#obligatory apology for the year long wait on getting this out | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rose-tea-and-strawberries · 11 months

Text

#JusticeForYuu

Warning: long rant coming up. Mentions of PTSD and Trauma.

So I recently read this manhwa called ‘Ashtarte’ and let me tell you, compared to other manhwas that I’ve read, I’ve never felt more vindicated or satisfied by the way it handles trauma and forgiveness.

Basically, the main character is a young princess, about ten or eleven or twelve I can’t remember, who has spent her entire life being treated like nothing by her entire family for no pretty much no reason at all. Trust me when I say that the neglect and emotional abuse she undergoes is awful and after a while, she realises that she doesn’t deserve to be treated that way. She mentally and emotionally emancipates herself from them and makes a family with her small handful of servants that live with her in her broken down house (let me tell you, they all love and protect her so much. Her mother figure/ best friend/ maid is the absolute GOAT), telling them that she won’t waste any tears on her bio family anymore. And when her bio family beg for forgiveness after she makes a very obvious effort to ignore and stay as far away from them as possible, she tells them that if they want her to even consider forgiving them for all the pain they put her through, they need to wait 10 years just like how she spent ten years all alone, trapped in that house, waiting for someone to love her. Even after the 5 year timeskip, she still doesn’t give them the time of day whilst they send her letters and mountains of gifts (that she never opens) and when she meets them again because of some obligatory family thing, she tells them point blank that there’s a chance that she’ll never forgive them and there’s nothing that she wants from them so just leave her alone and just walks out as they all suffer in their guilt.

And, let me tell you, as someone who has read a lot of female lead manhwas, I’ve never seen a FL not forgive a neglectful family - either they end up forgiven after an apology that lasts for like one chapter, or the MC gets her revenge and completely ruins them, or it’s an isekai story so now that a new person is possessing the main character, they finally decide to show interest and since the new character is either scared of them, is trying to gain their favour or has never undergone their horrible treatment of the host body, they just get off scot-free (A Match Made In Mana is a good example of this. Like the romance. Hate the fact that the older brother only started treating her right when another person isekaied into the main character - same thing with There Is No Place For Fakes)

Now what has this got to do with anime Disney boys you ask. Let me get to that.

Now I’m the kind of person that can hold a grudge - not that much in real life but very much so when it comes to fictional characters. If I was Jo March, I wouldn’t even be in the same room as Amy March after she burned the manuscript for at least a year. There are some characters that I just can’t stand because they never get the full consequences for what they put others through and I hate that so much (I’m not going to name names because a lot of them are fandom favourites and I don’t want to start a war).

What I’m trying to say is that why can’t there be a Yuu that doesn’t forgive the overblot gang/dorms for what they put them through? Because you have to admit that they way that they treated this homeless, magicless human with absolutely nothing to their name and that is, in every instance, at the bottom of the food chain was awful. And I’m not talking about the overblots - they were clearly in the midst of a mental breakdown and weren’t in the right state of mind. But how would you explain everything that they did pre-overblot? When they are fully conscious of everything they did. Riddle even admitted after his overblot that he knew that he was being harsh but he still did that stuff anyway.

I know that we have to forgive everyone for the sake of the plot since we need Riddle in Book 2, Leona in Book 3, Azul in Book 4 and so on and so forth but when I remember the torment that Yuu faces, I just want to tell them all to take a hike.

I know that these boys had horrible lives. I know that these are deeply traumatised individuals and that them overblotting was the only way for them to heal. But guess what? Going through trauma doesn’t excuse giving trauma to someone else? As Jake Peralta once said:

Confession Time - I was the anon that sent this: https://www.tumblr.com/shiny-jr/716948600309137408/hi-i-just-want-to-say-that-ive-read-all-of-your?source=share

And I still stand by what I said.

I just find it really annoying that when I search for angst fics it’s always the boys’ trauma or unrequited love or death or break ups - or maybe even something mentioning an overblot but I’ve never once found anything about the boys asking for forgiveness for what they did to Yuu prior to the overblots because once, just once, I want to read someone asking Yuu to forgive them and for Yuu to be selfish just once and say ‘no’

I know that I portray my fem!Yuu as this person that’s so sweet and forgiving and kind and soft and gentle but that’s because I’m obsessed with the dynamic of this sweet sunshine bubbly girl being a breath of fresh air to these villainous boys (and also because I kind of took some inspiration from my favourite princess, Snow White, and I based her a bit on Wendy Darling because I wanted her to be that ‘mature young girl’ who is very motherly but is still very much a fun-loving, imaginative child) but I just want a Yuu that is given the respect that they deserve.

I want a Yuu that actually experiences PTSD because of the treatment that they’ve undergone. I want them to hate the fact that their experience in NRC has changed them. I want them to hate that they’ve developed claustrophobia and a fear of the dark after they were forcefully imprisoned in Scarabia, I want them to hate how anything can trigger a PTSD-induced flashback, I want them to hate how Riddle’s jabs at their character and parentage still ring in their head after all this time, I want them to hate how whenever they’re submerged in water, all they can remember is what Azul, Jade and Floyd put them through in their attempts to get their home and family back. I want them to hate how often they get nightmares, how any second could be the day they finally get killed by any of these magic users who are far more powerful than them. I want them to look in the mirror and despise every single scar that litters their once unblemished body. I want them to hate how they had to ask the people who stripped them of their home and the only family they had in NRC for help in Book 4 because now they are indebted to them and they have no idea when Azul would want to cash that.

I’ve seen fics that have Yuu go through heatstroke during the marches in Scarabia and, as someone that not only has had heatstroke before but also had a really scary fainting experience I headcanon that as well so how about a Yuu that turns down Kalim’s invitations because the sight of Scarabia reminds them of the hostility that they faced when they were the most vulnerable. How about a Yuu that tries not to hate Kalim because he’s a genuinely nice person and was the only one to welcome them with kindness but can’t help but feel bitter whenever they hear the housewarden excuse Jamil’s behaviour when they still remember how they were locked up against their will.

This fic by linawritestwst and this fic by the-hearteater portray what I’m talking about really well. (taxonomize our differences by Jemimimi does a really good job of illustrating how being in Twised Wonderland affects Yuu’s mental health - there’s an incredible scene where Yuu has a panic attack and teaches Grim how to help them out of it. I nearly cried because their sense of self worth is so low and suicidal tendencies are so unstable that in multiple points of the story they try to get other students to kill them and Yuu my baby 😭)

When I go through the Rollo x reader fics, the majority of them are either yandere or the usual fluff. But Rollo can actually be a good friend for Yuu to have. Whilst their mentalities are different, they both agree that magic is dangerous - with Yuu being a victim of said magic. I honestly think that, if he wasn’t written as the big bad of the event, he could’ve been a really good ally that would understand Yuu’s pain of not only facing overblot after overblot but their helplessness of being surrounded by magical individuals and not knowing whether they’ll be able to survive another day.

Everyone’s always like #Crowley Slander (which he rightfully deserves, I am thisclose to punting him) but don’t forget everything the boys did. I see fics where they stand up to Crowley for Yuu but the most they do is reference the overblots but never that they did horrible things as well. Crowley may have told Yuu to stay behind during the winter holidays but Jamil was the one who imprisoned us and prevented us from contacting our friends for help. Crowley may have made Yuu stay at Ramshackle (although to be fair Ramshackle is kind of the safest option - who knows what would happen to Yuu if their magical self was in an actual dorm, especially all of the female Yuus. I think living in isolation is kind of the best option for them when the universe is out to get them. Plus, the ghosts are amazing company.) but Azul was the one who made us homeless and had a shady business (that he still has even after the overblot). Crowley may have been blackmailing Yuu with food, shelter and money but Leona was the one that was sabotaging the students and Vil was the one that tried to point blank kill an innocent child in cold blood after making his childhood trauma and personal one-sided rivalry everyone’s problem for the weeks leading up to the VDC.

Everyone only treated them with respect after the overblot incidents - so they literally had to put themselves in danger and nearly die for them to be treated as not a nobody. When Riddle made those completely uncalled for jabs at Yuu, an innocent bystander, nobody said or did anything. Not Trey, who enabled Riddle’s reign of terror and quietly observed the suffering all of the Heartslabyul students (and then had the gall to tell adeuceyuu not to get angry at Riddle because of course tragic backstory = forgiveness), not Cater, who canonically has a hidden side so Yuu has more of a reason not to trust him, not any of the other card soldiers - no Ace, the one everyone writes off as a stupid tactless jerk that does badly in school and only causes trouble, was the only one that had the emotional intelligence to realise that Yuu’s feelings were hurt and was the only one who cared to do something about it via sucker punching the tantrum-throwing tyrant.

(I can’t remember if Deuce did anything but he already stood up for us during the egg debacle so it’s okay he’s still my number one love)

(Also: Riddle is known to be incredibly strict with his dorm. It’s been said that Heartslabyul has the best academic record because of Riddle’s incredibly high standards. He also doesn’t take excuses from anyone even if they aren’t even in the wrong - which is seen when he exiles adeuceyuu from the dorm during the Mont Blanc Tart Incident where Trey tells Riddle that he was the one who told them to make the tart for the party and Riddle says that it was still their fault for not knowing the rules beforehand because of course a first year would have memorised all 810 rules by their like third day and it would be perfectly normal of them to ask a senior for advice on what to do. My question is: how many dyslexic students or anyone else with learning disabilities do you think Riddle has sent crying? How many students with less than stellar family backgrounds joined NRC only to find that they were sorted into a dorm that had a leader who not only holds their abusive mother’s teaching methods on a pedestal but is more than ready to hurl insults at anyone that disagrees with him? How many times had Trey seen an innocent student receive unfair treatment and kept quiet about it despite it being his job as a vice dorm leader and upperclassman to look after them?)

I know that so many people want Yuu to overblot or go through their villain arc so that the boys can be put in that place but why do we even have to go that far? If Yuu did have magic they would have overblotted ages ago but even so why do they need to have a mental breakdown so that others could see where they went wrong? Remember an overblot can kill its host and Yuu doesn’t need another near death experience.

I want Yuu to be like Ashtarte and just have a small circle of friends and family in Ace, Deuce, Grim and the Ramshackle ghosts and tell everyone else to bog off. I want Ace, Deuce and Grim to be like the maid, Leona/Loena - different translations have different spellings (she is such a protective mama bear I love her so much. She literally calls out royalty to their faces, is ready to throw hands with the entire world and is willing to risk her own life for Ashtarte’s happiness) and act as Yuu’s guard dogs to prevent anyone from coming near them. Ace, Deuce and Grim have been there since the beginning, they’re Yuu’s ride or die besties that know what they’re going through, they’re platonic soulmates who can clearly see the emotional turmoil on weighing down on them. I want them to witness how Yuu is affected by their PTSD with their panic attacks and nightmares and bouts of depression and dissociation and then doing their best to learn how to help them. I want Yuu to refuse to step foot in another dorm and just go to NRC for classes and then disappear into Ramshackle. I want Ace and Deuce to run interference in case anyone approaches their friend because can’t you see that they don’t want to talk to you, who’s not afraid to stand up to anyone be it teachers or upperclassmen because haven’t they done enough damage.

Yes, Ace is a jerk but he’s not a mean bully of a jerk. He’s just a stupid tactless teenage boy who just needs to be humbled once or twice - he’s completely harmless unlike Sebek and his humanphobic bigoted butt who should definitely keep his comments to himself because Yuu already has enough troubles without someone reminding them of how inferior their species is.

I want these boys to feel guilt - not because of their overblots but because they were actually horrible people before they tried to kill a defenseless, magicless human. I want Yuu to not only lose trust in the main characters but also with everyone else because they never know who would hurt or betray them next - who would be like Trey or Rook and enable bad behaviour, or who would be like Azul and take advantage of their weaknesses, or who would be like Jamil and pretend to be their friend and then stab them in the back. I want a Yuu that’s tired of being manipulated and used by everyone and is just done with everything.

As much as I love parental!Staff, you have to admit that canonically, they’ve done a pretty bad job of looking after Yuu so how about a Yuu that doesn’t trust adults because they’ve shown no interest in actually being someone that Yuu can open up to. Also, Azul was able to get away with everything he did was because he had Crowley in his pocket - who’s to say that he doesn’t have other adults under his thumb as well? (We know he doesn’t but how can Yuu be sure)

I want Yuu to be friends with Neige because he seems like such a sweetheart and I really don’t like how I see fics putting him down just to make Vil look good. As I mentioned above, Snow White is my favourite Disney Princess and sharing a spot with Pooh Bear as my favourite Disney character so a darling boy that is inspired by her would be an awesome friend to have - and he has never caused Yuu physical, verbal, emotional or mental harm.

Don’t get me wrong. I know that this is making me come off as a hater but I just want some justice for Yuu. They deserve absolutely nothing that they go through and I want happiness for them.

Also, on a completely unrelated note, I may have been listening to Numb Little Bug a tad bit too much.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst yuu #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader

446 notes · View notes

apprenticestanheight · 5 months

Note

Can I get number 10 "Will you marry me?" For Mark Hoffman? And maybe for Adam

Onions- Mark Hoffman x gn! reader

Hi!! I went ahead and did this one for Mark as I feel I don't write for him nearly enough, but if you'd like me to do this prompt with Adam, just feel free to let me know (be that through a response to this fic or an ask in my inbox! I don't know when it'll be done as I still have a lot of writing to get through before I consider myself on top of the reqs I currently have to do, but at the very least I can promise it'll be done either before christmas, on christmas, or the day after!)

Thank you for sending this one in and here's the obligatory but still wholly genuine apology--I am so sorry that this has taken me so long! A lot of the time things get buried in my inbox and that fact in combination with a bad record with object permanence usually go together in a rather inefficient way. Life has also just kind of done it's thing and demotivation has kind of kicked me in the back a little bit. While it sucks that I can't say that super long wait times for requests are out of the norm, I hope this one was worth the wait!!

Fic type- this is super fluffy!

Warnings- kissing happens a lot and sex is passively mentioned once. This fic is also edited but I've been awake for eleven hours and had written it while awake for something like fourteen so the editing might be a bit off regardless--I apologize if it is and if it is, please feel free to let me know and I'll fix it right up!!

In the week or so leading up to the proposal, Mark was doing everything he could to make it seem like nothing special was happening on the getaway he'd planned for the two of you that weekend.

You both worked in the precinct but in different areas--Mark was a detective and you worked with the CSI team--so keeping the news from spreading really wasn't all that difficult.

Perez and Strahm had been the only ones who knew a lick of Marks plan, and while Strahm had asked him teasing questions about the ring and the plan for the proposal with a shit-eating grin on his face, Perez seemed genuinely happy for him. She asked about the location and if he'd written some big, sappy speech, reminded him to make sure that all of the camera angles would be perfect and not unflattering, jokingly asked if she was invited and told him to ease up on the coffee during the week before the getaway as too much of it could cause jitters.

So then the weekend came and you and Mark drove to a cottage that had previously been owned by Marks parents in the outskirts of the city. They'd given it to him but he'd never had much cause to use it before that weekend, and he was glad to see that it was just as nice as it had been when he'd last seen it.

You settled in, objecting to spend that Friday night in nothing more than a pair of boxers and one of Marks old NJPD sweaters, hugging him from behind as he made dinner and you talked about anything except for work because of how exhaustive talking and thinking about work had become after how long that week had felt.

Mark was trying to search for the time to do it--the ring was in the pocket of his sweatpants, and you'd discussed proposals before anyway so he knew there was no big expectation to do it somewhere good or while wearing anything exceptional. Your plan for that weekend was mostly just to eat good food and have good sex and Mark had honestly planned to do the proposal somewhere after you'd accomplished both of those goals.

But, on a Friday night somewhere in December of the year 2004, your lips are pressing against the back of Marks shoulder and he can feel them spread out in a grin as your hands move to his hips, and you've been together for a decade and Mark is wondering why he didn't propose sooner.

"I love you," you whisper against the skin of his neck, laughing a little as you watch Mark brace himself by pressing his palms into the granite countertops.

"Will you marry me?"

Mark kind of hates the way it comes out--he wanted to at least have it somewhat planned before he popped the big question, not say it over a pan of onions that were in the process of caramelizing while the sky displays the dark of a Decembers four o'clock. He wanted to look at you while he asked, get down on one knee and at least try to do the old fashioned stuff.

"What?" You ask, laughing a bit more. "Mark Hoffman, are you playing some kind of cruel joke on me? I like it when you get funny but not like this."

"No," Mark rushes the words out. "No! I'm being serious--I swear I meant for it to be less spontaneous than this but your fucking lips--I wanna get married to you. I have a ring and everything, but you kissed me and you know how I'll get when you kiss me the right way. I promise I meant to propose in a more serious way, all right? Not while you're in one of my NJPD sweaters from when we first started dating and a pair of boxers I bought you for christmas so that you'd stop stealing mine to wear as shorts."

You let him go, step away.

"Well, if you're so serious about doing it properly, I invite you to go ahead," you're grinning, and Mark wants to kiss it off your face more than anything, but he doesn't. Instead, the cook in him turns to the pan as you take his hand in yours and interlace your fingers.

"The onions might burn--"

"They'll be fine without your eyes for a sec," your grin widens. "Mark--I appreciate that you proposed the way you did but if you're gonna make a stink about not being able to propose all proper and gentlemanly, then I invite you to do so. I promise I won't change my answer."

Mark snorts, gets down on one knee and pulls out the ring.

"Perez told me that a big, soppy speech would make you more likely to say yes but I never believed that," he takes a breath in. "I just want to emphasize that, well--we've been together for ten years now and I've wanted to marry you for at least four but work has been so busy that I haven't really gotten the chance to do it. I love you, Y/N, and that is why I'm doing this and why I was so hellbent upon doing it right."

"Yes," you blurt, grinning like an idiot.

Mark scoffs, laugh falling from his lips. "You made a stink about me making a stink about proposing wrong, and you've answered before I even asked!"

You laugh, covering your smile with your hand. Mark feels the urge to pull your hand away but doesn't, instead lets himself smile so hard that it hurts.

"Will you marry me?" He asks. "Will you make me the happiest guy in the history of the--well--ever, and marry me, Y/N L/N?"

"Mhm," you hum, nodding quickly. "Yeah, Mark Hoffman. Absolutely."

Mark rises, slips the ring onto your finger and hums as he pulls you into a tender kiss, palms resting on your elbows as he presses you lightly against the fridge.

You pull away, and both of you are grinning like idiots but that doesn't really matter.

What matters to you is the fact that Mark has just proposed, and you've accepted, which means that you're engaged. That fact alone is enough to make you elated, and such is what you feel as you go back to your previous position, Mark watching the onions and occasionally stirring while you hug him from behind, hands on his hips as your lips rest against the back of his shoulder.

Mark is grinning at the onions, just as elated as you. It is the perfect ending to a perfect night.

#mark hoffman #mark hoffman x reader #saw franchise #sawposting

43 notes · View notes

soobjvn · 10 months

Text

TULIPS 🌷⁎︎° ✳︎ CHAPTER 8 : “ suck it, gyu! ,,

↳︎ cw: (mainly) written ch!

[ prev. ✧︎ toc. ✧︎ next. ]

IT WAS 4:39 when yeonjun pulled his black convertible in front of the entrance to the dorm complex y/n had sent him earlier that day. he knew he was quite early; his punctuality was a bit chronic, “excessive” as soobin had stated. “you know 5 minutes early counts as being on time, right?” he had an inkling y/n could relate to him in that aspect. he imagined her, too, always being punctual, dreading the inconveniences following tardiness.

but yeonjun was wrong.

for it was at 4:39, yeonjun’s time of arrival, y/n (thankfully) knocked over the alarm clock on her nightstand with the 50th hanger she’d carelessly thrown. had her closet always been this sparse? and… did the alarm clock suddenly skip ahead an hour?! she glanced at her character in the mirror’s reflection, a girl with frizzy hair dressed in pajamas she’d gotten god-knows- how-long-ago stared back at her wide eyed. “it’s fine!… this is fine! he’ll probably be a bit late anyways.” and so she got to work.

but y/n was wrong.

once y/n had managed to scramble out of her dorm and into the elevator, she checked the time on her phone. 5:06. she performed the obligatory phone camera face check, deciding she didn’t do too bad considering the 27 minutes she had to dress as well as do her hair and makeup. it was good enough for her.

but to yeonjun, the sight of her was far more than good—it felt like everything. he felt his stomach turn with excitement and years worth of pent-up feelings. he watched as she emerged from the glass double doors of the complex’s lobby, eyes scanning for yeonjun’s familiar face. when their eyes locked, she smiled brightly, enthusiastically waving her free hand and quickening her pace. god she was adorable. yeonjun could do no less than reflect her smile.

“yeonjun!” she hopped into the passenger seat, not bothering to place her bag or cardigan down before wrapping him in a one-armed hug. yeonjun happily returned the gesture, breathing in her amber scent. “you didn’t wait long for me, did you?”

he decided to spare her any embarrassment. “y/n, hey. and, no, no, i just got here a minute ago.” he grinned, watching as she visibly relaxed into the leather seat.

“ok good! jeez, it’s been a long day, yeonjun.” she sighed.

“well.. it’s about to get longer!” she laughed, and his stomach turned again. he internally told himself to calm it down, having only seen each other for the first time in years. but he knew the self-scolding would prove ineffective.

“soooo…” y/n finally put her belongings on the floor in front of her, yeonjun stopping her to inform her she could instead set them on the back seat. “where are we going, jun?” when his eyes slightly widened at the use of a nickname, y/n ran to apologize. “sorry, too soon? i’m a nickname kinda girl.”

yeonjun relaxed his stunned expression to give her a kind smile. “not at all.”

suck it, “gyu.”

———

A/N 🌷 TWO WEEKS UNTIL I SEE TXT I AM SERIOUSLY NOT OK

67 notes · View notes

mischief-lies-and-stories · 8 months

Text

Loki Episode 1 Reactions (Less Coherent Edition)

It's been two and a half years, y'all, and what a start to the new season it was. (I've seen mixed reviews in the tag, but personally the initial reaction is I loved it.) What I apparently forgot in those two years, however, is that my in-the-moment reactions notes are not very coherent. So I apologize in advance if you aren't sure what part the note refers to. I'm going to make another post tomorrow with some more coherent thoughts around the episode and some predictions about the season in general (I'm also going to be rewatching the episode later so that might lend more clarity to the next post as well). I also cut out a chunk of my reactions that were just me screaming a character's name when they showed up, unless it makes sense for the next note to leave it in (and there were a lot of these, since it's been two and a half years since I've seen my friends).

Obligatory spoiler warning if you weren't already expecting them. Prepare for some wildness. I've bracketed [ ] some brief clarifying post-ep notes (not everywhere though).

I'm obnoxious, I'm watching the entire recap.

The editing of this recap is interesting.

The bleak theme is worrying. I don't like it. But I do love the color scheme of the logo.

SYLVIE???!!!

CASEY!!!

Okay hopefully that wasn't Sylvie.

Someone give this boi [Loki] a nap. He's had a very very very long day and it's only getting longer.

What the fuck is happening.

X-5 you've got the haircut of a cop, I've decided I don't like you.

Man, I hope we fix this time-slipping in this episode, it's stressing me out too fucking much.

Oh motherfuck. This is driving me insane. This is Sisyphean torture. [I don't remember what specifically I was referring to, so I don't remember if this is an accurate description.]

OH MY GOD I LOVE LIZ CARR I HOPE SHE STICKS AROUND [Man, Liz Carr is just hopping from franchise to franchise this summer. She's in Loki, Good Omens, The Witcher)

OH SHIT. Renslayer and Kang. If they kiss on tape I'm marking it on the Bingo.

I DESPERATELY want to know what B-15's backstory is. She's a fantastic character and I want to know how she used this personality on the timeline.

Keep that Hitler youth-looking fuck away from my girl!

Oh my god, I'm going to be watching this conversation in the hall between Loki and Mobius over and over, because I love every part of it. The panicking, the teasing, the touching, the making each other feel better. Just the entire debriefing, reuniting conversation is EVERYTHING to me right now.

"In order to do that I need a Loki Who Remains." I love this

"I have no memory of having my memory wiped." Mobius. This is Catherine Tate on Nevermind the Buzzcocks telling David Tennant "I don't know songs I've never heard of" solidarity [I understand I'm making obscure 13+ year old references but this quote lives in my head rent free]

Ugh I HATE time travel. But it makes sense why his name is OB now. Also his door is a circle.

OB IF YOU KILL LOKI I WILL END YOUR CUTE BESPECTACLED FACE FASTER THAN YOU CAN SAY "No...wait."

OB IF YOU KILL MOBIUS I WILL PERSONALLY FLAY THE SKIN FROM YOUR OWN BONES

Mobius writing "skin" into the dust on the computer lololololol

WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING JUST LET LOKI CONFESS

OB I'M GOING TO KICK YOUR ASS IF ONE OF THESE BOYS EVEN SEEMS TO DIE AT THE END OF THIS EP

HOW IS HE GONNA HOOF IT BACK IF HE CAN BARELY CRAWL [I started getting really stressed at this point. It's pretty much caps lock from here on out.]

OH MY GOD OH MY GOD WE'RE GONNA END THIS EPISODE WITH MO BITING IT AND THEN LOKI FIXES IT IN EP TWO AND BRINGS HIM BACK

OR LOKI BITES IT AND THE OTHER WAY HAPPENS

THERE'S ELEVEN MINUTES LEFT BUT I DON'T TRUST MARVEL NOT TO MAKE ELEVEN MINUTES OF CREDITS

MARVEL DON'T MAKE ME CHECK OFF THE CRYING BOX [on the Bingo Card] ON EPISODE ONE

MARVEL

I WON'T BE ABLE TO SLEEP

MARVEL

LOKI

MOBIUS

LOKI

MOBIUS

SYLVIE MY DARLING MY PERFECT LOVE THANK YOU OH MY GOD

How wild is it that Loki comes flying back from the jaws of death itself and saves Mobius from getting his skin ripped off and they land on the floor of the TVA in each other's arms, and the first thing Loki does is bring up his ex-girlfriend [I wouldn't classify Sylvie as this, but I'm being tongue-in-cheek, and Mobius did accuse Loki of falling for himself in season 1, so]

OKAY BUT I WAS RIGHT THAT WAS SYLVIE AT THE BEGINNING [Before you reply, remember I can't respond to those, and also I forgot that was the past and at the end Loki's in the future. HOWEVER, I do still think that was Sylvie at the beginning.]

SHE IS IN BROXTON HELL YEAH WHOEVER FIGURED THAT OUT (I don't remember who that was) FOUR FOR YOU HOLY SHIT

Oh Sylvie :(((

#i'm sorry for how long and incoherent this is but i'm stubborn and i'm posting it anyway #loki #loki tv show #loki season 2 #sylvie laufeydottir #mobius m mobius #loki season 2 spoilers #loki tv show reactions

15 notes · View notes

trippedandfell · 2 years

Note

Ok i’ve seen you post about it a few times and now i’m interested - what hockey rpf fics would you reccomend for a buddie shipper?

omg anon!! i’ve been waiting for a reason to post a bunch of hrpf recs, and you’ve just given me the perfect excuse <3

the fun thing about hrpf is that it’s such a big universe, so there’s tons of ships that have excellent fic written for them. the downside of that is that it’s a lot harder to get a grasp on the characters and their stories because, again, there’s so. many. of them. i normally start off by doing a quick scan of wikipedia and then googling events as they come up in the fic (for instance, the 2020 asg), but you do whatever works best for you! i know there’s a fair number of primers floating around on the internet, especially for newer ships, but i haven’t read most of them in detail, so i can’t really vouch for any of them.

i found the easiest way to categorize this is in terms of what kind of buddie fic you like, so here we go - apologies that it got so long!!

if you like…

buck and eddie as coparents

you’ll probably be a fan of brioux! this article sums it up well, but the tl;dr of it all is - a twenty-something guy moves in with a newly-single father and his three sons and uh. proceeds to basically coparent them. (they did a christmas card together, y’all. it included their dogs. it still makes me feral every time i think about it.)

some personal favourites of mine include:

this exes-to-lovers wedding fic

this one where danny goes back to school, which gives off the Strongest eddie vibes

season one disaster buck

you’ll probably like tyler and jamie! disaster himbo + awkward, anxious captain - these two are wonderful and they have so. much. fic.

some faves include:

the fic of all time, or the soulmate time loop au

the one where tyler works in pr

the obligatory amnesia au

this one, which basically answers the question of “what if season one buck dated eddie”

best friends in love

you’ll probably like tk and nolan! enjoy bitchy teasing, enough hurt/comfort to make you cry for a week straight, and some of the most fun aus i’ve ever read.

there are so many I could pick, but reccing:

the. uh. the onlyfans au

this one, featuring tk as a teacher with the biggest buck energy

this small-town werewolf au

and, if you feel like getting your heart broken, this one about the 2022-2023 season

the dynamic from 2x01

no one does hatesex and rivals to lovers like mattdrai! if you’ve ever wondered what it would be like if buck and eddie stayed enemies longer, here you go.

recs include:

this one, where they both wait out the lockout in germany

this secret relationship amnesia au

this 2022-2023 season au, which owns my entire heart and soul

this one, where they both end up playing for st. louis

the dynamic from 2x01, but with even more inadequacy issues

first overall and second overall that were constantly pitted against each other leading up to (and following) the draft. jack and connor are everything to me, tbh.

some of my faves include:

this estranged husband au (soooo many buddie vibes)

the words with friends au that lives in my head rent-free

this one where they take a road trip, which fucked me up for a solid week

the fucking. parallel universe au

this one, which kills me every time i reread it

and then just some other favourites:

this one, which is just. so fucking well-written

this jack/nolan bitch4bitch fic

the entirety of this warped tour au

this ghost hunter au

this one, about messy 20 year olds in love

there are sooo many more i could include but in the interest of keeping my sanity intact i’m going to stop here!! for further recs, i’ll direct you over to @grittyreadsfic, who is genuinely a joy to have in both the 911 and hrfp fandoms.

happy reading <3

#is this going to become my brand now? whoops #asked and answered #anonymous #i don't even know how to tag this #fic recs #hrpf recs #also!! the normal caveat about rpf applies - these are fictional stories based on the public personas of real people #keep it locked within ao3 - don't tag the people involved in it ever!!#anyways anon i spent my afternoon on this instead of my job i hope you enjoy xoxo

35 notes · View notes

wartakes · 10 months

Text

The Obligatory Election Essay (OLD ESSAY)

The following essay was originally posted on November 8th, 2020 (shortly after the 2020 Presidential Election was held). This one honestly didn't have much to do with any of my usual topics but was me being somewhat tipsy and waxing philosophic about politics. Not my best one. But here you go. (Full essay below the cut).

This is probably going to be shorter than most of the pieces I plan to write for here. I wasn’t actually going to have this be my second essay for the site. I hadn’t actually written anything for the 2020 election. I think that was partially because I had no idea how it was going to go, the thought of it stressed me out, and I also didn’t want to jinx anything or tempt hubris by making predictions. I’ve been focused on just surviving the election itself before doing anything else, stocking up on food and alcohol and waiting out the storm in my room the last few days.

Now it appears Joe Biden will in fact be the next President of the United States. There are still ways Trump and his supporters could try and rat-fuck this situation, so we’ll see if he goes out with a bang or a whimper in terms of his reaction to all this – and if the chuds and the fashies limp away for now or cause trouble. But currently, it appears that Biden has solidly won.

I won’t get into my personal feelings on Joe Biden, Kamala Harris, and the Democratic Party as a whole in this piece. Needless to say, my feelings are a mixed bag and predominately negative. That being said, I still think beating Trump is a good thing and anyone who somehow thinks this is a loss for leftism and that a Biden Presidency is just as bad as a Trump one really needs to log off for a bit and take a breather and reassess things. Yes, we still have a lot of work to do. Yes, we need to keep organizing. Yes, it will be a hard and long process. But for now, I’ll take this victory – and it is in fact a victory. It shows that things are not destined to always get worse.

Sure, this election has its discouraging parts. Like the fact that, even though Biden still won by a healthy margin, over 70 million people – more than who voted for Barrack Obama in his landslide 2008 victory against John McCain – still voted for Trump despite everything he’s done in the last four years. Or the fact there are now QAnon believers who will be sitting in Congress.

But there were good things for the left as well. Out of the 29 candidates endorsed by the Democratic Socialists of America this election cycle, 21 won their races – including two sitting Members of Congress and two new candidates. A number of progressive ballot measures also passed, such as the $15 minimum wage in Florida. This all happened despite a Democratic party who consistently wishes to write off the left wing – and that looks like it won’t be changing any time soon. While there is good reason to be discouraged about certain outcomes, we also have a lot to be happy about, celebrate, and motivate us to further action going forward.

All that being said, this is supposed to be a blog about foreign policy and national security so now I should actually get to that part instead of still rambling about domestic politics.

As Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez had said before the results of the election were finally called, no matter what the outcome was we were going to need to keep organizing and making our voices heard and power known – not just for future elections, but for other important causes and struggles. This is all very true, and to that I’m taking the chance to tack on my rallying cry of “please don’t forget to work on foreign policy and national security too!”

I wasn’t actually expecting to harp on this point again so soon after my initial essay setting the stage for this blog, so I apologize if this sounds repetitive. But, this is going to be a repetitive point anyway throughout all my writing here, and I felt I was squandering an opportunity if I didn’t make the most of these events while they were still fresh in people’s minds.

Leftists are already thinking about the future and what we’ll need to do to strengthen the movement and make this country and the world a better place. That inclusion of “the world” is not just a throwaway line. If this election made one thing obvious, it’s that the rest of the world was hanging on it even more than they usually do during a U.S. Presidential race. There was and still is real fear about what comes next here in America and how it may affect people where they live too. Both for good and for ill, we’ve seen how events in the United States can ripple around the world. For ill, in how an off the cuff Trump tweet or comment can cause crises, and for good when we saw how movements like Black Lives Matter spread across the globe.

As leftists continue to fight for real change for the better in this country, they need to learn more about the rest of the world and how our actions impact it. This will need to go beyond the ways those who do think about this conceptualize it – usually along the lines of solidarity with movements and activists in other countries. Leftists will also need to learn about and better understand diplomacy, statecraft, intelligence, and even war – all things that we will still need to deal with if we ever really hope to govern someday, as they’re not going away.

National security and war subjects in particular leftists will need to need to become more knowledgeable on going forward. These have been realms that have typically been dominated by groups such as tankies, campists, and disarmament proponents – which I’ve already ranted about before so I’ll leave alone for now. I understand why many leftists either lack knowledge in this area, are uncomfortable with it, or both. But that has to change. When I spoke of the people around the world, worried about the outcome of the election, I wasn’t speaking just about those who were afraid of what might happen to them, but what may not happen. There are also marginalized groups fighting against oppression, or smaller states at risk from larger, aggressive, authoritarian neighbors. If we are going to be good leftists in a situation where we can actually govern, we will need to know how to wield all the levers of power and that will include war.

Likewise, leftists need to better understand the military and its service members. Like with war in general, I understand why many leftists often take a hostile attitude towards the military and its personnel, given some of the actions of the military in the past. But leftists need to understand how important it is to bring servicemen and women into the fold as they have done with other groups. We need to understand the challenges and struggles that military personnel face, like how they are recruited to begin with and how they are treated. We need to understand how valuable their perspectives and skills are, and how important engaging with them will be for reshaping and rebuilding both the country and the military to be better and more just in the future. Keep in mind, many more servicemen and women are sympathetic to the causes we fight for than you think. After all, Bernie Sanders beat every other candidate for President – including Donald Trump – in political donations from active duty troops during the primaries. The military is something we will still need if ever elect our theoretical President Leftist. We need to put in the work now to understand it and its service members and start to change it for the better.

Alright, its late on Saturday night, I’ve had a bit to drink, and I’m tired, so I’m gonna cut things off here. I promise the next one of these will be a more in-depth analysis of something different, but I just wanted to get these thoughts off my chest while everything was still fresh. Aside from posting this essay, I’m spending the rest of the weekend tuning out from politics and giving myself time and space to be happy. I highly suggest the rest of you do the same thing.

5 notes · View notes

everybodyknows-everybodydies · 1 year

Text

tagged by @jiubilant - thank you! :’D putting under the cut bc it got a touch long haha

1. describe one wip you’re planning to work on over the summer: (but she’s ever so convincing), as my current longfic and passion project since 2017... I stalled out a bit after my surgery bc the hospital setting was difficult to deal with and bc I’ve convinced myself the current chapter (the culmination of the Amanda Lee debacle) needs to be absolutely flawless as I’ve built it up so much in my head lol.

2. recommend a book: slams my hands on the table. obviously I would not be me if I did not recommend TLU. in effort to be less predictable some other favorites include Absent in the Spring, a deeply contemplative character study by Agatha Christie under her pseudonym Mary Westmacott; The Brief History of the Dead, a fairly short read that hits hard and does some really neat surreal bits by Kevin Brockmeier; and Nevada Barr’s Anna Pigeon series, starting with Track of the Cat, which is an utterly perfect introduction to the character (who is like catnip to me. middle-aged Woman With Problems? I’m there. set in the national parks?? I’M THERE). to circle back to TLU though because I am me and must be me at all times, anything by Beagle honestly has my recommendation. he is hash tag goals, as they say!

3. recommend a fic: obligatory fic rec tag drop for things that I happen across on here, but pulling from my AO3 bookmarks for some things I maybe have not mentioned before I also recommend:

- To Be Found (clenches fist. I went looking for Lyris/Sai and found it ALONGSIDE Lyris & Abnur Tharn frenemies-who-look-out-for-each-other?? AND some really excellent character work?? this characterization of Lyris is so good I literally couldn’t shut up about it to Knight the whole day I spent reading it, I still need to gather my thoughts into coherence to leave a proper comment but. it’s so good)

- Start the Count Anywhere (just a really nice moment between Schmendrick and Molly. the summary describes it as the two of them “mutilat[ing] some vegetables and discuss[ing] sawing oneself in half,” which never fails to make me smile. love a good concise summary!!)

- Eggsnog (THE Eggsnog!!!!! I didn’t realize Rocketlover was on AO3 until they commented on my fic and I was like. a legend has taken notice of me??? this is my absolute favorite of their work and I’m so glad it’s now on AO3 and not just FFN!)

4. recommend music: listen to Autoheart. pls. explosions in my head and in my heart. love is as love was. I don’t have the strength to pose as a saint. wailing.

5. share a piece of advice: if you work in a position where you have to talk to customers a lot and there’s a rush, say “thank you for your patience!” instead of “sorry for your wait!” this has, for me, visibly defused customers who were getting frustrated with an approximately 9/10 success rate. I started it a few years back bc I’ve been practicing apologizing less for things that are out of my control/not actually my fault and it had a noticeable effect!

and last line of a current wip:

Where has her eternal wry humor gone?

tagging anyone who wants to do it! ^^

#Mouse talks!#writing tag #there was another TLU fic I wanted to recommend but could not find it and am seized with terror it may have been deleted.#going to fervently tear through the tags in search of it bc it was so nice.

2 notes · View notes

frienderbender · 2 years

Note

Otp asks for the Just a Bunch of Guys AU

12 RikkiNikki, 22 MagPickles, 30 Murdertooth, 32 Abigaar, 51 Narles,

(this one's just extra lol) 8 RikkiMelm

Obligatory OTP Asks

ooh thank you hehe these are good! and thank you for being AU-specific that means a lot LMAO that makes a difference for sure

Rikki/Nikki

Do they have many heated arguments? How do they smooth things over?

i actually have a whole post talking about their arguments through a more canon compliant lens but it’s still pretty accurate. they don’t have big explosive fights. they argue like any couple does, and i think typically if they have a particularly heated one they both just walk away and take a few hours to cool off before coming back and apologizing. rikki smooths things over by doing something for nikki, usually. getting her a gift or cooking her something or doing a chore or whatever. nikki goes for the apology usually accompanied by a hug/kiss. talks it over from there. it works out.

Magnus/Pickles

What reminds each of their partner?

might be obvious, but certain types of music for sure. music is just like, at the center of their relationship. specifically pickles will see old records while he’s out shopping and think of magnus; it’s always something old and kinda weird/specific but it makes pickles think of him immediately. magnus is just always playing music on his record player lol that house is never quiet.

Will/Toki

Your OTP gets to pick out each other's outfits; what is each wearing?

goddd well my mind immediately goes “oh they’re dressing each other? they’re gonna make the other wear something embarrassing” that goes for both of them. they’re insufferable. though as i’m typing this y’know what immediately came to mind. cat ears. toki’s putting will in a cat outfit end of discussion.

Abigail/Skwisgaar

Who's the better story teller?

skwisgaar gets so tripped up on his words so i’m gonna have to say abi. LOOK skwisgaar has the energy and it all makes sense to him but he’s not exactly expressing it perfectly to helena and seb. it’s okay though bc i think abi would be a great storyteller! she’s very animated about it and happily gets everyone engaged with the story. skwisgaar can help set the mood. storytime is a both-parents job. it’s a whole production.

Nathan/Charles

What’s a non verbal way they say I love you?

honestly just being there? their relationship really did start with Just Being There. listening to the other, a soft hand to hold, and being available whenever. more specifically i think charles simply just helping nathan out with raising lucy was like. one of the ultimate i love yous. nate was really lost at first and charles didn’t just leave him to fend for himself y’know? even if i think it takes them both awhile to come around to really saying “i love you,” they’d been doing it without the words for so long.

Bonus Rikki/Melm Round

What happens if one of them gets sick?

well i think at first they’re both just like. “it was nice knowing you. *leaves*” but after a little while they’d check in on each other. rikki is the guy who gets sick like once every few years but he makes it everyone’s problem when it happens. he’s so pissed off about it. but melm will still keep a very watchful eye on him and be his nurse (he’s been waiting to pull out the sexy nurse outfit from a few halloweens ago) (rikki is not amused). on the flip side melmord is 100000% the guy who’s like “oh my god i’m fine dude haha” *has a 103.5 fever* *passes out* rikki similarly will check on him and make sure he’s doing okay but he’s not making it a whole thing like melm does.

#asks #literally just a bunch of guys au #technically IVV AU too bc of the bonus round but whateverrrr #some guys AU if they get sick they’re just gonna make fun of the other while someone else helps😭#thank you thank you! :^]

7 notes · View notes

notjohnlegere · 2 years

Note

Alright, so this was inspired by "Caught in the act" part 1. So when the reader starts laughing after caching him in the act, he gets insecure and was thinking if she found him little. I honestly found it hilarious. But now I have an idea from it 😅

Could you do one where Timmy ACTUALLY has a small dick? I don't think I've ever read it anywhere or in any other fandom and I'm quite curious as to how it would turn out. He's very insecure about it so he was delaying intimacy whenever they got close. This time, they where very close but timmy pulls away before things got serious and the OC gets really insecure, thinks he doesn't like her that way (maybe close to tears?) And Timmy feels v guilty and tells her it's not that and then let's her have her way with him. But when she pulls his pants off..... the rest is in your hands if you decide to do this request

PS. I want this to be angsty but also fluffy??? So when she does see it, she's going be surprised and he's gonna take it as a bad sign and dot dot dot happens, she tells him she loves him no matter what and then smut pls?

Good luck ❤

This request was so fun to write. What a unique perspective and a very realistic issue. I’ve never seen a fanfic like this before. I hope I was able to do this idea justice!

———————————————————————

Just The Way You Are

———————————————————————

Just The Way You Are

Timothée Chalamet x Reader

timmy is embarrassed about his size and keeps putting off having sex with reader. she changes his mind and shows him he’s perfect how he is.

*obligatory mobile formatting apology*

———————————————————————

Nine months. You had been with your boyfriend nine months. And where you were thankful for every moment, this was getting old. You loved him with your entire being, you knew that. And you would never do or say anything that would hurt him. But the fact you had been together for this long and hadn’t had sex yet, it was frustrating.

You wouldn’t push him, you would never try and pressure him into something he didn’t want. But you felt like you were being constantly teased. So close every single time, only to have him stop you and say “maybe next time” in a quiet voice. It was never next time. You felt bad for feeling the way you did, you didn’t want your entire relationship to be about sex. It wasn’t about sex at all, in fact. But everyone needs relief now and again. And you were to the point you didn’t know how much longer you could wait. You wanted to love him physically so badly. You wish you understood why he wouldn’t let you.

It wasn’t because he was a virgin. You knew he had had sex before. So what was it? The only conclusion you could come up with is that you were the problem. You just wished you knew what you were doing wrong. You had tried everything. Being gentle, being rough, going fast, going slow, talking, staying quiet, nothing worked. It all ended the same way. Maybe next time.

You thought maybe tonight would finally be the night. You were in his lap, kissing him fiercely, his tongue was in your mouth, moans being swapped between the two of you. You moved your hips and started to grind down against him, but that’s when he pulled away.

“Maybe-“

“Next time?” You finished the sentence for him and got off of his lap. “When the hell is next time?” You came off more frustrated than you intended to.

“I’m sorry...” He said your name in a mumble.

“What is it, Timothée?” He knew you were serious when you said his full name instead of just Timmy. “Is it me? Do you not want me like that? I won’t be mad, just tell me.”

“No, it’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” You felt hot tears prick at your eyes. “Why don’t you want me? You wanted other girls before me, why not me? I’m your girlfriend, we’ve been together for almost a year!” He looked terrified.

“No!” He defended. “No, no, please don’t think that. It’s not you, baby. I promise. I love you.”

“Then why can’t you let me love you back?”

There was a long moment of silence. You could tell he was pondering with the idea.

“I don’t know.” He mumbled. “I’m shy.”

“Timmy.” Your voice softened, watching your shy boy right before your eyes. “What are you shy about? It’s me.”

He seemed to feel a bit better to your words, but you could tell something was still lingering on his mind.

“Love me?” He asked you, voice barely above a whisper.

“I want nothing more than to love you, baby.” You said. Your lips connected with his once again.

Fumbling around with your kiss for a moment, you dropped yourself off of the couch and sat on your knees in front of him.

“Oh.” He said. His eyes were wide and his breathing escalated. You wrongfully saw this as arousal, rather than nervousness.

“Mmm.” You hummed, reaching up and undoing his pants. He was so stiff. “Don’t be nervous, baby, I got you.”

And that’s when you saw it. You momentarily paused, and that sent him into a panic.

“See! That’s why!” He shrieked and quickly covered himself with a throw pillow from the couch. He was so red in the face, and you couldn’t tell if it was from humiliation or anger. His eyes were full of tears.

“Timmy-“

“No! Don’t Timmy me! I tried to tell you-“

“Timothée!” You all but shouted. He got quiet. “Timmy, please. Let me see.”

“No.” He gripped the throw pillow tighter. You thought he might die. “You paused. You were shocked. You know I can’t satisfy you.”

“Timmy stop.” You fussed. “Let me see.”

Hesitantly, he moved the pillow.

You gently ran your fingers along his thighs, softly kissing the milky flesh of his hips. Sure, he was not as well endowed as you had once thought. But that didn’t matter to you. You just wanted to love him.

“There is nothing wrong with you.” You mumbled, nudging your nose into his stomach. This tickled a giggle from him. His hands found themselves in your hair.

“You don’t think I’m-“

“No.” You were insistent. You were sure. “I don’t think you’re anything less than perfect.”

You stood and took his hand in yours, encouraging him to follow you. He obliged, and you lead him to the bedroom. Hands on skin, lips on lips, clothing hitting the floor. It took no time until you were on your back, him hovering above you. He was shaking.

“Baby.” You breathed, your hands running across his jawline. “Please don’t be nervous.”

“I can’t help it.” He winced to your touch on his face. “I’m never gonna be able to satisfy you.”

“Don’t say that.” You stared directly into his gorgeous green eyes. “Don’t you love me?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then that’s enough to satisfy.” You cut him off before he could respond with a kiss. Your legs wrapped around his waist and you tugged him forward, encouraging him to continue.

Unsurely, he pushed into you. And it was like heaven.

“Oh my god.” You cried out, a bit in surprise yourself. He looked mortified.

“What? What is it?” His eyes searched your face desperately.

“That’s... so.. good.” You said between your soft pants. A bolt of confidence struck his spine, and he slowly began to move his hips.

The way he filled you, the way he hit every little spot inside of you, it was magic. He was made for you, his body fit with yours like he was the piece you had been missing all this time. And his size had nothing to do with it. His size was perfect. He fit everywhere he needed to, and no more.

“Is it really?” A bit of unsureness danced on his lips. You responded with a loud moan and a slight arch of your back.

“Yes, oh fuck yes it’s good.” You babbled. Your hands found their way into his hair.

“Y-you feel so good too.” He said with strain, in between moans of his own.

“Oh shit!” You involuntarily cried and threw your head back. He had found something inside of you that you didn’t even know was there. “That! Please do that again.”

He rocked his hips in the same way, over and over and over. Your moans only got more desperate. Your hands tugged at his hair. The poor boy had scratches on his shoulders, the back of his neck, and shoulder blades. The way he was loving you so, you just couldn’t keep it together. You had never experienced anything like this.

“Oh- merde.” He swore. “I’m gonna-“ He didn’t even get to finish his sentence before you unraveled beneath him with a desperate shout.

Your vision went out, your entire body shook, and you pulled his hair roughly. You were gone, you didn’t even hear the yelp that he gave when he was taken over by his own orgasm.

Coming down from your monumental high, you gasped for air. Your body laid lazily against the bed, and you stared at the ceiling.

“Holy. Shit.” You said, not aware of just how loud you had said it. That caused your boy to giggle.

You turned your head to see him lying next to you, his entire face was red.

“Good?” He questioned, still unsure.

“Good?!” You scoffed. He giggled again. “That was fucking incredible. How long do you wanna cool down before round two?”

His eyes met yours. He had a blank look on his face. Silence filled the room for a few seconds.

“I’ll go get us some bottles of water. We may be in here a while.”

———————————————————————

ao3 is johnlegere, find my fics there too. requests are open, send one in my ask box! hope you enjoyed :)!

618 notes · View notes

spiltscribbles · 3 years

Note

Prompt: Pro Athlete Sirius because that my and Remus' kink

~Notes: OMFG VICTOrIA!!!! I FUCKING SCREECHED!!!! lkadfjlaksdgjoiaejfalskdgjioeugisfkldshg Yes tis my kink as well!!! And then I saw this from Nonny and worlds collided and BOOM! I hope you like this my love<3<3 You incredibly talented sugarplum!!! TBH I want to write a thousand more things in this AU XD

FROM THIS LIST | Send Me A Prompt!💜 | A REBLOG MEANS THE GALAXY!!💜

When Remus was young— surrounded by the light breeze of the Welsh coast and the harmony of birds chirping in the distance— he would follow his mother to their small garden behind their cottage at the cusp of twilight as his father cooked their supper, and he’d watch as she laid flat all sorts of newspapers written in French and Arabic and English, watch as she brought her red pen against the ink and marked the articles with underlines and shorthand he wouldn’t understand for years still.

He asked her once, when he was barely eight years old, why she bothered to keep up with so many different publications, why she read the same story penned by countless perspectives when all the facts stayed the same at the end of the day. And he remembers how she had let out a quick, shrill of a laugh, tossing back her golden head while sucking in a puff from the bubbling hookah she had set up besides her— a habit she acquired from her Algerian, refugee parents, and one that became synonymous to those late nights in Remus’s eyes.

“Facts can be wielded to someone’s personal vendettas, Remus John,” she had crooned in that adoring way of hers whenever she spoke to him— honey eyes that were the same color and shape to Remus’s own flashing alight and their matching smiles going crooked in her stunningly beautiful face.

“Oh.” Remus had replied, still confused as all get out but was perfectly fine with just holding his small vigil, watching her beneath moonlight and the soft glow of their outdoors lamps, as he listened to the shuffling of papers while she commenced this odd quirk.

It’s a decade and a half later— as his editor for the Phoenix, a small, but bustling online editorial that plans on dethroning the likes of Politico and Vox in only a matter of years, scans his latest findings on the corrupt boosters linked to MP Avery from Leeds— when Remus thinks he suddenly understands what his mother, with her keen eyes and pixelated air, had meant by facts in how they can be colored differently simply by the words surrounding them. And he wonders if one day soon, one of his bylines will join her little stack of stories, if she’ll be proud of him even if she says as much even now, when he’s a lost twenty-something stumbling through life in the capitol and barely making it as is, between his actual job and the gig he has at the coffee shop nearest his dingy flat he shares with three other blokes.

“Mmm, this is good, Lupin,” Dorcas declares after what feels like an eon, dropping her long, dark legs from where they were lounging leisurely on her desk and scuffs out her cigarette in a pretty, glass ashtray. “Send it over to Flores to look into deeper, maybe it’ll corroborate the info she’s already gotten from her sources.”

Remus feels himself bristle, hopes that it doesn’t show, that his face stays passive as he contends, “I think I should at least help her write the expose, I’m the one who got this bombshell.”

“That’s not how it works, sweets,” Dorcas toots, tossing back her dark head of curls as she rises, perching on the corner of her desk delicately and looking down, straight into his gaze. “I know it’s frustrating, but you’re fresh blood. barely six months here, but Alice has been with us for years. This is her baby, and we’re just here to nurture it.”

“So I’ll have to wait another ten months, at least, to get the same treatment?” He argues in an admittedly petulant way, making Dorcas laugh endearingly, and Remus is suddenly, searingly reminded of his age, and how he’s the youngest staffer that this London based news outlet has on hand.

“C’mon, love, it won’t be that long for someone as sharp as you, just be patient, and don’t try to pull a Zoe Barnes on us, yeah? You’re far too pretty to clean up on the rails of the tube.” Dorcas tousles a hand into his dark tawny curls, and Remus holds back the roll to his eyes that he feels willing up inside of him as he stands fully.

“Thanks Cas.”

She smiles beatifically, and throws him a wink. “You’re joining Emmy for the report tomorrow on those United footballers and their fundraiser for the hospital, yeah?”

“Bright and early,” Remus replies, still feels a bit miffed that he was chosen to write up the charity function, considering he doesn’t know a lick about football and doesn’t really get on with anyone who does. But Caradoc— their typical sports reporter— is out sick with the flew, so it’s on him. “I’ll have it on your desk early enough so it’ll be published by tea time.”

“Good man,” Dorcas says in thanks, picking up her crowing cellphone before waving him off.

Remus isn’t all that surprised when he strides out of the office only to find Benjy Fenwick sitting against the opposite wall, knees pressed to his chest and quickly scrambling up when he catches sight of Remus. Sometimes it’s impossible to believe that the bespectacled man in front of him is one of the top editors for the Phoenix, that he’s a regular corespondent for places like the BBC or CNN— that his rebukes against the piss poor inquiries waged during PMQs have become more anticipated than the sessions themselves. Remus tends to forget all of that when he sees him like this, messy haired and wearing a graphic T-shirt with some marvel superhero embossed on the front. “Wotcher Remus.”

“Hiya Remus says, smiling softly and rocking back on his heels. “You wanted to talk to the sergeant then?”

“Huh? Oh, no, no. I didn’t want to talk to Dorcas, I just— Erm, I know you were showing her that stuff you got from that intern, Pettigrew, and i know you were chafed about not getting any opportunity here so—“ He trails off, scratching the back of his head and studying a point over Remus’s shoulder, and it’s all too endearing, and Remus is so beyond thankful he’s made such a good friend here.

“No cigar,” he says in answer to the unspoken question, shrugging noncommittally even if he feels like shit over it.

Benjy nods, face contrite in a way that tells Remus he never thought it would’ve went otherwise. “I’m sorry, that’s bollocks.”

“’S whatever,” Remus shrugs off the apology, begins walking down the hall and straightening his report to hand over to Alice.

“Ah,, erm. We can get a drink, yeah? In commiseration,” Benjy offers, and Remus stilts only for a beat before continuing the twisting trail to where Alice is set up with the more senior members on staff. And he feels only sorta bad about wanting to refuse. He knows that if he says yes, it’ll mean something different to Benjy than it does him, that he’ll probably take it as Remus finally giving into his pestering and deciding to actually go out with him, even if he’s refuted the other four times he’s asked as much. Remus’s simply just too busy trying to get a footing in this city, and trying to figure out where he’s suppose to go from here, and what he’s suppose to do. And yes, Benjy is cute— a complete Seth Cohen archetype. And he’s sweet and smart and funny enough. But Remus is really not in the mood for doing the whole flowers and wine and candle lit dinners shtick, had gotten enough of that while still with his university boyfriend. And yeah, he’s only just turned 24, but he already feels too old and too jaded for that sort of puppy love— even if Benjy’s got a good decade and some change on him.

Probably sensing his hesitation, Benjy is quick to rectify the offer. “I’ll ask Mary, and Fabian too, and a few others. We can make a night of it, just some drinks on a Friday after work.”

Stalling by the last turn to Alice’s desk, Remus looks at him from over his shoulder, and sort of hates himself for being such a soft hearted fuck sometimes. “Yeah Benj, sounds nice. Just let me know on the group chat, yeah?”

Benjy grins, much more genuine than his awkward quirk of the lips from earlier. “Yeah, good call, I’ll let the others know pronto.”

“Aces,” Remus says, tosses him a obligatory thumbs-up before finding an expectant looking Alice who’s tapping her foot impatiently.

Yeah, today is so bloody shit.

Surprisingly, the round of drinks turns to another and then a third and fourth and Remus is currently nursing his fifth mango margarita on Benjy’s tab, and he actually feels lighter than he has since taking the job at Phoenix, feels bright and bubbling and like absolutely nothing could be wrong as long as he’s got this drink in his grasp and he’s sitting with the handful of reporters and photographers from the office that don’t all have sticks up their asses. It’s fun, it’s good. So obviously it couldn’t have lasted.

Mary is currently cackling about her Uber driver from last night who asked her all sorts of well meaning, but incredibly dense questions about her hijab— a freshly poured glass of coke in one hand, while the other is tangled into her girlfriend Emmy’s. And From his left Remus can hear Fabian ribbing Frank on his crush on Alice, while Benjy scoots intermittently closer as they watch Kingsley and Marlene sparring over something to do with a Kardashian or TikTok trend or whatever the fuck else— The guy has resilience, Remus has to give Benjy that.

“Right, who’s buying next?” Marlene asks, abrasive as ever while scrolling through her phone, ostensively finding something to prove her point against the managing editor.

“Reckon it’s my turn,” Benjy crows, standing up smoothly and glancing down at Remus with a nervous sort of half grin.

“Just a water for me, ta. I need to sober up,” Remus tells him, feels proud that he didn’t even slur slightly. Benjy bobs his head understandingly, and Remus turns to ask Marlene about her latest tinder hookup which always is a good laugh, but then he catches on it. On the sound of the pub’s doors flinging open, followed by a raucous crowd of athletic looking guys probably only a bit older than he is, clambering indoors.

They’re all so very sixth-form, broad grins and slapping each other’s shoulders with jeers, topped off with loud, bark like laughter that makes it obvious to Remus that these wankers think that they’re some sort of group of gods amongst men, roaming around like everyone should fall to their feet and offer everything they have. It makes Remus roll his eyes so far back that it feels like he might’ve sprained them. They just give off this exhausting aura that reminds him of a past boyfriend in tenth year who was on the footie team and who’s favorite activity was either making Remus feel lucky enough to go out with someone so popular, or dragging him around like some sort of bloody trophy.

To put it nicely, Remus sorta hates them on sight. So when he sees one of the tossers— regrettably the brightest of the lot who’s all pearly teeth, and glittering eyes and incredibly impressive shoulders that tape off to a narrow waste in an objectively infuriating matter— swivels up to the barkeep and jostles Benjy on his way, well Remus doesn’t hesitate to dart forwards to tell him off.

“Oi, watch where you’re going, yeah?”

Benjy and the bloke who looks like he might moonlight as a model for Calvin briefs for when he’s not lounging in a yacht off the Tuscany coast, both turn to him at the same time. Benjy looking abashed, and the aforementioned tosser preening like the cat who’s just caught a canary.

“Sorry, love. Didn’t see you there,” he says in a delightfully deep tenner, giving Remus an appreciative once over, and Remus absolutely despises how the action makes him feel both thrilled and irritated. “Trust and believe, I wouldn’t have looked away if I saw you.”

“Not me, arse.” Remus spits back, refuses to pay any credence to how his cheeks have begun to flush. “You bumped into my mate right there, the one with the tray of loggers.”

The tosser darts his almost molten gray eyes over to Benjy for a sparing second before he laser focusses back onto Remus, the most phony expression of contrition all over his face. “Sorry to your friend,” he says the descriptor like a joke that no one else is in on. “Let me buy you a drink in sorry for the one I made slim here spill.”

Remus is officially unimpressed, hopes that his flat tone gets it across. “You’re an arse.”

“You’re mouthy,” he retorts, looks like it’s something he greatly appreciates— delights over even.

“Ah, ’s fine Remus, really. I’ll just bring these back and get us a new glass.”

“Listen to slim, Remus, he’s got the right idea.” The tosser hurriedly interjects, strutting close enough to him that he makes it so Remus has to tip his head back just slightly so not to drop his gaze. “I’m Black, Sirius Black, just to get the pleasantries out of the way.” His leer tells Remus that the name should probably evoke some response of aw into Remus, but all it does is make him sound so egregiously pretentious that Remus wants to smack his own bloody head against a dry wall and stay in the hole until this ruddy Sirius bloke leaves him the hell alone.

“Good for you,” he says instead of all of that, and spots Sirius’s friends from behind Sirius chuckling and elbowing one another. Evidently this is a line the tosser uses frequently, and Remus is pleased that he might be one of the first who aren’t at all impressed by the grandiose way he introduced himself.

“Hah, you know I’m use to the pretty ones playing hard to get, but I’m really feeling here that you’re not exactly liking my company, love.”

Remus sucks in a frustrated breath through his nose, shouldering past Sirius and taking the tray of drinks from Benjy before storming back to their table where the others have begun openly gawping at the scene— Marlene outright squawking with Fabian just as Remus takes his seat.

“Don’t,” Remus warns them all as he silently says fuck off to the water and instead gargles down one of the loggers. And if he has to steadfastly not turn around for the rest of the night towards where he can feel Sirius’s gaze burning into his back— well then so be it.

The next morning, Remus has to puke twice into the toilet, and gulps down three aspirins just to stave off his bloody hangover from the night before where he decided that getting properly sloshed would prove as a good technique to not end up making out with Sirius in some dark corner— or regrettably the backseat of his car. And if he does still remember flashes of ranting to him about how insufferable preppy, rich boys actually are while Sirius gazed at him endeared— well Remus just decides to purge it out along with the stomach acid. It’s not like he’ll ever see the douche again.

He meets Arthur— one of the accountants who also helps out by taking photos for more low key news stories— outside the hospital where the conference will be taking place with the Manchester United team. There was a scrimmage that they all played with some of the kids in the cancer ward that occurred at around eight in the ruddy morning, but thankfully Remus didn’t have to show up until an hour later when the team presented their big shiny check, to the big, shiny hospital.

However, Arthur has been here for hours, so he’s beyond chirpy and looks like he’s downed three cups of espresso as he chatters on about his son Percy starting secondary school, and his eldest, Bill, getting an award for his reading prowess, and all the strange craving his wife has been having throughout her pregnancy with the twins they’re expecting any week now. And Remus loves Arthur, he does— one of the sweetest folks he’s ever met— but God, his head is still thrumming from those misguided tequila shots and he really just wants to get his three quotes, and write up the story so he can find refuge back in his sheets.

While Arthur has moved to talking about his wife, Molly’s, plans to open up a daycare in their refurnished garage, Remus scans his eyes over the familiar face of reporters from other outlets who look just as bored as him, and then to the stage where a woman in a sharply pressed suit is ushering for the group of football stars to join her, so that the conference can finally fucking begin.

And Remus thinks that their faces are sorta familiar, probably from all the publicity they get on the telly— but then he freezes as he stops at one of them with dark brown skin, and thick rimmed spectacles— and he suddenly can hear him chatting about his redheaded girlfriend and drunkenly declaring that she’ll be the mother of his children some day soon. So he completely expects it when his stomach drops as he moves his glance just a bit to the right, being struck by pearly teeth, and glittering eyes and incredibly impressive shoulders that tape off to a narrow waste, made all the more infuriating by the tight kit he’s got on and the blazing number twelve splayed against his chest.

And fuck.

Remus runs through about a dozen scenarios in which he can make a discrete, or not so discrete exit before he notices him, but in tandem to his spiraling thoughts, the wanker actually looks forwards, and like a creepy metal detector, his quick silver gaze pinpoints onto Remus.

They stare at one another for a beat before his smirk goes wolfish, and he runs a hand through his artfully tousled hair in a way that practically screams, fancy meeting you here. And holy fuck he looks so mouth watteringly attractive with that faint film of sweat running down his neck, and how his smile pulls slightly more to the left, and how he’s looking at Remus like he’s his birthday and Christmas presents all rolled into one.

Remus suddenly hates everything— but most of all hates Sirius, and how bloody fit he is.

“Oh, you’re a fan then?”

Starting, Remus shifts around slightly so that he’s facing Arthur completely. “Pardon?”

“Sirius Black I mean, you’re a fan?” Arthur asks in that abrasively congenial and intensely scrutinizing way that he treats everything. “I mean he’s a great player, but I know you don’t really watch. So I bet it’s all that charity work he does, yeah?”

“Charity work?” Remus echos, feeling like a floundering fish.

“Truly some amazing stuff.” Arthur pontificates, rubbing a hand against his jaw as he tips his head back. “I mean obviously I’m partial to the fundraising for Reporters Without Borders, but of course the things he does with the more impoverished kids is great. And I know Molly likes his very outspoken posts about being anti war and his annual live streams to earn money for refugees in those war torn nations, like the last one he did for Syria?”

“Oh—“ Remus says, feeling like his head is being overrun by a fountain of new information.

“Yes well, you don’t usually see athletes get into the thick of it with political issues, but I reckon he never really minded. I mean the fact he’s the first football star from United to have come out without any fanfare really proved that. Oh, I think they’re starting, I should probably get some photos before Dorcas gives me a tongue lashing.”

And as quick as the flash of his camera’s lends, Arthur is using his considerable height to get to a more advantageous spot towards the front, and leaves Remus in the dust, as if he hasn’t just obliterated his every assumption of Sirius from after that initial meeting.

And unbidden, the words his mother had told him so many years ago, about facts and how they can color a situation just simply based off the person who’s speaking them— flood to the forefront of his mind.

“Fucking hell,” Remus mutters lowly, gets jostled by Greengrass, a hawkish reporter from a rivaling publication who always has on the most wickedly sharp acrylic nails, and perfectly quaffed curls— as she waves around her certification to speak her inquiry.

“My question is for Potter,” she announces when the woman leading the event, McGonagall, points her way. “And I was wondering how early you boys have to rise for training during the season? And how intense the sessions are that Coach Hooch puts you guys through?”

Potter, the one with the redheaded girlfriend that Remus heard so much about last night between his ranting at Sirius, parts his lips, but it’s not his voice that ends up reverberating through the outdoors space. Instead, it’s Sirius, who’s shouldering him with a goading air, obviously expecting his comment to have only ended up in Potter’s ear and not caught by the mike.

“I wonder if Lupin will let me wake up with’m so he can let me get some real training done before practices, eh?”

And just as soon as his words pitter off, the entire crowd drops to a hush— quiet enough so that they could probably hear it if a pen dropped.

Sirius’s handsome face— strong jawline, and broad but sharp cheekbones, and a long, narrow nose— goes suddenly ashen, and he flashes over to Remus as if he’s terrified that he’ll bite his face off.

God, what an idiot.

With a long suffering sigh, Remus plucks out the microphone from a slack faced Greengrass’s hand. “We can discuss the regimen afterwards, Black. Just meet me by the front doors and let your mate answer the bloody question.”

Everyone around them falls into laughter that’s caught between uncomfortable chuckles and amazingly amused cackling, but the only person Remus is paying any mind is Sirius, and how he seems to have gone absolutely incandescent, nodding electrically before miming the zip of his lips and gesturing for Potter to carry on.

Jesus help him, Remus has no idea what he’s gotten himself into.

~My Wolfstar FIC Masterlist

~Buy Me A Coffee

#WOLFSTAR #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #SIRIUSXREMUS #REMUSXSIRIUS #WOLFSTAR FLUFF #THE HARRY POTTER SERIES #MARAUDERS #HARRY POTTER SERIES #ILU Victoria!!!#also to anyone side eyeing the buy me a coffee plz do not judge me #i am so searing embarrassed about it #rip #just it's there i guess #calls;jalksdgjaeowifjsadlkgh #look away from me #!!!#lmfao #spilt ink

203 notes · View notes

kueble · 2 years

Text

Canon Era Geraskier Masterpost

This is my masterpost for my Canon Era Geraskier fics. Listed in the order posted to Tumblr.

Distraction - Prompt: kisses meant to distract

Tiny Flurries - First snow of the season.

Snowdrops - Prompt: You get flowers tattoos where your soulmate have scars.

Secret is to Sing a Little Song - Jaskier’s first winter at Kaer Morhen is a little hectic, but he figures things out.

Wide Awake - 18+ Geralt can’t sleep.

All Dolled Up - 18+ Jaskier wears lingerie and Geralt really likes it.

Not Good With Words - obligatory post-mountain apology

Ask Him - Geralt hates autumn.

Worn Leather - 18+ Geralt acts up and Jaskier has to remind him who is in charge. Also, fun with a belt.

Bit of a Mess - Jaskier helps Geralt deal with a new scar.

Perfect Pair - Jaskier is hurt on a hunt, and Geralt thinks this is how he loses him.

The White Stallion - 18+ Jaskier and centaur Geralt getting together.

Like Vines, We Intertwined - 18+ Geraskier with a side of leshen. (Geralt/Jaskier/Leshen)

A Rush of Copper - 18+ Vampire!Jaskier lets himself go too long without feeding.

Pretty Things - 18+ Dragon!Geralt and thief!Jaskier.

How You Want - 18+ Geralt thinks he’s broken, but Jaskier doesn’t agree.

Far Too Long - Winter has been far too long.

Mint and Celandine - Jaskier has issues with his new scar.

Mating Season - 18+, Geralt usually spends mating season alone, but this year he has Jaskier to help.

Indulgent - 18+, Jaskier books an afternoon at the private baths in the hopes that he can convince Geralt to transform for him.

When I Let the Water Take Me - Jaskier has a secret.

I Wanna Live Life From a New Perspective - 18+ Bodyswap get together.

Overpowering - 18+ Jaskier has a wet dream and Geralt catches it.

Beg For It - 18+ dom/sub, Jaskier knows Geralt can beg for it.

Gone Soft - 18+, Jaskier really likes Geralt’s winter body.

No Matter How Lovely - 18+ Geralt isn’t sure why he doesn’t leave the pixie somewhere.

It’s a Hungry World - 18+ My Big Bang. My beloved. Fae!Jaskier falls in love with the human world, and a witcher along the way.

The Latest Fashion - 18+ Jaskier is all riled up after a performance, and Geralt is more than happy to help.

It Tasted Heavenly, So Good - 18+ Geraskier/leshen. Geralt and Jaskier find the leshen from last time.

Such a Mess - 18+ Jaskier fucks his pregnant mate.

Covered in My Marks - 18+ Geralt gets possessive in a good way.

Worn Out - Geralt is tired.

Desperate and Willing - 18+ Jaskier really needs to piss.

A Little More - 18+ Mer!Jaskier needs to mate and Geralt is very willing.

Catch Me If You Can - The boys going swimming.

Truly, Utterly Horrible - 18+ Lambert spills some secrets, and Jaskier benefits.

Calm - Jaskier goes into pre-heat and is surprised by how helpful Geralt is.

Toss a Coin to Your Bard - 18+ Jaskier finds a way to earn coin.

Relaxed and Pliable - 18+ Geralt fucks Jaskier while he sleeps.

Pleasantly sore - 18+ - Jaskier is in post-sex bliss while laying on his werewolf.

Sweet on the Vine (Like Strawberry Wine) - Jaskier drags Geralt to a Strawberry Festival.

Geralt x Dandelion (game):

Clandestine - Geralt has an offer for Dandelion.

Lost Myself in You - 18+ Geralt simply can’t wait.

Geralt x Dandelion (book):

Frayed - 18+, Geralt gets a little tied up.

Geralt & Jaskier:

Mending the Rift - (Aro week QPR) Jaskier comes home to a grumpy friend and fixes it.

#my fix #masterpost #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier #geralt #the witcher

37 notes · View notes

alphabravocharliedelta · 3 years

Text

Therefore I Am | Russell Adler x Bell! Reader VIII

Series: Call of Duty: Black Ops Cold War

Therefore I Am | Russell Adler x Bell! Reader

Chapter VIII

Word Count: 6200+

[Chapter VII] [Chapter IX]

Summary: After somehow reconciling with Adler, Bell and the team are left to continue their pursuit of bringing down the undercover spy ring, but it proves to be more of a challenge as Bell struggles to move on from their Perseus-affiliated past.

Content Warning: mature content, vulgar language, mention of drugs, torture

Notes: As mentioned, huge time skip! I also apologize in advance for writing this but at the same time... Yeah, have fun. Thanks for making it this far though!

[Y/N] “Bell” [L/N]

January, 1984

CIA Safehouse, West Berlin

"We’re going to be a bit busy this month, Bell. Are you sure you can handle the safehouse alone?”

You roll your eyes at Adler’s worries. “It’s just one month. Nothing to worry about if you guys do your jobs, right?”

It didn't settle his anxiousness. Adler's been rather nitpicky leading up to this day, making sure nothing was out of place, and that everything was accounted for. Now, he was talking to you as if it was your first time staying home alone.

“The phone is right there." He points to the landline on the table. "Sims will be in charge of communications between us, so give him a call if anything happens. We'll try to update you on what's going on with our end, but no guarantees.”

“Fine." You close the fridge, unscrewing the cap to the water bottle you just took out. "I still don’t get as to why I can’t go along, but have fun I guess.”

“You’re not going anywhere with that leg of yours.”

“It’s healed already!”

The entire team shuffles out the door, and you could hear their vehicles start up. Adler lingers behind at the doorway, watching you gulp down some water. You eyed him curiously, before tossing the plastic away. “Don’t you have to go?”

Adler adjusts the strap of his bag on his shoulder and straightens up slightly. “I was thinking… When we come back, I can take you somewhere."

A smile tugs at your lips. “Is that your way of apologizing for not bringing me to D.C.?”

“You can say that.”

“Is that a date then?”

“I’ll leave that up to you.”

“God, get a fucking room!” you hear Woods howl from outside.

Adler tilts his head slightly over his shoulder, slight annoyance written on his face, before resuming. "There's a couple CIA associates that's going to visit the safehouse a few days. You're technically not supposed to be here, so try to stay out of their way."

"If they stay out of mine."

He gives you a final lookover, before parting off and getting into the driver's seat of his car.

You watched as he pulled away from the driveway, waving farewell to your teammates before closing the door. Now, it was just you and the safehouse in West Berlin.

Adler, along with the rest of the team, were called back into the Pentagon to go over the upcoming operation consisting of the prison transport. You couldn't exactly tag along since, of course, since you're technically dead. Adler said he would pull a few strings to birth you a real identity and all (like he'd done before) but so far nothing led up to him fulfilling that promise… yet.

Not all of them were going to Washington though, a couple being relieved of their duties for a short vacation. Mason didn’t give you much details when he left the first week of December, confidentiality and privacy a part of it, but you knew that you, in the end, were going nowhere. You also heard that Hudson took a small leave to spend time with his family (you didn’t even know he had one).

It didn't help that you also sustained several injuries from a mission one month ago, where NATO decided to attack a Soviet missile convoy out of spite for what they did to their training facility in November. To put it short, you took a good tumble down the snowy cliffside while providing overwatch for the team, and gained a small concussion and a fracture in your leg. It wasn't as bad as it seemed, but it was enough to make you limp a couple weeks.

You weren't supposed to be there, but you managed to convince Hudson to slip you into the strike team. Needless to say, Adler had ripped you a new one post-mission upon finding you lying on the ground underneath a pile of snow.

"How the hell did you fall off?"

"Someone snuck up on me. Don't worry though, I took him with me. Now are you going to help me up?"

The lecture that followed was a long one, but obligatory. It was his way of caring, you suppose. What better way to spend the holidays than to walk around with crutches while waiting for a tiny crack in your bone to heal?

Not much was done for Christmas, but it did have its highlights. You did wake up to a brand new black bomber jacket sitting on your desk that morning, and had a gut feeling who it came from. The rest of the team that stayed behind assembled together a small barbecue dinner, Sims calling the shots. He was a pretty good cook, you had to admit (much to Woods’ opposition). It was a casual day consisting of beer and food.

Now you have a whole month to yourself.

Sighing, already bored, you span around on the swivel chair you sat on. You already did your paperwork ahead of time, and even made sure everyone else’s was well sorted and organized. If someone had given you a heads-up that you were going to be stuck here, you would have put it off.

Pulling yourself back to the table, you plopped a notepad in front of you, pencil in hand. A good amount of pages were filled out, and you estimated almost 2/3rds of it were left. The pages consisted of a multitude of things, such as notes, drawings, or translations. There were a couple of times where you would try to sketch out the dreams you had while sleeping on the job. While they weren’t great, both in context and in technical skill, you were proud of it… kinda.

The notepad was freely accessible, and Woods would sometimes write little comments about the drawings in the corners of the page. Or Lazar who would try to draw the same thing. And it just so happened that you found a note that said “Bell has a crush” in Woods’ handwriting, so you immediately ripped it out and threw it into the incineration pile.

After taking the time to eat Woods' snacks to spite him, especially that last bit of Hershey's, you powered on your Walkman, shoving in MIX 2 and settled yourself in front of the arcade machine.

When you were hungry you would check the fridge, and everytime you expected some kind of new dish to appear. But instead there were just a few bottles of German beer, some leftovers, and a stack of TV dinners that looked like it had been sitting there for a while.

0000

Over the course of two weeks, you explored every bit of the place, every nook and cranny, and read every piece of paper you could find. There were newspaper clippings of the Kennedy assasination, old mission details and briefings, as well as some unprocessed polaroids. The supply area was especially interesting, a bunch of locomotive parts lying around.

The time did come where two particular individual people had come to visit. It was dead early in the morning when they came in, and you, who couldn't get any sleep that night, almost shot them when they entered. After de-escalating the situation, they were just as surprised as you were, but introduced themselves as Carson and Ben, the two CIA agents Adler mentioned beforehand.

Coming up with a bullshit lie, they seemed to believe you, and left you alone. If you didn’t bother them, they wouldn’t bother you.

It felt a bit awkward working around strangers, as you couldn't estimate their skills and predict their next thought. Being the safehouse members made you comfortable, so to be paired up with two random CIA agents was difficult to adapt to. But, it wasn't without reason, as the CIA eventually expanded their counteractive measures against Perseus.

The majority of the time, they were too busy putting stuff up on the evidence board, as Adler said they would. You had yet to take a peek, not wanting to disturb their work and instead would check the data terminal near the red room constantly, waiting for emails notifying you about what was happening back in the states.

One past email caught your eye, seeing how your nickname was the subject line. It dated to about late last year.

>>from R. Adler, to E. Black: Re: Bell

》》I appreciate your concern over Bell, Black. But, after some consideration, and do take this kindly, but I believe it is within everyone's best interests for you to stop inquiring about them. They're fully capable of handling themselves and have proved to be able to make conscious decisions. Any further messages regarding Bell will be ignored. There are more important things to concentrate on.

Reading Adler's defense against Black made you smile unwillingly. His words in text sounded polite, yet you could imagine his bitterness as he typed it out. The simple fact that Black would ask about you was a bit daunting. He didn't as much as show any concern for you in the past, and you never even got to see his face. You never really did take a liking to Black, and after what Nikitin told you, it felt like the only people to be trusted were just the safehouse members.

Leaning back in the chair, you let it turn on its own as you gazed up at the roof, wondering how everyone was fairing. They could handle themselves without you, but you couldn’t help but feel a bit hurt and lonely without them.

It’s just one month.

Two more weeks to go.

0000

The day finally came where the long awaited phone call arrived.

You just came back from the practice range when one of the agents walked over to you, with one of the safehouse phones in hand. “You're Bell, right? They’re asking for you.”

Setting down Lazar's modified sniper rifle back in its respectful padded box, you took the brick-like phone from Carson. “Bell.”

“Damn, you didn't even tell them your name?” Sims’ jaded voice came from the other side.

You grin hearing his voice. It felt like ages hearing him speak. "Well, thanks to you, now they know."

“You're welcome. I saved you the work. How’s it over there?”

“Uh, not much. Adler’s acquaintances are finalizing the evidence board, so it should be ready when you guys return,” you inform. “How’d the missions go?”

Sims gives out a drained laugh. “Fucking tiring, I’ll tell you that. They had us jumping from state to state." You could hear some muffled conversation in the background, and you could only assume that he covered the receiver. "Sorry, Bell. Some hardass wants me to take a look at something. Can't talk for long, but…"

He proceeded to give you a quick rundown on what happened the past month, talking mainly about the prison transport conspiracy. Sims wouldn't tell you what happened with the person Stitch was interested in, but he informed you that they were currently in the middle of interrogating a few individuals, trying to get information about Perseus’ next move. You didn’t have anything else to offer, sadly, and wished them luck.

"Also, just passing a message from Hudson. He wants you to look over the evidence board as a precaution."

"Yeah, got it. Anything else?" you ask, eyeing an impatient CIA agent who also wanted to make a call.

“Adler should be returning tomorrow.”

You fought off a grin. “Sounds good.”

“...You’re not going to ask about Adler?” Sims infers, a bit taken aback.

"...Why would I?"

"Just thought you would want to check up on your boy—"

You hang up, pleased with yourself. Sims was certainly going to hold it against you, but for the time being, it was a small win.

At this point it was no secret that there was something going on between you and Adler, and whether it was romantic or not was up for their consideration. You wondered how the idea even got around, and guessed it was most likely Lazar who happened to let it slip on accident. Nothing really stayed hidden around the safehouse, and if Hudson already happened to hear about it, it didn't seem like he gave a second shit.

Passing the phone back, you look at Carson dead in the eye. "Staring is rude, you know," you reprimand, before heading over to the board.

Your eyes scanned the mass of evidence. A culmination of decades of work, intertwining and connecting with one another all leading to one crime organization: Perseus. There were some pieces you had never seen before, and you gave them a quick read. A playing card was pinned right in the middle of it all; the King of Spades, the title given to Kuzmin himself. There was also mention of Naga, whom you've come to vaguely remember. There were a few yellow stickies on there, personal notes and thoughts made by the two agents. One of them, though, you had to do a double take.

Woods BFF is MIA

"What?"

Did you read that right?

The first person that comes to mind was Mason, but you thought he returned home to be with his family. It must have been a mistake then, or it was referring to someone else. But, as far as you knew, there was no one else as close to Woods as Mason.

"Hey!" You rip the note off, storming over to Ben, who looked up in alarm upon seeing your disturbed expression. "What the hell does this mean?!"

He begins to get flustered, realizing that you knew way more than he anticipated. "I can't tell you that, sorr—"

"Bullshit! I fully deserve to know what's been going on. Is it Mason?"

"I..."

Above you, the lights flicker, but you didn't let that serve as a distraction. "Tell me."

"Like I said—"

There was a loud bang, causing everyone to flinch as a result. You could see Carson's hands slowly glide across the keyboard, keeping a keenful eye on the metal shutters. Ben, on the other hand, backed away from you, withdrawing back to his table.

Dead silence.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up in premonition, a small shiver running down your spine. Your stomach dropped— something was telling you to run.

"Uh… Ben?"

You saw one of the computers lose its signal, and then the next, the rest of them following suit. Carson sends out a string of swears, scrambling to try reboot the system.

That was when the lights turned off.

It was pitch dark. The fans that served as background noise ceased all movement, the electricity ceasing its currents.

"Carson!" Ben yells, and you feel him push past you. "Destroy the drives! Hurry!"

"Wait—"

But, before you could take another step, everything unfolded.

One of the doors was kicked open, gunfire erupting the second after. Diving behind the table nearby, you could hear the screens shattering, the fragments falling to the ground carelessly. The two agents cried out in pain for a split second, and then you never heard them again. A couple bullets went through the desk, narrowly missing you. The sirens went off, a red light beginning to flash overhead.

Someone was invading the warehouse.

What for though? To steal info? If that was the case, then you should have taken the time to memorize all of it if they were planning to purge everything.

Reaching out, you opened one of the desk drawers, feeling around. You felt something cool brush against your hand and didn't waste a breath taking it out, the object revealing itself to be a 1911. Checking the magazine, it was fully loaded and well kept.

Peeking around the corner, you see someone approaching your side of the garage. Although it was dark, you could make out minimal details of the uniform that they wore, and you freeze at the sight of it.

Shit.

You recognized that get up anywhere. Bland and lacking color, with tundra patterned pants and hooded jackets… It couldn't be.

How did they even find this place…?

The CIA mole.

Someone knew Adler and the rest of the team was going to be out. With their best members away, it would have been a perfect opportunity to attack. After all, what the hell was one lone agent supposed to do?

Jumping up from behind the table you aim for the person that neared your position but a figure from behind knocks the pistol out from your hand. It fell to the ground effortlessly, sliding a few feet away from you. About to make a dive for it, you ran forward, only for one of the invaders to bring the butt of their gun downwards to smack the back of your head. Your face slammed onto the ground, blood bursting from your nose. Something cold pressed against your temple as you tried to move,

“Wait,” a gruff voice ordered.

The lights turned back on, the backup generator revving itself into action. Black boots appeared in front of you, a few specks of blood splattered across the leather like glitter.

You were then heaved up by your arms forcibly, the gun now pointed at your left side. A gloved hand grabbed your face, and following up the arm you were greeting with quite the sight. He had a hood over his head, and a gas mask secured tightly around his face. Even if you couldn’t see his face clearly, the voice was unforgettable. You knew enough to identify him without fail.

“Ah,” you begin, giving a scornful leer. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?"

Vikhor “Stitch” Kuzmin was not amused in the slightest.

"—Or should I say ‘eye’?"

The pressure on your chin increased with such force that you thought he would dislocate it.

You could hear the rumble in his throat as he hummed to himself in thought while you glowered at him.

“So, you’re still alive?”

His appearance didn’t show much difference when comparing them to your memories. There wasn’t a lot to look at, but the most outstanding characteristic had to be the whites of his left eye with that ugly scar Adler left as a parting gift. Around his neck hung a large metal piece of the Perseus symbol, and accompanying it was a collection of dog tags, ripped off of the body of his victims. What a sadistic son of a bitch.

Stitch lets go of your face, making up his mind.

"I would leave you here, but I have other plans for you."

He waves you off, and his colleagues restrain your arms behind your back. Any attempts to free yourself were futile, and you were dragged off.

Fuck!

You should've been more prepared. That 1911 was in great condition as well, you should have just fired it the moment you aimed it. And as a result of your lack of decision making, two people were dead and you were now a hostage.

The last thing you see is Stitch stabbing a pink flyer to the evidence board with a knife.

Your thoughts raced back to the team back at the U.S.. What was going to happen to them? It was going to be a hell of a mess to return to, and the idea that there was now a mess to clean up without you there to explain it all is going to be a hell of an issue.

How was Adler going to react?

Eyes widening at the realization, you internally screamed. Stitch's goal wasn't you, as you were just a surplus of his objective to get close to Adler.

A bag is pulled over your head, and is tightened to a close around your neck. The cloth of it was poreus enough to let air in, but it felt suffocating.

With nothing to see or nowhere to run, you were tossed into the trunk of a humvee. It wasn’t long before it started up and drove away, departing away from the mess. You tried to make a mental note of the amount of turns that were taken, but eventually lost count.

After lying down in darkness for God knows how long, Stitch’s destination must have arrived, the main indicator being a swift blow to the back of your head to knock you out, the last thing you heard being the engines of an aircraft.

0000

"You seem a bit eager to return."

Adler takes the cigarette out of his mouth and places his hands back on the wheel. Zenya gave him a mocking side grin, waiting for a response.

"After what happened in Miami, I think some suburban scenery might be fair," was the response he came up with.

Naturally, he couldn't exactly tell her that he was excited to see you again after nearly a month. Adler wasn't granted to leisure to phone you, so Sims or someone else had to do it in his stead. He couldn't help but admit to himself that he had a sense of yearning to hold you again, and it was becoming a losing battle as he fended off his urges to give you a secret kiss on the forehead when no one else was around. The past weeks have been physically draining, and Adler just wanted to rest in your presence.

But, that would have been unprofessional of him. So the closest he would get to you was under the guise of emotional support. And if he just so happened to hold your cheek, hand, or bestow you one of his mini possessions (as a comfort item) in the name of "support", then it's permissible. That kiss was… an exception to the rule. And it should only happen once.

Fucking hormones. He was almost fifty years old and there was still room for those kinds of tenderhearted thoughts? You really were a piece of work.

"Is there someone waiting for you?" Zenya prods. "I heard Woods mention this 'Bell' person."

"Classified."

"C'mon Adler. This is the first time I've seen you like this."

"You'll meet them when we get there."

Zenya gives out a groan, before waving him off. "Still stiff as always. They must have a high tolerance of bullshit if they could handle you."

"You have no idea."

The safehouse comes into view. Nothing seemed unordinary, nor was there the smell of something burning. A part of him expected you to be waiting outside with crossed arms as you tapped your food impatiently, but remembered that he didn't exactly tell you he was returning today.

As for everyone else, they were still awaiting for their ticket home or the next set of orders. It was Adler's duty to return to the safehouse and prepare for the next op, having to brief others on the evidence board and compare it with what they had learned back in Florida.

In his pocket was the souvenir Woods managed to nick for you during the clean up sweep— a keychain of a tiny jar filled with sand and microscopic shells with the embellishing of "Florida: The Sunshine State" engraved into the glass. He told Hudson it was going on the evidence board under the guise of it potentially being related to the prison escort.

It wasn't. Not by a long run.

The car comes to a full stop, and Adler takes the keys out. But, from the moment he planted a foot onto the dirt, he knew something was wrong.

Your motorcycle was parked in its usual spot, and there weren't any unidentifiable vehicles around either. He couldn’t see it, but something inside of him screamed danger.

“Nice bike,” Zenya compliments with a whistle. She rushes over in excitement, bending down to survey the components. “Damn, I’m jealous. Who's this belong to?”

“Bell’s.”

“Is that who’s waiting for you? I like them already.” The small talk was pardoned with Adler’s dour expression as he sent a quick look towards the roof, and Zenya could sense his mood shift. "What's up?"

A steady hum coming from the safehouse told him that the generator was functioning. He expected music to be blasting from the radios but it was dead silent on your end.

"Stay sharp, something off."

Adler's worries continued to increase with each passing step. Zenya followed closely behind, shutting the door of the car with a loud thud. They both stopped in front of the shutters, Adler knocking on it a couple of times to let you know of his presence.

You did inform Sims, who in turn told him, that the CIA agents settled in smoothly. Though, he was sure you wouldn't have bothered them in the slightest, seeing how you're a bit reserved upon meeting new people. But on the chance something did happen…?

After a minute passed, no one came to raise the door.

"...Shit."

Pulling out his secondary, Adler gestures to Zenya to go around the right while he covered left. With his back stuck closely to the walls for cover, he took the extra care to make his footsteps light to avoid alerting any suspects inside.

Gazing down, there were imprints on the dirt. The indents were deep and easy to make out. The owners were carrying something large, and they faced outward, trailing away from the building. There were tire tracks as well, none that he recognized.

After affirming that there was no other suspicious activity around the perimeter, he made his way to the back, where the door handle was hanging off of it.

No gunfire was met upon entry. Instead, he was greeted with the sight of two men who were splayed across their work desk, dead and riddled with holes. The paper underneath them was stained with their own blood. Flipping them over, their eyes were open, frozen in horror, and skin cold to the touch.

"Bell?" Adler called out.

No response.

He repeated your name again, trying to hide his nerves. "Stop fucking around, Bell!"

Did you kill them?

Adler perished that thought away the moment it came into existence. No, you didn't do that anymore. You may be brash, but you weren't that mentally unstable.

He waited to hear you respond back, but to no avail. Adler paced around anxiously, looking for any clues. There were only two bodies, yet there were three of you. A lone 1911 laid lonely on the floor.

Zenya returns in the form of a jog. "There's no one in the house. No signs of struggle either."

"What the fuck happened then?"

An audible crunch came from below. Looking down, Adler removed his foot from the object he stepped on, a few pieces sticking to his soles.

It was a Walkman.

The one he gave you.

Before he could even crouch to investigate, a bright pink caught his eye. Adler marched forward to the evidence board. A knife was stabbed into it, holding up a pink flyer that advertised the grand re-opening of the mall in Pines, New Jersey.

TIME WE END THIS

Clenching his teeth, fury began to overwhelm Adler, knowing full damn well who caused the mess. The entire evidence board was all about him, and it just so happened that he came to visit on the day Adler was gone.

"Stitch."

The name was cased in such hostility and loathing that it nearly made Zenya hesitate to get closer. To see Adler in such a state was seldom, and she couldn’t even recall a moment where he acted in such a way before. His knuckles were turning pure white, nails digging into his palms.

What a coincidence that this menace had paid him a visit after becoming the current spotlight within the past few months— It was time to return the favor.

“He’s trying to bait you, Adler,” Zenya advised cautiously behind him.

“No shit.” He rips the knife out, pocketing it. She was right, but nothing was going to stop him from going. With you gone, it only added to the terror he was about to unleash. “See if the lines are still working."

Adler walked over to the smashed Walkman, dusting away the fragments. Scavenging out the tape, it was still intact, MIX 2 was written in his own handwriting. Nearby was a few drops of blood. It couldn’t have belonged to the bodies, since it was a good distance away.

Bell.

His fingers pressed against the cassette, thoughts beginning to go awry. He couldn’t bring himself to rummage through the mess or check the rooms— Adler already knew what had occurred.

Stay calm.

He grits his teeth, slipping the tape into his pockets before he crushes it in his hand.

Everything may have been set up just to entrap him, but if your life was at stake, it was just a risk he had to take. He owed it to you. As much as he wanted to walk right in, the last thing Adler wanted to do was make a decision that could cost your life.

What more did they want with you?

He should have brought you along.

When it all comes down to it, these were the cards that Perseus decided to play, and Adler could only hope you knew when to pick your battles. He wouldn't hold it against you if you spilled the beans. If you were safe and alive, that was all that mattered, and anything that resulted from information being leaked could be dealt with. He'll make sure of it.

But he knew better. If there's one thing about you he came to recognize, it was that you weren't going down without a fight.

Don't do anything stupid, [Y/N].

The sensation of freezing liquid was what shocked you awake. You had to hold your breath within that moment as whoever was there was pouring a torrent of water down on you.

With a deep gasp of air as the waterfall turned into a small stream, you found yourself in an unfamiliar place. There were a few shelves, stocked with boxes of miscellaneous items. In the corner were some large blue barrels wired with bombs, the red light blinking every five seconds. "N6" was spray painted on it.

While you were bound to a chair, Stitch positioned himself in front of you, gesturing for his comrade to lay off. There was a utility cart next to him, various tools and instruments laid down on each shelf. A repugnant feeling settled in at the sight of it, and you already knew what was about to come.

“Vikhor,” you greet sarcastically, “Your interpretation of a 'welcome back' party isn't what I had in mind."

There was a sliver of panic that started to bud within the pits of your stomach, but you buried it down. Any indication of weakness was something Stitch was looking for, and you refused to give it to him.

“What did you tell them?”

When you didn't respond, you were gifted a hard punch to your jaw. Still, you were undeterred, not even flinching. It was the type of shit you dealt with before, and you lived, so you'll do it again and again, annoying your captors as a consequence of their actions. They couldn’t do shit to you— you were too valuable. As Perseus had the bounty, you had information they wanted.

"Ahh, come on. Adler did much better than that," you taunt.

"I'll ask again. What do they know?"

You glared at Stitch as he crouched to look at his work. There were bits of your blood on him, and you noticed his knuckles were beginning to get raw. You could feel your already beginning to swell from that one hit you took, blood running down your forehead.

"Perseus had high hopes for you," Stitch discloses, and remains of jealousy barely detectable. "Who knew one of his most loyal subjects would turn out to be a disappointment like you?"

You laugh. "I bet…" you began, speaking in Russian. "Kravchenko thought the same of you, before sending you to the gulag."

Furious, he stood back up and grabbed the back of your head, yanking it back. The lightbulb above you swayed in a circular motion as it blinded you. You could see double images and halos (did he inject you with something while you were out?). "I should cut off that tongue of yours."

Don't trust Adler.

"J-Just like old times, huh? If it weren't for the general, we would have been at each other's throats constantly," you remark. “I wonder if he finally decided to croak. Would you guys invite me to his memorial service?”

“You ought to watch your words.”

Sense of time was lost as Stitch continued to badger you with violence and questions, but had no success in loosening up your lips. Your mind felt clouded, and the voices were already returning whispering unwanted messages and orders. You were bound to a metallic chair at your wrists and ankles, the arm rest already stained crimson, and you couldn't even feel your legs. Stitch had already broken your left arm and gave you a collection of slashes and punches just trying to get information out of you.

Even if you were, at one point, a higher position than Stitch, there was always that deadly aura that radiated off of his person that would make you stiffen at first glance. And now that he has a complete advantage, you refused to even buckle despite the punishment you were put under. Sarcasm was a great way to cloud it, but with him, it was like prodding a bear with a stick.

Know where your loyalties lie.

“Shut up,” you hissed under your breath, sick and tired of hearing manipulative voices.

Stitch grinds his teeth at your comment, before he notices a silver glint near your collarbone. Curiously, he pulls it out from your shirt.

The dog tags.

"Disgusting," he verbally recoils, "Adler made you his."

You held your tongue.

"...Good thing that he's coming here to the mall, eh? And after I'm done with you, he'll come to discover your body." Stitch lets the tags slip away from his hand, and it returns to hanging around your neck without a care in the world. Why he didn’t add it to his collection, you didn’t know. Stitch walked over to the silver table, picking up a well polished combat knife. Brandishing it, he took a moment to let its beauty sink in, looking at both sides. "I wonder what kind of face Adler will make when he sees his precious pet broken to pieces."

“Vikhor.” He was met with a dark expression. "If even one of your fingers even touches him, I will fucking kill you."

"After all these years, you're still an annoying little brat."

Your threat didn't seem to faze him.

"Is that how you talk to your superior?" you sneer, recalling the meeting years ago. It felt enthralling to act like this, taunting the man who held your life in his hands. Seeing Stitch's muscles tense at each word, hands balled into fists, you knew he could only withstand so much backlash before finally snapping.

It was a idiotic thing to do, but the fear had to be cloaked. Keeping a cool head would be the correct approach in this scenario, but teasing Stitch was just too good of an opportunity to pass up. This was the same shit you did with Adler years ago, and you were going to do it again, unintentionally or not.

“I'll never understand why the general trusted you, out of all people, to deal with him,” his deep voice projects, maintaining eye contact with you. He Tosses the blade into his opposite hand. “Look what happened. I'm the one that has to clean up your mess."

“It fits your name though— Stitch. Fixing up everything...” You give him a derisive smirk. “Just get it over with, Vikhor. Aren't you getting bored of beating a dead horse?"

“As a matter of fact... I am.”

Grabbing your face, he points the knife directly at your left eye. The edge glistened under the light, highlighting the little grooves and bits of rust in the metal. Your eyes follow it, going to the handle where Stitch gripped it tightly, before trailing up to his face, where the look of bloodlust radiated off of him. You could tell he was just waiting to put the knife to use.

“An eye for an eye, was it?”

He takes the opportunity to let the tip of the knife dig into your skin just right above your eyebrow. Stitch proceeds to slowly drag it downward, and you grip the ends of the armrest and curl your toes as you feel your own flesh being cut open. You suck in some air, preventing yourself from whimpering.

You may have been trained and conditioned to resist all forms of interrogation, but this was just testing your life endurance at this point, your sanity just on the urge of breaking. How long have you been here?

His hand prevented you from flinching away. It was excruciating, and you had to hold your breath to prevent a blood curdling scream from coming out. You could only go down the dictionary of English and Russian swears in your mind as white seared.

Stitch stops, the blade mere millimeters from entering the eye socket. His eyes surveyed you carefully, just waiting for any reaction that would grant him some kind of sadistic satisfaction.

"G...Getting sympathetic are we?" you strain.

The chill of the metal was already lost as warm blood streaked down your face. Your index finger twitches as you feel the blade graze against your eyelid. What the fuck is he waiting for?

"To think we used to work with you," he says, voice quaking with anger. His grip around the handle tightens. His control and handling of the knife was impressive, to say the least, but his inability to make you break was a whole ordeal on its own. "Such a shame to have things turn out this way."

You drew back your lips before spitting at Stitch. "Хуй тебе́."

It landed right on his mask. The brute didn't even flinch or budge, but his eyebrows were deeply furrowed, a vein popping out on his forehead. To see that you got him to such heights of vexation was an accomplishment. Using him as a doormat to let loose verbal insults and taking him lightly was no easy feat, especially with your own life on the line.

Sorry, Russ. I guess I am damaged goods.

In the last few seconds, you see the muscles in Stitch's arm tense, the hues becoming visible just as he delivers your comeuppance in an instantaneous swipe.

#bet you didn't SEE that coming #lmao so anyways ill see myself out #call of duty x reader #russell adler x reader #russell adler x bell #bo:cw #adler x reader #cod black ops cold war #black ops cold war #call of duty #fanfic #bell #russell adler #abcd briefing #having one eye in call of duty is a fashion statement now #but hey bell and stitch are twinsies now awww #text #call of duty imagine

153 notes · View notes

aciid-eater · 4 years

Note

Hello pretty, if you are not very busy you could do Yandere senku heacanon general before and after the petrification

I’m literally so sorry this took so long—-

Yandere Senku Hcs

Before petrification

- Now normally I don’t see Senku proclaiming his love often

-And that doesn’t change much as a yandere

-it’s less of a “I love you, why would you want to leave me?” And more of a “You’re mine, theres no one better for you”

-he isn’t touchy, he isn’t clingy

-but he expects you to know who you belong to.

-If someone asks you out, he better hear the obligatory “no thank you, I’m with Senku”

-or if someone wants to hang out with you while you’re with him, he’ll wait for the “I’m okay, it’s my time with Senku right now.’

-if you’re good, he’ll have no problems.

-he likes to provide for you

-he’ll buy your lunch, take you to the lab and teach you things, let you participate in the cute expiriments and such.

-but don’t piss him off

-please

-Senku’s punishments hurt your feelings.

-“All I want is for my pet to know it’s place.”

-he’ll drop small drops of chemicals on your hands to burn them, but just a bit.

-He’ll wait until the pain becomes too much and you’re chocking out tearful apologies on the counter before he stops.

-Then he’ll slide up next to you, slide his calloused hand up your jaw to wipe away your tears, then deliver that signature line.

-“you know I love you. That’s why you’re my pet, because I’m 10 billion percent sure no one else can treat you better than I do.”

After petrification

-Things aren’t too different here.

-if anything, it’s easier.

-only, a couple lonely thousand years has left Senku just a bit clingy.

-He wants you in the hut while he’s working.

-If you’ve had a good day, and you’re quiet, he’ll let you sit on his lap while he works

-hunting trips for you are a no go

-getting too close to the villagers are a no go

-it was different when it was just Taiju and Yuzuriha, but when he sees you all hugged up on Chrome or Kinro, it’s a problem

-on good days, he’ll sit you between his legs and let you tinker with the raw Resources he’s working with

-on bad days, he’ll test new skin care materials on your arms and neck.

-but then once again, he’ll give you that sweet look, whisper something nice in your ear and you’re putty in his hands again.

-Besides, even if a few minor villagers go mysteriously missing, who else can treat you better?

#senku x reader #ishigami senku #dr.stone fanfiction #dr.stone x reader #senku #Yandere Senku

663 notes · View notes

writingthingsisdifficult · 3 years

Text

Double booking

Word count: 3934

You just want a night in peace at the hotel, after travelling for hours, but alas, it's not to be. Inspired by a dream I had a while ago, though that was not as coherent or logical by any means.

Obligatory English is not my first language.

Please let me know what you think.

_______________________________________________________________________

The bed is soft as a cloud and you crawl under the blanket with a satisfied sight. The chill of the luxury fabric feels divine against your weary body, and you pull our tee off to get the full experience. Goosebumps erupt over your back, and you wiggle down into the mattress. Letting out another sigh that morphs into a yawn, you close your eyes. After hours on the road, a good night's sleep will do wonders.

You turn for a bit, trying to find the ultimate sleeping position, settling for a half side, half stomach that provide that sweet, sweet relief for your achy back. With your free hand, you pull a corner of the blanket between your thighs, longing for the extra soft pillow you have at home, but that you just couldn't be bothered to bring with you. At least this way you won't chafe.

The linen caresses your bare skin, the cool of the newly made bed pulling you closer to dreamland, and then you're drifting off into the vast nothingness.

What feels like only seconds later, you wake with a start, from the lights turning on. Fumbling for your glasses and feeling your heart in your throat, your brain scrambles to make sense of what's happening. Is the fire alarm ringing? No.

Once the glasses are comfortably on, you glance around, only to notice a man standing in front of the wardrobe, mouth half open and a bag slipping from his shoulder. He's tall and menacing looking, and he's wearing gloves and a leather jacket, and you let out a strangled scream as you tumble off the bed, knocking the book from the nightstand and trying to wrap the thin blanket around yourself with trembling hands.

The fabric feels way too flimsy now, letting the draft from the open door wash over your body. There are goosebumps again, but this time they're not pleasant at all, and they wave back and forth over your scalp, making your ears buzz. You're painfully aware that the blanket is the only thing between your skin and the open air, and you pull it even closer as you back into the window wall and pull your knees up in front of you.

Your heart pounds like a bass drum, and you're pretty sure the stranger can hear it across the room. He still hasn't moved, and without conscious thought, you scan the room for an exit. But this is the fifth floor, and there's only one door that doesn't require you to go past him, and that leads to the neighbouring room. Not that it is, in any way, shape, or form, possible to get that far in your current condition.

Your breathing speeds up, and you crouch, trying to make yourself as small as possible. The coarse curtain prickles against your shoulders.

The stranger looks between you and the white key card on his hand, his mouth trying to speak, but managing no sound. Finally, after what feels like years, he looks away and stammers. "Sorry. Sorry. I must have gone to the wrong door." His neck has turned a deep shade of crimson, and he hunches his shoulders a bit, like he's trying to make himself smaller too. "I… uh, sorry." He picks up his bag and disappears through the door, closing it firmly behind him.

On the floor, you're barely aware that he spoke; the shock has practically paralysed you. It's not until the door smacks shut you manage to move again. Slowly, fighting the galloping heart and breathing, you get up and sit down on the edge of the bed. It's no longer tempting to crawl under the covers, and you don't have the courage to cross the room to put the security chain in place just yet. The encounter has spooked you so much, adrenaline is coursing through your body.

"I need a drink!" you mutter, voice croaking and airy at the same time, and pull on the discarded shirt. There's no chance of sleep for a while. That much is clear! "Idiot!" You berate yourself, mentally slapping the back of your own head for forgetting to fasten the chain, but you had been so busy worrying about the twin door that it completely slipped your mind.

The selection in the mini fridge is limited, but at least there's a couple of bottles of cola, and a small vodka. After mixing them, you down half the glass in one go, and the burn of the alcohol on your tongue makes your face scrunch, but you immediately relax a bit, and your thoughts clear somewhat. What the hell just happened? This is supposed to be a good hotel. Not very fancy, but better than the bug infested dumps you usually have to stay in.

You make a mental note to talk to the management. Tomorrow. Right now you're to riled up. Nothing good will come of it. Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes and focus on the buzzing in your ears. Slowly it fades until your hearing is back to normal, but there is no getting rid of the uncomfortable sting in your shoulders, or the occasional THUMP-THUMP in your chest.

As you finish your drink – you've almost decided on a second one to keep you company while you read for a bit – there's a sharp knock at the door. That makes you jump and spill the remains of your glass down your front. That doesn't register, though, because the door opens again, without waiting for a reply. You groan at yourself for once again not fastening the safety chain.

A stern looking woman enter, followed by the stranger, who, you notice, looks almost ashamed. "You're in this gentleman's room." It's a statement, but she might as well have yelled why are you here, you creep?

"Um, what?" You desperately try to jump-start your brain; this is definitely enough excitement for one night. After all, it is past midnight, and by all means you should be sleeping now.

"This is not your room," the woman says, in a voice that shows clearly what she thinks of you.

A frown appears on the man's face, and you squint between them. "What, yes it is." Your voice is breathy, and with a sigh through your nose, you grab the folder on the desk and pull out the papers from the check-in. "See, here? This is my name, that's the room number –" Suddenly your stomach plummets. What if you are in the wrong room? But the key card worked… A glance at the still open door – no, right room. You let out a small breath.

The woman grabs the papers and studies them, while holding out her hand to the man, wiggling her fingers when he doesn't respond. He fumbles with his bag and produces a set of identical papers. She compares the two, the furrow between her eyes deepening every second.

Finally she looks up. "My apologies. It appears there's been a misunderstanding," she says, her voice a lot softer than earlier, tired. She turns to the man behind her. "The room has been double booked or something."

That much is obvious. He nods. "Yes. Will you find me another room, please." He speaks softly too, and the panic that threatened to overcome you earlier subsides a little. He is just another weary traveller – of course he isn't here to hurt you. That thought seems quite silly now, or maybe that's the drink talking.

"Sorry," the lady says flatly. "There are no vacancies." She winces slightly, as if she prepares to be yelled at.

His shoulders slump, and he lets out a small groan, looking at you, then at her. "But…"

You smile apologetically and take another sip of your drink. It is empty, and you grimace from the embarrassment.

"However," the woman says after a pause, visibly relieved that neither of you seems to be the shouting types, "since it's so late, and you probably won't find a room anywhere else tonight, what with the festival and everything, I can probably set up something in the lobby. We have a few partition walls and –"

He scrunches his eyes shut and grimaces, and you feel sorry for him. He is a stranger, and you were in the room first, but it's not his fault that the hotel screwed up. Sleeping in the lobby is not an alternative. Your mother raised you better than that.

"Wait," you interrupt her, and they both turn to look at you. This is probably a bad idea, but the man looks nice enough now that the shock has diminished. His eyes are kind and tired and though he holds himself with authority, he keeps a respectable distance from both you and the other woman.

Gesturing to the unused bed next to yours, you try a smile and sigh when you feel it's just a grimace. "If… if it's okay with you, it is with me. You can have that bed tonight. And then we'll sort it out in the morning."

The woman's face relaxes, and you wonder how many rules she offered to break to keep you happy. The man frowns, as if he doesn't quite understand what you're offering. Maybe he doesn't, maybe he doesn't speak English very well. Then he gives you a flat smile. "You sure?"

Are you? "Yes," you answer, not at all sure, but it's too late to change your mind now.

"Well then, I bid you both a good night, and I'll leave a note for the morning staff, Mr Barnes." The woman leaves the room and shuts the door with a soft click.

"Y/N." You nod, hoping you look relatively normal, though you feel everything but, with your glasses askew on your nose, a tattered t-shirt and no bottoms. Awesome. At least the shirt is long enough to cover your butt.

The man remains by the door, looking forlorn and confused. "Bucky." He looks everywhere but directly at you, and for that you're grateful.

"Please," you say with a small nod, gesturing to the bed and the light switch on the wall beside him. "I'm really tired…"

Carefully you get back into bed and tucks the blanket tight around yourself, feeling a bit dizzy from what just happened. But you are really too tired to care at the moment, and the soft pillows are screaming your name.

Turning over on your side, with your back against the windows, you pointedly yawn and close your eyes to give the stranger some privacy. Seconds later you hear the soft thump of a duffel bag hitting the carpet, and a small click. Then the bathroom door opens and the man shuffles in.

As the door shuts, you dare to open your eyes again. He's switched off the light, but there's a small sliver leaking under the door, and you see shadows move over the floor. There is something soothing about the noises of running water and the clacks of his belongings on the marble countertop, and it suddenly occurs to you how much you miss travelling withsomeone.

Once he's done and the bathroom door opens, you close your eyes again. The bed creaks under his weight, and the sheets rustle as he gets in. Something heavy hits the headboard, but not long after, he settles.

You sneak a peek through half-open eyes. The man is handsome. Sharp, but gentle features, a calm face, but he's lying on his back, stiff as if he's unused to the luxuries of a bed. His arms are on top of the blanket, and in your sleepiness you wonder why he's keeping his gloves on when he's sleeping.

"Good night," you offer gently, before sighing and pulling the blanket over your ears. The warmth and muted sounds give you a sense of safety, though it is minimal.

"Good night," he replies. "And thank you."

You wake up earlier than usual. The red numbers on the alarm clock blinks 06.38. Something feels off in the room, and for a fraction on a second you feel panic rise in your chest, but then you remember the night's events. The panic fades into a vague discomfort, and you grab your glasses. The man, his name is Bucky, hadn't he said so, is still sleeping, his gloved hand under the pillow and one foot dangling over the edge of the bed. It's kinda adorable.

As quietly as you can, you get out of bed and tip-toe to the bathroom, collecting your clothes on the way. You quickly change and put on contacts, leaving the glasses by the sink, not really daring to take a shower with the stranger in the room next to you. Instead, you splash water in your face and drag a brush through your hair, and with a short glance in the mirror, you deem yourself presentable.

Careful to bring your wallet and your key card, you exit the room and walk briskly to the elevator. The trip down to the lobby only take half a minute, but it feels like an eternity, and once you step out of the door, you're met with a buzz of voices from the lobby. Oh, yeah, the festival.

Luckily there's not much of a queue. Most people are on their way out, or to breakfast. The staff are too happy and smiling for it to be this early, and they're chatting and laughing with the guests, pointing their way to the restaurant or showing places of interest on the map on the counter.

"Good morning, what can I do for you?" one of the receptionists chirp.

You wince internally and focus on bringing a neutral expression to your face. It's not easy, as you'd rather be back in bed. "Yes, uh, I don't know if the night employee let you know, but there was a mix-up with my room last night."

The receptionist frowns, then smiles apologetically. "Ah, yes. There's a note here. Room 508, right?"

You nod. "Yeah."

He calls over his colleague, and motions for you to wait a moment. They talk silently together, sometimes gesturing to the screen, and then he starts typing and scrolling. "Looks like," he says, interrupting himself. "Yeah. Oh god. Lisa, will you look at this?"

His colleague looks at the screen over his shoulder. "Oh, jeez. Really? She's so gonna get fired, for sure," she mutters, then look up at you. "Yeah, so there's definitely been a mix-up. It looks like housekeeping accidentally marked Mr. Barnes' room as occupied when they had cleaned it. It shouldn't be possible, but to me it looks like… a glitch in the computer system –" She lets out a guttural groan, most likely thinking about the amount of work she now faces.

The one behind the screen clears his throat and gives you what is probably supposed to be a disarming smile, then continues to type. "So, I've updated the database with Mr. Barnes' new room, and yours of course. Would you accept a refund of the night, and a meal in the restaurant, free of charge, of course?"

You nod again, unable to find the words to express how not okay this whole thing has been. "If you offer the same to Mr. Barnes," you say, not sure where that comes from, though when you think about it, he's probably had just as rough a night as you.

"Of course. Here's his new key. Would you mind bringing it to him?" The receptionist's voice trembles ever so slightly, but he keeps the smile plastered on.

"Yeah. I can do that. Thank you for figuring out what happened." You inhale deeply, and rub the back of your neck. Your shoulders are stiff and the beginning of a headache murmurs along your temples.

Now that everything is resolved, you feel weirdly chunky. You drag your feet, your head feels like it's filled with cotton, but there's a lightness to your chest that you hadn't expected.

Back in the room, Bucky is still sleeping, and you decide to let him sleep as long as he needs, feeling almost protective over the man that sleeps so peacefully in the bed that should have been empty. Anyway, you're up now, there's no need to stay in the room. Just then, your stomach growls. Breakfast, then. And after that… Well, you'll see. You hastily scribble an explanation on a piece of paper, leaving it on his bag along with the new key card, then you hang a do not disturb on the door before you hurry down to the restaurant.

When you get back, stomach full and head light, the room is empty. His bag is gone and the only sign someone's been in there is a bed with rumpled sheets and the slightly unfamiliar, sleepy scent. You sit down on your own bed, surprised that you're not sure how you feel about being alone again. It's probably the shock still lingering in your system, you think, and shake the feeling off before picking up your art supplies and heading out into the city to work.

That afternoon, when you return to your room to change and relax before you start sorting through the day's drawings, there's a vase with hydrangeas on the small desk, along with a handwritten note that says thank you for letting me stay. The ball of blue and purple flowers makes you smile. Bucky obviously is a decent man, and you find yourself wishing you could get to know him, regretting not even peeking at the room number on the key.

It doesn't take long going through the drawings – you've been too distracted, really, to get any good ones done, and the project isn't due for another two weeks, so you don't have the pressure on you to finish it now, so you decide to take the hotel's offer and have dinner in the restaurant. It's a nice place, and you try to tidy up a bit, refreshing your make-up and putting on a clean top that feels nice against your skin.

The waiters all but trip over each other trying to please you, and you figure there's a nice note going with your name. You've always felt a bit uncomfortable eating by yourself in a fancy restaurant, but this time you're determined to just enjoy it, but you've brought a book just in case. And you're partly hidden behind a palm tree, so no staring from other guests, hopefully.

You're halfway through the meal when you feel your face tingling, as if someone's watching you. Stopping mid-chew, you look up. There's no one there. You swallow and put your fork down before glancing over your shoulder. Bucky is seated three tables behind you, but when you look at him, he looks away. Your heart speeds up a bit – christ! You'd forgotten how pretty he was.

He looks up again, and you smile before returning to your meal. At least you can let him know there's no hard feelings. Maybe, if you see him again, you'll pick up the courage to talk to him too.

The food is delicious, and the dessert is simply sublime. How the chef has managed to make the chocolate mousse so creamy and light is beyond your comprehension. Cooking has never been a strength, though you have a few signature dishes, but you know how to appreciate it. The red wine is perfectly paired, and when you're full and satisfied, you're almost ready to go talk to Bucky. But he's not there when you turn. Your heart drops for a moment, but then you remind yourself that he's a stranger, and probably has his own life. All you can do to quench the disappointment, is a short detour through the bar, where you pick up a nice gin fizz, before you head back to your room and call it a night.

The room feels too empty now. The bed is just as soft as it were before, the covers slide over your skin like water, but something is missing. You can't sleep. The room is too silent. The air is too still. You toss and turn and can't seem to find a comfortable position. In the end you roll over on your side, facing the empty bed. Hugging the pillow, you sigh and pull your knees up to your chest. It's too cold. The blanket isn't thick enough to give enough comfort tonight.

Suddenly there's a soft knock on the door. Your heart beats hard in your chest as you cross the floor to look through the peephole. The hallway is empty.

There's another knock, and you jump, bumping your head against the door. It's coming from the other one. The twin door. Slowly, you remove the safety chain and unlock it, opening it just an inch or so.

"Sorry," the person on the other side says.

For a moment you forget how to breathe. The person on the other side is Bucky, smiling sheepishy, and looking like a fucking model in his pyjamas.

"Hello," you answer, resisting the urge to smooth down your t-shirt.

"I just, I just wanted to apologise," he stutters, scrunching his eyebrow together. "For, for last night. I didn't mean to… I mean, I didn't mean to scare you, and the lady in the reception jumped to conclusions before I could explain, and…"

You blink and exhale slowly. "Not your fault," you mutter, too drunk on his presence to articulate properly.

"I know, but still. I'm sorry."

"You're forgiven."

"Good. Okay." His voice drags a bit, and it looks like he's turning away. You're just about to close the door when he turns back. "Listen… Uh, it's… Can I ask you a favour?"

Not ready for the conversation to be over yet, you nod. "Of course. What do you need?"

He grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck and hems and ums for a while. "This is gonna sound… You can say no, of course, but…"

"What is it?" The buzzing has returned to your ears, and you have to focus to hear what he's saying.

Bucky mutters under his breath, it looks like a screw it. "Last night was the best night's sleep I've had in, well years. I was wondering, maybe, if… if I could sleep in your room again."

You're a bit taken back by that. "What?" Your voice is squeaky.

"Yeah, no, of course, I understand." He smiles and inhales deeply. "Good night, Y/N."

It takes a second for your brain to unscramble. "Wait. Yes, I don't mind. It's nice with some company," you wheeze, holding the door open, though a small voice in the back of your head tells you that this is crazy. Not crazier than last night, you interrupt yourself, and open the door fully.

There's uncertainty in his steps as he enters your room, invited this time, unsure if he's heard correctly, but your smile makes him warm inside and he quickly crawls under the covers.

You leave the door ajar, and with a giddy smile and a racing heart you return to your own bed, climbing in with more grace than you thought you possessed. This is nice. The room is settled, it feels natural. You exhale and turn over on your side, facing Bucky. He's facing you too, and there's a sleepy smile in his eyes. As you place your glasses on the nightstand, he closes his eyes.

"Thank you," he breathes.

"Sleep tight, Bucky," you answer, but he's already drifted off, soft snores filling the room. You feel oddly at peace.

Part 2

#bucky barnes x reader #marvel #bucky barnes #fluff #sleeping #misunderstandings #hotels #oneshot #fan fiction #fanfic

107 notes · View notes