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kaznejis · 11 months

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Public affair- Bucky Barnes x Reader

The Avengers PR department designs the perfect fake relationship for you- the key to instant fame and high ratings. Except, you’re already in a relationship with Bucky.

Word Count: 8.2k / Read it on AO3! / Part 2!

Enjoy!

“You’re joking- tell me she’s joking right?” you laughed, turning in the padded desk chair you had been ushered into upon entering the meeting room to stare at Nick Fury- the man only stared back at you, nonchalant as ever.

“No, Miss L/N, we aren’t joking,” he rose, striding towards the refreshments table to pour himself a fresh coffee, “We find that this initiative will be … beneficial towards our engagement and how the public perceive the Avengers.”

The young, public representations co-ordinator that had informed you of the plan nodded then, shuffling a stack of folders and clicking her heels under the table; a mixture of excitement and optimism, “Miss, this project will see a significant rise in traction towards the Avengers, I mean, come on- you’re young and hot; everyone either wants to be you, be with you or see you in a beautiful, public relationship. Seeing as though the first two are impossible; this is the only option.”

“Okay,” you nodded, twirling a pen before aiming it at the woman, “Did you, may perhaps, forget the part where I’m in a relationship already?”

The woman sighed then, her lips thinning; the plump redness of her lipstick almost disappearing as stress lines creased her face. Trailing a finger down the edge of her folders, she spoke slowly- as if coaxing a rabid dog, “You see- Mr Barnes isn’t exactly, you know, the kind of person for a project like this–”

“Seriously? Isn’t a public display of affection what this is all about?”

“No, Y/N- this is about public ratings. The public will not bide well with you having any form of a relationship with someone like … Mr Barnes; it would be career suicide for me and everyone in the PR department.”

You nodded, humming and scrunching your eyebrows together as if about to say something inquisitive until your face dropped entirely, “Yeah, okay. I’m leaving.”

Nick stopped you before you could leave your seat, raising a hand and rendering you seated with the simple gesture, “Just hear her out, Miss L/N.”

“Fury- you’re telling me you approve of this? You recruited us to be superheroes; not influencers.”

Nick turned then, placing his mug of coffee down and retreating back towards the table before sitting directly across from you; a pensive look on his face, “I’m sorry Y/N, but our ratings have dropped significantly recently. If people don’t support us, they won’t want us to save them. Just hear Sophia out.”

Scoffing, you turned in your seat to glare at ‘Sophia’ who only continued to click her heels beneath the table, perhaps it had been nerves after all. “The plan is to have you appear in a few high profile locations with our high profile representative,” she reached for a remote and activated the projector before you, pictures of your ‘selection’ appeared, “So- don’t worry we have preliminarily selected your choice for you-”

“I don’t even get a choice?” you spat, leaning towards the woman in your chair; nothing but shock prevalent in your features, “So you’re shipping me off to just about anyone you can find?”

“He is not just anyone!” Sophia snapped, her curled blonde hair bobbing back and forth as she seemed genuinely offended, “We have specially selected the perfect man for you; he’s military and is the first to gain three medals of honour. He’s a similar age and he is extremely respected within the public right now as he recently donated a lot of money to a selection of charities. It’s perfect!” She sat back in her chair as if overlooking an art piece, hands clasped together.

Fury sighed, thumbing at his brow, “I’m sorry Y/N- but you’re arguably our most favoured female avenger- the public love you.” Raising his hands, he turned towards the projector where a recent video of you coaxing a herd of school children away from a fire began to play- your grip on their shoulders protective as you led each one away to safety. “You’re a positive influence towards our younger audiences and we all know that teen audiences love a good romance.”

“You know, Fury,” you spoke slowly, lifting your feet to rest them on top of the table- much to Sophia’s chagrin, “Prostitution is illegal in the United States Of America.”

“Y/N-”

“Oh my Goodness!”

“Y/N, don’t be ridiculous,” Nick composed himself, straightening his blazer and huffing at you, “It’s just a few dinners, picnics- whatever you kids like to do. You don’t even have to meet with him behind closed doors. It is strictly professional.”

Shaking your head, you huffed- lowering your feet from the table and sitting back in your chair, “And what about Bucky? Hm? What will he think of this?”

Fury opened his mouth to speak, though before he could, Sophia butted in; her voice urgent but smug, “Actually, Mr Barnes did agree to it. He was completely happy for you to do so.”

“You’re lying.” You snapped, your voice stone-cold; disgusted at the woman before you who was willing to pamper with your relationship. You and Bucky had endured too much for the lower departments of Stark Tower to have any form of a say in your relationship- too much hardship, trauma and healing as you had fought both figurative and literal battles together. Despair swirled in your gut as you realised that others didn’t see Bucky the same way you did- seeing him only for the past that he had no say in and the contractual record that created a constant, trawling paper trail behind him. Every step he took was slowed by the consequential weight of his past. They didn’t see the same Bucky that made you breakfast in the morning or cuddled into your back at night. The same Bucky that woke up sweating, crying, screaming more nights than not, the same one that had fervently torn the hair from his head as the slightest change in position reminded him of the grease and decay that had once tainted his sight. They would never understand the complexity of Bucky Barnes and the beautiful flaws that etched beneath the tinge of his skin.

Sophia’s mouth twisted in visibly faked sympathy, her lipstick now dyeing the edges of her lips red with an abrasive smudge. “Luckily, I predicted you would act like this, so I ensured to get his signature as solid proof for you. I don’t see any reason as to why you couldn’t be involved in this so you just need to scroll down and sign the next box.” She turned the screen before you and low and behold- Bucky’s signature lay before you in his individual bold scrawl. Tony had recently introduced a new system in order to avoid fraud and increase confidentiality- everything in Stark tower is accessed through fingerprints. Nothing unwanted can get in and nothing important could get out without sufficient clearance. Bucky was the only person that could have input the specific signature- the system making it impossible to replicate. Unease tinged in your throat then, if Bucky had truly agreed to this, then surely it would be for the best? If anyone were to understand the feeling of rage and disapproval within the public eye, it was Bucky.

“Did he … say anything when he agreed?”

She smiled, the creases not quite reaching her eyes as they squinted, “He said that it was a great idea and he showed his full support for you. He said, and I quote, that he will willingly watch from the sidelines. What a great boyfriend, huh?”

You nodded, your attempts to hide the upset twist of your lips a failure as you scanned your fingerprint against the screen- Sophia’s face practically alive with glee as she confirmed its existence. As you shook hands with her, confirming a later meeting date- you failed to notice the lack of input from Nick.

For hours you stewed over Bucky’s easy acceptance of the project- how he had essentially signed you away to be with another man in public whilst he watched in private. You had only recently discussed the potentiality of going public with your relationship- the irony of the conversation involving the detail of it being as simple as a few high profile sightings, a bit of PDA here and there.

Maybe he hadn’t been as comfortable as he had seemed, you pondered as you leant against the kitchen counter that night- alone in the large, dark room as you had been unable to sleep. Slipping away from Bucky’s arms had been an easy task as he had collapsed into bed after a particularly exhausting day of sparring with Sam and Steve as according to his usual training program. Whilst he had enjoyed time with his friends; entirely unaffected by this plan surrounding your image- the bomb had been dropped straight into your lap.

“Doll, is that you?” A gruff voice sounded from the hallway, the sound of bare feet against tile sounded as Bucky entered the kitchen- dressed in only a white, threadbare shirt and chequered boxers. He frowned upon seeing you, lowering the hand that had been scrubbing his eye as he spotted something in your features, “Why are you out here so late?”

“Just thirsty,” you smiled shallowly, offering him your glass of water as he neared you; curling an arm around your waist and trailing figures of eight upon your back.

“Come back to bed with me? I gotta’ get my Doll time in before I leave for that mission in the morning.”

Nodding, you smiled- cuddling into the warmth of his chest. He had been assigned to the take down of a suspected hydra base out in Mexico, He’d be gone for a week at most. You suspected that was why he had so easily agreed to the contract- its duration was only for as long as popularity surrounding the matter prevailed; which would also be a week at the most.

Before you could respond, he pulled you away from his chest; his head tilted as he furrowed his eyebrows at you, “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m-”

“Y/N, be honest with me.”

You crumpled, your teeth clinging to your lips as you stared up at his concerned features, “The project that PR made you sign for- do you … do you really approve?”

Bucky shrugged, nodding as he rubbed at your shoulders, “Of course. It would be great to be seen out like that. The people love you Y/N. I mean, it could arguably be the perfect test run for revealing our relationship to the public, you know, see how they react to this and then we can continue from there.”

You felt your stomach fall as he spoke- the remnants of betrayal shook you as the residual sense of understanding that was always directed towards Bucky attempted to outweigh it. Rational thought prevailed as you tried, begged, wished to understand exactly why he had approved of this. Bucky had previously leaned into the role of the stereotypical ‘protective boyfriend’- a constant hand on your back, ever-watchful eyes, stares across crowded rooms. This was entirely out of his character. “Really?” your voice was weak, almost betraying you to the reveal of your inner turmoil.

Bucky smiled, rubbing at your back and leaning forward to place a kiss behind your ear, his lips tracing the sensitive skin there, “Of course.” He stared down at you, curling a metal finger around a loose strand of hair and moving to tuck it behind your ear, “let’s go to bed Doll, it’s late.”

“Buck, can we talk about this again in the morning?”

“Sure.” Bucky shrugged, amusement combined with confusion graced his features as he led you back towards your shared bedroom- the dual shuffle of barefeet the only prevalent sound within the silent hallway. However, your mind spoke a different tune- insecurities and doubts swarming your mind like hawks to their prey. The usual warmth of Bucky felt cold, unfamiliar- everything felt wrong.

But if Bucky trusted the judgement of something, you would always follow it compliantly.

The conversation never managed to take place the following morning, the pillow beside you was vacant by the time you woke up. Only a note detailing the early set off for the mission left in Bucky’s wake. The note, written in his familiar scrawl, detailed his love for you- you could only think about the way in which that same writing had signed you off to be seen on the arm of another man. Your morning consisted of moping, ignoring your scheduled appointments and moping some more. It was only when Friday presented you with a particularly urgent announcement that you were able to leave your reprieve.

“Miss Y/N- Sophia has requested your presence in the meeting room to discuss your upcoming appearances.” You scoffed as you pulled on just about any pieces of somewhat matching clothing you could find- not too bothered about your look as you were staying only in the confines of Stark Tower.

“Perfect!” Sophia squealed as you walked in; a blonde, muscular man stood beside her at the head of the meeting room- wearing casual clothing suspiciously similar to yours, “Y/N, it’s perfect- I didn’t even give you a dress code and you already knew!”

Shaking your head, you entered the room; your features visibly failed to hide your confusion, “Sorry?”

“Sorry, how rude of me!” Sophia turned towards the man beside her, stepping behind him and presenting him to you by the shoulders. The man gave you a sideways smirk; his mouth slightly lopsided due to the extent of his sharp jaw, “Y/N meet John Walker- your new boyfriend!” Clapping as she completed the sentence, Sophia was practically jumping on the spot as she grinned at the two of you. Just to appease her, you shook John’s hand- smiling somewhat-warmly at him.

“Sophia- he’s not my ‘new boyfriend’ we have gone over this- strictly professional.”

“Of course, of course,” she rounded the table and lowered herself into a seat, opening a folder as the two of you sat at each seat beside her, “So, a couple of details for you both. You will begin with a simple coffee date, hence the casual clothing, stir up a little bit of talk and then a few dinners to follow. Now, to the best part, drumroll please!” Both you and John continued to stare at her, “Finally, to end the contract, you will attend the high profile Stark annual charity gala together.”

“Sorry, what?” You froze- the gala was held every year; an opportunity for Tony to flaunt his extravagant wealth under the guise of donating large sums of money to a number of causes. Most importantly, Bucky would be at this gala- the two were not supposed to cross. “Sophia, Bucky’s going to be at that gala, I can’t possibly-”

“Have you forgotten Y/N?” Her voice cold and sardonic, the sound of it grating and rendering you silent, “Mr Barnes approved of all of this.”

Nodding, you frowned, lowering your guard as the harsh reminder struck you, “Of course, but- he couldn’t have possibly agreed to this, I mean, it’s been agreed that we were going to go together- why would he go back on that?”

“I don’t know, Y/N,” Sophia shrugged her shoulders in mock confusion, appearing to be pondering on your question, “Maybe he just saw the benefits of this. There’s always other charity galas that you can attend later.”

“Sure… of course.”

“Thank you,” you watched as Sophia flipped the page of her folder, “If you feel like continuing this agreement past the gala we can- but, I see it as a great end point. Once all is done, we will simply release a statement adding it all up to rumours or just fate. Outlets will be having the time of their lives over the next week. Me and my team will give a few strategically placed source reviews throughout the period- give the story at least a bit of credibility and all,” Sophia stood suddenly then, her curls shaking at the momentum, “I was thinking we could begin now?”

Defeated, you agreed without fight; finding yourself being escorted to the ground floor with John following simple instructions- get coffee and look like you’re having fun. It wasn’t the most difficult task- you enjoyed a cup of coffee and John was a fairly nice guy.

“Hey, don’t worry about this too much- I got a girl back home myself.”

“Really?” You smiled, pleased that your pain wasn’t entirely one-sided, “So- did she agree easily too or-”

John laughed then, a smirk forming as his teeth glinted in the New York sunlight; he carried an ever-present feeling of arrogance within himself, “God, no. She kicked up a fight- it was only when they offered us the money that we agreed to this.”

Pausing, you plastered a fake smile and laughed heartily as you sensed the presence of a phone camera flashing behind you- you had been spotted. “Sorry, John, what money?” You grabbed his arm as you spoke, framing the image of the average, romantic-fueled coffee date.

“You don’t-” he turned away from the camera, looking you sincerely in the eye, “You don’t know? You shook your head, “Oh- well, I wasn’t too convinced by the whole fame thing, no offence, so I only agreed to do this if they paid me.”

Continuing your pretence, you just smiled- stroking his arm in order to appease the cameras as well as ease the swirling in your gut- had Bucky really so easily agreed to have you pawned off, simply to appease the opinion of the public? Bucky had never cared for them- not once throughout your time together had he cared about the whispers and the glares and the threats- he had ignored them, steering you away from the bustle of New York and opted to take you into the quieter streets of Brooklyn where he had grown up. The rare diners and stores that had survived since his childhood long ago had become your second home- mid-morning breakfasts and late night, nightmare-fueled outings alike. Luckily, your PR outing had not taken place in those same spots; it would’ve tarnished your relationship with those memories. Laughter and love replaced by fabricated and stilted conversation with a man you had only met that morning. Those days with Bucky had been between the two of you, nothing would ever replicate that. As you stood in the streets of New York, your hand on the arm of an unfamiliar man and the flashes of cameras whirring around you- you realised that whatever reason Bucky had, whatever had convinced him to accept this, you would wholeheartedly understand.

The story was on the front page within a number of hours, a large picture of you plastering on that fake laugh as you stroked John’s arm was relayed across the paper’s online forum- the article as sensationalised and pretentious as it could be.

NEW COUPLE ALERT

Everyone’s favourite Avenger, Y/N L/N, was spotted on the cutest coffee date in New York today, with our favourite military hero John Walker, no less! For those who are unaware of this wonderful hunk of a man, he is the first to gain three medals of honour; everyone commend him for his bravery in defending our country! Sources close to the couple confirm that this relationship is new though it has been building up for a long time with the two deciding to go public this very morning. We congratulate the couple and wish them the best.

There was no going back from this, the documentation of your supposed ‘date’ was now public- part of you hoped that Bucky would see it, feel some twinge of jealousy, regret, whatever emotions came with signing you up so willingly for something like this. Though the other part of you, the part that loved him wholeheartedly; hoped that he wouldn’t see it, hoped that this was all some big misunderstanding that could be left behind; a stupid mistake of the past.

As you stared down at the article, thumbing the screen as you stared down at the photo of yourself in the streets of New York- smile wide, eyes bright, that hand clasped around his arm- a myriad of heels sounded down the hallway.

“Y/N? Are you here?” it was Wanda, you had no doubt that Vision would be following close behind; ready to give some annoyingly insightful advice pulled from some dark corner of a forum. Beckoning her inside, you watched as she entered the room; her face held a number of emotions: stricken, confused, angry. Her left hand held her phone- the article open on your very own could be seen in glimpses as she began to wave her arms frantically. “What- what is going on Y/N? Do you need us to get rid of this? Vision can wipe it from the internet in a matter of seconds- yep- I’ll get him to track down all traces of this photo and remove it. I mean, the audacity of the public to even post things like this; Nat had a similar thing with her assistant and we got rid of that one don’t you-”

“It’s real, Wanda.”

Screeches could practically be heard as Wanda halted in her tracks, behind her Vision too paused suddenly; seemingly phasing back to reality as he halted the tracking within his database. “What do you mean? ‘It’s real’?”

“It’s not a fake, that was this morning.” Your voice was defeated, eyes casted downwards as you refused to meet the eyes of your friend.

“Y/N is correct,” Vision spoke, refusing to meet your eyes as he turned to nod at Wanda, “The photo is real.”

“Y/N …” Wanda spoke slowly, her eyes swarming with confusion as she looked between the two of you, “What? I thought- what about Bucky?”

“It’s a scheme set up by the PR department to ‘improve our image’,” you acted out finger quotes sarcastically, “be seen with a nice guy on a few outings and the public opinion of the Avengers soars.”

“How-” Wanda was angry now, her hands clenching as she moved to sit beside you, a comforting hand on your shoulder, “Why would you agree to this, Y/N?”

“It sounded like it would be beneficial, you know, I love helping people and if this is what’s necessary then I’m willing- it’s all strictly professional and Bucky knows-”

“Bucky consented to this?!”

“Mr Barnes did,” Vision spoke, moving to console Wanda with a hand on her back as she began to seethe, “His signature was activated within the database in regards to this contract. It’s all real.”

“Y/N, something isn’t right here,” Wanda’s fists were clenching, her chest stuttering as she stared at you- worry ever-prevalent within her eyes as she watched you, “Bucky would never agree to something like that, I mean- do you remember when you were taken on that mission in monaco? You were gone for three days and the entire time he was inconsolable; stopping at nothing to get you back. There’s no way that same man would agree to something like this for you.”

You could only stare back at her, your lips twisting and stomach clenching as you smiled uneasily, “Well, it’s all been agreed to now. No going back.”

“Okay, well promise me you’ll be careful? God knows the type of people Tony hired for this place.”

You laughed, smiling and nodding at Wanda as you vowed to take care, “Wait- one last thing,” Wanda stopped at the door, the ends of her cardigan twirling as she turned to face you, “I have a dinner set tomorrow night- help me pick an outfit?”

The following day passed all too quickly- the picture had taken the internet by storm; thousands of trending posts, tags and conversations were now revolving around you. People were obsessed at the slightest semblance of a stereotypical romance; the slightest touch, the loving glances, the feeling of believing like you’re the only people to exist in a room. It was funny, really, the fact that what these people wished to be true was just present within the form of a different man. You hadn’t heard from Bucky since his departure, since the release of the picture- it was no different to a usual mission, he would be occupied and undercover, unable to respond to anyone’s messages let alone your own. Though, the feeling still stung- you craved for something- anger, resentment even the slightest show of concern. It almost seemed like he didn’t care.

You thought over this as you sat perched on your bed, watching as Wanda practically tore through your bedroom, waiting to be bustled into the bathroom once again with a handful of clothes.

“I know it’s not real- but if you have hundreds of cameras on you, you need to at least look your best. We can’t have you prancing around anyone’s feed not looking your best.” She threw yet another dress onto the floor behind her, “You never know, Bucky might even see a picture and realise what he’s missing out on.”

You snorted, “Sure, Mhm- he’ll definitely be taking time out of his highly confidential mission to send me a message about a picture of me on social media- something that happens every single day.”

You were wrong, so wrong.

You had been sitting, legs poised and a smile prominent on your face- the ideal image of a romantic dinner date present to the cameras flashing outside. Your chin had been placed on your palm- the image of a doting date listening intently to the fascinating words of the man before them; when your phone began to buzz incessantly.

“I’m so sorry John,” he waved you off, giving you permission to escape to the bathroom to check your phone. Your departure had been strategic: an innocent smile, a flick of the hair and a beeline straight to the bathroom. You had no doubt that the cameras had captured each moment perfectly- ready to coin the escape up to a different, highly-dramatic story. Your heart stuttered as you looked down at the phone screen upon entering the safety of the bathroom stall, “Buck” glared back at you- the ringing continued almost as soon as it had stopped. As if he was clicking the button over and over again, waiting for you to answer. Swearing, you moved to click the accept button- fear causing your legs to shake and teeth to chatter as you wondered why he was calling so obsessively- had something gone wrong on the mission? However, just as you were about to hit accept, a bustle of girls entered the bathroom- each one talking excitedly about how they had seen your date, witnessed the new budding relationship for themselves.

Your finger instead took a different route, moving to decline the call. Bucky’s calls stopped, obviously halted by the confirmation that you were unable to speak through the tune of the calls rejection. The silence allowed you to turn to your voicemails- selecting one of many that Bucky had sent you since his tirade of calls began.

“Please Doll, I am begging you, please pick up. I’m sitting here in some dead-end bar and suddenly I’m seeing your face on the TV with some… military hunk, what is going on? Darling, seriously, are you okay? I can come home immediately and we can talk this over please just pick up and tell me-”

“It’s me again, Doll, what did I do? Did I do something to upset you? I’m so so sorry that I left so abruptly I just didn’t want to wake you- I’ll be back within the next two days, please just tell me what’s going on. The last time I saw you, you were completely fine. Please just answer me.”

Lowering the phone, you stared blankly at the door of the cubicle before you; the endless chatter of the girls beginning to die down as they exited the bathroom. Why did Bucky sound so confused? Rubbing at your forehead, you scrunched your hands over your face- entirely confused as to what was going on. Bucky had willingly signed you away to hang off of the arm of John- he did not get to fuss and act confused now that it was actually happening. He had scanned that fingerprint and signed off your fate.

With a wave of rage rushing your way, tongue in cheek, you tapped over to the messenger app before selecting Bucky’s contact.

You: This is entirely your own doing. You turned off the phone before a reply could be received, shoving it to the bottom of your handbag and straightening out your clothes, before returning to your date and the ever watchful eyes of the public. John grinned at you as you returned, raising his drink as you sat back in your seat.

“I say we keep this going for another twenty minutes or so,” He spoke in a low tone, his finger trailing a drop of condensation running the length of his glass, “I’m assuming that was your man blowing up the phone, my girl is doing the same to me.” Smiling shallowly, you nodded- the fact that the only relative similarity between the two of you was the fact that neither of you wanted to be there was laughable- the background behind Sophia’s opinion that the two of you would be the perfect match was entirely a mystery.

“Well, we at least need to give them something to obsess over as we leave.” You smirked, masking it with a sip from your own glass- the volume of flashes had increased significantly since your return from the bathroom.

“Like?”

“Just follow my lead.”

Upon your joint departure, you took John’s hand in your own; your grip loose in respect for him but clasped enough to seem genuine. You plastered on a grin, seemingly mid-laugh as you were escorted from the restaurant and into the barrage of cameras- the flashing immediately increased in your appearance; a cacophony of shouts and questions immediately sounding behind them. The signature camera for a popular news network sat only a few paces from you; you wondered if this moment would be aired directly to the television Bucky had been watching only minutes ago. Just as you were about to climb into your respective car, you turned and planted a chaste but firm kiss to John’s cheek; causing the crowd to practically go wild- frantic and erratic with the physical confirmation of the public relationship of an Avenger.

As the car door closed, your smile dropped instantly; the facade wearing away instantly in the solitude of blackout windows. Sighing, you turned to Sophia who sat waiting in the seat ahead of you; practically grinning from ear-to-ear.

“I mean, I knew this was going to be a success- but this is insane.” Her phone lay active in her hand, as if she’d been dealing with a constant influx of phone calls, just as you had. “You should congratulate yourself, Y/N, you are amazing.”

“I guess being in an actual relationship helps, knowing what to do and all,” you glared at her in the central mirror, kicking off your heels and rubbing at the ridiculous lipstick you wore, “Which has been pretty much tarnished due to this little project of yours, thanks a lot.”

Sophia shrugged, continuing to smile owlishly at you; frenzied excitement in her eyes, “Well- I was actually thinking that we could continue-”

“No.”

“Why not?!”

“Why- are you serious? Let alone my own relationship, John is in one too. This needs to end, you’ve got your ratings and you’ve got your money, that was the whole purpose of this.”

Sophia could only grit her teeth, opting to stew in silence at your rejection; her greed prevalent in her lack of response. Just as the car drew close to the entrance of the compound, Sophia gasped; the sound sudden and jolting.

“What?” You snapped upon composing yourself, watching as she turned her phone screen towards you. A newly posted news article was displayed before you.

A Love Triangle Arises?

Onlookers from Mexico report the LIVE reaction of James Barnes, formally the infamous Winter Soldier, regarding the situation with Y/N L/N’s new relationship. Attached is Barnes’ live reaction as he is seen to destroy a television, stated to have displayed our latest obsession- the kiss shared between Y/N and her new love, John Walker. Insiders to the Avengers have previously corroborated rumours detailing a supposed relationship between Barnes and L/N- though with recent news, we thought that it was entirely untrue. Is there some unspoken tension left behind between Y/N and James? Which couple do you prefer?

“Show me the video of me and John.” You ordered, watching as Sophia frantically switched tabs and pulled up the video. Despite only kissing John on the cheek, the video had been tailored to be from an angle that suggested otherwise; the car door disguising the two of you as your movement suggested that a kiss had been shared. “No, no, no.” You chanted, clicking back over to the article regarding Bucky and selecting the attached video. The video was blurry, possibly filmed by the bartender as they cowered behind the bar, watching as Bucky tore the screen from its hinges and tore it apart with his metal arm- his face red with anguish and eyes watery with distress.

“What is going on Sophia?” You turned to her as she began to exit the car, pausing in place, “You said that he agreed to all of this- why- why is he blowing up my phone and seeming so distressed about it all? I don’t understand.” Sophia gave no reply, instead disappearing into the late night darkness of the tower despite your calls. Before you could make chase, Steve entered the garage- a concerned crease to his brow, a hand instantly met your shoulder as he reached you.

“Y/N are you okay?” He stared down at you, his gaze urgent but sincere, “I’ve had Buck blowing up my phone all night and then I’ve seen all of these news articles- What is going on?”

The comforting timbre to his voice made you crack, collapsing into his arms instantly as you sobbed- the tirade of emotions you had felt over the previous days finally reaching a head as you were faced with the sincerity of Captain America. His arms wrapped around you protectively as you shook into his arms, blubbering and sobbing about the whole situation. How it had gone too far, how you didn’t know what to do, how you wanted to make it stop.

“Y/N, I think Wanda was right,” Steve nodded, rubbing your back and turning to lead you into a more comfortable space, “Something about this doesn’t seem right, I mean, I can’t even exaggerate when I say that Bucky’s been blowing up my phone all night- he was crying his heart out Y/N, begging me to find out what is going on with you. I’ve not heard him like that since Monaco.”

“Then … why was his signature in the contract- he allowed all of this.”

“I can’t say exactly what’s happened but, I don’t think he was as willing as it seems.”

“His signature was there, Steve. Bold and Real.”

“I know, I know.” Steve sighed, stroking his chin with his hand as he stood before you, “This just isn’t Buck, Y/N. I know you’re feeling betrayed right now but I know you know this- something isn’t right.”

Nodding, you considered the doubts that had lingered since the beginning- the questions, the worries. You trusted Bucky wholeheartedly- that aforementioned part of you that loved Bucky wholeheartedly had known that something, somewhere was amiss. “I just have to get through this charity gala,” you nodded, fidgeting with the hem of your dress; a skimpy thing Wanda had picked out for you, “I signed a contract- I have to do it. Then I will speak to Bucky.”

“He’ll be back by then. Get through that and then talk to him, as soon as you can.”

The following days leading up to the gala were spent back in your previous reprieve- waiting, waiting, waiting for the gala; waiting for Bucky to return. Every fibre of your soul yearned for him, missed him. Craved the touch of his calloused hands and the scent that could apply only to him found at the base of his neck. You missed his private smiles and his soft eyes- the way he makes you feel when his thumb draws constellations onto the blush of your cheeks or the nape of your neck. You missed his anger, his sadness, his happiness and his love. You missed his everything.

No fake relationship could ever replicate that feeling.

“Y/N, please stand still.” Sophia snapped on the night of the gala, stylists bustled around you as they fidgeted with your hair and tightened the ties of your dress. Steve had surveyed at the side of the room, his dressing being immediately before yours, smirking as his own had only taken mere minutes.

“I wish you ladies would fuss this much over me,” Steve smirked from the side of the room, very obviously bored out of his mind and ready for the night to end already.

“You don’t need it Captain,” one of the stylists giggled, to which you scoffed- much to Steve’s amusement. Once you were ready, and finally left to stand upright on your own, Steve led you towards the entrance of the gala- where you were due to meet John.

“Please just talk to him, Y/N,” Steve smiled sadly as you fixed his tie, waiting for John’s arrival, “He’s going crazy- calling and texting me constantly. An old man like me can’t deal with all this.”

You laughed at that, slapping Steve on the chest as he was ever-endearing, “I will, don’t worry,” your expression turned sombre as you turned to survey the growing crowd, wondering if Bucky had arrived yet. As you scanned the crowd, John entered your eye line; the usual smirk plastered on his face complimented by a deep blue suit; matching your gown perfectly. But, he wasn’t Bucky. He would never be Bucky. You had to keep this facade up for just a few more hours before you could collapse into Bucky’s arms, resolve everything, go back to how things had been before his departure. Before pen graced paper and your signatures came into existence on that ridiculous contract.

Offering you an arm, John led you towards the main hall; it felt like all eyes turned to you when you entered- the fresh, new, heartthrob ‘couple’. Mere acquaintances of the Avengers attempted to snidely snap a photo of the two of you and others, with a tad more respect to their name, simply eyed the two of you; humming to each other about how the tabloids had been correct. You spotted Wanda and Vision through the swarms of onlookers before you, dragging John by the arm towards them.

Wanda squealed at the sight of you, her face scrunching and copper curls bobbing in excitement, “You look beautiful, oh Vision doesn’t she look beautiful!”

“Thank you, you look beautiful too Wanda,” You beckoned her into a hug, squeezing your closest friend tight as the two of you rocked together, “Last night of this mess.” You whispered, snickering gleefully.

Wanda pulled back, looking left and right before speaking, “Have you seen him?”

Shaking your head no, you gave her a sad smile, “Have you?”

“No. But … I have seen Sam, who was on the mission with him, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s sulking in a corner somewhere around here.”

Vision piped up from beside Wanda, “That is correct, Mr Barnes was spotted on security cameras just seconds ago. I can direct you to his whereabouts?”

“No, no,” You waved your hands in the air frantically, shaking your head to the same tune, “I need to finish this off first,” You gestured to John, who had been lingering on the sidelines throughout the conversation, “Put this whole thing out of its misery.”

John stepped forward then, curling a hand around your shoulder- as careless and loose as ever, “I was hoping we could finish this off soon actually, promised the Mrs I’d be home within the hour,” He stepped back and offered you a hand, “Care for a quick dance?”

Shrugging, you accepted his hand; for once grinning at him sincerely. This dance would finally mark the end of your wretched assignment, “One dance won’t hurt anyone.”

The two of you laughed as he twirled you around the dance floor- so overjoyed at the semblance of freedom from each other; soon to no longer be tied down by the ropes and binds of your arrangement. A particular spin left you winded; clutching your chest and snorting out a laugh as you recovered.

And that’s when your eyes landed on him.

Bucky stood leaning against the bar, nursing a glass of something dark, something heavy. A drink that could infiltrate even the speed of his super soldier blood. His stubble was prominent and the dark bruises marring his eyes only accentuated that. Clenched fists could be seen exiting the sleeves of his black suit- simple, sleek, neat. Obscenely attractive. Steve stood beside him, probably attempting to keep up a somewhat coherent conversation, distracting him from what he was looking at.

You realised that his gaze had not once left you. His eyes were dark, heady, angry- his irises almost black with the obvious rage that existed within him at the sight of you with John. Grip harsh, jaw tight, breaths leaving his chest shuffled and hitched. He was furious.

The second realisation that you came to, was that something was seriously wrong.

“Y/N, Y/N? Are you okay?” John questioned beside you, stealing your gaze away from Bucky’s- his gaze seeming genuinely concerned at your sudden shift in demeanour.

“I- Um-” You stuttered, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest as you gripped his shoulders urgently, the pulse hammering in your throat like a sounding siren, “We need to end this now John, you can go. Please go.” The urgency in your eyes seemingly sent the message well enough; the threat of the former Winter Soldier all too present within his mind. Watching John’s hasty retreat, you prepared yourself to turn- to make eye contact with Bucky again. To see those dark, hooded eyes. To force yourself not to run straight into his arms.

Not appropriate right now.

Slowly, you turned your head- making direct eye contact with Bucky once again. His eyes were downturned- insistent, obsessive, begging you to provide him with some clarity. He stood stoically in place as you advanced towards him, staring determinedly at your figure and only offering Steve a grunt as he granted him a goodbye, giving up on the one-sided conversation and nodding to you as he departed, his eyes saying ‘good luck’. Keeping your chin high, you stopped beside Bucky- ordering yourself a drink at the bar and simply turning to stare at him once you were done. He stared forward resolutely, though the constant flare of his nostrils gave him away entirely.

Upon the arrival of your drink, you drank a considerable amount before turning to him, liquid courage and all, “What the hell is goin’ on Buck?”

“I could ask you the same thing, Doll,” Bucky ground his teeth, the ministrations dancing within his jaw as he still refused to meet your gaze, “I go away on a mission and the next thing I know I’m seeing you gallivanting around New York on the arm of another man.” He took a long drought from his glass, finishing the drink and slamming it down onto the counter behind him, “Nobody will tell me what is happening and now one moment I’m watching you have the time of your life on the dancefloor and the next you come to me once your little boy-toy has scurried away.”

“Bucky. Seriously? You signed the contract to allow-”

“See, this is what everyone is telling me,” Bucky turned to face you then, his mouth curling downwards and his eyes filled with anguish, “But no one is able to tell me what it is exactly that I signed- when did I sign on to this Y/N?”

“Are you kidding me?” Your tone heavy with the weight of anger and betrayal as you spat the words, Bucky’s mask of anger faltering slightly as he heard your voice, “Your signature was there- bold and animated- on that contract, Bucky.” You shook your head, mouth drooping as you spoke, sadness now present within your features, “You signed me away Bucky, you did this to me.”

“Please, Doll.” Bucky was begging now, his eyes curved and teary as he clasped your shoulders, “Please tell me what you are talking because I seriously have no idea.”

“How-” You suddenly realised that a number of inquisitive eyes had turned towards the two of you, Bucky’s hands on your shoulders- your own in mid-air reaching towards his. “We can’t do this here Buck.” At that, you dragged him from the room; the two of you entered the hallway in silence before making a number of twists and turns- ensuring shelter from the public’s ever watchful eyes. “How do you not know Buck- like I said your signature was there.” Your voice was quieter, calmer, more meagre now as you practically pleaded with the man before you.

He was pleading right back, his metal hand moving to cup your cheek- the warmth of its plates familiar and a comforting presence. “Okay, Doll- let’s start from the beginning, untangle all of this mess. I signed a contact last week which would agree that we’d be seen together at the gala. You know, I- I’ve been feeling like I’m ready to go public with you and I was told that it wouldn’t be much, just a dance and a few photo opportunities. I don’t- I understand if that upset you, I’m sorry if I was too eager and I … completely understand why you’ve decided to do this I just, I wish you could’ve done it to my face? Why did you leave me to find out like-”

Bucky’s speech was stopped by your instant attack as you pressed your lips to his, your hands gripping his stubbled cheeks like a lifeline as you pressed kiss after kiss to his mouth, attempting to drown in his taste as you sobbed against him, “I’m so sorry.” You chanted continuously as you kissed, pressing yourself as close to him as possible, “This isn’t your fault, you did nothing wrong, Buck.” Your words were halted by erratic sobs as your scenario finally reached a state of clarity, he reached to wipe the tears from your cheeks instantly; the pads of his fingers picking up the broken shards and piecing them back together perfectly, back where they belonged.

“I don’t under-”

“No, no Bucky. It’s okay.” You pulled away from him, shaking your head and breathing, grinning at him widely, “I- god this is ridiculous, I swear I am going to destroy her. I- well, PR told me that you had signed a contract agreeing for me to engage in a fake public relationship, I mean I saw your signature and instantly assumed the worst of you, I am so sorry Bucky- and I just went along with it because I trust you and what you said in the kitchen only supported that. But then everything happened and I was just so so confused about it all and you weren’t here and I just wanted to see you again-”

Bucky halted your tirade then, placing his own mouth against yours as you resumed your previous feverish kissing; clinging onto him as he intertwined his fingers into the long curls of your hair, the straps of your dress, the span of your hips. Eventually, he pulled back, wholly gripping his face in yours as his toothy grin glistened down at you- his face the perfect display of relief and adoration. “It’s okay,” he smiled, nodding as his eyes remained teary, your own face a mirror image of his, “We’re going to be okay.” He stroked your hair and placed a kiss to your forehead, rocking you and shushing you tentatively as you continued to cry into the comfort of his chest. “Let’s get you into bed and out of this gorgeous dress, yeah?” He mumbled, toying with the straps of your dress as he stared adoringly down at you, “I’ve not had my Doll-time in forever.”

Giggling, you slapped him on the chest, clasping his offered hand and allowing him to lead you down the hallway- towards the comfort of tousled sheets and intertwined legs; secret touches in the darkness of night and the relief that would settle between you as the string was no longer pulled taut.

Part 2- ‘Public Display’

#misunderstandings trope will be torn from my cold dead hands #bucky barnes x reader #bucky #bucky fanfic #wanda maximoff #MCU fanfiction #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #mcu

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overdecorated-furniture · 3 months

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Dead Parents - How to avoid them.

We are all very familiar with the notion of dead parents in fiction. For example, Harry Potter’s parents are dead before the first book even starts. Or in Portrait of Dorian Gray, the protagonist is brought up by an absentee and very neglectful grandfather. It’s a trope used again and again. And it does kind of work. It certainly allows your young protagonists the opportunity to gain agency and find their own way in the adventure thrown at them. But it’s also rather predictable. As a reader, we don’t sympathise as much because it’s such a used trope.

So, here are some of my thoughts about how to avoid the dead parents trope, and still propel your characters into the action.

Kill Someone Else.

I know, violence isn’t supposed to be the answer. But characters don’t only have close relationships with their parents. If your plot centres around a revenge quest for a dead loved one, it doesn’t have to be a parent.

Siblings who got caught in the crossfire trying to protect your MC, or an aunt/uncle they were close to being poisoned works just as well. Best friends are also a useful source of grief, and the fact it’s someone outside the family perhaps gives your MC more of a push. Equally, a significant other may work, although that is a used trope too. It might even just be a beloved pet.

Use their Morals.

People in the real world do not simply act out of revenge for the death of a loved one. Character morals can be just as powerful a motive for action, and Young people in particular are just beginning to discover what matters to them, and so it feels at its most important.

Perhaps your MC feels that the magic system in your fantasy world does not allow for people with disabilities to have access, and so uses that as their springboard. Or in an apocalypse setting, the desire to protect fellow humans against a threat may act as the MC’s launch pad for setting up a safe base somewhere. Concerns over equality, safety, climate change, government choices and even things as small as how cereal is marketed can motivate a character into changing their world/current situation.

Create Conflict.

Arguments, breakups, scrappy fistfights with someone in a back alley. Conflict is one of the spokes of a story, as it creates opportunities for moving the plot forward, and can hold the characters back from achieving their aims. Using this to start your character’s story arc makes for an explosive scene, and allows immediate sympathy with the situation they are in. Everyone argues, has had someone they care about walk out of their lives, or has at least been punched, so the familiarity of a minor but important conflict helps the reader associate with the character, as well as setting up any skills the character has or may need in order to defeat the foe at the climax of the story.

Parental Encouragement.

In a good family situation, parents will want to support their children and young people in achieving their goals. And the same can be true in stories. Perhaps your character wants to learn to play hockey, for example. Their parents can very easily encourage them to join a practice group, help them buy kit, and encourage them to play in matches. Having a supportive adult can mean as much to an MC as having said support removed, and although this doesn’t work for epic fantasy revenge quests, it does create a welcoming atmosphere for a reader.

Those are the main ones I can think of off the top of my head. Do add in comments/tags any you know of!

Happy writing!🌿

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #creative writing #wip stuff #writing advice #writing tropes #writer’s musings

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thebadboyfanclub · 1 year

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Gods Have Mercy (Daemon x Reader)

This was very particular but so much fun, I was listening to “God help the outcasts” from the hunchback of notre dame which is the whole vibe I’m going for. Please leave a comment about what you think I really do appreciate them. Hope you enjoy

Daemon felt like a fish out of water when he stepped into the Sept, a sea of candles and utter silence as the statue stood tall and stoic, its shadow could frighten a small child or command a common man to bow,

Hesitantly Daemon approached as he looked around to take in the small details, the dim lighting, and the smell of herbs burning, he was not accustomed to the routine of a man that came to pray, truly he was forced to even step foot in here, his brother the king commanded him after he was found on the side of the street naked after a 3-day bender on the streets of silk.

“Wonderful isn’t it? Just its presence brings goosebumps”

A woman’s voice startled him that came from behind, swiftly he spun on his heel to view the person that interrupted his thinking but also kind of knew what was he focusing at.

A young woman dressed in the usual gown of a Septa, as the light managed to shed some light within the room he could see her dark hues that reminded him of grass, her red plump cheeks, and pink lips, she was… beautiful, a concept that was quite foreign for someone that had hid behind the burden of a Septa.

“You are too young to be a Septa”

“You honor me, my prince”

“Why did you even choose this? Or was it forced upon you?”

“You can ask me all the questions you want it will not change the fact that you feel awkward within the walls of our sacred place”

She spoke the truth, Daemon shifted on his feet as he once again looked around to no actual aim, it was just to buy himself some time until he finds the proper way to respond.

“Honestly I am disappointed, I was told I would burn alive if I ever even walked past from here”

“The Gods guide, they forgive, they simply take you under their wing and protect their children that chose to follow their path”

“What happened to you? There must be something that forced you to have this mindset”

The Septa remained silent, she could sense the prince's urge to not only figure out what lay behind her mask but to also find a way to kill time, her guess was that he was not a common visitor, and judging by the comment he was not a follower of the faith either.

She simply walked past him and kneeled in front of the candles, she lit two of them and placed one in front of her and the other by her side, once she intertwined her fingers with one another she waited for him to follow.

“I promise nothing will happen to you if you kneel my prince”

Daemon scoffed at the Septa who called for him, howbeit he complied and with heavy footing and a little bit of grunting, he kneeled and mimicked her gestures.

“A few years ago I fell from the top of a whore house”

“What were you doing on top of a whore house”

“I come from a poor family, we lived near it and I wanted to know what was all the yelling coming from. I was bedridden for a full moon turn, I broke my hand and got an infected cut on my thigh, the fever was the worst part, yet all I could hear was my mother praying, she prayed to the mother to save me, she prayed to…. To take her instead, she offered her life for mine, so I prayed to the mother to spare us, to nourish me back to health, and in exchange, I would devote my life to the faith”

The Septa had not realized she had started to cry, the voice of her mother crying and begging for her child to be saved rung in her head to this day as clear as the sky. Daemon instinctively reached to wipe the Septa’s tears away, the love of a mother was always the strongest force, he could faintly recall his mother, such a spirited woman, he would often wish to feel her hug one more time.

“That is why I believe the Gods will listen to you, is there anything you have to say?”

“I lost my mother due to childbirth, if the Gods listened to you? Why did they ignore her?”

“We are all children of the Gods, some of us must stay and some must depart from the physical realm, you can still find her, in the gust of a wind, within the walls of the Sept, maybe in the silence of your chamber whilst you lay for the night, why don’t you try?”

“How to do I-“

“Just… listen”

Daemon stopped talking, he just waited for something, he did not know exactly what but he closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose and out his mouth making his shoulders relax.

(Y/n) could slowly pick up his facial expression change, his tough front slowly break and then came one tear, then a second, a minute after that came the first sob, slowly but in a steady pace Daemon went from a cold warrior to a boy that cried with his head on the lap of the Septa who allowed him to be engulfed by the vulnerability he had shoved at the very back of his mind.

Daemon was inconsolable, trembling like a leaf in the winter wind, (y/n)s heart shattered for the poor prince, all she could do was stroke his hair while he fought with the waves of emotions he had turned a blind eye to for years.

“I’m sorry”

“There’s no need to apologize, emotions are what makes us human, mayhaps the saying of Targaryens are closer to gods than to men is not deliberately true”

“What is your name?”

“I am (y/n), my prince”

“(Y/n)”

He whispered more to himself. The name tasted like honey in Daemon's mouth, without really understanding why Daemon smiled at the sound of her name slipping through his lips, it rolled off his tongue so naturally like he was meant to call for her, to meet her.

“Can I see you again?”

“The Sept is my home, my prince, I will be here”

Daemon visited her every morrow after he broke his fast, once he found her lighting some candles, he found her praying, a few times she would conversate with other visitors of the Sept, (y/n) would be there for him for as long as he needed, however, it would always be on arm's length, a veil of faith and celibacy kept them apart, (y/n) could not marry nor bare children, she would forever be a maiden dedicated to the Mother.

(y/n) had once professed her wish to help women with childbirth, perhaps be a midwife for the poor, her selfless act was astonishing to Daemon, a young lady that was so soft-spoken and kind that some would say she was the Maiden herself in human form that came down to serve the Mother, Daemon witnessed how others would yearn for (y/n)s encouragement, old women and men, even children would run to her and hug her, he could imagine what it would be like if their children ran to her arms.

“May the Warrior guide you and keep you safe my prince”

“Can I write to you?”

“It is not common”

“Would you get in trouble?”

“The followers can be close to us in any way they wish”

“Then I want to write to you”

“As you wish”

(Y/n)s heart skipped a beat at the pressing question of Daemon, she had prayed many times asking why the Gods send her such temptation, the kind prince that tested her oath every day with his gentle words and soft touch, the Father was resting her judgment there was no doubt about that.

“I- I want to give you this”

(Y/n) presented a small pendant that was the star of the seven, it wasn’t of value but (y/n) had prayed over it and begged the mother to protect Daemon, to wrap him in her cloak and keep him safe.

“It would mean a great deal to me if you wore it”

“Thank you, I shall bring it back to you, alive”

(Y/n) subtly looked around before she gave in to her urge and rushed into his arms for a hug, she might never see him again, war was cruel and the Stranger visited often if this was their last encounter then she shall at least know what his hugs felt like.

Daemon hugged her tightly, he feared for his life but mostly he feared that he might never be able to call for her again, to say her name and see her bright smile on every morrow.

“If I come back, I want us to leave together”

“Daemon”

“Please (y/n), see it as a sign, if I survive this then we are meant to be together, the Mother will protect me only if you agree to marry me”

“Do not use the Gods for a vile game”

“It is not a game, I-I love you”

“Leave, please”

“(Y/n)”

“May the Gods have mercy on your soul”

She simply dismissed him after she pulled away to turn her back on him, Daemon took a step but stopped before he took another, he could not see it but (y/n) was already tearing up, she felt her heart rip to pieces as his steps echoed less and less until they became nothing, the silence lasted only a minute before her sobs took over.

In a blink of an eye (y/n) kneeled in front of the candles, the burden was a heavy one for a girl, she had never experienced such a trial, she had almost looked the Stranger in the eye still this was the most difficult of all.

“I beg you, Mother, I beg the Gods, show me a sign, I do not know what to do, I am a mere mortal, help your child, if you can hear me, please help me”

She muttered in between her cries, she felt weak, unable to continue by the fear of making the wrong choice as she stood at a crossroads, was this union a blessing or a test?

Daemon fought fiercely during the day and at night he would lay and play with the pendant, twirling it around his fingers and sometimes even resting it on top of his lips, was she praying for him? Was she waiting for him? Did she wish to see him again? Questions raced in his head before the dreams took over and brought him the gift of imagination, his precious (y/n) playing with their children, 5 children, he could almost taste her but she was always slipping through his fingers, never enough time to hug her as tightly as he could.

(Y/n) was tormented, with bags under her usually bright eyes, sunken cheeks, and pain growing on her legs as her mother fell ill, with a high fever, (y/n) stood by her side until the very end.

“Go to him, my sweetling, he waits for you”

Her mother whispered before she left her last breath, (y/n) had tired herself from crying to the point that she did not know what was she even crying about anymore, was it the worrying over Daemon? Her mother's passing? The overall confusion over what her life has come to?

“(Y/n)?”

She brushed it off as her mind playing tricks with her now, she continued to pray along, it was the only thing that had kept her somewhat sane, the Gods had been cruel to her, not only did they take away her mother but Daemon has stopped sending her ravens if he was alive and well was unknown to her.

“(Y/n)”

Could it be? (Y/n) slowly turned her head towards the direction of the voice, there he stood, Daemon, her prince, his hair was short and he was skinnier than the last time she saw him.

(Y/n) wiped away her tears but remained kneeled, has she lost her mind? Was she seeing just a vision or was he truly standing there? Her lip quivered as they both stood frozen, waiting for the other to do something.

“It’s me, my dearest”

He whispered to reassure her. Daemon sensed her pain, her questions, and how she was afraid to make a step, he knew it well, they were times he could have sworn he saw her on the battlefield or waiting for him on his bed, and others he could hear her praying.

(Y/n) In an instant rose and ran to him, she fell in his arms as she was engulfed by a plethora of emotions that drowned but one overtook all, relief.

“You are alive”

“I made a promise, I needed to bring you your pendant”

She laughed between her sobs as she wrapped her arms around him one more time, squeezing the life out of him but he did not mind, her hug was the closest thing Daemon had felt when it came to religion, she was his church.

“I missed you”

“We must go”

“What?”

“Get us out of here before I change my mind”

“What has gotten into you?”

“Do you want to question me now that I am agreeing to your plans?”

Daemon could not contain himself anymore, before (y/n) could comprehend or respond his lips had crashed into hers into a deep, passionate kiss, soon his arms wrapped around her waist to bring her as close as humanly possible, it was (y/n)s first kiss.

“Let us leave before the Hods strike us for sinning”

(Y/n) and Daemon chose to make their home in Pentos, a beautiful free city that (y/n) had dreamed of visiting, they had eloped the day they landed, (y/n) wore a simple gown and it was the first time Daemon saw her hair, her beautiful mane that framed her face perfectly, she was his for the rest of their life and hopefully the next, how could a woman so perfect love a sinner like him?

The raven Daemon send to king landing to announce the birth of their first child angered the faith to no end, the rogue prince had lured a Septa and turned her to lust and sin, and whispers grew about their children being cursed, that they were all deformed and that is why they did not dare to come back.

Daemon shielded his family from such vile words, (y/n) was gracious to bless him with 5 children, 4 girls, and one boy, all of them beautiful, kind, and happy, (y/n) and daemon made sure of that.

Daemon had gifted (y/n) with creating a Sept for her after she gave birth to their first daughter, Elara, she had deep grey eyes like a wolf and dirty blonde hair like the color of a golden sunset, when Daemon walked in to find (y/n) holding their daughter after laboring for a full day he cried, his wife, his love, she created life.

“Thank you”

“For what?”

“For everything”

Then came their son Aeron, who came rather quickly and without fuss, (y/n) only felt some discomfort during her evening nap and the maester had just stepped into the room when the babe was crowning, he had his mother's eyes and hair as white as snow.

Adira gave everyone a surprise, she was not alone, she was with her twin sister, Naeva, who was frail and so small in comparison to Adira who was chubby and red-cheeked, (y/n) refused to leave Naevas side, she would spend her nights in a rocking chair by her cradle.

And then came their last little girl, (y/n) would often reminisce about the day that her children burst into the room after the labor to peak at their new sibling, Aeron was the first to hold her, and the little boy was in utter awe of the new sister, he had leaned to place a peck on top of the babes head.

“Mother, I was hoping I could name her”

“What do you suggest sweetling?”

“Avyanna”

“It is a perfect name for a princess, don’t you think so my love?”

“Indeed, it’s settled then”

Avyanna was a spitting image of her mother, except for the dark lavender eyes, she had even inherited (y/n)s hair which made her stand out from her siblings, she had a few blonde streaks but you couldn’t see them if her hair was pulled up.

Daemon was proud of his family, he patted himself on the back for being able to rise to the occasion and prove himself worthy of (y/n)s love, he took great care of his lady wife, anything his family wished for they had their feet.

(y/n) worried that the children will grow spoiled, she taught them the importance of sharing and the great value of gratitude through her faith that she never forgot, often she was seen attending orphanages and anyone that knocked on their door for help.

“Alright now settle down, this ceremony is sacred and serious, you must be on your best behavior”

“We know Mother”

“My dear, you have told them about it a thousand times now”

“I’m sorry, I am just-”

“I know”

Daemon brought his wife closer by the waist to place a kiss on top of her covered hair, she was dressed in all black like everyone else but you could understand that this meant more to her than just a funeral, it was their first time back in Westeros, the Targaryens had never seen their children, her heart beat fast at the mere idea of her little ones getting insulted or ridiculed in any way.

All of them remained close to their mother and father, Daemon held Avyanna in his arms, and (y/n) frowned as she caressed her daughter's cheek, she wanted to hold her but she was still sore, the maester advised her to refrain from lifting anything.

Naturally, Daemon led (y/n) to their chamber the minute the eulogy ended, he did not care about mingling or anything that had to do with people that turned their noses up on (y/n) and their children.

“You must rest”

“I feel fine”

“And you will feel even better if you lay down”

(Y/n) knew better than to chastise her husband on this matter, Daemon was an overprotective man especially when it came to her and her health, they had already had a fright he was not willing to take any chances.

“The strangers visit is the one I fear the most amongst the Gods, he sparred me once, now twice”

“And thrice if needed, I will not let them take you”

“It is not up to us to decide”

“It is up to us to be careful, you gave our family 5 perfect children that need their mother, we are in no need of another”

“If the mother gave us 5 why did she take this one? And the one before that, mayhaps-”

“(Y/n)”

“It is not pleasant I know but I constantly feel cursed”

“You are not cursed nor our children, let us not speak on this again, please”

(Y/n) did not verbally respond, she chose the route of getting up from their bed and reaching for Daemon to hug him, Daemon trembled at the thought of losing her, seeing her in insufferable pain and grief while blood stained the sheets was horrid, he could not imagine what (y/n) went through, of course, he wanted a big family but it was not worth the price of (y/n)s life, none of it would be worth it without her.

The vulnerable scene between husband and wife was interrupted by a knock on the door, Elara was white as a ghost and her hands were shaking, (y/n) feared for the worst at the sight of their distraught daughter.

“What is it dear?”

“Aeron claimed a dragon but he got into a fight”

“Gods have mercy, show me”

(Y/n) prayed as she walked to wherever her eldest daughter led them, she spotted Aeron from a mile away, her son sat in a chair next to another young boy who was getting his wounds tended by a master.

“Oh, my love, my sweet little boy, what happened?”

“I am fine mother, I’m unharmed”

“Gods be good”

(Y/n) wrapped her arms around her son as tight as possible, Aeron was aware of his mother's fear of him and his siblings getting in harm's way, but he did not fuss over how tight she was hugging him quite the contrary after such an event he relished the familiar loving embrace of his mother.

“Yes the boy is safe but my son has lost an eye”

“I do not follow”

“Your son claimed a dragon while Aemond claimed Vhagar, your daughter and son were present when my son was attacked”

“Stole Vhagar”

“You cannot steal a dragon, little girl”

“Elara! Be respectful”

(Y/n) scolded her daughter who hunched over at her seat, (y/n) did not raise her voice often so when she did her children did not take it well.

“Queen Alicent, I trust my children allow me to ask them for the truth”

“Aemond, Elara, and I were wondering when we saw Vhagar, I pushed Elara to stay back and Aemond did not follow, he claimed Vhagar like Elara claimed Silverwing, when Aemond flew that’s when Vermithor came, I figured that if Silverwing came for Elara then Vermithor might be here for me, Elara and I flew with our dragons when we landed the only thing we saw was”

“Was what?”

“Prince Lucerys attacked Prince Aemond, he had a knife”

Elara finished her brothers' sentence, Elara was always brave and stoic, whilst Aeron was noble and level-headed.

(Y/n) hesitated, her children wouldn’t lie to her, if it happened as they say then it means her children could not have possibly interfered with the squabble nor saved Prince Aemond.

Daemon walked to his wife’s side and pancaked his arm around her shoulders for comfort, he could sense that (y/n) feared what to say, she did not want to upset nor make matters worst in front of the king and queen.

“My children are not responsible for the injury of Prince Aemond although it still is a grim affair”

“Grim affair? My son has been maimed”

“While Aeron was in the sky with his sister”

“They could have-“

“They could have what? My children are not fortune tellers nor do they have the eyes of a hawk to see what is happening on the ground”

Daemon defended his son and took a few steps towards Queen Alicent, (y/n) went back to her son to hold his hand in support of him, Elara got up from her seat to go over to the other side of her mother and hold her other hand.

Rhaenyra stood by her son's side as she watched Daemon defend his family, 10 years passed and he was a different person, now he had 5 children and a personality that Rhaenyra could not recognize, how he stood up for his son, how endearing he had been with his wife, how he completely ignored and avoided her, the Dragon had circled (y/n) and their two children, willing to do anything and go against anyone to keep them safe.

“This is a matter between you, my family had no part in this”

“They encouraged Aemond to go to Vhagar”

“They did no such thing, my children were playing and Aeron protected his sister, you can spew lies as much as you wish Alicent but I know the truth”

“Which is?”

“That my son claimed the dragon of a previous king and that is a matter for us to celebrate, you can kill each other for all I care, my wife and I will escort our children to their chambers and tomorrow my son will mount his dragon back home”

Alicent refrained from responding, even a Hightower knew that there was a line that she mustn’t cross when it came to Targaryens, Aeron had a dragon now, Vermithor flew just to find him, Daemon puffed out his chest before he also went back to join his family, with his one hand he guided his son to stand up on his feet and patted him on the shoulder.

“This is a blessing, my only son has a dragon like my eldest daughter, I will not let anyone taint this day for you”

“Thank you father”

“Queen Alicent, the Hightowers have always been a family that followed the guidance of the seven, the father is a just God, seek for his voice and find it in your heart to understand that our children are not responsible”

“Or don’t, the father will not be here to help you once you attempt to point your finger to my son”

Daemon hissed at Alicent, “how did these two even came together?” The queen thought, however it was as clear as day that she was stepping to dangerous territory, (y/n) was a pious person but even she could not save Alicent from Daemons aggressive nature, she could only offer a small way out before the inevitable happened.

Requests are open!

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oftenwantedafton · 3 months

Text

Older - Steve Raglan/William Afton x Female Reader

Rating - Explicit

Warnings - sexual content

Excerpt -

He notices you right away.

New hire, young, fresh out of college. Energetic. Enthusiastic. A breathless sort of rambling when you talk for long periods of time that he finds charming. Pretty. He’s not blind.

He can’t imagine you’d be interested. Too many decades between you.

You can’t know the wanting that overwhelms him some nights.

Also available on AO3

He notices you right away.

New hire, young, fresh out of college. Energetic. Enthusiastic. A breathless sort of rambling when you talk for long periods of time that he finds charming. Pretty. He’s not blind. Neither are the other men in the office. He hears the talk. In the bathroom. The breakroom. While waiting for the elevator to exit the office building. A married employee has you trapped against the corner of the lobby. You’re politely deflecting. He isn’t getting the hint. In the old days, when he’d used his real name, he would’ve killed the man without a second thought. But it’s not the old days. It’s the new. So he uses words instead. Still threatening. He’d never liked the man to begin with, his opinion after he’s harassed you dropping that much further. He sees the relief in your eyes when your coworker moves away.

He doesn’t follow up on this. Doesn’t use it as an excuse to make any advances towards you. He can’t imagine you’d be interested. Too many decades between you. He’s gone gray. Laugh lines starting to set in. Arthritis in overworked joints. He’s getting old and he absolutely despises that fact. So he remains polite and leaves it at that. You can’t know the wanting that overwhelms him some nights. When he finally surrenders thinking about your soft looking lips and your delicate hands. Climaxing embarrassingly quickly. In the shower. In bed, then back up to the bathroom to wash up afterwards. Looking into the mirror of the medicine cabinet. Pride still in the eyes, the shoulders. But he feels the passage of time leaving its mark on him.

Easter. You have no way of knowing what the headband with rabbit ears does to him. On anyone else they’d be childish, silly. On you they make him want to hunt you. Teeth sinking in. Predator and prey. He bites the inside of his cheek until bone severs the tissue and he tastes copper. Wonders what you’d taste like. Your mouth, the soft pink flesh between your thighs. You hand out plastic eggs to the other employees, to the job hopefuls. Candy. Other assorted trinkets for those with children at home. The one he’s handed has a little flocked rabbit pin. He shouldn’t be so touched. It has a place of honor on his desk beside his keyboard.

Another new hire. Young man. Attractive. It’s a tradition in the office to go out one Friday night a month. The new employee learns this. Inquires if you’ll be attending. Your eyes look to the middle aged man. He’s never gone. Maybe tonight he’ll change his mind.

***

He doesn’t like to drink. Impaired judgment doesn’t suit him. So he nurses a soda instead. The bar is loud. He doesn’t know what he’s doing here. Yes he does. There you are. The young man talking to you again. He wants to chase him off. But there’s no reason for it. No impropriety this time. Why shouldn’t this nice young couple be together?

You make your way to his side, abandoning the new hire. Darts in hand. A challenge. His aim is flawless. A dartboard in the security office of his previous job. Target reached each time. He counts the number of drinks you imbibe. Insists on taking you home. You surrender easily.

He drives you home. You’re still living at home with your parents. Working on saving up to pay off school loans. Your hand curling around his forearm when he pulls beside the curb. You don’t know the reason why he always wear long sleeves, of course, despite the hot, arid Hurricane weather. Can’t know the scars there. Relics from the past. He can smell the bar on you. Sour alcohol and stale cigarettes. Wonders what flavor the pink gloss you’d reapplied tastes like. He puts the car in park, then walks you to the door to make sure you’re safe.

Goes home and showers and lies down waiting for sleep that never comes.

***

The career counselor doesn’t typically frequent the break room. He prefers the privacy of his office. But you do. So there he is, nearly daily now. Your blossoming smile of greeting that warms something deep inside. He reprimands himself internally. Acting foolish like this. Getting soft in his old age. He should visit the restaurant more often. Get back to the work, the research. Remember the end goal. You’re moving to sit beside him. Handing over a brownie you’d baked yourself. It’s another Friday. You ask if he’ll be going out with the others to the pub again. He declines. You shrug and say you won’t be going either, then. He curses inwardly. He should have said yes. At least it would be an excuse to spend more time with you. Now he has this opportunity. You’re both free. He could invite you somewhere. Where would you want to go? Where could this possibly go? The moment passes unclaimed.

***

You invade his office early one morning. Seeking coffee. The offering in the break room just doesn’t taste the same, you claim. The sunlight streaming through the blinds surrounds you, outlining your figure, setting threads of hair aflame. He watches you lift the steaming glass pot and fill one of his stoneware mugs he’d brought from home. He doesn’t think coffee tastes as good when it’s in a disposable paper cup. You add a spoonful of powdered creamer and tear open two packets of sugar. Stir the drink for long moments. Were you hesitating? Waiting for something? His mouth is dry, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. You leave and he realizes he’s never seen you drink coffee even once before this.

You return with the cup rinsed later. Fingers brushing his as you hand the mug back. Shy smile. A look up through lashes. He’s so much taller than you are; taller than most of the other people that work in the office. He sees you eyeing the rabbit you’d gifted him still sitting on his desk. Words unsaid pressing against the back of his teeth. Fingers twitching. He aches. He wants. You’re already gone.

***

Lunch break. Knees colliding under the table. Arms brushing. Your bare one warm against his sleeved one. Your chairs ludicrously close together. There’s no way people haven’t noticed. Aren’t talking. Ugly rumors that he wishes were true. He has to suppress the urge to hand feed you. To dip his fingers between those lips, to have you lick them clean. The ache worsens. He needs you. Desperately.

You tell him your parents will be away on vacation for a week.

Just like that, just a light mention. A thread of possibility dangling in front of him again. He’d heard you’d rejected that handsome young man’s offer of a date. You’re not quite as popular now. No longer the shiny new girl. You follow the declaration of your parents’ absence up with saying you don’t like being in the house alone. There was his window. Offered right up on a platter. He’d be a fool not to accept. He remarks he’d be happy to come over if you got too afraid. Matching your light tone. Eyes much heavier. Weighted gaze. You ask for his phone number. Slide a napkin over for him to write on. It’s the wrong texture, his pen tearing through the thin material. You offer your palm instead. He holds it steady as he writes, cupping that soft hand for support while the black ink marks your skin. Your eyes on him. Seven numbers that take an eternity to write. He doesn’t want to stop touching you. He hears chairs dragging across linoleum. Lunch is over. He reluctantly releases his hold on you. Time to get back to work.

You call him that night. Your voice so small on the phone. Needy. You sound even younger. He doesn’t hesitate. Drives to your house. Doesn’t even need to knock on the door. You’re waiting there. For him. He still hasn’t changed out of his work clothes. You’re wearing a camisole and matching pajama bottoms. Pretty violet. The door closes behind him. Your breathing a little rapid. Hair still damp from a shower. He steps forward just as you move towards him. A collision somewhere in the middle. His mouth crashing against yours. Nothing tentative. Lips firm and assured. Tongue expert against yours. He’s imagined different versions of this moment. Fantasized. Now reality. As soft and sweet as he’d envisioned. He’d forgotten the feel of young skin, firm and full and smooth. So different from his own. Those calloused engineer’s fingers tracing all the soft places on your body. Between your legs. Warm and wet. Slick spread over your clit. A needy whimper. He’s on fire. Tastes his fingers. Heavenly nectar. He needs you to be sitting somewhere, or lying. He wants his face between those thighs.

Living room couch nearby. The closest surface. Pressing you down into the cushions. Palm against your breasts. Stroking peaked nipples. Straps of your top eased over shoulders. Mouth sucking each one. Your hips arching up to assist in sliding your pajama bottoms and panties off. His knees protest the feel of the hardwood floor beneath the thin area rug. He ignores the discomfort. Fingers working inside of you. Plucking. He’s used to handling tiny, delicate components. Necessary with some of the animatronic parts. Manipulating your body. Finding the correct frequency. Attuned. His mouth on your pussy. He loves the sounds you’re making. The feel of your fingers in his hair. Tell tale tremors along your thighs. He wonders if you ever touched yourself like he had, unable to resist the thought of this. Cumming with his false name on your lips. What if he told you his secret? Took you to his shuttered restaurant. Walked among the decaying remains. The workroom. Experiments. Research. The piles of journals. He still prefers the written word. Faster. Spilling words, spreading ink. Your noises louder. Shaking violently now. The burn of hair being pulled. How different you look after being taken apart. Mouth slack and wide. Pupils blown. A wild, untamed thing.

The snap of vertebrae. More aged protests. Sitting beside you now. You’ve got his pants undone. Straddling his hips. Lithe, agile. Cock guided inside the glistening depths. The little gasp of surprise. How full he’s stretching you. Your fingers laced behind his neck. Your face bending to his. His wide hands brace your hips. You fuck yourself down onto him. Lift. Drop down. Rocking. His hands now spread across your bouncing cheeks. Sheathed. Freed. That alias tearing from your throat. That’s who you’re fucking. The polite middle aged career counselor from work with the penchant for rabbits. Not the other. Not the restaurant owner, engineer, former husband and father. Not the murderer. But it wasn’t all his fault, was it? Not really. Not when you consider all the ramifications. What the other had had. Flaunting it constantly. He’d wanted it, too. His fair share. And look who had triumphed in the end. He was still here. The other not. So.

He’s thrusting up into you. Rough. Driving air from your lungs. Skin slapping together. All these years and he’s still so bitter. But you’re so sweet. Candy lips. That gorgeous tight pussy snug around his cock. Your face hovering above his own. Saliva drizzled onto his waiting tongue. The pretty way your mouth falls open as you cum again. Faint ripples becoming turbulent. His own release pulsing inside. Wounded sound of pleasure moaned against your fragrant skin.

Holding you in his arms in the darkness. You ask him to stay.

He has no intentions of leaving.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #steve raglan x reader #steve raglan x you

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izvmimi · 4 months

Text

cw: gods au. fem!reader and izuku are both gods. violence and torture alluded to but not extensively described. angst.

War does not exist in the heavenly realm; at least it hasn’t existed for the last few thousands of years.

Your father, God of Heaven, God of All Things, really, will credit himself for the relative peace and harmony the celestial realm enjoys, but you know that this is a stasis that is enforced with a heavy hand. The immortals that live in this sprawling kingdom know what lines not to cross, what ties to hold dear, as no one wants to undergo the same destruction as befell the universe as they know it again.

You were too young to remember the bulk of the tragedy and what gods and goddesses were killed, only to become part of cosmic dust, and your father avoids all serious mentions of the matter, your mother reigning silently by his side. You are the only one of your father’s many children that is born of a true goddess as well, and for this reason, you have special privilege, and it is your only resort at this very point in time.

Your forever beating heart pounds as you glide your way through the skies, passing through the thick dense storm clouds that surround the portion of your realm that holds prisoners, and as you pass through the light of the sun barely reaches the ground. Storm winds and lightning crash at the heavenly soil incessantly, rain, then hail, then more thunder and lightning, to remind you that this land is intentionally barren and inhospitable. It matters little to you because the man you call home exists in this practically abandoned fortress, and you must see him.

The guards are surprised to see you, but are not bold enough to alert your father that you are here. This isn’t the first time, and it won’t be the last.

You hate them. You hate every single one of them, and you wish you had been granted just a fraction of your father’s power to harm every one of them that touched a hair on your love’s head, but there’s nothing you can do, so you move forward without so much of a word of acknowledgment and they part quickly, standing aside to let you through, knowing that as much as you trample upon the rules of your land, your heavenly father dotes on you regardless. They would much rather not be on the receiving end of his anger, lest they end up in the prison they guard themselves.

You march, head held up high, to the very last cell, in the back of the castle. There is a barrier that surrounds it with magic thick and potent enough to fry a limb to bits and turn it to dust, with a tiny break in the gold veneer to place a plate of food or a cup of water. It’s frigid, even for your body that is meant to be resistant to low and high temperatures, and it’s even darker than the rest of the castle and even the outside perimeter, but despite it all, you can still make out the soft features of your lover’s face.

He’s battered and bruised, wounds in different orientations than you last saw them. A right eye barely opens, but he recognizes you as soon as you come and kneel just millimeters away from the barrier, using the last of his strength to raise his head up high, the last of his ability to give you a warm, comforting smile.

“You came again.”

He can’t ask you to stop coming anymore so he’s decided to indulge himself into appreciating your visits. Any time he’s asked you to leave you’ve wept more, so now he smiles to limit your tears, to hopefully help assuage the pain in your chest.

“Izuku…” you whisper. Your hand wants to reach out to him, but you know, having once tried, losing the tip of an index finger in the process and having to wait weeks for it to regenerate, making sure your father could not see that you were harmed.

Tears well up in your eyes again, endlessly, as you watch him, poring over every inch of his battered body. He’s sitting in a heap, no longer dressed in brilliant robes like gods should always be, only covered in torn rags, aimed to cover his unmentionables and nothing else. For decency, the guards would tell you, but there is nothing decent about reducing a god to a prisoner, beating him repeatedly for months, then years, in preparation for his ultimate punishment - stripping of his immortality. In that way, he’d live out a meager human life, hoping for luck to be on his side for less than a hundred years, and suffering the toils of hunger, weakness, fragility, fear, fatigue and heartache.

The god of compassion with no compassion left for him.

“How I wish you would stop weeping for me,” he says, but his voice is still light despite the gravity of their content. He inches closer despite the weariness in his bones and the clang of the unnecessarily cruel golden chain on his neck sickens your stomach. Nothing is broken, for now, but his exhaustion is more than physical. Mentally tired despite his refusal to stop smiling, he makes his way close enough that his nose nearly grazes the barrier that could kill you both. You want to comfort him, to push away dirty, matted verdant curls from his forehead, and wipe dust and grime off of his beautiful face and kiss his swollen lips, but just like every other night for the past three years, you hold in your desire and pull back instead.

Hidden in a pocket within your gown is a satchel. You pour powder into a small patch of fabric, and before he can stop you, as he always does, pull out an enchanted knife, one that can actually cut through your skin, made of the same substance that stabs into his side repeatedly when he is being tortured, and slice right at the back of your forearm. Blood, silvery and thick, drips into the powder, as well as a couple loose tears running from your cheeks and you mix with your finger into a paste. He watches you as you inhale and exhale, then push it into the small hole meant for feeding, towards him.

You don’t tell him it’s for his wounds, but he knows. After all, his virtue is compassion but your blessing is life.

“Don’t injure yourself for me,” he insists.

You shake your head.

“I want you out of here,” you croak out. He sighs.

“I’ve sinned against heaven,” he reminds you for more than the hundredth time. If he could, he’d reach out and take your damp cheek in the curve of his palm. His eyes remain soft, the light in the green ever present despite the incessant torture.

“You did what you were born to do. Be compassionate.”

He lets air blow from his nose in an exhale and smiles. His legs cross and he holds his head a little higher, attempting to be strong for you, despite the fact that every part of his body aches.

“I interfered in another god’s sacrifice.”

Your father’s sacrifice. Not only is this an affront that is the most severe of your lands, he managed to upset the highest being of the realm.

“He’s wrong,” you insist. Izuku doesn’t say that he knows, he doesn’t have the same safety you enjoy. There’s another conversation you’ve had before that comes to your mind, the one from the very first time you stormed into this prison, demanding he explain himself, angry at the victim.

“Why did you do it? Why couldn’t you let it go this time? How many times do you-”

He interrupts your hysteria, voice cool and even.

“They prayed to me.”

You’re caught off guard, but the steadiness in his eyes make it clear that there’s no reasoning with him, the same way there’s no recourse.

“But what about me?”

You watch him swallow thickly, and he speaks assuredly, but this time his voice cracks, and you can feel the same twang in both of your chests.

“I know you understand me, my love.”

His execution is coming up soon, and you’ve been dreading this moment. You don’t know how to help him escape losing his immortality, but with your begging and pleading, his soul will not be destroyed. Perhaps as a human, you could find a way to live with him again, you could love him.

But he won’t remember these eons you’ve spent together. Will he still love you, head turned up to the sky, or will he pray to you for intercession like a regular mortal, not knowing that he knows you like the back of his own hand?

He asks you how your day was instead, to distract you, and while nothing you’ve done is worth hearing, he still insists you speak and forget that he’s spent every last hour in suffering, his only reprieve this moment with you.

You rush through this conversation - answered prayers, begged your father on his behalf, looked for loopholes in the celestial tomes, nothing. You don’t ask him how he spent his day, and he doesn’t tell you, because it will only make you angrier.

He asks you not to come witness his death.

He asks you not to come anymore at all.

“Izuku, I need to know the moment you leave this realm. To follow you.”

This is the part of this conversation that always manages to make him angry.

“You’re wasting your time,” he argues.

“Time is meaningless to us, and you know it.”

You hate that he sounds like the humans he wants so desperately to save. To this, his brow furrows, and you remember that time will soon mean something. He’ll be born to some mortal, he’ll grow, he’ll age, he’ll die, and you will not change.

“It will soon matter to me,” he says, finally. The tears well up again, and you bite your lip. Anger bubbles inside you yet again, just as fiery hot as it has every single day since he was sentenced.

You want to storm out, despite knowing you’ll be right back here tomorrow.

You rise to your feet.

“Why?” you ask again. “Why?”

Izuku looks up at you.

“She asked me for help.”

“Millions of people ask you for help every day. Why her? Why when you were warned so many times not to interfere in the Gods’ plans for humanity?” you ask, bitterly. “You could have ignored it, just this once.”

Izuku pauses for a moment, looking at the cold ground before him before deciding on whether or not. Your lip wobbles and your hands clench, and your eyes practically glow with unbridled emotion.

Finally he decides to speak.

“She cried out for mercy, and she looked just like you.”

#izuku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #izuku angst #daydreams: bnha #mimi's notes

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teymars · 8 months

Note

Imagine reader giving birth to twins boys

they become 14YO, and they are famous in the clan as troublemakers and Neteyam and reader have to deal with them ..

Ah isn’t that CUTE!!!

THIS IS SUCH A CUTESIE IDEA !!

-no warnings, just some fluff, family dynamics & sweet Dad(dy)!Neteyam (also mentions of bullying + fights if that counts??)

Loud caterwauling blasted throughout the camp, reaching you and Neteyam from within your family-hut. You glanced at your mate, resisting the incredible urge to roll your eyes, there were only two possible candidates for the source of that noise.

“Pshh, I’ll go sort it out, again.” Neteyam sighed, chucking his hands up in defeat. He quickly rose from his spot next to you and hightailed it to the awaiting ‘crime’ scene. For the past few weeks, your twin 14 year-old sons had been causing fights consistently amongst the clan’s young trainees.

You crouched for a moment, subconsciously counting down the moments before your lover’s deep, authoritative voice boomed over the ruckus outside. “BOYS, GET OVER HERE!!” The scolding your two son’s were now receiving increased in volume as Neteyam dragged them both by the neck, back into your hut.

“Ma ‘Teyam-” he cut you off swiftly “How many times do I have to repeat myself to you two?? You can’t just go around fighting people!” Neteyam bellowed, his tail thrashing angrily behind him.

“Sorry, Sir. It was my fault.” Tsyalu, the youngest twin, piped up bashfully. He tried hard to avoid his fathers menacing gaze. “That’s bullsh- ugf’ come on bro, you and I both know Rahaylo deserved it!” The eldest, Myerìn, blurted without shame, barely managing to dodge using ‘foul language’ infront of both his parents.

“Enough, I don’t care wether it was ‘deserved’. Tsy, you have to stop taking the heat for this skxawng! And YOU-” Neteyam gestured to a smirking Myerìn “-need to quit causing trouble, you read me??” Both boys nodded silently before stalking off to different parts of the hut.

You had observed the scolding, originally aiming to hold back a chuckle of amusement, until something in Tsy’s gaze and the way he spoke left you irked. You sat quietly beside him, assisting in preparing the fruits for dinner. Thankfully neither him nor his brother had been injured in the skirmish, you noted.

“What is the matter, sweet child?” You cooed, stroking the side of his cheek as slight tears swelled in his defeated eyes. “It’s nothing, mama..” the boy assured you, trying to hide his face. “Don’t be silly Tsyalu, you can tell me what’s wrong.” You encouraged, faintly aware of your husband’s ears flicking in interest at your conversation, as he watched from his place by the fire-pit.

“Well, we only keep fighting-” he broke off in a quiet sob “-be-because Rahaylo has been bullying me..” Both you and Neteyam fell stock-still at his words, feeling an onslaught of guilt overcome you. “Yea, and Dad told us to stick up for ourselves, so we did.” Myerìn informed, rather nonchalantly. Neteyam looked almost shell-shocked, having realised the poor communication that led to all this.

He moved closer to where you and both your sons were now crouched, reaching down to rest a hand on each boy’s shoulder comfortingly. “I’m sorry, boy. I had no idea.. why didn’t you say anything about this though? Violence is not a good way to solve these issues.” Neteyam offered, sounding solemn. “I- we didn’t want you to think we are weak, we thought you’d be proud of us, because we are brave like you.”

“Oh, Tsy..” you whispered, feeling ashamed that your children ever had to feel that way. “I am proud of you, both of you. So is your mother.. we just don’t want to see you both fighting all the time.” Your mate assured them, providing both with a warm embrace. “It is okay to come to us when somebody causes you trouble, we will help you, I promise.” He continued, allowing you to curl up at his side, joining the family hug. They both hummed in understanding.

“We are pretty brave though, right Dad?” Tsyalu whispered. “Just like you?” Myerìn added, hopefully. “Of course you are! You’re the bravest little warriors this clan has ever seen.” You and Neteyam chirped, nuzzling both boy’s foreheads affectionately. The twins smiled contentedly, feeling relieved as they relished within their father’s hard-earned approval.

“Sooo, who won?” Neteyam mused, smirking at his sons pridefully. “Neteyam!” You chided, smacking the back of his head playfully.

“Oel ngati kameie, my sons.”

Sorry this is a little short, I hope it lives up to what you had in mind! 🤍

Neteyam be getting some insane flashbacks 😭

#neteyam sully #avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #avatar #atwow #neteyam #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #atwow fanfiction #avatar2 #neteyam x you #dad!neteyam #neteyam x reader

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maccreadysbaby · 8 months

Text

Writing 101: Homeless or Previously Homeless Characters

aka me doing research for you!

TW: homelessness, sickness, the like

So you’ve decided you want a homeless or previously homeless character in your story. We’ve all been there. I’m currently there at this present moment, hence why I’ve gathered the information I’m word vomiting to you all. This is going to be aimed more toward child or teenaged characters, since that seems to be the most popular archetype. These can also be applied to an adult but will be slightly altered.

the most common stereotypes surrounding homelessness are:

Homeless kid/teen gets taken in by Big Rich Guy™︎ See: Jason Todd (Batman)

Kid/teen has run away and is ruthlessly avoiding cops/foster care, therefore, temporarily homeless. See: Billy Batson (Shazam, 2019)

There’s a reason these are so popular: because they’re good. But, you can’t just slap a youngster on the city streets, have them taken in, and show them living a normal life. Homelessness takes a toll on a person and makes them grow up much, much faster. Let’s talk about the things that separate these individuals from typical children, and how you can show them in writing. (These can be altered to fit the personality of your character).

1) Homeless young people will not trust you no matter what you do. It will take a long time and a lot of bonding to build trust with a homeless kid, even if you take them in. Depending on what city or town they live in, and why they’re homeless in the first place, they could’ve had to deal with defending themselves from people trying to rob, take advantage of, hurt, or even kidnap them. Or, if they’re running from the cops, they might’ve been tricked by an undercover cop trying to coax them to the station, or just plain traumatized by having cops and cruisers searching for them. If they’re homeless because they ran away, it could be abuse. All in all, trust is so incredibly hard to come by in these kiddos. They might run from you. They might try and fight you. They might hide from you. They might be scared absolutely shiteless of you even though you haven’t done anything wrong, and that’s just how it is. Even if you manage to get them into your house, they can and will bolt if you scare them and that instinct is gonna stand for a while.

how you can show it:

moving away from people

body language and positions that indicate they’re ready to run

hiding

taking a defensive posture when approached

or just attacking

going nonverbal

threats

“don’t touch me,”

“leave me alone,”

“just go away!”

2) They will not seek out help. They’ve been dealing with everything themselves, so they believe they can do it alone. Vulnerability out on the streets is a good way to get killed or taken advantage of, so it’s likely they won’t even think about it. If they’re sick, they’ll deal with it alone. If they’re hurt, they’ll deal with it alone. If they had a nightmare, they’ll deal with it alone because they always have, or they think it’s safer if they do. It’s similar to the way an animal hides weakness until it’s absolutely impossible: because they need to to survive. If they show they’re weak, they’ll die, and that’s just that. Imagine being sick while living on the streets. Going to a doctor will get you better, yes, but handed over to child services. Going to a stranger could get you killed, kidnapped, handed to the feds or so on. It just isn’t safe to rely on anyone else. At the very least it just makes them a burden to others, and it will take them a long time to un-learn that.

how you can show it:

finding them curled up in the bathroom floor because they’ve been sick all night but didn’t tell anyone

falling asleep during the day because they’ve had nightmares at night

being extremely apologetic when they get help

or extremely snappy and refusing to let anyone help

“i can do it myself!”

“i don’t need your help!”

“i’m fine!”

“i’m sorry. i’m so sorry i’ll clean it up i promise,”

“i didn’t mean to bother you i swear,”

“i’m taking care of it, i can handle it,”

3) These guys have fight or flight like a wild animal. All their senses are more acute. They’re always ready to bolt. The moment they’re in a room they’re cataloguing possible exits, entries people could use, things they could improvise as a weapon if they have to. They’re scared and they want to get back to where they’re comfortable. Which is not usually an enclosed room where people can get to them. They can smell danger and the moment they do, they’re out of there. Chances are, they’ve learned all of this stuff the hard way.

how you can show it:

noting how their eyes seem to catch on things like windows, doors, crowbars, etc

watching closely for people’s expressions or attitudes to change

restless in enclosed spaces with others

always sitting or wanting to be near a door

getting anxious behind locked doors

eyeballing hiding spots

perking up at noises around the house that other people probably wouldn’t mind

“are you mad?”

“was that the front door?”

4) These kiddos will have different fears and anxieties than normal. They won’t be scared of the monster under the bed. They may be scared when the leaves start to change because they know it’s about to get really cold and they almost froze to death last time that happened. They might be nervous when the spring turns to summer because they’re prone to overheating and dehydration. They might be afraid of not emptying their plate because they don’t know when they’ll have more food. They might be scared of getting sick because then they’re weak and their judgement is skewed and it’s too easy for someone to manipulate them. They might be scared of the people because they were previously put into an abusive foster home. They might be scared of certain days, like Halloween or full moons, when the loonies come out and prey even harder on children. The possibilities are endless.

how you can show it:

eating everything offered to them, even if it makes them feel sick

hiding when they’re hurt or sick so people can’t talk to them

hesitant to go outside during winter/summer/on certain days/to certain places

flinching in response to touch, or just someone approaching

crying when they think they’re in trouble

or just shutting down

excessive apologizing

“i hate the cold. just makes you sick,”

“don’t talk to me,”

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry, that was so stupid…”

5) They might not be grateful for what is given to them, if you’re going the whole “taken in” route. They’re going to be suspicious and wary. Or they may be absolutely stunned and confused. It’s not what they’re used to, it’s not what they feel safe in, and it’s strange and unsettling for them.

how you can show it:

sleeping in the floor in the corner of the room where they can see everything instead of the queen bed that faces away from the door

sleeping in weird freaking places, like closets, wardrobes, under the bed, anywhere where they think they are safest

wary to accept gifts or just items they need

nervous that they are being manipulated

“why are you giving me this?”

“i like it better when i can see everything,”

“are you trying to trick me?”

Feel free to add on!!!!

#writing angst #original writing #creative writing #writers #writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity

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dotieeee · 3 months

Text

The Gamemaker's Apprentice

Level 10

Pairing: Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow x You, named!Reader

Overall Warnings:

NON-CON, DUB-CON, Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow, Snow himself should be a warning, lots of blackmailing, gaslighting, manipulation, obsession, possesiveness, eventual forced marriage, eventual loss of virginity, breeding kink, canon-compliant major character death, reader is named but has no physical descriptions in the fic so one might also consider her an OC but in 2nd POV, will have canon inconsistencies, drugging, somnophilia, and other stuff that may be added

Masterlist

Level 10 Warnings:

Graphic violence, torture and experiments conducted on children (because it isn't Hunger Games without it lol), the female rage, uh, feelings?? Lmao

Replay Level 9

Ready? Level 10 Start:

“Nellie, come back to me, I’m right here…” a muffled voice whispers above you.

“I don’t want to go with you …” you whisper back.

But the voice doesn’t seem to hear it.

“…You’re alright, sugarplum, you’re safe. Come back to me…”

The ringing in your ears grows even louder, making you wince, before halting altogether. You blink and you realise you’re back in the testing room. Back to watching three teenagers die on the big screen. Back with him.

And he’s got you in his embrace and currently kissing your hair and stroking it.

Fighting the urge to kick him in the nuts, you wrench free from his grip, not bothering to even gauge how he reacts. You watch the screen displaying the aftermath of the explosion that F1 had just set off, but it isn’t just the debris you’re seeing on the big screen that’s fully caught your attention – it’s what it set off.

The first thing you notice is the screaming. It isn’t just from one of them, but from all of them, it seems. It goes on even as the cloud of smoke and dust from the explosion clears to reveal an alarming scene:

Audrey, now apparently conscious, had just tackled Callahan to the ground and was clawing at anything of him she could reach, screaming with rage at the top of her lungs. Callahan attempts to fend himself off by pushing her away, cursing her in the process, but Audrey’s adrenaline levels on the gamemaker console are sky-high, making her a brutal, almost invincible force.

“It’s the venom, isn’t it?” F2 wonders out loud, her eyes glued to the screen. “But she was in a coma, her vitals confirmed it earlier. I thought the venom would either put her into a coma or make her aggressive?”

Coriolanus curls his lip and replies, “Perhaps her body reacted to the venom in a way that the lab has never observed before.”

Who cares, though, how differently she reacted compared to the experiments? If you don’t put a stop to this quickly, one or more of them could potentially be fatally injured.

“Let him go, Audrey!”

Tansey screams as she drags Audrey off her friend in an unexpected display of strength, so Audrey topples down to the ground. But this does not deter her. She makes a grab for the dagger inside her pouch and aims it at the younger girl, but she dodges the attack. Callahan is instantly on his feet, on the offensive, but with no weapon at hand, he’s clearly at a disadvantage.

In your mounting anxiety, you place your palms to cover your mouth as you wrack your brains hard for a way out for the teenagers.

You can only gasp, your eyes widening as the dagger in Audrey’s hand digs into Callahan’s upper abdomen, and even as far away as the camera angle captures the gruesome scene, you can see his shirt soak in the dark red liquid you’ve been dreading to see the entire night.

Callahan lets out a shuddering breath as Audrey pulls out the dagger, aiming it once more to deliver another blow –

With a loud whack, Tansey hits Audrey’s head with a thick metal rod with just enough force to render her unconscious. Tansey drops the rod, which lands on the cement with an echoing clang.

And yet all you could look at is Callahan as he drops to the ground, bleeding freely from his stomach, except it isn’t the teenage boy you see anymore.

You recognise those bright, pretty eyes anywhere.

Coriolanus steps right in front of you and places his arms around you, presumably to block your view, but even that doesn’t stop you from peeking from his side.

It’s your mother once again, dripping in her own blood, but this time, she’s in the arena with a wound she can easily recover from. And you’re not the helpless little girl anymore who needs daddy to come patch it up for you: this time, there is something you can do to keep her alive.

You don’t even think about it as you break free from Coriolanus’s grip and walk mechanically to the main command console. Everyone’s attention is on the big screen anyway and wouldn’t see what you’d be doing.

“Nellie, where are you going?” he asks.

In the background, you hear F1 contemplate out loud whether he should activate the acid rain, but Coriolanus seems to ignore him. You hear their voices, but they’re so far away from you now.

On the main command console, you initiate the command: Alt+F4.

The console flashes a warning:

SHUTDOWN command rejected.

Shutdown cannot be completed due to: Game Status: ACTIVE.

First-level administration credentials required to override.

You press Continue, and the username and password fields appear. You know these credentials like the back of your hand, so your fingers move by themselves.

Credentials confirmed.

Warning: Command: SHUTDOWN OVERRIDE will terminate Game progress and will not save current Game data.

Press ⬅️ to Resume. Press Enter to Continue.

And without a single ounce of hesitation, you press Enter.

SHUTDOWN OVERRIDE confirmed.

Changing Game Status to: TERMINATED.

Program shutting down...

Triumph fills your heart as you read the window flashing on the big screen:

Game Status: TERMINATED.

Press CTRL + SHIFT + Enter on Main Command Station to BEGIN NEW GAME.

You actually revel in the silence that blankets the entire testing room just before the sirens in the test arena go off. Just like that, the data they were so itching to save, gone with but a few commands, never to be retrieved, thanks to your uncle’s master credentials.

It’s F3 who breaks the silence first. “Well, that was one hell of a Game.”

You could feel your mentor’s icy gaze bore holes into your psyche. F1 rubs his face with his palms and bangs his fist on the table. “Yes, it was. It’s a shame the entire data we’ve worked so hard to get for almost two years wasn’t saved – ”

Coriolanus puts a stop to his tirade with a single, calmly raised palm.

“Tell me why you did what you did, Nellie,” he says. He straightens to his full height and dons this unusually cool demeanour as if this conversation is merely a discussion of the weather.

So, you respond with a similar air. “I made a calculated decision to shut it down.”

You spare one look at the observation box where the Head Gamemaker stands with her hands clasped, her face unreadable.

Coriolanus lets out a hum. “And tell me why this specific function wasn’t brought up during the integration tests.”

You give him a nonchalant shrug. “But I did. During the demos, I highlighted the fact that the main command console is where the override requests are to be entered.”

“And in the event of an override request, I imagine our credentials would be quite useless. Those were Mr Innis’s logins.”

Since it wasn’t phrased as a question, you nod once and smile at him.

“I received word that the Peacekeepers have escorted the test subjects out of the arena for medical examination,” F2 interrupts the discussion carefully like she’s testing the waters.

A small sigh escapes your mentor’s lips before the corners of his lips lift. This puzzles you a little, the way he seems relieved.

“There is a reason why tests exist, Nellie. We’re looking for potential setbacks in the program. And it seems like this could be one of them.”

“The computer engineers are free to go for the day.”

Everyone’s heads whip to Dr Gaul currently descending from the glass observation deck. Her composure is bizarre, as well, seeing as you all but sabotaged her tests today.

“Good work so far, Misters and Miss Finley. Expect an ample addition to your bonuses at the end of the third quarter. Oh, and before you go, I will need one of you to send a memo to the other gamemakers. We will need all hands on deck next week to test the program further. Dismissed.”

The triplets give their thanks and promptly exit the room. Dr Gaul’s mismatched eyes follow them, before turning to you and your mentor the moment the door closes.

She says, “Despite the disappointment of failing to gather such valuable data for the other gamemakers, Ms Innis made the right call.”

You narrow your eyes at her declaration. Coriolanus isn’t upset with your actions, and neither is she. And your mentor mirrors the unanswered question in your head with a curious look.

“We might have more need for the three test subjects,” Dr Gaul explains further. “We could pool more of them from the districts if need be, but given our time constricts, it’d be best to keep working with the ones we already have.

“Besides, that third test subject…you’ve seen how her body reacted to the ant muttation’s venom, did you not, Mr Snow?”

“Yes, ma’am, I did,” he responds politely.

“Half the test subjects we’ve injected with the venom were rendered comatose and they stayed that way until we pulled the plug. The other half underwent bouts of severe aggression, which of course waned as the venom wore off.

“I never had a single one of them display both the symptoms…”

She trails off and strides slowly towards the door, leaving you in doubt of your actions. The three teens were spared a needless death, only to be forced to participate in more of the games. And in Audrey’s case, to be potentially experimented on by none other than the head of the Department of War’s Genetics Division.

As she reaches the door, Coriolanus beckons you by tilting his head and gripping your arm. You both follow your department head to the elevator, which drops you off to the Genetics division. Coriolanus leads you by the arm to the dreaded level.

You’ve only been here once before and that was when you first encountered the jabberjays. To say the experience was unsettling is an understatement, but this time, by the way you pass by the endless rows of glass cages containing all manners of abomination, you can tell you’re about to be shown something much worse.

Amidst the cacophony of noises let out by the genetically modified malformations on the floor, a distant sound that closely resembles a scream makes you clutch Coriolanus’s sleeve. If he notices this, he makes no mention of it.

After walking for a while, you reach the end of a hallway facing a non-descript grey wall. You must’ve reached a dead-end, but the other two don’t seem fazed or lost. Dr Gaul unveils a key sensor hidden in a niche at the wall and swipes her card, and a portion of the once-grey wall before her shifts slightly backwards before sliding to the right.

Of course. You figure if anyone is going to have an office hidden behind a wall, it has to be Volumnia Gaul.

Coriolanus must’ve been here before, for he doesn’t seem surprised. He still has you by the arm so you let yourself be dragged into the space. Inside reveals just more long tables filled with various scientific equipment, cabinets lined with jars of creatures suspended in formaldehyde, with the head gamemaker’s station on the far right corner rivalling your uncle’s set up in the office you occupy.

Their attention isn’t on the bizarre scientific display but on the left side of the room which you failed to notice before.

Thick glass windows are fitted on the wall to reveal several containment cells, perhaps for experiments. Your eyes widen at the sight of Tansey inside one of the cells, both her hands and feet tightly bound by rope, just crouched in the corner looking shaken out of her wits.

What had happened to Callahan? To Audrey? You take your arm away from your mentor and rush to the glass window, but he yanks it back with a little more force and gives you a pointed look.

“Why is she here? What is this?”

“This, Ms Innis, is leverage,” Dr Gaul replies as she approaches the window. She then turns to set her eyes on you, her smile belying the cruelty you’ve come to know her for. “The program you and your uncle built will change my Games forever. So, you understand why I am keen on putting this to use for the 12th Hunger Games.

“That is also why I think it’s in your best interest to give me full master access to your program and remove your uncle’s credentials. You will also give Mr Snow the same access as mine.”

“What do you mean…remove my uncle from the program?” your voice goes a pitch higher as you digest the insult. Your voice begins to shake as you stand your ground. “This belongs to Acacius Innis. I will not give anyone full master access without his permission. So no. You have had no hand, nor right to my uncle’s work.”

The head gamemaker’s smile just widens as she takes out a walkie-talkie and says, as if she’s ordering from a menu, “Two beetle mutts, please.”

The sound of a latch opening from one of the cells startles you. A small shaft on the wall at Tansey’s cell had just opened, and out from it comes a black and brown beetle half the size of your arm.

Volumina Gaul takes in your look of confusion and fear like fresh air.

“That is a larder beetle muttation, in case you’re wondering. Without genetic modifications, the little beetle would be content with dead flesh, but this…” she chuckles deeply to herself, “This is a thing of beauty, craving live, human flesh…did you know it takes only six of them and roughly twenty minutes to devour someone of your test tribute’s size? So tell me, Ms Innis – I’ve heard of your aptitude in mathematics – how long do you think two beetles would take for them to leave nothing but the bones of that little girl?”

She has to be bluffing, right?

“You can’t do this,” you whisper. Your eyes bulge the further the beetles go, watching as Tansey attempts to dodge it despite her tied limbs, her mouth open in a scream you can’t hear through the glass. Unable to control yourself and panicking on the inside, you say, “Please, she has nothing to do with this!”

Dr Gaul just takes strides towards her computer and waves a hand at it. “There are chips inside those bugs designed to send shocks that will incapacitate them. Do what I say, and you save your little... thing from getting eaten alive,” she says as she bares her teeth with a smile cold enough to raise your hair. “Tick-tock, Ms Innis…”

Volumnia Gaul’s high-pitched cackle bounces off the walls of her office.

With eyes close to watering, you weigh your choices – is your uncle’s entire life’s work worth sacrificing an innocent life for?

The beetles are inches away from Tansey’s frail, writhing body, and the more she moves, the more the beetles sense her presence.

And you berate yourself for even thinking a stupid set of computer code was worth letting Tansey get hurt.

Your uncle would be ashamed of you.

“Call the beetles off…”

You walk past Coriolanus, who’s quietly observing the exchange, and enter your remote access credentials on the station. Dr Gaul watches from behind you, and with a single click, your uncle is forever erased from the program he poured his heart into. In his place, are the names of Coriolanus Snow and Volumnia Gaul.

“Call the beetles off, please! I did what you wanted me to do, now please let her go!”

“Not quite.” Volumnia Gaul tilts her head at you playfully as she uses her sing-song voice. “What is it you kids say these days? Ah, I think it goes quite like this: ‘I won’t hurt her if you tell.’

“I am aware there are other ways my work can be derailed. So you can spill the beans, Snow’s pretty pet: did you know of any other methods that could sabotage my program, my tests, and my Games?”

She can’t know. She can’t possibly know.

Your blood turns to ice, but you keep a straight face. You look her dead in the eyes and say, “No. Let her go.”

“Let me rephrase that for your sake: is there any way else you can put a wrench in my plans?”

“I’ve already told you, please, let her go, I don’t know anything!”

She lets out a small tsk and activates an intercom. The hellish screams that come through the loudspeaker make you cover your mouth in shock.

From the cell, you the two beetles had just dug their pincers into Tansey’s legs.

You launch yourself at the damning woman on impulse, and would’ve clawed and scratched any part of her you could reach had you laid hands on her, but Coriolanus is instantly on you, holding both your arms from behind and whispering to your ear, “Nellie, just do as she says.”

No...nonono...

“It’s in my desk drawer!”

Legs shaking, your knees buckle and you collapse to the floor as your confession dawns on you. You just let go of your only way out of this mess...

Volumnia Gaul lets go of the intercom, cutting off the screaming in the cell.

“What was that, dear? I couldn’t quite hear that,” she taunts.

“It’s inside my desk drawer, it’s a floppy disk – please!”

You made a promise to Tansey, and you broke it.

“What’s in the disk?” Gaul asks through gritted teeth.

“A virus.”

“Who sent it?!” She barks.

“I don’t know!” you shout back in despair. “It just came in the mail. Please, I already told you everything…”

Still on your knees with your hands being held back by the monster behind you, you keep your eyes trained on the other monster in the room. What a pitiful sight you must make, this helpless, as life is so casually thrown into the fray at their whim.

Gaul presses a button beside the cell’s intercom. In an instant, the beetles let go of the little girl and fall on their backs.

You exhale sharply in relief.

It’s over. It’s alright, you soothe yourself. You will not cry, not in front of your enemies.

With an almost apologetic gentleness, Coriolanus helps you get on your feet. In the background, the vile woman you call your boss instructs someone through her communicuff to search your desk for the said floppy disk. You take a step back from your mentor and wait until the disk is taken to her office and Gaul locks it inside a coded safe.

Dr Gaul sighs cheerily as she addresses you both.

“I’m glad we’ve come to an agreement. Now that potential issues with the program have been dealt with, you can both go home. See you next week. The other gamemakers will be green with envy knowing the two of you got to try it first.”

She takes leisurely steps to one of her desks, humming to herself. Coriolanus bids her goodnight, but before you make your exit, you hear her call for your name. You almost ignore her.

“Ms Innis? I am promoting you to an official gamemaker post starting Monday. You are valuable to this team and to Mr Snow.”

And just like that, you find yourself shooed out of Volumnia Gaul’s office, out in the hallways and alone with him.

You begin your search for the elevator. Footfalls from behind you indicate he’s following.

“An official gamemaker…sugarplum, that makes you the youngest by just a few months. This is a milestone,” he praises. “It’s ten to eight, we can still make it to The White Knight, after all. We should celebrate.”

Your response is clipped. “No thank you, I have to go.”

“Go? We decided on dinner tonight. Where are you going?” He stops in front of you, but you sidestep him and increase your pace.

Unfortunately, he has longer strides than you, so he keeps with no difficulty.

“Nellie, what’s the matter? Hey, I’m talking to you and you’re being rude. I asked you where you’re going, so I expect an answer.”

When you refuse to reply, he grabs your arm to make you face him, but you shove them away.

“Away!” you retort. “Away from here, from - from her, away from you ! As far away as I can. Anywhere but here with you is where the fuck I'm going.”

You intend to make a right turn even though you have zero idea where you’re going, but he grips your bicep this time and spins you around, forcing you between the wall and his towering frame. There is a stone column with a vase sitting on top of it on either side of you, effectively trapping you in all directions.

“You're not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on with you.”

The nerve of this man, acting like he has no clue.

“Okay, I’ll humour that,” you scoff. You take a few deep breaths in an attempt to reel in your imminent outrage, but you don’t know how you can hold it in any longer. “First, you blackmail me, then you pressure me into situations I’m uncomfortable with, then you make me play that...thing, that god-awful thing, I get to relive the most horrible day of my life, and as if all that weren’t enough, you steal the only work – ”

“Hey now – ”

“ – I built that I can be proud of, and then take it apart to suit your perverse psychopathic little games...” you gasp for air and continue your tirade, “You hold me back and make me watch while that girl gets tortured – unhand me, you – you fucking – !”

“Calm down, sugarplum, this is simply just a panic attack – ”

“No, let me go – !”

A pair of lips capturing yours effectively cuts off your outburst. Coriolanus’s kiss is rough, one could even say desperate, but if he thinks he can silence you with one of his little mind games, he is sorely mistaken. You have spent what seems like forever bottling up every single emotion, but the cork has finally popped, and he will hear everything you have to say.

Even if that means facing the inevitable repercussions.

With all your strength, you push him away and finally lash out. Your palm hits his left cheek and the sharp slap echoes in the empty Citadel halls. He is visibly taken aback, and so are you, and yet it felt right. Vindictive, even.

“Don’t touch me,” you hiss, your curled fists shaking as you attempt to curtail it from delivering another blow. “I tried everything I could to keep you away from my uncle’s work. And to think it almost worked. All that time I spent with you after that day at the park, pretending you were still my friend, betraying my beliefs, painting on this face I fucking hated, playing this stupid game of yours... because that’s all this is to you. A game where you played me and you used me – ”

“‘Used you?’” Coriolanus lets out a derisive laugh. It must feel euphoric, finally letting go of that genial, affectionate facade he’s kept so perfectly around you. That’s right, let your true colours show.

“If it weren't for me,” he continues mockingly, his eyes crazed and devoid of any warmth. “You’d be rotting in that college for two more years, stuck with sorting essays and grading test papers. I brought you to the Citadel.

“I made you,” Coriolanus snarls and draws ever closer to you to drive his point. “I built you up to greater potential. Didn't you see what we just did there? We're right in the middle of the greatest breakthrough in the Games in years and here you are, throwing this childish little tantrum – ”

“This isn’t a tantrum, I’m just trying to make you see that this is wrong. We're killing people. Actual, living, breathing people! Or are too far gone to see this? My uncle and I built that program so you, and everyone else like you, could see that they’re all human. They were never just tributes, they’re no different from us – ”

“They’re nothing like us!” Coriolanus says sharply. “They wage war, they cause famine, they drive us to poverty, they kill your parents. They brought this upon themselves! The work we do is their reckoning and the Games put them in their place.”

You watch him clench and unclench his fist as he furrows his brow. He looks like he’s fighting a battle within himself with the way he gazes at you – bitter, enraged, disappointed, despondent, hurt; probably all at once. He sighs deeply, placing his hands gently on your shoulder as his fraught eyes bore into yours.

“We need these Games, Nellie. I need these games to work, and the most important thing: I need you there with me.” He cups your face to make you focus on him.

But you refuse to be made a fool out of ever again.

“Nellie. Please.”

He almost sounds like he’s begging.

“Nellie, say something.”

Coriolanus Snow never begs, but how much of it exactly is real?

“I don't know you, Coriolanus Snow.”

You forcefully pry his hands away from you and take a step past him.

The next thing you know, you’re being squeezed by the bicep and pushed harshly against the wall, knocking the air out of your lungs in the process. All you can focus on is Coriolanus Snow’s frenzied eyes and his bared teeth, and the palpable fury emanating from him; for a second, that look of his churns your insides. You’ve never seen him this furious.

“You leave right now, and I will tell everyone about that letter. What’s going to happen to dear old Uncle Cas when he and everybody else find out his little niece had been consorting with a traitor?”

You get a lungful of air before responding with just as much scorn. “You want to play that card? Go ahead, I'm not scared anymore because I know my conscience is clear. Wish I could say the same of you. Now, this I can’t prove, and I could be wrong, but I think you had Sejanus killed. You want to know why I think that?

“Because you’ve gone to such great lengths to blackmail me with that letter. And if I’m right, just the thought of it makes me sick.”

Perhaps you had not meant to sound so malicious, but so what?

“You usurped Sejanus’s place as the Plinth heir, you took his mother and father, you took everything from him.”

Coriolanus huffs and the corner of his lips curl into a sneer before he lets out a contemptuous guffaw. “So, that’s what this is, huh? Everything always has to be about him with you. The reason why you won’t let me do this is because you still love him,” he all but spits out the last three words as if the thought extremely repulsed him. Then he taunts, “Poor sensitive, foolish, dead Sejanus, stuck in District 12, Sejanus, rotting six fee – ”

“Fuck you, don’t you dare talk about him that way! Unhand me – !”

Your attempts to wrench yourself from his vice-like grip fail; he shakes your form, perhaps to make you see reason, and then he brings your foreheads together.

“Don't make me take drastic measures against you, Nellie,” he whispers with a gentleness you know is false. “Don’t make me do something we’ll both regret. But I can fix this. I can fix us. But only if you stay. Don't go. Stay with me.”

But you’ve made your decision. However you do it – whether it’s through a cordial resignation or through a virus; whatever happens when you do it – whether he reveals the truth about your letters to the world or sends you to the Districts in exile...

“I don’t ever want to see you again.”

Coriolanus Snow rewards this confession with another, harder slamming of your back against the wall, which earns an audible gasp of pain from you and clouds your vision with involuntary tears. It takes a few seconds for you to regain your composure just in time to see he’s pulled you closer, his face mere inches from yours.

“You’re not getting away from me.”

The way his whisper is laced with venom sends shivers down your spine, and the way his crazed, darkened gaze makes your blood run cold helps dawn on you the fact that he could simply murder you in cold blood right there and then and the Citadel would help him cover it up.

A set of incoming footsteps from your left alerts the both of you. He loosens his grip on your arms just as the footsteps grow closer.

It’s her. Who else can it be?

So, you take advantage of Coriolanus Snow’s momentary distraction and break away from him at last. You run to search for the elevator, and as you do, you hear the sound of something crashing on the floor followed by a loud yell of frustration. You ignore it entirely and keep your eyes peeled for the labels of each floor section until you eventually reach your target. You don’t even spare the accursed building a second glance the moment you’re out. You make a run for it.

You keep running along streets you barely recognise – your only concern is to ensure you’re several blocks away where he can’t catch up with you. And you only stop when you’re certain you’re hidden away in an alley while waiting for your breath to even out.

You’re okay, you assure yourself. You did the right thing. He can’t get to you anymore.

After puking your stomach inside-out behind a dumpster courtesy of the adrenaline rush, you crouch down and burst into sobs.

Coriolanus Snow stares vacantly at the broken pieces of china that litter the marble floor.

He had been distracted. He had inadvertently loosened his grip on you, and you had run away from him.

The footsteps you both heard seconds before you ran come to a halt behind him, indicating the owner of the floor’s arrival. And based on her lack of a falsely cheery greeting, Coriolanus can tell she isn’t too pleased with your rather... spirited exchange.

“Mr Snow,” she chastises. “Is there a particular reason why you and your pet would make such a racket in my halls like pesky little children?”

“Dr Gaul,” he greets simply. He isn’t particularly fond of her, but at that very moment, he has never been happier to see her.

“Dr Gaul, I may need your help.”

In the safety of his luxury penthouse, Coriolanus Snow inwardly ponders on the many things that had gone wrong in matters concerning you.

Perhaps the first and most crucial of all of them is the fact that after you left, he had done what he had vowed himself not to for the past two years: he had fallen in love again , and this time to a girl who seemed impervious to his charms, to his money, and to anything he does to make his affections mutual.

It’s hard to admit, but he had once again fallen trapped to the wiliness that is love – once more ensnared by its venomous fangs, latching onto him and spreading the disease throughout his body undetected until he was too far gone to do anything about it.

He recalls vaguely what Gaul had said about you at Strabo’s birthday party: something about you gaining little wings before flying off if he isn’t too careful.

Second: he’s fuming mad at himself for losing control over your defiance; angry at himself for falling in love again; resentful at you for giving him confusing feelings in the last few months, only to refuse him over and over.

He remembers Gaul questioning his selection of you as a potential partner. Suppose he could go back – would he choose another?

But even then, the idea of choosing anyone else other than you was laughable at best. So, no, he wouldn’t.

Maybe he could get out of this by killing you, but the more he thinks of it, the more he seems bothered by the thought of not sharing a life with you.

So, he can’t kill you, either. He’s gone too far with you and too far gone for you.

The third, however, seems unfair to pin on himself alone. He had dinner planned that night so he could reveal to the world that he intended to court you officially. If the public sees this display, you and your meddling uncle would be pressured into accepting him – after all, what would it look like to the Capitol if you refused the one and only Snow heir's advances despite his pure intentions?

That’s why your refusal to stay with him that night – your refusal of him – led to an outburst he hadn’t been able to control. It had hurt like you stabbed him in his heart, just watching the look of hatred on your face directed at him, seeing a hint of fear in those pretty eyes of yours as you looked at him. And the way you went on a rage after he had insulted Sejanus, making him unwittingly discover that you still loved him? Cherry on fucking-top.

But that love rightfully belongs to him, not to a mere boy rotting in the ground who only got so much as a kiss from you before he got himself killed for his folly.

It seems like Sejanus is still sabotaging his future from beyond the grave.

Had he been expecting his initial platonic attachment for you to grow? If he’s being honest with himself, he indeed had anticipated this somewhat. What he wasn’t prepared for was how he’d see you in a different light after spending that much time with you.

He’s seen the kind of girl you are: smart, headstrong, and brave; despite everything you’ve gone through, despite your apparent fear of seeing people get injured and die, you had no qualms standing up for your principles, no matter how misdirected some of those are. You had no problem standing up to him and to Volumnia Gaul a while back – an act that even he admits takes the purest form of daring-do.

And then he brought you home that night, witnessing your turmoil in your sleep.

His girl, so beautiful and smart and courageous, but also so damaged and vulnerable and exposed to him…

If he could do anything, anything, just so you wouldn’t have to cry for your mother and father in your sleep; just so you wouldn’t have to dream about the pain of losing your loved ones and fear for their safety all the time...

But then, he gets the picture: he can do something. Coriolanus Snow has the power to make sure the people who were responsible for your parents’ deaths are put in their rightful place and face their true nature.

That’s what the Games are for.

In a way, he’s trying to change the Games for you.

That being said, what is his next move? Surely he isn’t beyond using everything in his arsenal to make you see who you belong to, including eliciting the help of a fearsome figure, even if it means owing her a huge favour. Dr Gaul, the said figure, sent him home that night with a two-inch thick covert rebel force intelligence report tucked in his suitcase. He needs to study this file from cover to cover and he needs to act fast.

To keep a bird in its cage, he needs to clip its wings.

So, from behind his desk and aided with a huge pot of freshly brewed coffee, Coriolanus steels himself for a long sleepless night ahead and opens the folder. His interest is instantly piqued when he sees a name he’d never thought he’d see smack-dab on the front page of a top-secret rebel force intelligence file:

Acacius E. Innis.

Enter Level 11

Author notes:

Please reblog and comment, it's always appreciated!

Someone had kindly asked me for Nellie's family history, so we'll know more of that (including our beloved Uncle Cas's) next level :D

#dark!coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #young!coriolanus snow #young!coriolanus snow x reader #named!reader #x OC2ndPOV #or #18+ only #dark!coriolanus snow fic #dark!coriolanus #dark!coriolanus fic #dark!fic

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volleypearlfan · 1 year

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Where are the teenage/YA cartoons?

Recently, two cartoons that were slated to be on Cartoon Network, Unicorn: Warriors Eternal and My Adventures With Superman, are now going to be on Adult Swim.

To me, this move makes no sense. These shows could have diversified Cartoon Network’s very barebones lineup, but they were shoved to Adult Swim. I sorta understand Unicorn, as it is dark (but definitely not on the same level as Primal, one of Genndy Tartakovsky’s other shows), but My Adventures with Superman? That show seems pretty innocuous. It has a bright color palette and doesn’t seem similar to Harley Quinn or the later seasons of Young Justice.

This reminds me of the desperate need there is for teen/YA-oriented western cartoons. In western animation, there are three primary audiences:

Preschoolers; anything rated TV-Y, shown on PBS Kids, Nick Jr, Disney Junior, or Cartoonito. Example: Doc McStuffins.

Big kids/elementary school crowd; anything rated TV-Y7, can be seen on Nickelodeon, Cartoon Network, and Disney Channel. Example: The Amazing World of Gumball.

Adult; anything rated TV-14 or TV-MA, seen on Adult Swim, Comedy Central, or the prime time Fox lineup. Example: Rick and Morty.

That’s it. Despite what the rating of TV-14 might lead you to believe, the stuff on Animation Domination or Adult Swim isn’t targeted to teenagers, obviously.

This leaves teenagers in a weird spot when it comes to watching cartoons (western ones, that is. They definitely watch anime). They tend to stick with big kids and/or adult cartoons, like Avatar. With all of the heavy subject matter it and Korra tackle, they definitely feel more like teenage cartoons, especially since they were inspired by anime.

I bring up anime because they have clearly defined demographics, including teenagers. They have manga/anime for teenage boys, shonen (Naruto, One Piece, Dragon Ball Z), and teenage girls, shojo (Fruits Basket, Kamisama Kiss, Yona of the Dawn).

Shojo anime (except Sailor Moon) pretty much never air on American TV, but when shonen anime are exported here, they end up on Adult Swim’s Toonami block. For example, Demon Slayer aired on Toonami (they had to stop airing it because it got too expensive), and in America, the Mugen Train movie was rated R. This despite Demon Slayer being aimed at teenagers, and also being enjoyed by small children in Japan. They even had a Japanese Happy Meal promotion that ran alongside Pretty Cure, a show that actually is aimed at small children (kodomomuke).

With America’s teenagers flocking to anime, I believe that the American animation industry should keep up with the times and try to capitalize on the teenage demographic instead of shoehorning shows to be for elementary schoolers or adults.

Here are some western cartoons I believe could be classified as YA/teenage shows:

Avatar and Korra, as mentioned above.

Most cartoons aired on MTV, such as Daria, Beavis and Butthead, and Clone High. It helps that MTV itself was aimed at teenagers. Aeon Flux is an exception however, as it is clearly for adults. They’re often shoehorned into the category of “adult animation,” but their subject matter is more appealing to teens.

6teen. It’s right there in the title! Canada knows what’s up.

Total Drama, another Canadian cartoon. I know that they made the younger-skewing DramaRama spin-off because teenagers weren’t watching cartoons anymore, but now that the main show is coming back, it will definitely be aimed at teenagers again.

Sym Bionic Titan, yet another Tartakovsky show, pretty much is a teen/YA show, minus swearing. If I remember correctly, it aired on Toonami for a little while.

Regular Show. The most obvious example of a YA cartoon disguised as a kids cartoon.

Infinity Train. Never forget that it was cancelled because “no child entry point.”

As Told By Ginger is essentially a teen drama in animated form.

Invader Zim - Nickelodeon asked Johnson Vasquez to make a show directed towards older audiences, got exactly what they wanted (most of the viewership was from teens and adults, especially of the shops-at-Hot Topic variety) and cancelled it anyway.

Arcane is technically an adult series, but League of Legends is rated T by the ESRB, so I’m putting it in the teen/YA category (there IS a distinction between ‘young adult’ and ‘adult’)

I highly doubt that the likes of Nickelodeon will add a teenage animation block to their lineup (and TeenNick is nothing but iCarly reruns), but I hope that streaming services will start capitalizing on the YA demographic for western animation. Bee and Puppycat is a good start, featuring relatable young adult situations while technically being watchable for all ages. At least Unicorn is gonna air on ACME Night, which isn’t too late in the evening (currently, the block starts at 5:30 EST). And with Clone High and the aforementioned Total Drama making a comeback, I’m holding out hope for more YA animation.

#long post #animation #western animation #cartoons #ya #my adventures with Superman #unicorn warriors eternal #adult swim #Toonami #6teen #daria #infinity train #as told by ginger #acme night #my animation essays

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lilscottishlesbian · 3 months

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Diabolik Lovers|| Witch Headcanons

Apparently it’s canon that witches hunt and kill vampires. Why it’s unknown right but I wanna do my own spin on it.

Some of these headcanons are based on paganism(as a pagan myself), not all it but there’s some reference as I am proud of my beliefs ✨🧙‍♀️

🧙‍♀️The main reason why witches hunt and kill vampires is an act of revenge. Years and even now vampires would steal witches from their coven to drink their blood.

🧙‍♀️Many witches have died at hands of vampires so they decided to avenge their fallen witches.

🧙‍♀️There are small villages in the demon world were some witches covens resign , however recently many have been destroyed due to vampires setting them on fire.

🧙‍♀️After the vampires set their homes on fire many now live deep in the demon world’s forests.

🧙‍♀️However some witches moved to the human world and stopped doing magic as to not get caught by vampires.

🧙‍♀️There are witch trials in the demon world. They never actually tried if they were a witch they were burned.

🧙‍♀️Witches who had children with a human sometimes uses magic on their child to prevent their child from having any magic ablities. However the spell isn’t passed onto the child offspring as it doesn’t alter any genes.

🧙‍♀️Witches can sense when any demon is near by regardless of race. However demons can’t tell if a person is witch as they aren’t a race.

🧙‍♀️People are born witches.

🧙‍♀️Some witches do have special abilities the other may not possess. For example seeing ghosts, being able to control emotions, ect.

🧙‍♀️witch powers can become unstable if the young witch is under distress. (Due to lack of training)

🧙‍♀️For example they can cause physical harm to someone if that person upsets the witch greatly. Can be fatal too even if the witch didn’t mean it.

🧙‍♀️Cats are their familiers. Any cat breed or colour.

🧙‍♀️witches are allies with the werewolves as both have been mistreated by vampires.

🧙‍♀️over the years witches developed spells and potions that require parts from a vampire, this can go from blood , to a body part, to vampire ashes.

🧙‍♀️They are most power during full moons.

🧙‍♀️They do use wands , they CAN do some spells without one but it’s better to use a wand as the spells work better and it’s better for aiming.

🧙‍♀️They use crystals as well.

🧙‍♀️They all celebrate pagan holidays. For example Yule.

🧙‍♀️Many use Tarot cards as well for readings. The ones who use magic in the human world sometimes to tarot card readings and palm readings for the humans.

🧙‍♀️I know it was a rumour from that one LP drama CD about a witch turning vampires into chocolate. Why not have it be true?

This is it for now however I will edit this and reblog it if I add more

#Spotify #diabolik lovers #haunted dark bridal #laito sakamaki #ayato sakamaki #kanato sakamaki #shitpost #yui komori #shu sakamaki #subaru sakamaki #reiji sakamaki

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yukidragon · 2 years

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Just wondering, in terms of the Sunny Time Crew Show, we know who’s Jack, but who are the other characters and what were their respective roles? Where can we find more information on what the TV show itself was about?

I’m afraid our clues so far are pretty limited. What we’ve been able to scrape together so far is some of the teaser tweets and the artwork Sauce made of the cast, one of which is used for official merchandise.

As always whenever I include some of the official publicly posted artwork for the series, I want to give full credit to Sauce for drawing it. They put a lot of hard work into this and deserve to be credited.

Remember, don’t repost the privately posted images from the SnaccPop Patreon. Let’s give our full support to Sauce and the team where we can, okay?

We know the names of the rest of the cast members thanks to a map of Cloudy Town. There were big, big plans, according to this map.

Starting us off is the star of the show, Sunny Day Jack, the main man himself. Even on the map, his school house is right there at the top, drawing immediate attention. It’s in his signature primary colors, though the print shown is worn with washed out colors.

Luckily, Sauce was kind enough to post a version of the map on their twitter that didn’t go through the aging process. Since the twitter is gone, allow me to show it here.

Directly from the school house is Knackadan Drizzle’s field. Quite the name, huh? It’s a pretty sporty place, fitting for a sports themed clown... or rather a coach themed clown?

While nothing has been confirmed for certain, it looks like Knackadan Drizzle was responsible for the lessons on the show that related to sports, likely also teamwork and cooperation as well. Fittingly, he is colored in shades of green and yellow like his field. I imagine even his green mustache might be something of a nod to the green grass on the field.

The playground isn’t associated with any one person, but right next to it is Daisy Chain Jane’s Joke Shop. Like Jack’s school, the joke shop sports primary colors, similar to Jane’s design.

Now Daisy Chain Jane is a pretty interesting character. Those who remember this post I made about the SunnyTime Town AU might recall that Daisy Chain Jane is a character exclusive to that AU rather than the fictional world of the show.

Then again, Buddy existed in the show as a belt puppet that apparently could talk, so it’s possible that Jane might exist in the show’s canon as well.

My guess is that there were plans to have her character introduced during the next season as Jack’s big sister. After all, the map itself was posted with the caption that there were big plans. Jack’s murder certainly scrapped any future for the SunnyTime Crew Show... at least 40 years ago.

Next we have Rory Rainberry’s Bakery in shades of purple, pink, orange, and red. Some of you might know his actor Jean Laurent, but the character he plays seems to be a lot more wholesome than this candid shot.

As suggested by this picture and the map, Rory is a baker. I’m sure he teaches kids about nutrition, staying healthy, eating sweets in moderation, and maybe a few simple cooking recipes they can do at home like putting peanut butter onto celery.

Finally we have Cloudy-Belle Sue and her white, pink, and pastel blue library. Sadly, we don’t have a picture of her alone, but I suspect that she was in charge of story time with the children, likely using fables to teach important lessons that are outside the scope of the more grounded parts of the show.

Overall, the show seems to have been aimed at young children, teaching life lessons in a way they can digest easily, with cheerful clowns in bright colors acting as both their teachers and friends. CloudyTown was meant to be a place of fun and learning. It’s hard to say for sure what the age range of its target demographic was exactly, but I’m sure we’ll find out in the game’s full release when we get a look into the backstory of the show.

I will point out though for those who might not have caught it - the colors of each character’s locations seem to correspond with the main colors in the characters’ clothes and hair. The main colors of the show, as shown by the logo and at the bottom of the map, seems to make it clear that Jack was always intended to be the main character, no matter what he says that there is no leader of the crew during the interview.

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars

#Sunny Day Jack #Something's Wrong With Sunny Day Jack #SunnyDayJack #sdj #swwsdj #Headcanon Ramblings #Ask #Sauce-y Art

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writtenonreceipts · 8 months

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Rowaelin Month Day Twenty Two: Magic/Shifting Lessons with the Kids @rowaelinscourt

Month Masterlist

~1k words, another day of poor editing

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

Father and Son

The screams were what drew Rowan’s attention first.

He couldn’t scent any blood so he knew it wasn’t terribly urgent. Nor could he scent any pain either. But when his children were involved, it was best to put an end to screaming as soon as possible. The last time he and Aelin had tried to let them scream it out the entire west wing of the palace had nearly been destroyed.

So, Rowan picked up his pace as he rounded the corner down to the practice yard where he knew his two oldest should have been working on their sword formations. He came face to face with a young soldier instead, likely on his way to find him or Aelin.

“Ah, your highness,” the young fae said. He bowed shortly, refusing to meet Rowan’s gaze. “The children--”

“Are causing problems again, aren’t they?” Rowan finished. The soldier’s eyes only widened to a comical size. “I’ll see to them.”

Without saying anything else, he swept past the soldier and out to the yard. It indeed was chaos.

Two of the practice dummies had been obliterated. Hay streaked in every direction, barrels overturned, and Meiri stood center of it all. Her blonde hair was, as always, in disarray, and her tunic mussed up. She pointed her wooden practice sword at a crate where Rowan could just make out Finlay hiding behind.

Oh good. They were getting along swimmingly.

“Come out, Finlay!” Meiri shouted. She was sixteen and well on her way to taking over the world. “You can’t hide behind that.”

“You’re cheating.” Finlay, nearly fifteen, kept his position with his own practice sword clutched in his hands.

Rowan could at least pride himself on the fact he insisted they not use real weapons on each other unless he, Lorcan, or Aedion were present.

“I’m not cheating!”

“Are too!”

“You can use magic too, if you actually tried!”

Meiri’s words were not meant to be cruel exactly, but she was young and confident and could be rather arrogant in her own abilities. Exactly like her mother. And Rowan knew how Finlay would take the words all the same.

He waited until Meiri finally noticed him.

“Da!” she exclaimed. “Would you please tell Fin this isn’t how you fight. He’s embarrassing himself, really.”

“Stand down, Meir,” Rowan said. He dipped his chin at his daughter who frowned, but lowered the wooden sword all the same.

Rowan nodded in approval before going to the crate where Fin was still hiding behind. It wasn’t often that the lad acted like this. He was indeed proud and hated displaying weakness of any sort. But he was also still young and barely coming into maturity. Rowan could only guess what was going on in his son’s head. So he eased himself onto the ground right beside Fin, crossing his arms over his knees in a relaxed position.

Finlay groaned. “Oh, would you just leave me alone?”

He squeezed his eyes shut and banged his head against the crate.

“I’m the only one equipped to handle the two of you when you get like this,” Rowan reminded his son.

“Meiri’s insane,” Fin hissed.

“I heard that!” Meiri shouted from behind them.

Rowan rolled his eyes. “Not now, Meiri.”

His words were followed by a huff and stomping feet. Rowan waited a bit longer until he knew Meiri had fully retreated to the weapons room. He looked at his son.

Finlay was a near replica of Rowan himself. Silver hair, tan skin, and green eyes. Though…Rowan would swear Fin’s eyes changed on occasion. No matter. It was still a bit disconcerting at times to remember the fact that he, Rowan Whitethorn, had a son. Even if he’d had over a decade to get used to the fact.

“What happened?” Rowan asked. “Couldn’t summon ice or couldn’t aim?”

Fin said nothing as she stretched his long legs out before him.

“By the looks of it, you got a bit out of control?” Rowan pressed.

Fin banged his head against the crate again.

“It’s hard to control early on,” Rowan said, he tried to channel the way his own father trained him and not what he had learned trapped in Maeve’s oath. “Even harder when you’re still growing into yourself, maturing--”

“Stop talking da,” Fin said, finally looking at him. It was more like a glare but Rowan would take it.

He smothered a grin and knocked his shoulder with Fin’s. “It’s alright to struggle with your magic. But you can’t let your temper control you.”

Fin scowled. “I don’t let it control me.”

“Then why will we need to have the servants make new practice dummies?” Rowan asked. He didn’t want to embarrass his son or make this situation worse than it could potentially be. But sometimes you had to press and dig to get the answers you wanted. “Seems like something happened.”

Fin kept his eyes trained forward to an alcove across the practice yard. It was left in afternoon shadows but was as innocuous a place as any to train your attention when avoiding confrontation.

For a moment, Rowan wondered if he should call Aelin here. She’d struggled with controlling her magic and it hadn’t been centuries since that happened. Unlike with Rowan. He could still remember the vague sense of frustration, but it truly had been an age since he’d struggled so much.

“Finlay,” Rowan began as she stretched his legs out before him. “Sometimes, getting better at something takes longer than we think it will, but that doesn’t mean we give up on it.”

Fin continued scowling. “Meiri teases me for losing control. I’m trying, I’m trying really hard, da.”

It was true that Meiri’s magic had always come easily to her, that she didn’t struggle with it, that it was simply a natural extension of her being. And even though Fin had displayed his magic early on--he’d always had a difficult time reigning it in.

“That’s just Meiri,” Rowan sighed. “But she is your sister, and you do actually have to talk to her about things. Or we can have one big family dinner and talk about what it’s like to grow up and change.”

“No!” Fin shouted, grabbing the front of Rowan’s shirt. “That’ll just make it worse.”

Rowan chuckled, unable to help it. He stood and offered a hand to Fin.

“C’mon then,” he said. “I helped train your mother. I can help train you too.”

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

not ready to try tagging again... but as always, thanks for reading friends

#rowaelin #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #rowaelinmonth #rowaelinmonth2023 #throne of glass #tog #throne of glass fanfiction #fanfic

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iamafictionfreak · 6 months

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TIS THE SEASON TO BE MERTHUR!

Just... Look at them!

I miss everything about this show. Even the very bad CGI and the weak-ass plot points/armour/conveniences/contrivances.

One Christmas Eve, almost 11 years ago, the entire Merlin fandom was butchered into tiny little distraught pieces. It didn’t matter if your favourite character was Merlin or Morgana, Gaius or Gwen. The showrunners held no qualms in destroying your dreams for Gwaine or Perce. The writers did not hold back in their aim to crucify the smile on your face, to forever turn it upside down. No ship was spared. All hopes for the show to finally commit to their original intent, to bring peace between peoples, to save Albion, to allow Merlin his freedom and Arthur the truth, was brought to a bitter, fatalistic end.

Not that I need to repeat this to you, you know what happened, but it’s worth reiterating that this travesty occurred… on Christmas Eve.

CHRISTMAS. EVE.

Christmas Eve.

The night before Christmas, the night before the day where all rules are broken and we can frolic like children around a decorated tree filled with twinkling lights, our collective hearts were shredded.

This event (once we recovered a tiny bit from the shock) gave birth to a plethora of astonishingly well written, poignant, devastating, hilarious fanfictions that had helped nurse our wounds, for nothing could TRULY heal (except a follow-up season with the original characters, come ON BBC) us.

After nearly 11 years of watching these brilliant entries grow, I never thought I’d jump on this bandwagon and write my own fic.

But I've had a few very shit years, as have many people around the world, and I started to wonder as we do when we want to prove magic can still happen.

My brain decided that it wanted my hands to write the most indulgent, likely over done fic in existence for the fandom. This thought stuck with me throughout the year – I was being STALKED by myself – and wouldn’t leave me the hell alone. This hasn’t happened in a long while.

Still… you’ll eyeroll at the idea. It's so OBVIOUS, I'm embarrassed by myself.

What if Arthur discovered Merlin’s magic from the get-go, from episode 1?

WAIT. Hear me out…

So, Merlin saves Arthur for the first time and Arthur SEES. He sees his eyes glow.

He knows he should tell his father, but his instincts are screaming at him. Honour is at stake. This stranger saved his life. How could he reward it with an execution? So, a chance needs to be given, doesn’t it? A chance for Merlin to give up magic forever and live a life of goodness, to turn away from evil and serve Arthur…

Except Arthur can’t help but wonder. About Magic, about Merlin and magic, about the law and all the whys attached and his place within this chain.

But he also can’t trust this peasant who cavorts with the devil, practices wickedness but smiles like a child and offers compassion to everyone. Someone so duplicitous must be dangerous… except Merlin’s an actual idiot! And it’s getting really difficult to keep his guard up.

But isn’t that how sorcerers work? They twist the mind with pleasing ideas, they tempt and coerce, they manipulate.

And slowly, Arthur finds himself being manipulated too. For how could he ever want to trust this man- but he does. He does.

And we’ve never been allowed to see Merlin deal with a S1 Arthur who’s in the ‘know’. Who’s forcing him to keep it secret, who’s threatening him with trial by fire, a young Arthur who’s ignorant, arrogant and so desperate to understand what he cannot trust.

Then there's the layers, royalty versus peasantry, friendship versus alliances, goals versus ideals.

I want to write a fic where this trust is built from the ground up. One of the things about the show that made it impossible for me to let it go is that the ‘relationship’ between Arthur and Merlin fits exactly zero categories, yet all of them.

Master and servant.

Friends

Family

Allies

Enemies

Romantic ideals

Platonic soulmates

Absolute Soulmates

I could go on. And it's one of those rare shows where the writing would be given more oomph if the males leads had dared cross a line or two.

Realistically, they weren't even friends. They were master and servant who'd become a little co-dependant. Arthur could never admit to anything more because of his station, but would he have been able to being completely himself around Merlin if he'd known the truth? We never see Arthur truly be himself. He wasn't allowed to be, not even with his wife. There was always a wall - it was how he was raised and any attempt to develop was killed by plot.

We never saw Merlin completely free, not with a single person. He started happy and healthy and innocent. A liar. He ended up bitter and terrified and angry and alone. Still a liar.

What would he have become if there'd been one person he could truly trust- not Gaius. Not a man already broken and brainwashed by his own self. A victim of the system just as much as he perpetuated the hate and completely unaware of the trap he lived in.

Many of the characters in the show have the versatility and potential to be written a trillion different ways, is it any wonder that fics continue to be written?

Well, I wanted to explore a slow burn development of trust, with Arthur learning how wrong he was, how much he’s trampled on, and all about the seemingly normal peasant boy who meant more to the world than Arthur could possibly understand. What would they have become if they’d been given the time, hm?

When they were young - yes, I'm going there - wild and free.

What of Morgana, what if she could have trusted? What if she could have understood? Would it have turned out differently? Would she have still become the other side of Uther's coin?

Would Merlin still have ended up alone?

There’s lots more I wanted to touch upon, it’s a big what if, but that’ll have to wait for another post.

I’m writing a 5 part prologue that occurs between episode 1 and 2. I’m hoping to release it for Christmas and then take the time to write the rest of the season.

Unless… you guys think it’s a waste of time? Let me know.

In the meantime, I’m STILL SUFFERING (fucking show) and it's making me write, write, write!

(gifs not mine)

#merlin #arthur pendragon #merlin bbc #merlin emrys #guinevere #morgana #Gaius #uther pendragon #fuck uther #potential #merthur #merlin fanfic #merlin fandom

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sequinsmile-x · 1 month

Text

Stained Glass Windows - Chapter Sixty Six

Life was complicated, but they wouldn't have it any other way.

-x-

Hi besties <3

As always, the love for this version of them means the entire world. You're probably going to yell at me for this one too...and again, I deserve it.

-x-

Words: 2.1k

A full list of warnings for the fic can be found on the Series Master List.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

He still wasn’t used to the heat. The humidity was almost oppressive at times, making it almost impossible to concentrate.

Emily had told him he’d struggle, her smile teasing as she bought him linen clothes he’d frowned at, the thin and floaty material a far cry from his usual sharp-edged suits. She’d said that he’d need them, that she knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t cope with the weather in Pakistan, and she’d been right.

Everywhere he went he pictured her, imagined her pale skin slowly tanning, her dedication to sunscreen unlike anything he’d ever known. He imagined her hair curling in the humidity, the volume she hated but he loves slowly getting out of control. She seemed at home everywhere she went, always easily adapting to her surroundings, a hangover of her childhood he knows she hates.

He missed her. He missed his family. The short phone calls and emails he exchanged with his wife were not enough. The pictures of the kids that she would send would make him ache, guilt and irritation he could only aim inwards blooming in his gut every time.

He’d already been here for two months, and was already closing in on the original deadline he’d given his superiors on when he’d like to go home, but he knew that they wanted him here longer. Any conversation he had about him leaving, about the handover he’d already written up, was skirted around, his boss waving him off like they had months to go.

He just wanted to go home, to kiss his wife, to hug his children. And he was close to just doing it anyway, consequences be damned.

He blows out a breath when he hears his satellite phone ring and he lifts it from its holster on his belt, pulling up the antenna as he answers it, “Hotchner.”

“Hotch, it’s JJ.”

His heart drops into his stomach the moment he hears her voice, worst-case stealing the breath from his lungs. No one other than Emily had called him since he’d come here, the number was need to know, but he knew his wife had given it to her friend for emergencies.

“JJ, what’s wrong?” He demands, his grip on the phone tight, his jaw clenched as he tries to reason with himself, trying to assure himself that he’s overreacting.

JJ sighs, her voice soft, almost too kind as it comes down the line, “It’s Emily. There’s been an accident.”

___

Two Days Earlier

Emily carefully pulls the door to the nursery shut behind her, grateful when she’s met with silence afterwards, Lily having finally fallen asleep.

She yawns as she walks down the hall and towards the stairs, rolling her neck as she goes. Once she gets to the living room she frowns when Jack isn’t where she’d left him when she took Lily to bed, the TV paused on the movie she’d put on for him and his toys abandoned.

She feels a moment of panic flash through her, the reality of balancing two young children by herself something she felt like she was constantly failing at. Before Aaron left for Pakistan, they’d take it in turns putting Lily to bed. When it was her turn, Aaron would make her a snack, a habit that had stuck from when she was still breastfeeding, and he’d watch a cartoon with Jack. When it was Aaron’s turn to put Lily to bed, Emily would snuggle with the little boy, her arm wrapped around him as she made sure he got some of her undivided attention.

She missed having a partner in all of this, the reality of doing this herself wearing her down, her patience for her husband’s absence almost non-existent. She wanted him home, wanted to go back in time and tell herself to not let him go, to have him quit rather than deal with this.

She knew she could cope without him, she had done for years before they met, but she didn’t want to. She loved having him with her, having his reassurance and love as her cornerstones, her already strong foundations she’d built alone made stronger by him, by their family. By the life they were building together.

She had no interest in living life without him.

“Jack,” she calls out, turning and leaving the living room as she looks for her stepson, “Where are you?”

“In the kitchen,” he replies, and she frowns curiously as she follows his voice, relief washing over her when he sounds unharmed..

“What are you doing, honey? Are you okay…” she trails off as she walks into the kitchen, surprised by what she finds.

Jack is sitting on the counter, one of the stools from the breakfast bar he’d clearly climbed on dragged over. There's a plastic Spiderman plate next to him with a peeled banana on it, the skin abandoned on the surface behind it. The banana has been torn into chunks, and she could picture him pulling it apart with his hands, the sticky residue he’d wiped onto his shirt the only evidence she needs.

She smiles as she walks over to him and ruffles his hair, her smile getting wider as he leans into it, “I could have made you a snack if you wanted one.”

“It’s not for me,” he says as he frowns, looking so much like Aaron it makes her ache, “It’s for you.”

She feels her heart clench in her chest, the love she feels for this little boy wrapped tight around it like a vice, “What have you made me a snack for?”

He shrugs, “Daddy always makes you a snack when you take Lily to bed,” he says as if it’s obvious, like it’s not the sweetest thing anyone has done for her in a long time, “I also made you some tea.”

She snaps her head to where he’s pointing, panic that he’d somehow used the kettle overwhelming her until she sees the cup he’s talking about next to the fridge. There was no steam coming from it, and the tea bag was floating at the bottom, no hint that it had brewed at all, and she’d put money on him having used ice water from the fridge dispenser.

She looks back at him and pulls him into a hug, adjusting her hold on him so she can lift him, placing him on her hip as she kisses his forehead, breathing in the scent of his shampoo, something that had become even more comforting to her since Aaron had left. She saw more and more of him everyday in Jack and Lily, their facial expressions and personalities giving her flashes of her husband. Tiny pieces of him that weren’t enough.

“That’s so sweet of you, honey,” she says, kissing the side of his head again as she picks up the plate with the banana on it, “Why don’t you hold this and I’ll get my tea,” she says and he nods, carefully taking the plate from her, “And we’ll watch that cartoon together before you go to bed and we’ll share my snack.”

He frowns at her, tilting his head at her as she walks them back to the living room, “But I made it for you.”

She kisses his head again, hoping she hides her wavering smile in the action, his endless empathy enough to tip her over the edge when she was at her best.

“I know, but you can’t possibly expect me to eat all of this,” she says, smiling when he nods in agreement as she settles down on the couch.

She drinks the freezing cold, flavourless tea and eats the half-mashed banana as Jack falls asleep against her, and she thinks it’s the best snack she’s ever had in her life.

___

She was running late.

She curses herself as she dumps her purse on the passenger seat of her car, and she groans when she sees the time.

“Shit,” she mumbles to herself, pulling her seatbelt on as she dials the daycares number and turns on the engine, her phone on speaker as she abandons it on the seat next to her, impatient as she waits for the call to connect as she drives out of the Quantico parking lot.

“Sunnyside Daycare, this is Alice.”

“Alice, hi,” Emily says, breathing a sigh of relief, “It’s Lily Hotchner’s mom. I’m so sorry, a meeting overran and I’m only just leaving work, so I’m going to be late-”

“Mrs Hotchner, it’s fine,” Alice says kindly as she cuts her off, “Lily is currently playing happily and we’re here for another couple of hours. You’re fine.”

Emily chuckles wryly and nods to herself, pulling the car to a stop at an intersection, the red light almost mocking her as it changes just as she approaches, “Thank you,” she replies, feeling calmer, “I always feel terrible when I’m late.”

The meeting had been with Strauss of all people. She’d pulled her into her office just before she was due to leave, an expression on her face that let Emily know there was no arguing with her. At first, Strauss had simply asked her how she was doing, enquiring about Aaron’s absence in a way that felt almost uncharacteristically kind, although Emily was sure it was because the other women missed having Aaron as a buffer between herself and Dave.

Then the conversation had taken a turn she really hadn’t expected. They’d had an interim Unit Chief of the Counterterrorism unit since Carson had been fired, but it had always been made clear that it was temporary until they found a suitable replacement.

Strauss had asked Emily if she’d be interested in taking over the unit, citing both her specialism in linguistics, her work ethic and her robust record at the bureau. It had taken her by surprise, wondering how the woman who had once told her she’d never advance in the FBI was now offering her a promotion over people who’d been in the team longer than she had.

She’d left without giving Strauss an answer, citing that she’d need to talk to Aaron, whenever she was next able to, before she could make any decisions.

“No need to feel bad, Mrs Hotchner,” Alice assures her, “Lily is adorable, so we’ll never say no to a little extra time with her.”

Emily laughs, her eyes flicking up to the red light as it changes to amber, “She is pretty cute, even if I do say so myself,” she says, smiling when the other woman laughs, “I’ll be about 30 minutes depending on traffic.”

“See you soon,” Alice says and the call ends as the light turns green.

Emily starts to drive, excited to see her little girl after a strange day at work, and wondering to herself if she’d get to call Aaron that night, if she could discuss the potential step forward in her career with the person whose opinion she valued the most.

She doesn’t notice the car that runs a red light on the other intersection until a second before it hits her. Time slows down as the metal of the car groans as it crumbles, loud scraping sounds as the passenger side where the other car hit disappears, taking the force of the other driver’s speed. She tries her best to control it, her hands tight on the steering wheel as the car spins. It must last only a matter of seconds, her head hitting the dashboard as she’s flung back and forth, held tightly in place by her seatbelt.

When the car finally stops, she feels dizzy, the shouting outside the car, onlookers running over to help, sounds out of focus. Like it’s far away, trapped behind glass as she tries to move, a sharp pain from her right shoulder pinning her in place just as much as the crumpled metal around her. She places her left hand on her forehead and winces when she feels blood, her stomach churning as she pulls back and sees the grim red pattern against her skin, sinking into her finger tips and into the cracks of her nails, the cuticles torn open from anxiety caused by the absense of her husband.

She starts to lose consciousness, shock setting in as people start to approach her car, and the last thing she thinks of is her family.

-x-

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#aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotchniss fanfic #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #emily prentiss fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotchniss fan fic #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron x emily #hotchniss

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privateanxieties · 9 months

Text

forget my mercy, take my blame (chapter 1)

Summary: For what it's worth, you don't know the man who's pointing the gun at your face. It's strange how one goes from bakery owner getting robbed to wanted fugitive. Oh, and then there's the target you put on your own back by associating with one Frank Castle. Surprisingly, you two have a lot in common.

Words: 4.1K

Series Masterlist | NEXT CHAPTER

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For what it's worth, you don't know the man who’s pointing the gun at your face. It is difficult, in these circumstances, to convince yourself that this was somehow brought on by choices made in the past, even with the sophisticated talent you have for self-condemnation. He's not a disgruntled ex-boyfriend, or an unstable relative you sassed one too many times over Thanksgiving dinner. He isn’t one of your past mistakes. He's just some guy.

He's aiming an M1911 somewhere below your clavicles and shouting words you've never been on the receiving end of, and in the time it takes him to do so, you're successful in finding one good thing about this whole experience: at least he isn't making one of your employees stare down the barrel, even if they have to watch you do it from a few feet away. Eliza and Ramón are adults, enrolled in the local college and with bills to pay, but to you they may as well be children.

The man has a stutter you only notice when he calls you a bitch for the second time, deeming you too fucking slow in emptying the cash register into his bag. You wonder how he reached the conclusion that four hundred dollars would be worth the hassle. Who robs a bakery on a Saturday morning? People sleep in, especially in a small town. Or, most people do. The dark-haired man sitting all the way in the back with a half-eaten stack of pancakes looks wide awake. You don't know him either, but you don't think he's from around here.

It's weird, in a way, that you aren't really thinking about what's happening in front of you. A bubble has fogged up your attention, and all that you remark upon is how the mellow 80’s playlist you picked out for today hasn't abruptly stopped playing. Thus, you'll always remember the current song as the soundtrack to your first time getting robbed. While you gather the bills from their slots in the register, it strikes you that you didn't have a song for other firsts in life. Not that there were that many worthy of background music. If anything, this feels fitting precisely because you couldn't have predicted which song would be playing when some asshole would pull his gun on you. What used to be lyrical perfection to you will likely ring a little apropos, from now until forever. You will, indeed, be waiting on a sunny day after this — many thanks to Bruce Springsteen for distracting you.

"Are you deaf, bitch? Move it over. "

The bubble evaporates. Yeah. Real grateful.

You're going to do as he asks, because you are not alone. You won’t risk any lives, even if the Colt's safety has been on this entire time. You wonder if it's even his gun, by the way his hand curls around it clumsily. No real, hardened criminal would get so close when they have a ranged weapon, and maybe you’re right, but you won't take your chances. Speed in retrieving your own weapon is not the issue here — it's that if you do, you have to use it. You're not so sure it's the best course of action, even if the skin at your back itches against the warm metal nestled there.

He's young. He didn't even bother covering his face, and the eye-watering lime green of his jacket is the very opposite of stealth wear. Maybe he's desperate, or maybe this is his first time too, though you don't think it'll be his last, especially since you've so far let it go smoothly for him.

You pause. This will give him the confidence to do it again some time, with someone else. Someone who isn't trying as hard as you to keep their impulses in check. Someone who doesn't have any urges at all, acting only on adrenaline and principles.

You've always believed you weren't made out of the same things others were, and that's always proved true in the most unflattering ways. When you were followed home eight years ago and instead of freezing in fear, your body fought back until the skin barely clung to your stalker's face. When your first boss out of high school cornered you next to a dumpster to ask for a favor in return for the loan he'd given you, one that you'd already paid back, and he found himself short a couple of inches— terrible for him, because that was pretty much all he'd had.

When Mark Davidson, a name you'd never forget, tricked your grandmother into signing away her house, and then his own turned to embers just two days later. It doesn't take you long to make a decision. It didn't take Mark very long to figure out the culprit behind his real estate mishap either, but only one of you walked away from the old quarry in that faded industrial town.

There is, you realize, a choice being presented here. None of the other instances felt this ambiguous; either you fought, or you went along with an injustice and suffered for it. Plenty of people fight back out of a desire to protect themselves and their property, and plenty more do the exact opposite out of a desire to keep their lives. You aren't sure where you fit in this particular situation. The past has taught you time and again that you're part of the people who fight, but that has only ever resulted in a trail of smoke and no place to call home, because while fighting is one thing, not knowing when to stop is another.

“The fuck’s wrong with you?! I said move it over. ”

You didn’t have to do what you did. You could’ve stopped hitting when your stalker fell limp. You could’ve quit your job. Taken Mark to court instead of resorting to arson. Instead, you went with your instincts. You’re staring down the barrel again.

People catch on quickly in small towns, and having a reputation in the way that you used to is only good for warding off trouble. The bad people don't want to get close. But, neither do the nice ones.

This is a nice town. Lively, warm. The people are bearable— even good, on occasion. Thoughts of your elderly neighbor are quick to surface, and the knowledge that Hazel expects you back home weighs heavily in favor of doing the very thing you're not used to doing. She'd be awfully disappointed if Sunday breakfast was canceled because you decided to give in to your worst impulses and fight like a rabid dog in the face of whatever provoked you.

The man thrusts the gun even closer to your face with a slight tremor, a show of impatience.

This is a good place to be. You never went back to industrial Auckney, and you don't want a repeat experience to follow you here like it followed you throughout the previous three towns where you tried to build a life. You don't want to have to leave. You don't want to make Hazel sad. So, you choose to let him go. You let it go.

And just like that, you hand it over. There's no magical moment, no switch that flips. Making a decision that goes against your every instinct is a learning experience. You're not sure how suited you are to this new path.

From there, things are quick to end. Once he's got a hold of the money, he backs out of the modest premises all wild-eyed, looking like he expects the cops to pull up at any moment. He's watched too much TV. Nobody even called them. A moment later, he takes off running down the street, green jacket like a neon sign against the stretch of asphalt.

Breathe.

Your rigid fingers unglue themselves from the counter's laminate surface and you finally turn your back, the gesture bordering on unnatural. As you do, your gaze settles on Eliza first. A nineteen year old girl with a frame that could be blown away by the wind is looking right through you, her fingers moving erratically against the blacked out touch screen of her phone.

Five small steps bring you to her. You try to steady her shaking form while removing the phone from her hands.

"Hey, it's okay. It's over, he's gone," you reassure her, but her breathing has picked up too quickly to go back down with just a few kind words.

"Need to— I need to call the police. I—"

Your hands find her shoulders as you hold eye contact and try to soothe her to the best of your ability.

"You don't need to do anything other than breathe. I'll handle this. If you want to call someone, call a friend to come pick you up and drive you home. Ramón, you too. Take a few days off."

The college junior throws you the strangest look you've seen in a while, but he too is shaken enough that he doesn't have the energy or the will to protest.

"Come on. Go sit down for a bit. Both of you," you tell them, reaching under the counter for a bottle of water that you hand Ramón, silently gesturing towards the back room. A different environment would be good for wracked nerves.

The two make their way towards the kitchen, and your eyes soften at the way Eliza has leaned into Ramón's embrace, quiet sniffles soon cut off by the stainless steel door. You aren't breathing quite right yourself, but you can live with it until things are settled. You can. You have to, because you aren't leaving this town. Not over some prick with shaky hands and horrible judgment.

"Ma'am?"

Instinct surges, and this time you can't force it back down. Fingers drawn to the Kimber's grip at your back, the movement feels almost liberating when you turn on your heel and lock target onto what startled you. Not that you'd ever admit it. You can't believe you didn't hear him coming until he was right there, staring at you with narrowed eyes. The dark-haired man in the back. Your only other witness.

His hands go up in the universal gesture of surrender — or at least no harm intended — but it's too late. You've pulled a gun on a customer, and despite the fact that you kept your finger off the trigger, the damage is done. Lowering the weapon feels like a personal failure. You should've done this to the right person, less than three minutes ago. The man who's now in front of you has nothing to do with your misguided choice.

But, he isn't leaving. Despite what you just did, he's looking at you in a way you can't decipher. Maybe he's one of those people who are hard to read, or easy to misread . Is it concern, or something else? On second thought, maybe you don't really care, unless he is a local and you've just tipped your hand in the long run. He certainly doesn’t look like the type of person to settle down in a place like this. If he’s just passing through, you can live with putting a gun in his face, as long as no one else saw you do it.

"You alright?"

The question surprises you, as does the way he asks it — genuinely enough, but the look he's pairing it with makes the hairs on the back of your neck rise. He's watching too closely. There's too much knowledge behind his eyes, and something within you stirs uncomfortably. You don't even try for innocent. Instead, you put the .45 back where it came from and sigh, looking as dejected as possible. It isn't hard to do.

"I'm sorry. I didn't hear you. I'm a little jumpy after… all that."

The man takes in your words quietly, a single nod his only response.

"Hell of a quick draw, that."

You blink in surprise. Answering the remark is tricky. Is it praise, or judgment? Both? What do you say to either? You can't let too much time pass before you answer, as that would be an answer in itself. You settle on hiding the truth in plain sight.

"Probably wondering why I didn't do that earlier, huh?" you ask, a nervous huff coloring your words. You lean on the counter separating you from the man, painting yourself a version of fragile that you hope translates well to his watchful eyes. But, to your dismay, he shakes his head, scanning you even more closely than before.

"Nah. You had kids in here. Couple bucks ain't worth dying for. You did the right thing."

It's not what you want to hear. It's also not something you think he's entitled to say, as though he's some kind of authority figure. What makes him so sure this was the right thing to do? You don't think it was. The more time elapses between now and the robbery, the more regret pools in your chest. You're having a hard time with the follow-through part of your decision to let it go, and he is most definitely not helping.

The vexation makes your jaw tighten and the corner of your mouth turn down just so, and the all-knowing eyes studying you take notice. The words spill out before your brain can catch the mistake.

"I don't see a badge on you, mister."

It only takes him a second to pick up on the scorn in your remark, but to your great annoyance, he doesn't seem offended. On the contrary, the smirk rising to the surface suggests sardonic amusement. It also paints his face with the kind of insufferable attractiveness you’ve always been agitated by.

"Should be glad about that. A cop probably would've done something stupid. He'd have gotten someone shot, tryna be a hero." He speaks words you can't help but feel are directed more at you than a theoretical police officer. Yet again, you don't bite your tongue, speaking with the same stiffness in your jaw.

"Maybe. Or maybe he'd have just shot him down before the guy could pull the safety back on his own gun."

"So why didn't you?" he counters immediately, the low timbre of his voice almost making his words vibrate through you.

You breathe in sharply through your nose. The challenge in his tone is more curiosity than genuine provocation, but it still doesn't sit well alongside your growing frustration. Another veiled truth finds its way past your lips as you hold his hardened gaze.

"Like you said. Couple bucks ain't worth dying for."

He considers your answer for a moment or two, and then it's as if something hidden from view pulls his features into a different scene. A softer look takes hold, and on a man of his size and projected disposition, it looks almost out of place. Almost. You're not sure if the sudden change means he knows you weren't talking about yourself.

He shuffles on his feet imperceptibly — not a mark of discomfort so much as it is, you suspect, restlessness. He clears his throat once, and then his eyes are no longer on you.

"You uh, gonna call the cops any time soon?"

At his question, your gaze follows his a few inches to the right, where Eliza's phone rests atop the counter. It's where you placed it intentionally, so that she'd forget about what she wanted to do. And from the way he asked, you wonder if he's onto you about that.

"I'll file a report later. No need for them to show up. Not like they're gonna catch him," you say dismissively, finally leaning away from the counter and straightening your posture. You put some distance between you and him by taking one step back, wordlessly signaling that you’re done talking and hoping he's astute enough to pick up on body language cues. The slightest pursing of his lips tells you he is. Conversation over.

He lingers only one more moment before he offers a final nod in your direction, turning in a distinctly controlled way that reeks of military habit and walking off. Only, he stops just short of reaching the door, and his hesitation makes the tension in your jaw return. He doesn't fully look back at you as he speaks.

"It'll give those kids peace of mind. You should call 'em."

You hold back a scoff.

"Are you familiar with the cops in this town?" you drawl, a twinge of sarcasm flowing off your tongue.

"No, ma'am. Can't say I am."

The half-smirk you can still glimpse pulling at his lips beckons you to wipe it off, but you manage to hold back. He's almost out the door, anyway.

"Well, for the record… We'd be safer with a labrador for defense. At least it's got teeth."

"That right?" he grins as if you've tickled his funny bone. He doesn't seem to have all that stellar of an opinion about the police either, if his jab about the theoretical cop is anything to go by. He's still not looking at you, and you don't understand what the hell he's stalling for. Typically, anyone witnessing what he did a little while ago would be out the door the minute it was over. And yet, here he stands, after you pointed a gun at him. Still.

"Yeah, that's right," you confirm, hoping this is finally the end of the exchange.

It sure seems that way for a short moment of blessed silence.

"Is that why you picked a Warrior?"

His eyes finally veer towards you, smile completely gone. The muscles in your back are suddenly taut once more, and your lungs fill with air they greedily keep for a few seconds longer than they ought to. You don't know what to say. You're not sure why he's bringing up the model of your firearm, like he isn't even bothered that you shoved it in his face earlier. Maybe he's not. Maybe he's a weirdo. Maybe you're trying to convince yourself he doesn't know exactly what you're thinking, despite all the evidence to the contrary.

A scowl fights for control of your features as your hands twitch by your sides. You're still high on anger and guilt and growing resentment for not doing what you were itching to do earlier. Right next to those feelings, the desire to preserve the image it's taken you four years to build is putting up its own fight, albeit much less valiantly. You just want to be alone with your thoughts. Just a moment where you don't have to pretend. You don't know how long you have before your employees return from the kitchen.

"I don't follow," is what you say instead of telling him to get the hell out already.

It's not the right thing to say, because he fixes you with an unimpressed look and takes a couple of steps back inside. You've never had your bullshit called this efficiently, let alone by someone who doesn't know you.

"They didn't name it that 'cause it's meant for defense . And that ain't no standard issue you got there. I'm just— Look,"

You can't resist the urge to make a fist when he closes the distance again, ending up right back where he started. The only thing separating you once more is the service counter, but with the way he's staring you down, it might as well not exist. He looks away briefly, like he isn't sure he's going to say whatever words are already forming on his lips.

"It's none of my business. I get that. But I know that look in your eye, 'cause I've seen it a hundred times before. So I'm just gonna lay it out, alright?" he says, not asking or waiting for permission. "You're gonna go home tonight, and you're gonna toss and turn and not sleep 'til dawn thinkin' about what happened here. And you're gonna want to even the scales, or whatever bullshit you're telling yourself right now. But I'm telling you not to. Once it starts, that shit never ends. It follows you everywhere. Every goddamn place you set foot in."

The gruff voice, steady and so determined it infiltrates some deep part of your mind, softens on the very end of the sentence that you have no doubt will be the thing you'll actually think about tonight.

It follows you everywhere.

You should've told him to fuck off ten minutes ago. If you had, you wouldn't be standing here, trembling in anger. Or, at least, not this type of anger. The air you forcibly breathe out does not ease the tension.

Whatever desire to hold back that was present before is overpowered in its entirety by one single element. One thing that could easily define your life up until this point, and probably in perpetuity: not knowing when to back the fuck down. If he wants to have a go, well, who are you to deny him?

"Getting awfully personal there for someone whose name I don't even know. Sure you're not projecting a tiny bit?" you incise, a pitying pout meant to yank his chain blooming on your lips.

"Is that why your finger's twitching?" he shoots back, gaze locked on to the left hand resting by your side, except for the consistent movement of one particular finger. You abruptly stop, but it's hard for knowing eyes to mistake a trigger itch for anything else.

He knows that you know that he knows what you're thinking.

"Look, mister," you begin, absent a polite tone. "Whatever you think I am or am not going to do, you're right: it is none of your business. But seeing as it's so important to you, let me give you some peace of mind ." Throwing his words back at him makes you feel better, like you're slowly gaining an upper hand in whatever battle this nonsensical exchange is.

Pausing, you lean a little closer to him unnecessarily, an air of defiance permeating the space between you. You're sure it's both him and you contributing to it. You bite the inside of your cheek briefly right before you open your mouth again.

The distinct squeak of the back door swinging open halts the flow of words before it even begins, and Eliza soon enters your peripheral vision. For one short moment, the interruption riles you up, but you realize that this is the best way to ensure he fucks off once and for all. Just focus on someone else. Anyone else. You're happy to avoid that unnerving stare for the rest of your life.

Your stand-off finally ends when the young woman reaches your side, and you break your gaze away from the man's in order to give Eliza your attention, as well as to clearly send the message he's been having trouble getting. You aren't interested in his lecture, or the way you can still feel his eyes on you for a few more seconds after you've looked away.

It's only as you talk to Eliza about having her mother pick her up that you finally hear the man's quiet sigh of defeat, though it sounds more frustrated than upset to your ears. Good.

Then, just when you think he's given up, a hand slaps against the counter with a crinkling sound, the familiarity of it leaving no room for interpretation. You're about to throw him a look and sass him about having already paid for his meal, but before you can, he's already started walking off.

Your lips purse as you watch him exit the building, gait once again reminiscent of military custom. It's self-assured yet stiff, and you're pretty convinced at this point that he must've served. Whatever. Some rando with a chip on his shoulder has no business getting a rise out of—

As you look back at Eliza, a cursory glance to the bills he laid down has your muscles tensing again, and you resist the urge to go out after him. It's not the four hundred-dollar notes that piss you off. How he knew the exact amount handed over in the robbery wasn't much of a surprise to you, what with how keenly he’d watched everything unfold.

It's the two singles laid out on top of the pile that really get under your skin, a simple message he went out of his way to send.

Couple bucks ain't worth dying for.

-to be continued-

A/N: I'm in my Frank Castle era so strap in folks. I love soft!Frank but we're going to be getting a lot of asshole!Frank in this one, which I argue has the potential to be even more delicious. We'll have fluff, smut and all the goodness of Frank and Reader antagonizing each other while being mad about each other. Chapter 2 is ready to post for Friday!

#frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #the punisher x reader #the punisher x you #frank castle #marvel's the punisher #frank castle imagine #frank castle fanfiction

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