ready to whip the abridged dictionary out of my back pocket anytime you need a fun language fact to fire off at an adversary (a word which shares a root with the latin word versus, incidentally). whenever someone wants to duel me i tell them to come back with a spreadsheet. an enemy casts Invective and i take seven of the letters and counter with Veni Vidi Vici. if somebody gives me grief i just hit em with my 1415-page bartlett's roget's thesaurus and then while they're seeing stars i read out all the synonyms for "serve one right" in category 420.5. i turn cross words into crosswords. i put the pun into spunk. i put the word into sword. i put the wit into switchblade. who needs projectiles when you have ejective consonants? who needs explosives when you have oral plosives? who needs roundhouse kicks when you have rounded vowels, is what i always say. "don't do the crime if you can't do the rhyme" is another thing i'm always saying. when they ask if i've been sentenced before i say yeah i know all about sentences. watch it pal i'm out on parole (the french word for "word"). don't mess with me, bucko. i'll raid your phoneme inventory. i'll portmanteau your knuckle tats. i've got a pun and i am not afraid to use it.

#i put the ass into sass. the tit into attitude. the lip into flippant #also the lip into lip i guess. since lip is a word meaning sass all by itself #anyway thank you for being so funny and also so nice to me 🥰#you are making me think of the flirtation by pickle era!!#etymology #fun with words #asks #not anon #NICE SHIT

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safyresky · 2 months

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Scrimbly Jacqueline 9/52: Jacquie's term as Jack Frost in the Santa Clauses.

Yeah, you heard me right! I am stepping my toes into the series with my beloved blorbos. ME! WHO HAS NOT STOPPED COMPLAINING ABOUT HOW BAD THE SERIES IS!

Lore/musings and pre-edited scrimbly under the cut!

RIGHT SO. YEAH! AFTER TWO SEASONS OF JUST THE WORST WRITING AND NONE CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT AND BONES BUT NO MEAT, I HAVE FINALLY FIGURED OUT HOW EXACTLY CS WOULD WORK IN A TSCS UNIVERSE bc, imo, there's no way these two are from the same universe. NO way.

Right, so here's what's going on with Jack and the Frosts in tscs, and why Jacquie is ROCKING this fit. I will try to be succinct:

Jack thaws, changes, reunites with the fam, blah blah blah. Santa's very untrusting and this does not change, and I think maybe the events of CS happen the same way but Santa is a HUGE DICK the ENTIRE TIME.

Blah, blah, Pyros happens, yadda yadda, things go on and Santa just keeps getting worse--refuses to see that Jack has changed, starts saying boomer-esque things in Council meetings, to the point where every Council member can't stand him--and Jack gets the brunt of it

He complains to the fam. Winter and Blaise are like, we do NOT fuck with this Santa guy. Jacqueline is ready to throw down the more Jack tells her about things he says/does at meetings

She's like "Jack. Jack. Please. Let me at him. PLEASE."

Jack's like "We'll file that away for later."

Finally Jack has HAD it, he is too cute and pretty and has worked far too hard for this ABUSE to be levelled at him at the hands of Santa Claus. He's worth it! He knows when to take care of HIMSELF. This is a TOXIC WORK ENVIRONMENT and he will NOT be having ANY MORE OF IT

He steps tf down, Jacqueline takes over, and she is FERAL. She's WORSE than Jack. She makes things a NIGHTMARE for Santa. I have a whole THING planned for how s2 goes with her in Jack's place >:3

And THAT is what's going on here! Jacqueline has stepped up and is ready to THROW DOWN WITH SANTA who is wholly, wholly unprepared

OUTFIT BACKGROUND TIME!

The vest IS JACK'S! She steals it from him! (Santa thinks the vest works the way the Santa jacket does. Jacqueline does not correct him. In fact, she spins a terrifying tall tale of how she killed her predecessor for the spot and took the vest off his slushy, dead, body. Jack thinks it's gd hilarious. Santa is fear.jpeg)

Her hair is still snowy but with more blue and is POOFIER. It is constantly tangled/windswept. POOF BABY.

Speaking of poof: apparently it is PHYSICALLY IMPOSSIBLE for Jacqueline to NOT wear poofy sleeves. Idk why. SO! Poof sleeve dress shirt! I used to have one just like it and I MISS it, it was so elegant~

Skirt is FIT AND FLARE BABY! Or skater skirt style. She thought of bringing back the pencil skirt and went "fuck that", she needs to MOVE and GROOVE

BIKE SHORTS! I am so sorry everyone who has done Jacquie art for this lil fact I'm about to drop on you all: she wears BIKE SHORTS under her dresses and skirts ALL THE TIME. Stops chafing and if she does a flip she's not worried about flashing people, and they are way more comfy than LEGGINGS. Cold doesn't bug her, anyway ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

(She is also prone to overheating easily. Summer sprite blood, everyone expects; I think she's just got too much energy all the time and it keeps her warm)

I did not draw them BUT with this cool work casual ish fit, she still wears her worn grimy leather boots. She's truly the messiest icon.

GREAT friends with the rest of the Claus fam btw; but NOT Scott. And the more she hears from his fam, the angrier she gets lol

AH I am SO EXCITED to unleash this design on y'all. I have been thinking about tscs!cs NON STOP this month! NON STOP! Also, February appears to be the month of FASHION JACQUELINE scrimbles, lol

I tried a lil something different with the hair! Did the messy lines in a light blue then went over it with my very light blue almost white watercolour marker. I like it!

Jack's vest is SO low cut tbh, WILDIN. Very excited when I saw that I DID have a metallic silver prismacolour pencil crayon! It looks GREAT on the VEST and it SHOWED UP IN THE PHOTO! I DIDN'T THINK IT WOULD! :D

Very proud of her hands!! And the way the watercolours worked on her glowy magic hand was AMAZING. I cackled the entire time I coloured this post lining it >:)

Anyway that's all the ramblies for this scrimbly for now. I have a bunch of other silly doods for this lil au? ??? ??? of sorts??? I uh, I prepped for this scrimbly unintentionally. Just started doodling the scenes in my head from this version of cs, so there's some funny lil scrimbles coming your way, eh. Thursday? We'll see! I have one more I NEED to draw out then I will be at peace.

Or I'm a big ol' liar and I will 100% write this whole thing and wake up 100k words later very confused.

Anyway, take the non-edited scrimble! I have yet to find a bright enough place in my house OR at work to take a decent photo of art without shadow or fucky lighting. Ah well. Maybe one day ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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turtle-steverogers · 2 years

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A look into the new Steve Rogers exhibit at the National Gallery in Washington DC.

my little crack at a pride fic

Read on ao3...

Here

Or keep reading below

An Exercise in Vulnerability

A look into Steve Rogers’ mind in three parts

By Xavier Kelsy

June 4, 2016

When Steve Rogers came out as bisexual in June of last year, just a few days before gay marriage was legalized across the nation, it seemed that the country had split in two. Of course, this wasn’t a surprise seeing as so much controversy surrounding the LGBTQ+ community still runs rampant in this country. It felt like watching two parties play chess as Rogers expertly and gracefully navigated the bitter vitriol aimed his way. As I watched him turn his nose up to bigots through the screen of my phone, I distinctly felt that I was seeing the strategist I'd read about in all my history textbooks, taking on a world beyond the mask he wore on the battlefield. This was a personal war, where he was gaining the upper hand simply on the basis of staying true to himself. It was heartening. Inspiring. A saving grace to many in the nation who craved representation in its rawest form.

Nearly a year later, when I had heard that Rogers was holding an exhibition regarding his queerness in the National Gallery of Art in Washington DC, I was eager to attend. As a bisexual guy myself, there was something enticing about seeing what sort of experience Rogers could translate through his works. I wasn’t sure how I would pull it off, however, until my boss came into my office one day and dropped a prepaid ticket to the opening onto my desk with a smile and a wink. And as such, the deal was sealed.

The exhibition spanned several rooms, interconnected by open doorways, and included a range of mediums. Glass cases filled with sculptures. Canvases hung on the walls. Picture frames holding large sheets of paper filled with charcoal.

I entered the exhibition amongst throngs of others in attendance who were not on the VIP list, and was barely able to enjoy the reprieve from the muggy DC air when my breath felt ripped out of my chest. Against the pristine white walls, Rogers’ works looked jarring. Colorful and gritty in equal measure. Raw in a way I wish I could recreate with words, and made me feel inadequate in my own humble artistry.

Looking to my left, my legs carry me to the first canvas I see, eager to hide my shock with immersion. I am filled with curiosity and apprehension, wholly unprepared for what emotions these rooms might hold, and ready to freefall into this moment.

So much of the world puts Captain America under a microscope, and it seems that here, Steve Rogers is begging to be seen instead. I feel compelled to follow that wish. I feel compelled to lose myself in each carefully placed brushstroke and pencil line. To find what parts of myself I might be able to see in these very personal pieces, because that is the thrill of a true, emotional artist. Seeing yourself, even when what you are looking at seems larger than life.

The piece before me felt innocent at first. A little boy on his knees, legs splayed out as he brushes the hair back from a doll’s forehead. It was sweet. Kind. Until you looked further and saw the sheer pain that embraced every fiber of the canvas the scene was depicted on. There were tears on the little boy’s face. Red, hectic spots high on his cheekbones, as if he’d been crying for quite some time. As I looked closer, I realized he is not in a house, but rather a store. Other toys filled the background, brightly colored despite the overall dullness of the piece. My eyes flicked to the piece next to it-- a seeming continuation as the shoes of the little boy were shown to be leaving off the side of the canvas. The doll laid lonesome on the ground. Left behind, but clearly so wanted.

It felt simple, but it hurt so bad, and I looked back at the first piece. The little boy had blond hair and a sharp nose. I saw the resemblance then. I saw Rogers in the jut, then dip of the little boy’s cheekbones. With an ache in my chest, I wished to reach through the painting and pick up the doll. Hand it to the little boy and tell him that he can have it. The ache was replaced with a distinct rage; little boys, queer or not, deserve soft things.

The next piece felt lighter-- almost silly. A slightly older Rogers laid upside down on a bed, cross eyed as he stared at his sketchbook, which was visible to the audience. On the page, there was a man, clearly naked. Rogers was sporting a rather massive blush that seemed to span down to his chest, and I found myself laughing at the relatability. It felt oddly close to home. The adolescent curiosity and shame shown so plainly to the audience. We’d all been there at some point, and it was nice to know that he had, too.

I moved through the rest of the first room at a slow, absorbent rate. It all seemed to focus on his adolescence. Growing pains and distinct fear. A piece of Rogers as a teenager, sitting in a bathtub with his face hidden in his knees and his hands covering his ears stood out to me especially. There wasn’t anything so explicitly queer about that piece compared to some of the others, but my stomach curled as I lost myself in the harsh lines of charcoal spanning the page. I knew that feeling. That helplessness. That fear. Wanting to drown out the thoughts that felt so wrong. So different. So dirty.

I wish I could tell myself that I wasn’t wrong. That I wasn’t dirty. I wonder if Rogers ever wishes that as well.

“The next room hits even harder,” someone said. I turned to see another journalist sporting his own notepad and pen, looking distinctly tight around the eyes. I imagine I must have looked similar, and we both glanced at the bathtub piece again. Clearly, it spoke volumes to many.

“Yeah?” I said, clearing my throat.

“Yeah, see for yourself,” the guy said. We hovered for another moment near each other, before I swiftly moved on. In an exhibit teeming with vulnerability, I wasn’t very eager to be seen for very long.

As it stood, the guy was right. Walking through the gaping entryway to the next room, I immediately understood why the exhibit had an age limit. Though there was nothing truly explicit, there was still a sense of unrestrained candidacy of the intimacy depicted in these pieces. Naked figures wrapped around each other, their limbs and extremities fading into smudged, blurred lines, but faces-- warped with pleasure and anguish-- clear and distinct. Most of the figures were random as far as I could tell. Rogers wasn’t bluntly featured in any of them, except for a smaller piece near the corner of the room.

The painting was quieter than the rest of the room, and my lips parted as I drank it in. Though, after a moment, I felt compelled to look away. As if the moment was not mine to see. It was far too personal. Too beautifully private.

It was two young men in a room, one splayed on the bed, arm braced behind his head. He was wearing a soft expression, lips curved up into a smirk that felt entirely fond. Gelled hair fell over his forehead, mussed from the sweat that seemed to shine on his face. He was nude amongst the sheets of the bed, lithe body stretched out and relaxed. On the other end of the bed, the other young man-- shirtless, and clearly less built-- was bent over a sketchbook, though his eyes were on his lover. Before I looked at the plaque, I knew who I was looking at, and the name of the piece was so simple, I smiled.

Bucky and I Before the War, Brooklyn 1940

It was no secret now, the nature of Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes’ relationship. But it was a secret then. One probably carefully and fearfully protected in hearts so eager to reach out and touch the other. It is not mine to heavily speculate about, but looking at this piece, I found myself hoping that they have found comfort in a time where they can let that love be seen.

At this point, I was nearing the end of the exhibit. There was only one room left, I realized with some sadness. Each piece had enthralled me so greatly that I hadn’t realized how far I had gotten. Turning to move on, however, my breath caught in my throat.

Rogers and Barnes stood on the other end of the room, hand in hand as they looked at one of Rogers’ other works. Once more, I found myself compelled to avert my gaze. This felt private, too. Almost as private as the piece I had just looked at.

Barnes turned his head to whisper something in Rogers’ ear, and I watched as Rogers put a hand over his mouth to laugh. Reaching out, Barnes poked Rogers in the stomach, and Rogers doubled over a bit before reaching out to flick Barnes’ ear. I glanced back at the painting behind me. The two boys in Brooklyn, so shrouded by a society that yearned to silence them.

I realized then, standing there, that it was them against the world. It always had been.

#Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #stucky #stucky fic #mikey scrawls #ignore the formatting i tried i really did #happy pride!

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memento-morri-writes · 2 years

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What Am I? a poem about life

I am the sound of a screaming baby who doesn’t stop until she finally falls asleep, head drooping against her crib. I am the pattering of footsteps as she learns to walk. I am the fascinated face of a small child who has just discovered the wonders contained within a book. I am me, growing older every day.

I am the frustrations of the girl whose teachers ignore her frantically waving hand, looking everywhere but at her face. I am the loneliness of the child who follows others around the playground, desperate for a friend to talk to, but too naive to know they don’t want her. I am the hair ripped from a child’s head during a scuffle, and the momentary pride that comes from it. I am me, unhappy at life.

I am the eager face of the girl in a new place, with a bigger library. I am the tears on her face as her teacher leaves, knowing, somewhere inside her, that the next teacher will not be good. I am the cardboard sphinx cut by a knife she wasn’t allowed to touch. I am the hand that slaps an adult, and the panic of the child who fears the police. I am the foot that kicks, and the mouth that yells when they tell her no. I am me, angry at everything.

I am the robotic arm doing the disco as a dozen teens laugh in delight. I am the fireworks on the fourth of July as they watch. I am the words and music that flows from the stage as Aaron Burr sings his song, enveloping her in sound. I am me, experiencing something good, something fun. (But will it last?)

I am the open doors of the freshman building, welcoming me to a place I will never forget, be it for good or bad. (but mostly bad.) I am the finality of a friendship ending forever, although it was over years ago. I am the small fuzzy body whose heart stops beating, while miles away a girl cries. I am the pull at the heart brought on by the sight of kittens. I am the button she pushes on the light board, and the friends she finds there. I am the freedom brought by the final bell. I am me, older than ever.

I am the exhaustion that sets in before the first week is even over. I am the dragging of feet, and the dreams of delays and days off. I am the can’t-wait-to-get-home, and the words “I’m fine” said whenever someone asks how things are going. I am the world-weariness of a girl who hasn’t even lived yet, and the fear that she’ll never be ready for what comes later. I am me, surviving, but not living.

I am the boredom of days spent home alone, and the loneliness of a summer without friends. I am the naps taken because there is nothing else to do, and the hours spent staring at a screen. I am the numbness of a young woman who can no longer feel anything. I am the depression that settles in, even as she claims “Summer is infinitely better than school,”. I am the crushing realization that adulthood is coming, and there is nothing she can do to stop it, as well as the panic that sets in after that. I am me, wholly unprepared, partly unhappy.

I am the friendless classrooms with no one to talk to. I am the sound of hoofbeats as Gabriel canters around, a happy young woman on his back. I am the heavy blanket wrapped around her shoulders as she sits on her bed, cozy and warm. I am the books that remain unread for months on end, and the excuses made as to why. I am the voices singing onstage, as she watches from the wings, enjoying every minute. I am the strange mix of anxiety and apathy that fills her head whenever someone mentions the future. I am a friend who listens, and who makes her feel special. I am me, alive and existing.

~~ a pause. breathe. ~~

I am the strange anxiety of a senior year, of life-changing decisions made early in life. I am the endless list of applications and choices and worries. I am the gaping difference between my sister’s 12 applications and my 3. I am the uncertainty of “what if...?” I am the worries that I will be rejected, the fuck-it-all attitude if I am. I am the desperate desire to find a career I do not hate, because if I hate what’s keeping me alive, am I even living? I am the finality of an accepted acceptance, an endless list of things to do. I am me, hurtling forwards.

I am the lonely light shining in the 3rd catwalk, dozens of feet from anyone else. I am the laughter of the audience, and the smile it brings me. I am a a robot who refuses to do what it’s told. I am with friends, if only for a few months. I am a project that comes to life in front of me. I am so many t-shirt printed in so little time. I am a smile ever so fleeting on her face. I am friends made only to be abandoned. I am me, moments slipping out of my fingers.

I am the words written on a poster: “it’s been a fun 12 years”. I am the sharp laugh knowing that the last time I work will be setting up for my own graduation. I am my own name, called, a stage walked, a curtain closed. I am an awkward hug, a quick goodbye. I am promises made to stay in touch, but knowing we won’t. I am goodbyes said to people I loved in a place I hated. I am me, the end of a chapter.

I am another lonely summer, an endless blur of days. I am the time that moves too slowly, and too fast. I am the voice of a friend heard for the second time ever, the closing of tabs as footsteps approach. I am a brief burst of laughter in a movie theater. I am a tight chest, a speeding heart, an emotion I don’t know how to describe. I am me, still in denial.

~~ a pause. breathe. ~~

What am I? I am everything I have ever experienced, and every person I have ever met. I am here on earth, although the future scares me. I am a mix of everything, good and bad, as is life itself.

I am alive.

I wrote most of this (minus the section between the “breathe”s) while in a really weird place in my life. I’m okay, I think. I’m sorry it’s so long. It was originally a piece for a creative writing class over a year ago. It turned out a lot more personal than I expected, becaue that’s how my brain works: spilling my deepest secrets to people I hardly know.

#writeblr #my writing #poetry #poem #my poetry #what am I?#btw #every single thing mentioned in here is real and really happened to me #:))#implied #depression tw

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kiridarling · 3 years

Text

𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐁𝐎.

thank you so much to @daisy-bakugo for letting me participate in her vice city collab! i had a blast writing this piece, and i’m terribly sorry this is so long that was a mistake (and congrats on 2k!!) also, the phattest of thank you’s to @eijishimas for brainstorming/beta-ing :) you saved me ☺🤲🏼

katsuki bakugou and eijirou kirishima | f!reader, time travel sex, guns, prostitute/stripper idrk!reader, tw!blood (non-descriptive), dacryphilia, squirting, spit roasting, d-penn, shower sex, multiple rounds. minors dni!

— 5k words (yikes)

"Say, Sweetheart. You wanna get outta here?"

Las Vegas, Nevada. April 15th, Year 3036.

"You ready?"

Mina shoots you a look through the golden-lit mirror, wiggling her eyebrows. You roll your eyes and finish dusting the powder off your cheeks before rising to your feet and tugging at the belt of your silk robe. "My answer's the same every night."

Vice City. A strip club and casino in Las Vegas, Nevada, where opposites collide—the poor and the rich, the beautiful and the ugly, the smart and the stupid. There's no judgment because here, they're all degenerates looking for a good time, and you're just a pretty face with a good body.

As your silk robe hits the floor, it's kicked to the side with a heel, and you saunter through the beaded entrance to your private room and into the vibrating club. Giving your bodyguard a solid pat on the shoulder as you watch the sea of bodies shake, you complete the ritual.

"No creeps?" You demand more than request. He nods curtly.

"No creeps."

You give him a cute little smile and let your hand linger for a little longer than necessary before stepping into the neon red chaos of the strip club. Because what do the rich and the poor have in common?

They're all addicts.

Surprisingly, humanity doesn’t kill the planet.

Mother Nature's still standing strong—though the sun is a bit swollen—and space exploration solved that overpopulation issue. Bill Gates taught us all how to avoid a climate disaster and Tesla put Ford out of business. Humanity is much bigger than earth now; we're no longer people of the planet, but an intergalactic species that still eat Costco pizza rolls for dinner but killed Cable along with cars with wheels. Costco still exists—Starbucks doesn't.

Still no aliens, though.

"See something you like, Cutie?"

In your defense, he's been standing over here with his friends for ages—almost like they're casing the damn place—but those ruby red eyes kept floating your way regardless, and you'd rather bag it with someone your age before you're requested by another seventy-year-old. The redhead blinks like he's shocked you came over here in the first place—like he didn't watch you sashay yourself to the other side of the club just for him. You suppose the name fits. Cutie.

He looks at you with a strangely giddy look on his face before he's licking his lips and swallowing, eyes flickering to the blondie to his right.

"I'll be back in like, twenty minutes, man."

The blond gives him an exasperated look and groans—his other two friends don't notice. "Eiji—"

"Twenty minutes!" The redhead yells over the music as you not-so-subtly pull him away. Your regular GILF looks your way, and you suppress the queasy feeling in knowing that at least you'll be able to fuck someone from your decade.

"You got a wallet, Cutie?" You purr as you two approach the back room. The redhead winks, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out the fattest black leather wallet you've seen in a long time.

"Don't go anywhere without it," he says, but falters when your bodyguard holds his hand out with a request for fifty bucks. "I—whoa dude, why am I paying you?"

"Because that's how it goes. The young lady gets her share," your bodyguard clarifies. The redhead looks at you for what seems to be for confirmation. You nod.

"Alright," he resigns with a shrug, stuffing a fifty into your bodyguard's sweaty hand. The man grunts but clears some of the beads guarding the entrance to your private room anyways, giving you two enough space to go inside.

"No door? That seems a little...exposing," the redhead snorts to himself before he's holding his hand out, despite the fact that you’re already nestling comfortably in his lap. "Eijirou, by the way."

You take his hand apprehensively, and he snorts at your confused frown. Eijirou's big—painfully so, and you feel small sat upon his thick thighs because you are in comparison—and he has to curve his back a bit so you're at eye-level. "What? No one's introduced themselves to you before?"

You shake your head, "Usually they just throw me onto the bed and get right to it."

Eijirou rolls his eyes at that, and you don't realize he's guiding your hips into a smooth roll until the harsh fabric of his jeans brushes against you in the best way. He moves you in time with the music vibrating the walls, "I guess that makes me more of a gentleman, then."

His lips hover over yours and yet he never advances, doesn't move to kiss you on the lips, nothing—it nearly has you buzzing. So does the hand he pins you to his lap with. "Are you going to kiss me or what?"

"What's your name, Sweetheart," he asks lowly. You give it to him, and he grins.

"Y/N,” Eijirou tries on his lips before he confirms it with a nod. "A pretty name for a pretty girl."

"Aren't you the flatterer," you purr, coiling your arms around your neck. His hand finds your ass and you're almost positive he's going to close the gap between you two until he says:

"Who were you runnin' from, Y/N?”

Years in the business help build a mask and you wear yours well, with that cute little smile as you cock your head to the side and ask, "I'm afraid I'm not following."

"Oh, I think you are," he says, looking you dead in the eyes. The gravity in his face doesn't falter. "Who was it."

As he stares into your soul, your own eyes avert to the sheets. "What's it to you?"

"It's nothing to me, really," he shrugs off his jacket and places it on the bed next to him before returning to his initial position—or perhaps, closer. "But I happen to find you real cute, and cute things deserve to feel safe, no?"

"In case you haven't checked, this isn't a very safe place," you scoff, removing your arms from his neck to cross them over your chest. "And I don't appreciate idiots like you trying to save someone like me just 'cause you wanna get your dick wet more than once."

Eijirou raises an eyebrow but he never stalls, "Oh? This happens often then?"

"I—" you falter, "...No."

"C'mon, Sweetheart," Eijirou tugs you by the waist and you have to press your hands to his chest to keep him from falling forwards. "You don't wanna stay in this place, do you?"

"It's my job," you defend with a huff. The redhead shrugs.

"Sure, but don't you want a little adventure? A little excitement in your life?"

"Like there isn't enough excitement right here?" You snort. Eijirou teeters his head back and forth, though the daring look never fades.

"But something tells me you're bored," he says with a near sarcastic face, clicking his tongue. "Something tells me you find the idea of something new exciting."

You open your mouth to respond but he keeps you from doing so, finally pressing his lips to yours. You nearly squeal in surprise but somehow, you find yourself kissing back with a passion you've never kissed another client with before—and maybe, just maybe, the idea of something new doesn't sound too bad.

Eijirou pulls away with a cocky grin like he knew you'd like it. Like he knew that'd be the catalyst for your response to what he says next, and maybe, he's not as much of an idiot as you thought.

And maybe you’re more of an idiot than you thought.

"Say, Sweetheart. You wanna get outta here?"

"Yes," you breathe, like an idiot, because you were wholly and utterly unprepared for what happens next.

Eijirou gives you the cutest smile, before reaching into his jacket and pulling out a gun.

He sees your expression change and lifts both hands, pointing the black pistol towards the ceiling, "I—hey wait, you're gonna be fine, okay? I won't shoot you."

You cower and he pouts. Apparently, this wasn't the reaction he was expecting at all.

"I swear! I'm mentally stable, see?" He flips it sideways with a grin, "the safety's on."

You hate it that his comment makes you trust him. Slightly.

"C'mon," Eijirou smiles, reaching his gunless hand out for you to take. You do, albeit reluctantly. "I won't do anything too stupid. Just...shake things up a bit."

Shake things up a bit, Eijirou says, and yet the first thing he does is when you two exit the room is press the pistol to your bodyguard’s head.

"Eijirou," you hiss. Luckily no one in the club has noticed, yet, but you doubt their ignorance will last for long.

"I'm gonna need my fifty back, buddy," Eijirou pats the man on the back, and it's strange—you've always thought your bodyguard to be a big guy, but he looks rather petite next to the redhead. Your bodyguard reaches for his walkie-talkie, but Eijirou tuts, tapping his hand away with the tip of his gun.

"Hey dude, I'm not gonna shoot you. See? The safety's on," He repeats, flashing the barrel. Your bodyguard's eyes widen, and so do yours.

The safety isn't on.

"So, that fifty," Eijirou purrs, and your bodyguard stuffs the bill into his chest with a grumble. Eijirou hums, satisfied, and gives the crumpled bill to you without a second glance, too busy nodding to his friend on the other side of the strip club. A noirette from across the way nods back.

Pop-pop!

It's fucking chaos, as anyone would expect when blindly firing into a crowded club. Eijirou keeps a tight hold on your hand as he and his other three boys storm towards the pit bosses working the casinos with guns a-blazing, demanding they fill their pillowcases like a bunch of C-class thugs.

What the fuck did you get yourself into.

"This is not what I meant by excitement," you hiss through grit teeth as a terrified pit boss fills Eijirou's bag like he's a greedy kid with an attitude on Halloween, while your co-workers cower under the bar and pool tables. Eijirou sticks his tongue your way.

"This isn't the exciting part, Little Miss Excitement."

It's the steady sound of sirens that has your eyes widening, and the fact that you're positive they're getting louder. You catch sight of your bodyguard on his walkie-talkie, big body cowering behind the smallest trashcan, and turn back just in time to see Eijirou squint as he aims and shoots bullseye.

"That is."

The police have lost sight of two vehicles carrying the four armed men who robbed Vice City Casino and Club tonight at roughly 2:53 am. Witnesses say they came in a group of four but left with an exotic dancer named—

The moment the blondie from the club sees you walk through the door, he’s tossing the stack of bills in his hand with a sigh.

"Katsuki, Y/N. Y/N, Katsuki."

Katsuki looks nothing but happy, and refuses to acknowledge your presence as he crosses his arms.

"Ei. What the hell did we say about witnesses."

"Um," the redhead rubs his lips together before wearily looking at you, and you hike his jacket further up your shoulder. At least he was decent enough to give you that. She's an exception?"

"Not a fuckin' thing," the blond grunts, turning to you to flash a tight smile. "Goodbye."

"I—wait," Eijirou skates until he's stood over the ash-blond, with a hand on his shoulder and the other braced against the table. Speaking in a quieter voice, he says, "C'mon man. The poor thing was practically begging to get outta there."

The ash-blond does nothing but sigh before shoving a palm into a pile of money to push himself into the kitchen—and subsequently further away from you.

"She's gonna call the cops," Katsuki grunts wearily from the island, eyes narrowed. Eijirou follows.

"She's not gonna call the cops, dude," the redhead scoffs at the outlandish idea. "You heard the radio! At this point, she's as deep in it as we are."

As they continue to go back and forth over the island, you let your eyes wander. It’s a penthouse, and rather homely, with near egg yolk lighting, high walls, and big windows. You can't help but think about how you're in a strangely expensive part of the city before remembering this evening's events. No wonder they can afford such a nice place.

You find yourself smiling at a particular corner with a frustrating amount of photos stuffed on a little glass table, one that contains a selfie of the two housemates in high school uniforms. There's a ring sat in front of it, one that glints gold when you hold it up to your face, and if you squint you can see little flecks of green in the red of the ruby. It looks scarily close to an engagement ring.

"Hey, what's this?"

Both of their eyes rocket from the conversation to see you slip the delicate thing onto your ring finger.

"Don't touch it!" Eijirou tenses before realizing it's much too late for that. "Er—at least don't twist the top."

"The...top?" You ask, lifting your hand until it's at eye level.

"Yeah like, the jewel thingy," the redhead gestures to the ruby—and you can't stop thinking about how it's almost the same color as his hair. Waddling into the kitchen with your eye still trained on the thing, you ask:

"What is it?"

"A time-travel device," the ash-blond grunts. Eyes still full of suspicion, he watches you and the redhead interact over the island with arms crossed over his chest and reclining against the sink. You frown.

"Aren't those usually...bigger?" Because even though it's 3036, time-travel is still fairly new (space exploration took a long time, okay) and all the machines you've seen are at least the size of a shower. And yet, this one can sit on your pinky.

"Kats has been working on some stuff," Eijirou beams and it edges on proud; you notice the ash-blond near blushes with a huff as you hop to sit on the marble counter.

"'S nothin'."

You stare at the thing in faint amazement, and Katsuki kicks off the sink to near the island. Lifting an eyebrow, you say, "You know you could get rich off something like this? Instead of robbing strip clubs for a living.”

The ash-blond scoffs, and you wonder if someone else has told him that before. "If I gave that to the public, I have no fuckin' clue what they'd do with that shit."

And you shrug, supposing he's right—time-travel devices are hard to get your hands on, and that's for a reason. If everyone starts jumping around in the time-space continuum, fucking with shit, the world will promptly and utterly collapse. Sounds fun, doesn't it?

"It doesn't work with a big time range," Katsuki defends with a shrug, sliding his forearms on the counter. "The most it can do is a few hours"

"Not that it makes this any less cool," Eijirou says with a slight bounce. "I personally think it's really fun to play with."

Katsuki rolls his eyes. "That's 'cause you use it to fuck."

You nearly choke.

"I—what?"

"W-Well, okay," Eijirou chuckles sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. "But also other stuff! Like when I'm really hungry, I might go to the future and take some of my fries. Future me's fries, that is."

"Or you'll try to take future-me’s goddamn burger," Katsuki growls. You flip the ring over like there's anything left to see.

"How often do you use it?"

"Nightly," Katsuki answers for him. Your eyebrows lift. Oh wow.

"It—it's not nightly," Eijirou defends weakly, huffing and puffing. "Weekly maybe, but—"

"Almost every night," Katsuki sums for him, giving you a little grin. You snort back before your eyes drop to the ring again.

"Uh oh," the redhead almost gasps, fingers thrumming on the island on either side of your being, "She's thinkin' about it."

"I'm not thinking about it," you huff, though your eyes never leave the ring. It's an...interesting prospect.

"Oh, you're totally thinking about it," Katsuki grunts, and you struggle to find where his enthusiasm came from. What happened to goodbye?

"C'mon," Eijirou tempts with a casual toss of the head. He touches your shoulder—Katsuki touches the other. "See what happens."

"What if—" you stare at the ring with pursed lips, fingers grabbing the ruby. "What if it's random? Or if we're not where we expect to be in a few hours or something."

Eijirou shrugs. "It's always a gamble, but that's where the fun is, no?"

You look down at the thing with a sigh. You suppose.

In one quick move, you twist the gem and screw your eyes shut. At first, you feel nothing, but then there's a sudden head rush, and you can easily see how someone can get addicted to this.

You hear a faint sound, one that could be excused as a rush of wind past your ears, before you feel your knees against a hard surface and your body in a different position.

"Oh, I like this much better."

You open to your eyes to a much different sight than you closed them to.

Katsuki and Eijirou look gargantuan when you’re on your knees, your back flush against the refrigerator and eyes watering due to the cock nestled halfway down your throat. You choke in surprise from the sensation, hands rushing to keep Katsuki from cutting your oxygen supply off for good as Eijirou stands impatient, cock hard in his hand and drooling for attention.

"F-Fuck," the ash-blond wheezes, seemingly just as taken aback from the position as you are. "Your mouth is fuckin' heaven."

"C'mon Sweetheart, don't ignore me now," EIjirou purrs, chuckling as the head of his cock hits your cheek with a wet slap. "At least give me a little something."

You grab his cock harder than you would've out of slight indignance, grinning around the other when it makes him hiss; Eijirou joins Katsuki in resting a hand on the fridge door for purchase.

You weren't the best at Vice City for nothing, after all.

"Shit, loosen that grip a little, will ya?" Eijirou wheezes—you don't listen, and his chest shudders when you seem to only move faster.

"'M too fuckin' close, where's that ring," Katsuki blabbers more than he grunts, and you lift your hand just in time for him to twist the jewel again, sending you three rocketing into the past.

You cough and splutter atop the kitchen island, chest heaving as you finally get the air Katsuki's cock allows. The head rush definitely doesn't help, and you find yourself getting dizzy enough to grab for someone's hand.

"Breathe, Princess," Katsuki says, and Eijirou lifts your hand to his chest so yours can rise and fall with his.

"So that's," you wheeze once you're able to get some semblance of a breath back. "That's time travel sex, huh?"

"Yeah," Eijirou says, a little breathless himself. "Addictive, right?"

"A little," you giggle, and find yourself looking for the ring again. Katsuki snorts.

"What, you wanna go back or somethin'?"

You flush red, eyes darting to the walls guilty, "A little bi—wah!"

There's a rush and the room morphs again. You would’ve fallen headfirst into a set of white sheets if it weren’t for the fact that you’re sat on Eijirou’s face.

"Hello beautiful~" the redhead singsongs from below, and you can't help but notice your bra is MIA as Katsuki takes a seat behind

you to run his hands up your sides to put the underside of your breasts.

"Pervert," you snort, though you figure you’re just as bad as he is with two of Eijirou's fingers deep in your pussy and Katsuki's hand on your clit. The redhead's leaving hickey after hickey on your inner thighs and you just try your damnest to not fall.

"Only for you," Eijirou winks cheekily, scissoring his fingers, and your hips stutter against his face when he slides his tongue in between.

"Fuckin' love the sounds you make," Katsuki grunts, before his other hand finds your neck and tightens. "And fuck you're so goddamn wet—you love this, don't you?"

You keen with a nod (and suppress the urge to say no shit, Sherlock), and Katsuki's pinching your clit between his two fingers, licking a fat stripe up your neck and chuckling when you shiver.

"What, your clients don't make you feel this good, Sweetheart?" Eijirou practically moans into your cunt, eyebrows folding when you thread your fingers through his hair and yank. "Bet that fifty was worth it, wasn't it?"

"Y-Yeah I—" you whimper, unable to get a sentence past your shuddering chest. "Guys, I'm gonna—"

The bedroom melts back into the kitchen, you're back in Eijirou’s jacket and not sat on his face. Your thighs and neck are hickey-less and yet, you're still so fucking horny.

"I hate you," you seethe, almost immediately, and Eijirou's grin is so wide it bends his eyes.

"Awe, you love me," he giggles and your frown only deepens as you reach for the ring—Katsuki snatches it out of arms way with a tut.

"Ah ah Princess, don't be greedy now," he purrs, but you couldn't give a shit about being greedy, and it shows in the way you quickly grab for it again. Katsuki passes the ring to Eijirou and it easily becomes a game of monkey in the middle.

"Give it—"

"I don't think so, Sweetheart," Eijirou says, pressing a big hand to your face to keep you from going any further. With a smirk, the redhead twists the ring, and suddenly you're full of him on the kitchen counter.

"Fuck baby, you're so tight," he curses behind grit teeth, sweat practically dripping off his shoulders in rivulets as he pushes your face into the kitchen island so hard it's numb. So are your knees. "You're so pretty like this—shit—"

You barely have the room to whimper, let alone answer, and you find Katsuki perched on the opposite counter, weeping cock in hand. The redhead chuckles as you struggle to take all of him, hips squirming as he aims for places you've never been able to hit on your own. "I'd stick your tongue back in your mouth if I were you, Sweetheart. The money’s a little dirty, don't you think?"

And that's when you realize your knees are elevated upon two stacks of green, possibly some of what Katsuki had been counting earlier, and a twenty swims in a pool of drool under your cheek.

"Oh, but I don't think you care," Eijirou grunts, shoving your face deeper into the marble countertop as his hips speed up. "Dirty fuckin' girl. Bet you'd do anything for a fifty."

"I wanna fuck her," Katsuki rushes as if his mouth moves before he can speak. Eijirou wheezes a laugh.

"What, I can't enjoy this?"

"No,” the ash-blond grunts.

"Hmm..." Eijirou debates, though his hips never stop as he gives Katsuki a look and goes, "How about no?"

Katsuki growls at that, and you find your fingers clumsily twisting the ruby on the ring that sits on Eijirou's finger, sending the three of you flinging further into the future.

"Fuck!"

"This isn't the future I was referring to, but I'm not complainin'," Katsuki grunts with a feral grin. You nearly slip due to all the water in the shower and you're positive that you see the sunrise through the window paint Eijirou's skin gold.

"I gotcha, Sweetheart," Eijirou soothes, rubbing a hand up and down your arms while your nails dig into his shoulders, the red lines jagged from how roughly Katsuki fucks you from behind. "Fuck—you're doing so good for us, taking him so well."

You whimper and Katsuki lands a heavy slap on your ass—heavy to the point where you nearly knocks both you and the redhead into the tile behind him. Eijirou's calloused hands find your clit fairly easily, and that's enough to almost send you over the edge, pussy fluttering around Katsuki's cock.

"She's gonna cum," Katsuki grunts. "Can fuckin' feel it."

"Uh oh," the redhead singsongs, turning to you with a grin. "Were you trying to be slick, Sweetheart?”

Though it's difficult, you lift your head, eyes swimming in unshed tears as you choke, "I—n-no, it's jus—"

You're in the bedroom again—this time your back comes in contact with a dresser, metal rattling from the weight Eijirou slams you into it with. The redhead supports you both with two feet planted into the floor and a hand around your waist, grunting into your ear with an exhaustion that implies you've got to be at this for hours.

"Ei-Eiji—"

"I know, Sweetheart," the redhead coos breathlessly, licking up the sweat that runs down your neck. "Just a few more times, okay? Hold on for just a little longer."

You sob, head thunking against the wall as you realize you have no idea where Katsuki is. Though it's only a fleeting thought because before you know it, Eijirou's dropping you to your feet, bending you in half, and railing you into the wall.

"Goddamn," he grunts, sharp teeth digging into his bottom lip, "this is—this is the best lay I've had in a fat second."

You pant a laugh, hands pressing into the wall to steady yourself, "Good—good to know the fifty bucks was worth it."

"Oh baby, it was more than worth it," Eijirou hikes your leg up as high as it'll go for a deeper angle and he gets it, his growl melting into a semi-chuckle as you squeal, thighs jumping.

"Fuck Ei!" You scream, and he's tugging your hair to straighten your back out.

"You like it rough, Sweetheart?" He pants into your ear, grabbing your neck for a better grip. You nod as much as you can.

"Y-Yeah—I—" Eijirou drops you until you're stood at a perfect 90-degree angle, "I need—need'ta cum, p-please—"

"Twist the ring, Sweetheart," He pants, resting his hand on the wall next to yours. It still glints gold on his fourth finger in the moonlight, "Get us there together, yeah?"

You don't have to be told twice.

"Mph!"

"Fuck!”

Your knees dig into a mattress again as Katsuki fills your mouth. With his cock down your throat and Eijirou's buried deep in your cunt, there isn't much you can do but take both of them at the same time—though you're positive that's what they intended.

"Shit, me too." Eijirou wheezes a chuckle as his hips piston into you, his sweaty chest sticking to your back while he reaches between your thighs to rub your clit. That’s enough to send you flailing over the edge, moan muffled by Katsuki’s slowly softening cock. Then, with a devilish grin (and before the redhead can cum) Katsuki reaches for the ring on Eijirou’s finger and twists it.

“You asshole,” Eijirou groans, and suddenly you three are back in the shower, with Katsuki’s hips battering into yours as the redhead supports your weight from below. Katsuki chuckles before his grip tightens and he’s filling you with another load.

“C’mon Princess,” Katsuki grunts, reaching for your clit. “Come for us again.”

You choke again before you’re digging your head into Eijirou’s muscled chest with a moan, shaking from the aftershocks Katsuki continues to fuck you through them.

Until the room morphs, and you’re face down on the kitchen counter.

“Fucking finally,” Eijirou wheezes with a bitter chuckle, casually flipping Katsuki the middle finger as he's sat on the opposing counter. “Fuck, you're shaking baby, you gonna cum with me? Yeah?“

Eijirou batters into your cervix and that's the catalyst for your third orgasm. You squeeze so tight you think you may have knocked the wind out of the redhead when his chest crashes into your back, and you open your eyes just in time to see the kitchen melt into the bedroom again—in a time you all have yet to visit.

Your legs are thrown over Katsuki’s shoulders as he pushes your back deeper into Eijirou’s chest, both of their cocks filling you so much and so well it brings tears to your eyes. As your thighs quiver with an impending orgasm, Katsuki’s the first to fall off the edge, eyebrows furrowing as his nails dig into the meat of your thighs.

“Oh fuck,” he groans, voice fucked hoarse and lips bit pink. Eijirou nibbles into your shoulder with a gasp as his sweaty hand finds your clit again, neither of their hips ever stopping.

“Cum for us one more time, Sweetheart,” he pants into your neck before adding another hickey to the collection. Your chest shudders.

“I—I can’t—“

“Oh yes you fuckin’ can,” Katsuki growls, and you squeal as he tweaks a nipple. “I know you got one more in there. Give it.”

Your legs kick against his chest with a curse as you orgasm for the final time—this one much wetter than the last.

“Holy shit,” Eijirou nearly laughs, looking at where the three of you are connected. “Did you just squirt?”

“I—“ your face blends red when you see the absolute and utter mess that sits in Katsuki’s lap, before looking away with a determination to never see it again. “...Maybe.”

“Clean up?” Eijirou asks, eyes flickering to the ash-blond. Katsuki shrugs.

“Nah.”

A rush of wind and you’re sat on the kitchen counter. Eijirou’s jacket protects you from getting goosebumps due to a drop in temperature and though you do shiver, you find your body much more unscathed than it was.

“Hi,” Eijirou chuckles a little breathlessly.

“Hi,” you giggle back, a little nervous but in the best way. “So um...we do all of that tonight?”

“I guess so,” the redhead says a bit cheekily, raising an eyebrow. And then, with a wink, “Probably more.”

You stare at the ring on his hand in awe. Whoa.

"I fuck—fine, we can keep her, Shitty Hair," Katsuki grumbles from his spot near the kitchen sink, and despite the sour look on his face, you can't find a hint of it in his voice. Figures.

"Told you he'd say yes," Eijirou beams with a thumbs up.

"Can we...go do that stuff now?" You ask, albeit a bit hesitantly because...well, usually people are asking to have sex with you. Is this how they feel?

"Of course we can, Sweetheart," the redhead beams, before taking the ring off to place it onto the counter. "It was all a part of the future, after all."

#— 𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈 #— 𝐄𝐈𝐉𝐈𝐑𝐎𝐔 #bnha smut #mha smut #bakugou smut #kirishima smut #tw.blood #tw.guns

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flyingkoalaandsloths · 3 years

Text

fave Flint quotes in every episode | S2

IX.

Civilization needs its monsters.

In less than two days, I intend to be the captain again.

XI.

I know how you all must feel. How desperate you must be to go home and be embraced by Nassau again. But I'm here to tell you, that place no longer exists. It has been taken from us by a madman. Held hostage by threat of force that no one on the island seems able to resist. Now I would like to say that the Urca beckons us. That we should look the other way. That the affairs of the beach should never take precedence over those of the purse. But in this case, these issues would seem to be one and the same. Even if we could make it ashore safely, even if we could refit amidst the chaos that has been sown, even if we could ignore all of this and go on to win the Urca's gold, what then? We return home only to have Vane extort from us the very prize that we have sacrificed so much to win? Nassau was unable to resist him. But we have yet to have our say. So at sunrise tomorrow, we make our terms clear with no room for bargain or compromise. Charles Vane and the animals he commands have until sunrise tomorrow to vacate that fort or so help me God... I will rain holy hell down upon him.

XII.

I support it. I found his argument persuasive. I find his intent to be good and true. And I find yours wanting, sir. I will be relaying my findings to Admiral Hennessey in short order. And now I think it's time you left, sir.

XIII.

The only thing I am ashamed of is that I didn't do something to save him when we had the chance.

XIV.

I'm seeming unconcerned.

XV.

Those men listen to you. They give a shit about what you have to say. What you think, what you want them to think. Where else in the world is that true? Where else would you wake up in the morning and matter? You walk out on this, and where the fuck are you going?

XVI.

What lies ahead, I'm afraid I might be wholly unprepared for. I always thought this journey would end in battle. A fight to preserve the things we held dear. I understood that. I was ready for that. Now, as it turns out, something else lies at the end of this road. Judgment. Not of Nassau, but of me and the man that I've become. And this entire endeavor hangs in the balance of that judgment. [...] I will make my argument having no sense of my footing with [Peter Ashe]. No sense of the things he knows about me, the lower things. The darker things. And the moment he reveals that he knows these things may be the moment that this all comes crashing down. He is going to render judgment. And it all depends on what he sees standing before him: Me or my name.

XVII.

I told you of my grandfather who raised me. A fisherman in Padstow. Well, in his youth he was a deckhand on a privateer off the coast of Massachusetts. And one night he was alone on the late watch at anchor in the Boston Harbor when he sees this man climbing out of the water and onto his ship. A stranger. Now, my grandfather thought about ringing the bell, but curiosity got the better of him. The stranger approaches my grandfather and asks him for a little rum. Man said that he'd fled his fishing trawler, accused of killing another man. And when asked his name, the man simply replied Mr. Flint. This stranger, he never said whether he was guilty of the killing or why he chose that ship or where he was bound, he just just sat there. Eventually, he asked my grandfather for a little more rum from below. My grandfather went off to fetch it, but when he returned the man was gone. My grandfather was in Boston for a month after that. Never heard a word about a killing or a fugitive at large. It was as if the sea had conjured that man out of nothing and then taken him back for some unknowable purpose. When I first met Mr. Gates and he asked me my name... I feared the man I was about to create. I feared that someone born of such dark things would consume me were I not careful. And I was determined only to wear him for a while and then dispose of him when his purpose was complete. And I thought of that story. Am I ready to let him go? Truth is every day I've worn that name I've hated him a little more. I've been ready to return him to the sea for a long time.

XVIII.

I have one regret. I regret ever coming to this place with the assumption that a reconciliation could be found. That reason could be a bridge between us. Everyone is a monster to someone. Since you are so convinced that I am yours, I will be it.

S1 S3 S4

#black sails #captain flint #special mention: what the /fuck/ did you think was gonna happen?!#starts with monsters ends with monsters #while s1 was flint giving monologs to anyone who would listen #s2 flint was searching for reconciliation an inner peace with his past his present and his (almost-certain) demise #even when he was giving long monolog in XI #he questioned his steps listened others' perspective and although he still decided to give fire order he was very conflicted #but i guess the real mvp of this season is miranda with her goddamn clock #she deserves her own selected quotes post #I AM ENRAGED #god i love her #'Her word will be the last word for this place'#*

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newtonsheffield · 3 years

Note

Young Edmund has been casted!

Now I’m looking forwards to young kiddie Bridgerton scenes esp for ABC

He has been, Yes!

Here is if anyone is yet to see!

I'm not super familiar with the actor, but I think he looks quite similar to the rest of the Bridgertons, particularly Eloise, and Francesca so I'm very optimistic about this casting.

One of my favourite things about First Comes Scandal was the little snippets we got of little Anthony and Benedict. Absolutely wild of Anthony to accuse Kate of being a menace to society when he sat on his brother in the mud for a solid five minutes. And I loved every bit of it.

What I am wholly unprepared for is the moment that young Anthony realises he's the Viscount now, that his life is changed forever. That the time he should have had with his father to grow and learn and discover how to be a good man, is gone.

Which brings me to something I've wanted for a while if anyone knows where I can find a fic where Anthony and Kate met (at their canonical ages) but Edmund was still alive and so Anthony was just plucky, young Mr. Bridgerton, happy and ready to fall in love: Let ya girl know. If this does not exist and someone would care to write it, Let ya girl know.

#bridgerton #season 2 #bridgerton season 2 #casting announcement #peppers and opinions #molly's asks and answers #edmund bridgerton

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clockwork-sparrow · 2 years

Text

Trust Fall

The road to hell is paved with good intentions Parts: 1 2 3 [4] 5 6 Epilogue

4 - Provider

~20+ years ago. Garlemald.

Minerva doesn’t look up when the school bell buzzes. She has a few more minutes - Florus always leaves at the tailend of the horde. But then, she hears his voice echoing in the distance, and worry jolts her into action. He’s off to the side with the bullies from day one, only this time, he’s actually talking to them. With mental blocks removed and confidence on the rise, Florus is...probably going way too far in his venting. He’s telling them exactly what he thinks of them, and one of the kids looks like he’s about to cry. His words have all the subtlety of an iron club. Minerva stifles laughter as Florus, chest puffed and proud, leaves his victims in the dust without a second glance. He takes her hand in his and she stops, pleasantly surprised.

“Look at you today. What’s all this?”

“I-I just want to make sure you’re okay,” he notes with a smile, suddenly shy again. “If that’s okay...”

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” she says.

Florus is the one to talk on the way home this time. He speaks without pause, reminding Minerva of a squeaky balloon that’s leaking air. The topic switches five times a minute, bouncing between the mundane (what he had for breakfast) and unfiltered, childish honesty (10 reasons why his teacher stinks). Listening fills her with a warmth that she’s wholly unprepared for, and her heart begins to sag in her chest, weight groaning against her ribs. The ache spreads like sweet poison, blossoming across her body until it becomes tiring to breathe. Minerva feels the palms of her hands go cold.

“--milk comes from mammals. Why did we choose to drink from only certain animals? Did Emperor Solus decide that for us? And have people tried mouse milk, or cat milk? And...isn’t there a race of cat people? Miqo’te? Do you think cat milk and...well, isn’t that--”

“Florus,” she interjects, and the respect she invisibly exudes makes Florus go quiet. “Do you remember what I said to you before? About unavoidable conflict and difficult choices?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I’m about to make a hard decision. I thought I’d be ready, but...” Minerva’s brow furrows in a rare show of emotion. Noticing this, Florus squeezes her hand.

“Be the one to support, instead of being supported. Choose to make the ones you love happy,” Florus enunciates, trying to deliver every word perfectly. It’s clear that the message has sunk into his head and he’s, quite possibly, practiced saying it in private as well. Minerva sucks in a quick breath and forces a tight smile.

“...You’re far too young to hear an old crone like me complain. Forget I said anything.”

“Why would I forget? I love to hear you talk.”

Minerva smirks at Florus. “Hah, little charmer. Don’t say such words so casually.”

“Huh?” Florus tilts his head. When the silence makes it clear that she isn’t going to elaborate, he shrugs and tugs her hand in a direction away from home. “Um, anyway. Could I show you something?”

She hesitates. Florus sends her a reassuring smile and eventually, Minerva nods. His detour takes them to a hidden corner of the park. Pushing back branches reveals a fallen log that’s been smoothed over time, and Florus plods over to brush snow off of the seat. Minerva lingers at the boundary, feeling very out of place. Sensing her uncertainty, Florus returns to direct her to the log and takes a seat first. See, it’s safe. She carefully lowers herself next to him, pointedly keeping her distance.

“This is where dad and I feed birds,” Florus begins. He pulls out a bag of seeds and shakes it, motioning for Minerva to show him her hands. But she still doesn’t know what to do with herself after she’s been given a handful of seeds, which she holds stiffly like a statue. Florus observes her hesitation and gently guides her by the wrist, moving her into the proper position.

“...Nothing’s coming. Am I doing something wrong?”

“No. You just have to be patient,” Florus notes, pulling something else out of his backpack. Minerva peeks over her shoulder and observes the boy sketch something that’s remarkably complicated given his age. She raises a brow.

“What’s that?”

“Oh. Um.” He stops drawing and drums his pencil end against paper. “I don’t have a name for it, but it’s like...a robot. A robot friend.”

“What do you want it to do?”

“To be there for you no matter what. Play, talk, teach mean people a lesson...” Florus frowns, and then adds a couple of sharp angles to his drawing.

“Sounds like it can be anything,” Minerva chuckles.

Florus nibbles on the end of his pencil and skibbles down her words. Minerva, still offering seeds to absent birds, watches Florus add onto his sketch for several quiet minutes. Eventually, patience rewards them with a bird that lands casually in Minerva’s hands. She stares at it and doesn’t move.

“That’s a road sparrow!” Florus points out with an eager grin. “Heheh, dad teaches me all about birds. This one’s pretty common.”

“I see...” Minerva lets the sparrow eat until all of the seeds are gone. It pecks at her gloved palm once and then flits away. “...Thank you, Florus.”

“For what?”

“For teaching me.” She crosses her hands over her lap and returns to her usual mode of controlled poise. “...I’ll return the favor someday.”

Florus nudges Minerva with his shoulder and grins. She visibly flinches, then sighs. Although Minerva manages to smile back at Florus, something somber and gray clouds her vision.

#ff14 rp #Florus Jen Celsus #Minerva Dus Celsus #she's good for him sobs #they're good for each other #ey the start of project ANY

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ceratonia-siliqua · 4 years

Note

I saw you were open to prompts and I was wondering if you could write something with Android Peter?? (bonus points if smut is involved) Your writing is so good and I would love to see your take on it!

Thank you for waiting! I hope it delivers!!

Ship: WinterSpider (former Stucky mentioned)

Warnings: Nudity mentioned, some dehumanization due to the nature of androids, and some asshole Steve mentioned (sorry buddy)

“Bucky, come on. Just give it a shot.”

“Tony-”

“You’ve been depressed for months, just take him for a few weeks. If you absolutely hate having him around then you can return him. I just finished designing a maternal instincts chip for Pepper, worst case she’d love to use him as baby practice.”

“Fine, fine. Whatever, what do I need to do?”

Tony beamed like Bucky had been the one begging rather than the other way around. The bastard put a hand on his shoulder as he led him out of the study and into the lab. It wasn’t a long walk, just a quick pop down the hall and a few stairs. The room was not a place he ever went, having heard legends of the absolute horror show it was.

The rumors were on the fucking money but not in the way he had expected.

It was filled with mechanical body parts, shocking realistic ones that left him staring as he tried to put together that they’re entirely creations of tech. He knew Tony built droids, fuck, the whole world did. It was his business. He’d gotten so good at the task in fact that he was facing some news shitstorms given the advancements in AI leading to a genuine conversation in what to do as the creations gained further and further sense of sentience. They’d tried to stop Stark, but when you have enough money to buy out the federal government, not much could be done on that front.

“You’re gonna love him. He’s an absolute sweetheart, in fact, he’s got a heavily modified Gen 4 Sweetheart Build. One of a kind! Even perfected the synthetic curls working on him. Possibly one of the kindest AI’s I’ve ever constructed, little bit of a trickster when he wants to be though, couldn’t let you get away without a bit of a challenge-” Tony continued to go on as he practically shoved Bucky towards a side room.

“Tony, please don’t tell me you made this android specifically for me.” He had been under the impression it was a match Tony had made after the fact, not something with genuine thought put into it.

“Can’t just throw any random personality at you, Bucko! You need a specific set of traits and I am happy to deliver seeing as how nothing like this kiddo is like what we have on the market.”

“Tony, you should have asked first. What if I can’t take care of this-” Machine? Man? How was he supposed to refer to this gift Tony was trying to give him?

“Trust me! You will.”

“Tony.” He stopped just before the closed door leading to the room where this now present anxiety was lurking. “Why are you doing this?”

There are several beats of silence before a word passes through the space. “Bucky… you haven’t been the same since Steve left. I want to help you move on from him. It doesn’t take a super genius to see that he broke your heart.”

It would have been kinder to just have punched him in the gut. Steve had abandoned him. Left him for a woman from his youth after promising a life with him. There had been no reason, no suggestion Steve had been unhappy with him, yet one day he was there and the next there was a note on the coffee table and a gaping hole in his apartment.

“Please, just try. I know you’re still trying to work through this but just try him out for a little while. You deserve to be happy, open yourself up to it. That asshole wins if you stay hung up on him forever.”

He really fucking hates when Tony is right.

Without another word he opens the door without Tony’s permission and steps into the room. The tiny form that lays on the fluffy duvet takes his breath away.

The boy is lithe, so small Bucky is scared for a second that Tony has given him a child. Getting closer though he sees the marks of manhood, more defined muscle, raised cheekbones, a lack of true baby fat anywhere on his body. He couldn’t help but notice the way a set of small, smooth balls peek out from his pressed thighs. Yet to see his face and Bucky was already feeling the tugging connection, a need to know more.

Rounding the bundle, he can’t help but pull a blanket off of one of the random shelves, covering the slip of a thing in front of him. Taking the opportunity to glimpse the face of the android coming home with him, he crouches in front of that seemingly sleeping face.

It takes his breath away. Small noise, delicate cupids bow, wild and frenzied curls framing rosy cheeks. He desperately wanted to see those eyes, wanted to know if they were just as soft as the rest of him.

“His name is Peter. One of the most high end models, he has features not even on the market. He can feel cold, heat, pain, pleasure. Both his throat and anal cavity are outfitted with the most expensive and durable stimulation sleeves we have available. I picked a version that everyone loves, top seller. He’s able to cum if you want him too. Knows how to groom himself but has preferences. I picked… something a little more dependent. He’ll keep you busy. Utter love bug is what he is. He’s had a little bit of ‘on’ time, just enough to calibrate some settings. His list of enjoyment is fairly open, he’s predisposed to certain things but since he’s never experienced anything he’s not sure what he likes quite yet. Gentle, kind hearted, and designed to form deep attachments, he should be perfect.”

He is the opposite of Steve. Not the exact opposite, but it seems Tony worried about hitting too close to home and made something that was unfamiliar enough to be wholly new while still takinging into consideration what he might enjoy. Even size wise, where Steve had been bigger than him, Peter was much smaller and maneuverable. Peter could be a doll in his hands if Bucky wanted, put him in control.

“He’s also the second ever android to be programmed with the ability to form connections of love and feel the full range of emotions available to humans.”

Bucky’s head shot towards the other man. “Tony, that’s illegal.”

The frown on that goatee ridden face shows just how aware of that fact he is. “I know, but only on market versions. If you self construct a droid or personally program and install the coding needed, which most people can’t, then it’s fine. I’m not allowed to sell people love, but I can give it to you for free.”

Already stuck in this deal, already tender for the angelic little thing in front of him, he sighs. “We’re not gonna get in shit for this? He’s not gonna get disassembled if people find out?”

“Most people aren’t even going to know he’s not human. Unless they get really close and study him, no one on the street is going to see him and think he’s anything but a regular young man out with his boyfriend.”

“... Alright Tony, you win. Where do I sign?”

____

Becoming conscious, and aware of that consciousness, it is something humans were unprepared for in their creation of AI. After all, children forget the trauma of being born, but how do you prepare a being that can already understand the complexities of life for the sudden plunge into reality? Really, you don’t.

Peter woke up and for the first time, was aware. His systems were all fine, green lit and all areas functional and ready to go. Yet, he didn’t move. Everything was sounds, shapes, colors, objects, things he knew but that were not familiar. It was something to take in, how do you even begin when there is so much?

There is a pressure between his shoulders, and suddenly he is focused on what it is to feel.

“You seem a little overwhelmed, sugar. Everything okay?”

The voice is smooth, registers as male in his system, compared to things he’s never heard but knew the sound of.

“Yeah… just- trying to get my bearings.” At least speech wasn’t a difficulty. It was not comfortable on his tongue but they were still doable, something he could succeed at even as his vision is too full. He closes his eyes, sighing as the lack of input makes everything feel less chaotic within him.

“Take all the time you need, I’ve got plenty to give.”

“What’s your name?” A basic way of understanding, something so ingrained in his code that it was the easiest thing he’d done so far.

“Bucky, James Buchanan Barnes if you wanna get technical but Bucky is fine.”

“Bucky,” The name rolled across his tongue, smooth and buttery. It was new but old, as if he’d been told the name thousands of times. It felt like an old hat, a detail he would remember even if everything else in his memory failed. “I like it.” Something clicked, a sense of enjoyment, a rush of pleasant feelings across his skin and the delicate, hair thin wires underneath.

That seemed to knock the man into silence. Peter reached out, groping for the being that was with him, showing him kindness despite their lack of previous introductions. Fingers grazing something slightly scratchy, he gasps, eyes flying open on reflex when a light pressure envelopes his wrist.

The man is fuzz but Peter knows enough to know what beauty is and this man must be the very definition of it. Long hair, dark shadows across his upper lip and jaw. Blue, a color he had not realized had a name till he saw it here. He feels warm, a giggle escapes him, something he knows is a sign of his happiness, one he hopes Bucky will share in.

Smiling is a sign, a good one. Something that makes Peter giddy as he flexes his fingers against that same scratchy surface on Bucky’s face.

“What is this?” Scritching away with the tips of his digits.

A chuckles, soothing and filled with a note that rolls slow and low across Peter’s ears. “A beard, you know what that is?”

He looks up the word, searching in his head for an answer until it pops up. “Oh! Yes, I do.”

“Really are new to this, aren’t you?”

His cheeks suddenly feel heated and an odd feeling curls in his belly as he glances away.

“It’s okay darling,” There is a rustling of fabrics and a gentle set of lips pressed to his forehead. A sign of affection, and one Peter knows he loves the second he feels it. “We’ll get you all figured out.”

#ask cera #winterspider #peter parker x bucky barnes #mcu #this is unedited so apologies #also it's a bit short but I wanted to get it out before other things buried it in my wips pile forever!#Anonymous #siliqua writes

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ecoamerica · 29 days

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youtube

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

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sophiamcdougall · 4 years

Text

EXPLAINING SANREMO

(PART TWO) I am back. I have barely eaten or slept and Tumblr has tried to murder me and this post multiple times, but I have survived. Thank you for your patience.

Part One of my attempt to explain the seismic experience that is 2020 Sanremo Festival of Italian Song is here.

Ready? I assure you, you are not, but let’s proceed. So Sanremo rages pitilessly on. Now everyone knows what’s at stake, and everyone, including your humble recapper, is exhausted, but doing the gay/chaotic best they can.

As the final battle to save Amadeus, Rancore, Italy and THE WORLD approaches, Achille Lauro has a last message for the troops. And I’m not deducing this, he literally said it on Twitter.

...Hold me I’m scared.

Meanwhile (sort of) (go with it) (time isn’t real at Sanremo) a minor drama has occurred offstage. Singer Tiziano Ferro made an ill-advised joke about Fiorello’s interminable comedy bits, some idiots on Twitter ran away with it, and poor Fiorello was upset! This is minuscule in Sanremo terms. But consider the flapping of a butterfly’s wings. Consider hurricanes. But who is Tiziano Ferro?

Hold on. We’ll get to it. For now ...

Fiorello is dancing seductively for an absolutely delighted Amadeus while dressed as a rabbit. And wearing a blonde wig. Is there a rational explanation for this? I mean, sort of. But also no.

And then he worries Amadeus might give him herpes, which causes Amadeus to freaking snap.

“No, no!” yells the mercurial Fiorello. Amadeus isn’t worthy of his kisses yet. He ricochets out of Amadeus’s arms and into the audience and “passes on” the kiss to a guy in the front row.

“Incredible things are going to happen tonight!” yells Amadeus, who has no fucking idea. ”Beautiful things,” corrects Fiorello.

But just because Fiorello is a mayhem elemental on a mission of love doesn’t mean he hasn’t got feelings.

Enter Italy’s sweetheart, Tiziano Ferro.

Actually, Tiziano’s been there all along. He’s the specialest of special guests, singing through basically his entire back catalogue every night. Which why it really was unfair of him to pick on Fiorello -- it’s not his fault he’s literally got to stand there and babble nonsense for aeons on end, Tiziano! He’s just serving the hungry chthonic entity that is Sanremo, same as you.

While the gay mayhem (the gayhem, if you will) surges around him, Tiziano has been fighting the good gay fight in his own steadfast way, so far untouched. His mere presence is a message of hope in itself, he knows this, and is determined to make it count. Ten years ago he was closeted, convinced coming out would end his career, and suicidal. Now happily married and gloriously successful, he is here to demonstrate that “it gets better”. He radiates such wholesome joy and resilience that everyone loves him.

So anyway, Tiziano didn’t mean to hurt anybody because he would never, and now he wants to make things right. So will Fiorello forgive him?

Ah, what better gesture of reconciliation than to goofily sing a love song written by Fiorello himself. Of course Fiorello forgives Tiziano, because Fiorello loves everyone, good and bad, (after all he loves Amadeus the most). But he is also a chaos being, and he is working harder than anyone else to channel the divine madness of this deranged Sanremo Festival into anyone who gets close. Tiziano, watch out!

Seems TIziano naively thought he could lean in for a staged, nearly kiss, but Fiorello’s very soul is antithetical to “nearly” anything.

“My husband’s going to divorce me!” wails poor Tiziano, but Fiorello has never felt so alive. This is Sanremo, bitches. Rules like “sixty-year-old men can’t be danger twinks, Fiorello,” have ceased to apply. He is an apostle of Achille Lauro, he has accepted the sermon of Benigni into his heart: it is time for PHYSICAL LOVE. While not quite ready (yet) to fuck everyone in the orchestra pit, he is throbbing with readiness, to frolic all over the theatre giving all the guys he can get his hands on THE KISSES OF HIS MOUTH.

Naturally this sparks further firestorms of chaos. “Do it again!” begs grizzled rocker and high-ranking competitor Piero Pelù. Electrified by the touch of Fiorello’s lips, he is later to be found running shirtless through the auditorium where he steals a handbag.

Everyone is kissing everyone, age and orientation be damned. Summoned by the gay sorcery unfolding, 65-year-old queer rock goddess Gianna Nanini manifests and is kissed worshipfully on the lips by 36-year-old duet partner Coez.

There’s also some kind of song competition going on I guess.

This happens:

That’s Ghali, GUYS, IT’S NOT WORKING, rappers ARE DROPPING LIKE FLIES ALL OVER THIS STAGE, WE’VE GOT TO DO SOMETHING.

(... it isn’t really Ghali and don’t worry. This is a gag? Which I still don’t really get? And nor does sweet anarchist cherub Fiorello whom we will later discover is currently being physically restrained from rushing onstage to tend to the fallen rapper’s wounds.)

The real Ghali raps in Arabic which among other things is a big old “me ne frego” of his own to Italian Trump-tribute act and failed wannabe prime minister Matteo Salvini. Then he gets close to Fiorello, which can only end one way.

All the boys are crazy for Fiorello’s kisses but Amadeus still can’t have any

It’s already a difficult night for Amadeus. TV presenter Antonella Clerici enters and far from standing a step beside him, righteously rips the piss out of him, which to be fair he accepts with grace.

And as for Achille Lauro ... ...No. Patience. The time to bear witness to the last stand of Achille Lauro is not yet come. There are other forces stirring at Sanremo.

Chaos has its dark side.

The gun on stage is cocked and loaded. This is it. ENTER MORGAN.

... and enter Bugo, who trails in behind Morgan, looking dazed and haunted. But whatever, it’s a million o’clock in the morning, aren’t we all.

They start to play. Italian Tumblr dozes fitfully on its sofa, idly crackshipping Amadeus and Fiorello. Utterly unprepared.

So most of us don’t notice what’s happening ...

... until the music just stops.

No one’s paid attention to the Morgan and Bugo in days. As far as I’m concerned Fabrizio Moro has already been avenged and my bloodlust is slaked. The song - apparently written wholly by Bugo - honestly, isn’t bad, but Morgan’s been tuneless throughout and their duet/cover last night was cringeable. There have been some major reversals in the rankings but at this point there’s almost no way they’re going to be one of them. And Morgan is not happy.

So Morgan changed the lyrics (and this isn’t even last-minute improv, he fucking printed it) to attack the one person who still had faith in him, blaming Bugo and Bugo alone for their poor performance so far. On live TV. In front of millions. After screaming at Bugo backstage just minutes ago. And he expects Bugo to just stand there and take it.

"Me ne frego to that shit,” thinks Bugo, and becomes the unexpected self-care hero of Sanremo as he vanishes into the night.

And that’s how I learned the Italian word for pandemonium.

Morgan has the absolute nerve to ask what’s going on. Amadeus breaks out in visible cold sweat. Fiorello is thrown bodily onstage to DO SOMETHING, ANYTHING, OH MY GOD.

It’s long past midnight and a bunch of worried middle-aged men in sparkly jackets are scampering around yelping “Bugo? Bugo! BUGO? BUGO!!!” and that, I am here to tell you, when you are already delirious from exhaustion and shitposting-induced hysteria, is more than enough to tip you right over the edge.

Italian Tumblr resigns itself to never sleeping again.The memes aren’t going to make themselves.

youtube

Translation: ”Is Bugo there?” “What’s happening?” “Where’s Bugo gone?” “I have to go and see where Bugo is.” “Bugo left.” “BUGO!”

Morgan wants vengeance. Fiorello, adorably indifferent to the fact that he was shoved on stage to, you know, entertain the audience, wants to find the missing waif, wrap him in a blanket and feed him soup. So they both rush offstage and Amadeus is left alone in a living anxiety dream.

The audience are booing. The 70th fucking Sanremo Festival of Italian Song is falling to pieces on his watch. For all he knows murder is going on backstage and he picked known powder-keg and scoundrel Morgan for the Festival. The buck stops with him. And he has no lines, no back-up, no idea what to do about it.

And then Fiorello, angel of misrule, avatar of lawlessness and love, strolls back onstage. He looks confident and relaxed, like a man with all the answers. Which he is.

“Have you got Bugo?” Amadeus inquires desperately.

NO RULES, NO MASTERS, NO SPONSORSHIP MONEY. ME NE FREGO.

Everything is broken. And somehow everything is OK.

Everyone, Amadeus included, bursts into hysterical, cathartic laughter.

“Is this my fault?” Amadeus asks. “YES!” crows Fiorello, lovingly forcing Amadeus to face his sins and his nightmares in a healing atmosphere of radical acceptance and mass psychosis.

And that’s how Amadeus learned that the real Sanremo was inside us all along. And what he needs in this glorious maelstrom was never a beautiful woman standing a step behind him. It’s a chaos pixie dream boy at his side.

It’s time to cast out toxic masculinity and become a better man.

So Amadeus wraps up the show as best he can and then out of pure human compassion, he and Fiorello personally wander the streets of Sanremo looking for Bugo until four in the morning.

Bugo and Morgan are automatically disqualified

And now let us witness the final passion of Achille Lauro. Who is this Achlle Lauro kid anyway? How intentional is all this? Is he the Messiah, or a very naughty boy?

SO YEAH. Anyway, everyone’s wondering what the fuck Achille and his producer/guitarist Boss Doms (yes, really) are going to do, and BE, next. Achille’s first three looks were inspired by St Francis of Assisi, David Bowie, and Marchesa Luisa Casati.

So ... Freddie Mercury, maybe? Elizabeth I? Jesus Christ? And after the flurry of kissing Fiorello whipped up ..

Will they ... can they ... dare they...

Do you even need to ask?

I have no idea how the crazy bastards who guessed “Elizabeth I” did it.

Achille thrusts his hips against Boss’s backside. Drops to his knees before him and lets the shape of the microphone speak for itself. Briefly chokes him. And throughout they are tender, elegant, and utterly, regally dignified.

And then, at last.

A joyous chorus of maenad-like shrieks rings out across Europe. If you’re in the Greater London area and your ears are still sore, I’m sorry. That was me.

That’s it. Achille Lauro and Boss Doms ascend into heaven and pass into history.

Not even they can give more to Sanremo.

The dust settles.

The dawn breaks.

WE FUCKING DID IT! RANCORE LIVES! WOUNDED (as are we all) BUT SMILING AT A WORLD TRANSFORMED! (Not only that but, after starting at the bottom of the leaderboard he’s been catapulted up into the top ten and wins the special prize for Best Lyrics!)

And Amadeus?

Well, let’s hear from him in his own words.

Because Fiorello asked him to, Amadeus is wearing a blonde wig to look like legendary TV host Maria de Filippi. Amadeus doesn’t normally sing, but because Fiorello asks him to, he joins him in song.“A WORLD OF LOVE! LOVE! LOVE!” they chorus. It’s the hymn of the new day.

“He can make me do anything!” Amadeus sighs to the audience. So Fiorello asks him to slow-dance. And they do.

The prophecy has been fulfilled. Amadeus has let love into his heart. He has surrendered to the holy power of gay chaos. He is a man reborn.

He didn’t find Bugo on that long, gruelling dark night of the soul, because incredibly, poor Bugo never left the theatre and spent the night literally hiding in a cupboard.

But he found something else.

As Sanremo finally, mercifully approaches its end, Fiorello grapples him close and, all teasing cast aside, whispers fiercely in his ear:

And somehow it was.

And toxic masculinity?

To find out why don’t we - and I am sorry about this - check in on Matteo Salvini who would normally be rage-tweeting up a Trump-style storm by now. He loves bitching about Sanremo for being “rigged by the left” or occasionally letting a non-lily-white performer win, and this year he even tried to organise a boycott. Let’s see how that’s going.

This, the gayest-ever Sanremo in history, is the most-watched Sanremo in 18 years, with an incredible 60% audience share.

“Me Ne Frego” flies to the top of the Spotify charts. (And though the judges are still cowards and traitors who left Achille in 8th place, there is no doubt across the media who the real star of the festival was. ) And Salvini’s “boycott” just meant he effectively banned himself from making a peep about it.

So who won the festival?

ALL OF US.

Oh, you meant literally.

This guy. His name is Diodato and his song is called “Fai Rumore” (Make a Sound.) It’s fine.

And that was Sanremo. It wasn’t a dream, it was a place. And you, and you, and you were there.

#Explaining Sanremo #Explaining Sanremo Part 2 #Sanremo #Sanremo 2020 #Achille Lauro #Amadeus #Fiorello #Amadello #sanremo 70

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

tapestry 👑 XIV

Warnings: eventual dark elements (tags to be added as fic continues)

This is dark!(king)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: King Steven had a wandering eye but you never thought it would fall upon you.

This Chapter: The reader speaks with the king.

Note: Okay. Tomorrow is an early morning and I dunno if I’ll be posting but hey, 14 days in a row is fine, right? Let’s not worry about that though. We have some royal intrigue ahead of us and I know we’re all impatient but we’re going to have to take our time as it all comes to a head.💋 😉 I know what y’all are really waiting for lol.

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply! Love ya!

masterlist

A week ago, you would've resented the king's surveillance. His insistence that you travel with a guard and only under his blessing. You were cloistered in his concern but you could not spurn it. For you were afraid. Truly.

That morning after you supped, you requested a walk of the palace corridors. Marge returned with the king's permission but the guard who stood vigilantly at your door was to accompany you. His sword always at the ready; both alarming and assuring.

The castle was airy as the winter descended upon the new year. You wore a thin cloak over your gown as you traversed the ancient halls. The guard's sword tinkled against his belt as Marge's shivers whispered in your ear. Your own breath mingled with the beating of your heart in an ominous symphony.

You neared the royal corridors along your aimless path and paused just before that which led to Eleanor's chambers. You looked to your escorts and crept a few feet nearer. You turned to look up at the tapestry beside her doors.

The rosettes stuck out from the field and gave lifelike bloom to the grasses. You tilted your head as you took in the expanse of cloth and thread. There it was; that twist of cloth which marked the last day you'd been yourself.

"My lady," Marge said softly. "Are you well?"

"Well enough," You answered as you leaned closer to the wall.

"Should we linger here?" She breathed as the guard gripped his pommel.

"Do you think the queen should emerge and slay me where I stand?" You asked dryly.

Marge frowned and shook her head. You turned away from the fabric and retreated from the corridor.

"Let us continue our walk. Perhaps I should see to my father when he is free of council." You mulled. "Or perhaps we shall return as we were."

Upon the next corner, you heard the noise of approaching footsteps. Your guard stepped before you and slowed. Shadows reflected in lantern light as the figures neared and emerged at the end of the corridor. Your guard relaxed and stood at alert as you bowed in greeting of the unexpected royal.

King T'Challa did not pass though. He instead stopped to greet you, almost as if he knew you.

"Your highness," You said.

"My lady," He nodded to you and smiled. "Do you tarry alone?"

"Alone?" You looked to Marge who looked to the floor shyly. "I have my maid."

"But should you not be in attendance of your queen?" He asked.

"She has pardoned me from her court," You replied carefully. "So I attend to myself."

"Oh," He considered you as thoughts glimmered in his eyes. "Not many queens would tolerate a paramour in her court."

You averted your eyes in shame.

"Do not think I judge you, my lady," He continued. "I am only curious. I hear things and they do intrigue me. They say you are devious and calculating, others allege you to be pious and humble. I suspect they are all true."

"Your highness?" You looked to him.

"You are calculating in that you did heed the king's reputation, devious in that you would withhold any particular leaning to save your own, pious in that you worship your honour, and humble in that you cannot see what a mess you've created." He smiled proudly. "Do not think my words to be unkind, for without even knowing you, I do admire you."

"Admire?" You echoed. "For what?"

"For your resolve. For withstanding a storm that would tear many apart." He said. "My lady, would you be averse to me walking with you?"

"I would not refuse such an offer," You accepted evenly.

"Even now, you maintain your courtesy," He remarked. "And you bide my bald words."

He turned so that he was shoulder to shoulder with you, Marge retreated to walk with the guards. The king awaited your first step and you hesitated before you took it.

"I suppose I cannot find where to disagree with them." You countered.

"Mmm," He hummed thoughtfully. "I do wonder… after all I've heard of you and your snaring of the king. Why, my lady, I might offend you again but you are rather plain for a seductress."

"I am aware," You said stiffly. "Believe me when I say I am just as shocked as any at my circumstance and wholly unprepared."

"And what would prepare you? What should make a lady ready for a king?" He pondered. "Do you think you should be like Queen Eleanor?"

"She is strong. Bred to be a queen." You said. "She is better made for it than me."

"A queen who has sewn discord among her court and without." He looked to you as he spoke. "I am certain you have heard of my pre-standing relationship with the queen."

"I've heard as much as you have of me," You said.

"So you would. She's barely changed since I knew her. Colder, perhaps." He mused. "I thought I did love her until I realized she did not love me."

You lowered your brow as he let his eyes float ahead of him.

"We were betrothed. I'd lived among her family for years. We spent hours a day together and I was quite taken by her. As any boy would be.

“But when I was recalled home and war loomed over us, I did swear to her I would appease my father so that we may still marry. So that we could one day rule over our kingdoms peacefully. Together."

He paused and let out a long breath. "She told me she could not wait to be my queen and I thought she meant it. The next I heard of her, she'd set sail for another prince."

"Why are you telling me this?" You asked.

"Because I am certain you know how Eleanor can be. One moment she is your friend and the next, she's not."

He stopped and turned to you as you struggled not to trip on your skirts.

"Eleanor's spies learned of my visit the day before I reached the capital. She did try to have them keep me from my arrival. She failed." He shook his head as a wistful air came over him. "I do not trust your king either but he has yet to betray me as Eleanor did. In so much as I can fathom it, she has betrayed us both."

"And so what? You seek kinship with him? A shared loathing?"

"I intend to rescue my reputation which has so long been stained by Eleanor and what she has done to me." His jaw set as he held his shoulders high. "I seek to repay the queen in kind."

"And what would be my role in all this?" You asked.

"Your role is at has been. If you remain as you are, you might just get out of this alive." He looked to his guard and nodded. "My lady, I shall leave you to your path as mine would diverge here, thought I am certain they will meet again."

He bowed his head and you returned the courtesy. He smiled kindly and turned sharply on his heel. You watched him go. You were stuck in place as the thoughts flurried in your head. Those which hadn't ceased for days now. Though this king had added to the list.

As he disappeared around the next corner, you wondered if he offered you advice or issued you a threat.

👑

That night, you went to the king to sup. His invitation had been firm and without refusal. Since the servant boy's demise, he was ever more insistent. Ever more demanding. Often, you found his presence overbearing; at one moment, entirely inflamed in his anger and the next consumed by his affections.

When his doors were opened to you, you stepped within nervously. You still weren’t used to his chambers. The skin carpet before the heart, the large desk that loomed before the window, the twin tapestries along the east and west walls, and the grated candelabrum which hung from the ceiling.

Hugh remained and the replacement for the royal taster. This one lanky and blond, almost fearful as he but into the food. You couldn't blame him for as you watched him, you saw the red-headed boy open your carpet. Though this one did not keel over.

You sat across from the king as he ate with one hand and in the other shuffled through sheets of parchment. His blue eyes were vigilant as if the letters would move should he look away.

You watched him as you ate. He rubbed his eyes as he set aside a page and leaned back. The wrinkles left his brow as he looked to you.

"I am happy to see you eating, my lady," He said. "You seem not so wary."

“I remain cautious," You assured him. "As this court remains treacherous."

"Oh, but we should search out the snake that does hide in the branches and drain its venom before its fangs should sink too deep."

"May I ask…" You began and caught yourself. "I dare not."

"Well, you've begun so you may." He drank from his wine and picked at his plate.

"I do worry at the presence of the Wakandan king. Of what should precipitate such a spontaneous invitation."

"You should worry of the presence which remained without invitation," He took another bite and wiped his mouth. "Of one who wishes you harm. Perhaps even wishes it upon myself."

"Then…" You began tentatively and he tilted his head. "Would it be wiser to send me away until they are found out? Until these ill tides wash over?"

"Send you away?" He sat back so heavily his chair wobbled. "So that they may have you upon your own. May see you vulnerable and far away."

"I would not be alone. I would see my mother and sister." You argued. "They have a household, and security of their own. Edward does keep my sister well looked after."

"No, you are safe here. With me." He snarled. "You are safest close to me and I will not, cannot, be without you."

"Your highness," You reached to him and placed your hand on his. "I am afraid."

"I know, I know," He softened and turned his hand to grip yours. "But I shall see you safe, my lady. My love." He tugged until you rose and pulled you to stand before him. "For I fear for you too and that drives me to see that you are kept well."

"Your highness," You lowered your lashes, "I thank you for your care but ask that you do consider my request further."

"I shall consider it," His hand trailed along your bodice and he played with the braided belt at your waist. "But you will not leave me. Ever."

"And will you answer my first question?" You asked as he took your hand again and admired it.

"You are in need of rings," He commented. "Rubies. Maybe a sapphire."

"You elude me again." You accused.

"I do not elude, only delay…" He looked up at you, "Because I cannot help but admire you."

"Well, then I await an answer, your highness," You said.

"Sit," He drew you between his knees and sat back. "And I shall tell you then."

You looked at him. He grinned and watched you patiently. You turned and lowered yourself into his leg. Your skirts fanned put around you both. You found, as Rose advised, to appease him was easy and most times, convenient.

His hand hovered along your back and he beamed up at you.

"You asked why the Wakandan king should be here. You are clever and you see beyond my courtly explanations. A good omen for your future." He preened.

"I saw the queen's reaction as did many others." You said. "I saw her discomfort, her unhappiness deeper than before."

"So you can guess that she knows the king." Steven led you. "And that he does threaten her current position."

"I see not how he could intimidate her," You baited as you blinked in a show of confusion. "She is a queen, he is a king. They are of separate kingdoms, ordained in their own right."

"Oh, you are young and, despite your wisdom, still naive," His hand spread over your hip and squeezed. "The queen does put herself in a perilous position so that she may be easily toppled.

"And she is aware of it so she fears any. King T'Challa, me, you. And behind her paranoia is guilt, though that has yet to come to light. Though I do peer into the dark."

"And what shall the people think?" You asked.

"What I tell them to think. What the truth tells them to think." His arm was full against you as his hand was tight along your side. "They want a queen who loves them. A queen who is kind. A queen who can give them hope… an heir."

"Eleanor is young still." You argued.

"She has been young for many years and she does not quicken. She would say I strayed far too much to see to an heir but I laid with her as much as any woman." His eyes bore into you as his other hand fluttered along your thigh."But this past year, she does not yield to me. She does not even try."

"And you've gone to her?"

"Not in some time but only for when I dared to visit she did bicker with me." He sighed. "I could have not begot and heir if I'd tried, she does hate me so."

"And you would try no further?" You prodded.

"She would not let me and there is not to try for. " He grieved. "An heir must be lawful or he may not sit the throne."

You held his eye then looked to your hands as they clung to each other. His hand closed on your skirts and he squeezed your thigh through the layers. You winced and raised your head.

He was aflame as he leaned in. His arm snaked up your back as he grabbed your head and pressed his lips to yours. You pushed on his chest as he kissed you. He did not relent until you were out of breath.

"Your highness," You breathed but stayed in his lap, too afraid to move.

"I… must have you." He purred.

"We cannot--"

His arms cradled you suddenly and he stood with you aloft. You clung to him to keep from slipping, dizzy from the sudden movement. He kissed you again as he walked blindly around his chair. You squirmed and he hummed onto your mouth.

When he parted, you gasped, your cheeks burned. "It would not be lawful. As you said…"

"Hugh, you may leave us." He said.

"Your highness," You pleaded as Hugh started for the door. "Please. You would ruin us both. Have we not waited this long?"

The king took you to the couch and laid you down beneath him as you struggled. He had you pinned, his hand around your chin. He snarled at you, his nose almost touched yours.

"We do not wait on your accord anymore, my lady," He rasped. "I am your king. Do you feel how easy it would be? How simply I could have you?"

"I do," You gulped as he crushed you under him. He forced his knee between yours as you shoved on his shoulders weakly. Hugh's footsteps continued. "I do. Would you? For one night? For if you do that's all it could be."

He smirked and rubbed his nose against yours. "Hugh, you may remain," He said as he removed himself from you. "Let you be witness to our shared abstinence."

His voice was dull and irritated. You pushed yourself up and drew your legs away from him as he sat back entirely. You felt almost hurt by his demeanour as his blue eyes stared at the carpet and he moped.

"Your highness," You said softly but he didn't respond. "Steven?"

His lashes flicked and he looked to you. The tension left his jaw and he nodded.

"I'm...sorry."

"I am, too," He said as he took your hand. "But you are right. This will be over soon and we cannot spoil it in a single evening."

#tapestry #Steve Rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #medieval au #dark steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader #au #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #mcu #marvel #captain america #bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes

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skelelephant · 4 years

Note

You should talk about jared hopworth more 👀👀👀 we would like to hear your thoughts about him

Hey anon, I saw your ask when you sent it four days ago and was immediately paralyzed by the enormity of my feelings for this meat man but now I am HERE I am READY I have an entire fucking essay

*slams a whole stack of notes onto the table*

Alright folks it’s infodumping time (speaking of which thank u so much for this opportunity I am eternally in your debt)

I’m putting the bulk of this under the cut bc it ended up being long and I don’t want to clog people’s dashes with my Boneturner analysis hehehfhfhs

So I’ve spent a LOT of time thinking about Jared’s story bc I connected with his character in a way that I was,,, wholly unprepared for, but here we are.

I think what I love most about his whole arc is that the transformation from “regular guy” into “horrible, Bad To Look At meat monstrosity” happens at the exact same time as his transformation from “high school bully who never grew up” to “chill gardener who just wants to tend to his plants.”

Jared’s story begins as a story about having a lot of expectations put on you because of the way you are and sort of growing into those expectations because that’s all you ever hear.

I think what rlly endeared me to him was when he commented to Jon how his dad loved how he towered over people, even when he was really young. As someone who’s also been considerably taller than most of her peers and even a good number of the adults in her life since she was young, I could empathize with the experience of being touted around and shown off bc you’re more than what you should be at that age. It leaves awkwardly large shoes to fill from a person that doesn’t exist outside of people’s perception of you, but you still find yourself struggling to fill them all the same. (Maybe that’s me projecting a little but I think it makes sense with Jared given how we know he ends up.)

And so with Jared, I think the positive emphasis on his physical appearance contrasted with intellectual and emotional pursuits being negative, (Sebastian did say he’d always been “thick as mud”,) I think the fact that he put the most stock in his physical abilities and based his self-worth around being bigger and stronger than everyone around him was really a self-fulfilling prophecy in terms of how he turned out.

Which brings us to his supernatural elements. Jared basing his entire self-worth around his physical strength and the power he could lord over others made him an ideal candidate for the Flesh. He gained a power that allowed him to take from others and make himself stronger for it, basically amplifying his already aggressive and destructive tendencies.

But underneath the obvious benefits, the Boneturner’s Tale gave Jared a way forward.

When Jon takes Jared’s statement in the Spiral’s corridors, Jared talks about trying to look ahead and see some sort of future for himself, but everything that had sustained him up until that point had stopped, and he was faced with the unpleasant reality that he had nowhere to go. His one actual friend had gone off to university without him and had moved on with his life, but Jared was still stuck.

The Boneturner’s Tale solved that problem for him and gave him a purpose, (thought he ended up being mostly self-serving.) Jared himself even admits that he doesn’t know what would’ve happened to him if he hadn’t gotten the book from Sebastian.

And then, after a life of meat crimes and bone stealing, we find Jared Hopworth in a garden.

And I cannot fucking TELL YOU how much I’ve thought about the significance of Jared’s domain being a garden.

Throughout his life, both pre and post-Flesh avatar, Jared’s used destruction and intimidation to preserve his self worth. He “wrecked” his high school, he only had one friendship ever that wasn’t built entirely off of fear (and he killed Seb himself,) and he only ever used his Boneturning abilities to hurt and kill those around him. (Even the people in the gym ended up being intimidated by Jared, so you can’t really count them as friends.)

But his domain isn’t the meat processing plant we see later on, or the endless butcher shop, or even a bigger version of the gym— it’s the Mortal Garden.

A place where Jared is actively nurturing the plants under his care. (I use those words loosely, of course, we all know what it was.) That in itself demonstrates how Jared’s intentions have shifted.

And the characterization in his interaction with Jon and Martin also goes to show just how much Jared’s changed over the course of his time as the Boneturner. Jared knows Jon’s going to kill him, and at first it seems as though he’s going to resort back to his old ways and fight Jon using brute force.

But then Martin asks him to stop.

Martin, who by all accounts is exactly the kind of person who Jared would’ve looked down on before as someone weaker than himself.

Martin, who is entirely smaller than Jared’s monstrous body and just does not measure up in the skewed point of view that Jared used to look at the world from.

(For the record, I don’t think Martin’s weak. I think he’s a very kickass man and I love him sm. This is just me looking at him through Jared POV so it’s a little toxic oops—)

But the point of that scene is that Jared does stop. And while he probably holds no respect for Martin, he does listen to him in the end.

And I just keep thinking about how pre-Boneturner Jared wouldn’t have backed down from that fight. His pride and his self-worth being attached to being the biggest and the strongest wouldn’t have allowed him to accept that he was outmatched. If Jared truly kept the same mindset he had at the beginning of his story he would’ve died trying to kill Jon and Martin before Jon got him, and he would’ve lost.

But instead he asks to hear about his garden, and before he dies his last thoughts are of what will happen to it after he’s gone.

Hshdhfhdhsha so that’s it!! Cheers to you if you actually read this whole thing bc honestly there’s probably very few people who actually care enough about Jared Hopworth to read a whole character analysis about him. Honestly I’m just happy to have an excuse to talk about him bc I love this horrible meaty man so so much and if he’s only remembered by that one comment about Martin being Jon’s boyfriend I will perish

#THIS ENDED UP BEING SO LONG HHAHSHSH #headass lesbian talks about her weird comfort character for too long asmr #the self projection in this one is. entirely embarassing #anyway if youre out there and you also have thoughts and feelings about jared boneturner hopworth pls reach out #i am literally always down to talk about him #tma #the magnus archives #jared hopworth #my favourite chords

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thecassadilla · 4 years

Text

Anything For You

Pairing: Kristanna

Word Count: 3,688/AO3

Summary: Anna agrees to go camping despite her uncertainties, but Kristoff has a few tricks up his sleeve to make their experience more comfortable.

Author’s Note: Hi all! Here I am, once again writing about a topic that I know nothing about. I’m sure I got something wrong haha. I’m also the most indecisive person on the face of the earth, so I couldn’t decide how to end this. I don't even know if any of this makes sense tbh XD I hope you enjoy it regardless!

“I don’t want you to leave,” Kristoff sighed.

“I wish I could stay, but we both have work in the morning and I have to drive home.” Anna wrapped her arms around him. “I’ll see you on Friday.”

“I actually wanted to talk to you about that,” he said sheepishly, before pulling away and rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “You didn’t actually plan to do anything except hang out this weekend, right?”

“No,” she shook her head. “Did you have something in mind?”

“Well, I was hoping to go camping. I haven’t been in a long time - since before we got together - and I’d love for you to come with me,” he explained, before hastily adding, “But only if you want to, of course.”

“I’ve never been camping before,” she responded, feeling a bit uneasy about the idea. Any vacations that her family had taken had always been to some kind of fancy resort; the thought of camping had never crossed her mind as a thing people really did until she was a teenager.

“I know, and I know it’s probably not something you’re thrilled about, but it’s only for two nights. I really want to go hiking and fishing before it gets too cold out.”

“Okay,” she nodded. “If that’s what you want to do.”

“Really?” he asked, his face lighting up.

“Of course! Don’t be silly.”

“This is going to be so great,” he smiled. “I wasn’t sure what you were going to say, but I’m really glad that you’re willing to come along.”

“I’d do anything for you, Kristoff,” she promised, giving him another hug for good measure. “I’ll let you know when I get home, okay?”

He nodded. “Okay, drive safely.”

“I will.”

She spent the entire twenty minute drive agonizing over what the weekend would be like; she knew nothing about camping. In her head, all she could picture were tents and sleeping bags in the middle of the cold, dark woods. She was so focused on her thoughts that she had no recollection of the actual drive; with a sigh, she made her way inside, taking notice of the fact that the lights were still on, which could only mean that her sister was awake. She kicked her shoes off in the entryway and texted Kristoff before venturing in.

“Hey,” she called out as she approached the living room.

“Hi,” Elsa responded, not taking her eyes away from the book she was reading. “How are you?”

“Pretty good,” Anna responded, sitting on the opposite end of the couch. “I’m going camping this weekend.”

Elsa looked up at her younger sister and blinked a few times in disbelief. “You’re going camping?”

“I know,” Anna cringed. “But it’s something that Kristoff really likes to do, and it’s not like I’ve ever done it before, so I don’t really know that I’m going to hate it.”

“I don’t know, sleeping on the floor in the middle of the woods sounds very unappealing to me.”

“Yeah, but we’ll be in a tent.”

“What about bugs? Or bears? Or the countless other wild animals that lurk in the woods?”

Anna shrugged, a bit of anxiety rising in her. “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

“And what will you eat? Where will you go to the bathroom?”

“I don’t know, Elsa,” she answered exasperatedly. “Look, I’m going to go and if it’s really awful then I’ll just request that next time we get a camper or something. But I don’t want to disappoint Kristoff and say ‘no’ off the bat because he does everything that I want to do.”

Elsa nodded thoughtfully. “That’s really nice of you. I don’t know if I would be willing to do the same.”

“I have a feeling that you’ll feel differently if you ever love someone,” she muttered under her breath, sliding off of the couch. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go figure out what on earth I’m supposed to pack.”

She headed upstairs to her room, and sat down on her bed before grabbing her laptop and logging on. After a few minutes of research, it became clear that she didn’t have most of the things that were required to go camping in the fall, and amidst her anxiety returning, she decided that a quick call to her lifeline wouldn’t hurt.

Kristoff answered on the first ring. “Hey, Anna.”

“Hi, honey. Do you have a minute?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“So, I’m trying to figure out what I have to bring with me this weekend, and I’m having a bit of a hard time because I don’t really have any of the things this website says I should have.”

“Like what?”

She squinted at the screen whilst reading off some of the items to him. “Waterproof boots, a rain jacket, a sleeping bag...sleeping pads? I don’t even know what that is.”

“It’s like a cushion that you put down so you aren’t sleeping on directly on the hard ground,” he explained. “It’s also an extra layer of insulation.”

“Gotcha,” she remarked. “Will we have time to stop somewhere so I can get these things?”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got it covered.”

“I have total faith in you, I do - but unless you have a pair of boots in my size laying around somewhere, we will have to stop and get them.”

“It’ll all be taken care of,” he assured her.

“You know what? I’ll go to the mall and buy the stuff I need before we leave on Friday.”

“I don’t have any issues with stopping,” he promised. “You don’t have to rush out and go buy a bunch of stuff.”

“Alright,” she said, cautiously. “Can you text me a list of clothes I should pack? And what type of bag I should pack them in.”

“Absolutely, but you really won’t need as much as you think you do.”

“That’s easy for you to say; you’re a human furnace. It’s probably going to be very cold at night and everything I’ve read says to wear lots of layers.”

“Just...trust me,” he breathed, in a rather content tone.

It was both comforting and alarming to her. “I trust you.”

“Please try not to worry about it, it’s going to be great.”

She smiled to herself. “I’ll try.”

“Good, now try to get some sleep, okay?”

“Okay,” she agreed. “Goodnight. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

“And don’t forget to send me that list!” she called at the last second, and she heard him laugh before the line went dead.

Her phone buzzed a minute later; she glanced down at the text that read, Warm clothes, toiletries, backpack. Don’t overthink it. Love you.

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes; it was the opposite of helpful. Regardless, she sent back a message thanking him, setting her mind to doing more research and getting the necessities at the mall.

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

A trip to the mall after work on Friday was not enough to quell Anna’s anxiety about the camping trip; she still felt wholly unprepared, even as she was sitting on the floor of her bedroom, folding her clothes and allowing her mind to race. A soft knock on the door brought her back to reality. She looked over, and Kristoff was leaning against her doorframe.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

“Hey, I didn’t know you were here already!”

“I texted you, but it’s not a big deal. Elsa let me in.”

“Sorry, my phone is charging over there,” she said, pointing to her desk.

He sat down on the edge of her bed and watched as she hurried to throw her clothes into her backpack. “Is that my hoodie?”

“Maybe.” She shoved the sweatshirt into the bag and changed the subject. “I went to the mall today.”

He cocked his head. “I promised that we would stop to get the stuff that you needed.”

“I know. We still have to stop at the camping supplies store for my boots. The sporting goods store at the mall was all sold out and I need them.”

“We’ll get them. What’d you get at the mall?”

“I bought wool socks. And a puffer vest and a fleece jacket. I already had a hat and a scarf and mittens, of course.”

“That sounds good, you won’t feel cold wearing all of that.”

“I had to go on a wild goose chase for leggings, though, because all of the Victoria’s Secret leggings I have are made of cotton and that’s not a good material to wear while camping, apparently.”

“You did a lot of research about camping, huh?”

“I had to, my boyfriend was being intentionally vague,” she remarked, narrowing her eyes at him.

“I wasn’t being intentionally vague,” he corrected. “You’re not an avid hiker and camper, you don’t really need special camping-only clothes.”

She zipped up her bag. “But you like camping, so this is probably not a one time thing - unless you plan on going without me after this.”

“You’re always invited,” he assured her. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I feel a little unprepared, though. Are you sure that I have everything I’ll need?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” he chuckled. “It’s going to be fine.”

Anna stood up and unplugged her phone and it’s charger, stuffing them both into the side pocket of her backpack. She slid one of the straps over her shoulder. “Ready.”

He followed her down the stairs and to the front door, where Elsa was waiting.

“Be safe,” she said, pulling Anna in for a hug.

“We will,” Anna assured her. “See you on Sunday.”

“Have fun!” Elsa called from the doorway as they walked out.

They climbed into the car, which was parked at the end of the driveway, and Anna set her backpack on the floorboard near her feet. Kristoff started the engine, then leaned over the center console to reach something in the backseat. Upon turning back around, set a box on her lap. “Here, these are for you.”

It was a shoe box. She flipped open the lid and inside were grey hiking boots with purple accents and laces. Her breath caught in her throat. “You bought me boots?”

“Yeah, you said you needed them.”

“You remembered my shoe size?”

“...Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow. “Was I not supposed to know?”

“No,” she shook her head. “I only dragged you shoe shopping, like, once so I didn’t think that you knew what size I wore.”

“You didn’t drag me anywhere,” he corrected. “It’s just something that I paid attention to. I know for a fact that you know my shoe size even though I’ve never bought shoes in front of you.”

“I do,” she nodded, looking down at the box again. “Thank you for thinking of me.”

“Anything for my girl,” he grinned, shifting gears from park to drive.

The drive up to the campsite went by fast; the roads were empty and they were able to enjoy each other’s company and talk as they made their way through the mountains, as well as stop at a diner for a quick meal. After an hour on the road, Kristoff pulled into a parking lot surrounded by lush green pine trees.

“This is the place?” she asked, a wave of anxiety rushing over her. The sky was overcast and it was a little foggy, and on top of that she couldn’t see any visible trails or signage from where she was sitting. She figured that there had to be one around here somewhere.

He nodded, parking on the far end. “This is it.”

He climbed out of the car and went around the back to open the trunk. In the meantime, she opened her own door and twisted so her legs could hang out and she could put her boots on. She toed off her sneakers, and slid her foot into the first boot, realizing for the first time how heavy they were.

Kristoff appeared in front of her. “You need some help?”

“No, I’ve got it,” she answered, tugging the laces through the hook eyelets. When they felt tight enough, she tied the ends onto a knot and started with the other boot. When she finished, he held out his hand and she took it before hopping out of the car.

“Put your sneakers in your backpack,” he recommended. “You’ll be dying to take those off when we get to the site.”

“Okay,” she agreed. She did as he said, squeezing the shoes into the bag and then slid her arms into each of the straps. She closed the door and walked back to the trunk, growing concerned when she realized he hadn’t brought that much stuff along with him. “Where’s all your stuff?”

“It’s right here,” he said, patting the duffle bag.

“There’s no way that that’s everything we need for two nights.”

“Everything’s in here,” he assured her.

“You’re joking, right? Where’s the tent? The sleeping bags? Food and water? They can’t all possibly fit in that tiny bag.”

He placed a hand on each of her shoulders. “Anna, relax, you’re working yourself up over nothing. I’ve got it all covered, okay?”

“Okay,” she nodded, exhaling shakily. She wasn’t quite sure if she believed him, but he was the camping expert.

He removed his hands in order to close the trunk, and then took her by the hand. “Come on, we’re going this way.”

He led her toward a densely packed area of trees, no path in sight. She gulped. “We aren’t going to be following a trail? We’re just going to...walk in the woods?”

“Yup,” he answered.

“That doesn’t seem very safe,” she remarked.

“I know these woods, we’ll be fine.”

Although he was trying to be reassuring, it was not helpful in the slightest. Her mind was wandering - what would they do if they encountered a wild animal? Or if they got lost - how would help find them? Would they starve to death or freeze to death? Meanwhile, Kristoff was as cool as a cucumber, forging ahead and seemingly doing so without a care in the world.

They walked for a long time, much longer than she had imagined they would. The woods were damp and cold, with lots of ups and downs in the terrain. A slight separation formed between them, and she trailed behind him, struggling to keep up. They kept the talking to a minimum, until she recognized the area that they were in.

“Hey, haven’t we passed these trees before?”

“No.”

She wiped the sweat off her brow with the back of her hand. “Are you sure? Because I swear that I’ve seen this fallen tree.”

“It’s your mind playing tricks on you,” he assured her. “Just keep walking, don’t pay too much attention to the trees because they all look alike.”

She threw her head back in a moment of frustration and groaned, but did as he said and kept walking. She kept reminding herself that he knew a lot more than she did, but it was incredibly difficult to not worry about their safety. Her feet were starting to ache from wearing the unbroken-in boots, and carrying the weight of her backpack was getting harder and harder on her back and shoulders with each step. When it had started to become noticeably darker, and they were still walking, she spoke up again.

“Kristoff?” she called, a little breathless from the thin mountain air.

He turned around. “Yeah?”

“Shouldn’t we stop somewhere soon? I know that you’re the camping expert, but it’s getting dark out and we still need to set everything up.”

He stopped for a moment, allowing her enough time to catch up to him before they continued. “The site is just a little bit further ahead, we’ll make it.”

“I trust you, but you’re making me a little nervous.”

“You have nothing to be nervous about,” he assured her, in a sincere tone.

She stopped dead in her tracks regardless. “No offense, but that’s something a serial killer would say.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Did you just accuse me of bringing you out here so I could murder you?”

He reached out to take her hand and she took a step back, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s just a little too convenient. I may be a lot smaller than you, but I could kick your ass if I have to.”

“That won’t be necessary,” he chuckled, motioning for her to continue following him.

She did, though she tried to keep a safe distance in case she had to run. “You’re just acting so...strange.”

“You’ll see why as soon as we get past this cluster of trees.”

Suddenly, the land in front of them cleared into a wide open space. He pointed to a rather large campground that was not populated by tents, but rather by a few wood cabins. “There. That’s where we’re staying.”

Her heart was racing, now. “But those are cabins.”

“I know.”

“Wait, are we not sleeping in a tent?”

“We’re not,” he said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. “Surprise.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “I’m so confused.”

“Look, I know that you’ve never been camping before, and I really wanted you to come along, but I knew that you were a little uncomfortable with the idea of sleeping outside.”

“You did this for me?”

“Of course,” he said in a low voice, before pressing a kiss to her temple. “You agreed to come because you knew it would make me happy. The least I could do was make sure that you would be comfortable.”

“But I just…accused you of being a serial killer. And I threatened to beat you up.”

“Because I spent an hour and a half leading you in circles around the woods and deflecting your questions to throw you off.”

She blinked a few times, unable to slow her pounding heart or her racing mind. “I don’t know what to say.”

“How about we go check it out?”

“Okay,” she nodded.

The walk across the field was much easier than their trudge through the woods.

“My truck is actually parked right over there.” He pointed to the right, and though it was hard to see, there was a parking lot just past the furthest cabin on that side. He then pointed to the furthest cabin on the left. “We’re staying in that last one on the left.”

“How did I not see any of these?” she asked, dumbfounded.

“Because I parked on the far end and took you through the woods, behind the cabins. If I had wanted you to see them, you would’ve.”

“This isn’t technically camping, you know,” she pointed out.

“It’s glamping,” he smirked. “Besides, we can’t have you freezing to death out there.”

She frowned. “I just feel bad that you got jipped out of a real camping trip.”

“I didn’t get jipped out of anything,” he promised. “We can go hiking and fishing, we can build a campfire right outside of the cabin and look up at the stars, and best of all, you’re here with me - that’s the most important thing.”

In no time, they were walking up the stairs to the small deck of the cabin, where two chairs and a small table sat. He pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the door before leading her inside. It was much nicer than she anything she could’ve expected; a large, comfortable-looking bed in the far corner, and a couch near the front door. It was cozy and quaint, and the absolute opposite of sleeping in a tent in the middle of the woods.

“It’s not fancy, but there’s a bed, and a bathroom, and a kitchenette,” he said, pointing out each of those areas as he said its name. “I already stocked up the fridge, and look! We have electricity and heat, but there’s also a fireplace and we can keep a fire going.”

She was at a loss for words, and frankly, a little disoriented. The boots, the cabin, it was all so unexpected and so...thoughtful. So romantic.

He glanced down at her face and squeezed her shoulder. “What’s on your mind?”

“I’m just a little shocked, that’s all,” she answered, her voice soft and shaky.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I totally wasn’t expecting this and I’m a little overwhelmed, but in a good way.”

“Do you need to sit down?”

“No, no,” she said, frantically waving her hands around as she spoke. “It’s just that I agreed to come camping to make you happy, and even if I absolutely hated it, I’d still do it again because I know you love it and I love you so I want you to be happy all the time, of course, but then you turn around and do this amazing thing to make me happy, and even though I’ve known for a long time that you’re the person I want to be with for the rest of my life -”

“You want to spend the rest of your life with me?”

“More than anything,” she breathed. “I’ve never been so certain about something.”

“I feel the same way,” he cooed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I want a lifetime with you.”

“I didn’t even know that loving someone this much was possible,” she mumbled, reaching up to his face and gently brushing her thumb against his lips before settling it on his cheek. He leaned into her touch, pressing a kiss to her palm. “I really can’t believe that you did this.”

“You make me so unbelievably happy,” he confessed, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer to him; she closed her eyes, taking in his smell. He smelled vaguely of pine and body wash and sweat, and she was sure that she smelled the same. His leaned down, his breath was warm on her face when he whispered, “I’d do anything for you.”

She softly pressed her lips to his before leaning back to meet his gaze. “How about we make good on that promise, then?”

#kristanna #kristanna fanfic #anna #kristoff bjorgman #frozen #frozen fic #my writing

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