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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 3 years

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Father of Mine – 2/2

Character: Bruce Wayne x Daughter!Reader

Summary: With the tragic passing of her mother, Y/N learns to the truth of who her father is.

Word Count: 4,100+

Warnings: absent father, subtle violence, mention of family death

A/N: The reader is described as tall in this fic. Bruce Wayne is 6′2 and I’m tall, so I’m indulging myself with no apologies. Read it or don’t.

Part 1

Bruce was working in the cave when Alfred interrupted him.

“Master Wayne, a guest has arrived unexpectedly.”

Bruce gave him a strange look. Hardly anyone showed up to the manor unannounced.

“Ms. Y/L/N,” Alfred added.

“Right,” Bruce sighed.

“She’s waiting for you in your office.”

Bruce found Y/N pacing in the room, refusing to take the seat that he was sure Alfred offered her.

“Y/N,” he greeted, remembering how she disliked the formalities last night.

She whipped around at his greeting. “Am I your charity case now?”

He feigned confusion. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

She looked offended by his lie. “Don’t insult my intelligence. You paid all of my outstanding expenses that my mother left me.”

Bruce opened his mouth.

“Don’t try to lie to me,” she warned.

Bruce closed his mouth.

“Look, I don’t need your help,” Y/N sighed in obvious irritation. “Did you or did you not pay them?”

He took in a shallow breath, “I did.”

Y/N clenched her jaw as Bruce finally admitted his deed.

“I was only trying to help.”

“You can’t just throw money at me and expect it to make up for being a no-show.”

Bruce tensed.

Did that mean…Did she know?

“You read the letter?” He asked.

“No,” she clarified. “But I figured it out.”

“I had no idea,” he tried to tell her.

“I don’t care,” she almost snorted.

“You have ever right to be angry with me…”

“I’m not angry. I’m annoyed.”

She took a defiant step toward him and crossed her arms.

The heeled boots she had on caused her already tall height to make her be eye to eye with Bruce.

How many people had faced off with Batman and cowered with fear?

But she didn’t submit or show any signs of intimidation.

“Do you think I cried myself to sleep every night as a child, wondering where my dad was or why he didn’t want me?” Y/N hissed.

Bruce didn’t respond.

“You think I give a fuck about the father-daughter dances? Or whatever the hell people think dads are only capable of doing?” She narrowed her eyes. “The thing is…I didn’t need you. I didn’t need you then and I don’t need you now.”

Bruce felt sick as he listened to her.

“I have the sneaking suspicion that you wouldn’t have been there for those anyway,” she added roughly. “My mom loved me more than enough. I didn’t need anyone else. And she made damn sure of that.”

“So I’m not your charity case to make yourself feel better after my mom made it clear she thought it was better to keep me from you, than to ever tell you that I existed. Says a lot about what kind of person she thought you are, huh?”

When Y/N finally stopped, she was taking deep breaths.

Bruce wondered how long she had that all bottled up. He didn’t think anything she said was a lie. Y/N didn’t need him. That had become clear.

She had grown up to be a successful, intelligent, and independent young woman.

And she got that way without a father figure of any sort.

After a few moments, Bruce finally bowed his head and cleared his throat. “I never intended on making you feel like a charity case.”

Bruce saw as Y/N took in a deep breath and the guilt slowly took over her expression.

“Look,” Y/N sighed, “we finally know the truth. Let’s just…let’s just move on with our lives. OK?”

Bruce couldn’t deny that the suggestion hurt.

After processing the news over the past week or so, he realized he wanted to get to know her. This wasn’t the first time a child of his had been dropped on him far too late. He had failed Damian in so many ways because of it.

But Y/N was a young woman, fully developed and independent now. And Bruce couldn’t help but wonder that him being absent from her childhood had only benefitted her.

“If that’s what you want,” he finally told her.

Y/N didn’t know him well enough to hear the underlying pain in his words.

So she simply nodded and walked past him, having nothing more to say.

——————

Bruce adjusted his tie. He wanted nothing more than to rip it off his neck.

But he was on his best behavior tonight.

This year, the Gotham Gazette was given the honor of hosting the Pulitzer Prizes. And since Bruce and Wayne Enterprises donated quite a large sum of money to the Gotham Gazette, they felt inclined to invite him.

Bruce had every intention of skipping, until he found out that Lois Lane was receiving an award and Clark would also be attending.

He figured the least he could do was congratulate her and say hi to both of them.

That’s why he was trying to find them as soon as possible so he could and get the hell out of there.

Bruce finally spotted Clark talking to a woman whose back was to him. All he saw of her was the black dress and y/h/c hair.

He made his way over.

Clark noticed him when he was a few feet away.

“I see you’ve finally left your cave,” he teased with a lift of his brow. “I honestly didn’t expect you to show.”

But when the woman Clark was speaking to turned to look at him, Bruce swore he felt his heart stop.

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, clearly just as surprised at seeing Bruce.

None of this went missed by Clark. “Oh, do you two know each other?”

Bruce didn’t know how to respond. What would Y/N want?

So he hesitated.

“I shot him for a cover once,” Y/N answered quickly.

She was a shockingly smooth liar.

Maybe she got that from Bruce, too.

But she didn’t realize that Clark could hear her heart rate quicken, catching the fib.

“And how exactly do you two know each other?” Bruce asked, recovering quickly.

“Y/N works with Lois a lot,” Clark answered. “She basically refuses to work with any other photographer.”

Y/N managed to force a smile.

“I should actually go find her and say my congrats,” she answered.

“And I need to hunt down a drink,” she mumbled.

Both men caught it.

Clark was rather taken aback by how she fled.

The Y/N he knew was always charming and kind, usually life of the party. He’d never seen her dodge a conversation in such a way before.

As soon as she was out of hearing range, Clark gave a intimidating glare to Bruce.

“Want to tell me what that was about?” He asked Bruce.

But Bruce only clenched his jaw.

“Past fling?” Clark asked with a somewhat disappointed tilt of his head.

“No. Nothing like that,” Bruce quickly corrected.

Not only did the idea make him feel sick. But if rumors started of the two of them being romantically linked, Bruce knew it would only make Y/N hate him more than she clearly already did.

Thankfully, Clark took his denial seriously.

“She’s not my biggest fan,” Bruce added darkly.

“Y/N is a good friend,” Clark told him – almost in warning. “Lois and her have become rather close over the years.”

Then Clark smirked. “She does know how to hold a grudge though. And she’ll make your life hell...if you deserve it.”

Bruce’s brain hurt as he realized how easily Y/N and his path’s could’ve crossed. She had been friends with Clark and Lois this whole time?

“I’m happy for her,” Clark added.

“Happy for her?”

Clark looked at Bruce as if it was obvious. “She’s being awarded tonight, too.”

How could Bruce not have realized? Why didn’t he think of looking at the list of people being awarded tonight? He’d been dreading attending so much that he didn’t even consider it.

“Bruce?” Clark asked with concern.

“Hmm?” He was not one to hum or mumble.

“You alright?”

Bruce didn’t have a lot of friends.

But Clark Kent was one of them. And him and Diana had noticed how Bruce was acting off for weeks now. Bruce was notorious for remaining stoic and giving nothing for people to try and guess what he was thinking or feeling. But they both knew it was something different.

Someone over Bruce’s shoulder suddenly waved Clark over.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Clark told Bruce politely.

Bruce’s first instinct was to leave now that he knew Y/N was also in attendance.

But he knew he couldn’t act so cowardly.

Was he really that scared of his own daughter?

His eyes glanced around the room looking for her.

He spotted Y/N at one of the bars.

Either her conversation with Lois had been quick, or she simply used that as an excuse to get away from Bruce.

Bruce walked up beside Y/N at the bar.

He knew she felt his arrival by the way her body tensed.

“Had I known you would be here I would not have attended,” he told her while looking straight ahead.

Y/N ignored his apology. “How do you know Clark?”

“He’s a friend,” Bruce answered casually.

Then he allowed himself to take a sideways glance at her.

Her jaw was clenched.

He wondered what thoughts she was holding back.

Y/N really did remind him of her mother.

When they were together, Bruce was convinced she was the prettiest girl in the world. He wondered if Y/N had found someone in her life who told her the same.

“Congratulations on being honored tonight,” Bruce offered sincerely.

“Thank you,” she answered shortly.

A beat passed between them.

Bruce was about to give up and leave her be.

“Does Clark think I’m one of your one-night stands now?”

Y/N might not know Bruce well, but everyone was familiar with his romantic history. He wasn’t one to keep the same woman around for long.

“No,” he quickly answered. “I made sure to prevent such a rumor from starting.”

Y/N finally slowly turned to him, her annoyance clear. “And you’re convinced that he really believed you?” She asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes, Clark has always been rather good at detecting a lie.” His tone was so confident that it left little room for argument.

But Bruce knew a losing battle when he saw one.

He dipped his head. “Enjoy the rest of your night. Congratulations again.”

But Bruce lingered, debating if he wanted to say what was on my mind.

“You look very beautiful. Just like your mother.”

There was nothing creepy or contrived about it.

Y/N blinked at the compliment, completely taken aback.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” Bruce dipped his head and finally surrendered, leaving the party.

Y/N felt a presence behind her shoulder as he watched him leave.

“Was Bruce Wayne just hitting on you?” Lois asked with amusement.

“No. Not at all,” her tone was dazed and confused.

“He’s a good guy,” Lois told her lightly.

“Doubt it.”

“I mean it,” Lois insisted. “The media has given him a bad image. But I think he likes it that way,” she shrugged. “It’s not easy for him to open up. He’s not quick to trust.”

Lois thought she was building up a possible suitor for Y/N, having not a clue that she was describing Y/N’s father to her.

But Y/N was too busy thinking about how much Bruce sounded like her.

—————

A few weeks had gone by since Bruce and Y/N had run into each other at the ceremony.

It got Bruce to thinking: would he and Y/N had run into each other at some point in life – even without her mother’s posthumously confession?

Y/N knew Lois and Clark, lived in Gotham, seemed to know the same people through her work that Bruce was forced to interact with to keep up his persona.

Would he have sensed a connection had that been the case?

The possibilities kept Bruce up at night…along with the guilt that had already been eating away at him since he first read the later. And he’d read it 100 times more since.

Of all the boys, Dick was the only one that knew of Y/N’s existence. And if he hadn’t been at the right place at the right time, Bruce never would’ve told him. He had just been in shock after reading the letter that he blurted out the realization while Dick was in the same room.

Since then, Bruce didn’t linger in a room alone with him, knowing Dick would finally let all of his questions loose. And Bruce wasn’t ready to answer them.

While Tim was the one to connect them, he never followed through with what the situation was. He already had too much to deal with on a daily basis. Tim simply thought he was doing a nice favor for a beautiful woman.

But if Bruce had told him, Tim would immediately do every possible background check on Y/N. He would be suspicious of the timing and underlying motives. He would probably assume that Y/N’s end goal was to get money or fame – or both. Bruce knew eventually Tim would come to the conclusion that Y/N wanted neither of those things. But it would still get an unnecessary rise out of the boy.

Bruce didn’t even want to think about how Damian would handle it. He knew his son felt a certain level of pride from being the only blood-son of his. Knowing he had a sibling – and an older sister at that – would most likely enrage him. And that wouldn’t make anything better.

Jason…Well, Jason would get a kick out of Bruce letting down yet another child. And it would just be worse that she was blood related. He’d be curious about Y/N. Hell, he’d probably be tickled by the no-bullshit attitude Y/N had towards Bruce and her harsh efforts to keep him out of her life completely.

Now, Bruce sat at a Justice League meeting.

They were only a few minutes into a council session when his communicator started going off.

The boys knew not to contact him unless it was an emergency. So, he quickly excused himself and stood to leave the room.

“What is it?” Bruce answered, his Batman voice in full form.

“There’s been an attack at city hall,” Dick reported back hurriedly.

Bruce frowned. The boys had handled much worse things on their own before. There had to be more to it than that.

“Scarecrow,” Dick confirmed. “He released a fear toxin. It’s bad Bruce. The mayor has been infected, along with half of their staff. I think it’s a new string. Our antidote doesn’t seem to doing anything. Even if it did, we don’t have nearly enough for the amount of victims.”

“The others?” Bruce asked quickly – meaning Damian, Jason, and Tim.

“They’re fine. Jason’s trying to get everyone out before they inhale too much. Tim and Damian went after Scarecrow. GPD is in a panic.”

Bruce turned to see Clark had raced to his side. Clearly he had been eavesdropping on the conversation. But the expression in his face prevented Bruce from getting into an argument about it.

“What?” Bruce asked him, knowing something was wrong.

“Lois and Y/N were at that council meeting,” Clark breathed out.

“We’ll be there soon,” Bruce told Dick before hanging up.

—

Bruce thought he knew fear from the few times his boys had been in trouble. But it was nothing compared to the fear he had knowing it was Y/N this time. She wasn’t a trained vigilante; she was just an innocent civilian. Bruce had not insured that she was trained and could take care of herself.

As soon as Clark dropped them on the ground, they were in the midst of the chaos.

“Lois!” Clark yelled.

People were too distracted to notice Superman and Batman had arrived.

Bruce looked over to see Lois rushing to Clark. He could tell it took all of Clark’s willpower not to embrace Lois from his relief.

“Are you OK?” Clark asked as he dipped his head and his eyes raced across his wife’s body.

“I-I’m fine. I got lucky. Somehow I was out of range of the gas explosion.”

“Y/N?” Bruce interrupted. “Did you see Y/N?”

“She was helping these kids get out and I was getting shoved out of the building. I tried to get to her but it was impossible with everyone’s panic. I think she’s still in there.”

Before Bruce could turn to Clark to come up with a plan, Clark flew into the building. A few people finally noticed the presence of superheroes and started murmuring.

“Nightwing, Red Hood – I’m at the front entrance of City Hall.”

Clark flew back to them not even 30 seconds later.

Y/N was unconscious in his arms.

“Oh my god,” Lois muttered at Y/N’s condition.

“She’s gone into shock. We need to get her to the medics,” Clark informed them. “She was exposed to the toxin more than the others.”

But Bruce was already shaking his head. “They won’t be able to help her.”

Clark gently handed Y/N to Bruce as he explained, “There are others in there.”

Just then Nightwing and Red Hood dropped in front of them.

Nightwing immediately recognized Y/N and his eyes shot up to Bruce with worry.

“Nightwing, I need you to take her back to the cave,” he tried to sound as controlled as possible.

Bruce was confused why Dick hesitated to take Y/N out of his arms.

“Do you have the batmobile? I brought my motorcycle,” Dick sounded apologetic when he explained.

Jason stepped forward before Bruce could answer. “I got her.”

As if she were the most fragile being ever, Jason carefully took Y/N’s unconscious body from Bruce’s grip. He could see in Bruce’s gaze that she was someone special. How and why, Jason would figure out later.

Jason had seen Y/N trying to help as many people before she was completely poisoned from the toxin. She’d risked her life to help.

Watching Jason cradle her into his body caught Clark off guard, always seeing the brute strength and almost animalistic energy from Red Hood whenever they so happened to fight beside each other.

“Meet us at the cave,” Bruce clarified. “Alfred will know what to do. We have to help out here more.”

Jason nodded before he hurried away with her and rushed to his hidden car.

——————

Y/N’s eyes snapped open and she shot up, sitting in a cot.

“Hey, hey, hey,” a voice she didn’t recognize said beside her. “You gotta relax.”

She turned to see a mammoth of a man sitting beside her, wearing vigilante gear with at least two guns being displayed at his sides. But it was the red helmet completely hiding his face and true voice that made Y/N feel uncomfortable.

“What the fuck,” she groaned at the sight of him.

Just a few seconds later, two men rushed into the room.

Bruce walked in still in his Batman uniform, but without his cowl – to Jason’s shock.

Clark was beside him, making Jason confused as to why he was still here. Surely he would want to be with Lois.

Y/N took in the sight before her.

“You were poisoned with a new strand of Scarecrow’s toxin,” Superman explained.

Y/N had seen plenty of pictures and shaky video of him. But now that the man stood before her, she immediately recognized him.

“Clark?” She gasped.

He didn’t say anything. But his expression didn’t fight her realization, just silently waited for the truth to settle.

“Does Lois know?” Was her next question.

Clark smirked at that. “Of course.”

Y/N gave a slight nod.

But now her attention switched to Bruce.

The Batman symbol was large across his chest, and his cape was still intact.

She looked around her surroundings and then up at the ceiling.

They were in a cave.

“You’re…you’re…” she couldn’t finish her sentence.

“Batman,” Bruce finally offered.

Y/N’s eyes were wide with panic.

How was this possible?

Now that the others had exposed their identity, Jason felt inclined to take off his helmet. Clearly, it was making her uncomfortable.

The hiss of his helmet being removed caused Y/N to finally look away from her father and to Jason, who still wore a domino mask. But it was far less frightening than the helmet.

“We’ll give you two a moment alone,” Clark spoke for both him and Jason.

Jason nodded and stood up from the seat beside Y/N, and walked out.

Clark lingered in the doorway. “I’ll be right outside if you need me,” he told her.

He might’ve revealed his Superman identity to her, but she was still his friend.

Y/N managed to nod in thanks, but was clearly still shook by all this news.

Bruce very slowly made his way to the chair that Jason had just been sitting in.

“How are you feeling?”

She shook her head. “Body’s sore. Migraine is killing me. What happened?”

“You were more exposed to the toxin more than the other victims. Jason brought you here. We had to make a new anecdote, and quickly.”

Bruce wanted to add that she could’ve died. But he didn’t see the use in scaring her.

“Oh,” was all she managed to mumble.

An awkward silence settled between them.

“Very few people know the truth about me,” Bruce explained.

Y/N’s gaze flickered up from her lap to look at him.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I figured I couldn’t ask you to allow me into your world if I didn’t allow you into mine.”

She was silent.

“Y/N…” Bruce cleared his throat. The time had come. “The reason I left your mother was because I was starting this life. I pushed her away to protect her. I knew I couldn’t be the man she deserved while also being Batman. Had I known the truth…”

His words died out. It was starting to become harder to control his emotions.

He leaned forward in his chair, just getting slightly closer to her.

“Had I known about you, I would’ve…” He cleared his throat to try and hold back his tears. “I never would’ve abandoned you or your mother.”

He leaned back then. “But I know those are just words. And to you, they probably sound like empty promises for the past.”

“She never knew?” Y/N whispered.

In the few moments she was allowed to process this information, her mind immediately wondered if her mom had known about Bruce’s double life all along. And that’s why she kept him away from her.

Bruce shook his head.

“Thank you…for trusting me enough to tell me your secret,” Y/N finally told him. “I promise I’ll never tell anyone,” she quickly added, feeling like she just needed to clarify that to him.

He gave her a small small, “I know.”

Y/N winced as she thought about how terrible she’d been to him all this time. Now that she knew the truth – the whole truth – she was looking at everything with a new perspective. Even what she knew about Bruce Wayne, the spoiled socialite... it was clearly all wrong.

He used it as a cover. It was all a cover.

“I’m sorry for how I’ve treated you,” she whispered shakily.

But Bruce shook his head before she could even get the apology out.

“Do you think it’s too late for us?” She breathed.

Could they ever find any fragment of a father-daughter relationship?

Y/N was an adult – she had been for years now. And she made it clear she didn’t need nor want a father.

“Believe it or not, this isn’t the first time this has happened to me,” Bruce sighed.

Her brow furrowed. “This meaning…?”

“My son, Damian. His mother kept him a secret from me. She didn’t reveal his existence until he was nine. And she only did it in an attempt to disrupt my life.”

“This seems to be a rather strange pattern in your life,” Y/N couldn’t help but point out.

Bruce glared at her, causing her to chuckle.

“My point is,” he continued, “I don’t think it’s ever too late.” And he cleared his throat quickly. “That is, if you want to try.”

“I think I do,” she answered with a shy smile.

It was the first time she’d done so in his presence.

“I don’t know anything about raising a daughter,” Bruce rubbed his face as he attempted to make the joke. But she could tell there was sincerity there, too.

“Well, I’ve already been raised,” Y/N laughed.

There.

That laugh.

It brought Bruce back to his teenage years. It sounded so much like her mother. Her face lit up just like her’s had.

“You remind me so much of your mother,” he gasped.

Her face dropped at his confession.

“Really?”

He nodded. “She said you were just like me. But there’s more of her in you than I think she ever realized.”

Bruce saw his much his words effected her.

Y/N’s eyes were shiny with tears, but she managed to hold them back.

“So what now?” She quickly asked, obviously trying to distract herself so she wouldn’t have a complete emotional breakdown.

“Well, Alfred should have dinner ready soon. Would you stay?”

She gave him a tear-filled smile. “I’d like that.”

“You can meet the rest of them,” Bruce told her casually as he stood.

“The rest of them?”

He nodded. “Well, you only have to meet Damian now. You already met Jason, Dick, and Tim in passing.”

“And here I thought you had no idea how to be a father…” Y/N muttered with amusement.

Bruce helped her get out of bed, making sure she was alright to stand and walk on her own.

“Well, depending on which of them you ask, they might tell you that you’re right.”

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

Thank you to everyone who read the first part. Let me know what you think <3

BONUS: This Game of Ours

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venicebixch · 2 years

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In-Between Epilogue part 2

a little angsty. the next part will be the final part where we get the results 👀 enjoy

Vinnie’s POV

I’ve been sitting outside y/n’s house for 10 minutes. All her lights are off. I’m debating on knocking anyway.

I groan and throw my head back into my seat, covering my face with my hands. It’s selfish of me to be here. It’s selfish of me to wake her up. It’s selfish of me to try to explain. After all the shit I’ve put her through already. Why the fuck did I word my last texts to her the way I did? I should have just asked to meet with her right away.

“Fuck it,” I say to myself and get out, walking up to her front door. I stand there for another minute still hesitating before I finally knock. The first 2 knocks are quiet but the last 2 have some force behind them.

I wait a minute and no response. I look down at the doorbell and scold myself for even thinking about it because she’s clearly asleep. But my finger reaches for it anyway, and I press it. The bell sound rings on the other side of the door and I panic slightly for having just done that.

“Please just answer,” I whisper. A few moments go by with no sign of her and the panic comes to a peak and I turn to walk away when I see the hall light come on.

My breath catches in my throat and I consider darting back to my car to make a get away before she sees me but it’s too late. The door slowly opens and she’s standing partially behind it as if she’s hiding from me.

I can see her eyes are blood shot and wet and her cheeks are puffy. She’s been crying. Hard. She looks pitiful.

My heart burns at the sight of her and I just stare, not knowing what to say. I have the urge to scoop her into my arms and hold her. I wanna grab her and run away with her. Change our names and move to a foreign country where no one knows who we are.

“Vinnie, what… what the fuck are you doing here?” She asks with a hoarse voice, still peeking at me from behind the door.

“Can we talk?” I whisper, unable to muster the strength to use my full voice.

“I don’t think so…” she shakes her head.

Tears overflow on to my cheeks before I have the chance to try to hold them back. “Please, I’m literally begging. Please. Let me explain.”

She looks at me as if she’s angry and scoffs. She turns and slams the door in my face and with it, I feel my soul shatter.

I look down and try to accept that I’m not going to be able to talk to her. But I deserve it. I deserve every bit of this pain for what I’ve done to her.

I turn to walk away, and the door opens again sending a wave of hope through me. She’s standing in full view now with her arms crossed.

“Come in,” she turns and walks away, leaving the door open.

I walk inside, closing it behind me and follow her to her living room as she flips more lights on.

She sits on the couch and stares up at me.

“Are you gonna sit? Or is this just a quick thing you’re doing to try and clear your conscience?” She says, angrily.

I walk over and sit next to her, my body point in her direction.

“First, I just wanna say how sorry I am,” I say quietly. I have no idea how to even have this conversation with her and I didn’t rehearse it in my head because I didn’t think I’d have the nerve to actually do this.

“Okay?” She says, sounding annoyed.

“I shouldn’t have left you hanging with no explanation. And I shouldn’t have treated you the way I have at all these last few months. It’s not been fair to you and I realize that. I’m so, so sorry. I just… I didn’t know how to talk to you,” I say, looking down. I know it’s cowardly but I can’t find the courage to look her in the eyes as I admit my wrongs.

She leans back in the seat and shrugs. “It’s my fault. I should’ve known better. You told me what it was the whole time… guess the good moments with us were just a little too good and my stupid ass let myself get too deep into it.”

“It’s not your fault,” I shake my head, looking at her. “It’s mine. I’ve been selfish and I’ve allowed myself to put all my emotions on you because I couldn’t handle them on my own. But they’re not your burden to carry. They’re mine. You didn’t deserve it, it’s my fault.”

She looks at me as tears start falling from her eyes again. “Okay…” she says.

“The situation with Kyla has gotten more complicated…” I say, looking down again.

“Okay?”

“So I guess… I mean. Ugh, fuck,” I lean back and cross my arms, taking a deep breath. “Let me start at the beginning… so like 2 weeks after me and Kyla broke up, I saw her when I was drunk. And I made the ridiculously foolish decision to sleep with her.”

“Mmkay,” she says, rolling her eyes and wiping her tears from her face.

“I was just sad and a mess and I wasn’t even sober but she was… she came over and begged me to talk and I was so upset over everything still that I gave in. And then one thing led to the next. I regretted it as soon as it was over,” I say.

She looks at me silently, waiting on me to go on. Her demeanor moves from angry to expressionless. I wonder if she knows what I’m going to say next.

“And like an hour after you left the other night she came over and told me that she’s…” I sigh, finding it hard to say out loud. “She’s pregnant.”

My eyes flicker to hers to catch her emotions. Her eyebrows comes together and she starts sobbing, eyes closed. Gasps of air and sniffles escape her throat and she tries to hold herself together, covering her face with her hands.

My stomach twists into knots and I feel nauseated. I swallow trying to suppress my sudden urge to vomit. I feel like fucking dying.

“I didn’t give her permission to post that picture. She knows all about you and she did it on purpose, I know she did. She wanted to hurt you. I wanted to talk to you first, I didn’t want this to go down like it has. I’m so sorry,” I say softly, tears rolling down my face.

After another minute she finally stops crying and looks at me.

“Why are you with her?” She whispers.

Her question stumps me. “I guess because I feel like I have to be. At least for now… I don’t trust her, though. Not after everything. I’m going to get a paternity test.”

“Uh, yeah that would be a damn good idea,” she says, wiping her face.

“She said she’s not going to but I’m not going to commit to the kid until I know for sure it’s mine. I’m not signing shit and I’m not paying for shit until I know for sure. I honestly got back with her last night on a whim, but after she posted that picture without my permission I don’t know… she’s just so manipulative. I think I’m done with her until I know for sure what’s going on.”

She nods her head and takes a deep breath. “And if it’s not yours?”

I don’t know what answer she’s looking for. After all this, is she still willing to be with me if it’s not mine?

“I… I’m done with her. Blocked and out of my life for good,” I say, hoping to egg her on to get some kind of hint as to what answer she’s hoping for.

“And… what about us?” She whispers.

“I’m all yours…” I say, feeling a massive surge of affection for her. How could she be so understanding and accepting of this? “If you want to be with me of course,” I quickly add.

“I do…” she looks down and starts fidgeting with the ring on her finger. “I understand it was a mistake. You definitely could’ve handled it better,” she laughs quietly, shaking her head as if she’s annoyed. “But accidents happen I guess. But for the love of god, please talk to me from now on. I don’t want to play the fucking guessing game with you. I’m done doing that,” she says sternly.

I nod my head eagerly, willing to do anything to make it work between us if that could possibly be an option. “Okay.”

“If some dumb shit happens again, we’re done. The moment I feel left out of the loop or you act bipolar toward me, I’m dipping for good.”

Her request is perfectly reasonable and I realize I need to make some conscious changes to my behavior toward her. “I promise I will. I’ll let you know everything the moment I find out.”

She nods, still fidgeting with her ring.

#vincent hacker #vinnie hacker #vinniehacker #vincenthacker #vinnie fanfic #vinnie #vinnie x reader #vinniehackerfanfic #vinniehackerimagines

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boredoverlord · 3 years

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Bucky X Reader - Hold the Line

I came in here to show you a good time, so here's my personal work and my very first fanfiction of all time. And because I'm a thirsty bitch, of course it's smut.

Summary : As a young and talented psychologist specializing in difficult people in prison, you believed in a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to work with the SHIELD. Turned out you were tricked to work for HYDRA.

For three years they made you do horrors in the name of an ideology you despised, but you may have found the occasion to finally make a change for the good, when they introduced you to your new patient.

The Winter Soldier.

Rating : Explicit, please kids, look away ( of course you won't because you're cute little rebels, but please do it)

Word count : 6.4k (chapter 1)

TW: Light BDSM (for now) Because Bucky is a massive Sub and it seems nobody agrees with me, so I have to do the lord's work here.

Foul language, mention of violence and murder, Masturbation, male orgasm and a tiiiny bit of choking. I started lightly

Please consider reading this on Archive of our own or read it below the cut. Lemme know what you think !

Chapter 1: A Story of Almost Everything

You never were the type to brag. But one thing you know is : you’re damn good at your job. Years and years of psychology studies, you barely got to parties, you hardly made any friends, and your sleeping schedule is still a nightmare. Those were sacrifices you did for one sole purpose : helping others. To be the last resort for people who have lost everything. You always firmly believed that you could make a change in the world, even the slightest, even for just one person. That would have been enough to make your lifetime worthy. What's more noble than just a genuine try to make it better, after all ? So you wasted your youth on studies, without a damn blink. And never one ounce of regret. You did it because it felt right. You’re not very brave, but you decided to face your fear a couple of times. You even were an intern in a high security prison, talking to broken men and women who hated your guts. Trying to lead them to another path of life. You heard stories that could break any mind. Only time could tell if you actually helped them. But that’s part of the job. Hope. And hard work.

That’s why when you started to have a growing reputation, at 26 after five years of studies and several years working in prison and rehabilitation, you were ecstatic when S.H.I.E.L.D contacted you. You quit everything, starting with your homeland in Europe, to fly to Washington DC, to visit the headquarters. The new building, the thrill of novelty, the clean rooms, the medical wing, and Alexander Pierce himself coming to shake your hand and telling you personally the wonders they have in mind for the psychology field. You could prepare people to save the world, you could have all the resources to make research, and fix minds that were supposed to be beyond repair. It was supposed to be just a quick trip, but the visit wasn’t even done when you looked at your guide with enthusiasm : you weren’t going home. Just cancel the fly. You’re taking the job immediately. It was three years ago.

Enough to understand how fucked you are.

You didn’t save anyone, you didn’t even work to make the world a better place. Oh but you did work to make a change. A change for HYDRA. They tortured you to make you swallow their ideology, but even if your body surrendered, your mind didn’t, even if it was still a perpetual work on yourself. You never believed in this masquerade, but you know it doesn’t matter. Because HYDRA knows how good you are at your job, and you’re a precious asset. So precious that they pushed all your buttons to make you obey. You tried to act and escape. Their last resort is the Damocles sword they put over your family’s head. Next act of rebellion, heads will roll. And it won’t be yours : no, no. HYDRA won’t give you this relief. It will be your loved ones. So you’re doing what you have to do. It’s the most cowardly choice, you know it. And you’re ashamed. But you’re too terrorised to make it otherwise. So you’re here to twist people's minds to swallow whatever Hydra wants. You make them understand the importance of the organization, when they can’t take it anymore, you make them understand that not only they can, but they must . You saw vulnerable people giving their life to this awful cause, and you are the person to make them understand it was the right thing to do. They gave you kind people with dreams, morals and passion, and you turn this into anger, hate and war, worshipping a crazy doctrine that spoils everything you believed and fought for. You have blood on your hands. You’re THAT good at your job.

So when they called you for a highly secret mission, you weren’t exactly surprised. Just disgusted by them, and mostly yourself. In the guts of what was called the Ideal Federal Saving Bank, you’re obediently following the chef himself : Alexander Pierce, to your next place of action. “I believe you have read your mission’s order, Y/N ?” “Yes Sir.” You said. “It did mention I will have the whole file today, though. I need to take a look at my patient so I can work in proper condition.” “Whatever you call it.” He said, opening the door of the clandestine laboratory in the now abandoned bank. If not for the machinery, we could still believe that those art deco walls filled with safes would still contain treasures of a lifetime for some people. Now there is nothing of value in here, not even the very skin of every PoS present. And you were including yourself. Making your way in the middle of the heavy set up, you slowly reach the pod in the middle, chewing secretly the interior of your cheeks. You know what’s inside, and it makes you want to puke. Mr Pierce continued “Doctor, as your mission was presented to you, your one on only assignment will be the physical and mostly the psychological perfect condition of the Winter Soldier, for the entire length of this mission on american soil.” Basically, be sure his brain is a fucking slushy. You reluctantly nodded and drew closer. “What’s his condition ?” At the top of your height, barely 5’3, you tiptoed to actually look at him by the window of the cryostasis chamber, since you never got this close of a look, not without the file and basically crumbs of info that were thrown at your face. They expected you to keep a dog on a leash, not making actual work on him, and it shows. White man, late 20s to early 30s, approx 5”7, long dark messy hair, not shaved, geez, it seemed like the poor guy was barely cleaned up before being pushed here. Good physical condition, breathing was steady. You could see the steam of his breath on the glass. He may be clinically asleep, but she highly doubted he would be in his best shape. He looked uncomfortable, and tired. It wasn’t a restorative sleep. It was a prison. You couldn’t help but notice his prosthetic arm, even if that was the only thing you knew about him. It’s a fascinating work of science, that’s for sure. And even if transhumanism and biomechanical wasn’t your forte, you wanted to have a closer look, to satisfy your curiosity. One of the scientists watching his screen responded : “He’s gently defrozing, should be half conscious in 5 minutes. You may want to take a step down.” You ignore that, and lean your hand to your superior. “May I finally have what I have been asking for ?” With the most irritating smile, he gave you the Winter Soldier’s File and you quickly opened it to have a first look at all the fuss. Basic physical information, previous missions report, date of entering and ending of cryostasis, bare minimal medical record, notes by her predecessor, fucking trigger words to make him kneel like a 12 years old in front of any boysband... nothing about his previous life, his antics, his name, actual disorders, no name, nor adresses… You glaced a bit at Pierce and threw a polite smile. He knows what he’s doing, and he knows you know. You’re extremely good with very violent patients. You have endured rapists and murderers spiting in your face and swearing to bite your head off and fucking your skull. You were traumatized and you cried yourself to sleep, but the following day you did your job again. You’re just here to handle the worst of the worst. And you’re going to do it.

Or he’s going to break your neck and fuck your skull. You’re fine with that.

“Thank you it’s going to be very helpful.” As helpful as a band-aid on a wooden leg. “What’s this device ?” You point your chin to another machine not far away from it. One of the two men finishing installing it, raised his head to look at you. “A memory suppressing machine. Usually he doesn’t need it as much as he used to, but it’s mainly for safety. He must be prepared.” “He’s in a state where he willingly takes it. So don’t hesitate if he’s starting to be annoying, or excited. That can happen. But that mean you would probably have to work more with him to make him fully ready for his mission,” “Understood, thank you for clarification gentlemen.” You smiled and they smiled back. You’re a woman, so you’re used to it. Basically this shit was supposed to hack his brain, and it must be painful. “I would strongly recommend not using it at such a time. From what I quickly read he needs stability and time. Wiping everything out will more likely create more confusion.” You took a look at the file again and took it upon yourself to not have your eyes double in size and screaming at this bunch of idiots. “... and it does seem he’s using it a lot.”

“We want the asset to be as focused as possible.”

“I understand that, but that's a temporary solution at best. He’s got a brain, not a harddrive. We still don’t know how it can store information, and if it can…” “The last time we used him was five years ago…” Started Pierce, with diplomaty, but also with a tone that wasn’t allowing any more debate on the matter. “And this mission is an absolute priority. The asset is strictly under cryostasis procedure as soon as he’s not needed anymore. The machine will be used if needed.” “I understand your point.” You absolute psychopath. “Then my request is simply to be here if it happens, and to be able to control the shocks. Also, I insist that he must be in perfect condition when you launch the procedure, I’ll personally make it happen and give you a green light.” “Thank you for your hard work.” He said, raising his hand, that you promptly and politely shook. You could feel the angry grasp. “I know you’re the perfect woman for this hard job. Your work is an inspiration for us all.” You wish you could end your life right here right now, instead of being told such atrocities. But you think about your mom and dad. At this time of year they start to prepare the pool for the summer, for the future neighborhood barbecues where they will brag to everyone about their incredible psychiatrist daughter who is doing secret stuff over sea to help save the world. You have to be strong. At least for them. At least for now.

“Hail Hydra.”

“Hail Hydra.” You responded, while your tongue feels like sandpaper.

“Ok he’s starting to wake up…” Someone warns, as Pierce leaves the room, unbothered. The pod opens before your eyes, as the asset -you hate this term- is being roughly handled and carried away by two dudes to his seat. The one dangerously close to the memory suppressing machine. You squatted in front of him, the time for him to blink several times and look around him. Confused, but it’s not exactly his first rodeo either. His eyes are quickly focused on the first thing in front of him : you. He looked like he was trying to remember who you are, but quickly realized he didn’t know you. Two blue spears digging right into your soul. That’s making you a bit uncomfortable. The same weird feeling of unease you have when a cat is watching you taking a shower. “Hi.” You started, in english, even if he could be from italy you had no freaking clue. You guessed that he was probably slavic. But the file says he’s speaking more than ten languages. And it wasn’t specified when and how the hell did he learn that. “Can you hear me?” He took a few more seconds to look at you, probably the time to finish reading every embarrassing moment of your life, right into your eyes, like your drunk 18th birthday when you finished in your panties swimming in a city fountain, but he nodded eventually. You actually know this look. But it’s the first time you have a super soldier in front of you so it’s of a rare intensity. He’s dissecting you. Gathering information. His eyes moved slightly down : a recent scar on your neck. Right : an ex piercing on the top of your ear, now unusable. Down left : he just realized you’re slightly unbalanced so he knows you have a hip issue. And down right : he’s looking at your hand, you don’t really know what he saw here, maybe calculating how to break them ? You were literally a foot in a viper’s nest. Were you terrified ? Absolutely. Will that forbid you to do your job ? Nope. “Can you follow the light ?” You asked, moving slowly your phone’s lamp from left to right in front of his eyes. He did it without questioning. “Ok good.” You tried a smile, not really knowing why. If he was at least a tenth as clever as the file said he was, he perfectly know that you’re here to fuck him up. But you couldn’t help it. Poor dude. He was visibly more or less your age. He could have been a prince, or thief, a womanizer, or a priest, whatever, HYDRA took everything from him. From his free will, of his right to grow old, to his sleep. “Can you tell me your name ?” He frowned, perplexed. “Winter Soldier.” Shitty answer but at least he was fully aware, and his tongue was working properly. “Nice to meet you, I’m doctor Y/N. We’re here to work together in preparation of your next assignment. Do you understand ?” He nodded, unimpressed. “Good, can you get up ?” He did, so you did it too. And he realized that you were… very short. His eyes literally went up and slooowly down. That was a bit mean, actually. You carefully took a glance behind you, and your eyeroll could probably trigger an earthquake. “Can you all nice gentlemen let down a bit of their weapon ?” You said at the 6 dudes with rifles literally fixed on him, ready to shoot at the wrong twitch of muscle. No wonder he wasn’t talkative. “You won’t say that when he will break your neck with two fingers, ‘mam.”

“He’s pretty stable for now. Plus he’s not fully awake, let’s give him time before threatening him, shall we ?”

Nobody moved for ten seconds before one of them complied, since you didn’t move. The rest of the bunch reluctantly followed . You looked at your patient, hoping that that would have made him a bit more relaxed. Nope, he didn’t give a shit. He wasn't even looking at them. He was looking at you. You’re the mystery of this room to him. But you didn’t need extra vision to understand that Docs treated him like a guinea pig, so he was very understandably extra careful with you. Standing on his feet, all his muscles ready for action, that’s the exact moment you realized how close you two were. Indeed, if he decided to, your jaw would fly across the room in a single move. You never had such a display of sheer raw strength, and you could feel the heat of his body radiate.

“He needs a shower, and clothings.” You said, having a look at his 5 years old combat suit still reeking the smell of his sweat. It was intoxicating. They didn’t even allow him to clean himself. Poor dude was frozen in his own filth for the last five years. And you didn’t know why you took an even deeper breath. “And I’m talking about comfy workout clothes, no combat suit. Please escort him and handle him with care, before bringing him to my office.” You actually decided to be sure he wouldn’t be mistreated, by waiting outside the man’s bathrooms. You weren’t certain of how he could react, and you didn’t trust anyone here. If one of them decided to do a piss contest with your patient, it could end badly. So you put your hands in your pockets, looking at the two armed men waiting for the most dangerous assassin in the world to finish scrubbing himself with soap. The atmosphere was heavy and the silence was loud in itself. Even the sound of the shower was stressful and menacing.

When the Soldier was escorted to your improvised office into the archive, directly linked to a storage room that will be your bedroom for the next weeks, you let him take a seat and promptly blocked the access to the room of the two escort members. “Thank you sirs, that will be all. Please wait here.” They look at you like you just told them you were dating their daughters. “Sorry Miss, but we can’t…” “Sorry Doctor , and I can’t work properly with weapons in my office.” You raised your hand, showing your device on your wrist. Something that would not only call for aid by a simple pressure, but could stun an opponent. Neither them nor you were stupid : it wouldn’t stop The Winter Soldier, maybe he would blink a second at most. But you really wanted to be alone with him. Was he dangerous ? Yes. Were you absolutely certain that you would leave this room alive if you closed this door to their face ? No. But it’s been three years since your priority wasn’t your survival anymore. So you forced a smile and slapped the door. They needed you more than you needed them, so they will obey.

“Douchebags.” You muttered to yourself while coming back to your desk. Your patient didn’t even move a muscle at your little argument. He wasn’t totally inexpressive actually, mostly terribly broody. His hair was still wet from the shower he took, wearing cargo pants, heavy boots and hoodies, generic clothes by HYDRA. You got those too, since you’re not allowed to carry anything personal for mission to mission. You had a tablet for books, music and movies, but that was it. You haven’t opened your shelves yet, but you know it’s full of ugly clothes and generic black panties of doom.

You took a large inspiration, sat on your desk in front of him, and started : “Ok ‘Winter Soldier’... how are you doing ?” He didn’t even flinch. He was staring into your soul with his eyes lost into dark circles. Depriving someone of proper sleep is a basic rule for brainwash. “You enjoyed the shower ?” Nothing. You waited for a bit to see if he would finally respond. Ten seconds. Twenty. fourty. a minute. When he gathered that you were actually looking for an answer, visibly a first one for him, he finally gave you the courtesy of one. “Yes.” “Perfect.” You didn’t hide your slight smile and tiled your head. “I’ll be sure you’re in your best condition for your next mission. If something’s on your mind, I need to know about it. Nothing will get out of this room. Both of our priorities are your goal, and your condition is the key to success. Which makes you , my high top priority. Do you understand me ?” “Yes.”

“Ok so let’s get going.” You took another file, and took a picture out, ready to handle it to him. “Is the name : Nicholas Fury, ringing some bells to you?” “Yes.” He took it inside his titanium fingers and finally moved his piercing blue eyes away from you to look at the picture. “In two weeks, you’ll be in Washington DC. An entire squad will be deployed to assassinate him. Fury is the leader of the S.H.I.E.L.D, not a mere target. He will break free and fight back. That will be when you’ll show up.” He wasn’t looking at the picture anymore. One thing for sure : at least he was paying attention to you, and what you were saying. And that made you actually kind of proud of yourself. “That was part one. I’ll personally supervise your training with the VR machine and your physical health and condition. I really need you to communicate with me all the time about anything that could be in your mind. The more focused you are, the more Hydra’s plan will succeed.” And what’s that plan ? You have not a single clue. You were a cog in the machine, disposable. Not much more than him. “Do you understand ?” “I understand.” Oh shit, two words this time!

“Good.” You smiled. He didn’t. You move your hands closer to him, to take a grip on the picture. He opened his prosthetic hand, leaving you to take it back. Nothing in his gesture seems dangerous. Just normal, somehow cordial. “I must ask : are you in any pain right now ?” His eyes significantly get from right to left. He must probably wonder why you are asking him that. Did nobody ever ask him such basic questions like : ‘are you in pain?’ This man's sole purpose was to fight, that made no damn sense for you.

“Sir ?” You insisted for an answer, even if the ‘sir’ sounded absolutely ridiculous to your ears. You didn’t know his name, and you don’t feel comfortable calling him “Winter Soldier” , “Soldier”, “Sir De Winter”, “Hey you,he soviet assassin” so it will be “Sir” for now. “Sir are you in pain right now ?” “I’m not in pain.” A complete sentence, that’s progress. You breathed a bit better “Ok good.” You got up from your desk, which was honestly barely taller that him remaining on his chair. He didn’t let go of your eyes and you decided to make a bold move. For now, he was always being responsive so you slowly moved your hands toward him. To his prosthetic hand. “May I take a look, please ?” You glanced at each other, nobody made the first move. In complete silence, if it wasn’t for both of your breaths. You’re almost sure that it has been at least 5 minutes since you decided to speak again. Slowly, and gently, with no signs of confrontation in your body language or speech. “I will not do it until you comply. And you can refuse the contact.” He didn’t answer right away but he finally nodded.

Slowly, you took his hand into yours, lifting it from his thigh where it was resting. At the beginning it was just taking a look. But he wasn’t making any moves, so you decided to take your observation a little further. You used your other hands to start to move each finger separately, taking a step closer to him. Finally, you made one of your hands slowly sliding into the hoodie, to feel the muscles, the nerves, how it feels like a real arm. It was cold, but you felt it shudder to your touch. That was the line you decided to not take it further.

“Thank you, Soldier.” You said with a smile, taking away your hands from him. You moved behind your desk, opening your notepad to take a bunch of notes, breaking the contact with him. Just a second. But when you raised your eyes again, The Winter Soldier wasn’t in sight.

You shuddered and didn’t make a single move. If it wasn’t for your fingers grasping your desk. You did your best to have a steady respiration and not start to panic. Your throat dried up immediately. You took a deep breath and say : “Please, get back to your seat.” You slowly moved your head to look right back at him. He was standing. His eyes were black, taking loud deep breaths, fixing your behind your shoulder. Tall. Dangerous. You were terrorised. And he could smell it. He didn’t move so you stood up as well, and slowly faced him. You try to remain in total control of your body and not start to fidget. You could scream for help, but for whatever reason, you still had the feeling you could handle the situation. Trying to convince yourself that it wasn’t the first time a patient was disobedient. The only difference was that this one could crush your skull in a bat of an eye,

“Get back.” You said once again, bearing his piercing eyes, but he didn’t budge. So you took out your hand and put it on his chest. You felt like an ant against a mountain, but you pushed him a bit. “We will go nowhere this way.” You resumed trying to get a step closer, even if it will be creating a proximity that could be even more lethal to you. “So please, get back to…”

Something happened. It was obvious, and clear as day : you felt the bulge between his legs. Right above your navel. Hardening even more now that he could feel your body. You decided immediately to repress the shameful feeling of your very inside warming up and tickling you. “Winter Soldier.” You growled, angry but trying your best to remain as professional as you could. Of course, of fucking course. This guy was gorged on serum and hormones, quick, violent actions, and adrenaline. Pumping in his veins, burning 24/7. His body was on the edge all the time, and he just awoke from a dreamless slumber. He was a human, whatever all these idiots were thinking, not a freakin’ cyborg. When was the last time he saw a woman that he didn’t smash the head on a wall ? You even suspected that Pierce was counting on it. Nonetheless, you were alone in an office, literally glued with the world's most dangerous assassin, who was having a massive hard-on. Throbbing against you. You had your share of very awkward situations in your short life time. But nothing, nothing prepared you for this. And you had even less of an idea of what to do because he was doing nothing . He was feeling uncomfortable, that you could say, but he wasn’t really doing any moves to attack you, or even take you. He was standing here, with heavy breathing, his eyes still piercing you. And you slowly slided your gaze to his lips, finding the vision of his hard laboured breath strangely mesmerizing.

Short of ideas, your reflexes took the best (or the worst) of you, and without you realizing it, your hand was around his neck. Your palm pressured on his glottis, and you clearly felt him swallow. As clearly as you felt him becoming even harder. Your breath was starting to shake, as you felt a not-so subtle chill coursing your spin. You drew his face and your face closer, as you finally moved forward, forcing him to move as well. Forcing was a strong word : the last time you hit a punching bag, you hurt yourself and sobbed for an hour. But for whatever reason, he did whatever you wanted. As if he was testing your resolve to make him obey. But there was nothing on his file about this behaviour. He tried to attack, kill and escape. Nothing about testing the limits of anyone.

“You. Will. Sit. Down!” you spat, through your teeth, forcing even more your grip around his neck, as your other hand was reaching for his hair. You pulled it, not too harshly, but you could definitely smell the musk, and the wetness of what stayed of his shower.

You did it. He was sitting down again. And your bodies departed for one another. For once he tried to escape your gaze, which was a strangely human reaction. You both managed to get your breath back, before you decided to call the guard to adjourn your observation.

As soon as the door closed behind them, you felt your legs giving up and you sat on the ground, back against your desk, a small wimp leaving your throat. You felt your eyes starting to wet, and your teeth rattled a bit so you tried to cuddle yourself to try to retake control on your body. Your hands were shaking uncontrollably as his intoxicating smell was still all around you. It was by far one of the most terrifying experiences you ever felt, and it was all clouded by the phantom feeling of his body against yours. You could still feel his gaze, his heat, his… well, his cock against your belly. You were still chilling, trying to repress whatever you were feeling at this instant. Because it wasn’t right, for you. Nor him. Everyone in this godforsaken organisation was treating him like a dog, just here to attack and do tricks, but you swore to yourself not to do the same. You will succeed at your mission, but you’ll do it from the crumbs of humanity and morality that HYDRA left you. You will do anything possible that the mission will be complete, the most painless possible for this broken man you just saw. Wait a second.

Painless .

You jumped on your feet, ignoring the numbness of your legs caused by the shock, and you ran at the door, screaming at the three men at the end of the corridor. “HEY !” The guards startled a bit and looked at you “I changed my mind. Bring the Winter Soldier back to my office.” They briefly exchange what seems to be a bunch of insults about you, but they comply to bring the Soldier back. Him ? He seemed absolutely unbothered.

You closed the door behind the both of you, to the face of the guards yet again. He was standing here, showing his back as you slowly got back in front of him. Hands in your pocket, not really sure of what to do nor how to do it. He was looking at you, this same feeling of unease than before. And for reasons : a small glance confirmed that he was still rock hard. You didn’t make any move for a long time, until you finally put your hand on his chest. You felt his breathing becoming slightly quicker. “You’re not in pain.” You whispered, and he shook his head, negatively. “That was the wrong question. I’m sorry... “ Without you noticing, you had the palm of your hand on his cheek, scrubing lightly his stubble with your thumb as an apology. You breathed in, just couldn’t believe what you were about to say. “Do you need help ?” His expression didn’t change, but his eyes ? They became a bit brighter, you could even see a bit of relief when you saw him nod.

You swiftly move your other index on his pillowy lips as you still lower your voice. “They cannot hear us.” He nodded again as the only feeling of your finger as close to his mouth made him shiver with anticipation. He was literally dying of anything that could relieve him. And for what you understood, as your conversation continued, he trusted you with his body, to provide him with the sweet touch he has been totally deprived of. You slowly push away your index to gently slide your thumb between his lips, and he sighed with pleasure as he took it with an eagerness you would never have believed possible. The most deadly assassin in the world, the legendary Winter Soldier that everyone wishes he wasn’t real, was purring while sucking your finger. If you weren’t the shrink, you’ll be needing one immediately. You gently moved him to make him sit in his chair, he was way too tall for you to handle this with ease. “What about the showers?” You asked him, as you removed your thumb to make it gently slide on his lips, your other hand crawling across his chest to his pants. He swallowed before whispering. “I could but... “ his well built square jaws started to tense, with a visible revulsion. “... They can watch.” Disgusting. He couldn’t even close the damn door of the shower. “You’re safe here.” You said as your hand was finally reaching the bulge behind his Hydra cargo pants. You didn’t know what you expected but… it was way beyond that. He hissed a bit at the feeling of your hand as you started to touch it gently over the fabric.

Now he was panting, looking at you as you were a single oasis after years of thirst in the desert. “Please…” You heard, barely audible when he was starting to lose it. “I got you, but you have to promise me to be good.” “Anything. Please…”

And at your very surprise, you obliged him. Using your hand to plunge into his pants, while the other fast pressed into his mouth, muffing the immediate deep moan that escaped at the very second you touched his pulsing penis. He started panting even more, as he used his flesh arm to drive you onto him. His forehead against yours. You couldn’t stop yourself from getting closer and closer. Actually you let go of his -massive- erection a second to just drop out his pants, and his breach. You stopped a second, only to watch him begging you with his eyes, as you could feel his saliva at the palm of your hand while you muzzled him. It was it. You realized what kind of power you have over this man. He has been used and abused in every single way, but for once : someone’s finally doing what he wanted. You had his pleasure in your very hands, and for once in years, you could finally help someone. So you’re gonna do it, you’re going to make him feel good. Very good. “Good boy.” You muttered, without knowing where the hell that could come from, and you reached him again. Stroking your hands up and down his shaft, nourishing yourself over the vibration of his muffled moans against your hand. His eyes weren't leaving yours, if it wasn’t for when they seemed to roll to the sky. His vision periodically blackened by the waves of forbidden pleasure he was feeling over his body, who was barely him anymore. Your eyes were gorging on the vision of his handsome muscular man, surrendering himself to your touch, sweating, trembling and panting for you. You were saluted by an utterly satisfied noise the moment you decided to lean over his manhood to drip a large amount of your own saliva moist what was already on the edge of ruin. You rolled your thumb against his tip, massage his veins with just one finger… anything to make him feel something. Anything that wasn’t pure anger, hatred or apathy. You were inclined to believe the file saying that he was nothing but a perfectly built weapon for HYDRA to command. But now, when you tickled, teased and made him shiver, and you felt all his sincere gratitude, you were certain : There is a man in here. And he was finally feeling good .

But soon, it wasn’t enough anymore. Seeing his bare thighs, powerful, thicken by years of training and super soldier serum, tensed by all the nerves and muscles deliciously answering to your call, made your inside warmed up. Your core was aching, screaming for proximity and intimacy, and before you understood what happened, you sat astride on his left thigh. The soft flesh between your legs immediately responded with delight, making you shiver. Almost instantly, you felt his grip on your hip, of the cold metal digging into your flesh with despair. It was a super soldier, with the stamina of several dozen men, but it’s been so long, and you were touching him with perfection. You felt his head on your shoulder, and slowly you started licking his temple, tasting the very fruit of your hard work : his sweat.

Galvanized by his intoxicating smell, and the thrusting he started giving to your hand, you started to move like a snake, rocking against his skin, looking for some pressure despite the fabric of your pants, mercilessly acting like a barrier of your own pleasure. You could get it off, but it was a limit that you forbid yourself to cross. But it’s true, as you were working him, you couldn’t stop yourself to think of how this would feel. Sliding inside you. You were so very short and fragile, and compared to your hand, his phallus was gigantic. He could ruin you, split you in half, using his bare hands and make you do anything. But the only person in control here, were you. And only you. You never felt anything like this before. And it’s highly probable than neither did he. You tried to vanish the thought, but the more you could feel his thigh between yours, the more you became obsessed.

The more he was approaching, the more eager the soldier became. Both of his hands firmly gripped on your behind, almost certain that it will leave bruises, but you didn’t care at this very moment. His grunts against your hands became more and more intense, and you started to feel he was about to give in. In between your fingers, small drips of salivas were started to escape. You couldn’t give up your grip now, so you made it even more tight, drawing your lips closer to your hands, you whispered as your sore wrist fastened its path “I’m here for you. Give everything to me.”

His panting became incontrolable, his eyes rolled out, his head dropped back, before he finally reached his peak. You felt the deep vibration of his ultimate cry on your hand, as your other hand was dripping of hot seed. You slowly removed your other hand from his face, and could contemplate your masterpiece : the Soldier absolutely looked like a mess, with his red face, his eyes blinking furiously, covered with his own saliva. You left his leg, both your hands dripping of his bodily fluids. You used the one that was on his lips to pick his head and forced him to look at you. You ravished your vision of this man who absolutely surrendered to your good care, deeply satisfied with your attention. You cradled his face, and you took a large lick of his spit from his chin to his mouth. Where he leaned for a wet and warm kiss. You took a good taste of him, intoxicated by whatever pheromones he could diffuse around you.

You look at him another few seconds, before recluandly moving away, to the bathroom where you not only washed your hands, but came back with a wet towel. You first cleaned with infinite care his face, and then his genitals, making sure he wouldn’t have any kind of unpleasant sensation as he had a big day ahead of him. You were his doctor and caretaker, and he had a mission to prepare. He seemed to respond well to the cleaning, not really expressive, but he made no sudden move. You could see him sighing with ease, closing his eyes as he rubbed his cheek in your palm again, when you were caressing him with the wet towel. You could still hear a loud satisfying purr. If you didn’t specifically ask him to kill someone less that an hour ago, you would actually find this absolutely adorable.

You breathed in and out, making sure he was okay. “Are you feeling better ?...” He nodded, visibly relaxed, as he was closing his pants but not much more expressive than before. He stood up, in front of you, like nothing happened. “Yes.” But to your surprise he added a second later. “Thank you, doctor.” You smiled at him as you couldn’t keep yourself from making your knuckles caressing his cheek, and finally tracking the shape of his jaws. “Good boy.” You heard yourself say, wondering what the fuck was wrong with you.He didn’t react. All the shivers, purring, sighing, and moans disappeared as soon as his pants closed. It was for the best, and you quickly took your hand back, clearing your throat. You call the guards. The Winter Soldier was fully ready for his mission preparation, and you asked them to give him some time to recover from… his cryostatic, before you would start the procedure.

In the meantime, you need a shower. A long, hot, steamy, shower.

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wizardingworld-imagines · 4 years

Text

Secrets - Draco Malfoy

Pairing - Draco Malfoy x fem!Reader

Requested? - Yes! by @actyourownfandom-23

Word Count - 2k

Warnings - Umbridge. Need I say more?

A/N - I’m so so sorry that this took so long, however I hope I made up for it with the length and that it was worth the wait :)

Draco and Y/N were drawn to each other. There was an immediate spark, like fireworks going on a celebratory event for new years. There were only a few problems with their flirtations. Y/N was born to muggle parents, growing up without any knowledge of the wizarding world, until the Hogwarts letter arrived through their letter box. They were cautious, thinking it was some kind of prank or joke, but they eventually realised the truth and sent Y/N off to her new school for the next 7 years. She was also sorted into Gryffindor after arriving at Hogwarts, and swiftly made friends with Harry, Ron and Hermione. At Hogwarts, she would discover that she would find friendships that would last lifetimes, and a romance which was found in the strangest of places.

Y/N and Draco had been together for just over a year. They started getting closer in Third Year, when she helped look after him when his arm was injured by a hippogriff, who Y/N later came to learn was called Buckbeak when she helped Harry and Hermione save him. At the beginning of Fourth Year, Draco and Y/N started meeting in secret, spending tender moments together and Y/N learnt who Draco truly was. He was only a boy, manipulated by his father into believing extremist views, without little choice of his own. He had his reputation as a school bully, something most people would be cautious of, but Y/N understood why he did it. He was trying to gain his father’s approval, something he so desperately wanted that he’d sacrifice anything else for it. He could have done so many incredible things during his time at Hogwarts, yet he wasted his years being servile to someone who would never respect him.

When Umbridge came to the school, tensions were high. Y/N and Draco could no longer meet as often as they liked to, and their relationship was deteriorating quickly. Luckily, they were paired up in potions, allowing them to spend some time together.

‘No, Draco, you’re doing it wrong!’ Y/N exclaimed, as Draco ignored the instructions for the Draught of Peace, blissfully unaware of the adverse side effects caused by one small misstep. Draco turned to face Y/N, annoyance evident in his voice as he spat

‘I don’t need help from a mudblood, I bet you don’t even know how to brew the potion’

Draco’s eyes widened as he realised what he said, shame evident on his features. To anyone else he wouldn’t have cared, but he just insulted Y/N, his secret girlfriend of over a year. She stared back at him, outraged that he would say such a thing to her, but she couldn’t react. This was what he was like to everyone. She knew it wasn’t who he wanted to be, but he had been conditioned to think this way. ‘It wasn’t his fault’, she would tell herself, ‘it’s due to his upbringing.’ But surely he was at an age now where he could make his own decisions? Surely he didn’t have to keep trying to earn the respect of a father who might never be proud of him?

Y/N noticed the shame in his eyes, something only she saw. Most other people thought it was some kind of enjoyment, that he was sadistic and cruel, but Y/N knew what that look upon his face meant. He was hurting inside too.

Unfortunately for the pair of them, Umbridge was making her rounds of the castle and heard the commotion from the potions classroom as she strolled the dungeon corridors. She burst her way into the room, directly looking at Y/N and Draco.

‘Y/L/N. Malfoy. My office. Now.’ she said, turning swiftly around and out of the doorway where she just entered. Snape sent an unamused look towards the bewildered pair, and sighed, waving his hand to let them go.

Nerves racked through both of them as they walked towards Umbridge’s office. They had heard, and seen, what kind of torture went on in there. They paced the halls as they hiked to what felt like the gallows, neither of them wanting to speak about what just happened. Draco sent Y/N a look of apology, hoping she knew that he didn’t mean what he said. Y/N understood, she responded by nodding and then taking his hand in hers as they climbed the staircase to the office together.

Moments later, they sat opposite Umbridge, hands now parted as to not raise suspicion. She lectured the two about what had happened, and let Draco go without punishment. He was part of her inquisitorial squad, of course. He hesitated, not wanting to leave Y/N alone, but he had no choice. Staying would have only caused more complications.

After Draco’s departure, Umbridge brought out the parchment and quill Y/N had heard so much about. She had seen the scars on the hands of other students, and tears started to accumulate in the corner of her eyes, threatening to spill at any moment. Umbridge brought the parchment to the desk, and Y/N looked up at her, doing her best to be unafraid of what is going to happen.

‘Now, you must write ‘I must not keep secrets’ until you understand ok? How about 50 times?’ She says, sitting back down at her desk. The room was garish, pink and covered in decorative items with cats on them. The room was torture for the eyes, let alone the physical pain Y/N was about to endure.

‘Excuse me, why must I write that? I’m not keeping any secrets’ Y/N asked, curiosity in her voice.

‘I see how you and Mr Malfoy look at each other, and I reckon you two are sneaking out to see each other, are you not?’

Y/N was dumbfounded. How did she know? Y/N couldn’t answer, she just hung her head lowly and that confirmed everything for Umbridge.

‘Well, get on with it then’ She said, her tone a mix of excitement and disgust. And Y/N started writing.

~~~~~~

Leaving Umbridge’s office, Y/N examined the back of her hand, noticing the words etched into her skin already beginning to scar. The tears that threatened to spill earlier came pouring out, a tsunami of tears flooding her eyes and trailing down her cheeks. She ran to the common room, hoping that it would be empty, however to her irritation it was packed full of people.

She tried pushing past the bodies in the room, wanting to just go to her bed and cry, but to no avail, she was spotted by Hermione.

‘Y/N! Where have you been, it’s been hours since anyone last saw you!’ She stated, panic apparent with every word that she spoke. She grabbed Y/N by the wrist, noticing the marks on her hand. She was outraged, she pulled Y/N towards Harry and Ron, who were residing on the couch by the fireplace.

‘Look what Umbridge did to Y/N!’ She exclaimed, revealing Y/N’s hand to the boys. They both read the words, confusion visible upon both of their expressions.

‘But, you haven’t got anything to hide, have you?’ Ron asks, looking at Y/N, giving her reassurance that if there is anything she could tell them.

‘Well, actually…’ she starts, not knowing if she should tell them. ‘They have a right to know, they’re your best friends.’ She tells herself, so she continues, not wanting to leave them waiting.

‘Actually, I have got a secret. I may be in a relationship’ Her intonation higher on the last words, demonstrating her nervousness.

‘With who?’ They all yell, gaining the attention of everyone in the room in their desperation to know.

Silence fills the common room, and what can only be described a a squeak comes out of Y/N’s mouth.

‘Draco’

Mouths drop to the floor, did she really just say his name? Everyone was astounded by this, Draco Malfoy, the infamous hater of muggle borns, Gryffindors and essentially anyone who existed.

The silence was deafening. Y/N didn’t know what to do. She acted upon her first instinct and raced towards the common room entrance, leaving as swiftly as she could. She went to the only place she could think of, the spot where the Draco and her met in the forbidden forest.

~~~~~

When she arrived, Draco was already there. He was mumbling to himself, something about being a terrible person and how cowardly he was for not staying to prevent whatever happened to Y/N. Oh his innocent Y/N.

Y/N approached quietly, trying to make out what he was saying. She could only catch words isolated from the rest of the sentence. The snapping of a twig underneath Y/N’s foot caused Draco to turn around dramatically,his wand drawn ready to hex whoever interrupted him in his solitude. Noticing that it was Y/N, he quickly put his wand away, rushing towards her. He clasped her hand tightly in his, and brought it up to his lips, kissing the scarred flesh.

‘There you are, I was starting to think she still had you in her office, I was debating whether I came back to rescue you from your captor’ He said, a smirk rising.

‘Draco, this isn’t the time for flirting, they know’

Seriousness washed over his face. ‘They definitely know?’ He asked, a lump forming in his throat.

‘Yes. I had to tell them. They wondered about what I was hiding and I’m so tired of keeping this secret. I know I should have asked you first but I just had to do it’ She responded, expecting him to be angry and wanting to leave her.

‘Ok’

‘Ok? That’s how you respond?’ She questions.

‘Well, they know now. And that’s ok. We can deal with that’

Y/N was astonished. Draco was ok with them knowing? He had wanted to hide things for so long, but now it’s suddenly ok?

She didn’t get an opportunity to speak when the sound of three pairs of feet, crunching the leaves below them, approached the couple.

Expecting something bad to happen, Draco instinctively pulls Y/N behind him, wanting to keep her safe from anything that could do them any harm. He only wishes he could have done the same back when they were in Umbridge’s office.

The faces of the trio peering back at them, Y/N steps out from behind Draco.

‘Hello’ Harry starts. ‘I know we reacted badly back there, but we came to apologise. It isn’t our place to judge who you date or choose to spend your time with and after consideration we would like to apologise for our actions’

Y/N smiled at them, her heart filling with warmth.

‘Now, this isn’t to say that we like you, Malfoy, however, we will tolerate you, for Y/N’s sake. But if you do anything to ever hurt her, you’ll have us to answer to. Ok?’ Harry finished his lecture, staring at Draco, making sure he understood what was being said.

Draco laughed at the thought of them confronting him, but he reassured them, ‘don’t worry, I wouldn’t dream of hurting Y/N’ Finishing his sentence by taking her hand in his.

‘Now, let's get back to the castle, dinner is about to start and if we’re missing without reason we’ll be in big trouble, let alone if they find us in the forbidden forest’ Hermione reminded them, as they began their walk back to Hogwarts. A place where they could be whoever they wanted to be, regardless of their family, their background, their actions. A place they truly called home.

#draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy imagine #harry potter imagines #hp imagines #harry potter imagine

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brockadoodles · 3 years

Text

this is me trying - n. mackinnon

AN: Don’t be fooled by the cute gif, this is ANGST, AGNST, and more ANGST. But y’all asked for this so. Here’s another one of the folklore series. It’s a repost, but definitely let me know what you think!

Word Count: 2190

Warnings: Drinking, angst

I was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere Fell behind all my classmates and I ended up here Pouring out my heart to a stranger But I didn’t pour the whiskey

When you left Denver, you had no plans of coming back. You made peace with your decision to leave Nate because you felt in your heart that it was the right one at the time. Nate was intense but nothing was as impeding as the freight train of emotions that hit your body at once when you fell too hard for him, too fast. You did what any cowardly person would, you followed your fears all the way out of town, hoping for that to be the solution to mend the destruction inflicted on your heart that you were only to blame for.

You thought Los Angeles would bring back who you were before Nate, instead, it chewed you up and spit you out like so many before you who went there, hoping for a glamorous reality that only existed in fiction. Instead of new dreams, you had an overpriced apartment you hated that felt cold at night, and loneliness in your heart you had accepted would be there forever. You were haunted by regret, the memory of leaving Nate standing alone in his kitchen as you left him, begging you to stay. He tried to tell you it was in your head, that you weren’t feeling too much, that he loved you as much as you loved him, but you wouldn’t listen. Los Angeles gave you one thing you were thankful for, even if it didn’t feel that way in the time you had been there and that was the realization of your mistake.

“I don’t understand how you can tell me you’re in love with me and then just decide to leave?” Nate sighed, doing everything he could to understand what you were saying to him. He knew things had been hard, the season was long, but you never flinched at any of the trials of his career. He was so in love with you it hurt, his love was a strange feeling in his own heart, he didn’t know if he would ever find someone until he found you and he just knew.

You wrapped your arms around your body, a physical representation of the pain you were trying to shield yourself from, a heartache that at the time felt necessary. Nate was your entire world, you lost yourself in him and your relationship and it terrified you. It was a love that was too good, where you were pulled off on the side of the road looking at a view, ten seconds away from the drop off that never came. You wanted to get ahead of it, break it off before it broke you.

“I do love you, Nate, but it’s too much. I don’t even know who I am anymore.” You cried, begging him to understand.

Nate tentatively took a step toward you, reaching slowly to pull your hand into his.

“You’re the most amazing person I know. You have a dream that you’ve built on your own, and you do a damn good job of it. You care about the people around you, with your heart that loves people deeply. Everything about you is beautiful. You make me feel like nothing else matters, I would give everything up tomorrow if you asked. Please, don’t do this to us.”

You sobbed at his words, looking into his eyes that were watery with tears. You squeezed his hand, unlacing your fingers from his. You knew what you had to do, you couldn’t be in Denver anymore. You couldn’t see his face everywhere, you had to figure out who you were.

“I can’t be that person, Nate. I don’t know who that is. I’m sorry, you have to let me go.” You whispered, smiling sadly at him.

You didn’t look back when you left his condo, you couldn’t allow yourself the last glimpse of him that you didn’t deserve. You knew if you did, you would have stayed. Instead, you walked to your car, packed full of your belongings. The tears didn’t stop flowing the entire time you drove toward the freeway, away from Denver and love you didn’t know if you’d ever find again.

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

It had been six months, time that should have been enough to get over a breakup that you were the cause of. You were standing on a rooftop, looking out at the pink and orange sky that was settled between the LA skyline. A drink was sitting on the ledge, untouched in front of you, the water droplets on the glass from the ice that was melting. Everyone around you seemed so happy to be there drinks flowing and a steady noise from the constant chatter as they all celebrated your friend’s new engagement. You sighed, opening your phone as you debated slipping out early. You felt like an open wound, your thoughts were still racing over Nate, clouding your judgment and making it so that you couldn’t even be present for an event that deserved your full attention.

When the car pulled up to your building, you felt like you were on auto-pilot as you thanked the driver, pulling out your keys before entering the lobby. As you opened the door to your apartment, you felt your eyes get heavy. You slipped off your heels, leaving them by the door as you continued inside. You slowly worked through your night routine, each step of it committed to muscle memory. You weren’t fully there, all you could think about was Nate.

You made yourself a cup of tea in an attempt to wind yourself down, the cup warm in your hands as you crawled into your bed. Everything reminded you of him, the way you carefully got into bed, as if he was still peacefully sleeping on the other side and you didn’t want to wake him, the way you mentally said goodnight to him, even if you were just talking to his ghost, each little inconsequential piece of your life led back to him, no matter how hard you tried to forget.

You felt so ahead of him at the time, so sure that what you were doing was right for both of you. The fear of a future with him overtook everything, the worries slowly started to replace comfort. You laid in bed that night, watching as time passed slowly while you thought intently about the last year of your life. You mentally berated yourself, trying to pinpoint exactly where it went wrong, combing through your memories for any signs that Nate gave that could have made you so insecure.

The problem was that those signs were never there because Nate had never done anything wrong. He was an intense person, giving his all into everything he did, including you. Nate may not have been the type to show his feelings with superficial romantic gestures, he rarely surprised you with flowers, he didn’t take you on fancy dates, he took painfully long to say that he loved you. Anyone who didn’t know him probably would write him off as a lost cause, a young guy who didn’t know how to give himself to someone else. They had it all wrong though, Nate may not have been public about his affection, but he showed how much he cared in other ways. You felt his love in the way that he held you close after a tough loss, it was in the way he smiled softly at you when you weren’t looking, it was the way that he was your biggest supporter, always proud of your accomplishments and the person that you were. It was the way he was so sure about you meeting his family and Sid, knowing if you could get along with them, that you were probably the one for him.

You thought back to that summer in Cole Harbour. Tears silently rolling down your cheeks as you remembered what Sidney had said to you that weekend.

“He’s better with you, ya know. He’s more tolerable,” Sid jokes, walking up to you with a smile. You turned to look at him before your eyes trailed back to Nate, your heart full of nothing but affection for the man you had the privilege of getting to know. “But actually, not sure I’ll like him as much if you ever leave. You’re everything to him.” You looked at Sid, smiling softly at him. You didn’t respond because at the time you didn’t need to, the way you loved him was evident that weekend, it was unspoken.

You never considered what Nate wanted. Looking back on it, you completely disregarded any feelings about you leaving, you never even gave him a chance to speak as you walked out his front door. The pressure created in your own mind, conning you into leaving a relationship that you were perfectly happy to be in only to later never let you grieve over what you did to him. You were selfish and you decided that enough was enough, you needed to forget about the failed attempt at moving on, you needed to go home.

Glancing at the clock, you saw that it was just nearing 4 am, dimly lit reflections from the buildings were sneaking into your windows as the city was still asleep. It was a bad idea, one that came about from six months of never feeling at peace, your mind constantly going in circles. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you packed a small bag and left LA, settling in for a long drive back to a painfully familiar place.

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

As soon as you drove into the city, feelings of nostalgia calmed you. You felt the most at peace than you had in a long time, a false sense of hope filling your heart, not knowing that in a few hours you’d finally break.

You didn’t have a plan as you drove the familiar route to the place you once shared together, the streets unchanged as you passed by. It was dark, and you had no idea if he was even in town but it didn’t matter, you had to try. When you got close to the house, your heart sank. A beautiful woman was getting into a car in the driveway. Of course, he had moved on, why wouldn’t he when it had been so long? You drove away from the house quickly, the pieces of your heart shattering as you went to the one place in Denver where you knew you’d have a few hours to just forget.

You sat at a dimly lit bar in downtown Denver, flakes of snow littered in your hair from the winter conditions you couldn’t forget if you tried. Your dark anorak jacket was carefully placed on the stool beside you, the wool scarf that had lost the scent of Nate a long time ago still carefully wrapped around your neck, keeping your body warm and comforted. Whiskey sours were placed in front of you far too frequently for anyone that was supposed to be put together. You poured your heart out to a stranger, details blurring together as you spoke to the man next to you who probably couldn’t care less about your problems. Your words were slurring as you crawled deeper into your own mind, over analyzing each moment of your relationship with Nate and how you got to this point of being in the same town and not knowing each other anymore.

You shakily pulled out your phone, debatably one whiskey sour too many from any sort of rational decision. You missed him, the kind of longing where your whole body aches. You sat in the nearly empty bar, minutes from the last call, ringing in your heart that was heavy enough to lead to collapse.

You opened the familiar contact, the red heart still next to his name, taunting you as you remember the childlike crush you had when you put it there. You knew he wouldn’t pick up, not after what you did, but if you couldn’t be with him, you wanted to at least try one more time to rectify the mistakes you made.

“Nate I- god. I miss you, I’m sitting here at this bar, and all I can think about is the potential we had that I fucked up. I feel like I’m the outsider in this crowded party I wasn’t invited to. All I wanted was you and I fucked it up, baby. I-god.” You cried out into his voicemail, not unfamiliar to the desperation in your voice.

“I guess this is me trying ya know? I want to make it right, to make you happy, to love you like I was so scared to before. I-I’ll be here, waiting.” You set your phone down, shaky hands wiping tears from your cheeks. You waited there until the night grew cold and the bartender had to help you into an Uber home, for a call that would never come.

#nathan mackinnon #nate mackinnon #nathan mackinnon fic #nathan mackinnon x reader #nathan mackinnon imagine #nate mackinnon imagine #nate mackinnon fic #avalanche fic

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elentiyawhitethorn · 3 years

Text

Sneaking Around | Chapter Fifteen

Lysandra’s caller ID showed up on Aelin’s phone, which she had in fact retrieved from Rowan’s earlier in the day. After a round of sex with Rowan, Aelin had eaten breakfast and walked over to pick up said phone (Rowan was too lazy to come with her), and driven back in her car.

Despite wanting to know what the hell was going on with Lysandra and Aedion, Aelin decided to wait until one of them said something to her. Which was happening now, at half past three.

“Hey Lys. Have a fun night?” Aelin couldn’t help but tease.

“Good gods yes. It was amazing.” Lysandra sounded out of breath.

Aelin answered with her usual snark, “Well good for you, darlin’, but seeing as you slept with my brother, I’d rather not hear the details.”

“Right. But holy fuck Aelin, guess what happened!”

“You two had sex. Woke up the next morning and confessed your undying love for each other. Raced into the bathroom to call me.”

Lysandra gasped. “What the hell, Aelin. Are you stalking me?”

Aelin giggled. “Oh, shit, I got it right, didn’t I? You are so predictable.”

Lys sighed. “I woke up next to him, and I laid there for a few seconds trying to figure out what the hell had happened, and then I remembered. And I looked over. And fuck, Lin, I didn’t know what to do. I debated running away, but I thought of what a coward I’d been for so long, so I poked him.” Aelin snorted here. “And he woke up and was all bleary and then he was like Oh! and then I just blurted, “I love you!” And he said it back! Fuck, who knew?”

“I know that’s supposed to be a rhetorical question, but everyone. Everyone knew.” Aelin was smirking.

“Whatever. And so I squealed and ran to the bathroom and called you. Like you said. Are you sure you don’t have cameras in here?” Lys asked.

“Yes, I do. To watch my best friend and my brother going at it,” Aelin responded dryly. “And seriously, you didn’t wake up until a few minutes ago? It’s after three.”

“Hush, I had a lot to drink. And now that I am aware of your relationship with Whitethorn, I need the details. Every freakin’ detail.”

“Maybe not on the phone when you’re camped out in my brother’s bathroom. Did you even put any clothes on?”

Lysandra snorted. “I’m too pretty for clothes.”

Aelin chuckled. “Go tell my brother he’s dumb for not making a move sooner. And shit, I owe him twenty bucks. Don’t mention that part, okay?”

A giggle escaped Lysandra. “I can’t believe you had to get him drunk and bribe him just to kiss me.”

“We Galathynius folk are always stubborn. I’m braver, though.”

Lys snorted. “You’re not wrong. Alright, thanks for the chat. Have a nice time with lover boy.”

“Oh trust me, honey, I will. Bye.”

The sound of the shower Rowan had been running stopped and a minute later he walked out in a towel. Aelin’s eyes drifted to his muscular chest. She’d had plenty of chances to look at it before, but there really was no limit to gazing at that chiseled glory.

“Like what you see?” Rowan asked teasingly.

She shamelessly replied without looking away, “Yep. And hate to break it to you, but I’m allowed to check you out; we’re dating.”

Rowan snorted and sauntered into Aelin’s bedroom. He came out a few seconds later in sweatpants and a t-shirt, basically the only thing in his wardrobe. He had brought a change of clothes with him a few days prior, and Aelin had done the same at his apartment.

“What’s for breakfast?”

“Whatever you make, dear,” Aelin replied sweetly. “And hurry, would you? I’m hungry.”

“You are wicked. But it’s Christmas Eve, so I’ll be nice.”

Aelin grinned. “For once.”

He just rolled his eyes at her and started looking through the cabinets, muttering about her abuse.

The “Christmas party” had taken place on the day before Christmas Eve, as most people didn’t want to spend Christmas Day with a bunch of drunken friends. Of the friends who didn’t travel for the holidays, Aelin and Aedion would be spending part of Christmas together as siblings. The rest Aelin would be with Rowan for. Hopefully Lys would see Aedion, but who could tell at this point? Manon liked to go out to bars on Christmas. “My favorite type of gay girl is the one who ditches everybody on the holiday to get a drink,” she always said. “The holidays are my favorite opportunities.” Everyone else always laughed at Manon’s antics.

Now, though, Aelin had a whole day to herself of Rowan.

After cereal for lunch (Rowan made a mean Cheerios bowl) and a Halloween movie (yes, on Christmas Eve - don’t judge), Aelin demanded Rowan take her on a walk.

“It’s snowing, Aelin.” Despite being late December, it hadn’t been very cold lately. Now, however, it was snowing in earnest. There was already an inch and a half on the ground and it was still going.

Aelin frowned. “That makes it even better. And remember, we need to work on your courage issues.”

Rowan scowled at her. “Enough of that.”

“It is enough when I say enough. Need I make a list of all your cowardly deeds? Let’s see; not wanting to go out in the snow now like a little baby, not telling Remelle to fuck off that one time, oh, and not asking me out for three fucking years? Also, jumping in the middle of Silence of the Lambs and-”

“Okay, that’s... we can go on a walk.”

“Yay!” Aelin brightened.

Rowan snorted. “You say that like you’re surprised. Did you ever have any doubt you’d get your way?”

“Of course not. It’s still exciting, though.”

Aelin dug through her closet, grabbing a coat, hat, scarf, and gloves. She got an extra of everything for Rowan except for the coat. Then Aelin pulled out one of her largest jackets, which happened to be neon pink, and held it beside Rowan’s towering figure. “Um, close enough?”

He sighed. “Better than freezing. I’ll take it.”

They walked down the stairs and outside. Aelin immediately started jumping around and squealing as she was pelted with snow.

“Who knew the fire-breathing bitch-queen turns into such a child in the snow?” Rowan was chuckling.

“Who doesn’t? Snow is fucking awesome.” Aelin grabbed Rowan’s arm and yanked him farther down the sidewalk and toward the park.

They spend the rest of the afternoon and part of the evening throwing snowballs and tackling each other into the snow. It was late when they entered Aelin’s apartment, took off their snow things, and ate a quick meal of pasta (neither could cook anything else). Finally, food was eaten.

“Rowan, darling,” Aelin purred.

“Yes?” he responded, a smirk on his face and an eyebrow quirked.

Aelin grinned. “It’s so cold. I was only wondering if you could be so kind as to warm me up?”

Rowan chuckled. “Anything for you, dear.” He hooked his arms under Aelin’s thighs and she instinctually wrapped her legs around his waist.

Aelin sucked on Rowan’s neck as he carried her to her bedroom. She felt satisfaction knowing it would definitely leave a mark.

Rowan placed her on the bed and climbed on top. Aelin smiled against his lips as he kissed her. “Not tonight,” she whispered, grabbing his hands before he could pull her pants off. Aelin then rolled over, pulling him with her. “I’m going to ride you tonight,” she breathed against Rowan’s neck. He let out a groan at the thought.

Rowan helped Aelin slide his sweatpants down, his underwear going with them, and he lifted his shirt off himself as Aelin stripped. Finally, they were both naked. Aelin leaned over to the nightstand and grabbed a condom. She expertly rolled it onto Rowan. He gripped her thighs and she lowered herself onto him. They both let out a groan.

Aelin started rocking her hips, drawing more noises out of him. “Oh, Aelin,” Rowan moaned. “Aelin, I love you so much.”

“Everybody does, darlin’.” Rowan just growled and slammed his hips up to meet hers.

Aelin moaned loudly. “Oh, Ro.” She braced her hands on his shoulders and kept riding him.

She was soon climaxing. He flipped them over as she moaned his name. Rowan drove his hips into Aelin several times, hard. Before long, he also reached his peak, growling as he thrust into Aelin one last time.

They lay in a pile of tangled limbs, panting. “Fucking gods,” Aelin got out between breaths.

Rowan chuckled breathily. “Damn straight.”

Aelin woke up to darkness. She glanced over and checked her phone. 5:00 am.

“Rowan, wake up!” Aelin yelled.

He jolted. “What? Aelin, what’s wrong?”

She grinned at him. “It’s Christmas!”

Rowan frowned. “That’s all? No fire? No burglar?”

She frowned as well. “What’s wrong with you? It’s Christmas,” she repeated. Aelin climbed out of bed, wearing only a t-shirt she’d pulled on the night before. She dug through her drawers for a snowman shirt to change into, as well as pants and a pair of reindeer socks.

“What time is it?” Rowan grumbled.

“It’s five.” Aelin ignored his groan at this. “Which means it time to get up and celebrate.”

“I pity whoever raised you. You must have been even worse as a child. And it’s kind of hard to celebrate when it’s the early hours of the morning and I’m trying to sleep.”

Aelin scowled. “Whatever. I’m going to go make hot chocolate.”

She did indeed make hot chocolate. And sit by the window happily reading a book. By eight o’clock, Rowan shuffled into the kitchen.

Aelin grinned. “Merry Christmas.”

He snorted. “Merry Christmas, Aelin.” He came to where she sat and wrapped an arm around her. “I love you.”

Aelin hugged him back. “Me too, Ro.”

They had a few more hours to spend together before Aelin put on a pair of snow boots, grabbed her gift for Aedion, and tromped to his apartment.

“Why are you walking, Aelin?” he asked when she appeared on his doorstep. “Did you lose your car?”

“It’s Christmas, dear brother. It’s nice outside. And don’t even comment on my pajamas, they’re comfy.”

Aedion rolled his eyes at her and let her inside. Lysandra was sitting at the counter. She turned and grinned at Aelin. “Hey, Lin. Merry Christmas. I’ll leave you two to spend your sibling time together, but I have something for you first.”

Lys had gotten Aelin a box of chocolates, making her Aelin’s new favorite person. She in turn gave Lys an expensive lipstick Lysandra had been admiring a while ago, saying she had a feeling Lys might be here.

Hugs were exchanged, and then Lys went to a back room to give the siblings some space.

“Aed, you’re my favorite brother ever,” Aelin said, giving him a hug.

Aedion snorted. “Also your only brother, but I’ll take it.” He squeezed her back.

Aelin gifted him a pair of socks with little reindeers on them (to match her own socks), getting a new series of books in return. She was an avid reader, and loved adding to her collection. Aelin stayed for several hours, then said goodbye to him and Lysandra, who were shyly smiling at each other every time their eyes met. Good grief.

Finally, she made it back to her own apartment. Upon opening the door, Aelin was greeted with Christmas lights strung all along the walls and a minature plastic tree in the middle of the room. Aelin gasped. “Ohmigosh, Rowan, did you do this?”

He was leaning against the counter smirking. “No, it was the elves.”

Aelin walled over to him and punched him in the bicep. For once, he didn’t say ‘ow.’ They were making progress. He did complain, though. “Um, you’re welcome? Also, I don’t think that’s what you’re supposed to do under mistletoe.”

Aelin looked up. Taped to the cabinet above him was indeed a strand of mistletoe. She rolled her eyes at his antics, then leaned forwards and placed a gentle kiss upon him lips. He tried to pull her in for more, but Aelin just backed away and said, “You’ll get the rest later. Now, I’m going to give you a present.”

She went to her room, put away her new books and candy, got a wrapped gift out from under her bed, and walked back into the living room. Rowan was waiting, a gift of his own on the counter next to him.

Grinning, Aelin handed him the present. He looked suspiciously at it, then unwrapped it.

And rolled his eyes at what was inside.

“I thought you needed to spice your wardrobe up a little,” Aelin said with a devious grin. He snorted, holding up the red sweater with a Christmas tree on the front. Actual minature lights were strung around the torso. They lit up when you pressed a button.

Rowan chuckled. “I love it.” He slung it on over his t-shirt and pressed the on switch. Suddenly, the light bulbs were glowing, making him look like he tripped and got tangled in a pile of Christmas lights.

He handed Aelin her present. She opened it to reveal a box of chocolates. Lys had given her the same thing, but there never was enough candy. She squealed.

Rowan smirked. “I take it you like it? Look inside.”

Curious, Aelin opened the lid to find... chocolates. And then seeing the custom order sticker on the lid she realized: “Rowan, you got me all my favorites! How did you even know which chocolates I like?”

He grinned. “Milk chocolate, pecan, almond, caramel. I’ve been paying attention. Also, the extra five dollars was worth not seeing you scowl at all of the assorted coconut.”

Aelin smiled. “They always put so many coconut candies in there and I hate them. They’re disgusting. Thank you so much, Ro. I’m warning you, though, they aren’t going to last very long.”

“I didn’t think they would,” Rowan said with a smirk. “I’ve seen you devour a large KitKat in seconds. I’ll admit, it was a little frightening.”

Aelin snorted. “I got you something else, too.” She pulled a smaller gift out of her pocket, wanting the extra one to be a surprise.

He opened it and pulled out an ornament with the inscription A + R. Aelin smiled nervously. “Perhaps a little presumptuous, but...”

Rowan looked up at Aelin and smiled widely. “Thank you, Aelin. It’s great.” He leaned down and kissed her softly. She tried to deepen the kiss, but Rowan pulled back and said, “You’ll get the rest later,” mocking her words from earlier.

Aelin tried to scowl, but it faded as Rowan walked over to the mini tree and carefully placed the ornament on a plastic branch. “Where exactly were you planning on putting this? You didn’t know I got you a tree.”

She grinned. “Planning that would have required forethought, which I do not have.”

Rowan snorted. “At least you admit it. I got you another present too.” He picked up a small box off the counter that Aelin hadn’t noticed before.

Aelin opened the box to find a necklace. She opened the locket on the end to see A + R. “We got the same inscription,” Aelin said, laughing. “It’s beautiful, Rowan.” She handed it to him and turned, pulling her hair over one shoulder.

She heard Rowan unclasp it and then he gently placed the necklace around her neck, clipping it in the back.

Aelin turned back around and lifted her hands to his face. “Merry Christmas, Rowan.”

He placed his hands on her waist and gazed lovingly into her eyes. “Merry Christmas.”

#rowaelin #tog #sneaking around #my writing

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heavenunderthemoon · 4 years

Text

Growing Pains - Spencer Reid {Prologue}

NEVADA

"Come on, scaredy-cat, you're missin' the views."

Y/n's accent drawled out in the dense morning air. Typically it wasn't so present- she made sure of that. Spencer was teased almost every waking second that they spent at the playground and she wasn't about to give the other kids any ammunition against her if she could help it. But, with the sleepy fog that blanketed the two children, chasing them as they raced to catch the sunrise, it happened to slip out.

Spencer Reid wiped his sweaty hands against his weathered jeans. He needed to get a new pair, this one was just about used up. There were holes at the knees from the amount of times he had fallen on them. "Fallen". He used the word freely even if it meant a group of older kids pushing him down in the school parking lot.

He tugged his eyes off where he had been focusing so intensely on his task of climbing- he was no good at climbing, or running, or anything physical, really, but y/n liked that kind of stuff and he wasn't about to disappoint the one person who actually chose to befriend him.

Through his cracked, crooked glasses, he could see his thirteen year old counterpart already sat atop the monkey bars she had chosen as their sunrise lookout spot. They weren't allowed to sit atop them as decreed by many adults who had seen far too many broken limbs become the result of it. This was, of course, another reason his hands were sweating as badly as they were. Y/n didn't seem to care, and he knew for a fact she didn't.

The girl was scared of very little, something he was rather envious of.

The two had met only six years ago at the very same playground they sat at today. Spencer recalled the day without trouble, his eidetic memory playing no hand in the matter. It was hard to forget someone like Y/n. His mother (on her good days) called the girl a hurricane. She was comparative to all the heroes, protagonists, and brave warriors they read about before bed.

His nose had been stuck in a book. His father had told him to go outside. 'You need to get out of the house, it's not healthy to be a shut-in like you are.'

Despite being only seven, Spencer had very adamantly tried to protest that he was in good health and that no part of it was at risk from staying inside and wanting to read, but his father wanted no part in the debate, shooing the boy outside and shutting the door behind him.

Sweat dripped down his forehead in the hot Las Vegas air, and the Reid boy silently wished he had been given a beverage of some kind to take with him.

There was a hose, of course, sat outside the park that the children often used to quench their thirst but his mind raced with images of germs and bacteria climbing down his hands and throat from the use of it so he decided he would be better off passing out due to dehydration.

No sooner had he turned a page was the book ripped from his hands, thrown to the ground. Before he could protest, he felt himself lifted from the bench he had been perched on, tossed into the dirt like a rag doll. He knew the boy, of course. It was a thirteen year old, one of the ones that liked to mess with him at school. Being placed in advanced classes had seemed like a great opportunity until he met people like this. The ones who liked to tease and toss and bully him until he cried.

Spencer tensed, waiting for the inevitable kick to his body that would surely make the boy roar with laughter, but it never came. Instead, a shadow blocked out the unforgiving sun, making the Reid boy squint his eyes open just enough to see the culprit.

A girl, his age, no doubt, had placed herself between the boy and himself. Her sneakers were dirty, and her skin was littered in traces of mud and dirt, like she had romped around in it before coming here. On her head sat a baseball cap, worn and weathered, shielding her just a tiny bit from the heat. She crossed her arms, a fierce scowl on her face.

Despite being seven, the girl's stance was nothing short of confidence and something about the way she squeezed her fists at her sides told Spencer she had a reason to be.

"Leave him alone." Her tiny voice was clipped and hardened.

The boy sneered. He had a smushed face, reddened with the heat and maybe a bit of embarrassment at being scolded by someone so much smaller than him. "Keep walking, Princess. This ain't your business."

The girl's eyes seemed to steel over. Spencer wanted to see what color they were but with her hat his view was obscured. "Are you gonna hurt him?" She demanded.

The meathead laughed out a yes, and the girl scowled.

"Then it is my business, mouth breather. Pick on someone your own size." Brave as she was, Spencer didn't see how this was going to help him. Not only did he now fully expect to get pummeled, he probably would have to try his very best to protect the girl before him. She was small, even shorter than him, and the boy was two times bigger than her.

"Or what?" The boy prodded.

And then, in one swift second, the girl was tackling the boy's legs, which was pretty much all she could aim for because she only came to hip height. He clearly hadn't been expecting an attack and landed onto the ground with an 'OOF'. Before he could react, the girl was a rage of fists and fury, angry shrieks heard from her tiny body.

It was a sight to see. A tiny little seven year old girl adorned in dirty overalls and muddied sneakers punching the daylights out of a thirteen year old boy. He was crying, not having enough time to regain his balance before the girl had knocked more than enough sense into him. His nose was bent at an extremely awkward angle, and she jumped off his dazed figure. Spencer watched all of this in awe, and hardly protested when she latched onto his hand, grabbing his book and taking off. They raced to find a place to take cover.

While the girl had done some damage, it wasn't enough to keep him down.

They sat in a secluded, forgotten doghouse on the perimeter of the park for what seemed like hours, though was probably only twenty minutes, panting, their eyes peeking out of cracks to try and find their aggressor.

"Are you okay?" Spencer finally gathered the courage to ask. She had returned his book to him- there was a splash of dried mud on it but he was just glad it was in one piece. Often times he had to return tattered material to the library and explain how it happened.

The girl was scowling down at her hand, flexing it and unflexing it. It was red, swelled a bit, but fine all the same. She grunted, nodding. "Hand hurts." She shrugged.

Spencer bit his lip, studying her a bit more. He couldn't recall ever meeting the girl, though that wasn't that much of a surprise. He hardly ever spent time with children his own age. He didn't have to. But the girl had protected him without hesitation.

"I'm sorry." He settled, but the girl turned up a brow.

They were squished in that doghouse, and they were lucky they were small because had they been any bigger they might've spilled out of the enclosure entirely. "Why are you sorry? That moron was picking on you."

"You punched him." Spencer couldn't help but notice how dumb he sounded, but he couldn't help himself. The girl confused him terribly.

Her brown hair jiggled under her hat as she nodded. "Yup." She drawled. There was a slight accent to it, one he didn't know the origin of. But it was slow and dripped like honey. "I've got a couple of brothers." She said plainly. Looking up from her hand, eyes meeting the Reid boy's, he could finally make out the color of her eyes.

They were brown. It was warm and looked like the smell of chocolate. She extended her other hand to him.

"I'm y/n."

He eyed the hand displayed to him. He absolutely hated the thought of the transference of pathogens, however she had just saved his life. He figured a handshake was in order.

"Spencer."

The memory spat him back out in an instant, and he refocused on climbing the playground structure. The sun was beginning to kiss the dry, Nevada plain, and Spencer settled himself ungracefully beside the girl. He wasn't afraid of heights so much as he was afraid someone would catch them.

Y/n's feet dangled carelessly over the edge, and she looked to the boy with a grin. "I got you something." She was reaching into her pocket as he protested, hushing his flustered ramblings.

"My birthday isn't for another week, Y/n." He whined.

"Well yeah, otherwise this wouldn't be a surprise."

She still had that same hat on her head. Spencer had learned that it was a remnant of the girl's mother. Y/m/n was a woman with a penchant for trouble and after having y/n had run off into the night, leaving three boys, a husband, and a newborn baby girl. Spencer didn't get why she wore it. She barely ever spoke of her mom- partly because she didn't even meet her and partly because the subject seemed taboo. But, he never questioned it.

The brunette hid her hand behind her back, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Close your eyes. Seriously, close them."

If it was anyone else, Spencer would have refused, but it was y/n. So, he closed his eyes, holding out his hands when she requested and feeling something land in his palms. With her permission, he opened his eyes to find a necklace. He rose a brow, bringing it closer to examine it.

The chain was silver, only a tiny pendant on the whole of it. It read "Friend", on it, and it clicked in his mind when he glanced to the girl's neck, where an identical chain sat. Her's read "best", and he grinned at the notion.

They were friends.

It still baffled him why she hung out with him. She wasn't in advanced classes, they didn't go to the same school, they didn't even live in the same neighborhood. They shared absolutely zero similarities- well, maybe Star Wars, but that was as far as their realm of shared characteristics went.

Where he was cowardly, she was brave. Where she was athletic, he was clumsy. He liked sticking his nose in books and she liked hanging upside down from monkey bars.

"Do you like it?" Her tone had softened with insecurity and it was one of those rare moments y/n was ever silent.

His lips quirked upward, wider than he thought possible. With his mother's situation worsening and stress from school, he could hardly smile anymore. But y/n was always good at causing it.

"I love it." He reassured.

A grin spread across her face once more, before it lowered, and she took on a grimace. "You're graduating soon." It wasn't a question, only sorrow lacing her tone.

Their tiny moment of happiness dampened a bit with the revelation, though Spencer knew it had been on the back of their minds for a while now. While he was enthralled at the prospect of leaving the tiny little high school that tortured him so, he loathed the idea of leaving behind his only friend. She wouldn't graduate for another five years. What would become of them?

"Yeah." He forced his eyes back onto the sunrise. Usually he was a rambling mess, spouting facts and statistics but Teddy had always accomplished shutting him up. A hand fell onto his, and he didn't move it away. He would never move away her hand.

"You won't forget about me, right? You'll call or write or visit-" This was one of the 'serious' y/n moments. The ones that made him wonder if this was what she was really like under all the toughness she paraded around. The ones that made him glance at her like a bug under a microscope, wondering what else she was hiding in that head of hers.

His mind raced with a million things to say, thought whizzing around his head as he tried to carefully dissect what the right words were.

"Of course. You're my best friend."

She gave him a look charged with doubt. "You better." And in a flash, she had barricaded herself behind the tough facade she always did, that happy little smile gracing her lips. "Or else I'll kill you dead, hear me?" She nudged his shoulder enough to rattle him, and he laughed loudly.

He didn't ever want to leave this moment. A moment where it was just the two of them, filled with promises of tomorrow and memories of the past.

But he did. In a year's time, Spencer Reid would make his way to the bus station catching the first bus to Pasadena. Y/n would pack up and move from Las Vegas (her dad got another job), and the correspondence between the two would eventually fizzle out. Slowly, but surely, y/n y/l/n and Spencer Reid lost contact all together.

It isn't until later, much, much later, that their story will pick up once more. Not until y/n is offered a job at the Behavioral Analysis Unit and finds herself face to face with a rather familiar looking genius.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

Text

Survey #368

“whatever doesn’t kill you, is gonna leave a scar”

Have you ever bought a YouTuber’s merch? My favorite shirt is the Day of the Dead design by Cloak, which is Markiplier's and jacksepticeye's clothing brand. Mom's friend/former co-worker also got me a Ninja Sex Party shirt because she knew I liked them. There are SO MANY YouTubers I wanna support by buying shirts. Do you think oatmeal tastes better when made with water or milk? Milk, 110%. Have you ever left a note in a library book? No. What time of day do you prefer to wash your hair? Morning. Has anyone ever spread lies about you? Yes. Have you ever taken a photograph with a celebrity? If so, did it turn out the way you wanted, or do you wish you could retake it? No. If you could move out of your home country permanently, would you? If so, where would you go? If it didn't mean being so very far from my family, I would love to move to Canada. Is there a celebrity that everyone else seems to love, but you find totally overrated? Why is it that you don’t like them? I legit don't know who's considered currently popular, and I especially don't know who they are as people. If you could volunteer for any charity, which one would you choose? Do you think it’s more important to help humans, or are animal and environmental charities equally important? Something relating to animals, and I think they're both equally important. Do you prefer holidays where you relax, or actually do things? I like a mix. Something chill, but you still do some stuff as a family. Do you think that after we die our spirit is still alive? Yes. Has anybody ever told you that you could be a model? Someone has mistaken me for a model in a picture I once took. It was one of the most flattering things I've ever heard, haha. Do you use different kinds of moisturizer for different body parts? ie. hand lotion for your hands, face cream for your face. Or do you just use one moisturizer for all body parts? Yes. Have you ever felt like you were someone’s rebound? No. Has anybody ever broken up with you over something really pathetic? What was it? Have you ever been dumped in a disrespectful way? (eg. through text, through a friend..) I have 100% been dumped in a very cowardly and disrespectful way; after dating Jason for nearly four years and being very serious, he broke up with me very abruptly over Facebook Messenger. His reason was valid, but at the same time, he NEVER talked to me about it. Apparently my depression was dragging him down. If he'd fucking communicated it, I would have explored new treatment options so goddamn fast. But no, he decided to snap his fingers and disappear. That's exactly WHY it was so traumatic, I think: it was so unexpected and sudden. Did you have a lot of role models as a kid? Animal enthusiasts like Steve Irwin and Jeff Corwin for sure. Do you feel like anyone looks up to you? Why or why not? God no. I'm just... not someone to aspire to be like. What was the last thing you found offensive? I'm not sure. Who is the nicest person you know? My mom. Do you feel safe in your country? I feel safe in NC, rather. Like I don't expect an atom bomb or terrorist attack or something in this obscure area. In the U.S.A. itself, sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. America is definitely not loved by every other country. Do you feel safe where you live? Not in this city, no. Have you been falsely diagnosed with something by a bad doctor? Yup. Did y'all know I apparently have ADHD? I know, shocking. Have you ever had a doctor refuse to treat you? No. Name the strangest game you’ve ever played (video game or real game): The first Silent Hill, probably. It took a lot of reading to get it. Do you know anyone who has been struck by lightning before? No. Which cartoon character would you want to keep as a pet? Does Stitch count? Or a Pokemon. Do you like marshmallows? Yes. What is your favorite flavor of candy cane? I really like the Jolly Rancher candy canes, I think they are? Have you ever fostered an animal? No. Do you still take hot showers when it’s hot out? Not as hot, but not cold except on very extreme occasions. When writing $ sign, do you draw one line through the S or two? Two. What animal have you always wanted as a pet but couldn’t have? I'm thankful that my parents were pretty open-minded to what pets I really wanted, but one I was never allowed to have was a ferret because of how messy and smelly they are. List three people you’ve had crushes on: Jason, Sara, and Sebastian were probably my biggest crushes. Have you ever thrown up from cramps? No, but god have I felt close. List three people you had a hard time forgiving. Jason, Colleen, and my dad. Who is the most spiritual person you know? Probably my sister's mother-in-law. Would you ever start a vlog? God no, I'd bore people to tears. Are your dreams coming true yet? I mean, I guess in some ways with my mental health. In my deepest depression, what I have now was a dream, even though current me is very discontent with it. Most of my dreams, though? No. Do you struggle with depression? I've been diagnosed with severe depression since 7th grade. Are you haunted by your past? A few things won't leave me alone. What medical conditions do you have? Just a lot. There are even more that are up for debate. I've talked about my diagnosed conditions enough. Do you use a Magic Bullet? No. What does your apron look like? I don’t have one. What are your favorite spicy foods? Hot Cheetos, Takis, hot wings, jalapeno pizza... Man, I love spicy food. Which do you like better: being an adult or being a kid? Being a kid. Were you excited to be a teenager on your thirteenth birthday? I had very mixed feelings. Did you feel insecure in high school? Shit, I still do. Would you ever be friends with someone who was suicidal? What the FUCK is this question? No fucking shit I would be. Someone being suicidal in no way affects who they are as a person. Who was the biggest bully in high school? I don't think there really was one. What was your favorite class in high school? Art. Would you rather have a daughter or a son? If I wanted kids, a daughter. Have you ever written to an advice columnist? No. Have you ever had a doctor not believe what you told him? Maybe? I did however have an employee at the ER the first time I went try to pry out of me that my self-mutilation was for attention, and it wasn't until I insisted about a dozen times that it wasn't that he believed me. It's odd looking back that I got REALLY attached to him during that stay, knowing now that it was absolutely horrible and extremely unhelpful for him to do that. If you’re female, would you feel uncomfortable having a male gynecologist? I would absolutely refuse to have a male one. Do you like Lisa Frank? Yeah, like can you talk about aesthetic. What gives you nightmares? Boy, I wish I could tell you, given how much I have them. Were you ever hospitalized as a child? No. Did you get senior pictures taken? No. What color is your bicycle? I don’t have one. Did you ever have to take home a fake baby in health class? No, thank fuck. Would you rather wear ivory or white on your wedding day? What color will your bridesmaids wear? I'd rather wear black. I think red will be the bridesmaids' color. Would you rather have a swimming pool or trampoline? I want a swimming pool so damn badly so I could exercise my legs without worrying about sweating, and I can stop and rest whenever I want, unlike going walking or something. I don't think my knees could handle a trampoline. Do you think babies are cute? Some, sure. But a lot, not really. Do you dream about the future a lot? Yeah. Do you think about your past a lot? Way too frequently. How good are you at living in the moment? I'm trying to get better at it. Have you ever questioned God’s existence? Yeah. Vanilla frosting or chocolate? Chocolate. What’s your favorite foreign cuisine? I've actually been exploring Italian pasta lately. I'm not a big fan of foreign food that I've tried, though. Have you ever moved to another state? No. Did you do anything productive today? No. .-. Can you say the alphabet backwards? No, actually. Do you like flowers? Of course; does anyone not? Have you ever thought you were gonna die? I didn't care if I did or didn't. What kind of mood are you in today? I was honestly really depressed through most of it. Just health stuff was really getting to me. I just woke up from what was honestly like a four-hour nap and I feel all right, I guess. What are you craving right now? I REALLY want Domino's jalapeno pizza. Is there anyone you would seriously punch right now if you had the chance? No. What is worse, physical or emotional pain? Definitely emotional. Have you ever walked in on somebody doing something… questionable? When Dad still lived with us, I think he might have been watching... you know... on TV when I came into my parents' room for something. Idk for sure though. I didn't ask, and I don't want to know. If you were to make videos on YouTube, what would they be of? Oh god, idk. I don't want to make any. What I'd have most fun with would be reptile education, but I 1.) have literally one snake, 2.) am not extremely educated on a good number of them and don't want to be misleading, and 3.) I would run outta content fast. So, leave it to Snake Discovery, haha. Posting pictures of yourself in a bathing suit on the internet - ok or not? Yes, it's okay????? If you're talking about me personally though, you won't see me dead in a bathing suit picture. Do you typically laugh when somebody falls down? No, I gasp and see if they're okay. What is the most disturbing movie you’ve ever watched? Paranormal Entity. The ending is... a lot. Your opinion of Katy Perry, please? I like a couple of her songs. If you could say anything to your Mom right now… what would it be? "Thank you for absolutely everything."

#survey #surveys #questions #lyrics: ''leave a scar'' by marilyn manson

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kathyprior4200 · 3 years

Text

Haven Hotel: That’s Disengagement!

A princess with long black wavy hair walked out onto a high balcony. She wore a black undershirt with a white bow tie on top. A dark teal shirt, long white pants and white high heel shoes completed the look. Her face was pale white and teal blushes were present on her cheeks. Her eyes consisted of white pupils and dark blue sclera. Perched on her head was a black spiked crown. She was the inverted, antithesis of Charlie, the princess of Hell in a parallel world.

“For all my life, I’ve been taught that all angels have good inside them. But I know that to be a lie. Ever since Lucifer and Lilith, God’s closest angels betrayed Him… I don’t think I can believe in these flawed teachings anymore…”

The princess was Coerciona Egnam, Coercia for short. She was born and raised in Heaven…though she was not at all one would expect her to be in such a place. Self-entitled and pessimistic, nothing much could cheer her up except heavy metal music, rebelling against the rules and the occasional brawl.

“It makes sense that only a worthy few are able to be here in Heaven. Choosing them out of the sea of sinner scum. Yet ironically, even the saints and Heaven-born aren’t flawless all the time. It’s inevitable that all those imperfect beings will go to Hell. They deserve to deal with suffering and challenges. Best of all, they wouldn’t be bound by social expectations. Heck, I wouldn’t be too surprised if it were me. I do enjoy my comfortable life here, just not these restrictions.”

Her servants Pub and Chub were fat white naked cherubs with horns on their heads, small white feathery wings, and black eyes. One tested the strings on an electric guitar while the other shot out torpedoes from a small cannon.

Outside was a white clock tower standing tall against the blue sky. The numbers read 0 then changed to 365 days. Writing above the numbers read “Days until the next cleanse in Hell.”

The black Exorcists did their job in eliminating part of the demon population in 2P Hell like they did every year in the canon Hell. But at the same time each year, the Anti-Exorcists, risen white demons with white bat wings and horns, invaded 2P Heaven. They carried glowing black pitchforks and turned innocent denizens into demons. The Anti-Exorcists would carry books and tempt angels with their innermost desires. Sex, sin, self-expression, sorcery, whatever that need was. Then, once they were hooked, they were stabbed with the pitchforks, causing their wings to burn off and sending them plummeting down to Hell. Nearby families would grieve at their loss.

It was quite the entertaining show for Princess Coercia!

Coercia leaned against the marble balcony and began to sing in a low growl.

(“I’m Always Evading Shadows”)

“At the end of the journey, there’s suffering

Denying it, how often I’ve tried

But my life’s a disgrace

Just a slap in the face

And the harsh truths have all been denied”

“A sliver of despair in this world of light

I know this world’s not free of sin

I search for the good

But get misunderstood

And reality will always win”

“Why have I always been imperfect?

Lost in this brainwashed sea

I wonder if the world’s to blame

I wonder if it could be me”

“I’m always evading shadows

Trapped, drowning in the social flow

Free-will forbidden, my answers are hidden

Lying down below”

“Some people sugarcoat their speeches

I always blab out what I mean

I may be cruel but I am no fool

Things are never what they seem

Believe me”

“I’m always evading shadows

Waiting for people to awaken

In vain”

A nearby portal opened and out came the Exterminators, bloodstains over their wings and bodies and harpoons. They took off their creepy LED masks, their white angelic faces revealed. One by one, the citizens clapped and cheered. One of the Archangels with four black wings flew up to the front, his spiked halo glowing. He took off his mask, revealing a white stern face with yellow eyes and short black hair. In his utility belt were a few daggers, whips, chains and a bottle of emergency holy water.

“Another successful purge,” their leader Samael (Venom of God) praised. “You cleansed more sinners while still keeping the population in a good balance. Well done, all of you.” He cleared his throat and made a cross symbol over his heart. “For the greater good in the name of our Lord.”

The angels repeated the phrase.

“Until next year. Dismissed.” The Archangel soldiers saluted and then flew off separately to see their families. Several of the angels, having been brainwashed in their Exterminator states, shook their heads sadly at what they had done.

All around Coercia, Holy City was basked in a heavenly glow. The city was located up in the sky among the clouds, but no one had to worry about falling, even the ones without their wings out. A large church with the appearance of the Notre Dame Cathedral stood proudly in the city square, made of polished marble. Choirs and songs floated through the stained glass windows as the regular angels went in and out to pray and visit with their neighbors. A large fountain sprouted non-alcoholic wine of a golden color. It had a white statue of Mary and Jesus as a young boy at the top, both with welcoming faces.

The streets were spotless and clean. Roofs and roads were powered by the sun’s rays. The Cloud 9 supermarket had endless amounts of food for sale…no one ever had to worry about going hungry. Charity workers and volunteers worked by the dozens, passing out food and bestowing miracles for those who needed them in the lower levels of Heaven. Metatron, the highest ranking angel, was busy keeping records of human lives, deaths and the messages of God.

This version of Heaven was very similar to the Heaven in the realm next door, the one above the familiar Hell with the Hazbin Hotel. The architecture was almost the same. But unlike those angels with their blonde hair and red blushes, these angels most often had black hair and teal blushes on their pale cheeks. Like in the other Heaven, some of the bipedal angels displayed animal-like characteristics: some had heads of doves, others had swan wings and mannerisms. Many of them had fur, ears, and fluffy tails of dogs and wolves. It was the only place where dogs and cats could dance and prance together without conflict. Still a few others had faces of flowers or even objects like harps and musical instruments.

God’s Palace was the grandest place of all: it was settled at the highest point of Heaven like Mount Olympus. Only a few angels were allowed to visit there. God’s abode, the Empyrean, had an elite group of angels guarding it. Seraph angels with six fiery rainbow wings guarded the throne of God, chanting “Holy, holy, holy!” much to the annoyance to those nearby. There were rumors that in the palace gardens, the Tree of Life and the Tree of Knowledge were grown there, heavily protected.

Lucius and Lilian were Coercia’s parents, those who took the place of Lucifer and Lilith after they were banished. They were named the new king and queen of heaven (Under God and a few Archangels), thus Coercia became the princess.

Lucius had a white face, teal blushes on his cheeks and short dark hair. Lucius wore a gray suit with a dark blue bow tie and a black top hat with two white feathers attacked to the brim. Lilian’s hair was long and black, and she too had the teal blushes and typical angel features. She wore a golden halo crown and an elegant white sequined dress. Both had white wings which could turn black when they were angry or defensive.

In a nearby movie studio, Valentine the butterfly producer, Nil the TV angel and Ashen, the doll angel sat together playing a board game. Despite liking old fashioned shows and the like, they still controlled much of Heaven’s technology and media. Iris, owner of an emporium, cried as she crossed out the name of her former female colleague, Francesca.

Along the street, a red car stopped beside the sidewalk. A tall creature opened the car door and stepped out. The spider angel had a furry dark gray face and body, plus multiple slender arms: six in total. He wore tall boots, green gloves and a shirt with a teal bow-tie near the top. His shirt and sleeves had black and dark green stripes. Green dots resembling eyes were located under his eyes.

“Thank you for the ride,” said the spider angel.

“No problem, Devil Grit,” said the driver Sivart, a white furry owl guy wearing a top hat. He tipped his hat to him and drove away.

Devil Grit walked over to a vending machine and bought himself a granola bar. He then gave it to a homeless guy leaning against the wall.

He walked inside a building and onto a stage in an auditorium. His opponent was already standing nervously at his spot, a microphone rising from the ground and stopping in front of him.

Sir Anguis was the nervous white snake. He had a white face with large slightly teal eyes with white pupils. He wore a white bow tie with a blue circle in the center below his thin neck. Surrounding his face on a flap of skin were bright teal eyes against dark purple. His suit was light gray with dark purple vertical stripes. Finally, he wore a large light gray top hat with a large green moving eye in the center.

The crowd settled into their seats and the debate began.

“Those other brave do gooders will do great with helping me with my presentation. Anyone want to try?”

A couple of hands shot up. Mechanical eggs on robotic legs moved around to help out the white snake lord.

“Oh thank you, my Nestlings,” he said.

Air Anguis pushed a button and a presentation showed up on a screen titled “Heaven Economics and Invention Ideas.”

“I don’t like to fight,” Sir Anguis said, clearing his throat, “and I’m super nervous up here…”

The Nestlings rolled their eyes.

Devil Grit glared at his cowardly opponent who then yelped, “Don’t look at me like that!”

“Heaven doesn’t need any future technology,” Devil Grit argued as he stepped to his podium, “because we already have better things: friendships, food, and fun.”

Sir Anguis glanced down nervously at his note cards and read from them. “At this rate I will persuade the entire East end of Holy City by night’s beginning. Or was it day’s end? And nothing, not a single beauty in this paradise of bliss, will be able to change my mind or escape the constrictive grasp of persuasive argumentation.”

“Heaven will be ours, though it’s mine in my mind. And everybody will know the name of…”

“Scared Snake,” said a female voice.

“W-who said that?” Sir Anguis asked.

“You ready for a debate, old man?”

The voice belonged to Berri Blossom, the opposite of Cherri Bomb in Hell. She was a tall cyclops with black skin, with a single green eye with a black cross in the center. She wore a long dark green dress and white high heeled shoes. Her black skin was decorated in some areas near her shoulders with tiny teal specks. Her long hair was curly, blue at the top and black near the bottom. She pushed her thin dark rimmed glasses up to her face, looking at her organized set of notes in front of her.

She walked over beside her academic partner Devil Grit. “Why don’t you play with your tinker toys somewhere else while I go over the logistics of divine law school?” She looked professional and poised. “Seven Reasons Why Heavenly Traditions Never Fail.”

“You want to go, madam?” Sir Anguis asked, a spark of rebellion in him. He fiddled with a few gadgets before the well-dressed Nestling eggs…egged him on to continue. He flicked his hood back. “Well, let the battle for tenure and status begin!”

A neon logo appeared on the screen, saying “777 News” surrounded by a halo. The names of the news cast appeared on the bottom of the screen.

“Good afternoon, Holy City!” smiled a pale woman with short black hair, wearing a light blue dress. “I’m Catie Carejoy!”

“And I’m Ron Wrench!” said the man next to her, wearing a business suit and who had a wrench for a head.

After discussing the weather, various humane societies, and legends on Earth, Catie continued, “The debate battle is underway between inventor and coward Sir Anguis and professional economics expert Berri Blossom. Coming up next, we have an exclusive interview with the daughter of His Majesty Lucius, who’s here to discuss her brand new passion-project! All that and more after the break!”

Inside the break room, Phalla the romantic butterfly angel adjusted Coercia’s white bow tie. Nearby, a blue tinted sign read “No smoking.” Another sign read “In The Air” in large letters.

“Okay, you remember what to say?” Phalla asked Coercia.

“Yes, I’m ready,” Coercia stated.

Phalla brushed her long black hair from her face, the ends of her black hair teal. Like Vaggie in Hell, Phalla’s thick hair extended down to her legs, giving her hair the appearance of moth wings. She had a glowing green cross over her right eye and her left eye was purple with a white pupil. A teal bow was perched on top of her head. Her skin was light gray and she wore a dark gray crop top with white Xs over her breasts. She also wore leggings, her right legging striped dark green and light gray, her left legging light gray.

“Oh this is gonna be great!” Phalla squealed happily. “How about you make your speech sound more exciting?”

“Come on, Phalla, I know what I’m going to say,” Coercia answered, crossing her arms.

Phalla walked over to the pitcher of ambrosia punch on the table. Pub and Chub ate bagels from the table. Phalla got an idea. “Oh! What if you…”

“Sing a song about it?” Coercia asked, with a roll of her eyes. “I’m not going to. This is serious!” She curled her hand into a fist and brought it down on the palm of her other hand. “They won’t take me serious if I start belting out some random song. Life isn’t a musical.”

“But neither is it an emo tragedy,” Phalla pointed out. “Life is great, especially with all the cute guys around.” Her single purple eye shinned.

“Romance, bleh,” Coercia made a face and Phalla giggled.

“Hey,” Phalla brightened, pulling out a piece of paper. “I have some ideas about what you could say.” She bounced up and down. “The highlighted bits are the best parts!”

“They’re all highlighted,” Coercia replied, scanning the paper. “You call your childish drawing your ideas for me?”

“Sure!” Phalla said. “Look here.” It showed a list of different terms “sinners = winners” “Misunderstood are still good” and “demons and angels party between worlds!” Skulls were lined up at the bottom of the page: “we’re all connected by death.”

“Say, that’s actually pretty good!” Coercia said with a smile of sharp teeth.

“Thanks!” Phalla beamed.

Coercia snatched the piece of paper from her friend and tore it in half, much to her shock. “But you should know my ideas are always better.” She tossed the pieces of paper aside, gave a salute and walked out the door.

Catie waved with a smile. “Hi. I’m Catie Carejoy.” She held out her hand but Coercia didn’t take it, instead remarking, “You can put that away. I don’t touch commoners, I have standards.” Catie, looked stunned, pulling her hand back. “So this project of yours, when did you come up with this idea of creating a hotel in order to…break the law as the rumors say?”

The angel crew murmured nervously.

“I’m gonna keep this short,” Coercia said as she walked over to the desk. “You might think my idea doesn’t hold water, but that doesn’t matter to me. I’m too influential to give a flying feather about what some stuffy old news lady thinks of my proposal.”

The crowd gasped. Ron shook his head.

“Well, if you can’t take constructive criticism and be polite…”

“…and we’re live!” called a voice as a buzzer sounded.

“And we’re back!” Catie said, rushing over into her seat. “So, Carrie…”

“It’s Princess Coerciona Egnam,” said Coercia, sitting in a chair beside her and Ron Wrench.

“Sorry. So tell us about your project.”

Coercia took a deep breath. “As most of you know, I was born here in Heaven, and growing up, I’ve always tried to see the good in everything around me. But recently, I don’t believe that’s always the case. We just completed another Extermination. So many sinful souls lost but for what reason? God said in the Commandments “thou shall not kill,” yet killing random people is okay? If we can’t even trust ourselves with our actions and thoughts, is Heaven truly paradise? Not to mention that ever since Lucifer and Lilith betrayed Him, we don’t know who to really trust. Some people are given too many chances!” She pounded her fist on the desk, startling Catie.

Coercia stood up and made her way forward. “No one is truly flawless. Mistakes are made, but we get blamed for doing things we sometimes enjoy. Sex, drugs, partying, swearing, even violence. All because we don’t live up to impossible standards imposed upon us, both here and on Earth! I can’t stand idly by while the place I live is subjected to such lies and propaganda! So, I’ve been thinking…isn’t there a more liberating way to hinder forced compliance here in Heaven? Perhaps we can create an alternative way to express change through…recreation?”

The angels talked quietly amongst themselves. Phalla nodded in appreciation.

“Well I think yes,” Coercia continued. “So that’s what this project aims to achieve.” She walked back to the desk and sat down. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m opening the first of its kind, a hotel that encourages moderate amounts of so-called sin!” She spread out her arms.

The audience stared in stunned silence. Many of the adults were shaking their heads.

“Who is that girl?” asked a dragon watching from inside a soup kitchen. “What’s her deal with trying to cause more trouble for this world?”

“She’s nuts!” added another angel with an eagle’s head and wings, wearing a suit.

Coercia added nervously while still trying to keep a glare, “I figure it would serve a purpose…a place to work toward self-expression. Yay.”

Among the crowd of angels watching the news outside, a tall man with a thin pale face stood toward the back. He wore a light blue dress suit, had blue and white hair, fluffy deer-like ears, and large blue eyes. His white wings were folded behind him. He watched the program with a look of worry. A deer creature made of light appeared beside him. A sign posted on the wall showing the same man as a DJ read: “Counseling and good times with the Techno Angel!”

A camera man shook his head at Coercia. Phalla walked up to him and pleaded, “Please give her a chance.”

Coercia sighed. “Look, I know every single one of you has insecurities and issues that need not be bottled up. If you could just embrace those sides of yourselves…”

Coercia then smirked. “Maybe I’m not getting through to you.”

Phalla clapped her hands and “ooohed” in excitement as Rub and Chub got the electric guitar ready.

Coercia showed a pair of sharp white teeth and black curved horns emerged from her head. Black feathery wings sprouted from her back and an X appeared over her right eye. A harpoon appeared in her right hand and a spiked halo appeared over her head. She was in her dark angelic Exorcist form. She posed over the desk and began.

(“Inside of Every Angel is a Sinner”)

“I have a dream

I’m here to tell

About a fantastic mind-blowing hotel

One of a kind, go and yell

A great place to dwell

Catering to specific clientele”

*Guitar starts and scream vocals*

“Inside of every angel is a sinner

Inside of every do-gooder is a beast

Inside of every jolly go-lucky mentality

Is a subconscious portion we know the least”

“Resist all the rules

You’re not passive fools!

With just a little time

Down at the Hazbin Hotel!”

“So all you rescuers, priests, and heroes

Gifted athletes, jocks, and cheerios

And the sheep citizens, relief is here!

All of you angels, leaders, and stars

Traditionalists with fancy cars

And the activists on Mars

Show no fear

No taboos, no laws

Embrace your flaws

You’ll be truly free

Check in with me

It’s the right path, you’ll see”

“There’ll be no more pressure

And no more status quo

Just friendship, fun, and endless bags of dough

Establishment put to rest

You’ll be like, “Yes!”

In the tunnel of darkness you’ll go!”

“So all your hierarchies, GMOs, politics, and isms

Lectures, labor standards, and diamond studded prisms

Ancient Indian elitisms

All must die”

“All you fantasizers, artists, servers, and lords

Spoiled children, winners of awards

Imposers of chores

Face your fear!”

“Be who you are

And you’ll go so far

Our service will raise the bar

You’ll be the star

Come from near or afar at the Hazbin Hotel!

Yeah!”

“Wow,” said an angel in a top hat. “That was…alright.”

The crowd clapped half-heartedly.

Catie shook her head. “What in the Nine Levels makes you think a single denizen of Heaven would give two feathers about becoming a sinful person? You have no proof that your little experiment even works! You want people to disobey God and the rules just…because?!”

Coercia lifted up her head. “Well, we have a patron already who believes in our cause.”

“And who might that be?” Catie asked.

“Oh just someone named…Devil Grit.”

“The grumpy old spider?” asked Ron Wrench.

“He’s not old,” argued Catie. “He just acts older than he is.”

“Anyway,” said Catie to Coercia. “You couldn’t even get that guy to do something bad, even if a gun was pointed at his head.”

“Oh I beg to differ,” Coercia argued. “He’s been troubled, dirty, and having conflicted thoughts for two weeks now.”

“Breaking news!” called a voice as the screen changed to a recent debate shown in a building.

The news came on, detailing Devil Grit and his recent TED talk about the 7 Heavenly Virtues.

“Well, it looks like the one discussing the Heavenly Virtues is none other than…conservative Devil Grit! What a coincidence!”

She and Ron did a “ratings!” and jazz hands.

Corceria rolled her eyes.

“I’m sorry to say, but it looks like your plan’s departed on arrival,” said Catie. “I hope you learned a good lesson here.”

Coercia’s eyes twitched, her teeth barred. “Lesson?! I’ll teach you a lesson, bitch!” The princess and Catie fought fist and claw on the desk. Ron called for security.

After Coercia was kicked out, Phalla followed her wordlessly to the white limo. Devil Grit, Phalla, and Coercia rode back to the hotel.

Devil Grit lounged in the far seat, wearing an outfit of black with green stripes and green gloves on his four hands.

“Devil,” said Phalla with concern. “I know you were trying to do good by doing your professional speech. But could you please try not to help society in public? Now people won’t believe us when Coercia says that people are free to express their earthly desires.”

“I’m sorry Phalla,” said Devil from the other seat, “But I have a reputation to keep up. Helping the greater good is His plan for all of us. Besides, a good professional debate is a reasonable form of self-expression right?”

“Not to everyone,” said Phalla. “What about the hotel? People are thinking that you don’t care about Coercia’s project at all.”

“I do care, senorita,” said Devil. “I just don’t think it’s going to be easy to accomplish in such a short time. So many angels are fixated on tradition, myself included.”

“I do appreciate all of your help,” said Coercia, still fuming after the interview, arms crossed. “But I will make this project work, even if I have to do it myself.”

The white limo pulled up in front of the hotel, a pristine building made of glass and marble. The group got out of the car and stepped inside.

White wings made of rainbow scales posed as part of the structure on the roof. The stained glass windows by the door were decorated with apples, a tree of life, and many shades of blue and green. The sign above read “Hazbin Hotel” in big letters on the roof. Inside the lobby, a painting of Adam reaching toward God was displayed on the high ceiling. The hotel had seven floors with seven rooms on each floor. There was even a lab down in the basement which belonged to a man named Baker, the opposite of the demon fish scientist Baxter from Hell. A bowl of blue berries and blue raspberries sat on a table below a welcome banner. Phalla rested on a couch while Devil Grit munched on a granola bar.

“It’s probably a good idea to stock up some more food in this place,” said Devil Grit. “Good or bad, people always seem to be greedy when they’re hungry.”

Devil Grit pulled out a chart and went over probabilities and graphs regarding the hotel and the potential number of visitors. Coercia just sighed and walked away toward the door. She went outside and took out her cell phone, calling her mom.

“Carol cakes!” called her mother through the phone. Coercia cringed.

“Mom, I told you not to call me that! I’m not a little kid anymore.”

“Sorry, I can’t help it,” said Lilian with a giggle. “How was the interview?”

“Meh. It was alright. I proposed my idea, but nobody seemed to buy it.”

Lilian’s tone turned more serious. “Coercia, why do you insist that everyone must go down to that horrible place? Why can’t you just see the good in people?”

“Because,” Coercia said, “Everyone has flaws and they don’t realize it.”

“Yes, but that also applies to you, too. Before you get involved with the lives of others, you need to look inside and critique yourself.”

“I’m a princess. Everyone else has more flaws than I do.”

Lilian let out a long sigh. “Young lady, we’ve been through this I don’t know how many times. You have to push your selfish thoughts aside and just accept the way things are. It’s part of a higher purpose.”

“And what is this “higher purpose” anyway? To be His flock of dazed sheep, dancing around without any care in the world? To not experience ecstasy and adventure, even for just a moment?”

“That stuff is dangerous and forbidden. Thousands of souls would do anything to get up to this level of Heaven. And you just want to throw your life away?”

Coercia paused in thought. “If it means proving myself and serving Him in a way I see fit, then so be it.”

“You have delusions of what entertainment and happiness is, Carol. Sometimes, you need to take the time and appreciate the beauty that’s in front of you.”

“Other than my own refection, I don’t really see beauty in many other things. Well, heavy metal and watching battles…oh and watching sinners beg for their last breaths…”

“You have a lot to learn, dear daughter,” Lilian replied. “I’ll leave you alone to think about it.”

“Whatever.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too. Bye.”

Coercia hung up and went back inside, shutting the door behind her. She leaned against the door frame, closing her eyes in frustration…trying to hold back a stream of tears from the stress.

Just then, there was a knock on the door. Two knocks, four ones, then a last one. Coercia turned around with a sigh to answer it. She swung the stained glass door open. From outside stood a tall slender man with a pale light gray face, wearing a light blue pinstriped dress coat. A white upward cross was part of the design on his light blue undershirt. He was carrying a modern microphone atop a staff in his left hand. His small antlers were white and his hair and deer ears were blue with white tips. A monocle rested under his left eye. Coercia narrowed her eyes.

“Hi, excuse me…” he spoke quietly. “Is this…”

Coercia angrily slammed the door in his face.

She opened it again.

“…the right address?” finished the man.

“No!” she shouted, slamming it again.

“Hey Phalla!” called Coercia.

“What?” her friend asked.

“The crybaby Deer Man is at the door!”

“What?!” she asked, blushes appearing on her cheeks.

“Who?” asked Devil Grit.

“What should I do?”

“Well…let him in!” Phalla cried, eye shining.

Coercia rolled her eyes and scoffed. She sighed and opened the door again.

“May I talk now?” the man asked in a radio voice.

“Sure, whatever,” Coercia said.

The man held out a white gloved four-fingered hand. “Rotsala, it’s a pleasure to meet you, miss.” He walked in. Worry was etched on his face. “I saw your interview on the picture show and I was worried sick! I was afraid you were never coming back after your argument. Why I haven’t been that upset since the 1929 Stock Market Crash!” He sniffed, “So many poor orphans…”

“Hello there!” Phalla called with a smile, staring up and walking in front of him. She greeted in Spanish. “I’m so glad you’re here to help out my friend with this new hotel! I’m a big fan of yours and just being in your presence is just…” She swooned. “Oh just take me already you cute, pompous, talk show, blueberry pimp lord!”

She embraced him and he stood stunned, his face blushing. “I do love hugs,” he whispered as she stepped back. “I bet all of you would be so nice and soft after we get to know each other for a while…”

Phalla blushed while Devil Grit and Coercia made disgusted faces. “Not gonna happen, creep,” Devil Grit said.

Rotsala gave a nervous laugh, and popped a strawberry and blueberry into his mouth.

“You’re not gonna cling to us are you?” Phallas asked. “Or, you know…”

“Dear, if I wanted to screw anyone here…I would’ve done so already.”

Rotsala tilted his head. His blue eyes briefly glowed with blue upside down radio dials in them. Electricity sparked around cyan colored voodoo symbols in the air. His eyes filled with tears, tears spilling down his pale gray cheeks.

Phalla watched in bliss, while Devil and Coercia rolled their eyes at the show-off.

Rotsala shook his head and his eyes returned to normal blue.

“No, I’m here because I want to relax and help out.”

“Say what?” Coercia asked, eyebrow raised.

Rotsala held up his staff which glowed blue. He said with a sad crack in his voice, “Goodbye, is this thing off?”

He tapped it. A blue sad looking eye appeared in the center of the microphone. It spoke in a mechanical voice. “You’re silent, quiet and unclear!”

“That’s your motivation motto every day?” Devil Grit asked, crossing his four arms. “Pathetic!”

“Tragic and mysterious, I love it!” Phalla squealed. “It’s like the opposite of announcing. It’s…denouncing.”

Devil Grit elbowed her. “Hun, could you not get attracted to every other man you see? I’m your boyfriend.”

“I can’t help it, love!” she cried. “I just get so distracted easily.”

“Um…you want to help?” Coercia asked.

Rotsala appeared behind them after morphing into light.

“With…” he spoke in her growl then his normal shy sounding voice, “…this random thing you’re trying to do. This hotel. I want to help you run it, if that’s okay.”

“Uh…why?”

Rotsala choked a bit on his words. “Why doesn’t anyone do anything? Sheer absolute lethargy! I’ve been partying around and keeping busy for decades. I would like to do something more relaxing and easier.”

“My work became overwhelming, lacking focus. I’ve come to crave a new form of disengagement!”

Coercia rolled her eyes. “Does getting into a fist fight with a reporter count as disengagement?”

“No,” Rotsala said. “It’s violent and messy, not really my thing. Life is truly strange…reality, fantasy, true tragedy. After all the world is a grave, and the grave is a world of disengagement!”

Coercia brightened a bit. “So, does this mean you think it’s possible to taint an angel? That life is meaningless without your own self to temporarily control it.”

Rotsala sniffed and held up a hand. “Who knows? Anything’s possible. Sinning, oh the vice of humanity! I think there’s plenty left that can change such marvelous saints. But then again, the chance that was given to them was the life they lived before. The reward is this!” He spread out his arms. “According to God, there’s no undoing what is done…or at least that’s the way it should be.”

“So then, why do you want to help me if you don’t fully believe in my cause?” Coercia asked.

Rotsala turned around to look at her. “Consider it an investment in ongoing knowledge for myself and others.” He let out a small smile. “I want to watch the blessed of this world struggle to give into temptation, only to repeatedly realize and raise themselves up the golden ladder of success!” His eyes glowed blue.

“Right…” Coercia began.

“Yes indeed,” Rotsala said, both of them walking off to the side. “I see you taking risks and who better to keep you grounded than I.”

“Ah, so what’s the deal with Mr. Frown over there?” Devil Grit asked.

“Wait, you’ve never heard of him before?” Phalla asked. “You’ve been here longer than me!”

Devil shrugged his shoulders.

“The Techno Angel, one of the most complex beings Heaven as ever seen?”

“Eh, I’m not too big on people.”

Phalla sighed and leaned in close to explain.

“Decades ago, Rotsala manifested in Heaven, seemingly in one day. He began to catch the attention of overlords and archangels who had kept to themselves for centuries. That kind of attraction and magic power had never been harnessed by a mortal soul before. Then, he broadcast his adventures all throughout Heaven just so everyone could experience some joy, tragedy and emotions. Saints starting calling him the Techno Angel, (as unoriginal as that is). Many have speculated what unimaginable force enabled him to rival our world’s most ancient and constructive heroes. But one thing’s for sure: he’s an unpredictable source of silliness, a depressed spirit of mystery and a loving being of order…or disorder, the likes of which we can get involved in, especially if we want to end up aroused!”

“You done?” Devil asked. “He looks like a blueberry businessman. Or a shady con-man. Either way, you’re delusional.”

“Well, I trust him completely!”

“Do you blindly trust any man? All men?”

Phalla skipped over to Coercia. Rotsala examined a family portrait of Lucius, Lilian and a young Coercia in the center. Young Coercia wore a white dress with a turquoise top to it. Her hair was jet black, braided in black barbed wire, her cheeks had teal blushes. Her mother had long black hair and wore a fancy white dress and a round gold crown. Her father was dressed in a dress suit of white and blue, with blue and black stripes in the center below a white bow tie. He wore a large light gray top hat with a dove and a green apple on it. His cane also had a green apple on the top. Both of them were smiling, showing rows of sharp teeth, white wings folded behind them.

“Coercia, listen to me, you can believe this dreamer. He isn’t just a sad face. He’s a miracle maker, pure good! But… don’t count on him to believe in your cause. He could be tainted and rebel, but we don’t know that. He could very well side with God and your parents. And he’s most likely looking for a way to hinder everything we’re trying to do if it means following God’s rules. But still, give him a chance. He’s really sweet.”

“I…” Coercia began. “…we don’t know that. Look, he’s a crying bitch, and he probably doesn’t want to change.”

Phalla put her hands on her friend’s shoulders.

“The whole point of your hotel is to give people a chance! To have faith things will be better and people can embrace their flaws, their true selves! How can you turn someone away? You can’t. It goes against everything you’re trying to do. Everything you believe in.”

Coercia looked downcast. Her friend had a good point. She hated when people made good arguments against her. But it also gave her a chance to consider her thoughts. Phalla kept her grounded and added some cheer to her overall fake afterlife. Coercia smiled at her.

“You take care of yourself,” she said to Phalla.

“Coercia,” warned Phalla, “Unless you are serious about responsibility, do not make a promise with him!”

Demons often made deals with each other that often resulted in gaining power at the cost of one’s soul or freedom. Usually the one who initiated the deal would gain advantage. A demonic deal was bad in and of itself. Breaking an angelic promise could result in rejection, eternal torture and damnation.

“Don’t worry,” said Coercia. “I learned one thing from my dad.” She mimicked his low voice, “Ya don’t break trust with other angels!”

Coercia marched over to the Techno Angel.

“Ok Mr. Rot... You’re prissy as fuck, and you clearly see what I’m trying to do here is a too-dangerous risk. But I don’t.”

Glowing blue symbols briefly appeared around a concerned Rotsala, then vanished.

Coercia continued. “I think everyone deserves a chance to prove they can be themselves. After all, it’s in their nature and the sooner they realize it, the better. So, I’m taking your offer to help. On the condition there be no lessons or lovey-dovey speeches made.”

Rotsala twirled his cane and held out his smallest finger from his right hand.

“So, it’s a promise, then?”

The room was surrounded by a pink aura as light spirits roamed around the walls. The wind blew against Phalla’s and Devil’s faces.

“Nope!” Coercia yelled, holding out her hands. The energy stopped. “No shaking, no promises! I…hmmm…”

She paused in thought.

“As Princess of Heaven and heir to the throne, I hereby order that you help out with this hotel for as long as you desire.”

A moment of pause…

“Sound fair?”

“Fair enough,” Rotsala said with a slump of his shoulders and walked on. His cane vanished.

Rotsala stopped and spotted Phalla to the side.

Phalla went up and tickled him under the chin, much to his shock.

“Smile, deer man!” she said.

Rotsala walked on, speechless.

“So…where is your hotel staff?” Rotsala asked Coercia.

“Uh well,” Coercia began. Rotsala peered at Phalla through his monocle below his left eye.

He stuttered. “You’re going to n-need more than that.”

Rotsala walked over to Devil Grit, who was sitting on a stool.

“And what can I do, my business fellow?” asked Rotsala walking over to the dark furred spider, blushing.

“You can suck a dick,” Devil retorted in a grumpy tone.

“AH! Ok,” said Rotsala, blushing and stepping back. “Can it be yours?”

“Fuck off,” Devil added, pulling out a long knife from his belt.

Rotsala summoned his cane. “Well this just won’t do. You want others to cause trouble, yes? I suppose I can cash in a few favors to deaden things up!”

He snapped his fingers and the wall beside the fireplace cracked. The circle went dark, the fire going out. Ice cold water appeared to fill in the circle and a shadowy figure solely formed inside. Rotsala walked over and removed the dripping figure from the water. A large single purple eye was revealed.

Devil Grit, Phalla and Coercia peered at the creature. With a balloon deflating sound and a puff of white smoke, the figure was revealed.

“This little rascal is Klutzy!” Rotsala announced with a worried smile, dropping the figure.

A black-skinned short cyclops female landed on her face on the floor. She stood up with a grumpy look on her face. She wore a dark green skirt with a white stray cat off to the left side. Her arms and legs were white and stick-shaped. Several blue dots stood out from the lighter green color of her skirt. Her shirt was black with cyan paint spots off to the right. Her large eye took up much of her pale white face; it was dark blue with a white pupil. Her short hair was teal with a dark blue spot off to the left.

“I’m Klutzy,” she grumbled, clenching her fists. “It’s a waste of time to meet you. It’s been a while since I’ve seen strangers.”

Her pupil narrowed from side to side.

“Why are you all men?” she asked. “Have any women here? Or video games? Screw this place.”

She briefly picked up Coercia, then let go.

“Oh man, this place is boring!” she exclaimed. She ran over to a vase and proceeded to knock it over with her elbow. It shattered to pieces on the floor. She tossed couch cushions aside.

“It really needs a more manly touch, disorganized clutter’s more fun.” She grinned as she poured dirt from a flower pot onto the rug.

“Yes, yes, yep, yeah!” she yelled as she proceeded to break windows and knock down more stuff. Then she plopped down on a couch once the room was messy. “I’m bored. Make me some food or something.”

Phalla, Devil, and Coercia looked on in worry, Rotsala just stared off into space. “She has quite the temper sometimes.”

A cat angel was working on a Rubik’s cube with colleagues. His furry face was black, framed by white fur. His little top hat was white with a blue band across it. A big teal bow tie was under his neck, over his black furry chest framed by white fur. His wings were a brilliant blue, with black and red mathematical symbols on either side: the pi symbol, E = mc squared, signs for addition, subtraction, multiplication and division, among others. More symbols were visible within his two pointed ears. His teeth were sharp and purple and his long eyebrows were teal. His eyes were purple and sclera white. The angel placed a Rubik’s cube in front of him. “Ha!” he declared in triumph. Read ‘em and weep, boys! Full…whoa…”

He felt himself being transported in a flash of light to the hotel. Part of the science room that the cat had been in was merged with the hotel lobby…posters of the elements, the solar system and Biblical works of art.

“What in Heaven’s name is going on?

Then he brightened when he saw Rotsala. “You!”

“Ah, Core, my old friend,” Stalaro sniffed, his head briefly looking like it was in between antlers from a stuffed deer head on the wall. “You made it.”

“Glad to see you, you son of the sun!” Core said. “I just completed my Rubik’s cube after just an hour.”

The cube vanished as Rotsala looked on.

Core raced over to Rotsala and embraced him in a side hug. The deer-like man blushed. “So, what can I help you with this time?”

Rotsala blinked nervously. “C-Can we snuggle?”

Core laughed. “I mean, seriously, why’d you bring me here?”

“My friend, I’m doing some dirty work, so I took it upon myself to volunteer your services. If that’s okay?”

“You must be joking,” Core said, laughing nervously.

“I don’t think so,” he replied.

“You thought it’d be a great idea just to pull me out of nowhere? You think I’m some kind of tragic boy?”

“Maybe,” Rotsala sighed, as crying sounds came from his microphone.

“I ain’t doing no dirty work.”

Rotsala appeared behind him. “Well I figured you would be the perfect face to greet and critique the guests at this fine establishment.”

He pointed his staff off toward a stand with vegetable drinks as claps and boos sounded from his staff.

“With your grumpy cat face and love of solitude…”

Core lifted up the corners of Rotsala mouth with his paws. “Aw come on, Al, Don’t forget to smile once in a while!”

His mouth frowned once he let go.

Rotsala walked over to the stand. “Don’t worry, my friend. I can make this more interesting…if you wish.”

He conjured up a bottle of catnip with his finger.

Core stared with wide happy eyes. “What, you think you can buy me with sad eyes and some cheap catnip? Well, you can!” He purred and took the bottle with him.

Coercia, Devil, and Phalla arrived.

“Yes, yes, yes!” Phalla squealed. “Brilliant idea to have healthy drinks!”

“No!” Coercia protested. “This is supposed to be a place that encourages sin! Not some kind of, frilly, Zen, child’s play…”

Core noticed Devil Grit and slid up to him. “Hey cutie,” he flirted.

“Go screw yourself,” muttered Devil Grit.

“Only if you watch me,” Core joked. “Or more likely, Rotsala will watch you.”

Coercia leaned in close to Core. “Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel! You are going to go insane here!” She grinned, her teeth sharp.

“We’re all mad here,” Core replied, sniffing the catnip.

Rotsala walked in, an ever-present frown on his face. “S-so, what do you think?”

Rotsala ran over to him. “This is horrible!” she spat.

“It’s amazing!” Phalla beamed.

Phalla leaned in close between Coercia and Rotsala, embracing them in a hug.

“This is going to be very disengaging,” Rotsala exclaimed. Dubstep sounds emitted from his mouth as he stared around with worry. He stepped away from Phalla. “Coercia, I can’t lose you. We can’t lose you.”

Rotsala changed his light blue suit into a dark blue funeral outfit with a matching top hat. He did the same with Coercia, Devil Grit, Core, Klutzy, and Phalla, who were all wearing black clothing from the early 1900s. Coercia wore a short tan flapper dress and a round matching ladies’ hat. She and Klutzy stared at their outfits in disgust, while Devil Grit, Core and Phalla smiled as they stared at theirs. The room changed, the walls now covered with Voodoo symbols, Christian crosses and deer antlers.

“Take it boys,” Rotsala said. Light spirits appeared and played violins, a piano, and a flute in a sad symphony.

Rotsala sang his reprise to Coercia as they did a slow dance. Coercia looked annoyed but Rotsala smiled.

(“Stalaro’s lament Reprise”)

“You’re on a mission

Your innocence fell

And it’s so dangerous but hey, I wish you well

Yes your blunt protests

Will send you straight to Hell

And I can’t bear to see you banished, or your soul up to sell”

“Don’t bring your life to an end

No matter what you say, I’m still your friend

We all have our wounds to mend

And you’re vulnerable feelings are real, don’t pretend”

“Inside of every angel is love and emotion

They have values and lasting devotion (devotion to God)

While you recruit those around

Don’t be swallowed by the ground

The authorities can retrieve you tight and bound (no turning around)”

“Here above the sky

Spread your wings and fly

They’ll spend a little time

Down at this Haven Ho…”

An explosion rattled the windows. Klutzy saw a door flying toward her face and she broke it in half with a karate chop.

The room and everyone’s clothing returned to normal.

Everyone looked outside and saw a podium in the air, held up by flying metallic eggs. A familiar snake debater appeared.

“Look who it is harboring the striped annoying opponent! We meet again, Rotsala!”

“Do I know you?” Rotsala asked.

Tears came to Anguis’ eyes. “Oh yes, you do! Watch this presentation!”

The eggs danced in the air, singing a song about Sir Anguis trying his best to rule Heaven. He read from notecards. “You all can’t compete with me. Your hotel sucks. I…shall…destroy it…with… my…”

Rotsala giggled and blushed. “Your baby weiner havor?”

Anguis looked up from his cards in anger. “Not like that, pervert!”

Rotsala snapped his fingers. A portal appeared and white tentacles shot out, knocking the podium off balance. The metal eggs knocked into Sir Anguis and he yelled, “Ow that hurt! Show mercy!”

Rotsala used a drop of his blood and the podium exploded in green smoke.

Sir Anguis emerged from the crater, arm shaking, fangs shattered. Rotsala waved a hand and the snake was healed.

“Shoot me with your ray gun,” said a metal egg beside him. Sir Anguis face-planted on the ground.

Rotsala looked on, sadly while everyone else stared, stunned.

“Anyone hungry?” Rotsala asked turning around. “Please don’t make me cook jambalaya. It’s way too spicy and it nearly killed me! I much prefer tea and sugared strawberries, oh the way they melt in my mouth… but anyway, you could say the kick brought me straight into Heaven.”

Rotsala lead the way back to the hotel, the group following him.

“Yes sir, new changes are about to take place. Now…”

Rotsala waved his finger at the lit up sign above the glass, gem-encrusted building on the roof.

The sign changed from “Hazbin Hotel” to “Haven Hotel.”

“Stay tuned.” He finished with low whimpers.

#2PHazbinHotel #heavenhotel #havenhotel #2p

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xenosgirlvents · 4 years

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the final tally

for some weird reason my purchased e-copy of psychic awakening: pariah could already be downloaded midday today, rather than saturday morning as it typically does (also, for most of the day, when hitting the download link for it, it downloaded ravenor: pariah instead, so i got that free out of this, weird).

i can now do something of a tally of how psychic awakening’s gone over all. to be blunt this isn’t a strong series, i don’t think anyone thinks this was handled particularly well, and narratively it’s an enormous step down in quality from vigilus. it also really wasn’t epic, since 3/4 of the books often dealt with meaningless, tensionless, conflicts with no resolution. off the top of my head the only books in the series which could, even a little, be called ‘story important’ would be: phoenix rising, ritual of the damned and pariah. saga of the beast doesn’t count because the actual plot important event there, ghazghkull’s humiliation and subsequent return, doesn’t even happen in the book, so it’s excluded.

anyway, of course, the more clear thing is; holy crap these books shit on xenos. i mean they shit on chaos too, but chaos gets out a little better. pariah is definitely the best handled of the xenos books, easily, because it at least understands for an enemy to be a threat they can’t JUST lose, so the very first fight of the book is a major necron victory. of course, from there, both follow-up battles are necron losses, one embarrassingly so because they only lose because szeras has now shown himself to be an eldrad-level idiot, but it’s better than blood of baal, the greater good or the absolutely fucking awful rise of the phoenix and saga of the beast.

so let’s look?

Phoenix Rising: Within this book Asuryani do some pointless border scuffles and win one fight against rando-Daemons (the favoured enemy of all Aeldari because Daemons are such universal chaff even Aeldari are allowed to beat them). Is second to the tied Ritual of the Damned, War of the Spider and Pariah for the clearest narrative. In the overarching narrative of the book the Ynnari discover their hope of the Seventh Path is crushed already, the efforts of all their greatest heroes can barely compete with a glamour of Shalaxi, and both Yvraine, and now again Kyganil in Pariah, declare Phoenix Rising to be a crushing, hopeless, defeat. Death Masque all over again, because GW doesn’t seem to think Aeldari can ever succeed at anything.

Faith and Fury: No Xenos. Focused on Chaos and Imperial forces, mostly the less important Space Marines, it showcased us three inconclusive battles and was a step-up from GW’s normal method of ‘Imperium wins everything’ by instead just going ‘nobody wins, it’s ongoing’. A naïve me might have hoped they’d stick to something like this so at least the non-Imperium factions don’t lose constantly, but I was stupid as always.

Blood of Baal: Followed Faith and Fury’s style of a warzone and three battles chosen from it. Of course these are Tyranids so they just lost two of the battles outright and the third was ongoing. Yay. Blood Angels, of course, lost nothing.

Ritual of the Damned: Very story driven, as was War of the Spider (skirmish of the Spider, seriously, war? It was a grand total of one battle and an ambush against like 50 dudes) and Pariah, Ritual of the Damned taught us that 200 Marines was all it took to lead a successful direct assault on the Thousand Sons’ stronghold, break right into their inner sanctum, kick their shit in, and successfully withdraw in good order. It was awful.

The Greater Good: Faith and Fury part 2: Boogaloo. The Greater Good gave us a warzone, three factions, and had each of three battles end on an inconclusive ‘ongoing’. I guess Shadowsun is still a Xenos so now she isn’t even allowed to beat randos anymore, as she fails to successfully conquer an unknown, random, planet with no known characters on it.

Saga of the Beast: Six meaningless battles focused almost purely only on the Space Wolves’ perspectives with, in most, there not even being Orkish characters with names at all, it presented us a mix of stalemates and Space Wolf victories with the only Ork ‘victory’ being one battle where they teleported out of the battle before it could finish. Yay. Humiliatingly this is the best the Xenos do till Pariah.

Engine War: More focused, but lacking clear direction, this was a small, scant, book focused almost purely on rando Knights and Magi attacking a single fortress on a single Chaos Knight world. Technically the outcome is mixed, but it’s a closest to an outright win Chaos manage. The overarching Chaos scheme, a machine that could slingshot Warp Storms, is destroyed and foiled, but the Daemons released as a result do wipe out the Adeptus Mechanicus fleet entirely and send the remaining Imperials running from the planet, so they don’t hold it.

War of the Spider: Why does this even exist? Nothing happens in it? War of the Spider is a pointless, short, story in which Fabius has none of his more detailed or interesting characterization, in which Typhus is a cowardly idiot who loses one fight when he lets himself be ambushed by a warriors 9000 years younger than him and loses his second fight when he pisses himself at the sight of Custodes and abandons his entire honourguard. so veterans of the long war who’ve fought with him for millenia, to die as he runs away with his tail between his legs. The Death Guard lose. The Shriven lose. The Custodes technically win as they set out to destroy the Shriven and they do, and Fabius wins because his ‘win condition’ is basically just that he doesn’t die so by that metric he always wins. The battle, though, is of course won by the Imperium. Again. It’s also nonsensical. Where told the Shriven fleet could wipe out the Custodes fleet, but they land to kill them in a land battle. Then the Death Guard show up and destroy the Shriven easily, so by that metric their fleet should destroy the Custodes fleet easily too but...instead Typhus just runs away from them? Is he that scared of Custodes? What an absolute loser.

Pariah: Probably the most competently written of the books because it follows, like, literally the most basic of story telling conventions. We are introduced to a threat. The first engagement with the threat, Mesmoch, ends with the Imperium retreating in defeat. Then a second battle lead by Stern ends in victory. Then in a third battle a super-secret-special-awesome team of characters infiltrate to the Villain’s evil lair to steal a McGuffin and succeed in doing so.

[when can we have a campaign where xenos just win? taros has now been invalidated, so when are we getting a campaign where xenos actually beat the imperium for once?]

Of Psychic Awakening the Imperium wins a whopping 9 (of these it should be noted Space Wolves and Blood Angels alone constitute more than half) battles. Asuryani come in 2nd place with 2. 2. Chaos gets 1-2 (debatably?), Necron get 1, Orks get 1 (debateable again) and that’s about it.

In terms of winning ‘campaigns’ as most of these are ongoing there aren’t too many of those. That being said the Imperium wins outright in both Ritual of the Damned and in War of the Spider.

Beyond that the only other people who can claim to have won ‘campaigns’ are Fabius Bile and Chaos Daemons, but it is a little more shaky. As I said Fabius does in War of the Spider ‘win’, because he escapes with his prize, but whether this should matter when he’s really not a military player is up for everyone to decide for themselves. Daemons are also possible because I’m pretty sure at the end of Engine War THEY don’t care that the Warp Storm machine is now destroyed, they just enjoyed wiping out the Mechanicus force attacking Ordex-Thaag, so I’d submit these two are the only other options for actual ‘wins’ in books.

To fucking no-one’s surprise Xenos don’t manage to win a single campaign.

#me #warhammer #warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #40k

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notapaladin · 3 years

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so say you’ll stay with me tonight (redux)

Hey, it’s ANOTHER fic I couldn’t leave alone because I wasn’t satisfied! This one fits the vibe I was going for better and is also like 2k words longer. In which Acatl has a bad day, but Teomitl walks him home and his night is so much better.

Original version here.

Also on AO3.

Tizoc is—regrettably—still Emperor today. Acatl’s trying very hard not to let it bother him, but it’s hard not to when the man has summoned all three High Priests and the master engineers to discuss his plans for the grand new renovation of the Great Temple currently underway. The renovation which, yes, is likely necessary, but not now. Not yet. It’s only been a year and a half since the plague. He meets Acamapichtli and Quenami’s gazes sidelong and knows they know it too.

Not that they say anything, of course. Cowards. Cowards and fools. Acatl shifts on his mat, calves aching, and grinds his teeth. (He wishes he were braver.)

They’re arrayed around a series of blueprints, some of them dating back to the very first iteration of the Great Temple. Wards and glyphs have been drawn in the corners of the later ones—the High Priests’ predecessors having planned ahead for their successors—but the oldest ones have no such guidelines. If those are damaged, they’ll have to use their best judgement. Or, more likely, the contents of the Temple archives which Quenami keeps under wards so heavy they give Acatl a nosebleed. The engineers don’t care about any of that; their job is solely to satisfy the Revered Speaker. One of them is currently leaning over a rendition of the current temple, gesturing to make his point. “Of course, my lord, if you wish the most dazzling effect for the end pieces it would be best to place the support beams for the underlying structure here and here, but...”

Tizoc’s eyes narrow. “But?”

“Ah. It may be less structurally sound. Not that it would collapse immediately, you understand, but in ten or fifteen years’ time...”

“Bah! I’ll handle it then. We can always remake it.”

Or you’ll leave it for your successor to handle? You’ll make Teomitl deal with this? His jaw tightens.

“As you wish, my lord. Now, that will require the scaffolding poles to be driven into the previous layer—yes, Acatl-tzin?”

He must have made an involuntary noise. Swallowing back the first three or four protestations that come to mind (there are so many wards written and carved into that layer which would have to be dismantled completely and the gods only know if they’re dependent on older ones, if even a single brick of Coyolxauhqui’s prison is exposed to moonlight all the hearts’ blood in the world won’t keep them safe), he says...

Nothing. He says nothing. Tizoc—he won’t distinguish the man with a -tzin, not anymore, not after what he did to Tlaloc’s clergy—is studying him like a particularly disgusting bug, and he thinks of his own priests and loses all his nerve. He shakes his head silently.

The engineers continue. Quenami, naturally, has plenty of suggestions. Yes, those dimensions for the new foundation are pleasing. Yes, of course there will be no problem procuring the limestone and basalt. Yes, it will be easy for us (this with a gloating look at Acamapichtli and Acatl that makes the High Priest of Tlaloc’s eyes go dark and furious and makes Acatl himself entertain vivid fantasies of strangulation) to weave the wards anew. There will be nothing to fear. All will know and glory to the name of Tizoc-tzin, who made the Temple great again.

And Tizoc preens. He knows nothing of wards or of magic beyond the most basic things they teach all noblemen’s children in the calmecac, and so he knows nothing of why everything he’s proposing is immensely dangerous for the safety of their world. He has never descended into the depths of the Temple to stand atop Coyolxauhqui’s prison and feel her hatred, her rage. He doesn’t care. He simply wants it expanded now, before anyone can somehow steal his glory—not that he says that, of course, but it shines greasily through in every word. Acatl tries very hard to let his voice wash over him without picking out specifics. That way lies only impotent fury, and they simply aren’t stable enough yet that he can risk drawing Tizoc’s ire. He may have Teomitl’s fondest regard, but Teomitl is still only Master of the House of Darts. Soon, he thinks. Soon.

“My lord, of course we can redo the steps down to the center as well, but...”

“Out with it.”

“Will we have enough sacrifices to remake the wards on them? They will need to be incised into the stone—”

Tizoc’s voice rises to a pitch that reminds him of a peccary with a chest cold. “You dare ask me that? Have we not won great victories? Have we not brought back dozens, hundreds of sacrifices already? Do you doubt the strength and valor of our armies?”

...Not soon enough.

He shifts again, allowing himself a brief grimace at the ache in his back and thighs. They’ve never been the same since his sojourn in the Heartlands. Every day he looks at Tizoc and thinks, I can’t believe I fought Itzpapalotl for your sake. But he did, and now they have a Revered Speaker who leads their warriors to be slaughtered and calls ir victory. He doubts whether Tizoc’s ever personally captured a prisoner in his life.

Teomitl could bring back more than enough captives, he thinks, if you only got out of his way and let him lead your army the way he’s supposed to. Between Teomitl and Neutemoc, he’s started to gain some secondhand knowledge of battle strategy, enough to understand that the relative failures of the campaigns under Tizoc’s reign are due in large part to the man’s own mix of paranoid micromanagement and reckless overconfidence. Teomitl’s not at all shy in voicing his opinions on it.

The engineer is sweating now. Rumors buzz like flies in the palace, and they say that the last person who publicly gainsaid the Revered Speaker simply disappeared. No official investigation was made, but that man’s widow had nevertheless been brave enough to contact Acatl. He didn’t find any magical residue, but of course that didn’t rule out foul play. They’d both known who the culprit was anyway. But this man is smarter or more cowardly, and so he lowers his head and says, “Never, my lord. They still sing of your latest campaign in the streets. It is merely that the reconsecration of the Great Temple is vital, and I wished to know whether you desired extra protection for the boundaries.”

If Tizoc was an intelligent man, he would say yes. The boundaries are still weak, terribly weak, due simply to his presence. Though they’ve been sewn up—thank the gods for Mihmatini—they’re far from impermeable. Acatl can feel them wiggle like a loose tooth if he presses too hard. And the Great Temple is their best and largest anchor with such a weak Revered Speaker on the throne. Until Teomitl is crowned, they need all the help they can get to keep the stars in the sky and She of the Silver Bells in chains.

Tizoc is not an intelligent man. He scoffs, shaking his head in a manner horribly reminiscent of Teomitl at his most arrogant. Except this is worse, because Teomitl has good qualities to make up for it. Tizoc has none. “That won’t be necessary. My High Priests will have it well in hand, won’t you?”

Quenami takes it upon himself to speak for them all. “Of course, my lord.”

Acatl remains silent. He can’t bear to look at Quenami just yet or he might snap, but when he turns his head he catches Acamapichtli’s eye and realizes he knows that expression. It’s the same one he almost certainly has on his own face. How dare he? After what Tizoc did to your clergy, and what he’s doing to the boundaries, he has the nerve to make our jobs even harder? And it will certainly be their jobs, because if Quenami bestirs himself for anything short of Coyolxauhqui physically manifesting on the Temple steps, Acatl will eat his own sandals. Without chili sauce.

Tizoc waves a hand. “You see? Proceed.”

The two engineers exchange looks before the man dubbed unofficial spokesman nods. “As you wish, my lord.”

It’s late by the time they get out of that meeting, and all he can think is that he does not want to spend one more second within the palace walls. He wants his own house, and his own mat, and his—

Well. He wants Teomitl. In general he doesn’t want to be alone, but in specific he wants Teomitl—wants to wrap his arms around him, hold him close, kiss that soft and smiling mouth. They haven’t made any promises or put words on what they are to each other. Teomitl’s optimism so far hasn’t extended itself to that, and Acatl isn’t sure he can be the first one to say it. But he knows his own heart well enough to tell how he feels. How he’s been feeling ever since that first day months ago, when Teomitl had turned back from that view of the city on his temple steps and smiled at him.

(Not, admittedly, that he’d said anything. Not then. It had taken them weeks of meeting for meals, of watching Teomitl patch up his relationship with Mihmatini, of nearly giving up—for surely he had no right to come between them. Of staring at his mouth and wondering what it might be like to kiss it. Had it not been for Teomitl showing up at his door the night before he left for his next campaign, he might still be wondering.)

His—lover? He supposes that’s the best word—is somewhere in the palace, but Acatl hasn’t seen him all day. This mess with the Great Temple has taken up all his time. He’s seriously debating the idea of going to look for him. Of finding him wherever he’s been spending his time, pulling him aside, telling him...

I want you.

I missed you.

Come home with me.

That idea makes his face heat. They’ve stolen plenty of time together, but never has Teomitl spent the night at his house. (He doesn’t count that time after Axayacatl’s death. He’d been asleep for that, and also still so deep in denial that he wouldn’t have been able to find his way out with a tall ladder and a map.) To do that now would be...well. His eyes have been opened, and he’s fairly sure they wouldn’t be spending too much time sleeping.

“Acatl!”

He jolts; he’s been so lost in thought that he didn’t even hear those impatient, beloved footfalls approaching from behind. The hallway is empty, so he doesn’t have that excuse either. Something in his heart clicks and settles into warm contentment as he turns around. “Teomitl,” he says, and adds—because it’s the truth—“I was just thinking about you.”

Teomitl doesn’t quite blush, but his smile goes measurably warmer around the edges. He looks good all in red and white, with gold earflares and a simple gold lip plug that draws Acatl’s eye to the curve of his lower lip. He’s loosened his hair and taken out the feather ornaments, so he must have finished his own work. “And I was just looking for you. Are you all done for the day?”

“...Unless some emergency beckons, yes.” He really hopes it doesn’t. Duality, just give him one night.

“I’m glad.” And Teomitl draws closer, slowing his pace to match. “Heading home?”

He nods, and then takes a breath. There’s no reason for him to be nervous, but asking for it while knowing what he wants makes his heart beat a little faster anyway. “Walk with me?”

Teomitl beams, and somehow he falls even deeper in love. “Of course.”

They’re quiet for a while. He knows he could break the silence; now that he’s fallen into the habit of speaking his feelings out loud with Teomitl, his lover always has an understanding ear to lend when he needs to unleash his frustrations. It had been a pleasant surprise to curse Quenami’s name and have Teomitl spare no vitriol in his own assessment of the man’s character. But it feels good just to walk side by side with him, and he doesn’t want to ruin the mood. Besides, walls in the palace always have ears, and he’s sure it would get back to Tizoc somehow. Instead he focuses on the warmth of Teomitl’s body next to his, almost close enough to touch. The scent of lingering copal incense and sun-warmed skin reaches him and he thinks, Oh, this is nice. (It could be nicer. They could be holding hands. But they have to be discreet, still, and so he can’t risk it.)

(Gods, he wants to see Teomitl crowned.)

It’s not until they leave the palace that Teomitl says, “So. Tizoc’s still going ahead with his...refurbishment.”

Acatl grimaces. “Indeed.”

“Didn’t listen to any of the reasons why he shouldn’t.”

He bites his lip. “I...”

Teomitl turns to look at him, frowning, but then understanding dawns. “...I see.” He looks like he wants to say something else—probably something angry—but all he does is sigh and shake his head. “I tried too, and he brushed me aside. He’s only thinking of his legacy and not what it might do to us. It’s probably for the best that you didn’t say anything; he’d think we were conspiring against him.”

Acatl considers this. Looks at him.

Teomitl looks mildly offended. “I did say I’d give him time.”

“You did.” And he slides his fingers against the back of Teomitl’s hand to show he’s not upset, nor holding a grudge. After all, he’d meant it when he’d said there was no need for apologies between them. It has the desired effect, because Teomitl’s eyes grow warm and bright.

And then he leans in and murmurs, “Unless you’d rather I not.”

“Teomitl,” he huffs, but he can’t be mad. Teomitl’s wearing the half-grin that means he’s not entirely serious—that says yes, he might still kill his own brother on Acatl’s orders, but it’s far more important to him that Acatl has asked him not to. Acatl trusts that now. “Please don’t.” After a moment’s thought he adds, “At least warn me and Mihmatini first when you do.”

Now Teomitl’s really smiling, though it’s somewhat rueful. “I wouldn’t dream of doing anything else. You know that.”

“I do.” He angles himself as he walks so that their arms brush and lets the tenderness he feels color his voice. I know you, my heart. And he’s suddenly more than mildly annoyed that they’re still in the Sacred Precinct, because the way Teomitl is looking at him with soft, shining eyes desperately makes him wish he could kiss him right here. If he were braver, he thinks he might even risk it; he knows where the shadows of the temple gates will hide them from prying eyes, and he knows how sweetly Teomitl presses against him when he’s pleased.

Though he says nothing, it must show on his face, because Teomitl takes advantage of the camouflage provided by their billowing cloaks to firmly lace their fingers together. His voice lowers, rich with promise. “We should fetch dinner before we reach your place. Unless you want to cook? I hope you do; we’ll need our energy.”

He knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’s blushing. “I. Um.”

“Well?”

“...I leave a pot of stew on the hearth in the morning.” It’s a habit he’s gotten into since Tizoc’s begun these building preparations; they often go long enough that he’s ravenous by the time they’re over, and utterly unwilling to expend any more brainpower on exactly how to fill his stomach. It’s hard to overcook stew, after all. “Though I don’t know if it will be to your taste—”

Teomitl holds up a hand to stop him. “Acatl. You know my feelings on your cooking.”

He snorts, shaking his head. They’ve had this conversation before. “I still think you flatter me far too much.”

Teomitl pokes his side teasingly. “And I think you underestimate the effects of a meal made with care and devotion by a man I trust above all others in the Empire.” Acatl’s heart skips a beat, so of course the moment’s ruined when he follows it up with, “I’d eat what you made if it came out as charcoal.”

“Well, hopefully this won’t be that bad.” Honesty compels him to add, “It may be a bit spicy. I wasn’t expecting company when I put it all together.”

Teomitl huffs, “I can handle spice!”

He makes a mental note to serve plenty of flatbread on the side.

It’s not far to his home, and the stew—mostly beans and corn, with a long-simmering and very tough haunch of dog from an earlier sacrifice thrown in to cook until tender—is just about done when he takes it off the fire. Teomitl clearly wants to help, but after a moment’s searching forces him to realize he has no idea where Acatl keeps anything, he takes himself out to the courtyard with a terribly put-upon sigh. It’s adorable. Acatl wants to kiss his cheek.

So when he sets down their bowls, he does. Teomitl promptly blushes, which is so endearing that Acatl has to kiss him again. On the mouth this time, which turns long and lingering before Teomitl slowly pulls away. “Mmhm. Not that I’m complaining, but what prompted this?”

He really only needs one hand to eat, so he’s free to settle the other at Teomitl’s waist and revel in the way the man nestles against his side. (It’s no longer surprising that Teomitl is so tactile, but it will always—always—be delightful.) “I missed you.”

Because he had. Every time Tizoc had opened his mouth, he’d thought you are unworthy of your crown. Every time Quenami had worn that supercilious smirk of his, he’d thought Teomitl would never let you get away with that. He’d felt himself alone, and he’d wanted his lover by his side. Now that he is, there’s something going soft and warm in Acatl’s chest. They’d definitely be kissing again if it wasn’t for the stew, which he knows won’t be nearly as good cold.

Teomitl presses a kiss to his cheek, which makes him blush in turn, but then he’s applying himself to his dinner. Acatl waits as he takes the first spoonful.

To give him credit, his beloved doesn’t flinch. But he does turn red, and when Acatl hands him a piece of plain flatbread he shoves it into his mouth as though his life depends on it. When he can talk again, his voice is a little rough. “That’s—not bad.” And then, ruefully, “I should have expected that.”

“Mm.” He thinks briefly of seeing whether there’s anything else he could serve, but he knows Teomitl will turn it down. Even now, his lover thinks his own limits are mere suggestions.

It’s a quiet meal. Teomitl settles more firmly against him as they eat, one hand resting lightly on his thigh, and the promise of it makes him shiver. I won’t be suggesting he go home tonight, he thinks, and knows it for the truth. The silence between them feels good—feels comfortable—but though he doesn’t want to spoil it, there’s something he knows he has to say.

The sun is setting, bathing them in twilight. Their bowls are scraped clean, even Teomitl’s. (With the aid, Acatl can’t help but notice, of several cups of water and all of the flatbread.) Teomitl himself is resting his head on his shoulder, looking utterly content with his lot in life. Warm, callused fingers are tracing slow circles on his thigh. Even the air feels peaceful, with just enough of a breeze to keep them cool but not enough to raise the dust. Acatl takes a deep breath and realizes he’s not afraid. Maybe he should be—maybe this is too much, he’s moving too quickly—but he isn’t. Not with his man by his side. Haven’t they come this far?

“I love you,” he whispers, and it comes out so quietly that at first he doesn’t think Teomitl’s heard him. But then it must sink in, because Teomitl’s muscles tense, his eyes widen, and Acatl has a miniature eternity to think Oh, fuck. He’s wrong. This is too fast. Teomitl isn’t that serious about him. Hastily, he opens his mouth, scrambling to take it back.

Then Teomitl smiles, soft as the dawn, and breathes, “I love you, too.”

Oh. Oh, thank the Duality.

Teomitl turns towards him and they’re kissing again, and this time it’s much less sweet. There is some restraint—while Teomitl’s not precisely shy, he’s well aware of Acatl’s vows and has never pressed them—but it’s the easiest and most natural thing in the world to be tumbled backwards on the mat, to have strong hands buried in his hair, to feel the heat and the faintest suggestion of teeth in each press of Teomitl’s mouth down his throat. And yet, for all that, there’s still a gentleness to it, because he’s loved. And better than that, he’s respected. If he asked Teomitl to stop, he knows he would.

He doesn’t think he’s going to ask Teomitl to stop. He arches into another kiss, letting his head fall back, and breathes, “We should...nnh...” Words fail him, because there’s a featherlight press of lips to his collarbone and it’s a lovely little spark of pleasure.

“Mm?”

He shivers in anticipation at the warmth in his lover’s eyes. No, there’s no hesitation in his mind anymore. “Let’s go inside.” He swallows. “If you want to continue this.”

Teomitl jerks back a little to look at him. For an instant he looks surprised, but then the smile on his face turns teasing. “Oh, I do. But it’s getting late, and you should sleep.”

He’s suddenly very, very aware of his lover’s weight on him—of the way they’re touching, pressed together from very nearly the waist downwards, and how the building heat in his blood is moving with purpose. He shifts, rolling his hips a fraction, and feels Teomitl twitch in response. “I’m not that tired.”

Teomitl grins, all wicked hope. “Want me to help you with that?”

He sucks in a breath. I took vows is his first thought. But it’s followed fast by a second, stronger one—I don’t care. So instead of answering in words, he pulls Teomitl into a hungry, searing kiss.

He’s honestly not entirely clear on how they manage to get inside. While he’d be glad to kiss Teomitl forever, his lover is the sort of impatient man who comes up with plans; they’re barely on his sleeping mat before Teomitl’s scattering their cloaks and working at the knots to their loincloths, letting his hands roam shamelessly over every inch of bare skin. Acatl’s not idle; though he might kill something for a light so he could at least see the unveiled glory that is his naked lover, he’s free to map out the lay of the land with his palms.

And gods, but Teomitl melts into each touch. If he were the jaguar Acatl sometimes thinks of him as, he might even be purring. Experimentally he draws his nails down Teomitl’s back, and is rewarded when he moans into their kiss. “Mmm...”

Then there are warm, callused fingers trailing down his chest and he can’t quite muster up the ability to feel smug anymore when they find one nipple and start toying with it. “Oh, gods,” he gasps—he hadn’t thought he’d be sensitive there, but Teomitl is very effectively proving him wrong. He’s been half-hard since the moment his loincloth hit the floor, and Teomitl’s hands are getting him the rest of the way there. It’s even better when Teomitl moves to straddle him, half so they can grind against each other and half so his free hand can skate down the plane of his stomach.

Their eyes meet, and Acatl feels himself flush at the look in Teomitl’s eyes, the one that says without words that there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. When he speaks, his voice is soft. “You feel perfect.”

“Flatterer...mmm...” That one hand is sliding lower, shameless, and he wriggles a little to press their cocks together. He wishes again for light, but smoothing his hands over the solid muscles of his lover’s back and down over his frankly glorious ass will have to do. Teomitl must enjoy it, because his whole body trembles—and then Acatl’s being kissed, long and slow, and he arches with an utterly wanton groan.

“You are incredible,” Teomitl breathes when they pull apart. “Tell me how you want me to please you.” Acatl has to blush a little at that—it’s hardly as though Teomitl ought to need instruction, when he’s so hard against him and surely that presents a few obvious ideas—but well, he is asking. He’s owed an answer.

Still, saying it out loud makes him squirm. His skin feels like it’s on fire as he mutters, “...Touch me.” He rolls his hips, and his lover’s eyes spark fire. He doesn’t need to say anything else; Teomitl takes him in hand, and the friction that had been merely good builds into something he can fall into, something that sends pleasure coiling through his veins.

“Like this?” Teomitl’s setting a steady pace, fingers rippling; he needs his other hand to brace himself on the mat, bringing him in range to punctuate his words with a hungry mouth on Acatl’s collarbone. It scatters Acatl’s thoughts to the four winds; helpless, he scratches down Teomitl’s back again, and this time the vibrations of his lover’s moan sinks into his skin.

More, he thinks, and yes. He barely recognizes his own voice when it leaves his mouth. “Nngh, yes—no, wait, wait, I want to—” It’s not a want but a physical need, bone-deep, that has him working his hand between them to wrap around both their cocks at once. Teomitl’s roughly the same size but a little thicker, all rock-hard heat under his palm, and when he squeezes it pulls the most amazingly wrecked noise out of him.

“Oh,” Teomitl gasps. In the darkness, his eyes are wide with stunned hunger; his hips shudder, rocking in unconscious little circles like he’s not sure whether he should be letting Acatl set the pace or not.

“Like this,” he pants. All that stroking had been pleasurable, yes, but he needs to feel it properly when Teomitl falls apart against him, under his hand, sliding past his own cock with each thrust. He wonders, briefly, how it would feel with Teomitl inside him—but then Teomitl’s hand leaves his shaft to slide lower, and the first purposeful caress to his balls makes him whine.

Teomitl’s smug, “Hah,” comes out as more of a gasp than anything else. Even the attempt at a self-satisfied smirk is erased in the next instant because Acatl leans in to nip at his throat and grinds his hips up, a firm stroke making their cocks pulse in his grip, and his head falls back with a shaky cry. “Gods, keep doing that—”

Acatl hums against his lover’s skin. “Is this how you like it?” he breathes. There aren’t words for the feelings coursing through him, lust and the mounting lightning of his own pleasure mingling with a fierce joy that he’s the one doing this for Teomitl, that it’s his mouth and hands that are pulling such sweet sounds from his lover. A little more, he thinks. A little more. I need to see your face.

He gets his wish a moment later; no doubt Teomitl has a warrior’s stamina, but it can’t last against the way Acatl’s handling him. He gets increasingly vocal as he nears his peak, wordless cries ringing in the night air as Acatl bites at his shoulder. When he mouths a red mark into the thin skin at his collarbone, Teomitl nearly sobs. “Yes—yes, gods, Acatl—” Then he’s coming, hard and fast and all at once, spilling himself over their hands and bodies, and his voice cracks into a desperate keen.

It’s perfect. He’s still unfulfilled, but he almost doesn’t care. Almost. After a moment where Teomitl’s catching his breath and he thinks he might have to seek his own pleasure, his lover is grinning hot and hungrily down at him and oh gods, now that he’s not distracted by what Acatl’s doing with him he proves merciless. He settles back on his haunches, freeing both hands to squeeze and stroke and pump Acatl’s throbbing flesh, and all Acatl can do is take it. “Nnnh, Teomitl, please...”

“That’s it,” Teomitl breathes, and if it wasn’t so awestruck it would be a royal order. It feels like a royal order, like the words of the gods themselves when he growls, “Come for me, Acatl-tzin.”

He does. He can’t do anything else. It’s shattering knife-edge pleasure that pulls all his thoughts out of his head; for a small eternity, he can’t even feel his own limbs, lost in the white-hot spasms of his own release. Awareness filters back in slowly; there’s Teomitl slowly petting his thighs, there’s his hands settling at his lover’s hips. And there, shining in the darkness, is Teomitl’s tender gaze.

“...Duality,” he manages breathlessly. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this, but thank You. Thank You for this gift.

“We made a mess,” Teomitl murmurs. With a downright wicked smirk, he drags his fingers through it and slowly licks them clean.

Spent as he is, it still makes Acatl’s cock twitch. He has to close his eyes lest he do something that...well, something that seems like a very good idea, to be honest, but his body is letting him know he’d regret it later. He’s not that young anymore. “Teomitl.”

“You taste good.” It’s almost—almost—innocent, but then Teomitl does it again and that’s not innocent at all.

He draws in a shuddering breath. “I need to recover, damn you. Give me a moment before you do things like that!”

“I just wanted to clean us up, but you’re right.” Teomitl kisses him again, slowly, and he can taste himself on his lips. “I won’t tease, love.”

Love. He smiles at that, feeling his face warm. “You’d better not, after being so concerned about my sleep schedule.” It comes out as more of a mumble than anything else; he’s forgotten how draining orgasms can be, especially on a full stomach after a long day. Sleep really is sounding very tempting.

“Mmm.” It’s a warm, utterly contented hum. Even when Teomitl pulls away to clean them both up properly with a cotton towel, he doesn’t go far; indeed, the cleanup itself is slow and tender and interspersed with long, gentle kisses.

Acatl responds as best he can, but he really is very tired. When Teomitl slides his arms around him, it’s all he can do to nuzzle into his chest. “Mmhm.” He feels boneless. Weightless. Teomitl is stroking his hair, and he never wants it to stop. “Teomitl...”

Teomitl’s arms loosen. “I...” he begins.

He knows what Teomitl’s going to say—I should go, I shouldn’t be here in the morning. He knows it would be a good and prudent idea. He also knows he’s not going to let that happen. Not after the night they’ve shared; not after the love they’ve shared. “Stay,” he says.

Teomitl stays.

#acatl #teomitl #teocatl #quenami #tizoc #not work safe #obsidian and blood #paladin writes stuff

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docholligay · 3 years

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Fluff day prompt: One of the Overwatch characters (your choice) realizing how much Tracer and Winston's friendship has positively impacted/changed the team. ^__^

Number three! I kept trying to write this into what I wanted it to be and it never got there and I’M ANNOYED but there we are sometimes we do our best, anyway 1800 words.

Tracer was curled up under Winston’s arm, half-asleep though she swore she wasn’t tired not but an hour ago, Winston’s thumb rubbing back and forth across her shoulder as her eyelids grew heavy. A few weeks ago, she had been teetering between life and death, death’s victory taken only by Pharah’s refusal to allow it to be so.

Mercy was not the sort of person who ever tried to guess at life. The unpredictability of her own had long since beat that out of her, and now she simply tried to steer the ship, instead of guessing at the storm. But even she would never have believed the man WInston would turn out to be, in the light of Tracer’s great friendship and love, and how Mercy would come to fear more than than simply the loss of Tracer’s life, but all the things that had bloomed within it.

He was a nervous creature, Mercy had noted, and then scolded herself for thinking creature. They sat across from each other in that cold meeting room, in the original Overwatch, hearing about how Airman Oxton, callsign Tracer, was missing, but perhaps not quite deceased. She’d complained to him, later, in her office, about how she hated the experimental division, how she thought they were inhuman. She had handed him pictures she had of Tracer, sent by the family with their pleas for answers.

She still remembered the way he had looked at them, how his eyes had softened as he looked over the one of her with her father at a birthday party, and it was then that Mercy saw that he might not be just as bad as the rest of them, whose faces had stayed stoic when faced with the tears of her father, with the pictures of a woman who was clearly deeply loved, and terribly missed. Mercy had no gift for stoicism, and she had no interest in trying.

Winston did his best to stand upright, to keep his jaw straight, and to look like the rest of them, neat in his uniform, as he went through the halls of Overwatch. No one was ever fooled. Winston spoke little, and softly, and nervously touched at his glasses trying to make himself small, whenever anyone ever got too close. LeCroix ran ramshackle over the top of him, and he quietly took it, and Mercy managed to feel a strange mix of pity and annoyance and his weakness.

Even as they cared for Tracer, he stammered when Moira interrogated him over Tracer’s condition and her progress and what sort of things her body might now be able to do. It seemed, Moira would say, that it was kinder simply to let her die and benefit by the autopsy, given the way she cried out in pain and fear. Mercy had never seen herself as the sort of person who got in the middle of arguments, but she could only bear to watch Moira browbeat the poor thing for so long, and anyhow, eventually he might turn Tracer’s care over to Moira, and Mercy would rather perform her own bowel resection than let that happen.

Mercy had not respected him, though she made every effort to be kind, until Tracer began to speak. Quietly, weakly, but steadily, every day, sometimes more than once, trying with all her might to make herself understood.

She was asking for her father.

In that same cold meeting room, people with more strategy than souls debated whether or not they should tell her her father had died only days before she was recovered, whether they should tell her family that she was alive, before deciding that it would be deleterious to her recovery to let her know her father had died. They had been close, said the dossier they had on her. They would tell her after she had strengthened, and might be able to tell them something about the whereabouts of the Slipstream. Monstrous, she had thought.

There had been the heavy sound of a pushing chair, and Mercy had seen Winston stand.

“No,” he said, staring at the table, “this isn’t right. No. I---No.”

He hadn’t stopped, hadn’t looked up at any of them, simply pushed in his chair and walked down the hallway, quick as he could, to the bug jar where Tracer was kept, lying quietly on her bed, and he told her. He told her before he could lose his nerve, before anyone could stop him, before he thought about what he might be doing and how he could be brought up on charges of insubordination.

Tracer had wailed, and then stopped speaking for another two weeks. Mercy had come into the lab to see Winston silently sitting at her side, his hand on her back as softly as he could make it. He hadn’t left her, all the night, though he could not have known her, not really. Mercy had seen, for the first time, a strength in him. A strength that was only more emboldened as Tracer began to heal, as she and Winston grew closer, spending a first American Thanksgiving together in her little bug jar, her declaring them proper friends, her clumsily wrapped Christmas gift, and the way Winston’s eyes grew wide when she called him Win.

It was strange to think that Tracer had brought him strength, when she supposed those who had never known Winston would see the scene set before them, Tracer’s eyes closed as her body melted over him, and assumed that what she brought was softness. An animal, right? The beast that must be tamed by beauty? They did not see that what he had been, before, how nervous and shirking.

She had heard it said that being loved gives you strength, but it is loving that brings courage, and she had never seen this truer than in Winston’s change, and what it had done for all of Overwatch. She had tried to explain this to Pharah, that Winston had been cowardly and dodged responsibility, that to see him on the field of battle was its own sort of miracle, but Pharah had mildly scolded her.

“He is a shy man,” she said, her eyebrows furrowed, “but it is unkind to call him cowardly.”

Mercy had simply shaken her head and smiled. Pharah was one of the most intelligent people she know, but sometimes slow to come around to the idea that we are not born as we are now--she had been so principled and so driven from her childhood that she could scarcely imagine a great shift in any other adult. She wasn’t much for second chances, Pharah.

But she hadn’t seen him build his armor with a shaking hand, knowing that he feared conflict and fighting, that he had fled from violence all of his life, but knowing that he wanted to stay at Tracer’s side, whatever that meant. Tracer believed that she was born to fight for this world, and retirement did not suit her. She was a fighter from the first. So Winston would learn to fight. He built and he steeled himself, and Tracer’s ebullient affection gave him the spark he needed to allow himself to become the beast who could destroy as well as repair. She loved him, and did not fear him, even when she saw what he was capable of. Tracer was the sort of person who could shoot a man in the face and then cheerfully help a child out of some rubble, so there was no question in her mind that Winston could snap a spine on the battlefield, and carefully wrap her in a hug. She brought him into her family Christmas celebrations, and gave him her last name, (Plenty of Oxtons love, plenty to go around with it) and she had watched him blossom and grow from weak and wilting to a tree strong enough to give support and shade to this world. To stand alongside the rest of them.

He needed no prompting, when she had gone into time again. He had nearly killed Doomfist and refused to be more than mildly embarrassed about the fact, more angry at Mercy for immediately treating his wounds than anything else. He had fought for Tracer, and she had seen that rage and that strength in his face, even as he held her little body in his arms so tenderly, and tried to reassure her that all would be well again.

He had told Overwatch that they could go straight to hell.

Tracer had fought, too. She had fought through the pain of being torn through time again, against the damage it had done to her, even through Mercy’s caution that if it happened again, the damage could be very permanent. She had fought to claw her way back to Winston, back to London. Tracer always worried after him, privately, to Mercy, that if anything happened to her, he’d be dragged down by his own melancholy, no matter than her family had fully adopted him. So she fought, no matter the strain.

Others wouldn’t understand her saying this, Mercy thought, for there was nothing romantic between them, but she had considered theirs to be one of the great loves she had the privilege to witness.

“This is easier,” Winston had said, when Pharah had asked offhandedly about caring for her after being shot when he had done it before, “my voice and my touch can comfort her. They don’t hurt her.”

She thought about that, watching Winston stroke her back as she finally drifted off to the sleep she didn’t need, the smile that lit on his lips as he looked down at her, her cheeks pink again, her hair messily tossed in her cheerful sort of way, cuddled up next to him, perfectly relaxed. It was easier, she knew, because even shot, close to death as Tracer had been, Winston could reach her. Winston could love her.

Mercy was often mocked, to her face and behind her back, about her belief in love. That love was why she did what she did, as her constant answer, and love was the only thing that would save this world. They laughed because they had such a simplistic view of love, that it was flowers and poetry and candy. But Mercy knew better. This team was strong because it was filled with love. Love was what drew them to risk their own lives, love was what brought Hana from her home to a group of people she did not know, love was what informed every single one of Pharah’s command decisions, and Mercy knew that love guided her hand as she moved to stitch and bandage every single person she had ever touched.

She realized, seeing the soft scene between them, that Winston and Tracer’s love had not only made the two of them stronger, but had made this team the kind that could save Overwatch. The kind that could build Overwatch.

An Overwatch with love deep enough to heal the world.

#amberlilly

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sternbilder · 4 years

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Camille Has Many KDrama Thoughts

As some of you have possibly noticed, I have recently fallen into a KDrama hole and I can’t get up, and I have just finished my 10th drama, which seems like less of an accomplishment than I thought now that I say it out loud, but anyway,

As a checkpoint/thinly veiled plug of some shows I love very much, here is a very long post with some of my thoughts on all the KDramas I’ve seen so far, as well as what’s next on my list, in case you too were interested in joining me in nonexistent fandom hell!

So firstly, all of the dramas I have watched to completion, in the order of how much I like them. First, my top five:

1. Sungkyunkwan Scandal (2010). My #1 favorite drama to date. I’ve probably watched it in full 4-5 times, and it’s still an absolute treat every time. Is it the best drama I’ve ever seen? Probably not. But it’s so fun and charming that it’s just gotta be at the top of my list.

The best way I can describe this drama is Ouran High School Host Club, except in Joseon era Korea, and instead of flirting with girls the main characters learn about Confucianism and solve mysteries and play sports (twice) and end up accidentally involved in a complicated political scandal. Also, that one text post about how Shang from Mulan is bi because he falls for Mulan while he thinks she’s a man...This drama has that, except actually canon. And while I won’t pretend this is show is a shining beacon of representation, there are multiple main characters who are explicitly not heterosexual and several others with very plausible queer readings, which earns it a very special place in my heart.

As for the actual premise of the show, it’s basically about a wonderfully determined and kind and clever but lower-class girl whose writing skills catch the eye of the most stubbornly strait-laced but idealistic aspiring politician-type on the planet. She ends up getting a one-way ticket to the most prestigious school in the country, except she has to pretend to be a man the entire time because women aren’t allowed to be educated at this time.

It’s a bit of a silly, cheesy show, and here are many wacky shenanigans, but the main cast is full of incredibly highly endearing and multifaceted characters, there is a lot of sexual confusion, the slowburn roommate romance has an incredible payoff, and it’s also full of deeply moving social commentary about class, privilege, and gender roles. This drama is a blast and I could go on and on about what I love about it, I absolutely adore it to pieces.

2. Six Flying Dragons (2015-2016). I debated between this and Tree With Deep Roots (next on my list, to which SFD is a prequel) as my #2 but I do think I want to place SFD higher just because it's the drama that I keep thinking about even after finishing it. of course, it has the dual advantages of 1) being released chronologically later (and having better production value, etc., because of this) and 2) being twice as long, but there’s just so much stuff to unpack with SFD that it makes me want to keep coming back to it.

The show is about the founding of the Joseon dynasty, and six individuals (half of whom are based on real historical figures and half fictional) whose lives are closely tied to the fall of the old regime and the revolution that brought in the new. It has an intricate, intensely political plotline based on the actual events that happened during this time, and though this may sound kind of boring if you’re like me and not super into history (admittedly, the pacing in the beginning is a tiny bit slow), it quickly picks up and becomes this dense web of character relations and political maneuvering. Though none of the major events should come as a surprise if you’ve seen TWDR or if you happen to already know the history it was based on, the show adds such a depth of humanity and emotion to every event and character that nothing ever feels boring or predictable. As a matter of fact, there are several events that were alluded to in TWDR that, when they actually happened in SFD, left me breathless--because although I 100% knew these were foregone conclusions that were coming up at some point, I still had a visceral moment of, “oh no, so that’s how that came to happen.”

But though I really enjoyed following the story of SFD and learning about the history behind it, the highlight of the show for me is definitely the great character arcs. I loved TWDR’s characters, too (especially Yi Do, So Yi, and obviously Moo Hyul), but with double the episode count SFD just has so much time for rich, dynamic character development, and I absolutely loved seeing how these characters grew and changed over time when their ideologies and fates collided in this turbulent and violent age: How young and ambitious Yi Bang Won eventually spiraled into a ruthless tyrant, how the naive and kind-hearted Moo Hyul struggled to retain his humanity in a bloody revolution that challenged his values and loyalties to the core, how the fiercely determined and idealistic Boon Yi grew into a pragmatic and capable leader who comes to realize what politics and power mean for her and her loved ones.

SFD was also everything I wanted as a prequel to TWDR--I loved seeing the contrasts between some of the TWDR characters and their younger selves in the SFD timeline: The hardened and ruthless Bang Won as a passionate and righteous adolescent, the cynical and resigned Bang Ji as a cowardly boy who grows into a traumatized and bitter young man, and my personal favorite character, the comically serious bodyguard Moo Hyul as the very model of the dopey, lovable himbo archetype. And though the ending was controversial among fans (particularly those who watched SFD first), I loved how it closed all the loops and tied it back to the events of TWDR, both providing that transition I wanted but also recontextualizing and adding new meaning to the original work. I think it's still a very good drama on its own, but this hand-off is what really sealed the deal for me personally, because it was not only super emotionally satisfying to watch how the stories connected, but it elevated TWDR to something even greater (suggesting that Yi Do and the events of TWDR was the culmination of everything the six dragons fought so long and hard for), which is exactly what I expect from a good prequel.

I’ve already talked so much about this drama but I also do need to mention that the soundtrack to SFD is A+, and the sword fights are sick as hell. There is also some romance, though it’s not really a focus--and all the pairings that do exist are extremely tragic, which is exactly up my alley. Overall, this is a hell of a historical drama, coming of age, villain origin story, and martial arts film in one, and I highly recommend it.

3. Tree With Deep Roots (2011). The sequel to SFD, though it aired first chronologically. Although this show isn’t one of those shows that I could rewatch once a year like SKKS or keep ruminating on like SFD, TWDR (much like Les Mis, or Fata Morgana) is thematically the kind of story that just makes my heart sing.

The story centers around the creation of Hangul, the Korean alphabet, by Yi Do (a.k.a., King Sejong the Great, who is the son and successor of Yi Bang Won, the main character of SFD) as well as two fictional childhood friends whose backstories and ambitions become central to the story of how and why this alphabet came to exist. Not only is the actual process of creating this alphabet absolutely fascinating from a linguistic and scientific POV, but the show dramatizes Yi Do’s motivations in a way that’s so incredibly touching and human--portraying the king as a soft-hearted and extremely charismatic yet fundamentally flawed and conflicted figure who tries so desperately to do right by his people.

The show explores both a number of personal themes like redemption, atonement, and vengeance, as well as broader societal themes such as the ethics of authority, the democratization of knowledge, and the power of language and literacy. Though the show never forgets to remind the audience of the bitter reality of actual history, it’s still a deeply idealistic show whose musings on social change and how to use privilege and power to make the world better are both elegant and poignant.

Romance definitely takes a backseat in TWDR, even more so than SFD, though this isn’t something I personally mind. There are, however, a lot of interesting politics surrounding the promulgation of the alphabet, including a string of high-profile assassinations--if SFD is historical/political-thriller-meets-action-film, then TWDR is historical/political-thriller-meets-murder-mystery, and it’s an incredibly tightly written and satisfying story whose pieces fall into place perfectly. Though not the sprawling epic that SFD is, TWDR is an emotional journey and an extremely well-written story with a TON of goodies if you’re as excited about linguistics as I am.

4. White Christmas (2011). My first non-sageuk on this list! White Christmas is, in a lot of ways, an odd drama. It’s an 8-episode special, and featured largely (at the time) new talent. it’s also neither a historical work nor romance-focused, but instead a short but intense psychological thriller/murder mystery.

The premise is this: Seven students at a super elite boarding school tucked away in the mountains receive mysterious black letters that compel them to remain on campus during the one vacation of the year. The letters describe various “sins” that the author accuses the students of committing, as well as the threat of a “curse” as well as an impending death. The students quickly find that they’re stranded alone at the school with a murderer in their midst, as they are forced to confront their shared histories and individual traumas to figure out 1) why they’ve been sent the letters, and 2) how to make it out alive. At the center of the survival game the characters find themselves in is a recurring question: “Are monsters born, or can they be made?”

If you’ve been following me for a while, it’s easy to see why I was drawn to this drama. In terms of setup and tone, it’s Zero Escape. In theme, it’s Naoki Urasawa’s Monster. It’s Lord of the Flies meets Dead Poets Society. or as one of my mutuals swyrs@ put it, Breakfast Club meets Agatha Christie. The story is flawlessly paced with not a scene wasted. There’s so much good foreshadowing and use of symbolic imagery, and though I’ve watched it at least 3-4 times, I always find interesting new details to analyze. The plot twists (though not so meta-breaking as ZE) are absolutely nuts, and aside from the somewhat questionable ending, the story is just really masterfully written.

Above all, though, WC is excellent for its character studies. Though I typically tend to stay away from shows that center around teenagers because I don’t find their struggles and experiences particularly relatable, WC does such an excellent job of picking apart every character psychologically, showing their traumas, their desires, their fears, and their insecurities. We see these kids at their most violent and cruel, but also their most vulnerable and honest. Their stories and motivations are so profoundly human that I found even the worst and most despicable characters painfully sympathetic at times, as cowardly and hypocritical and unhinged as they became.

Like I said, it’s only 8 episodes long with probably the best rewatch value on this list. My only complaints about it are its ending, as well as its relative lack of female characters, but otherwise I would absolutely recommend.

5. Signal (2016). Okay, this might be the recency bias talking because I just finished this series but I'm sure but I'm still reeling at the mind-screw of an ending and I feel like it deserves a place on this spot just for that.

Signal is a crime thriller based on a number of real-life incidents that happened in Korea in the last 30 or so years. In short, a young profiler from the year 2015, who has a grudge against the police after witnessing their incompetence and corruption twice as a child, happens to find a mysterious walkie-talkie that seems to be able to send and receive messages from the past. on the other end is an older detective from 2000 who tells him that he’s about to start receiving messages from his younger self, back in 1989. Through the seemingly sporadic radio communications, the two men work together to solve a series of cold cases, which begin to change the past and alter the timeline.

As they solve these cases, expose corruption within the police department, and correct past injustices, the two men (along with a third, female detective who has connections to both of them) also begin to unravel the mysteries of their pasts, as well as why and how they came to share this connection.

Like WC, the story and pacing of this drama were flawless, reminding me of an extended movie rather than a TV series. I was on the edge of my seat the entire time, and the 16-episode run went by in no time at all. I always love timeline shenanigans and explorations of causality and fate and the consequences of changing the past, and this show has oodles of that peppered with the heartbreakingly tragic human connections and stories that the main characters share. The main pairing has great chemistry and gave me exactly the pain I crave from a doomed timeline romance, and the cinematography and soundtrack were also beautiful, which also contributed to the polished, cinema-like feel.

My only complaint is that I wish that the ending felt more like an ending, such that the drama could stand on its own. I do realize this is because there’s a second season coming, but right now the show feels somewhat incomplete, ending on a huge, ambiguous cliffhanger/sequel hook and with several loose ends. I obviously can’t give a final verdict until the entire thing airs (and I typically don’t like multi-season shows, so I will wait for the next season to come out both reluctantly and begrudgingly), but even where the show leaves off I still did enjoy it immensely.

...And now, some brief thoughts on the other 5 shows I’ve watched, because I ran out of steam and have less to say about these:

6. Healer (2014-2015). It’s been a few years since I’ve seen this show, but I remember being really impressed by this drama at the time, especially the storyline. Unfortunately though I don’t remember too much about the drama itself, which is a shame. It’s a mystery/thriller, I think, and there is hacking and crimes involved? The main character is a very cute and sweet tabloid writer and she falls in love with a mysterious and cool action boy who helps her uncover the truth behind a tragic incident that relates to her past, or something. Judging from my liveblog it seems like this was an extremely emotional journey, and I enjoyed the main couple (who are both very attractive) a lot, and it was just overall a cathartic and feel-good experience. I feel like I should rewatch this drama at some point?

7. Rooftop Prince (2012). It’s also been forever since I watched this show but I remember thinking it was hilarious and delightful and I definitely cried a lot though I do not remember why (probably something something time travel, something something reincarnation/fated lovers??). I do remember that the premise is that a Joseon-era prince and several of his servants accidentally time travel into modern-day Seoul and end up meeting the main character who is the future reincarnation of his love (?) and he is hilariously anachronistic and also insufferably pretentious, which the MC absolutely does not cut him any slack for, and they have an extremely good dynamic.

8. Coffee Prince (2007). I watched this around the same time as Rooftop Prince and I remember really enjoying it! it’s basically just SKKS, but the modern cafe AU, and I mean that in the best way possible? It definitely shares a lot of the same tropes--crossdressing/tomboy female lead, sexually questioning male lead who falls in love with her despite being “straight,” very good chemistry and also extremely charming secondary characters.

9. Shut Up Flower Boy Band (2012). This show...Was just OK. I enjoyed it at the time, but I can’t say I found it particularly memorable. As I said, I don’t typically find stories about high school students particularly relatable, and the battle of the bands-type plot was interesting enough at the time but didn’t really leave a lasting impression. As expected, the music was pretty good. I kind of watched this mostly to hear Sung Joon sing tbh?

10. Rebel: Thief Who Stole the People (2017). I wanted to like this show. I really did. I wouldn’t say it was bad, but the beginning was painfully slow, and I only really enjoyed the last 10 episodes or so, when the vive la révolution arc finally started kicking off. The pacing was challenging--the pre-timeskip dragged on about twice as long as it needed to, and I just wasn’t really interested in the Amogae/Yiquari storyline very much. I also really, really disliked all the romances in the show, especially the main pairing, since I didn’t particularly love either the male or the female leads until pretty late in the show. Overall I think I would have enjoyed the show more if the first 2/3 of it was about half as long, and it either developed the romance better or cut it out altogether.

What I’m thinking of watching next:

1. Chuno (2010). Mostly because the soundtrack to this show is so goddamn good, but also because I’m craving more historical dramas with good sword fights after SFD. I was kind of hoping Rebel would fill that need but I was a little disappointed tbh?

2. Warrior Baek Dong Soo (2011). Same reasons as above, honestly. also has a very good soundtrack, and Ji Chang Wook, who is a known nice face-haver, doing many very cool sword fights.

3. Mr. Sunshine (2018). Late Joseon era is something I’ve never really seen before in media so I’m pretty intrigued? Also Byun Yo Han was one of my favorites from SFD and I definitely want to see him in more things.

4. Rookie Historian Goo Hae Ryung (2019). A coworker recommended this to me and the trailer looks delightful. first of all it’s a sageuk with the gorgeous and talented Shin Se Kyoung in it playing a smart and plucky female lead, which have historically been extremely good to me, but also it gives me massive SKKS vibes, so how could I not.

5. My Country: The New Age (2019). This caught my attention because it’s based on the same historical events as SFD, so it features some of the same characters. I am very very interested in Jang Hyuk’s take on Yi Bang Won, even if he is less of a main character here compared to SFD, and he’s already an adult so he’ll already be well on his way to bastardhood. I also hear it’s very heartbreaking, which is instant eyes emoji for me?

6. Chicago Typewriter (2017). It’s about freedom fighters from the colonization era, which I’m very intrigued by after The Handmaiden and Pachinko, plus a reincarnation romance. I am very predictable in my choice of tropes. Also, Yoo Ah In is in it.

7. Arthdal Chronicles (2019-). Ok, it’s a gorgeous-looking historical fantasy set in Korea written by the same writers as TWDR and SFD, plus it has not just one but TWO Song Joong Ki characters, one of which is a pure, doe-eyed soft boy and the other an evil long-haired fae prince looking asshole who I hear is a complete and utter Unhinged Bastard Supreme. Nothing has ever been more Camille Bait than this, but unfortunately this show hasn’t finished airing, which does pain me deeply. speaking of,

8. Kingdom (2019-). It’s a fantasy sageuk with zombies, is about the extent I know about this show. The fact that it also hasn’t finished airing turns me off a bit but it looks absolutely gorgeous and I also just found out it was written by the same writer as Signal, so,,,,,,,,,

9. Gunman in Joseon (2014). I honestly don’t expect too much from this drama but I just enjoy its premise a lot? From what I understand it’s just Percy from Critical Role, but make it Joseon era.......Like, they just straight up took a Shadow the Hedgehog, “let’s make a sageuk, but guns,” approach, and I kind of unironically love that. Also the soundtrack kicks ass, which like...you can really see where my priorities lie here, huh,

10. Misaeng (2014). I don’t remember at this point why this is on my list but I found it in the Keep note I have of all the media I want to watch?? I have no idea what this show is about, except that it takes place in an office. Apparently Byun Yo Han is also in this one? I’m sorry this is the only non-sageuk or sageuk-adjacent show in this list, I know what I’m about, and it’s fancy old-timey costumes and cool braids.

#/#//#///#////#/////#cam thoughts #KDrama #this is the most self-indulgent thing i've written in a while but it felt good to shout my many thoughts into this void of a blog #also i typed most of this out a few days ago since which i already started watching misaeng #so far it is very good but also the exact opposite of what i was expecting..whatever that is??#long post /#Television

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