#sorry for the distinct lack of uploading recently

[tiniest-hands-in-all-the-land]

They got hypnotized by that maid vampire (I'm sure there's at least one out there in Kyuushi land)

#the vampire dies in no time #kyuuketsuki sugu shinu #kyuushi #vampdies #tvdint #ronadora #ig anyways. In spirit lol #draluc #ronaldo kyuushi #ronaldo tvdint #john the armadillo #tinydraws #maid day #sorry for the distinct lack of uploading recently #i've been drawing i swear #I got laid off recently and i've just been focusing on OC stuff in a poor attempt to update my portfolio #and also formulate an original story that i actually like lol #i've also just been having your typical fandom woes lol #this is my first kyuushi drawing in at least a month OTL #but you know i can't pass up an opportunity to put Rona in a cute revealing dress :)

[sarkywoman]

Writing Asks

Tagged by @under-the-shady-tree, thanks!

20 questions, writer’s edition, let’s go!!

How many works do you have on AO3? 85

What’s your total AO3 word count? 712708

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they? Oof, uh... since like, 1999? Um, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Andromeda, Supernatural, Heroes, NCIS, DC, Marvel, The Umbrella Academy, Kingsmen, ASoIaF/Game of Thrones, Borderlands, Community, Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency, Doctor Who/Torchwood, Final Fantasy, Harry Potter, Misfits, I think I’ve forgotten some...

What are your top 5 fics by kudos? Noble Blood (Game of Thrones, ASoIaF - GRRM)  A Song of Bastards and Wards (ASoIaF - GRRM, Game of Thrones)  Young God (Borderlands)  Story and Sorcery (Loki: Agent of Asgard, Marvel)  My Shame is True (The Umbrella Academy (TV))

Do you respond to comments, why or why not? I try to! Comments are so important in the fanfic community and I know how hard it is to think of something to say about a story, even when you’ve loved it to bits, so I don’t want people to feel ignored. Especially because I appreciate comments so, so much! I will say though, I have lapses, often when my mental health isn’t good, where I simply don’t know how to respond to people and then months go by and I feel weird about replying... so sorry if you’ve ever commented on one of my stories and got silence - it was me not you!

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? The Aimless One (Misfits (TV 2009)) Straight up the saddest story I’ve written, no question. Normally writing sad stuff doesn’t make me sad but I had to take a break in the middle of this to just try and grapple with the idea I’d had because it tapped into a lot of depressing thoughts I have about life and death in general. The comments were all complimentary but so upset that at first I was like ‘hooray, it had the desired impact’, then after a while I started to think ‘why did I want to hurt people like this?’

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending? Probably  Realising All You Ever Wanted, a Hobbs/Dirk fic for the Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency fandom. There’s such minor conflict in that one that the sugary sweet ending isn’t out of place. 

Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written? Well. I have some fandoms that are sort of crossovers already, things like Marvel where you have comic versions and movie versions and it doesn’t really feel like a crossover to be picking and choosing. Same with a Dirk Gently/Thor fic I did, because Thor cameos in the DG canon, but not this Thor. I think the most ambitious crossover I’ve worked on was a collaborative chatfic with @freshgratednutmeg that we’re never likely to post, where the need for more background characters in an Umbrella Academy A/o fic led to it being crossed over with Marvel and Brooklyn 99. (Leading to such amusements as Diego sparring with Rosa, and Five competing with Shuri in class.)

Have you ever received hate on a fic? Yeah, but it’s never been very well-reasoned so it’s been fairly easy to dismiss. Some people expect everyone to share their own perspective of the characters and it’s weird.

Do you write smut? If so what kind? Not really. I can go there and have done on occasion, but it doesn’t interest me very much. I think I did it more when I was younger because I felt like it was a necessary aspect of grown-up fanfic writing (when I started I was a teenager amongst mostly adults... or other people lying about their age too lol). These days I’m more likely to fade to black or allude to the acts. But I’m not averse to writing it or anything, but it’s never the focus of my story.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Only in the sense that I see them on other sites I didn’t upload to, sometimes in other languages, sometimes not. They normally say my name somewhere on them so they’re not stolen as such, but it’s still uncomfortable to see my work circulated to other sites without my permission.

Have you ever had a fic translated? Not with my permission, but yeah. I don’t know how to feel about translations. Obviously I want people of other languages to be able to read my work, but at the same time I’m not fluent enough to be able to check the translator’s work, so I won’t know if they’ve done any better than google. Word choice is pretty important in fiction. A bad translation can totally warp a text.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? Not for posting or sharing, but me and @freshgratednutmeg cowrite all the time.

What’s your all time favorite ship? All time?! That’s impossible to answer. I’m a multi-shipper for starters, in pretty much every fandom I’ve been in. When I find a ship I love, I love it intensely above all others for the duration of the fixation. Then eventually it gets set aside when I find a new fandom. I’m also indecisive enough to not really have an all-time favourite anything. 

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? A Song of Bastards and Wards (ASoIaF - GRRM, Game of Thrones). I can’t begin to describe the pages of notes I have for this beast. Unless I threw them out, which... scanning my room... is a distinct possibility. Ouch. I’d hoped to parallel the books for a long time with this one, but the amount of work for a project like that is too much when you’re no longer as passionate about the source fandom. I suspect what I might do is scenes with interconnecting notes, just so people get some sense of closure.

What are your writing strengths? Dialogue, baybee! Kinda makes me want to be a scriptwriter. People are always telling me that the characters ‘sound like’ them. I think it’s from reading voraciously from when I was young and being quite a social child, that moving speech patterns and quirks into writing is something that comes very naturally to me. Too natural, in fact, because IRL I write how I speak and that’s not always suited to the situation.

What are your writing weaknesses? Most things other than dialogue. Even thought processes are an internal dialogue, so they’re okay, but then like... a fight scene? A sex scene? Just even... what are their hands doing while they’re talking? How are these people physically present? Where are they? Are they inside, outside, is the building on fire? My descriptive skills are lacking, to say the least. It’s something I’m working on.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? I’m not quite sure what’s meant by this. I’m not fluent in anything other than English so I don’t see that would work well for me. I know a few phrases in German/French/Welsh/Latin/Spanish but nothing useful for conversation. Dropping in words can work, if it’s the same way the speaker would use them amidst their English. Most of the time the characters I’m writing wouldn’t be speaking in another language anyway. We can blame the tag-team of English colonialism and American media for that one I think. I think that sometimes authors utilise a character’s language in a way that just exposes how little the author actually knows of the language and that’s a bit cringe for me.

What was the first fandom you wrote for? Buffy the Vampire Slayer. None of those are online atm because they’re so so bad XD I should post them just so people can see improvement but... I can’t even read them, they’re hilarious. The most gratuitous self-inserts, the most ludicrous arguments, the most out-of-character romantic declarations.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written? Hmm, that’s a quandary. I think I’ll differentiate between favourite to write, and favourite end product. Favourite to write was probably  Noble Blood (Game of Thrones, ASoIaF - GRRM) because it was just a romp through my favourite themes. Given it’s one of my most popular stories, I’d say that just proves you should write what you want! I was going to quickly say  Young God (Borderlands) is my favourite fic for quality of the finished product, because I pretty much just sat down one evening and spilled it into a word doc then reread it back and thought ‘huh, did I write that? Awesome’. But I’m happy with a couple of more recent things I’ve done for The Umbrella Academy fandom, notably  The Price of Parenthood, which is very different to what I usually write and is a look at the life of one of the mothers who gave up her child to Reginald. Also The Water Calls, which was the only thing I managed to write for the recent MerMay event. It took me a little while to puzzle out how it all fit together, then once I had it worked out it came together wonderfully and I was very happy with the tone of it. 

Tagging anyone who fancies doing it.

#long post #this was fun #like being interviewed lol

[followtheowls]

WIP Challenge

Rules: tell us the titles of all the WIPs you are currently working on right now and a little about them. Then tag five other writers.

Thank you, @kitepiper for the tag (sorry it’s a few days late, I wanted to do it properly)!

I’m bending the rules on this because titles cause me stress and I never come up with them until literally right before I’m about to upload something, but I can definitely describe my WIPs. I also usually always hate the titles I choose in retrospect lol

Ok so I have lots of underdeveloped and unfinished WIPs but here are the few I know I’m going to finish at some point:

A post-TotA fic that deals the crew of the Ghost processing the trauma from Malachor. It mainly focuses on Ezra, who has become selectively mute and otherwise very distinct from the crew. This fic is slightly AU in that I’m tweaking a few details of what happens on Malachor, namely Kanan isn’t blinded. Instead, he loses an arm during Maul’s attack. Most other details are the same, Ahsoka’s gone, Maul escapes, etc..

An A to Z ficlet series that I hope to do and not give up on. Not entirely sure what it will look like, but just writing short drabbles about the crew together/that take place within the swr universe. This one’s not meant to be too serious, just an outlet to allow me to share some smaller ideas that won’t necessarily be good for a fic. I’m probably going to upload the first chapter either tonight or tomorrow depending on how I feel. (I kinda want this to be like interactive in some way? Like maybe could be fun to do with others and see where they take it? But it is also kinda a big project lol)

A cute family fic of our favorite space family exploring Lothal’s capitol city with Ezra as the local guide. It begins with a conflict between Ezra and Sabine after she misspeaks about a Lothalian cultural practice. After deciding the crew has spent far too much time on Lothal only to know so little about it, Ezra takes on the responsibility of educating the crew on Lothali indigenous culture. (This one is probably going to take awhile because it involves a fair amount of detail in creating/orchestrating the background of the culture. I might break it up into a mini series idk).

I have a series that I’ve already started to develop a few scenes and dialogue for about Ezra and his various trips to the medical wing. Contrary to how this sounds, I’m hoping this series to be a little more lighthearted, and leaning towards humorous than most of my other work. I already have a cute fic about Ezra being adorable with Kanan and Hera while super loopy on anesthesia.

Now the unfinished, but published WIPs:

 In the Arms of Another - This is my unfinished fic about Ezra’s grief for his parents directly following the end of A Princess on Lothal. It depicts Ezra’s inner turmoil between wanting a shoulder to cry on and to seek comfort from his new family, while also feeling sentiments of guilt over his attachment to his new family. Basically, Ezra has no idea what to do with himself or his grief and isn’t coping well. So far it’s been all hurt and no comfort, but I’m hoping to end it on a softer note. (I started this fic a while ago, I haven’t been feeling super motivated to finish it because it’s so heavy and deals with parental death, panic attacks, anxiety, etc.. My dad was incredibly ill recently and it really discouraged me from wanting to think/write about those kinds of themes. He, thankfully, is on the mend and doing better! So I’m hoping I will feel inspired to return to this soon.)

A True Measure of Intelligence - This is my other unfinished fic which I am hoping to finish in the near future! It dives into Ezra’s lack of access to education due to losing his home and family and becoming homeless at a young age. It focuses his insecurities within the Rebellion and even the Ghost. I’ve written most of the final chapter, I just need to edit it which is hard for me to focus on myself.

Eeek looking back that’s a lot, and I also have a few prompts in my asks that I have to get around to writing. Hopefully I follow through with at least 50% of this (I find that my ADHD makes it hard for me to follow through with projects that are purely creative, so maybe posting this will help me hold myself accountable?).

- Mia

#swr #swr fanfic #wip challenge #mia's adventures in writing #mia attempts to write

[skvaderarts]

Hiraeth Chapter 20: Arrears

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Twenty: Arrears 

Note: And just like that, we’re on chapter twenty for the third time. That’s totally surreal, isn’t it? Sorry that my replies were a day or two late this week and that this chapter is a few hours late. I fell asleep. I was out of town Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday with a friend, so my uploads and response times were not quite as quick as I would have liked. But it’s okay because I’m back! Now let’s get on with this fic.

(-~-)

Once they were gone, the doors to the front office swung shut with a resounding bang, sending an echoing boom through the entirety of the front room. In what had to be a rare moment of silence for the normally noisy space, there was no music playing and no ceiling fans spinning due to the lack of electricity present within the building. It was welcome, but also strange as he had finally begun to grow used to the sound of Dante’s particular brand of loud metal and rock. And although he couldn’t say that he enjoyed the exact music that Dante did, he found that he didn’t mind it as much as he used to when he’d first heard it. Maybe he could even convince him to play something else… 

The Darkslayer took a moment to lock the door behind himself before proceeding, not so much because he was worried that they would be attacked or that someone would attempt to actually break in and rob them. No, that would be an absolute dream as far as the eldest Son of Sparda was concerned. Having the opportunity to teach a wayward criminal a much-needed lesson without the moral implications that came with cold-blooded murder or fratricide was a welcome change of pace for him. No, they needed to be alone for this, and he didn’t need any of his younger brother’s associates interrupting them with any trivial or annoying requests, especially given their current circumstances.

As the devil hunter in the blue coat approached his brother’s desk, Dante shook his head, reclining in the chair at his desk as he awaited his older sibling’s response. He was somewhat sure that he already knew what he was going to say. After all, Vergil had been looming over him like a literal physical manifestation of the shadow of his immense debt ever since they had returned and realized that the power was once again turned off. That had surely given them both enough time to contemplate what they both expected the other to say and, in turn, what they would add to the conversation themselves. That was, if there was a conversation at all. While they had made remarkable progress in the short time that they had been gone from the office, he didn’t put it past his older sibling to still want to settle this the old-fashioned way like they always had. And at this point, there was a part of him that expected nothing less than that, regardless of the progress that they made. The real question was how they would go about this process, and what the fight would be about this time, not so much if there would be one in the first place.

“I know, I know. This is the part where you barely hide how mad you are at me, and they you give me a piece of your mind before you stab me again, right Vergil.” Dante laughed grimly as he spoke those words, watching his twin slowly approach the desk. That was what was to be expected under these circumstances. And he’d dealt with Vergil enough times to know that-

“Why are the utilities always off, Dante? Am I to presume that you are in some form of arrears to the utility company, then?” Vergil said calmly as he reached the halfway point of the room. He stopped a few feet from the desk, looking around the room for a moment before continuing. “It came to my attention just after we had first returned from the underworld that you might be hiding something. It clearly wasn’t the first time that you had gone without electricity since you didn’t appear to be surprised by its absence, but considering our initial fight with Nero on the front steps upon arriving, my general mood at the time, and the lingering unrest in the atmosphere around the office as to my presence, I was unwilling to bring it up at the time. But now I require answers.”

His calm demeanor took Dante somewhat by surprise as while he was indeed expecting his brother to ask him why the power was off again, he wasn’t expecting him to do so with such a genuine level of curiosity. There didn’t seem to be any real anger in his voice as he asked that question, which admittedly turned things on their head a little. Dante was expecting to be lambasted for several minutes before things either turned violent or Vergil gave up and went to bed. This was… well, this was entirely too diplomatic to be an actual response from his older twin brother. What the hell was going on here?

“You caught onto what was going on that quick, hu? Well damn. I thought I was doing a better job of hiding it.” Dante said, dragging out a long, tired sigh. It was out in the open now, and that brought with it a sort of strange euphoric sense of release that he hadn’t expected, given the circumstances. “So… what happens now? Are we gonna skip the part where you stab me, or go straight to it? I’d just like to know what I’m getting myself into this time, ya know?”

Vergil stepped out of the shadows and approached the desk, unfolding his arms and using them to prop himself up against the desk. He seemed calm in a manner unlike what Dante was used to when it came to his older sibling. From what he could tell, the devil slayer in blue almost seemed to be considering something or even patently awaiting his response. But whatever he was doing, Dante wasn’t sure how he felt about it. As unpleasant as most of his older sibling’s reactions were to basically everything that he did and didn’t do, they were at least almost entirely predictable. This was the farthest thing from that that Dante could imagine, and it made him somewhat apprehensive as to what to do now. He was in uncharted territory, adrift at sea with no wind in his sails and now oars to row with.

“I am… attempting a new approach. My old methods have hit a dead end. And predictably so, at that.” Vergil let loose a barely audible sigh, looking down at the floor as he considered his next words carefully. He wasn’t entirely sure how to put into words what he was thinking, but he did, in fact, know what he actually wanted to do. Talking to his younger twin had never been something that he was particularly adept at, but that didn’t stop him from trying. After all, when had Vergil been the kind of man to do things by half? “As you know, I do not enjoy predictability. So in light of recent revelations, I am now attempting to actually communicate with you instead of simply folding to my baser instincts and using less civil means with which to get my point across.”

Dante sat up and leaned in towards him, looking at him as though he were speaking a foreign language. No, he couldn’t possibly be hearing that right. Had his older twin truly just insinuated that he might be tired of… that couldn’t be possible, could it? Well, it could. That was entirely possible. But he just never thought that he would live long enough to see the day that Vergil would succeed defeat and decide that maybe stabbing his younger sibling to death constantly was perhaps not the best method to achieving his goals. The thought had crossed Dante’s mind on several occasions, but he had just never been able to actually find a way with which to make those ideas into reality. But now…

“So if I’m hearing you right, you’re saying that you actually plan to not stab me right now, and instead you want to talk to me?” Dante wasn’t sure that his humorous tone of voice and sarcastic mannerisms alluded to the deep-seated elation that he felt at that prospect, but that didn’t make it any less true. He had waited a lifetime for the day that his brother might come to the conclusion that it might be a good idea to simply speak to him. And while he hadn’t helped to make that outcome anymore likely, and had often worked directly against it in ways large and small over the years, that didn’t make the possibility of that outcome becoming a reality any less joyous to him. “Am I getting that right, or has someone left and opened a valve that lets out toxic gases in here and we’re both just secretly dying right now or something?”

“Your half right, Dante. That is, in fact, what I am trying to say. But on the last account, you are incorrect. We are not secretly dying.” The Darkslayer paused for a moment, lingering on thoughts that he would have preferred to have kept buried deep below the surface to hide his apparent suffering. He had been through much, and a large percentage of his suffering in life had been through the lens of death. Talking about it wasn’t something that he cherished the opportunity to do. It was unpleasant but necessary. And yet, here he was, willingly doing so. Vergil had pivoted from defiance to indifference in some respects, and then he had made a sharp left into uneasy acceptance. For now, that was all he could do, and he had decided that focusing on what he was capable of instead of beating himself down with the combined weight of everything that he couldn’t might just be the best thing that he could do for himself in moments like these. “Every living thing is at all times marching towards their death. There is no secret in that. It is the inevitability of mortality. Some of us simply make it there quicker or under less desirable circumstances than others. But in the end, we all share the same fate.”

Giving his brother a much more serious look now than he had been a moment ago, Dante leaned back slightly in order to physically give himself space to take in what Vergil had just said. He had the distinct feeling that he now knew what this was about, and that was both a good and a bad thing. While it was far past time that they tackled this topic, he just hadn’t expected things to come to a head like this when they had. It would have been wonderful to have had forewarning so that he could have prepared and… no. No, had had time to prepare himself for this. From the moment that he had stepped foot in the Qliphoth and found himself standing face to face with the doors to Urizen’s throne room, coming to grips with the fact that the monster on the other side of those doors was indeed his twin brother, he had been preparing himself for the worst. When Vergil had reluctantly agreed to return to the human world with hum under the resigned fatalistic view that it couldn’t get much worse, he had known that they would have to have this conversation one day. And now that Vergil was here, it was time to have it. They had needed to get this off of their chest for quite a while now.

“Say what it is that you really want to say, Vergil. I’m not stupid enough to not be able to tell that there is more to this than what you’re saying. You know that, right?” Dante straightened his back out slightly as he reclined in his desk chair, peering out at Vergil from the bangs that hand now found their way in front of his eyes again. He needed to put some space between himself and his brother, if only to keep himself from developing claustrophobia. As much as Vergil utterly despised unwanted or involuntary physical contact, it was one of his best methods for making someone that he wanted to put on edge uncomfortable. Being at the mercy of both his impressive height in respect to most people, and his cold, unflinching stare was normally enough to make the average mortal flinch and back down, and in that respect, even Dante folded, even if only just a little bit. Being stared at the way that Vergil stared at people when he was trying to make a point was enough to make literally anyone want to back away from him. The Demon hunter wondered for a moment if his older brother even noticed that this was something that he did, or if it was something that he did involuntarily out of reflex.

A look somewhere between surprise and acceptance crossed Vergil's face as he nodded in agreement, standing up straighter as he shifted his weight to one hand and then quite literally looked down on his younger twin. There it was again. That noticeable change in him that had not been present when they were younger. Vergil understood it now more than he had when he had first noticed that something was drastically different about his twin now. It was his maturity level. Dante had indeed learned from his past, and seemed to be haunted by the mistakes and regrets that he harbored, much like he himself still did. He recognized it as his own, the poignant grief that he now realized deep within himself that they both shared. It was… well, he couldn’t say that it was something that he’d ever wished for Dante. There were plenty of unfortunate occurrences that Vergil would have brushed or even wished on his brother during his youth. Not so long ago, he would have been ready to exact those very injustices upon him with his own hands. But in that same light, he now understood something that he hadn’t then: the fact that Dante himself felt the same way. He just buried it under a thick layer of humor and sarcasm

He saw it in the moments that they were alone. Dante didn’t possess the same energy that he’d once had, the same spark that he had carried in his youth. And that wasn’t something he could blame completely on his age. Some things were lost along with the youth of the person who possessed them, and hope was one of those things. But hardship, regret, and suffering were great at enhancing those characteristics in a way that few other emotions could match, at least in regards to negative connotations. He would have never pegged Dante as the sort to think that deeply about his actions and their consequences when they were younger, much as he was willing to believe that his younger twin probably didn’t think he himself did back then. And they might have both been right under certain circumstances. But now they were older and they had lived through the folly of their youth. And they were ready to move on from it.

“You’re terrible at keeping things from me, Dante. You always have been. I had the feeling that something was amiss financially in regards to your personal life, and I see that I was not incorrect. But that does not concern me.” Vergil tilted his head slightly to the left, attempting to make brief eye contact with his younger twin as the slightly younger man attempted to not think too hard about the situation that he now found himself in. Things had taken quite the turn since Lucia had left the office with V and the others. He couldn’t say that he knew for sure whether or not his brother had specifically waited for them to leave before having this conversation with him, but he was willing to believe that that was more than likely the case. And that in of itself was admittedly fascinating to him. Vergil had never really cared about shaming him out in the open. Had he actually done so in order to not embarrass him any further than he was embarrassing himself due to the fact that they had company over who were not blood members of their family? Because if so, that had been uncharacteristically compassionate of his older twin. “If I had come here with the expectation that you had everything in your life under control, then I would not be able to claim to know you at all. Your financial troubles are something that can be fixed, unlike some of our other troubles.”

Dante couldn’t help but laugh at that statement. “Oh, brother! See, that’s where you're dead wrong. There is no fixing the amount of debt that I’m in. It’s a whole lot worse than just a few power and water bills.” Shaking his head, Dante leaned back and attempted to open the drawer to his desk, cursing himself internally when he had to pull on it much harder than he normally would. He’d shoved something in there before he’d left, and the sliding mechanism had been jammed, but it opened nonetheless. He then produced a worn brown ledger, tossing it onto the desk with a responding thud. Completely unwilling to even look in the general direction of the book, he slid the door shut and glanced over at Vergil, shrugging slightly. “You want a better answer as to what kind of mess I’m in? It’s in there. But you’re not going to like what’s in it.”

Leaning over to pick up the ledger, Vergil gave it a once over for a moment before opening the cover and flipping to the middle of it. Dante had to admire his twin’s insanity for a moment, likening the action of jumping to the middle of someone’s financial history with diving headfirst into ice water without knowing how to swim. Oh, wait… V had literally done just that. Perhaps reckless insanity for the sake of self-preservation ran in the family? Regardless, the frankly calm and placid look on Vergil’s face turned rapidly to confusion and perplexed frustration as he looked over the numbers. He then immediately turned back a few pages, only to realize that his answers were elsewhere. A moment later, he turned back to the very front of the book before furrowing his brow and jumping immediately to the end of the ledger to try and assess the damages in full. There was no point in trying to make sense of something like this. It was simply the kind of situation where you looked at how deep you’d fallen into the hole, and then tried to figure out what you could stack up to try and climb towards the surface again just to have a chance at jumping towards the general direction of the surface that you could probably barely see due to how far down you were. And you could only hope that you were able to grab onto something when you made that just, because if you didn’t? Well, you would just be back at the bottom where you had started in the first place all over again, and at that point, what had you accomplished?

Upon realizing the depth of the issue at face value, Vergil closed the book along with his eyes before letting out a long, exhausted sigh. He then tossed the book back onto the desk as though simply touching it was enough to make him contract some sort of lethal virus. He slumped over the desk for a moment before glancing back towards the back office door and making a b line for it. Dante watched him go, trying his best not to laugh. Yes, now that was a feeling that he could relate to.

“Where ya headed Vergil,” Dante asked, barely hiding his amusement. It was time to see if his twin brother’s new anti-stabbing ethos was something that he was willing to stand by, even in the face of such a frustrating realization. He imagined that Vergil was more than ready to stab him right now.

He stopped, his back to his twin brother. After pausing for a moment, he peered over his shoulder, a slightly disbelieving, shocked, and overall surprised look on his face. “I need a nap, Dante. I think that jetlag has just set in.” He said simply before turning back in the direction of the door.

“You’re telling me, Vergil. Why do you think I sleep so much?” Dante said with s slight laugh, shaking his head as he faced forward into nothingness again. It was incredible how dark it got in there at night without lights to combat the inky blackness.

“Depression? A desire to avoid your problems for a bit longer? Other ill-defined reasons that I care little to discuss at this point in time?” Vergil shrugged nebulously, seemingly resigned to the reality of his fate. How in the world had those numbers gotten like that? It defied logic. It defied reason. Hell, it defied science and math, too! “Those are just the reasons I can think of off of the top of my head. I am not your phycologist.”

At that point, Dante actually did laugh. It seemed that his financial state had managed to strip what little will to live and energy that Vergil still possessed in his body. That many zeros tended to do that to you. “I mean yea, that’s fair, but you don’t have to say it. I have feelings, you know?”

“Do not awaken me until either the utilities are restored or the office burns down Dante. This will take a substantial amount of work, and I am not at all well-rested enough as it currently stands.”

With that, Vergil closed the door to his bedroom, and a moment later, Dante could hear what was definitely his older twin hitting the bed with enough force to go through it. That right there was a mood, and he was positive that he had never once related so much to his brother’s questionable coping mechanisms. Maybe a good night’s rest was in store for them both. It was dark already anyway. What could it hurt? He was sure that no one would mind, least of all Vergil. Considering the way that he slept on the rare occasion that he actually did, he wouldn’t mind literally anything for a very long time. That could only be a good thing at this point.

(-~-)

I couldn’t tell you why, but Google Docs has decided it hates my guts lately. It decided to crash no less than 7 times while I was writing this, taking whole paragraphs with it. It was a nightmare to write. In fact, it crashed once while I was writing this footnote, so this is my second time writing it. Joy! Anyway, happy 2nd DMC5 anniversary everyone! I hope you all had a good time reading this one! Can’t wait to read your comments. Now time to go cry in the corner over my lost paragraphs! Duh du du du du!

#Dante #Vergil #Post Devil May Cry 5 #Post Devil May Cry V #Hiraeth #Fanfic #Sons of Sparda #Devil May Cry #DMC #DMC5 #DMCV #Devil May Cry 5

[dailyservingofhope]

Bodies (Chapter 2)

Kyoko noticed first.

Maybe it was the monotone voice, or the way my eyelids drooped with world-weary cynicism. Something about me betrayed that I was no longer myself in the most literal way possible.

She lurched back, "It's him!"

The fifteen seconds that followed were a roller-coaster. Not those rickety, old wooden coasters. I'm talking about the metal ones that hurl you screaming through dives, loops, and corkscrews so fast, you can't even anticipate the next section before you've already rocketed through it.

After Kyoko alerted the room to Izuru's presence, an armed security team appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and just an arm's reach away. They must have hid themselves in the shadows, but even then, shouldn't I have heard them close in? And why were they raising their guns at an empty pod? By the time I realized they were aiming at MY pod, and that I had closed the distance without even noticing, my hands had already disarmed the nearest guard with a few deft movements. Then my legs whipped around in a tornado kick that sent her flying into the other guards, knocking them over like bowling pins.

Finally, Izuru raised my arm, which still held the confiscated handgun, and fired a series of quick, perfect shots aimed to cripple each guard's trigger finger. Their weapons clattered to the ground.

Izuru's power and apathy stunned me. So much blood, and the noise from the gunfire was incredible, yet Izuru strolled through the carnage, collecting the remaining guns as casually as a kid picking flowers. I wanted to close my eyes, but I couldn't even control that.

"Stop!" Makoto shouted, laughably late. He ran in front of Izuru and stretched out his arms protectively. He seemed so small next to Izuru's overwhelming presence, but his bravery was admirable. This was the person we all put our trust in.

Izuru said, "I have no intention of harming any of you so long as you do not harm Hajime. There's no sense in violence between us. However, I will not allow you to point weapons at him." His voice through my mouth unsettled me, like when you hear yourself speak in an audio recording for the first time. It's technically you, but something just seems off about it.

"They're under my orders not to fire unless I say so, and I don't plan on saying so," Makoto said before turning his attention to a communication device pinned to his suit. "I need medical assistance in the pod room."

As Makoto and the rest of the trio tried to appease the moaning, pissed-off guards, I overheard Kyoko whisper to Byakuya, "Sedating the survivors was a good idea. Letting them all wake up at once probably wouldn't have ended well."

It was true. We were still dangerous. Even I was afraid of us.

The nurses quickly arrived and began escorting the wounded away when Izuru spoke up, "Hajime is hurt too." He raised my fists to show the broken skin on my knuckles from punching the glass lid.

Everyone gaped at him.

I almost laughed at how ridiculous it was. The guy who just shot up an entire security team was now worried about a few cuts and scrapes. I wondered why he even bothered asking when he seemed content to act on his own in every other way. Was he trying to... work with them?

Makoto forgot how to speak for a moment. His jaw worked until his words caught up, "Yeah, can someone please assist him with that? Oh, and Izuru? We'll be there shortly to ask you some questions."

"I will answer any question I deem acceptable." Izuru said while a very terrified-looking nurse led him away.

-

A fragment of glass plinked into a dish, then another. Izuru, armed with a pair of tweezers, cleared the debris from my wounds with a level of care that I didn't expect from him. The nurse offered to help, but he refused, insisting that he could do a better job himself. It was astoundingly rude, but I couldn't deny how painless it was when Izuru handled it.

Still, there was no way I'd give him a compliment after what he did. I scowled at him, however one scowls without a face of their own.

He ignored me, focusing instead on washing my wounds with soap and warm water. It felt strange, but pleasant. The hand he used to massage my wounded knuckles felt like it belonged to another person, like it belonged to Izuru. I blushed at the sensation of him sliding his soapy palm up and down my hand.

"Do you want me to stop?" Izuru transmitted.

 "Uh... Yeah, I think they're clean enough."

He dried my hand and applied ointment, then finished with a bandage. "I know you're unhappy not being in control, but this will go more quickly and easily for you if you let me answer their questions."

 "Fine, but once you're done, this body is mine."

 "I predict you will decide otherwise when you hear what I have to say. So calm down, elevated levels of cortisol are linked to a variety of health problems."

I was about to transmit a big "fuck off" when Kyoko entered the room.

"If you're ready, please come with us."

-

Compared to the futuristic pod room, the conference room looked dilapidated. The lack of cobwebs and dust told me someone cleaned it recently, but long term structural damage from years of neglect couldn't be wiped away with a wet cloth. The walls cracked and water damage warped the floor. It was obvious they spent all their resources on the pod room. On us.

My shame at being powerless to control Izuru, after everything they did for us, made me feel tiny and pathetic. I wished I had the confidence to vow never to let it happen again, but at that moment, I was like a child locked away in a room. I was at the mercy of someone stronger; someone that my small, reserve-course mind didn't know how to reason with.

I sulked in the background as Makoto, Kyoko, and Byakuya interrogated Izuru. His answers helped me to fill some gaps in my memory, but there was one thing I kept asking myself.

As if he could read my thoughts, Makoto asked for me, "Why did you do this? Why did you upload the Junko AI into the simulation?"

"I had a question. Of hope and despair, I needed to weigh their merits and decide once and for all which side I would take. But I couldn't determine the answer with the knowledge I had on hand, so I ran an experiment. I learned of the simulation you were developing and concluded it would be a sufficient stage."

"There's something I don't understand. You seem to want to protect Hajime, yet you allowed that to happen to him?"

"I did not foresee him being harmed in any of my calculations."

Did I hear him right? Did he really just say that?

What kind of soulless freak did those scientists turn me into? All the death, the fear, the doubt, the grief. He didn't consider that harmful? My friends and I could have been happy! We could have walked out of that simulation, together! Now, we were either dead or traumatized. All because of him. Not harmed? I wanted to scream! I wanted to wrap my fingers around my own throat! I wanted to stand up and...

Somehow, the force of my emotions was enough to reclaim control. Rage flooded my chest until it burned away the cold of Izuru's grip on me. I leaped out of my chair, slammed my hands on the table and shouted, "That's wrong!"

Everyone looked surprised, including me. I'd fought Izuru and won. Even if it was only this one battle, that still meant something. And now that I could speak again, I just wanted to be heard. "I WAS harmed! It hurt to see my friends die! It hurt to live in fear every day that I would be next! I'm covered in wounds you can't even see!"

Emotionally spent, I flopped back in my chair and wept. I didn't care that others could see me cry. I was tired. So tired.

Through my sobs I thought I heard Izuru transmit a faint "I'm sorry", but that couldn't be right.

After my quaking body relaxed, Kyoko said softly, "Hajime, I assume we're talking to you now. I'm sorry, we misunderstood your situation. When we spoke to you and Izuru as distinct, separate individuals, we thought you were like a friend of ours who has a condition called Dissociative Identity Disorder. Do you know what that is?"

"Yeah, I've heard of it," I said, wiping my face with a hand. "It's like multiple personalities right?"

"Something like that... Although most people with that disorder aren't aware of their other 'personalities' and don't know what they say or do when they're in control. We assumed you were dormant. Hajime, if we had known you were aware and listening this entire time, this would have gone differently."

"Why are you so worried about me, you should be locking me up. I can't control him." I muttered.

Makoto looked horrified, "We didn't release you just to lock you up again! Don't give up hope. Izuru seems to care about you. Maybe we can convince him to not take control without asking."

Byakuya stood up, "Makoto, I've let you try things your way, but your naivete is going to kill us. Izuru is clearly using Hajime as a shield. He's counting on our leniency because whatever we do to Izuru, we do to Hajime. There must be something he still wants from us. That's why we're not dead."

"We shouldn't jump to conclusions, but that is something I've been wondering about," Kyoko said. "Do you know why he's so protective of you, Hajime?"

That now familiar sensation of cold water once again flooded through me. Izuru regained control and held it fast.

"That is not an acceptable question," he said.

Why was he so flighty around the subject of me? I suddenly found myself intensely curious. Maybe I could find a weakness in that nearly impenetrable armor.

"He's Izuru again." Kyoko sighed, "Do you realize it's unfair to Hajime to keep taking over without asking? Bodily autonomy is a basic human right."

"You misunderstand. I have no interest in taking control of his life. There's nothing I want out here. As soon as I've done my job, the body is his."

Makoto smiled, "That's great! Thanks for being so reasonable about it!"

"Wait," Byakuya said. "What is this 'job' exactly?"

"Hajime's friends who died in the simulation, I can revive them. All of them."

#kamuhina #hajime hinata #izuru kamukura #danganronpa #sdr2 #my fic

[neoarchipelago]

Bridegroom's oak tree (part 3) (John wick x reader)

AN: this turned dark real quick like… where is this going? Lol I hope you enjoy it at least.  It's been a while since I uploaded anything, Lisbon Lights will also be updated at some point too and a request will come out, so yep

Part one

Part two

Warnings: sexual talk, stuff like that, cursing

Word count: 3 920

Edit: I FUCKIN forgot the translation again! Omg *what are you looking at fuckers* thanks to my boyfriend for his helps by the way

________

John pulled you back in for another heated kiss. It almost made you forget everything about the situation. It felt like forever when you two fell back into reality. 

"What's going to happen now?" You asked, still trying to catch your breath. 

"Don't worry about anything. Let me take care of things alright?" John said, brushing a few strands of hair who had fallen on your face.

He erased a few of your tears with his thumb, as he frowned slightly. 

"I fucking hate seeing you cry babygirl. I'm sorry I've caused this." 

His words reached your heart and you felt yourself melt again. You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch, letting yourself be vulnerable with him. You felt perfectly safe. 

"Don't apologise John, you kept me safe…" you whispered. 

John captured your lips hungrily again, as if to make sure you were perfectly safe and erase any awful possibility your words had made up in his mind where you could have been even slightly hurt. The kiss deepened, making you feel hot, as you moaned against his lips. The effect it had on John was immediately visible as he groaned and pressed you against him. You could feel how hard he was through his pants and it made you feel dizzy for a second, as you moaned again. 

John quickly pulled away, his dark eyes looking at you hungrily. He wanted to devour you but this wasn't the place, nor the moment. You could clearly see how hard he was trying to hold back, and it didn't not help making you feel hotter, as you felt yourself getting wetter. Your two shaky breaths melted together and the room felt way too hot. But John finally managed to win back control while you were still lost in the intense desire. 

"Come on baby girl. Let me take you home." His low voice send shivers down your spine and bit your lip, nodding. 

You watched as John loosened the knot of his tie, confusing you. Your mind was in a haze, and your breath hitched when you finally understood what he was going to do. You closed your eyes as you felt the cold silk fabric on your closed eyelids. John tied a knot behind you head, making sure you were carefully blindfolded. 

"John.." you started as john interrupted you. 

"You trust me baby girl? You know I won't hurt you." John's voice rang in your ear. 

You swallowed hard but nodded. You were sure of it, John would never hurt you but it still felt like you were his prey. Perhaps something about him was more interesting than you thought. The way he was overprotective, bossy, the way he called you baby girl, his dominant behavior towards you. It peaked your curiosity and interest. He seemed to like being dominant in every aspect of his life and maybe you were to inspect that part of him a bit later. 

You heard the door unlock before you felt John's arms wrap around you another under your knees, as he picked you up bridal style. You remembered you weren't wearing your heels and were barefoot. You buried your face in his neck and let him get you out of the apartment. He stopped in what you thought was the middle of your living room. You heard him speak in russian again, and you realised you weren't alone after all. You heard a few man answer him before he started walking again. You reached the entrance of the building as you heard the distinct sound of the door opening and felt the cold breeze on your skin. He softly put you down as he unlocked the car and opened the door for you, helping you sit inside. You were still blindfolded so you focused on what you could hear. For a moment you were sitting on the passenger side your legs turned to the side where the door was still open, you felt John in front of you but couldn't see him. You could feel his eyes burning through you though. Yes, he enjoyed that. His dominant side adored seeing you helpless for him, blindfolded in your tiny red dress, at his mercy and it made your heart race.

You weren't exactly the type to be submissive. You enjoyed your liberty, and being able to choose for yourself but the way John made you feel made you want to submit entirely to him. You felt John's thumb caress your lower lip, the touch sending electricity through you. He enjoyed watching you shiver under his touch, teasing you. Yet he never seemed to force himself onto you, he always held back and it was seriously starting to frustrate you. 

"You look beautiful like this" you heard him say. 

You simply bit your lip blushing a bit. You felt John lean onto you, the smell of his cologne hitting you as he began to undo his tie. You felt the soft fabric slip down as you slowly opened your eyes to fall into deep brown ones. John smirked at your flushed face, looking at him like a lost little kitten. 

"Come on darling, get your legs in, I'm taking you home." 

You did as he ordered, and he shut the car door, making his way to the driver sit. He started the car, and the drove in a peaceful silence. 

______________

John was trying to focus on the road, but his mind kept running through the recent events. He had put you in danger and he would never forgive himself for that. He was extremely relieved that you still wanted him, that you weren't afraid of him. He felt like the luckiest man alive when you had told him that you loved him. He wasn't worthy of you, of your kindness and the way you took care of him. He was going to make sure that no one ever touched you. 

The thing that was bothering him the most was his own lack of control. He had already taken things a bit far in the bathroom, his arousal and your willingness as you moaned under his touch a risky mix and he had battled to keep himself from fucking you right there and then. But you had been through an awful evening and the memory of your face wet from tears made him gain back his control. 

He had to find a way to take you out of there without having you witness the mess he had left in your apartment. He didn't want you to feel disgusted by him. The idea to blindfold you with his tie had quickly appeared and once again and had to hold himself back from ruining you. He wanted you to trust him and he'd wait. He'd be patient. At least he was trying to. But the sight of you sitting in his car, blindfolded, with that cute little red dress, biting your lip as you blushed. It was torture. But he wasn't sure you'd be ready to fall into this part of him. You seemed to gladly submit during those moments where lust clouded your eyes but he needed to make sure you were comfortable with him dominating you completely. He wanted to take care of you and protect you, and you'd be his perfect baby girl. His grip on the steering wheel got slightly rougher at the thought of it. 

He pulled in the driveway of his house and parked in the garage. A glance at you and he smiled at your sleeping face. It had been a rough night and you needed rest. John got out of the car and walked to your side, opening the car door slowly making as less sound as possible. He took off your seatbelt, and pulled you in his arms. John smirked when you moaned and wrapped your arms around his neck. He carried you in bridal style as one of his men opened the door. He climbed the stairs and slowed down as a dilemma set itself before him. Getting you in the spare bedroom or in his own bed? 

"Babe, I got a room for you alright?" John whispered to your half sleeping self. 

He didn't felt controlled enough to have you in his bed tonight. Not after he saw you in danger and was in desperate need to make you his and fuck you all night just to remember again and again that you were safe and with him. But you moaned slightly in the cutest ways making John close his eyes, trying to keep himself calm. 

"No please…" you moaned again. 

John sighed softly. 

"Tell me what you want baby girl then…" John said in a dark voice. He knew what you wanted but in some kind of dark twisted need he wanted to hear you say it. 

"I want to sleep in your bed…" you moaned again half sleeping.

John groaned again but made his way to his room. It'd be an awful long night for him. He softly put you down on the bed your half lid eyes looking up at him. John smiled down at you as he softly caressed your cheek. 

"Will you help me?.." John watched you a slight confused look on his face. 

"Help you with what darling?" John asked softly. 

"Taking my dress off…" you said in a sleepy voice. 

John froze for a second. 'you got to be FUCKIN kidding me.' John thought. He still managed to keep calm and went to softly undo the zip of your dress. He helped you out of your dress trying to keep himself from getting distracted by you matching black lace underwear. With the way you pressed yourself against him when he put you under the covers he immediately knew you were trying to tease him. But he couldn't, not tonight, even if he was dying to. When you were finally in bed he undressed himself, feeling your eyes roam his body. He smirked at you when he turned to you and saw you blush. He got in bed right next to you and you cuddled up to him. John tried to keep his dirty thoughts to what they were, simple thoughts. But the warm feeling of your body against him and the way you fit perfectly in his hand did not let him fall asleep. No, this was going to a long night for him.

__________

You had slightly pushed his buttons. You were tired and hot and bothered and you honestly felt like testing him. You had moaned to sleep in his bed, satisfied with the groan you earned from him. You had enjoyed seeing him freeze at your Innocent ask for help at getting out of your sinful little red dress. Yes you had adored watching his dark gaze roam your body hungrily and damn you knew you were playing with fire, but you wanted to get burned so badly right now. 

He still kept a wonderful control though. And after tonight's events you had decided that tonight was not the night. You were tired, physically and emotionally, and all you wanted was to rest in his arms. The feeling of his skin against yours made your eyes close themselves. 

You quickly fell asleep, slipping into a blissful sleep.

~

You blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the light. It took a minute for you to remember where you were and what had happened. It seemed to all fall on you like a shit ton of bricks. Someone had tried to kill you or kidnap you and John was a mafia Lord. You let out a shaky breath. It felt odd that amongst those things the only thing that truly bothered you was the fact that someone had been after you. John still felt like the same man to you, the one who loved. You felt your heart flutter at the memory of him confessing to you. 

Talking about John, you looked around the room. He seemed to have woken up before you.. or.. have not slept at all? 

You frowned at the thought and took a glance at the alarm clock on the John's nightstand. Eight thirty in the morning. You decided to go look for John as you looked around for one of his shirt to wear first. You grabbed onto a plain white t-shirt and threw it on. You chuckled at how big it was on you. It reached just beneath your hips at the beginning of your thighs. It hid your ass but barely. You walked out of the room, trying to remember the path to the kitchen. The sweet smell of breakfast helping you out. You heard John's voice, as he spoke in russian. It somehow had a huge effect on you, he seemed more strict when he switched to this language, rougher. You bit your lip, running down the stairs, and froze immediately when you almost reached the bottom. 

You stood there in a plain white t-shirt, half naked as John was giving several men a speech. You blushed hard. As a few of them stared at you some wide eyed other simply looked away. John stopped his speech and turned around frowning. 

You felt panicked at John's angry look for a second before jumping when he turned back to his men yelling in a angry dark voice. 

"Cio smotrite suki?!"*

They all walked into different directions, leaving you and John alone in the living room. You looked up at John who still looked furious and you gave him a worried look as he stepped closer to you. You wanted to run back stairs, his eyes making you shiver but you knew he wouldn't hurt you. He reached for your hand making you get down a few more stairs, just enough so you'd be the same height as him. 

"I'm s-sorry...I didn't know…" you quickly tried but John captured your lips into a soft kiss. 

You were taken aback by the softness of it, which clearly contrasted with his earlier mood. You still melted into the kiss wrapping your arms around his neck. John's hand rested on your waist but slowly made their way to your ass where his shirt had gone up revealing your lace panties. He pulled down on the shirt, groaning against your lips as he tried to hide your ass. He pulled away, leaving you breathless and stared at you. 

"I'm sorry… I didn't know someone… was with you…" you tried again while you tried to catch your breath. 

"It's alright. They have to get used to it and learn not to stare. You are home here, and you can dress however you want as long as you're not naked. But yes. I'd rather you not being half naked in front of them." He said in a soft voice as one of his fingers traced calming circles on your back. 

His tone was soft but you could feel how tensed he was. He was possessive, and that little incident had made him furious.

_____

John had indulged you. After all it was your first night in the house, knowing the truth and you didn't know how sometimes the house was crowded. Yes he had wanted to shoot his men as soon as he realized they were staring at you while you were blushing furiously, half naked, wearing one of his shirt. Of course you looked attractive. As attractive as a mouse for hungry cats and he could not allow his men to forget who you belonged to. 

He looked at your doe eyes, as you were there wrapped around his neck and smirked deviously at you. He kissed you, making his way to your neck, earning a sinful moan from you. John smirked one last time, before biting the soft skin, sucking on the sweet spot, making sure to leave a mark. The small yelp he heard had made him almost chuckle at how sensitive you were. He finally let go of you, taking a glance at the little mark he had let on your skin, his way to show everyone who you belonged to. He wasn't entirely satisfied, he wanted to bend you over on the couch and fuck you until the whole house heard you scream his name but for now a hickey would do.

"What was that for?" You asked in a small pout. 

John chuckled at you knowing damn well you were pretending like you didn't enjoyed that and acting all innocent. 

"To make sure everyone knows you're mine. Plus a little punishment for ruining my speech." John said in a playful tone. 

You were ready to apologise again when John picked you up, laughing. He took you to the kitchen where he had ordered breakfast for you. He put you down next to one of the chairs of the table. The little hungry moan you let out when you looked around the table made John smirk at you. He helped you with your chair before taking the sit right next to you. The glass table was huge but he wanted to be near you. 

Looking at your childlike amazement for all of the food on the table John felt himself melt a bit. He felt honored that such a sweet girl had wanted him. You were young, shy, kind, and you had answered his letter. He watched you bite a bit of pancake closing your eyes and humming, making him smile even wider. 

"You like that darling?" He asked in an amused tone. 

"I love it! This looks so yummy!" You said turning to him, your eyes glistening in wonder. 

John planted a kiss on your forehead before grabbing a fork as well. 

"How did you sleep?" You asked at John. 

He felt the need to groan at the thought of the long night he had spent. He had adored having you in his arms, but he was unable to sleep. He had watched you sleep in his arms, brushing your hair, torn between the need to kiss you and the joy of having you safe with him.

"Not at lot." John simply said, as you looked at him frowning. 

"Sorry, was I annoying?" You asked in a small guilty voice. 

"No. I just needed to think. Needed some time to calm myself down after seeing you so close to danger." John said frowning slightly. 

John looked up at you as your hand reached for his cheek. You stared into each other's eyes. John saw you smile before your sweet words reached him.

"I'm fine. I'm safe. And I'm with you." 

John smiled at you and kissed your fingers before you both went back to your breakfast. 

______

You took a strawberry with your fork before quickly biting into it. The table was filled with food, pancakes, fruits, eggs, bacon, chocolate muffins, some cookies, orange juice, milk, coffee. You didn't know what to eat. The sun rays that shone through the window were a sign of a beautiful and hot day and you were excited for it. You had plans to meet your friends for lunch and go on a shopping spree for the afternoon. You hadn't took some clothes yesterday though with all the mess that happened. Plus you had to tell John, that you needed to go out of his sight for the entire day, after he killed people who tried to kill you in your apartment. You swallowed hard before bravely trying to break him the news, after all you were a big grown girl. 

"John…"

"Hmm?"

"I didn't get any of my stuff yesterday…"

"My men took it for you. They're in the closet." 

"Alright…"

Silence fell for a few seconds. 

"I have plans this afternoon." 

John looked up at you and you tried your best not to chuckle. You felt like a kid trying to tell her daddy that she made plans when he had told her no. 

"Plans?" John asked. 

"Yes. I have to meet some friends for lunch and then we have to go shop" you said as if it was a matter of fact. 

You saw John shift in his sit as he frowned clearly not enjoying the idea. 

"Do you really have to?" John said in a serious tone. 

"I do… it's been planned for a while…" 

John sighed, looking around. 

"John… I can't stay locked up forever… I'll be careful, and i'll get home before 6 pm." You said, kissing his cheek and standing up. 

John grabbed your wrist softly. Pulling you in his lap. He sighed again, brushing his nose against yours, making you smile. 

"At least let me get someone to drop you off and pick you up." 

You wanted to go against it, tell him it wasn't that necessary but let's be honest you understood his point of view and gently nodded. He smiled and added more to his 'conditions'

"I want you to always have your phone on you. I want you to text me if you see anything suspicious." 

You rolled your eyes, chuckling a bit, but John lifted you up, and sat you down on the table, his arms on both sides, trapping you. 

"(Y/n), I'm serious." His tone was strict and he looked at you frowning a bit.

You felt like a kid being grounded again. 

"I know…" you said in a small voice. 

"I want you to be able to tell me where you are at any moment if anything happens. If you see anything odd or feel like someone's following you, call me immediately." 

You nodded but still felt like messing around to try and light up the mood.

"Yes daddy…" you said in a childlike tone. 

You were expecting him to laugh, raise a brow, get annoyed, anything that would tell you that he understood it was a joke but his eyes grew darker, he pulled you closer to him, spreading your legs so he was in the middle of them, your hips in his hands. You gasped, feeling your heartbeat quicken. His eyes stared into yours, and his voice rang making you wet at the thought.

"If you call me that again, you're not leaving this house today, and neither am I. Do you understand that babygirl?" 

John's voice was low and serious. You quickly nodded, your eyes still locked into his obsidian ones. You could feel he was hard and he had you pinned in place. You were begging for it, you wanted to roll your hips but he had full control over the situation. You were now sure he was a dominant and you were dying to see how far would that take both of you. You had loved calling him by that dirty nickname, and wanted more. 

"John…" 

"No. Go on go get dressed, i'll have someone drive you to meet your friends." John said, kissing you softly before walking out of the kitchen. 

You were confused by the situation. Had he enjoyed you calling him that or not? Something felt off. He wanted you and you clearly wanted him but he seemed to hold himself back again. You climbed off the table, with a small frown and walked upstairs to get dressed. You wanted to enjoy your day off and not think about the enormous frustration your boyfriend was creating inside you. But obviously you should have guessed the day wouldn't have gone entirely well, and in future days, you'll check twice your phone battery before leaving your house or while you use it...

_____

Tags: I know someone asked to be in my permanent tags recently but like.. i'm not good at managing my life right now I apologise please leave a comment and I'll add you in the next part or the permanent tags!

@thatbemyhouse @magdazwolska

@keanuchillz @cynic-spirit you two had been waiting for this, hope you enjoy it! ❤️

#john wick #johnwickgif #john wick series #john wick x reader #keanugifs #keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfics

[anthropologicalhands]

ceg fic: impressionism (what completes this picture of me and you)

title: impressionism (what completes the picture of me and you) characters: heather & valencia, beth/valencia, heather/hector summary: Valencia admits that she once had a crush on Heather notes: not totally sure how happy i am with this fic, but at this point it has been sitting in my drafts for literal months now, so out it goes. Ao3 Link

~

In Heather’s opinion, one of Valencia’s best qualities is her willingness to throw herself wholeheartedly into her ventures.

Granted, Heather usually prefers to observe the hurricane from a comfortable distance, rather than letting herself get swept up in it all. But, on occasion, she doesn’t mind braving her way into the eye of the storm.

Like right now, when she is seven months pregnant and less chill than she has ever been in her life, Valencia showing up unannounced and armed with rose, apple juice, and her cosmetics bag is unequivocally a good thing. It’s been a while since they’ve been able to hang out, just the two of them. Hector is nice and Heather loves him and she’s happy he’s been here for her during the pregnancy, but sometimes his niceness is just too much, and almost as annoying as Rebecca’s casual thoughtlessness. In contrast, Valencia’s straight-shooting, take-no-prisoners determination is a gift.

Even better: unlike the people Heather is living with, Valencia is observant, and notices changes around her without Heather having to point them out.

 “What’s going on with Estrella?” Valencia pauses in front the aquarium on her way back to the sofa, bending down to get a closer look. “She looks different.”

 “That’s ‘cause she is different,” says Heather as she reclines on the sofa with her feet propped up, doesn’t bother to look up from her phone.

“What do you mean?” Valencia asks, perching on the ottoman to resume painting Heather’s nails. She’s been looking more relaxed recently, Heather finds herself thinking idly. Probably the result of a series of fortunate events—the small but tangible successes so necessary to building a business. Heather bets that taking on Beth as a partner has probably helped ease the stress.

And, well, also the fact that Valencia is now definitely getting some on the regular. There is no way that there isn’t a net positive effect of some kind.

“I mean that she’s a whole new starfish,” Heather explains, wincing as the Rebyl spawn punctuates her statement with a two-beat kick.

Valencia’s concentration doesn’t waver, but her eyebrows arch up high on her forehead in surprise, followed by a deep sigh of resignation. “Again? Seriously?”

“Yeah. At least this one looks more like the original Estrella, so I didn’t know it happened until this week, because last week was Rebecca’s turn to take care of her.”

Valencia purses her lips, shaking her head in disappointment at Rebecca’s carelessness. “Wow. I’m surprised you’re not more upset.”

Heather shrugs. “I probably should be, but I already got angry at the shower this morning for the wrong droplet-to-skin-volume ratio, so it’s not worth working up the extra energy.”

“That sucks,” says Valencia sympathetically, looking down at her handiwork, forehead wrinkling in concentration.

“It really does. These pregnancy hormones are sending my reactions totally out of whack. I am noticing, like, everything is too much, like this dress is super itchy and you still smell like Beth’s perfume from yesterday. I know that sounds creepy, sorry, but I can’t help it,” she adds, responding to Valencia’s weirded-out expression. “And to make things worse, now I’m missing other things. Like, stuff I actually care about.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I used to be able to tell things about people before they even know it. Like a wolf. I learned a lot about wolves before I dropped my wildlife biology class. Did you know that they can tell if a person is pregnant even before they know it themselves?”

“That must get awkward.”

“Right?” Heather asks, letting her head fall against the back of the sofa so that she is staring right up at the ceiling.  “But I’m not like that anymore – I used to be a wolf, and I knew things, but now I’m a pregnant wolf and I know nothing. Which doesn’t make any sense.”

Valencia’s eyes have gotten almost comically round as she follows this train of logic to its conclusion. “Oo-kay,” she says after a brief pause, setting down the bottle of violet nail polish and taking up the setting. “Speaking of Rebecca, you’re channeling her pretty hard right now.”

Heather rolls her eyes. “Yeah, that’s because she keeps texting me about the gestational periods for different mammals and it’s like, getting really annoying. I don’t care that elephant pregnancies last for two years, I’m human and I want it out now.”

Valencia’s head jerks up and she stares at Heather. “Two years?”

Heather gives a slow nod. “Yep.”

Valencia wrinkles her nose in distaste. “Ew.”

“Right? But it’s true.”

“Weird. Does Rebecca just know these things off the top of her head or is she Googling random animals every few days?”

“Who knows? But I’ll admit that she does follow up with cute videos of the respective baby animals, so that kind of helps, but only because my baby brain is really dumb and easy to please.”

“I mean, cute animal videos will do that,” agrees Valencia seriously.

Heather hums her assent.  “But seriously, my powers of observation are gone. I’m missing out on the subtle social cues that tell me about drama. And you know I love drama.”

Valencia hums her agreement, and they lapse into a comfortable silence. Heather texts Hector a non-negotiable request to pick up non-dairy milk and any bath products that might possibly have lavender in them.

“You’ll be back to normal and picking up drama in no time,” says Valencia soothingly. “It doesn’t matter if you miss a couple of things in the meantime.”

“It kind of does,” says Heather, looking up from her phone, peering over the swell of her abdomen down to Valencia. “It’s like missing an episode of The Nanny. It might not matter in the long run, but it’s still totally possible that a massive change happened while you weren’t looking and everyone is making references to an event that you don’t get and you have to piece it together without context, because streaming is not an option.”

“You’ve missed things before. No one is going to judge you for it.”

“No, I don’t miss things.”

Valencia’s responding hm is just judgmental enough to compel Heather to straighten up in her seat.

“I don’t,” she says, a hint of challenge entering her voice. “It was basically my superpower, before this parasite took it.”

“I’m not saying you don’t pick up stuff,” says Valencia, setting down the bottle of polish. “I’m just saying, that you can’t notice everything. It’s not possible.”

Heather’s eyebrows shoot high up her forehead; pregnancy might be messing with her senses, but Valencia’s carefully blank expression is radiating I have something on my mind loud and clear. “Okay, enough generalities – what did I miss?”

Valencia hesitates, but when she looks up to meet Heather’s eyes, she juts out her chin a little bit, firming up. “It’s nothing. And I’m going to tell you.”

“Good.”

“It might be weird.”

“Valencia, I am currently pregnant with Rebecca and Darryl’s baby. Is it that level of weird?”

“No, it’s not that weird,” says Valencia after a pause. “Right. Let me finish the varnish first.”

“Cool.” Heather opens up her phone and adds egg salad to the list. It’s not something she would normally eat, but whatever the Darryl baby wants, it’s gonna get. Maybe it will get bored by all the luxury and try to strike out faster.

Valencia screws the cap back on the bottle and travels back up to sit on the couch cushion besides Heather. “You’re going to love it –they have little white flowers on them.”

“Cool. I’d offer more specific compliments, except there is no way that I will be able to see them over my distended stomach and swollen ankles.”

“Which is why I uploaded the pictures on Instagram,” says Valencia breezily, waving her phone. “You can leave your comments there.”

“Right, exactly. Because that’s what Instagram is for, looking at things you can’t look at in your normal, day-to-day life.”

Valencia makes another noncommittal hum. Heather watches as Valencia continues to mess around with the bottles in her makeup bag, waiting patiently for her question.

“Well?” Heather prompts, when nothing juicy is forthcoming.

“Oh! Right.” Valencia startles a moment before composing herself, tucking her hair behind her ears. Interesting.

“Do you think you ever noticed anything about me that you don’t think that I was aware of?”

Sounds like Valencia is on another self-awareness kick. Well, Heather’s down to help. She tilts her head to one side, considering the question. “I doubt it. I mean, once you broke up with Josh, you’ve been pretty upfront about what you were thinking. Maybe when you and Beth were becoming a thing, but you figured that out pretty quickly, so it doesn’t count.”

“Okay but…”

“But what?”

“But what about me liking girls, specifically?”

“Specifically?” asks Heather, raising her eyebrows slightly.

Valencia takes a deep breath, setting her shoulders straight. “Yeah.”

Huh, interesting.

“Nothing specific,” says Heather thoughtfully, mentally flicking through their past hangouts for signs of Valencia’s interest in anyone beyond their direct social circle. “I mean, there was a distinct lack of interest in guys going on with you, like, even on our girls’ nights out, but when I saw you and Beth together I, like, knew that you had a vibe going on. I didn’t see that before with you and anyone else.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Okay, then you didn’t notice,” says Valencia, sounding vaguely offended.

“Notice what?”

Valencia takes a deep breath. “Beth might be the first girl I’ve dated, but she isn’t the first girl I liked.”

“That makes sense. Who were the others? Denise Martinez from high school? You’ve always complained about her. No, wait, it was Rebecca, right? I know she kissed you once—”

“She mentioned that?” demands Valencia, sitting up, spine ramrod straight, before she pauses and reconsiders. “Wait, no, I shouldn’t be surprised. But no. That was…something else. Which, in retrospect, might have helped me reconsider a couple of things, but that’s so not what I’m talking about right now.”

“Okay, so it’s not Rebecca. Cool. Then would it have—” she stops suddenly. “Oh.”

“Yes.”

“So—”

Valencia nods. “Yep. I think I liked you.”

Valencia says it casually, but it’s a bombshell all the same. Heather blinks as she considers this new information, comparing this new context to all the things she knows about Valencia, like pulling away a curtain for a clear view. Their ease with one another, how quickly Valencia started seeking out Heather’s advice and was willing to let her slouch on her couch when she needed time to refill her chill bar during the most hectic days of Rebecca’s hasty wedding planning storm. Valencia had been remarkably lax about Heather setting very close boundaries.

“Oh, huh. Okay, didn’t see that at the time, but okay. That tracks.”

Valencia stares, incredulous. “That’s it? That’s your reaction?”

Heather considers the facts, how she had only known Valencia tangentially as Josh’s girlfriend, with a general idea that they were unsuited, but not understanding just how much until Rebecca brought her to Sugar Face for the first time, beaming and declaring that, if it was all right with her, Valencia might hang out with them a few times while she got over her own post-break-up blues. And she was kind of basic, but also acidic, and very fun and a little clueless and then she just stuck around.

“I mean, I don’t think I totally missed it,” clarifies Heather. “I thought I got a vibe on you for a little while there when I met you, but like, I was trying to figure out if you knew that or if it was just getting into the groove of having a girl group, but there was also the stuff where we were both trying to figure out what to do with our lives and then everything went down with Josh and Rebecca and it just, like, kept going down.”

Valencia nods, grimacing at the memory. “Yeah, it was a lot to process.”

“So much processing,” says Heather with feeling, eyes rolling heavenwards. After a beat, intrigue overtakes her surprise and she sits back up again. “So: how long did you carry a torch for me?”

Valencia gives a dismissive wave. “Not that long. After you started dating Hector I had an epiphany.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I realized that our tastes were way too different to ever work out.”

Valencia pulls a face to punctuate her statement, startling a laugh out of Heather.

“That kinda sounds like an excuse,” teases Heather, a little relieved. Valencia’s shoulders ease, and it’s obvious from the way she’s speaking that there isn’t jealousy or some sort of anguished feeling behind her declaration, and that’s soothing in a very Valencia way. She doesn’t want to stir up drama – she just wants to make things clear and straightforward.

“It really isn’t,” says Valencia, in the same tone she uses when critiquing Josh’s taste in formalwear.

“Okay, it isn’t.”

“I genuinely believe that your interest in Hector cleaved our chances as a couple completely.”

“Sure,” concedes Heather with a smile, “I know you don’t like Hector. Is it because he knows all of the embarrassing stories about you from when you guys were kids?”

“No. Why?” Valencia’s eyes narrow and her body goes rigid. “Why do you mention it? Did he tell you something? Was it about the Sleeping Beauty thing, because he really should know better than that—”

“No, he hasn’t,” says Heather immediately, because it’s true and if the way that Valencia’s perfectly sharp eyebrows are starting to furrow in the middle, if Heather doesn’t clear up that point immediately, there is a nonzero chance that Hector’s demise will be imminent upon walking through the door.

“Good.” Valencia leans back on the sofa, her face still thunderous. “At least his sense of self-preservation is intact.”

“I’ll get that story out of you, then,” says Heather, amused. “You really have nothing good to say about him, do you?”

“Hector is very symmetrical,” says Valencia primly. “And I am willing to admit that he’s been handling your pregnancy very well despite not actually knocking you up.”

“Thank you, I know that cost you something.”

Valencia nods, looking faintly martyred before she shifts position on the sofa, leaning against the cushions, her chin propped up in her palm. “So, you didn’t know I had a crush on you at all?”

“No, I missed that. Which is unfortunate, because it really is flattering.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, totally. You’re definitely a catch. So,” she drags out the word, starting to grin, her long-starved desire for gossip sniffing the air. “When did you know that you liked me?”

She’s pleased to see that Valencia relaxes completely at her teasing, whatever fears she has reassured by Heather’s reaction.

“I didn’t at the time,” admits Valencia. “It didn’t take that long to understand that I liked Beth, really, but I’ve been kind of unpacking stuff with her since we’ve started dating. You know what a good listener she is.”

“Right.”

“And I would keep talking, right, about times when I might have been attracted to other women, what I might have thought of them, and I would think about you and about how, when we first started hanging out, I was so giddy about having female friends for the first time in a long time, and you really helped me figure out what’s normal girl stuff and what wasn’t. And I was so excited to have such smart and attractive friends and I wanted to see you guys every day and your opinions really mattered to me—and I realized that there had been, like, two layers to how I was thinking about you, specifically.”

“Two layers, huh?”

“Yeah, both the core that, you were a cool person, but also like a filter on top of it that make things especially nice. Like the Amaro filter on Instagram. Which, incidentally, is the one I used when I posted your pedicure.”

“Got it.”

“Like, I wanted to be friends,” Valencia continues, insistent. “I absolutely wanted to hang out with you as a friend. But I also kind of wanted to impress you and…have you look at me in a certain way. Though, to be clear, that feeling isn’t really a part of our relationship now, that I was attracted to you. That is in the past. It’s important, but not, like, the defining thing about us. But it in our history and it was weird that you didn’t know about it.” Valencia deflates. “I’m sorry, is this making any sense? This isn’t meant to be a love declaration, or anything, and I’m worried it sounds like one, but it’s just—”

“Part of the history of our dynamic,” Heather finishes. “No, I get it. Human attraction is interesting and doesn’t really care about fitting neatly into romantic-platonic categories.”

“Exactly,” says Valencia, smiling. “Like, I just feel that it’s weird that you didn’t know that’s how I felt about you. You know everything.”

“Apparently not,” says Heather wryly. “But I’m glad you think so.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Thanks for telling me. For the record, though, we totally would have been a hot couple in a parallel universe,” Heather adds. “Totally objectively speaking.”

Valencia laughs, her shoulders loosening. “I’ll drink to that.”

 “Yeah. And while you might not think the same about me, I do think you have good taste – I’m glad you met Beth. She’s very cool.”

“Aw, thank you.” Valencia beams, pressing her hand over her heart. “That means a lot.”

Heather smiles, a rush of affection for her friend coursing through her, sweeping aside the discomforts of the day. “Come on, let’s have a toast to your good taste and behaving like mature adults. Now gimme my apple juice.”

Laughing, Valencia does as she asks.

#crazy ex girlfriend #heather davis #valencia perez #ellie writes fic #i'm not sure i did this justice #my headcanon is a bit more unwieldy #but oh well

[hillywooddestiel]

The Retreat- Chapter 14

Characters: CEO!Bucky x reader

Warnings: angst, stalker issues, some almost smut

Word count: 1.7k

Series description: Y/N Y/L/N: determined business woman, sought after by most businesses, creative visionary for advertising. She has it all. Or so she thinks. Life has a way of kicking you sideways when you least expect it, want it or are in anyway prepared for it. Numerous times. How can Y/N remain from cracking under the pressure when her career isn’t the only thing on the line and everything isn’t all that it seems?

A/N: Hey! It’s me, I’m back! Sort of. Long time no see. Uni is taking up so much of my time but I will be on here for summer at least. I’ve actually finished this series, i just need to post it so that’s a steady upload you can expect. I’m trying to write chapters for my other series and stuff but I am struggling a little right now. Maybe I’ll do some drabble asks or something to ease back into things. So yeah, the hiatus is semi-over and I am trying. Enjoy xx Series Masterlist    Marvel Masterlist

Story:

“Look alive! Barnes is on his way.” Maria warns me as she passes my office door though it's no warning to me. After an entire weekend spent alone in my apartment, aside from going to get a new phone and the two minutes the pizza delivery girl spent at my door, I'm feeling a little better. Not great but, I'm crying less so that's a plus, right? Nothing else happened over the weekend. No calls, no mail, no threatening sky writing- nothing! Maybe the phone call was a fluke and I overreacted. A girl can dream.

“Y/N, can I talk to you?” Barnes stands just inside my door, looking at me expectantly. I get up from my chair and move towards the door to close it.

“Of course.” The second the handle clicks shut, his whole demeanour changes to that of someone more relaxed and happy.

“I've been calling you all weekend! Why didn't you answer?” He holds my arms gently and looks into my eyes.

“I'm sorry, I broke my phone and had to get a new one.”

“Oh… well I'm glad you're okay.” He lowers his head and connects out lips in a sweet kiss, “Are you feeling better?”

“Mhm. In fact, I was thinking we could have dinner again. Tonight.” I suggest, finding myself lost in him.

“Sounds good.” Bucky kisses me again, his hands beginning to explore my waist and my back. He swipes his tongue across my lower lip before making the kiss deeper, casting his spell over me once again. It's a good thing that he's the one to pull back for air because I don't think that's something I could do. “I know a really good steakhouse. They have live music and I know the owner.”

“Actually… can we have dinner at your place? I just… I don't want people thinking anything weird is going on.”

“So, we're going to sneak around?” Bucky asks a little confused with a hint of sarcasm.

“Not sneaking around, keeping things private. Plus there are other perks to being in your apartment…” I add with a sultry voice, pressing myself closer to his chest.

“Oh there are? What kind of perks?” He teases, his fingers fiddling with the hem of my blouse.

“Well there's one that springs to mind…” I pull him into a kiss by the lapels, the intensity growing rapidly. Just as I'm getting into the groove, my intercom beeps from my desk.

“Y/N, Sam's here to see you.” Wanda says plainly, obviously having been warned of my visitor (normally she would be a lot more chirpy or come into my office to tell me in person). Bucky and I break apart with a sigh, straightening our appearances.

“So my place after work. I'll pick you up from your office.”

“Okay, I'll see you later.”

As promised, Bucky picks me up from my floor after everyone else has left and we take a cab to his apartment. The view is just as beautiful as the last time I was here and is greatly improved by homemade meatballs and wine. I make sure to sit far back from the windows this time though.

“So what did you do?”

“I got the hell out of there! Apparently it was some huge dream of this frat kid to have one and the only way two girls would come to his place was if he told them he needed tutoring.”

“What did he think was gonna happen?”

“I don't even know. So what's your craziest college experience.” I ask, thoroughly intrigued by what the great Bucky Barnes got up to in college when he wasn't doing business.

“Well there was this one girl that asked me for tutoring but I think it too was just a long plan to get in my pants.” he snarks.

“Busted!” I hold up my hands, avoiding spilling any wine, and laugh.

“In all seriousness though, I didn't really do much crazy shit in college.”

“Nerd! I bet if I asked Steve he'd be able to tell me all kinds of stories.”

“You wouldn't dare.” his smile drops immediately.

“Aha! So there is something, do tell.” I sit back in my seat- this should be good.

“Fine… in my freshman year, I applied to join a frat house. As a part of the initiation we were taken to the woods and left to survive the night with nothing.”

“That's it?” That's disappointing, I wanted something juicy.

“No, we were literally left with nothing. At all.” He cocks a brow and the penny finally drops.

“Oh! You mean…”

“Mhm. I got a rash from poison ivy in places it should not be possible to get a rash.” Bucky readjusts himself in his seat at the mere memory.

Dinner finished with and the plates long since discarded in the sink, Bucky pulls me into his lap with a mischievous grin. The heat from his body and his close proximity sends a tingle throughout my body.

“I believe we were in the middle of something earlier…”

“In the office? That was a while ago, you'll have to remind me…” I play dumb for a moment, leaning in to kiss Bucky's lips. His hands run along my thighs, lifting my legs around him so as to easily lift and carry me to the bedroom. I fiddle with the top three buttons on his shirt as we go.

“Y/N/N…” Bucky moans as I kiss his neck, pulling at his shirt now to the point that the stitches start to pull. He drops me the rest of the way onto the bed and I bounce on the mattress with a look of shock (well wouldn't you be?). To my surprise and slight dismay, he grabs the sides of his half open shirt and rips it off sending the buttons flying across the floor with a clatter- it was such a nice shirt. Then again, it's probably just water off a duck's back for him to buy a new one.

Clothes are discarded slowly as we move against each other for friction, intent on making slow, lazy love to each other. Bucky leaves kisses down my exposed collarbone, his stubble marking me with scratches. I tilt my head ever so slightly to the side allowing him more access to the sensitive skin. It's just as Bucky finally manages to unclasp my bra that I hear the distinct jingle of keys and the door open and close.

“Bucky, you in?”

“Is that Steve?” I whisper, my hands tightening around his biceps. He looks to me with a slight look of fear, lifting a finger to his lips.

“Buck? You okay?” Steve asks again.

“Just a minute Steve!”

“What are you doing?!” I hiss, hurriedly redressing myself in whatever I can find which happens to be my pencil skirt, one of Bucky's t-shirts, a navy blazer and no shoes.

“I'll distract Steve, you go out the front.”

“Are you serious?”

“Completely. Do you want him to see you?” I shake my head as Bucky ushers me towards the door, “Didn't think so.”

“Fine… Wait what about my shoes?” I look down, wiggling my bare toes.

“I'll call you a cab, just wait in the lobby.” He places a kiss on my lips before pushing me out of the bedroom and behind the island in the kitchen just in time.

“Bucky… what are you doing?” Steve queries, referring to his lack of a shirt and trousers. Rather awkwardly, Bucky leans onto the island with his elbow in an attempt to look casual.

“I'm… just… I'm cleaning.” He grabs the nearest item and starts wiping the surface in circular motions- my blouse!

“That's a shirt.”

“Yep… it is.”

“Is there someone else here?”

“Nope no nobody no.”

“Right… I need to talk to you anyway.” Okay I really should go while he's distracted. Slowly and, most importantly, quietly, I slide along the floor towards the front door and wait until Steve's back is turned to slip out. Shit, my bag! I can't go back in. Fuck, I'm gonna have to leave it and come back. I hope he's called a cab.

Barnes did call me a cab after all so I wasn't left stranded in the lobby of a fancy apartment block looking like some crazy fashion blogger who was trying a look and failing. So that's a plus, right? Once back at my block, I awkwardly enter past my neighbours, barefoot and hoping not to be seen. The man who lives across the hall from me, Phil, is just coming back from work himself. He smiles at me as normal, turning into more of a stifled chuckle when he looks down to my feet. Note to self: get a pedicure next time you want to travel across the city without shoes. The elevator ride is quiet, save for the usual small talk and the whir of the mechanisms. At the top I let Phil get out first. Thank God I leave a spare key hidden in the plant pot next to my door or I don't know what I would do.

“Um… Y/N?” Phil stops still in the hallway outside my door.

“Yeah?” I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end at the nervousness of his voice. I nearly scream when I see what's concerning him. The word 'Slut’ is spray painted in bright red capitals across my front door, the paint dripping down the wall like blood. “Oh my god…”

“You been having problems with those kids from 7b again? I can talk to Marjorie again if you are.”

“Uh not recently…” this has to be my stalker again, “Those damn kids.”

“You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah. Can I- can I borrow your phone?” Phil seems to buy it despite my nervous laugh and hands over his cell.

“Sure” I key in Wanda's number from memory, hoping that I'm not disturbing anything.

“... Hello?”

“Hey, Wanda, it's me… Y/N. Are you busy?”

“No, what's up?”

“I… need a place to crash. It's a long story and I'll tell you all of it. Please.”

“Of course! Do you need picking up from somewhere?”

“My place.”

“I'm on my way.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky #bucky x you #ceo!au #ceo!bucky #ceo!bucky x reader #Marvel CEO #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel x you #mcu x reader #MCU #james buchanan barnes #Steve Rogers #smut #bucky smut #fluff #series #marvel series #marvel!au #bucky barnes series #the retreat #hillywooddestiel

[reverseblackholeofwords]

Submitted by @rynnwolfe

(Hello! You answered an ask about how a very ‘Bim Trimmer’ sort of song is “Angel on Fire” by Halsey, and I looked it up, which prompted this story-snippet. I imagine that the Egos have never really experienced any of the others ‘fading’ before, at least not first-hand. I hope you enjoy the Plant Boy Suffering!)

Their first hint toward something wrong was the wilting plant in the hallway. Silver was the one to notice it, though he was typically too busy falling over himself to observe those small sort of details; maybe he had fallen into the plant on one of his ‘perimeter checks’. He had dutifully carried the pot to Dark’s office, leaving a trail of dirt across the entire building, placing it as carefully as he could onto Dark’s desk without so much as knocking on his door. The pale Ego was understandably upset, though he paused in his breaking, glitching spasm when he noticed just how sorry the foliage was looking. The entire plant was losing its color, ugly brown splotches indicating exactly how long it had gone without water. Silver didn’t have to say a word for Dark to understand his fears.

“Bim most likely forgot about this one. It is in one of the lower wings of the building, after all.”     Silver slammed his oversized hands on Dark’s desk - pent up energy and confidence that he had recently gained from Mark’s newest Ego video, in which the superhero had starred - and locked eyes with the more powerful Ego.

“Does that sound like Bim to you?”

They had found Wilford already at their destination: the door marked with a star, upon which was etched “THE Bim Trimmer”. Wilford was impatiently knocking for all he was worth, his bubblegum-pink mustache twitching with severe irritation. He reached for his gun, Dark quickly stopping him with a hand on the pink Ego’s shoulder.

“What’s going on here, Wil?”

“What’s going on?” Wilford spoke with his usual dramatic flair and threw his hands up in exasperation “this good for nothing is late for his curtain call, again! I have half a mind to fire him, and half a mind to shoot him!” He gave a sharp kick to the door, which remained steadfast and its interior unnervingly silent.

Dark’s grip on Wilford’s shoulder tightened enough to make the pink Ego duck down away from the touch with a small yelp. The eccentric Ego took the hint and slided away from the entrance to Bim’s room, leaving Dark to knock four distinct times. The door, in response, shook subtly before disintegrating into what would best be described as ash.

“Well, I could have done that.” Wilford huffed, then quieted as Dark held up a hand.

A strange atmosphere fell from the room, now unhindered by the heavy door; the feeling of growing things and fresh oxygen that was usually prominent in Bim’s room clearly absent. The three Egos were quiet, a feeling of dread beginning to take hold of them. Dark was the first to step over the threshold, followed (probably too closely) by Wilford, and Silver trailing behind the two more powerful Egos, his large gloved hands still holding the sickly potted plant.   

“Bim?” Dark’s voice echoed almost too much in the Ego’s room; it felt sterile and dead.

There was a sudden skittering of claws against hardwood flooring, prompting WIlford to bring his gun out in a flash, Dark to take a small step back, and Silver to hold the plant near his face as if it would protect him from whatever was about to round the corner. A blur of green shot across the floor, and suddenly Poppy was trying to crawl her way up Wilford’s pant-leg, a sort of guttural whining emitting from her throat. The pink Ego was quick to scoop her up into his arms, holding her like a baby - how Bim always cradled her - and gently pick at the drooping flower that grew from the dragon’s forehead. With closer inspection, it was obvious that Poppy was in as bad of shape as the plant that Silver still carried; her scales were browning at the edges, and her flower had perhaps a third of its usual petals. Her eyes were dull and looked uncomfortably dry, causing the little creature to blink every few moments. Dark looked at WIlford with rising impatience that, if he were honest (which was rarely) stemmed from the trepidation that was forming like a rock in his stomach.

“Wil, precisely how late has Trimmer been to curtain call?”

The pink Ego looked up from his concerned examination of Poppy, his eyes flicking around different points of Dark’s face to try and understand exactly what he was getting at.

“I suppose that depends on what day it is today; you know I was never one for keeping time.”

Dark growled, making the dragon in WIlford’s arm (and WIlford, to a lesser extent) shiver. The pale Ego took a moment to let his shell crack, then walked swiftly in the direction from which Poppy had run. This room was Bim’s favorite: his indoor greenhouse of sorts, what had once been an office with a wall of windows and now had shelves of his precious plants. Every one of which were utterly shriveled and dead. Dark halted in his tracks at this sight, causing Silver to bump into his back and then drop the potted plant to the ground, with the telltale crack of ceramic shattering. Wilford came into the room in response, holding a now-watered Poppy, the dragon already beginning to look mildly perked up. A quiet curse passed his lips at the sorry sight of Bim’s precious plant friends. Silver took the brief pause to brush dirt from the back of Dark’s otherwise immaculate suit, then step back hastily as the Ego walked over to the small desk in the corner of the room.

The chair had been left a foot or so from the desk itself, as if the person sitting in it had suddenly sprung up and walked away. Dark began a methodical search of the area, noting the uncapped pen that had rolled onto the floor. When he bent down to retrieve it, he found a pale green envelope lying face-down under the desk as well. The address written on it in Bim’s neat scrawl was one Dark knew well: Mark’s. Though the envelope was already sealed, the pale Ego felt that all courtesy could be thrown out the metaphorical window in the given circumstances; with one deft movement, he had ripped one end open and coaxed the letter out of its casing. Unfolding it, Dark read the contents quickly, his permanent frown growing deeper as the letter progressed.

‘Mark,’ the correspondence began, Bim’s handwriting neat but slightly dramatic, just like his personality, ‘I hope it’s not a bother that I’m having Amy bring you this letter - though I put the address just in case she doesn’t visit for a while. I know you’re busy, and everyone here appreciates what you’ve been doing for us on your channel. Google was especially pleased with his video, and I know Ed’s over the moon about how his turned out!’

Dark skipped the half-dozen lines detailing exactly how much Bim enjoyed each video that Mark uploaded, rolling his eyes at the flattery and finally finding the important information. He noted that the Ego’s writing had begun to get smaller and shakier as the letter went on.

‘I’ve started to feel…off. Sort of empty, like not all of me is there anymore. I understand that you’re saving the best for last-’

Dark let a huff of air pass his lips in what could be described as a rueful laugh, ignoring Wilford’s impatient shuffling as he stood back in the doorway, seemingly afraid of entering this dead room..

‘-but I don’t know how much time I have left. I’m getting worried. Poppy’s restless around me, I think she knows something is wrong. I don’t want to be forgotten, Mark. Of course, I know you and Amy will never forget me, but I don’t think that’s enough to keep me here anymore. I can’t go yet; Wilford needs me, Poppy needs me, Reginald, Mattias, Rupert, Annabelle, Thomas, Bryan, J-Fred, and all my other plants need me. I don’t know how else to say it: I’m scared and I need your help.’

The signature at the end of the letter was sloppy, lacking its usual finesse and blotched with excess ink in a few places. Dark stood there a few moments more, his mind drawing rapid conclusions, then he neatly folded the letter up and placed it back into the envelope. Then, with a quick turn on his heel, the pale Ego stepped past Wilford and Silver, ignoring their sudden questions and increasingly vehement demands for explanation. He pressed the letter into Silver’s hands as he walked past toward the exit until Wilford’s hand gripped his shoulder far too tightly and spun him around. There was murder and a surprising level of parental panic in the pink Ego’s eyes, which were frantically searching Dark’s face for any hints as to what he had read.

“Where the hell is Bim, Dark?!”

Dark let his shell splinter for a few brief moments, showing anger and a bitter sadness that made Wilford draw back in shock. Then the pale Ego adjusted his suit and looked Wilford in the eye; a small spark of sympathy in their vast depths.

“Bim is gone.”

[rynnwolfe]

Wilting and Fading, part 1

(If you think this story is familiar, you may have read it on @reverseblackholeofwords blog! Don’t worry, I didn’t steal it - I had originally submitted it to her because it went with a few of her story snippets. Well, I decided to write more, and for the sake of clarity I decided to post the first part here as well. There’s quite a bit of angst, so I hope you enjoy that sort of thing as much as I do!)

Click here for part 2!

     Their first hint toward something wrong was the wilting plant in the hallway. Silver was the one to notice it, though he was typically too busy falling over himself to observe those small sort of details; maybe he had fallen into the plant on one of his ‘perimeter checks’. He had dutifully carried the pot to Dark’s office, leaving a trail of dirt across the entire building, placing it on Dark’s desk without so much as knocking on his door. The pale Ego was understandably upset, though he paused in his breaking, glitching spasm when he noticed just how sorry the foliage was looking. The entire plant was losing its color, ugly brown splotches indicating exactly how long it had gone without water. Silver didn’t have to say a word for Dark to understand his fears. “Bim most likely forgot about this one. It’s in one of the lower wings of the building, after all.”      Silver slammed his oversized hands on Dark’s desk - pent up energy and confidence that he had recently gained from Mark’s newest Ego video, in which the superhero had starred - and locked eyes with the more powerful Ego.      “Does that sound like Bim to you?”

     They had found Wilford already at their destination: the door marked with a star, upon which was etched ‘THE Bim Trimmer’. Wilford was impatiently knocking for all he was worth, his bubblegum-pink mustache twitching with severe irritation. He reached for his gun, Dark quickly stopping him with a hand on the pink Ego’s shoulder.      “What’s going on here, Wil?”      “What’s going on?” Wilford spoke with his usual dramatic flair and threw his hands up in exasperation “this good for nothing is late for his curtain call, again! I have half a mind to fire him, and half a mind to shoot him!” He gave a sharp kick to the door, which remained steadfast and its interior unnervingly silent.      Dark’s grip on Wilford’s shoulder tightened enough to make the pink Ego duck down away from the touch with a small yelp. The eccentric Ego took the hint and slid away from the entrance to Bim’s room, leaving Dark to knock four distinct times. The door, in response, shook subtly before disintegrating into what would best be described as ash.      “Well, I could have done that.” Wilford huffed, then quieted as Dark held up a hand.      A strange atmosphere fell from the room, now unhindered by the heavy door; the feeling of growing things and fresh oxygen that was usually prominent in Bim’s room clearly absent. The three Egos were quiet, a feeling of dread beginning to take hold of them. Dark was the first to step over the threshold, followed (probably too closely) by Wilford, and Silver trailing behind the two more powerful Egos, his large gloved hands still holding the sickly potted plant.        “Bim?” Dark’s voice echoed almost too much in the Ego’s room; it felt sterile and dead.      There was a sudden skittering of claws against hardwood flooring, prompting WIlford to bring his gun out in a flash, Dark to take a small step back, and Silver to hold the plant near his face as if it would protect him from whatever was about to round the corner. A blur of green shot across the floor, and suddenly Poppy was trying to crawl her way up Wilford’s pant-leg, a sort of guttural whining emitting from her throat. The pink Ego was quick to scoop her up into his arms, holding her like a baby - how Bim always cradled her - and gently pick at the drooping flower that grew from the dragon’s forehead. With closer inspection, it was obvious that Poppy was in as bad of shape as the plant that Silver still carried; her scales were browning at the edges, and her flower had a fraction of its usual amount of petals. Her eyes were dull and looked uncomfortably dry, causing the little creature to blink frequently as if unable to see clearly. Dark looked at WIlford with rising impatience that, if he were honest (which was rarely) stemmed from the trepidation that was forming like a rock in his stomach.      “Wil, precisely how late has Trimmer been to curtain call?”      The pink Ego looked up from his concerned examination of Poppy, his eyes flicking around different points of Dark’s face to try and understand exactly what he was getting at.      “I suppose that depends on what day it is today; you know I was never one for keeping time.”      Dark growled, making the dragon in WIlford’s arm (and WIlford, to a lesser extent) shiver. The pale Ego took a moment to let his shell crack, then walked swiftly in the direction from which Poppy had run. This room was Bim’s favorite: his indoor greenhouse of sorts, what had once been an office with a wall of windows and now had shelves upon shelves of his precious plants. Every one of which were utterly shriveled and dead. Dark halted in his tracks at this sight, causing Silver to bump into his back and then drop the potted plant to the ground, with the telltale crack of ceramic. Wilford came into the room in response, holding a now-watered Poppy, the dragon already beginning to look mildly perked up. A quiet curse passed his lips at the sorry sight of Bim’s precious plant friends. Silver took the brief pause to brush dirt from the back of Dark’s otherwise immaculate suit, then step back hastily as the Ego walked over to the small desk in the corner of the room.      The chair had been left a foot or so from the desk itself, as if the person sitting in it had suddenly sprung up and walked away. Dark began a methodical search of the area, noting the uncapped pen that had rolled onto the floor. When he bent down to retrieve it, he found a pale green envelope lying face-down under the desk as well. The address written on it in Bim’s neat scrawl was one Dark knew well: Mark’s. Though the envelope was already sealed, the pale Ego felt that all courtesy could be thrown out the metaphorical window in the given circumstances; with one deft movement, he had ripped one end open and coaxed the letter out of its casing. Unfolding it, Dark read the contents quickly, his permanent frown growing deeper as the letter progressed.      ‘Mark,’ the correspondence began, Bim’s handwriting neat but slightly dramatic, just like his personality, ‘I hope it’s not a bother that I’m having Amy bring you this letter - though I put the address just in case she doesn’t visit for a while. I know you’re busy, and everyone here appreciates what you’ve been doing for us on your channel. Google was especially pleased with his video, and I know Ed’s over the moon about how his turned out!’      Dark skipped the half-dozen lines detailing exactly how much Bim enjoyed each video that Mark uploaded, rolling his eyes at the flattery and finally finding the important information. He noted that the Ego’s writing had begun to get smaller and shakier as the letter went on.      ‘I’ve started to feel...off. Sort of empty, like not all of me is there anymore. I understand that you’re saving the best for last-’      Dark let a huff of air pass his lips in what could be described as a rueful laugh, ignoring Wilford’s impatient shuffling as he stood back in the doorway, seemingly afraid of entering this dead room..      ‘-but I don’t know how much time I have left. I’m getting worried. Poppy’s restless around me, I think she knows something is wrong. I don’t want to be forgotten, Mark. Of course, I know you and Amy will never forget me, but I don’t think that’s enough to keep me here anymore. I can’t go yet; Wilford needs me, Poppy needs me, Reginald, Mattias, Rupert, Annabelle, Thomas, Bryan, J-Fred, and all my other plants need me. I don’t know how else to say it: I’m scared.’      The signature at the end of the letter was sloppy, lacking its usual finesse and blotched with excess ink in a few places. Dark stood there a few moments more, his mind drawing rapid conclusions, then he neatly folded the letter up and placed it back into the envelope. Then, with a quick turn on his heel, the pale Ego stepped past Wilford and Silver, ignoring their sudden questions and increasingly vehement demands for explanation. He pressed the letter into Silver’s hands as he walked past toward the exit until Wilford’s hand gripped his shoulder far too tightly and spun him around. There was murder and a surprising level of parental panic in the pink Ego’s eyes, which were frantically searching Dark’s face for any hints as to what he had read.      “Where the hell is Bim, Dark?!” Dark let his shell splinter for a few brief moments, showing anger and a bitter sadness that made Wilford draw back in shock. Then the pale Ego adjusted his suit and looked Wilford in the eye; a small spark of sympathy in their vast depths.      “Bim is gone.”

#bim trimmer #markiplier egos #fanfiction #darkiplier #Wilford Warfstache #silver shepherd