#he also wears watches; either the old type with leather or the more modern looking ones-

[pressurebrew]

I know that espresso has suits made out of corduroy fabric-

#;ooc #☕╰ ooc . #the idea of him ending up falling asleep with his face resting against his arm- #and then waking up and his face has that corduroy texture pressed against his skin is something i can tot imagine AOUTIRODJGK #i dont know why i just love thinking about his wardrobe- #i also feel like people would describe his outfit as 'grandpa clothes'- #he also wears watches; either the old type with leather or the more modern looking ones- #no jewelry besides that #he prefers neckties rather tham bowties but would not complain ig he had to wear those #he also would never wear shoes without socks; sometimes the socks are on the short end so it might look like he isn't wearing any but #they are the r e #what else what else- #boxers;; not briefs #long sleeves on shirts- if it's hot he would just roll them up a little #dress shoes always clean and shiny; his dress shoes do not tend to have patterns on the front part either #OH OH! long coats are his thing; well he even wears one on his og design #thats all i can think of now #think about d.ark a.cademia vibes-

[donutloverxo]

A Royal Scandal 2

Modern royalty au

(Image from Pinterest)

Cowritten with @lizzygal

I'm so sorry! I made a mistake while posting this yesterday so I'm reposting it now. Hope y'all enjoy💖

Note - Since y'all liked it so much we've decided to post this fic on both ao3 and my tumblr! There will be no taglists for this however💖 You can subscribe to the ao3 story to receive updates!

Please note that my stories are not to be stolen or reposted on any other site. Reblogs are welcome. This blog and this story is 18+. Do not read, follow or interact if you are not 18+.

Summary - Modern ruler, His Majesty King Steven G Rogers, is on a quest to make his long term secret relationship the real thing. He is a man in love and wants his lover and partner to be his queen.

Warnings - Smut (m/f), dub con/non con, sex tape, scandals, mentions of past domestic abuse, soft dark Steve, possessive Steve, spanking, power imbalance, Mentions of previous domestic abuse.

Pairing - King!Steve x reader

Word count - 8k

To be fair, Steven could understand why his mother was so upset after watching the entire footage from the royal steam rooms. He had a far better understanding after having seen the footage in question. The one that had led to his mother’s reaction that very morning.

Seated beside Carol on the ride back, he slipped in his wireless earbuds and pulled up the first video he found online on his phone.

A separate car had been sent for you for whenever your meeting completed. However, he had a whole series of his own back at the palace before his day could be considered over in the administrative offices. Days were never really over for him. Should anything happen somewhere in his nation, he would be informed. As was expected for a ruler.

Until then, he had fifteen or so minutes to kill till he arrived back at the royal palace, depending on city traffic.

Which was how he found himself watching what was obviously some sort of hidden camera. As the royal banya did not have CCTV cameras. Steve found himself making a mental note to himself to ask Carol about it.

After he watched the video.

He had the feeling that this would not be going away anytime soon. Therefore, he needed to know what was on there if he was going to have to defend his actions, or even speak about it.

It was somewhat surreal watching himself walk into view wearing nothing. Not even a towel. Talking with someone who was obviously you.

Based on where the camera was located, Steve could tell it was somewhere in the hallway that led from the steam rooms into either the showers or locker room. Thank all the saints above your back was to the camera. Half of it anyway. You were standing at a turn in the hallway, leaning against the wall. Half of you hidden. A towel wrapped around your body.

Thanking those saints above still that there was no sound, Steve watched on as a voice narrated the video, some celebrity blogger dissecting the footage as if it were a pivotal moment in some sporting event.

Steve watched himself turn to face you, facing the camera too and exposing his entire self to the world.

Not that he was ashamed. He had nothing to be ashamed about. Steve was built tall and powerful like his father and mother’s father. He kept himself in shape and as for the manhood that hung heavy between his thighs, he refused to be embarrassed by that either. The blogger however did have several opinions about what she referred to as, the royal sword.

She also seemed to be very opinionated when Steve watched himself kneel down in front of you. He’d never watched himself go down on you before and found himself transfixed, easily able to ignore the blogger’s excited rambling.

For once, Steve watched your hands sink into his hair as he sank between your legs. He watched your pleasure grow and grow, he watched you sag back into the wall and reach up, grabbing at it like a cat stretching out in the hot sun.

Seeing it happen like this? Steve felt like a voyeur. He felt like he was doing something wrong. And then, he watched you climax on his face. He watched your hands tighten up against the corner of the walls meeting. He watched himself stand and no longer noticed the commentary as he sheathed himself between your legs and proceeded to pound you into the wall without mercy.

His attention caught on one little inconsequential thing. Watching one of your legs that wound over his thigh bounce wildly each time.

Quickly he exited out of the video and blog. Unwilling to watch more. Pulling a bud from his ear, he glanced over at Carol who was watching the city fly by her window.

“Have you inquired as to if the palace guard has looked into how the video was taken in the royal banya?”

Blonde hair dusted her shoulders as she looked at her king. Carol answered without a second of hesitation. “Already done Your Majesty. The camera was found this morning. A webcam of some type. It’s been sent away for fingerprints and I have the best IT professional I know looking into it, to determine if we can track down who it belongs to. The royal guard has also launched an investigation into all palace employees.”

“Thank you,” he answered her with complete sincerity.

Captain Danvers had been at his side since he assumed the throne and had proven herself hundreds of times over. She was his confidant. She was his bodyguard. She was his closest thing to a friend, if Steve could say he had such a thing. He could tell Carol anything. He had told Carol about you. Carol had told him about her sick mother and in return, Steve have given her a cottage on palace grounds while providing a nurse. So that Carol would be able to spend as much time as possible with her mother in her final days. Carol still lived on the palace grounds in that cottage down by the gardens.

“I’ll let you know when I know something,” she assured him.

***

Your return to the palace felt like it took forever. Mostly because your panties were very obviously damp from leakage and you were greatly concerned about a wet stain. The modern equivalent of a scarlet letter. Letting everyone know what you’d done.

Twice you’d checked in a bathroom along with every mirrored surface you came across.

Alas, it seemed you were in luck.

No one would know that you’d had inappropriate contact on a workday, or think you’d had an accident. Granted if someone would have noticed you planned on blaming your monthlies.

By the grace of the many women who came before you, you managed to get back to the palace without being caught and were about to go change your panties when a familiar face popped into your office.

“Hey! You’re coming! I’m not taking no for an answer!”

Wanda.

Bright red hair and a brighter red dress that was far from office appropriate appeared in your office, leaping in like an acrobat leaping onto a stage. Making you look up from where you stood behind your desk, digging through your handbag.

A bunch of different thoughts buzzed through your head.

What was Wanda talking about? Where did she want you to go? Did Wanda wear that mini-dress to work? Cause it was about five inches too short and did downright sinful things to the girls. Wanda could always pull off anything. She looked amazing in clubwear, sweats and those tea-party dresses that Jackie O was always wearing.

“Coming?” Fell from your lips in a valiant attempt to stall till you could make sense of what was happening. “What are you not taking no for an answer for this time?”

In your roommate swept like a hurricane.

“It’s practically six!” She declared, as if that was supposed to mean something to you. It had you staring at her and waiting for more information. Hands paused in their hunt for clean panties and a pantyliner in your bag’o’stuff. “No more talk of this fake boyfriend. You and me are going to go have dinner. We’re going to hit the bars to pre-game and then to the clubs! Everyone is going so you are too!”

Such news had you freezing in your patent leather pumps.

Pre-gaming? Dinner? Clubs? Everyone?

How?

It was only Thursday and then you remembered.

It was a long weekend. The winning of some great victory over the Germans from the big war that you only kinda remembered hearing about. Mostly because you’d been busy with the border issue and the education overhaul. You’d known that it was coming up and the entire four-day weekend would be spent celebrating.

Wanda saw your face. She saw what you were thinking. She was practically a mind reader. Which led her to pointing at you scoldingly. “No! No no no! No checking emails or messages. No more work. No! We’re going out tonight and we are going to have fun! You remember what fun is? Right?”

But…you really did have emails and messages to check. You actually did have a ton of work to do. Granted you always had emails and messages to check, plus work piling up. It was the nature of your job. Helping in the running of a country was a 24/7 gig.

“Wanda…”

“Nope!” She declared, marching on into your office and behind your desk to chase you out. Shooing you. Literally making you hop away and grab your handbag because you just knew Wanda wasn’t letting you back near your desk. That much was for sure.

Like a sheepdog, she herded you around your messy desk as you attempted to protest, to get her to listen, to inform her that you really really did have a good bit of work to do.

“Wait…hold on…wait, Wanda…just one second…gah!”

“No more protests! I’m not going to hear it anymore! I refuse to let you hide behind work or the fake boyfriend.”

More protests came from you. You tried. You really really did. But Wanda was shoving and pushing and hip bumping you out into a hallway that did not look like an office building, instead, it was very obviously a palace.

Your heels clicked on polished white marble that shone. Walls were cream and had priceless art hung around, gold gilded borders ran up along where the ceiling met the walls. Light fixtures were old, bronze and cut glass. Furniture that belonged in Sotheby’s was sparsely decorated around the halls.

Door were old and creaky up and down the halls, wooden with locks that required big iron keys.

It was unlike any other place you’d ever worked.

You could feel and see and even smell the smokey history oozing from the walls.

A few people were hurrying out of their offices and locking the doors behind them, which Wanda didn’t even let you do as she went on indignantly. “No! Nope! Clint from Tinder will not wait forever! He digs foreigners and he has a job and he loves to dance!”

At mention of Tinder, your gut lurched.

Dear god not this again.

Why had you ever agreed to let Wanda make you a Tinder profile? At the time it seemed so reasonable. Let her make the profile and she’d get off your ass about your alleged imaginary boyfriend. Problem solved! How on earth were you to know she’d be on the damn app making matches for you?

“Why don’t you go out with Clint from Tinder,” you wanted to know, earning yourself a roll of Wanda’s eyes as you were dragged down along the hallway to the massive marble stairs. Looking as if they’d been carved from one piece, smoothly curling down a floor to the ground floor. Large chandeliers hung with cut glass that threw light everywhere. A massive painting hung up on the large wall of a long dead large royal family in the palace of past.

“He’s not my type. But he is absolutely your type.”

Somehow you doubted that.

Sighing deeply and focusing on not snapping your ankle on the stairs and in your heels, you followed Wanda down, mixing in with the few stragglers who were leaving work and making mental notes to text Steve and let him know you’d be late coming back to the palace that night. You were then planning when you could check your work emails and work-phone messages. That had to be done in a quiet place where no one could overhear. Maybe you could go out to the club and feign a tummy ache? Then sneak away from Clint? It’d probably be much easily to sneak away from Clint than Wanda.

Click. Click. Click.

With every step you maneuvered down your heels were noisy. You’d managed to fling your sizable bag over your shoulder and just knew Steve was going to be annoyed with you. But he was an adult. Being adults meant the two of you would have to do things that you didn’t want.

“So help me, if it kills the both of us, you and I will be going out tonight and having a fun time! This is a celebratory weekend! There are festivities going on all over the city!” Wanda went on, yanking you along behind her upon reaching the bottom step and heading in the general direction of the ground floor exits.

Hurrying along behind her, you followed but you weren’t happy about it.

God did you have so much work to do and you really really wanted to spend the night with Steve. And maybe if you gave in to Wanda, she’d get off your ass about your fake boyfriend? Wait, no, your secret boyfriend, because Steve was very real, you just didn’t want to be eviscerated all over the internet and tabloids for dating a king.

You’d seen what happened when a pretty actress had dated then married a prince who didn’t rule his country. The only thing you had going for you was Steve’s country was still looked at with some serious side-eye from the world, due to past events and rulers. Plus, he wasn’t a young prince that had grown up before the eyes of the world. He was a son of a tyrant, a citizen of a sizable nation the world still viewed suspiciously with a questionable human rights record.

“You’re going to love the club! It’s totally new and they open at ten. Meaning we can have plenty of time with the girls!”

Girls?

As in plural?

Because of course this would be a group event. Wanda never half-assed anything.

“Wanda…” you began.

Before Wanda could turn her attention on you, loud shrill lady screams came and you were greeted to the sight of Maria, Okoye and Pepper. All three threw up their arms and grabbed Wanda in a big hug, yanking her away from you and freeing you from her grip.

Loud girl screeches followed.

There was group hopping and hugs and laughter.

It should have made you realize that it’d been so long since you had a fun girls night. It should have reminded you that you were young and your life shouldn’t be all about work and sneaking off with your boyfriend whenever the two of you were able to.

Your heart should have been warmed by the sight of your palace coworkers who were clearly part of the aforementioned Girls.

How long had it been since you had fun?

How long had it been since you’d had a night out on the town?

What were you doing?

Were you jumping and screeching and hugging too?

No.

You were digging into your handbag so you could text Steve real quick. To let him know about your change in plans before he began to think you’d bailed because you were a coward and got cold feet.

Just as your fingers touched the smooth surface of your iPhone…

A noise caught your attention.

Movement.

Peering up to the side at the wall, or what you’d assumed was a hallway wall since you were in another hallway nearly identical to the one upstairs. All while the hugfest continued. You noticed that the wall was at a weird angle. As if it were opening up on a hinge and by the time you realized that the wall was actually an opening to a hidden passageway, a hand grabbed your elbow and yanked you in.

No more than a soft squeak came from you.

In you tumbled.

Into a dimly lit hallway that was actually a passageway you found yourself. With a metal sounding click the wall slid back into place and a big hand fell over your mouth. Making you immediately panic, immediately reach up to grab the hand that was silencing you. Making an arm band around your chest and pull you flush back against a broad muscular body.

“Did you honestly think for one moment that I would allow you to go get drunk with Wanda? Or go to a club with a man that she met for you on Tinder?”

Steve.

It was Steve.

His faint aftershave still burnt your nose but paired with the masculine scent that was him, you relaxed only a little bit, just a smidge.

How the hell did he know all of that? Had he bugged your office? Was he following you?

Deep in your chest your heart pounded wildly. Your skin was on fire. Even though it was dimly lit, you swore you could see each nail and groove in the wooden walls of the hidden passage.

Steve’s shoes were soft on the carpeted floor. Yours however never reached. Your legs dangled. Desperately you stretched out to try and reach your toes down, but alas, Steve was holding you up and was simply that much taller than you. Easily holding you up as he carried you.

His voice an angry snarl, a seething whisp against your ear. “That is so disappointing my love. A failure on both our parts,” came his angry voice. Walking with sure footing and a quick pace through the only barely lit halls.

Turning here and there, quickly and suddenly, until you were very much lost.

A protest came from behind his palm that was crushed against your mouth. Your blood heating with every passing second till it felt as if it were boiling. All that sudden fear was turning into anger at this treatment.

“I’ve clearly failed you if you’re unable to announce with nothing but the utmost certainty that you’re both in a relationship and have no desire to go out clubbing with whomever Clint from Tinder is.” The word clubbing was spat out, as if Steve found it vile on his tongue. “As for you? Yesterday we were discussing where to go for your birthday and today, you refused to answer one of my calls! You have work to do tonight to make up to me your behavior today!”

Further down the hidden passageway you were unceremoniously carried pulled to his front. Your brain racing at warp speed.

You had work to do? You had to make up for your behavior?

Had he lost his damn mind?

Had he not seen the video of his naked nether-regions all over the internet? Or the sex that made the footage a sex tape? The two of you were now amateur porn stars and he was mad that you? Because you were trying to be lowkey until the entire situation blew over? Steve was mad because you were being reasonable?

A most valiant attempt was made to free yourself.

You struggled. You kicked. You flailed and shrilled behind the hand over your mouth. No longer taken by surprise or frightened. Now you were growing angry.

On top of being terrified of being found out in that footage and ridiculed by the world, or worse, chased out of this country by a horde of angry people who didn’t agree with you being the kings choice as not only a foreigner, but one from pretty humble roots. You were upset that the world saw such an intimate moment between the two of you and even if Steve didn’t care that his junk was all over the internet, you cared. You cared a great deal. The royal junk was your junk. It was bad enough you had to know he’d dated women before you who’d seen him nude and were intimate with him, but now the world? It was simply too much for you to comprehend.

Steve slowed and turned, using his elbow he made something pop and a slight crack of light where there was obviously another hidden door in the wall appeared.

Using his broad shoulder, Steve pushed the door open and stepped out into a hallway that led down to the royal chambers and split off.

With his knee, he shoved the hidden panel shut and tightening his grip on you, Steve hurried down that hallway.

A completely different one from where the administrative offices were located.

Rich wooden paneling covered the walls. Making everything appear warmer, lusher. An amber haze hung in the air.

Thick carpet was underfoot. Furniture spoke to its age but had been made with a quality that endured. Like this palace. Built when his land was called something else but had stood through time in proof of his claim to the throne.

Generations before him had ruled, claimed spouses and lovers in these halls, grown old and made history and now it was his turn.

Merely that knowledge had him growing excited in his slacks for a second time that day. All of your thrashing and struggling didn’t help. If anything, it sparked a part of his brain that insisted he ravish and conquer you in his royal bed.

Mouth pressed to your ear, till he felt amber and diamonds press against his lips. “I swear, I will spend the rest of tonight inside of you until things are as they were yesterday. Until you remember that when I speak to you in any manner, you answer. Considering how thoroughly you’ve consumed every last part of me, it is only fair.”

And then, in his slowed pace down the hall ever closer to the door that would lead into Steve’s Royal Apartment, he saw a portrait up on the wall that made him pause.

It was him.

Or his portrait from when he’d turned thirty.

There he stood looking down at you both. Dressed ceremonially in his crown, holding the traditional ruling scepter and wearing the robes from kings of past. Fur, jeweled toned fabric that he’d easily filled out with gold adornments, amber buttons and pipping on his shoulders.

What was most striking about this portrait compared to all the others of Steven throughout the palace, was he was alone in it and unlike all the others, at the time, he’d not been single.

Further making that internal fire burn hotter.

Making him stop and force you to look up at it with him. Framed in a gilded bronze heirloom. Up where he had to look at it to be reminded of what could have been.

“Look! Look!”

You stopped struggling and looked, were well aware of his mouth against your hair.

“See? See it? You could have been there with me. At my side. Wearing my crown. Wearing the robes and jewels of my grandmothers. My queen.”

And indeed you saw.

When you’d seen the finished portrait, you had been blown away at how your body reacted to the sight of your lover in his traditional uniform he only pulled out for big special events. How powerful he looked. How sexy he was wearing a crown, holding a golden scepter with an eagle on the end clutching a piece of amber the size of an egg.

The arm around your chest fell so he could point at the empty space in the picture beside him. “Look. Right there. That is where you would have been. Right there. At my side.”

His hand over your mouth still held you flush against him. Pulled tight against him.

That thought, that entire notion of you painted on a portrait, up there with Steve at his side. It was so surreal to you.

When it was just you and Steve it was fire and gold and everything was amazing. When it was King Steve and his Chief of Staff it was stimulating and exciting. You still weren’t sure about being queen. A queen! That wasn’t like being a princess or a duchess. A queen was different. Even the word felt different.

It made your heart start to pound wildly in your chest again. It made you breathe hard against the back of his hand. It made you have a physiological reaction.

***

This was not how Carol intended to spend her night.

It was not how she wished to start her off-time. Having given Val the update on all things that had transpired for the day as she handed off command of the Royal Guard to her fellow captain.

No sooner had she told Val everything, did one of the messengers from communications come hurrying in. A slip of paper in her hand. A note that changed everything for that night, that week and even that month.

It had left Carol walking through the royal apartments towards the Queen Mother’s rooms.

As she knew exactly what King Steven was doing and quite frankly, she wanted no part in disturbing that unless she absolutely had to.

Besides. The message that had been sent to the palace via royal envoy was meant for Her Majesty. It was best Her Majesty the Queen Mother figured out how best to deal with this coming…situation.

Compared to His Majesty’s Private Rooms, Sarah’s were all light and brightness. White marble and ornate touches. Colorful priceless paintings and large bouquets of fresh flowers in crystal vases. Soft plush furniture held little personal touches. A white chenille throw draped over her couch by a fireplace. Pink slippers sat on the floor. Books both new and ancient with various markers holding her place were scattered about. Fresh flowers. She loved fresh flowers. They were everywhere.

As expected, the door to the Queen Mother’s apartments were open.

Carol still paused outside of it to knock gently.

“Your Majesty?” She called out, looking at her watch to see that it was nearing seven. Around seven was when the queen took her dinner meal privately. Of course she’d leave the door open for kitchen staff to bring up food as usual. It wasn’t one of the nights that was reserved for Steve and his mother to have their dinners together.

After the death of her husband the former king, Sarah had effectively thrown open all the doors that he had imprisoned her with.

Her soft voice drifted out.

Delicate and gentle.

The Queen Mother sat in a large chair by a big window overlooking the city. Her pale hair pulled back at the nape of her neck. A string of pearls tightened and loosened around her fingers as she lowered the book she’d been reading. A pleasant smile came over her soft features.

Upon seeing the stone of Carol’s face, the queen frowned. “What is it? What is wrong?”

Only confirming that something was wrong, Carol shut the door and locked it.

Dinner had been brought up. Smells emanated from the queens private dining room off to the left. It reminded Carol that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast that morning. It had been that kind of a day.

Clasping her hands before her, she rocked back on her heels. “A message was sent by Her Highness Janet Van Dyne. She and her daughter will be at the palace tomorrow…”

Janet and Hope Van Dyne?

Steven’s former fiancée and her mother?

Two golden eyebrows rose, making Carol press on. “Her Highness is under the impression that they’ll be staying here? In the palace?”

All of this was new to Sarah.

She had not heard from Janet since Steve’s coronation. When she and her husband had been in attendance. Earlier that particular year, Hope had broken her engagement with Steven to run away with a Maharaja.

It’d been all over the tabloids.

A young princess of the Netherlands had broken her engagement to the crown prince of an incredibly traditional nation to follow her heart. Hope had spent many years splashed across tabloids and blogs with a handsome charismatic Asian Prince. She’d lost her royal title and gave tell-all interviews about how her family had forbade her from running away and how she’d never marry a man from infamous Rogers Royal Line. And then, oddly, she was back home with her family this year.

Sarah had found it unusual. Alas, she was a busy woman with a life of her own to keep her busy.

“Was anything else in the message,” Sarah wanted to know.

Carol shook her head.

It had been a simple message that was very to the point.

Sighing in a most un-Sarah-like sort of way. She set her book down on the arm of her chair and rose. Tall. Willowy. Pursing her lips. Her dress fell around her in a gauzy cloud.

“Do you want me to tell His Majesty?”

Pausing, the older women considered the question. Dare she tell her son? He deserved to know. Nothing good would come from this visit.

If it were Janet alone? Sarah would not be so suspicious. But Janet and Hope? And that they would come so last minute? After the release of this video footage from the royal sauna?

“Is my son with her?”

Silence.

Carol was quiet.

A noise came from the Queen Mother. A clicking of her tongue. Stepping into her slippers, she pulled the hem of her dress up. “I suppose I should not be surprised that you would keep this from me.”

More quiet came.

“I won’t ask. I’ll find out my own way and leave him be for now. Janet and Hope won’t be here tonight. This can be a problem for tomorrow, today has been difficult enough for us all. Let tomorrow be tomorrow.”

Let tomorrow be tomorrow.

On her other hand was her wedding band. A treasure itself. Now on the widow’s finger. It was so symbolic of the cage she’d lived in for the duration of her marriage.

Absentmindedly, she twisted the rings. “Have you eaten yet?” Pulling them up and down her hand. “I had hoped you would come. I had the kitchen bring up extra.” Off slipped the rings that she had to wear in public. In her hand they jingled until she set them down on a smoothly polished table.

With two heavy clicks, they bounced on the wood by a vase full of peonies. Freeing her for the time being.

“I missed you while you were away.”

A blush bloomed over her porcelain complexion at Carol’s words.

As she watched Carol lock the door to her chambers, a warmth bloomed within her chest. Such words were so simple. So honest. They were words she had not heard before in her life. In this new chapter however, in this new time in her life, she had become accustomed to kind words and compassion.

“I missed you as well.” She confessed, stepping closer and still keeping space between them. As some habits died hard. “Stay with me? Tonight?”

“There is nothing I want more, Sarah.”

***

As it turned out, now you were ready to talk.

However.

Unfortunately.

Steve was now past that point and was on a whole other page.

You found yourself protesting when he carried you into his bedroom like some manner of caveman would carry a slab of meat. Shrilling out when he yanked and ripped and tore at your dress, forcing it over your head after ripping fabric and popping buttons, till it was an unsalvageable heap of material and threads.

Which was an absolute tragedy.

You loved that dress.

You even pointed out that fact to him somewhere between the threshold of his bedroom and his massive bed that really was fit for a king.

It was so big!

A headboard wider than Wanda’s itty-bitty car was long. An elaborate collection of regal flourishes and shapes. Dark sheets so soft they were slippery awaited you as you screeched and hollered, letting out an outraged sound when your bra was popped then yanked roughly from you.

“Steven!” You admonished your king, toes digging deep into the thick carpet as you’d lost your shoes back in the hallway leading to his quarters.

This whole evening was going off the rails for you. There was no other way to put it.

Dim sconces on the wall lit the way. Highly effective mood lighting if you ever saw it. Allowing you to see the set in Steve’s face, the firm line of his mouth.

His fingers wrapped around the back of your neck so he could hold you close, ground out for your benefit. “All day long I tried. Calls. Messages. Texts. Did you want to talk? No. You ignored me. Now I do not wish to talk either.”

Pushing you forward, you found yourself stumbling but knew if you didn’t walk on your own, Steve would merely toss you up on his bed. Up on the sea of pillows. Framed by gilded silver and dark curtains that came down from above to allow for privacy.

“All day long you denied me. I’ll remind you what is mine until you’re thinking clearly again. Until we’re back where we were yesterday!”

“I’m ready to talk now! I’m in a place where I can discuss this with you! I am thinking clearly!”

Words were not needed.

Oh no.

Not when the king grabbed your hand, pulled your arm back and pressed your palm against his straining erection. Hot to the touch. Shockingly hard. Painfully so even you were willing to bet.

Your knees hit the bed and you were pushed forward till you fell over, till you wound up on the expanse of bedding in a tangle of hands and knees and that silky smooth material.

A big explosion came from Steve. Feeling like and you were flailing on your stomach, trapped beneath his oppressive weight and the bed. Fighting. Wiggling. Trying to get free from beneath him but bigger stronger arms had your wrists.

Something was being wrapped around your wrists that you couldn’t see, as your vision was impeded by the broad chest in your face. Right there. Blocking your line of sight. Pinning you down to the sea of grey until finally, finally, he was up and you were once more struggling, wiggling, jerking and finding that you were tied to the headboard.

You were tied to the headboard. You were naked and bound to his bed.

Silky fabric that was Steve’s tie bound your wrists snugly together and wove into the headboard, securing you there most soundly.

It was outrageous! It was absurd!

You were tied to his headboard!

It was a first for you.

When your gaze returned to your boyfriend and even that was now a bit questionable, you were greeted to the sight of Steve shedding his suit. Yanking off each garment without pause or care. A few tears were heard and he was far rougher than need be. A button or two may have flown off.

“You cannot be serious! That’s your plan? You’re going to take what’s yours? Are you serious? This is not the dark ages!”

Ignoring you, Steve shoved his slacks down his long legs. Allowing his rigid cock to bob obscenely. Causing an eyeroll to immediately come from you. A hint of something dark on his hip caught your eye. But it was only a flash and as he was moving, yanking off his suit jacket and fiercely ripping open buttons on his shirt, you couldn’t get a good look.

Was it a bruise? A tattoo?

Somehow you doubted kings were even allowed to have tattoos. Or that Steve even had the time to get himself permanently inked. When the hell did he get that bruise?

Momentarily distracted by him climbing up on the bed, you looked up to give your bindings a good hard yank.

No luck.

Steve’s weight was pushing you down. Shoving you into the bed. Pinning you down as you protested, implored and began to plea. Which was exactly what he wanted. After everything you had put him through today? You would beg. You would plead. You would forget all about that video.

“Open your mouth.”

It was an order.

It could be nothing less.

An absolute command that had your lips slowly parting as your eyes widened in surprise at the sudden treatment, this roughness. Steve held his painful erection in hand and pushed his tip to your lips. Pushed the red end of his cock sticky with precum past your lips. Till you were forced to open your mouth wider and wider for him. To take him deeper and deeper into your mouth.

Steve held your gaze and pushed his member in further. Straddling your chest and gripping his headboard in one hand, till it dug into his fingers. While his other hand grabbed your face to hold it tight.

You’d never be able to take all of him. He knew this. You’d never been able to no matter how much you’d tried. But he wanted to see how much he could fit in your mouth tonight.

“Don’t swallow. Don’t let me down again.”

Your mouth was so warm closing around him. Wet. Sacred. It made him want to close his eyes to sink in deep but Steve would not. He would do that soon enough. He would lose himself in your cunt soon enough.

A few small movements from his hips sank his cock deeper into your mouth. Filling your cheeks as you struggled. Until you found a motion of moving up and down his length, running your tongue along his sides. Wetting up his shaft till sloppy noises started to fill his ears and a small little dribble began to moisten the corners of your mouth.

Those blue eyes remained set on your own. Never once showing you mercy.

“Tomorrow. In the future. If I call or text, you will answer.”

There was no follow-up. Nor was it a question.

Long fingers that belonged on an artist or musician sank into your hair tightly.

All you could do was nod as drool rolled down your chin and you suckled his cock like you would a popsicle, without swallowing, sucking on his sensitive flesh as he liked and without the aid of your own hands to steady his member.

It was glorious and Steve could only slightly appreciate it. As the words that fell from his mouth were more important, more vital.

Feeling how wet your mouth was getting was fantastic. Absolutely. Your nimble tongue was a gift. No one had ever sucked his cock like you.

However…he was still frustrated, still angry, still hurt even.

He’d not worked his way through those feelings as of yet.

Perhaps? In your body?

Those feelings teased and taunted him with his unworthiness. Of how you hadn’t been firmer with your roommate. How you had allowed her to drag you down the stairs for a night out with possibly another man? It infuriated him. It sent his hips rocking into your mouth. It had his cock rubbing up along the back of your throat and made your eyes water.

No.

Steve would not lose you. He loved you too much to even entertain such a notion. No. Infact, he would make sure that he ruined you. By the end of the night, he would make certain that you’d never even amused the notion of being set up. He would be completely sure that when you left his chambers come morning, you would never be doubted when you told Wanda or anyone that you had a partner.

“I want to start publicly courting you. I want to be engaged this year. I do not want to hide any longer. When people look at you, I want them to know that you belong to me.”

Noises came around his cock that Steve knew were words and he did not care.

“Look at yourself.” Steve stilled, his words harsh, bitter even. “You have my cock in your mouth and I am completely at your mercy. Tied to the bed of kings because I cannot go one night without dreaming of you, fantasizing about your tight cunt and smooth skin. I would give you the world and all you want is nothing. You are the worst type of infuriating.”

As if to prove his point, he steadily pumped his pelvis up into your mouth. Each slide in pushed saliva and pre-ejaculate out, making it ooze from the seal of your lips around his erection. Against your throat his wet balls bounced. His ass rested on your chest and he could not get enough. More. He wanted more. He needed more. Craved more.

The urge to go harder was strong.

Steve wanted so badly to fuck you. To make you feel how much you drove him mad. How you caused him physical pain from longing alone.

With drool smeared down your chin and neck, never looking more beautiful in his opinion, Steve pulled his dick out. Done with your mouth for now. Needing more. Needing to grab your tits and to be closer to your face, looking closer into your eyes.

In a familiar sort of way, your throat bobbed.

“Did you just swallow when I specifically told you not to?”

A moment of hesitation followed from you that had Steve gripping your face, easing his body down yours but holding your slippery chin tight in his grip. Your eyes were wide. Again, probably without even realizing, you swallowed in nervousness.

“I’m…I’m sorry…”

“I’m sorry what,” he demanded, leaning down closer, licking the wetness from your chin and earning from you a most satisfying shiver that wracked your body.

“S-s-sorry, Your Majesty.”

His tongue was hot and wet on your chin. His body was heavy and hot on your own. Skin on skin contact made your brain short circuit. It was a miracle you could string those syllables together. With your hands bound so snugly to the bed. All you could do was take it. Take what he gave you.

Feeling him push your thighs open and position himself between your hips made you gasp. Words failed you.

And then words didn’t even matter because he was pushing into you. Claiming you. Taking what was his because you did belong to him. You belonged to him in every possible way.

A scream exploded out of you when he dove right in. Sank in till his crown was pressed up against the wall of your cervix. Deeper than anyone had ever been before. Hands were grabbing your ankles and spreading you wide. Spearing you on his cock. Stretching your body taut.

“So wet. You were made to take me. Made to take your king.” He whispered more to himself even though you heard. You would have heard a pin drop. You could hear your heart pound and blood rush through your ears, each gasp your lungs took. You could feel every last inch of him deep inside your core. Painfully stretching you open like this. Burning. Tingling. Twisting.

Hands tightened on your ankles till you looked up at Steve. Hovering over you like a pillaging warlord about to ravish his prize.

“You have till Monday to decide how you wish us to become public. I will not wait a day longer.”

Seeing you like this before him. Splayed out. Your pussy curled around his member, plump from being filled with your breasts round puddles up on your chest. It set his hips into a frenzy. Powerful thrusts were sent into your tight walls that made Steve grunt every time from the power behind his motions, from the sight of his cock vanishing up into you. Watching your pussy take him so hungrily as you cried out beneath him each time. Breasts swaying. Skin slapping on skin with the contact. Your hips jiggled, his headboard creaked, his balls slapped soundly against you both.

“Say it. Say the words to me. Say them!” Steve commanded you. Pieces of his hair falling and sticking to his sweaty forehead as he sank in to the very depths of you then pulled out, revealing a glistening shaft before slamming his member right back in where it belonged.

“Yes…yes…yes…yes…” you chanted, over and over, again and again with every thrust in, every withdraw that was like heaven and hell, your body needing him to complete this circuit only the two of you could create. “…yes…yes…my king…yes my king…”

Those words. They were a song to his ears and had your ankles slapped together. Those words had the backs of your thighs slapped wetly against his chest, your feet touching his shoulder as Steve continued to pound into you.

Pumping into your now closed thighs, into your tighter walls at this angle.

“Look!”

Dimly your eyes fluttered, you looked into his burning blue eyes.

“Look. Here.”

You followed his gaze to where he pointed, looking down at his pelvis, where his hip met his abdomen in that hard cut of muscle that was visible above his beltline. The one you loved to lick.

He did have a tattoo.

It took you a second to realize what you were looking at and focus, as his thrusts continued without mercy, pounding away, slamming into you without mercy. Shaking and pushing you into his bed.

Your writing was inked into his skin. Your very own signature.

Your name was forever scrawled into Steve’s skin and then, it hit you. Your climax took you by complete surprise. Your entire body went stiff. A pained noise came from you and you shattered all around his cock. Fingernails dug into your palm and you stared at your name in cruel ecstasy.

Steve fell too. You could tell from his thrusts getting wild, falling out of sync. You could tell because he swore out, clenched his face and held your thighs tight to his chest.

Pumping deeply into you while your body milked him for everything he had to give.

Making him merely a man in that moment with you.

Up on his headboard, you were tightly secured and would soon have bruises from arching up against the silk tie restraining you. Unable to do anything but feel and accept what your king was giving you. On your back. In a bed that past kings had slept in.

None of which was lost on you.

Not as your body felt leaden, filled with molten hot lava. Limp. Your secret garden continued to suck him in, clench around him and spasm, making your eyes roll up in your head, your body dig into his bed and words fall from your mouth.

In a most dignified sort of manner, your king humped into your body like a jack rabbit, chasing the last vestiges of his climax with coral wet lips and dark honey hair now damp with sweat.

A sight for your satiated eyes.

“Let me call my mother in the morning.” You breathed out slowly, as if figuring out how your lungs worked once more after a marathon. Your words making Steve still above you. Though your cunt did not. It twitched around his royal girth and you met his gaze from on his pillows. “Tomorrow you can have Maria release a statement saying whatever you want. Just let me tell my parents myself. They should hear from me that I’m not coming home.”

Whatever wind that may have held up his sails had clearly been withdrawn.

Almost tenderly now, Steve leaned forward to quickly loosen the silk around your wrists and free your hands from his headboard. Stretching out his long powerful body above you. Flushed red now. Glistening. Though he left his tie there. He remained inside of you too. Filling you and stretching you full.

Gently, he pushed your legs down until they wrapped around him and he was able to rest his weight most carefully on top of you. Pressing wet kisses to your nose, your cheeks and chin. Worshipping your face with delicate touches and caresses.

“I’ll fly them out here whenever you want. When we get back from Switzerland, I’ll have them waiting for you.”

Softly you answered, reveling in his softness now that your body had been given her reward, her treat, her pleasure from his roughness. Smelling the musk of his sweat and feeling the wet glide between your bodies.

Leisurely, your hands found their way up his muscular arms to his shoulders. “You know what I mean. I won’t ever be their daughter again. I won’t ever be Wanda’s roommate. I’ll have to quit my job. Nothing will ever be the same.”

Those words, well, they settled uncomfortably in him.

All of them were true.

You would be giving up so much. He would have to make sure to take care of you even more so, keep a closer eye on you. He would need to have a talk with his mother come morning.

“That’s true,” Steve softly conceded, rubbing his nose along your own. Barely grazing his lips over yours. A hint of a tongue touched you before his breath danced over your mouth. “We would be together though. Finally together. You. Me. Not hiding anymore.”

Speaking of hiding.

That word alone had you pulling away from his mouth to lean to the side, to get a look down at his Adonis belt. At the alluring groove that led down to his pubes where your name was now in black.

Nay, your signature.

As if sensing what you were after, your boyfriend tilted up a smidge. Enough for you to see but not enough for him to leave your body. Pray tell that couldn’t happen.

“When did you do this?”

“Do you like it,” Steve asked, as if your opinion mattered. Which was laughable considering how permanent it was.

He’d literally took your signature and had it tattooed on his body.

“Of course I love it. Now you have a part of me on you all the time.” An incredibly modern take on Steve’s royal jewel gift thing, but in reverse you thought. Then grinned as it sank in. “I can’t believe you did it though.”

Why wouldn’t he have done it?

Steve hadn’t thought twice when Maria had gone on about getting her late mother’s writing tattooed on her side, in a lasting forever tribute. Having your writing on him at all times had been an idea that hadn’t left him. Not until he’d had a tattoo artist praised for their work brought to the palace late the other night.

He wasn’t even going to lie, king or not, there was something downright satisfying about having something like this hidden on his body from all. Known only by you and him. A secret only for you two.

Bringing him right back to the thought that the biggest secret the two of you shared would soon be out.

Soon it would be public knowledge and that had Steve brushing his fingertips over your cheeks, kissing the swell of your cheekbone and moving ever just so to make a small moan come from you. “You’ll never regret this. I’ll love you for the rest of my life. I’ll devote myself to making you happy. You’ll never regret becoming my queen.”

#steve rogers x reader #chris evans x reader #steve x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers x you #marvel x reader #avengers x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x y/n #king!steve x reader #king!steve rogers x reader #king!steve rogers

[scuttle-buttle]

Chapter 18

Masterlist in my bio.

WC: 1492

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: fluff, brief mention of weight/implied weight gain during puberty years, band geek (but we love band), roadhead because you just gotta, save a horse ride a cowboy, use of “cock”, smut

A/N: I have said fuck it to some logic and timeliness regarding bond films and mini coopers - just roll with it bby and enjoy the ride ;)

The first time you go to Niki's you aren't in the least surprised by his house. It is on the larger side, but supremely modern. Clean lines and block colors make up the decor. Open spaces lend room for crisp sunlight to breach the many windows. A sleek fireplace sits along the far wall. He has a fully furnished living room, but it looks rather unused. Instead, he spends most of his time either in his study or the unattached garage out back.

He watches as you pander around the room, taking in the bookshelves full of automobile trinkets and shop manuals. It is the only room that doesn't seem to fit the rest. There is an old photograph in the corner - his family you presume. Niki looks to be about 16 in the picture; his curls are a little shorter and he is lean and lanky. You imagine that you were also quite the sight as a dorky 16 year old with pigtails and a band uniform.

The office is old school; it reminds you of your own father's study. Your hand glides across the back of a high winged leather chair more akin to the likes of bankers and businessmen. Niki did once tell you he came from a long line of politicians and whatnot. You suppose you can take the boy out of the business world but not the other way around.

The chair swivels around and you sit. Facing the desk and Niki you steeple your fingers in front of you and give your most serious face; "I've been expecting you, Mr. Lauda."

"Is that so? In my own house, no less," he taunts.

Sighing, you ask "James Bond?" He shakes his head. "You're no fun."

"I recall you saying the opposite just last night," his tease causes you to snort. "Come, I will show you the garage."

He leads you down a gravel pathway. The garage is nearly as big as the house, you figure it makes sense that he needs space to work on setting up his cars. Turning on the light you are pleased to see a collection of multiple vehicles. A black bike catches your eye.

"You have a motorcycle?"

"I do, yes. Maybe I'll take you for a ride sometime."

You grin at his promise and straddle the bike, careful not to topple over. Niki watches you, your legs spread over his bike. The bell bottom jeans you wear hug your plush thighs. He can't help the thought of you spread over him, your legs gripping his own hips.

With caution you swing your leg off the machine and head to the other vehicles. He has an unassuming and generic black sedan to one side. The red Ferrari is parked up front. You both agreed that it was flashy and not his type off the circuit, but when Ferrari tells you to drive their car off the track too you don't argue.

A pop of blue catches your eye. Moving closer you see he has a little Mini Cooper parked on the other side of the sedan. It's clearly seen some use. Being British you feel a thrill that Niki would drive a car from your homeland.

He walks to join you next to the car. "'67 Mini 'Mark I', 1275cc engine, 4 speed transmission. I used to race these when I was a teenager. Grew attached so I kept one after I moved up in the leagues. It's getting up there in miles but I still like to take it out sometimes."

"My brother had a Mini when we were younger. I used to beg him to take me to parties in it. Didn't quite fly though - he didn't want his little sister tagging along crushing his good vibes," you laugh at the memory.

You wrap your hands around his waist and rest your chin on his chest. His own hold your hips. "What about you, Niki? Will you let me party with you?"

"You know I don't go to that bullshit." Despite the harsh words his tone is light with you.

Pouting at him, you inquire "Mmm. Then how about you take me for a ride in this bad boy? Just around the block once or twice will do."

He fetches the keys and you hop in the front left passenger seat. "Oh it's been so long since I've sat here!"

"Then where do you sit when you drive your Alfa Romeo?" Niki sassed you, knowing the Italian car was situated for left seat driving.

"Buzz off - you know what I mean."

Pulling out of the garage Niki drives the Mini through the neighborhood. He lives in a generally isolated place; few neighboring houses can actually be seen and there's not a car around. As he drives you admire his profile. His curls are exceptionally tousled today; the collar of his polo unbuttoned just enough to see chest hair peeking out. Arousal simmers under your skin. Perhaps I'll just bring the party to Niki.

Ever the experienced driver, you decide to see if you can break his cool concentration. Unbuckling the seat belt you lean into his space. You place your hand on his thigh, gently rubbing smooth circles into the muscle. Your hand inches closer to his member with each pass.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing. Keep driving."

Your fingers on his button and zipper cause him to jolt; "Catherine- what-?"

"Just drive Niki. Let me take care of you."

"This is not safe, we shouldn't-" his concern is cut off the second you lick along his growing semi, replaced by a choked groan.

Breaking away for a moment you reassure "It's fine, I trust you to keep us safe." You lower your mouth onto his now full erection.

Niki's eyes break off the road to see your head in his lap, your fingers squeezing his thigh and you suckle at his cock. He nearly loses all sanity at the sight of your beautiful lips around him, spit dribbling down to his balls.

You move your mouth along his length with ease. You revel in the sounds he makes as you take him as far as you can. The sudden flex of his left leg as he presses the clutch down causes you to break off of him. The car jerks as Niki reaches over you to downshift as he pulls into the long gravel driveway of his home. He all but slams on the brakes as he puts the car in neutral and cuts the engine.

His fingers clasp your jaw and bring your face level with his. The kiss he gives you sends a shiver up your spine. "Put your seat back," you command. He complies and pushes himself further away from the steering wheel. His pants are shoved down to his knees. You aren't satisfied. The car is tiny and you need your space for what you are about to do. I'm gonna give Niki the ride of a lifetime.

Shimmying out of your jeans, you throw your leg over his hips and settle on him. His cock is pressed to your bare heat. Leaning forward and down you tug the lever on Niki's seat; the backrest falls almost flat, taking Niki with it. He quickly gets over the sudden drop at the feel of you dripping onto him. In this position you can hold yourself above him as you work, not worrying about smacking your head into the roof of the car. The last thing you want is to explain how you became concussed while fucking your boyfriend in a car that is not built to be fucked in.

Niki moans out as you sink onto his aching cock. Resting your hands next to his face on the edge of the seat you start a brutal pace. You know that neither of you will last long.

He can't get over the sight of you bouncing on him. Your thighs grip him so tightly he thinks he'll be sore later. Your breasts swing mere inches from his face, trapped within the confines of your Fleetwood Mac t-shirt. Positioning his right hand between your bodies he starts a punishing pace against your swollen clit. His remaining hand helps keep the rhythm of your hips. He's too close to finishing and he refuses to fall off the cliff without you.

The stimulation of his thick cock stroking your walls and his thumb on your bundle of nerves is too much. Your arms give out on you so you go to your elbows. Chest to chest and foreheads touching, you whimpered as you felt the tightness of your core snap. Niki held you through the fall. He lets out his own low whine as he comes within your clenching heat.

"I should thank you," Niki says, piquing your curiosity.

"What for?" You breathe, still catching your breath.

"I didn't think driving a car could get any more fun until now."

Tag list: @ay0nha @apparrio @livvyshmiv @fictionlandslanddreams @vinylrosess @typical-bistander @ntlmundy @mymagicsuitcase @anteroom-of-death @somethingthatsaysbubbles @lieutenantn @multiversemarielle @trashbin2 @whatawildone @metalbreakfast @laura-naruto-fan1998

#sleeping with the enemy #scuttle-buttle #swte scuttle buttle #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #daniel bruhl niki lauda #rush 2013 #niki lauda rush 2013 #niki lauda fanfiction #niki lauda x reader #niki lauda #niki lauda daniel bruhl #niki lauda x reader smut #smut

[starshine583]

could you do A for the soul mate thing with felinette?

(Sorry it took me so long to reply! I’m still trying to keep up with my schedule for the “New Girl on the Block” fic, but rest assured that I’m totally writing all of the requests for this when I can! The next one I’m going to be working on is V for Daminette. I hope you enjoy the snippet and thank you for the ask!!)

If someone had the choice between technical immortality and certain death, it should be safe to assume that that person would accept the former. Technical immortal was the only logical option, after all. No one wanted to die. And yet, people chose death everyday. In fact, they were obsessed with it, because certain death guaranteed one thing that immortality couldn’t: a soulmate. 

When a person turns eighteen, their aging process freezes due to some strange magic that scientists still can’t explain. From then on, that person will remain eighteen until they find their soulmate, specifically until they touch their soulmate directly with bare skin. Once their soulmate is found, they will begin aging as usual, as if they’d never become temporarily immortal in the first place. Some people speculate that this gives the two soulmates a chance to grow old together.

Felix, personally, believed that it gave him a chance to harbor an unlimited life span free of charge. Who needs a soulmate when you can explore all of the things in the world that are normally hindered by the aging process? There were too many things that he wanted to accomplish for him to worry about something as fickle as love or relationships. 

One of those things happened to be building up the fashion empire that he had inherited.

It was hard to gain the respect that he deserved at first considering his physical appearance made him seem like a child, but once people found out that he was in his late twenties, it made things much easier. Now, three years has passed since his accepting the role of acting CEO, and the company’s success rate has been steadily rising until their profits were through the roof. He’s quite proud of it, if he’s being honest.

Felix straightened the papers on his desk and set them to the side, catching the glimpse of his golden wrist watch as he did so. The little hand pointed towards one in the morning, telling him that he’d spent another late night at the office. He didn’t mind, though. These were the things that needed to be done for his company to excel.

However, he also needed sleep for the company to excel, and this seemed like a good stopping point if ever he saw one, so Felix stood from his rolling chair to begin gathering his things to leave. 

“Hey, Sir, are you up there?” A voice crackled across the intercom. Felix paused his preparations to smile at it. It was the unmistakable voice of Marinette Dupain-Cheng, his personal secretary for the last two years (and his close friend for the last year and a half). They always happened to work late on the same nights, didn’t they?

He pressed the glowing red button on the intercom. “You know I am. What do you need?”

“I’m working on another piece for a fashion show. I want your input.”

Felix chuckled. How many of her pieces had he given his input on now?

“I’ll be down there in a second.”

“You’re the best!”

Felix set his stuff back on the desk and moved towards the door to his office. He hesitated briefly when he spotted his black, leather gloves on the edge of his desk- he made a point to wear them constantly, along with a number of other pieces of clothing, so he could avoid direct skin contact with others. No sense in taking any chances -but decided to leave them alone for once. Marinette should be the only other person in the office, anyway. It wouldn’t make a difference.

He took an elevator down to the second floor, where most of his top designers worked, and walked over to the desk that had its lamp turned on. He’d know which desk was hers either way- could probably find it in his sleep at this point -but it was a nice give away.

Marinette was crouched on the floor when he got there, stabbing a needle into some material that was draped across a mannequin. Her eyes were narrowed with concentration, and her tongue was poking out of her lips as it always did when she was working hard. Felix held back a snort at the endearing sight and glanced around her desk while he waited for her to notice his presence. 

When she first joined his company, she was a budding fashion designer, someone who had been gaining a bit of fame for working with Gabriel Agreste, Jagged Stone, Aubrey Bourgeois, and many other note-worthy people. Apparently, she thought it was time to build a business of her own, and therefore, applied for the job as his personal secretary in an effort to gain experience on how a business should be run before actually starting anything. 

The notion admittedly impressed Felix. People rarely thought to find personal experience in running a business before actually starting one. They normally just took a class and hoped that it paid off. Someone with that kind of rational thinking was someone he knew he wanted in his company, though, so he agreed to hire her, even if she would still be working independently on personal commissions.

Now that two years had passed, she would probably be leaving any minute now to become her own boss. It might be in a week, or in a few months, perhaps even a year, but he found himself dreading it no matter how long she continued to work for him. He’d grown quite accustomed to having her in his life, be it getting lunch together or going over the morning schedule or giving each other advice on their work. The quiet moments they shared made work life a little more enjoyable and made those rare nights of loneliness from refusing a soulmate a little more tolerable too. 

“Oh, Felix!” 

Felix’s eyes dragged back down to Marinette, who was staring up at him with wide eyes.

“When did you get down here?”

A small smile crossed his lips. “You know how it used to be one in the morning?”

Marinette tisked, picking up on his light-hearted tone. “Oh, whatever. If you don’t want to get stuck waiting then tell me when you get here. Now, come look at this and tell me what you think.”

She stood up and moved away from the mannequin, then gestured for Felix to step closer, which he gladly obliged to do. The outfit hanging on the mannequin was a dress that appeared to have several layers and a few frills. It seemed to be made out of silk on the inside, and on the inside was another material that had an antique, flower pattern. The way the materials were sown together, though, and the things she must have added to the flower pattern, didn’t  give off the impression of it being old or outdated. It was a mix between old and new that created a unique combination.

“I think it looks fine.” He said after studying it.

Marinette groaned. “Fine doesn’t help me, Felix. What does it strike you as? Stunning? Charming? Old-Fashioned? I know you have more descriptive terms than ‘fine’ in that word bank brain of yours.”

Felix laughed. “Work bank brain?”

“You know what I mean.”

He does.

“Alright, Alright.” He knelt down next to the outfit again. “Might I inquire about your purpose for this garment?”

“See, there are fancy words you use all the time.” She remarked teasingly, even though she often used the same words herself. “I’m trying to create a modern Victorian type of style for my next show.”

Felix hummed. “Can I see the sketches?”

“Oh, yeah, they’re right over here.”

The pair moved back to Marinette’s desk, and she sat down in her rolling chair to slide a paper towards him. Felix leaned towards Marinette, placing his palms on the desk for balance.

“So, if you look at- oh!” Marinette had just started explaining her original thoughts for the design, when their hands brushed against each other. She drew her hand back immediately, surprise reflecting in her bluebell eyes.

“You’re not wearing any gloves.”

“Ah.” Felix drew his hands back as well. “No, I’m not. I figured they were a waste of time tonight, since it’s only us here.”

“Oh..” Marinette said. “I don’t think I’ve ever touched your bare skin before.. N-not that I’m keeping track or anything! Wow, that sounded so weird-”

Felix, being used to her ramblings by now, only chuckled. “It’s alright. I don’t think we’ve ever touched like that either.”

In fact, he knew they hadn’t, because he does keep track of who he does and doesn’t touch with his bare skin. So far, he’s managed to maintain a low count of five or so, but he supposed adding one more to the list didn’t hurt.

“Anyway, I like the way it looks. The colors combine nicely, and I can certainly see where you’re coming from with the modern, yet old-fashioned design. I’m sure people will enjoy them, especially for costume parties.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Marinette smiled. “Thanks for your help.”

“Of course. I’m actually on my way out the door, but don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything else.”

“You know I won’t.”

Felix laughed and pushed himself off of the desk to begin making his way back to the elevator. “Make sure you leave soon too.”

“Yeah, yeah, I will.. Eventually.”

Felix threw her a playful glare over his shoulder. “I’m not kidding, Dupain-Cheng. If I see bags under those eyes tomorrow, you’re going to be fired until you get a proper night’s sleep.”

“Thank goodness for make-up then.” She joked back.

Felix rolled his eyes and bid her farewell as he entered the elevator, and her soft call of “Goodnight, Boss” managed to reach him right before the doors slid closed.

-

The next morning began as any other morning. Felix woke up to his blaring alarm clock, forced himself out of bed, and started the brew for his morning coffee. He then dragged himself over to the bathroom to get ready for the day, starting with his hair.

The mirror provided a picture of his sluggish figure as he combed his platinum blond locks to the side. His hair didn’t seem to care to cooperate that morning though, because his cowlick was refusing to lay aside as they were told. No matter how many times he combed over it, the chaotic locks refused to budge.

Felix huffed and leaned closer to the mirror, but before he could continue furiously coming his hair, something caught his attention.

At the front of his bangs, dangling loosely to the side of his face, was a single, grey hair.

Felix frowned, moving even closer to the mirror to get a better. It was definitely a grey hair, but why on earth would he have one? People at the age of eighteen didn’t get grey hairs, and he’d never gotten one before. The only reason he could possibly get a grey hair out of the blue like this was if-

Felix froze, his eyes blowing wide. No.. no, it couldn’t be. There’s no way he found his soulmate. It was impossible. The aging process only started when he touched them directly, skin to skin, and he’d been horribly precise not to do so with anyone under any circumstances. 

Well.. anyone except..

A knock came from the front door.

Although his mind was racing for answers, Felix pulled himself together enough to throw on a robe and go answer the door. 

Imagine his surprise when he found none other than Marinette standing right outside.

She looked up at him, her figure tense, and a certain anxiety painted her features. He wanted to ask what she was doing there, or why she hadn’t called to tell him that she was coming, but all he could do was stare. Perhaps it was because a part of him already knew why she’d come to visit him. She was the only person he’s touched directly in the last year, the only person who could have caused his hair to change.

Slowly, Marinette held up a strand of her hair. It was hard to make out, being a single strand, but Felix didn’t need to see it know it was grey too.

They stared at each other, both floored by the discovery, but then Felix almost had to laugh. Because of course it was her. Of course the person who he had come to know and adore and yearn to be around daily would be his soulmate. He should have known that soulmates would find each other eventually, whether they had “Soulmate Magic” to guide them or not.

Before he could say anything, Marinette let out a grieved sigh and buried her face in her hands.

“Oh, Felix, I.. I’m so sorry!”

For a moment, Felix stalled, and worry started to set in. She’s sorry? Why would she be sorry?

“What do you mean?”

Marinette looked up from her hands. “I know you didn’t want to find your soulmate and start aging. I should have noticed your ungloved and been more careful, but I just wasn’t thinking, and-”

Felix blinked as she continued rambling. This girl was apologizing to him because she accidentally found out that they were soulmates. She wasn’t thinking about how much she’d wanted to find her soulmate- because he knew that she did -or that she would have gone without a soulmate for the rest of her life had she not made the discovery. No, she was thinking about him and what he had wanted, just as she always did.

“Marinette.” He said, taking her by the shoulders. “Marinette, stop.”

The ravenette paused, glancing up at him with her beautiful, concerned eyes, and he felt himself smile. 

“If anyone had to be stuck as my soulmate.. I can’t express how delighted I am that it’s you.”

A wonderful blush tinted her cheeks. “R-Really? But I thought- what about being immortal?”

Felix chuckled, and he reached out to cup her cheek. “Immortality’s a small price to pay to have you.. if you’ll have me too, that is.”

Marinette exhaled, looking completely baffled, but that didn’t stop her from grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him into a kiss.

“Yes.” She breathed, a shining smile coming to her features. “Yes, of course I’ll have you.”

Felix couldn’t help grinning as well, and as he pressed another kiss to her lips, he wondered how it could have taken him so long to realize what the soulmate magic was really all about. It wasn’t a choice between immortality or death, but rather a choice between immortality and life. All of the things he’d been searching for- fame, fortune, glory -and the experiences he’d been chasing meant nothing without Marinette by his side. She was the one who made him feel truly alive, and he never wanted to live without her again.

(Send me a letter and I’ll write a thing!)

#asks #Felinette #Soulmate AUs

[lotusss-flowerbomb]

Liberator

Bucky x reader

Warnings: Smut, cream pie eating, cum swapping

A/N: My sis @bluestarego​ randomly came up with an idea for this chaise and her ideas are literally the bomb, so of course I had to write it. There is unprotected sex in this story. Remember, this is fiction, so in real life package the meat before a beat. Hope y’all enjoy!

Word Count: 4.7k [My baaaddd]

********

"Ayo, tin man, where you going?" Sam asked Bucky when he saw him grabbing his jacket.

"To the bookstore. I'm tired of sitting here." He hurried to the door.

"Hold on, I'll tag along this time. Maybe we can finally look at some furniture for this place. We'll be here for at least another four months." Sam laced his shoes and followed him out.

Bucky and Sam had been undercover on this mission 3 months and counting. Nobody seemed to notice them in the small southern town. Either that or no one really cared.

Sam had been going on and on about getting furniture for the house to be more comfortable, but Bucky knew he was full of shit. Tony had given them a bunch of cash and he just wanted to shop.

"You know, you've been down to this bookstore everyday this week... What's her name?" He inquired.

"What?" Bucky tried to keep from smiling, but it was almost impossible whenever he thought about you.

"Yeah okay, you can pretend if you want. She'd better be cute or I'm gonna clown you. Does she know you're half robot?"

"Sam..."

"Relax, I'm kidding," he laughed.

When they pulled into the lot, the men jumped out, but before Sam could open the door Bucky stopped him. 

"Please do not embarrass me." He said seriously. 

"Man, move, you do enough of that on your own," Sam brushed past him. 

"Welcome! I'll be up shortly," you yelled from the back. 

You put away the stack of papers that you were going through and exited the small office. 

"Hi, how may I — oh, Mr. Stan, how are you today?" You smiled. 

"Please, call me Sebastian," he smiled. "I'm good, how are you?" 

You heard some books hit the floor. When you both looked over there, Sam was clutching a rack trying to keep it from falling completely over. 

"Guess I should go help with that. Be right back," you walked off. 

Bucky rolled his eyes. He made busy pretending to look for a new book, but he was having a hard time ignoring your laughing at all of Sam's lame jokes. He finally walked over. 

"Are you done tearing up the store?" He asked. 

"I've already apologized to the lady, Mr. Stan," he teased. 

"Do you have any new recommendations for me today?" Bucky asked, completely ignoring Sam. 

"Oh, yeah, I was telling Anthony about this new thriller we got in today. The author is pretty new to the scene, but this will definitely put her on the map. I had a chance to read it before the book was officially released." You handed him one of the books from the rack. 

"But this is new, so I can't rent it." 

"I won't tell if you won't," you winked and walked away. 

"Are you gonna ask her out?" Sam asked. 

"Are you insane?" He rolled his eyes and followed behind you. 

He handed you the book to check out. He liked your store, because it was a little different from any bookstore he was used to. You sold books, but you also rented the older ones. New books couldn't be rented for six months, but you were always willing to do buybacks for the ones in good condition. 

"Oh, I remember you telling me that you were looking for new recipes. I thought you might like this," you grabbed a cookbook, scanned it and then handed it to him. 

"That's nice, maybe he could whip something up for you," Sam patted his shoulder. 

Bucky gave him another murder glare. 

You laughed at his expression. 

"Don't worry, Mr. Stan, it's fine if you don't want to." 

"No, it's not that I don't want to —" 

"So you do?" You cut him off. 

"I uhh…" he ran his fingers through his hair. "Give me two days to find something that I think you'll like." 

"Your phone?" You held out your hand. 

He handed it to you and you put your number in and gave it back to him. 

"So I'll see you Saturday?" You gave him his bag. 

"Yeah, I'll see you Saturday," he confirmed. "But only if you promise to call me Sebastian." 

"Promise," you chuckled. 

You waved goodbye to the two men and watched them leave. You waited until they were in the car and pulling out of the lot before you picked up your phone and called your best friend. 

"You'll never guess who I have a date with this Saturdayyyy," you sang. 

"Is that weird guy who wears a leather jacket and gloves even though it's hot outside?" She said sarcastically. 

"Yes!" You replied giddy and undeterred by her sarcasm. "You have to help me find something to wear. I also need you to do my nails please?" 

She was quiet for a moment and then she bit out, "Fine, but I think he's weird and if he tries anything you'd better not hesitate to pepper spray him." 

"He's not weird. He's just different and I'm ready to find out what it is." 

Sam and Bucky walked through the furniture store. Bucky didn't know exactly what he was looking for, but he knew he wanted it to be nice for when you came over. 

He felt like every piece he liked looked really old. He may have been 100 years old, but he didn't have to let you know that.

His eyes were suddenly drawn to this odd looking chair. It was red leather with a high sloped back, a deep arc in the middle and the bottom was low with a slope. He read the tag; Liberator: $400, but who cares? Tony could afford it. 

"You thinking about getting this?" Sam asked, seemingly coming out of nowhere. 

"What do you think? You think this is something she'd like? Should we get a few of them for the front room?" 

"Nah, this should go in your room. I think she'll like it. She's young and this is a very modern piece of furniture." He advised. 

Bucky decided to trust Sam for once. He told the salesperson that he wanted that chaise. The poor girl's face turned a bright red and she was unable to look at him. He didn't pay too much attention to it, he was used to people shying away from his presence. 

The guys picked out the rest of the furniture and headed home. Bucky noticed that Sam was giggly. More so than normal. 

"What are you so happy about?" He asked. 

"Nothing man, a guy can't just feel joy? It's a good day, Buck, we finally got some furniture. You got a really nice chair. I'm happy." He tapped on the dashboard. 

"Why'd you bring up the chair?" Bucky squinted at him. 

"Because it's a nice chair. I like the chair. You know I'm all about relaxation." 

Bucky let it go. If he hated the chair once it was delivered, he'd simply return it. No big deal. 

Bucky put the final touches on the meal he'd chosen to prepare for you. He garnished the plates, set them on the table and wiped his hands on the apron he was wearing. 

The doorbell rang. You were right on time. He gave the table a once over before coming to the door. 

"Hi," he greeted. 

"Hello there," you said. 

He just stood there and looked at you from head to toe. The white lace dress you wore hugged you perfectly at the top and flared at the waist. 

"Can I come in?" You asked, tearing him away from his thoughts. 

"Oh, yes, sorry. You look beautiful," he said as he walked you to the dining area. 

"So do you. I think the apron is my favorite part," you teased. 

He looked down and quickly removed the apron from around his waist. He blushed a little. You smiled at how cute he was. 

He pulled your chair out and pushed it in once you sat down and then took his seat. 

" It smells wonderful."

"Thank you, I tried something new tonight." 

Truthfully, everything was new for him. Bucky never did any of the cooking. That was usually Sam's thing. He only got the cookbooks to suggest things, but tonight he gave it try for you. 

You took a bite and tried to keep from gagging. You saw Bucky take a bite and immediately swallow. He didn't bother chewing it anymore. 

You took a sip of wine after you were finally able to swallow. 

"It's terrible," he said. 

"No, it's not bad at all," you absolutely lied. 

"I'll order us a pizza," he said and took your plate away. 

You just smiled at him. You didn't have the heart to tell him the food was gross, because he tried and that's what counts. 

You moved to the living room and he turned on the TV while you waited for the pizza. You noticed that he still wore a glove on his left hand and was sure to keep it away from you. You figured he was just a little shy about having a prosthetic arm. 

Once the pizza arrived, you put on some quirky movie and ate your dinner. 

"I'm sorry about this. I should've practiced the recipe a little more." 

"What? This is perfect," you told him. 

You talked with him a little. He told you that he grew up in Brooklyn. How he and Sam were college roommates and started a contracting business together.

You clung to his every word and listened without interrupting. 

"So, are you gonna give me a tour of the house?" You ask. 

"Oh, sure," he says. He slips your shoes off of your feet before walking with you hand in hand to the stairs. 

"It's not much, but this is our office space, that's Sam's room, bathroom and this is my room." He pointed. 

You flipped the switch on in the room. You were shocked and quickly walked over to the red leather chaise.

"You don't strike me as the type to have one of these," you ran your fingers over the cool leather. 

"Oh, yeah, I thought it was a very nice modern piece of furniture to have. Um, Sam actually talked me into it." 

"Did he now?" You smirked. 

"If you hate it, I can move it out of here. I won't force you to look at it," he rubbed his neck. 

"Come here," you reached out for him. 

He gave you his hand and you told him to sit down on the chair. You straddled his lap and moved your hips in a circular motion until you felt him getting hard. He rested his right hand on top of your ass and laid his head back. 

He had been so focused on his work that he'd forgotten how much he missed the feel of a woman. You leaned in close and put your lips to his ear. 

"Undo my dress," you whispered. 

He reached up and pulled the string of the bow ties on your shoulder. The thin material fell down and exposed your breasts. Your nipples immediately pebbled from the cool air. 

You scooted back a little and pulled at his shirt. 

" No," he grabbed your hands, "I um, maybe we shouldn't." 

"What's wrong?" You quiz. 

"Nothing, it's just that I…" He was lost for words. He didn't know how he would explain his arm without you freaking out. 

"Sebastian, I don't care that you have a prosthetic arm or hand. Whichever you hide under these long sleeved shirts and gloves." 

He inhaled and pressed his forehead to your chest. He was nervous. Now he remembered why it had been so long since he'd had a relationship or sex. 

"Hey," you lifted his head, "it's okay, we don't have to do this if you're uncomfortable." You kissed his lips. 

You felt his body relax as he exhaled slowly. First, he took off his glove. You ran your fingers over the shiny black metal. You then lifted the shirt a little, this time he didn't stop you. You pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. 

You lightly dragged your fingers down his neck until you reached where the metal connected to his shoulder. You traced your fingers over the lines of gold, before moving back to his scar. 

"It's connected to you, so is it fully functional?" You were curious. 

"It is," he replied. 

"That's pretty cool. The doctors must've put a lot of work and thought into this." 

"Yeah, much better than the first one I had after the war," he blurted. 

"Oh, you're a vet?" 

"Uh, yeah," he said after realizing his mistake. 

"What was your rank?" 

"Sergeant…" 

"Well, thank you for your service and sacrifice, Sergeant." You pressed your lips to his. 

He slipped his hands underneath your dress and squeezed your ass. The cool metal of his hand made your pussy clench. 

He slid a finger down your ass until he reached your folds. He rubbed your clit in a circular motion over the fabric of your thong. He moaned into your mouth when he pulled it aside and felt how wet you were getting. 

You broke the kiss, stood, unzipped his pants and pulled them down. His hard dick popped up and was at full attention. 

"Sss, ooh," you hissed as you wrapped your hand around him. 

Bucky laid back and closed his eyes. Your hands felt so good on him. You spit on his dick and rubbed it all around making sure it was coated. 

You lined him up with your opening before slowly sinking down on him. 

"Shit!" He had to brace himself and fight a mental battle, so that he wouldn't cum at this very moment. 

You were trying your best to take all of him, but he was stretching you wide and the pain was almost too much. 

Once he was able to get himself together he grabbed your hips and thrust into you. He pulled your dress over your head, so it wouldn't be in the way. 

You rolled your hips slowly and sped up as the pain turned into pleasure. You braced yourself on the balls of your feet and held to the head of the chair as best you could. 

"Bounce on this dick," he smacked your ass. 

You bounced up and down while he sucked a nipple into his mouth. He used his right hand to rub your clit. 

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," you warned him. 

"Don't." He said and continued to rub. 

"Sebastian, I —" 

He grabbed you by the throat, "I said, no," he stuck his tongue in your mouth and continued to drive his hips upwards. 

He waited until you were right on the edge of your climax and then lifted you up. Your first instinct was to rub yourself to completion, but he stopped you. 

"I'm the only one who touches you from now on. Understand?" 

You nodded, but he wasn't satisfied. He wanted to hear you say it. 

"Yes, I understand," you said as you moved back, so he could stand. 

"Good, girl," he pulled you close to him and kissed you. 

He sat you down at the foot of the chair and dropped to his knees. You spread your legs wide and watched while he admired your pussy. Running his fingers up and down your slit. 

"Can I taste you?" 

"Yes," you moaned and laid back. 

Bucky sucked your clit into his mouth and licked you in circles. He was using his tongue to apply just the right amount of pressure to your clit. 

"You taste so good," he said. He spit on your pussy and rubbed it before sticking two fingers inside of you. 

He sucked your clit into his mouth and curled his fingers a little. 

"Ah! Fuck!" You screamed as you felt an orgasm building. 

He could feel you contracting around his fingers. Once again he kept going until you were almost there, then he pulled his fingers out and stopped sucking. 

"Why? Please!" You begged. 

"Ooh, that was only the second one and you're already begging? It's gonna be a long night, baby girl." He teased. 

He pulled you to the edge a little more, rubbed the head of his dick up and down your slit and then slid inside of you. 

You rolled your nipples in between your fingers while he fucked you. He couldn't take his eyes off of you. He'd wanted to feel you for so long. Ever since the day he wandered into your store and laid eyes on you. 

He pulled out of you and turned you on your stomach. This time switching his pace. He spread your ass cheeks apart and rolled his hips slowly as he watched his dick disappear inside of you. 

"Fuck!" He moaned as he felt himself losing control once again. 

He watched as you clawed at the chair. He could feel your pussy getting tighter and tighter. 

"Can I cum? Can I —" you were cut off by your own moans. Your body didn't wait for permission. 

He felt it. Your pussy gripped him tight and he exploded inside of you. His hips jerked as he gave you every last drop. 

He pulled out and dropped to his knees behind you. 

He smacked your ass, "Give it to me, push it out," he demanded. 

You pushed the cum mixture from your pussy and was shocked when you felt his mouth on you sucking it out. No man you'd ever been with had been so bold or comfortable. 

Once he was satisfied, he stood and turned you around to face him. He squeezed your cheeks together, so you'd open your mouth. You stuck your tongue out ready for what he was about to give. 

You were so fucking turned on, you grabbed his hand and slipped his fingers back into your pussy. 

He spit the cum into your mouth and then kissed you. Swirling his tongue around yours as he fingered you to another quick orgasm. 

He looked at his cum coated fingers and then licked them clean. You couldn't resist kissing him again and tasting yourself on his tongue. 

Bucky picked you up and carried you over to the bed. You didn't want to let him go, but you finally gave in. He walked to the bathroom and came back to clean you up and then himself. 

He got in bed with you and laid his head on your chest. You ran your fingers through his hair. So many nights he'd thought about this moment. So many nights he'd thought about just being closer to you. He wished he could stay with you forever. 

He sighed. 

"What's wrong?" You asked him. 

He sat up and looked at you, he wanted to tell you the truth, but he knew that he couldn't. It would put you in danger and he couldn't risk it. 

"Nothing, everything is perfect," he smiled. 

"You have beautiful eyes, they remind me of someone, but I have never been able to quite put my finger on it."

"Thank you," he kissed you again and turned away. 

You played with his hair until he fell asleep and then you slipped out quietly. 

You were opening boxes and getting ready to stock a rack of magazines. You'd been doing well with keeping them out of the store, but a few of the teenagers kept asking and you finally caved. You let them know that you drew the line at tablets and that they were absolutely out of the question. 

You flipped through one of the fashion magazines and came across an article about Earth's mightiest heroes. You were skimming the article when you heard a knock at the door. You looked up to see Bucky waving at you. He was holding a cup holder with two coffees and a bag of donuts. 

"Hey," you greeted him. 

He returned your greeting with a soft kiss. You didn't think you could ever get tired of those kisses. 

"Doing some stocking?" 

"Yeah, I was taking a break and reading this article. I finally ordered some magazines for the kids," you picked it up and thumbed through the pages. 

Then he caught your eyes. There he was stretched across the page. The photo had a blue and purple tint to it and his hair was long, but it was most definitely him.

"You're Bucky Barnes," you said in disbelief. 

"What?" He seemed startled by your words. 

"This is you!" You shoved the magazine in his face. "I knew that you looked familiar. A freaking superhero?! You lied to me, Sebastian — Bucky, whatever your name is!" 

"No, it's not like that, I couldn't tell you." He tried to explain. "I'm on a mission. Sam and I, we're undercover." 

"Oh, you're on a mission, so get with a local to blend in a little better? Ugh! I knew you were too good to be true." You paced back and forth. 

"No, that's not true," he grabbed you, "my feelings for you are completely real."

You squinted at him, "Get off of me and get out, because you'd still be lying to me if you'd never gotten caught." You pushed him away and walked into your office slamming the door behind you. 

Bucky picked up the box of magazines and took them. If you recognized him someone else would too. He couldn't take that chance. 

He knew doing that stupid photo shoot would backfire. He didn't want to do it, but Steve and Sam talked him into it, because it was for a good cause. He knew they'd have to speed up their plans. 

He called Sam as he headed back to the house and let him know that they had to move in on the targets sooner rather than later. 

You came out of your office once you were sure Bucky was gone. You looked around to see that he had taken the boxes. 

"Great now he's a liar and a klepto," you rolled your eyes. 

You heard the bell on the door and turned around thinking it was Bucky again, but it was just one of the people who ran the laundromat a few doors down. 

"Oh, hey, Austin," you looked at your watch, "is something wrong? You know I'm not open yet." 

He didn't say anything. He just kept stalking towards you. Your fight or flight kicked into gear and you made a dash for the door. He reached out and grabbed you, but you kneed him in the balls to escape. 

You didn't get very far before you were grabbed from behind. They put a bag over your head and threw you into the back of a car where they zip tied your hands in front of you. 

"Let me go! What do you want?!" You kicked and screamed. 

"Keep it up and I'll gag you… Maybe even with my cock," you heard one of them chuckle. 

You immediately calmed down. Last thing you wanted was that. 

"Please, if you want money you'll have to take me back to the store. I keep it in the safe." 

"Shut up, we won't tell you again." Austin said. 

"Austin, please tell me why you're doing this?" 

"Because your little boyfriend needs to be taught a lesson. Him and his friend have been causing trouble and it's bad for business. Unfortunately, sweetheart, you're collateral damage." 

They drove you for almost 20 minutes before they dragged you from the car and into a building. They took you inside, sat you down and bound you to a chair. 

"Call your boyfriend," one of his henchmen ordered. 

"How exactly am I supposed to do that with my hands tied, genius?" You sassed. 

He reached into your pocket and pulled up his name. You could hear the line ringing. 

"Can you at least take the bag off of my head?" You requested. 

Bucky was fuming. He and Sam had followed the rest of Austin's gang to this warehouse. But when Austin himself pulled in, he had you. 

He thought it was odd that they were all coming out here, but now he sees that this is a set up. His phone was vibrating in his pocket. It was a call from you. 

He accepted the call and sat his phone down to look through his scope. 

"You can either let her go right now or I will kill every single one of you." He said calmly. 

"Sebastian," you cried. 

"It's okay, baby girl, I got you," he hung up. 

He let off two shots taking out the men who stood guard at the door. He took down the others as they came running from the building. 

"I'm in position," Sam said into his comms. 

Bucky jumped down from the tree he was in and moved in. He hoped you were safe. He never meant for this to happen to you. 

You heard the shots. They were so loud and it seemed like all hell broke loose after. The men around you started shouting and then you heard the door slam. 

You rocked from side to side in the chair until it tipped over. You tried your best to get loose, but nothing was helping. You started to panic as the gunshots were getting closer. 

Fear and adrenaline took over and your ears began to ring. It seemed like the bag was keeping you from breathing as you started to hyperventilate. 

You started screaming when you heard the door get kicked open. You could feel the person cutting the tape away. You were gonna fight this time. They wouldn't get the opportunity to take you somewhere else. They'll kill you for sure. 

Once your hands were free you started swinging. 

"Stop!" Bucky yelled. "It's me—" 

You punched him in the eye. He could barely get a grip on you, but when he finally did, he snatched the bag off. 

"Y/N! It's me, calm down." He hugged you. 

You relaxed into his hold and sobbed into his neck. 

"They were gon-gonna kill m-me," you stuttered. 

"I never gave them the chance. You're safe now." 

Weeks had gone by and nobody spoke a word about Austin or his mysterious disappearance. In fact, people seemed to celebrate the fact that he was gone. 

He'd been running a drug operation through the town and using his business as a front. Apparently, he had ties to Hydra, which is why Sam and Bucky were brought in to shut him down. 

You were back at your store and business resumed as normal. Bucky had left the same night of the incident. He didn't even say goodbye. He was too ashamed to face you. 

You heard the bell above the door and looked up from your phone. Your heart skipped a beat when those blue eyes stared back at you. 

"Hey," he waved. 

"I'm busy," you said and tried to walk away.

"Wait, please," he grabbed your arm, "please?" He asked a little softer. 

"I'm mad at you, you didn't even say goodbye!" 

"I know and I should have, but I was a punk and I want to make it right." He pleaded. 

"You have two minutes," you crossed your arms. 

He lifted you up on the counter and stood in front of you. It was very dramatic. 

"I'm James, but my friends call me Bucky. I'm 103 years old, but I spent most of those years frozen and brainwashed. I really did lose my arm in the war, but it was world war 2. I'm from Brooklyn and my favorite food is pizza." He said. "Oh and I fought in two alien wars, although it felt like only one, because I died in the first one and when I woke up 5 years had passed." 

"Hi, Bucky, nice to meet you." 

You pulled him in for a passionate kiss. He pulled away and pressed your forehead to his. 

"I'm sorry," he said. 

He helped you down and watched you lock the front door and switch your sign to closed. 

"If you're really sorry, you'll make it up to me," you grabbed his hand. 

He scooped you up and carried you to your office. He'd absolutely make it up to you with no problem. 

@titty-teetee​

@bluestarego​

@literaturefeen​

@fandomfavesss​

@angrythingstarlight​

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #Bucky Barnes #Sebastian Stan #Smut #marvel smut #Avengers #marvel fanfic #avengers fic #Lotusss Writes

[potahun]

Some rough translations from Liu Yuning (HYJ’s actor)’s Live Broadcast on 7 January 2021, because he talked about Ultimate Note (and HeiHua) a lot:

LYN (18:45) - about the wooden knife:  “(...) With Hua’er Ye, the separation scene between Xiao Hua and I, and with Tuo Ba too, you see which one, right? (...) That scene was in the original script. The lines were already complete. (He makes a parenthesis here to talk about how this adaptation really respected the original works, including the words used) But during that separation scene, there’s this one part -- the one where I gift a knife to him. A small wooden knife (...) That’s something we added ourselves.........That’s something we added, because it wasn't in the original script. How did that small knife come about? At that time, I was filming. I have an acting teacher who, while on set, saw one of the staff from the props team carving that small wooden knife. (...) So we discussed with the director, I said “that scene is a separation with Xiao Hua, right? For a separation, just using words might be...I think perhaps we could add an item there. We might not even need to add any lines.” (...) But this item strengthened the ...bond between these two people. So that knife is something that we added. (...) I think it’s quite nice, at least it doesn’t ruin the original script, and it strengthens the feelings - the bond between these two people (...)”

LYN (22:50), talking about the comments he saw on Ultimate Note: “(...) In the first few episodes, I saw “I cannot accept that this Hei Yanjing has a round face”.....This comment stabbed my heart for 3 days straight. Really. (...) Well, let me explain first to everyone what was going on back then! Right now my face isn’t that round, right? Why? First, because I added the filter that makes my face slim - no that’s not it. First, it’s because the me at that time had just done a small surgery on my vocal chords. (...) After the surgery, I had to stay home for a whole month without speaking. So what to do? Eat. I ate for a whole month and went straight afterwards to film that show.”

LYN (57:52) - about any chance for a S2 and budget use: “A friend is asking here, will Ultimate Note have a 2nd season? (...) First of all, I’m just an actor. (...) Ok, I’ll talk about it properly. Will it have a 2nd season? To be honest, I personally hope it will. (...) I believe if you asked me to act Hei Yanjing a 2nd time ...I can’t say the 1st time was good, it wasn’t. But I might be able to -- because I’m also growing, right -- to express this role a bit better. (...) So I hope it will have a 2nd season. (...) Because let’s be honest, I think the crew took a lot of care in making this show. (...) Most of the budget and everything went into the production...the special effects, the scenery, things like that. So the actors like us....*smiles* well of course, they gave me money too, I shouldn’t say it like that, but what I mean is, a lot of the attention went into the making. It’s not a show where, for example, the actors use up a lot of the budget and the production gets less in comparison. (...) So I’m thinking, well, this show could be considered a small, small success? -- I don’t dare to issue a judgment on it, but in my heart, it is a success. (...) So will it have a 2nd season? I hope so, but until now, I haven’t received news that we can film such a thing. (...) Don’t expect too much. For other shows, sometimes, S1 is popular, and then they have trouble shooting S2, because after the 1st season’s success, all the actors increased their prices, so they might not be able to sign on for the 2nd one. But I think for this show (...) each of the actors really like this show. So they might choose to accept to play in this show, even if it means they get paid less. Starting from me, if you tell me this show’s got a different revenue from what I usually get, I’d still want to play it -- that’s how good it is. (...) *reading a comment* “Careful with what you say, boss”. Yes, I almost didn’t control myself just now.... Almost.”

He later mentions that to film certain scenes, they’d really go deep into the mountains, drive for hours and then actually have to climb very steep roads, to places inaccessible by car.

LYN (1:02:02) - about Xiao Hua’s actor Liu Yuhan: “*reads* “Talk about your CP”. Oh, you mean Xiao Hua, right? The actor for Xiao Hua, what I want to say is, I was very happy to collaborate with him, because he...really is a nice person. Just talking about getting to know him outside the story, and not as a character, he’s a very nice little fellow. He’s very honest. He’s also from Dongbei like me. His usual state is of course not as cold as the Xiao Hua in-story, not as “cool”. In reality, he’s still quite laid-back as a person, quite...fun. Kind of like a kid. Well, not really a kid, but...he’s younger than me, so in my heart, he’s like a little brother.” He explains that they tried to have a meal together more than once post-filming, but never managed. 

LYN (1:03:35) - about the postcard: “That postcard at the end, the one about the 1,000 sheep...Many people didn’t understand when they watched it. What was that 1,000 sheep about? Actually, it’s because Hei Ye jumped down at the end....with the hairy monster...he jumped down. (...) So that postcard first paves the way for what comes after (aka the storyline in Sha Hai). And on another note, it’s to prove that Hei Yanjing isn’t dead. Because that postcard is what Hei Yanjing left to Xiao Hua. (...)”

LYN (1:07:38) - about Hei Xia Zi as a character: “Actually, he’s not a real miser. (...) He does really like money, there is a little bit of a greedy vibe to him. But you’ll discover that many times, he didn’t actually receive money, and still went ahead and did the thing. (...) He’s actually a lot more about loyalty, and courage, and responsibility. There’s not one thing where he was like “if you do not transfer 10,000 to me, I definitely won’t do this thing for you”. But he will have a vaguely threatening air, and make it seem like he doesn’t care that much about bonds/friendships. (...) He simply has his special way of doing things. He might also have his own type of apathy. After all, a person, after experiencing so much - because as I said, he counts as a person who’s lived a long life (...), he wouldn’t care as much about many things related to time. So in reality, he doesn’t care that much about money either. His love of money is a personality trait, but the premise to anything he does is definitely not money, it’s rather loyalty. It’s feelings.”

LYN (1:09:39) - about Hei Yanjing’s real name written in the sand: “Someone asked “what did Hei Yanjing write in the sand, is it ‘Liu Yuning’?”......Yes. I wanted to write ‘Modern Brothers Liu Yuning’ at the time.”

LYN (1:12:00) - about Hei Yanjing’s age: “As someone who just acted this role, I don’t know how old he is either. But he’s definitely someone who’s lived a long life. (...) In the state I was acting him, he must have at least been a few hundred years old. (...) How many hundreds, I have no way to ascertain.”

LYN (1:12:49) - about the fried rice prop on set: “It tastes pretty good. (...) But the problem is where we were filming, (...) we were mostly in Yun Nan. The temperature there was over 40°C. When it was low, it was a little above 30°C. (...) The fried rice would turn sour in no time. (...) So you’ll find out that, throughout this entire show, Hei Ye loves to eat fried rice with green peppers and meat, but hasn’t eaten a single mouthful. He’s just feeding Xiao Hua with it. And the reason why Xiao Hua looks disgusted is because it’s really sour.”

LYN (1:14:00) - more bts stories about the heat and stench: “That scene where we first fall into the tunnel. That tunnel from the time of the Republic. (...) That tunnel, my God! (...) The temperature outside was 40°C. Inside, most of the scenery was made from foam. (...) The temperature inside that environment was incredibly hot, unimaginable, and on top of that we were wearing leather. (...) And do you remember when we first fell into the tunnel with Xiao Hua and we dug up a place? (...) The bones on the floor were all purchased real bones from sheep or pigs and so on. (...) Think about the temperature in there. In one night, the stench was impossible. (...) When we were filming, the stench was so bad, you felt like you couldn’t live on anymore (...) My God...At the time, as soon as I walked into that place, I was dumbstruck. Xiao Hua and I made eye contact and just went... “do you smell this?” He went “I can’t even hear what you’re saying anymore, I’m already knocked out.” (...) The director went “Let me see! ...............My God. Props director, what do we do with this?” And the Props director said “What our show cares about is making things realistic. We want to make the original works real. We want the props to be as real as possible.” (...) We also have to respect that Props director’s professionalism, right? (...) So the Director said “Ok, then let’s do this, let’s prepare some cologne.” (...) Poured it. Poured 2-3 bottles of it into the place... It made everything WORSE. The normal stench was simply stinky. But the cologne -- that thing has volatility!! (...) Do you know how stinky it was, exactly? It felt like even my arms could feel the stench. We held on for 3 days to film that part. That stench, my God. It’s a smell I can remember my whole life.”

#hei yanjing #dmbj #ultimate note #liu yuning #liu yu ning #liu yu han #liu yuhan #xiao hua #xie yuchen #dao mu bi ji #dmbj cast #Liu Yuning talks a LOT #but anyways I found the bts stories amusing #and yeah so the knife was added during filming and it stuck til the end #bless #heihua

[sophiemsmsmsmgallery]

I’ll tell you who SOPHIE was - she provided me with the soundtrack to my existence.

SOPHIE - a futuristic goddess, an ingenious music producer, ethereal visionary, a trans icon.... just an icon generally speaking - tragically passed away at the age of 34 in Athens, Greece after falling off a rooftop whilst attempting to capture a picture of the full moon. Her gut wrenching death brought me to tears. This is the first time a famous person’s death has affected me so deeply. Her bold, hyperkinetic approach to producing musical art was so impeccable and refreshing considering so much of modern day’s music tends to sound incredibly predictable. Whilst alive, visionary SOPHIE generated a following of intensely adoring, dedicated fans. Honestly, don’t EVER mess with a SOPHIE fan. Trust me!

She worked with the biggest popstars, rappers, K Pop groups, rappers and upcoming artists but still remained so humble despite her enormous talent. However, she hadn’t reached household name status during her life. Sadly, many people only had heard of SOPHIE after her tragic and unexpected death. This motivated me to write a piece dedicated to this beautiful and timeless mastermind. I do acknowledge that its been exceptionally challenging to summarise how SOPHIE impacted my life onto only a few pieces of paper. However, its the least I can do. Therefore, I present to all of you my written tribute which shall focus on how her extraordinary music has featured during key moments of my lifetime and expanded my initially narrow knowledge of beauty, gender and identity like never before.

Let’s commence this written tribute by travelling back in time to when I had just turned 15. During that time period, my disposition was extremely introverted. In all honesty, like almost all teenagers suffering the displeasing side effects of bloody puberty, I was barely approachable. I adopted the entire persona of a full time punk kid wearing a thick leather jacket whilst applying extremely heavy kohl eyeliner and dying my hair jet black - which looked devastating. I would also scribble quotes associated with the punk ideology and act like some pretentious snob towards anything that was unrelated to punk, industrial or rap music. That was the most rebellion I exuded at the time (trying not to feel complete despair as much as possible for my former teenage self)

That captious mentality caused by teenage angst was erased the minute I listened to a snippet of the musical force of nature named ‘BIPP’ by SOPHIE on a Swiss MTV sponsored advert. The high pitched vocals singing ‘However you’re feeling, I can make you feel better’ provided by Marcella and overall catchy, hyperkinetic production mesmerised me like there’s no tomorrow. Nothing had captivated my imagination like the timeless ‘BIPP’ did so I typed aggressively and rapidly into the Google search engine straight away. I had to know who the mastermind lurking behind this masterpiece was. I had to know of the mastermind who provided me with this pivotal musical epiphany. Then the capitalised name ‘SOPHIE’ popped up right in front of my eyes.  

After listening to ‘BIPP’ in its entirety on repeat, I instantly began to read up on SOPHIE and stumbled upon her 2013 interview on BBC Radio 1 with SOPHIE where she concealed her identity by having her 5 year old niece respond to the host’s questions instead of herself. At the time, I assumed Sophie had implemented a voice changer to project the voice of an infant. SOPHIE’s dry humoured response, namely ,,I’ve got a cough!’’ to the host’s bewilderment over the child sounding voice stood out for me. Earlier in her career, SOPHIE’s anonymity prompted much speculation in the music industry and press. I always perceived this bizarre, hysterical act of Sophie’s as a ‘two middle fingers up’ to our environment fuelled by mainstream culture, especially how so many people obsess over notable figure’s personal business and public image instead of their artistic accomplishments far too often. This has to be the ultimate moment my own curiosity for Sophie’s ingenious musical productivity became insatiable. Later on, I would await the 2015 McDonalds commercial anxiously to have my ears blessed with her gratifying track ,Lemonade’ over and over. The synthesised sounds that fizz like pop rocks. Nabihah’s crisp vocals which repeat ‘Candy boys, c - c - candy boys’. The overall ear worm appeal of the track. Flawless!

In the meantime, I discovered that Sophie happened to be a very well known affiliate of the divisive,unique PC Music label based in London, England. During the time period, I was - to be quite frank - not an avid bubblegum bass or hyper-pop listener in the slightest. I worshipped bands such as The Clash, Dead Kennedys, Rammstein,Tool, The KLF and additionally adored rap music ranging from N.W.A to Eminem. They totally divert  from the hyperkinetic, exaggerated take on the pop genre embraced by the PC Music label. However, my teenage idols and SOPHIE objectively share something fundamental in common - Through their trailblazing musical output, they push every single barrier possible and deconstruct what constitutes as ,normal’ in modern day society. Even just after releasing her first full length album ‘Product’, SOPHIE embodied a bold form of rebellion against society’s conventionality and unforgiving temperament by incorporating lyrics alluding to a mostly genderless nature and sexual fetishes eg BDSM. As an extremely naive, self conscious teenager, all of this completely perplexed but intrigued me. Any glimpse of art connected with an attitude of non conformity resonated with me in practically seconds and continues to even at 22.

This longing for anything unorthodox traces back to my own childhood.  To explain some details about my background, I grew up in a rather small, very conservative village in Switzerland from the age of 9. Even uttering anything LGBT related would illicit responses ranging from loud gasps to shocked faces at my high school. As a non Swiss resident, the educational setting demonstrated to be more than challenging at times. One incident that stands out to me especially is when a classmate ranted about his disapproval of non Swiss inhabitants receiving Swiss pass and then continued with yelling ‘All my family voted for the SVP kick all of (you fucking foreign scum) out!’.Just to clarify, the SVP is the largest party in Switzerland and leans very far right politically.   As you can presume, I was utterly distraught by this disconcerting interaction and confess to losing any fragment of self confidence remaining in that moment. Luckily the Swiss MTV channel existed, which was far more on trend with the times and embraced marginalised communities. I will forever cherish Swiss MTV introducing me to SOPHIE’s impeccable, lawless music and being a form of escapism in my bedroom from the racist, homophobic climate prevailing in my village.

At the age of 17, Graduation finally arrived at the door which was an absolute relief. A few hours later, the celebration party took place in a secluded barn and my boyfriend immersed himself into the role as DJ for the night. Towards the end, he sneakily included Product era classics including ‘Vyzee’ and ‘Hard’. I could barely contain my excitement. We all almost choked on the horrendous party smoke, spilt our cheap beer on each other’s outfits and chanted ‘Shake it up and make it fizz!’ and ‘I get so hard.’ Ironically, I believe my Swiss colleagues didn’t exactly recognise the discernible sexual connotations exhibited throughout the song which causes me to giggle ever so slightly looking back. However, it felt liberating hearing SOPHIE’s fiercely electronic, transparent music and seeing my classmates enjoying it - especially as all you would hear on most music outlets there was either dreary Indie or Luka Haenni - the Swiss equivalent to Justin Bieber. That’s the most I’m able to recollect from that peculiar night - aside from a trampoline burning to the ground due to someone placing a candle on it. After all that jazz, a thrillingly new chapter for myself - and even for SOPHIE - would unfold.

At 17, I returned to my place of birth, England, and enrolled at Sixth Form in the South to complete my A Levels. I initially felt extremely elated to move back to England and finally entering the era of adulthood in my life. However, the atmosphere at Sixth Form and in the South of England seemed ... so unfamiliar to me which was heartbreaking. My mind had totally adjusted to a Swiss and my mind endured unsettling feelings of anxiety during the entire first year at British college. However, SOPHIE’s music once again presented itself as a form of therapy for me. She released the ethereal, stunning ballad ‘It’s Okay To Cry’ during this time period. After watching its music video and deciphering the lyrics I realised... Oh my goodness, SOPHIE just came out as a transgender woman! I recall being touched by the exquisite, idiosyncratic song featuring 80s style synthesised arrangements. SOPHIE’S bravery mesmerised me. I knew in that moment, Sophie would revolutionise the music industry, especially the habitat of music production dominated by cisgender, heterosexual men. She proved my initial predictions right - and on many occasions.

The day after SOPHIE released ‘Its Okay To Cry’, I overheard an energetic conversation carried out by a few of fellow openly gay and trans classmates who I’m still acquainted with to this day. They couldn’t contain their excitement about SOPHIE.

Despite the crippling anxiety having affected me so severely at that point, I intervened and expressed my admiration for everything SOPHIE. I felt blessed attending a sixth form alongside gay, non binary, trans classmates who took pride in their identity and sexuality. It put my mind at ease being surrounded in a more progressive environment compared to the intolerant ambience pervading my village in Switzerland. SOPHIE’s music had connected me with such a progressive, solicitous and just simply amazing group of friends. They agreed with me that SOPHIE’s courageous move will impact the music world in such a striking manner and encourage more LGBT people to pursue their goals no matter how extravagant, especially an acclaimed music producer igniting the music industry like SOPHIE. Then all of a sudden they mentioned the track ‘Yeah Right’ and how it blew their mind away due to SOPHIE’s ‘badass as hell instrumentals.’ With all the shame in the world, I confessed I hadn’t heard it yet. Their facial expressions conveyed so much disappointment. One of my classmates quickly plugged their Bluetooth speaker into his laptop and then pressed the play button. From a personal perspective, ‘Yeah Right’ featuring Vince Staples and Kendrick Lamar perfectly stands out to me despite SOPHIE’s extensive and majestic discography to her name.

I contemplate the masterpiece as a pivotal moment in rap music history. Even during 2017,  Sophie began exhibiting red lipstick, latex gloves, tight clothing corresponding  to a more feminine image which totally distances from the aggressively macho image attached to the rap industry. From the moment Vince Staples commences with his lyrically cutting verses to Kendrick Lamar proceeding with his gripping and more than memorable cameo - I realised that a 3 minute long but significant moment music history in general simply named ‘Yeah Right’, had occurred. Her production on the track astonishes me due to its avant grade and timeless edge. To me, it is a masterpiece that echoes the the extremely distant future of music. I reckon we’ll be dancing to ‘Yeah Right’ at the club in 2137. For 4 consecutive years, ‘Yeah Right’ has been reigning champion of most listened to song on my Spotify account and can express with all certainty... it’s my all time favourite song. In all honesty, it cured me of my severe feelings of apprehension and anxiety at Sixth Form.

After regaining my confidence and FINALLY passing the dreaded driving test - after failing three times in a row - the first song I blasted on my speakers in my cheap, run down car was ‘Yeah Right’ and rather fittingly, Sophie’s live version of the officially unreleased ‘Burn Rubber’ whilst driving to university I was about to attend. I genuinely cried all the lyrics to the song whilst driving on the mundane roads of Southern England and FINALLY felt like a free, independent adult. Even during brief chapters of my life such as passing my driving test, SOPHIE made a crucial and ravishing appearance.

The last three years of my life have played out in a rather turbulent style. Towards the middle of 2018, the year unravelled in a fashion that I certainly hadn’t anticipated. I’ll summarise it to the best of my ability even thought it is extremely difficult to. My longtime best friend, the closest person to me, sadly died to long term chronic illness. I couldn’t articulate my utter grief into words and sadly still struggle to this day. It was a sudden blow to the heart which couldn’t be paralleled to anything else I’ve felt in my short lifetime. A month prior to her untimely passing, SOPHIE had released her acclaimed, gallant debut album ‘Oil Of Every Person’s Un Insides.’ Although OOEPUI is a extravagant, historic work of art, I shall describe how the tracks ‘Is it Cold In the Water’ and ‘Faceshopping’ impacted me.

I perceive ‘Is It Cold In The Water?  as a hauntingly riveting piece of music, with vocals sung Cecile Believe that send shivers down my spine. The lyrics ‘Earth shaking, I feel alone’ encapsulated on a personal level how I couldn’t envision an existence without my best friend by my side mocking my naturally deep, monotone voice, her showing me a piece of clothing she had just designed herself as she was an aspiring designer and hurting with laughter whilst impersonating certain celebrities.  My raging anger against the world intensified. I placed my formerly devoted belief in a higher existence under the microscope - a belief system that I unfortunately haven’t revisited ever since. ,Is It cold in the water’ epitomises the dilemma and hardship of entering unknown depths without any inkling of what overcoming the ‘cold water’ and how its aftermath would materialise, metaphorically speaking. I realised I had to place my feet in the cold water in order to heal and adjust to coping with my best friend’s death despite how petrifying the concept as such seemed at the time.

And then there’s the outstanding ‘Faceshopping.’ I’ll confess... when I originally listened to this track, I was rather, dare I say, baffled afterwards. The experimentally electronic provided by Sophie galvanised me as usual. However, as a cisgender woman who has dated men right up to the present moment, I was initially under the very ill informed assumption that I couldn’t identify with a lot of the album’s content produced by an trans woman. That display of shambolic ignorance was quickly put to rest when I analysed the lyrics of ‘Faceshopping’ with an open eye. It clicked that the song could symbolise more than one meaning. It examines the age of the internet and the lengths modern day go to in order to pass as beautiful, especially in the name of personal branding. Furthermore, the powerful track demonstrates SOPHIE’s mesmerisingly fervent opposition against what traditional values regard as beauty which is unquestionably ingenious. I feel the lyric ‘My shop is the face I front’ denotes a person’s individual freedom of complementing their psychical appearance - whether through simply makeup or plastic surgery - and evolving their true gender identity shouldn’t be shunned. As someone who has been extremely self conscious about my appearance since the tender age of 12 caused by several factors eg bullying at school, ‘Faceshopping’ uplifted my spirits and enlightened me that no influence other than my personal self shall control how I beautify my own body.

Skipping to 2020, the world has been transformed to a severe extent due to the Coronavirus infecting and heartbreakingly taking millions of people’s lives. With this almost dystopian nightmare occurring, I felt extremely poorly - physically speaking -  which had been affecting me since October of the same year. Ultimately I was rushed into hospital in December. After countless physical evaluations and days passing by whilst lying in a lonesome hospital bed, my doctor informed me that due to the severity of my current condition, the likelihood of permanent infertility is extremely high. The news put me into a state of shock. After my doctor left the room, the tears couldn’t stop streaming down my face. I had always envisioned raising my own children. Forgive me for the hyperbolic language but in that moment I felt defeated.

With the prospect of my womanhood being affected forever, I put my headphones to shut out the continuous ambulance sirens blaring outside. I pressed Shuffle Play on my SoundCloud and the first song that appeared was SOPHIE’s ‘Heav3n Suspended Livestream’ version of ‘My Forever’. Cecile Believe reiterating ‘Everbody’s got to own their body’ so ethereally, and the song as a whole proved to be therapeutic in the moment. After pressing the repeat button 20 times - at the very least - I had ANOTHER epiphany: no establishment should dictate what constitutes as femininity or womanhood. Even in the modern day society, childless people continue to be stigmatised, often branded as ‘selfish’ or ‘undesirable’ in many communities. I applaud the progress we’ve made in terms of tackling stereotypes associated with infertility. However, more work still needs to be carried out on this matter.  Although it’s only my individual interpretation of the song given the circumstances of my poorly health at the time, the lyrics reassured me that everybody’s - without a doubt -  GOT to own their body. Gosh that sounds so rhetorical!

After this pivotal awakening, I was rushed into surgery which lasted about two hours. The next day - feeling extremely lethargic - I woke up to the fantastic news that the doctors saved my physical health from infertility. I will always be so grateful for their treatment of me and my painful condition. Two weeks into recuperation post surgery, I had no choice but to exercise to boost my mental state caused by inactivity and to get my blood circulation going. As a lifelong, passionate dancer I conceptualised and performed a dance routine to SOPHIE’s club inspired, sublime ‘Take Me To Dubai’. - in front of my cracked bedroom mirror, ironically. Still, dancing again and no physical illness bringing me down felt like a individual rebirth. I was anticipating how 2021 would spell out for me - despite Covid 19 still permeating globally. 2021 finally arrived and not even a full month into the ‘glorious new year’, SOPHIE died.

I recall waking up to numerous messages and notifications capitalising the words: SOPHIE HAS DIED!’. In all honesty ... I froze. It didn’t register for about an hour. Afterwards, I couldn’t disguise the heartbreak and shock that SOPHIE was no longer with us - especially given the cause of her death. It’s been two weeks and I’ll acknowledge that I haven’t overcome the sentiment of anger and upset yet because of her untimely passing .The soundtrack to my existence is gone.

Whether SOPHIE’s musical stylings resonate with you or not, you can’t underestimate her fearless disposition and overwhelming talent. She inspired so many fans to embrace their true identity even when their environment was striving to silence them. She challenged our establishment’s shallow interpretation of beauty, gender and identity. Despite coming out as an trans woman and transphobia still being prevalent globally, SOPHIE didn’t let this form of prejudice stand in her way of achieving her dreams. Her revolutionary mark she left on the industry shall never be underemphasised by so many of us.

SOPHIE,

Thank you for everything. I will never ever forget you,

ROBS.

[hopeswriting]

Modern AU (Adult!)Arcobaleno on socials media though. While Flames and mafia are definitely still a thing.

Now I’m by no means well acquainted to all the different popular socials media, but here’s my humble take:

Reborn on Instagram.

He only has pictures of Leon first and foremost, with him in the background in one of his ridiculous but very well-made cosplay. Leon of course also wears the same cosplay as him.

He never shows his full face in any of the pictures, but just enough his followers know he’s handsome as fuck.

The artists/photoshoppers among them regularly put the pieces together to see how he could look like, but in a funny-and-obviously-purposefully-wrong way only.

Reborn loves them and saves them all.

------

Once in a blue moon he does post a picture of himself where you can see him clearly all dressed up and fancy, and then immediately deletes it.

But only after he’s sure it has been seen, so he can watch his followers lose their shit while drinking a nice espresso.

They try hard, but so far none of them managed to save any of the pictures before he deletes them.

------

Often there’s what suspiciously looks like blood stains on their clothes and straight up dead bodies lying in the background, but Reborn went so passive-aggressive with the few who dared to ask, everyone is too afraid to ask now.

Anyone who badmouths Leon in any way is instantly blocked. But only after Reborn ripped them a new one AND let his followers do it too.

*

Skull on Twitter and Snapchat.

He tweets the most random, out of nowhere, highly worrying things, that always sent his followers in a frenzy trying to figure out why the fuck he would think of any of this in the first place??

“aren’t you ever tried of your solid, rigid, restrictive bones? don’t you want to just be Luffy from One Piece, a rubber being that can shape themself in whatever way they wish?”

or:

“nobody ever tells you this, but the stress of picking apart melted leather from your burnt skin before it heals is VERY worth the adrenaline of making fire your BITCH”

or:

“is it REALLY illegal if you break in and eat the food but leave money behind??”

------

That’s just his Twitter only followers though.

The ones on Snapchat have the privilege to watch him stumble head first step by step to his tweets, and are actually very involved and active spectators that keep him out of jail, or killing himself, or killing someone else.

Skull, recording a video, halfway stuck in between two buildings: What’s up guys, there're these guys following me and trying to kill me, quick tell me what bones to break so I can fit in there.

see also:

Skull, riding his bike, both of them suspiciously wet, holding a lighter in his hand: You guys ready for this sick fire stunt I came up with?? If everything goes well I should only get second to third degree burns, let’s do this!!!

see also:

A picture of Skull lying on a roof, his arms full of snacks and his mouth stuffed with food, with police cars in the background, that says: send tips to make sure there’s always food in your fridge for when you need it the most. #midnightsnack #snitchesgetstitches #justsaying

see also:

A picture of Skull crouched in front of a body, posing, that says: don’t worry guys we’re just faking, but hypothetically, if you were to hide a body as quick as possible from here without being seen, what would you do? #hypotheticallyseriousanswersonly #hypotheticallythecopsaremaybeontheirway #quickanswersappreciated

*

Verde on Facebook.

He creates a public group with only him as member that’s basically his scientific diary.

It’s not really to invite intellectual challenging debates (though he’d be all for it if someone smart enough showed up), but he figures it’s in his best interest to make the world a less dumb place if he can.

It finds his public, though there’s only a few comments because god forbid you say something dumb or inaccurate and Verde fucking annihilates you in the comment section.

But like, in a teacher way. Like he’s genuinely trying to make you know better but he’s just ruthless at it lmao.

Verde uses a fake name and a fake everything so there’s quickly a running joke along the lines of “Imagine if it’s really the genius scientist Verde running the group and you just outed yourself as a flat earther lol”.

------

But what gets the group really popular is the in depth flames theory involving weather of all things they have to assume he came up with it all on his own because they can’t figure out to save their lives what the hell he’s talking about?

And it makes them question their sanity sometimes because Verde talks about it like it’s the most obvious thing and in the context of just about every basic aspects of life.

Cue the conspirators and their hot new take of “the aliens were among us all along and hid themselves as the WEATHER!!!” that instantly turns into the new popular meme.

That, and the transcripts posts of Verde trying his theories that nine out of ten apparently involves very unwilling participants whose life are threatened and sometimes they straight up DIE???

------

They think both of these is just him fucking with them and it’s all fictional. They want to think it is anyway.

They’re not so sure, but everyone is too afraid to ask.

*

Colonnello on Snapchat.

70% of his content is about Lal because this man is so in love and it’s like he’s a guest on his own account lol.

There’s the “Pining Hard” content where it’s just him trying to seduce Lal, to romance her and asking her out, and Lal brushing all of it off more often than not.

His followers are very invested in this “old bickering married couple type of best friends in oblivious mutual pining” real live action slow burn fic, and cheers him hard whenever Lal reciprocates the tiniest bit.

------

They don’t know the two are already together.

They think Lal brushing him off or flirting back but in an unmistakably joking/”platonic” way is just her being oblivious and not taking Colonnello seriously.

When she would just rather flirt back off camera because it’s her private life thank you very much.

Colonnello never tells them because he assumes they all know and just choose to be in on the joke.

Lal finds it hilarious whenever she goes through his Snapchat (with his permission of course) to find numerous messages of encouragement, so she never says either.

------

But one day she kind of just steals a kiss from him while he’s recording because she wanted to, and his followers lose their shit.

Lal laughs herself to tears and laughs for days.

------

The other Lal’s related content is the “Lal’s loving hours”, where he just takes pictures of her/records her doing random shit---whether it's her making a disaster out of the kitchen, or wearing three pairs of socks because her feet are cold, or beating the shit out of someone---and him doing heart eyes at the camera.

------

Otherwise it’s just him living his life and letting them in on what happens.

There’s a lot of pictures because he’s handsome and he knows it and he likes the compliments aqsdfghj.

Or videos of him going on and on about how energy drinks are really the best drink ever while doing grocery.

Or ranting videos about how bullets wounds are such a pain to deal with and showing himself patching himself up to show how it’s done (thanks??!!??).

Or him watching series and roasting the characters for their dumb decisions.

Or him commenting in real time an assassination attempt on him in the middle of the night in his own fucking home because the fucker sure is ballsy (????!!!!!!???).

It’s very popular too because of how relatable it is.

Well, most of the time anyway.

*

Viper on Youtube.

They have a DIY type of channel, mostly about fashion---what they think about the new products/clothes they bought from their favorite brand, their thoughts on the new fashion trend, their makeup/skin care routine and favorite outfits for various circumstances, or they’re often on live while going shopping.

(I just really like Fashionista!Viper okay.)

They play videos games too, thinking they’re being very good while being very average to not say they straight up suck asdfghj.

Occasionally do reaction videos too.

------

Like Reborn they hardly ever show their face. Actually they don’t show it at all lol. They wear masks to do their videos because a hood is not very reliable.

How do they do their makeup videos then you ask?

They use "volunteer" as models of course.

And by volunteers I mean the Varia qsdftgyhjkl.

------

They also have another very peculiar brand of videos that is the most popular one on their channel. The titles of these videos include but are not limited to:

“A Due Payment Of Yours Is Late? How To Hunt Them For Sport”

“A Little Bitch Doesn’t Respect Your Pronouns/Chosen Name? Step By Step On How To Make Them Shut The Fuck Up Forever”

“How To Efficiently Remove Blood And Various Others Human Residue From Your Clothes”

“Faking Your Death And Taking On A New Identity: Step By Step Tutorial”

“How To Take Over Your Friends Brains And Watch Them Prank Themselves ft. The Varia”

*

Fon on Tumblr.

His blog becomes known as a shitpost blog or a blog run by a bot when really, everything he posts is about actual, very real events that happened in his life.

Except he vague posts every time because he really wants to keep his anonymity.

He posts about the hardships of learning more and more martial arts and staying at the top of the art, and sounds like some dangerous psychopath.

“The body is such a fragile thing, isn’t it? It tends to break quite easily unfortunately. You’d think I’d know that by then, but I really need to remember it more often so I can keep enjoying myself.”

He’s talking about how he always pushes himself too much in training and ends up injuring himself.

“Everyday I dispose of them and reasserts my superiority, and everyday they come back and it’s really hard to not hurt them beyond repair.”

He’s talking about how he’s often challenged by other martial artists who don’t like him being the best and how he always has to beat them up bloody for them to give up.

He also posts about his family's live except it’s the Hibari’s family live, and he doesn’t sound more sane of mind at all.

“I made the mistake of taking Kyo with me on my grocery trip and picked on his tell-tale signs of going through a bad day too late.

But fortunately the shop is still standing and no one was heavily injured.”

or:

“It’s so heartwarming to see Kyo make friends. The brown haired kid didn’t put much of a fight but the one with the pineapple haircut has potential.

He almost managed to stab him that one time, and I can’t wait to tease Kyo about it. He’s very cute when annoyed and embarrassed.”

or:

“Often I look back to the day Kyo got his tonfa and I am always infinitely grateful for this not-so-easy-to-kill-with weapon.

I would like for him to at least finish high school first.”

Yeah it’s very often about Kyoya lmao. And no one knows for sure what in the world a “Kyo” is supposed to be???

An actual human being is NOT the most popular theory qsdfghn.

*

Lal on TikTok.

I guess?? I’m kind of running out of ideas lol, and I know very little about TikTok.

But I’m thinking she makes a series of videos where she looks straight into the camera like she’s on The Office while some bullshit or the other happens in the background.

And it’s not even always her friends or coworkers or Colonnello (yeah he has a category of his own lmao).

As far as she is concerned everyone who chooses to be a fucking dumbass in her vicinity is asking for it aqsdfghj.

------

Also has a “Doing paperwork” series, and the later at night she’s doing it, the more she’s absolutely fucking done with people not being able to do their job properly without collateral damage.

She dryly reads out loud the highlights of the reports and goes straight for their lives lol.

But as funny as it is, everyone is more interested in the very questionable out of context content of these reports???

------

Also does workout videos, as in she demonstrates how to do this one or other exercise, and if these do particularly well it has nothing to do with how people want to look respectfully at her body, of course not.

ALSO has a “Colonnello’s Loving Hours” series because you better believe this woman is also so much in love.

She records him when he’s simply existing---whether he’s snuggling besides her while they’re watching TV, or dancing in the kitchen while cooking, or cleaning his guns---while looking at the camera with this tender, content expression on her face.

*

They become known as the Weather Lovers because boy, do these people like to go on about their favorite weather. Some shipping might even be involved??

It’s how their community introduces them to each other.

Cue even more chaos on their respective socials medias.

Viper’s video of their first meeting is the most popular one on their channel.

*

Yeah I know, I didn’t add the Sky Arco ladies, but I have no idea what they could do. Pinterest maybe? Or Vine? Dunno, they’re all yours guys lol.

#katekyo hitman reborn #khr #khr au #khr arcobaleno #khr socials media au #the mafia in general on socials media though #like you're undercover for some hit or the other #but isn't it fucking suspicious how alfredo and marco are always on the exact same location on the snapchat map?? #or trying to keep your civilian loved ones in the dark #but they went through your mafia friends account and they talk about you in a very you're obviously not a civilian manner #or you're showing your boss a possible talented new recruit profile #and a message of his wife pops on screen that leaves no room to misunderstanting asdfghj #just the fact that it'd indeniably make their job so much harder #but no one would care bcause VALIDATION #anyway #mine

[yikesharringrove]

drummer!billy fucks steve after robin drags him to billy’s band’s concert at the gay bar and he swears he hates the band until he sees billy... please :)

I’m so hot for drummers I became one. That’s TRUE.

This is some modern lovin’.

Also I have a friend in a vegan eco-punk folk band and they fucking suck.

Pansy Division is a real queercore band they are AMAZING super recommend they have a song called Fem in a Black Leather Jacket that I can SO see Billy singing to femme!Steve to be teasing one day.

Queer Bar is the name of a REAL BAR my friends and I (used to, thanks Miss Corona) go to to watch drag performers and queer punk bands.

Ayoo3

Porn Porn.

Steve didn’t go to a lot of concerts.

He didn’t do great in sweaty crowds, and the loud music would leave his ears ringing for days. But Robin would still drag him out to see her friends’ shitty bands play at shitty dive bars.

“You have to come. It’ll be fun. They’re actually, like good.” Steve rolled his eyes.

“That’s what you said about the last two bands, Rob. And they fucking sucked.”She had dragged him to some house show for her friend in a vegan eco-punk folk band which is apparently a thing that exists in this world, and they sucked. It was like someone screaming about global warming over a Bon Iver song. It made Steve want to actively go out and litter.

“What’s the genre?”

“Queercore. You can listen to them! They have an album on Spotify that’s done pretty okay. They’re called Pansy Division.” Steve gave her a cold look as he pulled them up. He listen to their three most popular songs, That’s So Gay was a pissed off track about people using the word gay as a derogatory. Fem in a Black Leather Jacket was self explanatory, and Luv Luv Luv was a more chilled out song, but the lyrics were all about how love isn’t real and “we’re all just animals at the core”. Steve was sold.

“Where are they playing.” Robin grinned at him.

“Queer Bar.” Steve groaned. Queer Bar was small. A divey place that got hot and sticky. Steve didn’t like going as he always left covered in spilled drinks, and other people’s sweat, and had hooked up with three of the bartenders and just didn’t really wanna deal with all that.

“I don’t know, Robin. You know I don’t like Queer Bar.”

“You like it just fine. You’re just a slut. You do realize that if we could only go to bars where you haven’t fucked one of the employees, we would have like, five bars to choose from.”

“Don’t slut shame me. I am a young flower, who must dance on the wind and take a dip in every pond.” Robin stared at him.

“Steve that makes no fucking sense. Just admit you’re a sloppy whore and let’s move on.”

“Fine. I’m a sloppy whore. So when is this terrible night scheduled?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Robin!”

“Dingus!”

“You couldn’t’ve given me some notice?”

“You’re getting like, thirty hours of notice right now.” She rolled her eyes. Steve always told her one of these days they were gonna fall right outta her head.

“You are a nightmare and the bane of my existence and I’ve never hated anyone as much as I hate you.” Steve deadpanned. She leaned over on the couch to smack a wet kiss to his cheek.

“And you should probably bring condoms. These guys are just your type.”

-

“So, that’s what you’re wearing?” Steve just glared at her.

“If you’re dragging me to this thing, I at least want to be comfortable.” He was wearing short denim cutoffs, ones she had cutoff for him. They were high-waisted, and he tucked a baggy Jane’s Addiction t-shirt he had stolen from his ex-boyfriend into them. He had just done a little eye shadow and smoked liner.

Robin was in a black body-con dress, her old brown leather jacket over her shoulder, but her arms were not in the sleeves. It was very fashiony of her. Steve tugged on a red bomber jacket.

They would be meeting Robin;s girlfriend, Heather, at the bar. Apparently she was friends with someone in the band.

“Let’s go, Dingus.” Robin was holding The front door to Steve’s apartment, swinging it between both hands. He pinched her side as he walked past.

They had to take a Lyft to Queer Bar, another reason it was the worst. It wasn’t in walking distance. Their driver was this quiet guy who wouldn’t stop staring at Robin, even when she loudly started talking about her girlfriend. Steve only gave him four stars, a serious deal for Steve, who would probably give five stars even if the driver fucking murdered him.

Steve had met Heather quite a few times, and he liked her. She was cute, and easy to talk to, and made Robin so happy, but she also kept talking about Billy and how he was going to come out with them later, and kept winking at Robin.

They traipsed into the bar, Steve ducking to avoid one of the bartenders he had slept with. The guy had been real clingy after and asked Steve to get breakfast while Steve was trying to get dressed and get outta there.

So, they’re in the club, and it’s about time for the band, well, it’s twenty minutes after time for the band, and Steve is tired and is nursing a vodka cranberry and has been hit on more than he wanted tonight.

But then the band is taking the stage, and Steve is ready to lose his mind at this perfect specimen taking his place behind the drums.

He had tattoos on nearly every inch of skin Steve could see, his arms, his legs, his neck. He was putting his long hair into a ponytail, a few curls escaping and settling around his face. He was laughing at something the bassist was saying to him, twirling his stick in one hand.

“Heather’s friends with the drummer. His name is Billy.” Robin was giving him a knowing look.

The band was pretty good. Played a lot of loud songs. People were slam dancing around the front, far from where Steve was standing, watching the drummer. He really fucking whacked the drums, broke about three sticks during the hour set. He was all sweaty. Would play with a big grin on his face, blue eyes crinkled, tongue between his face.

By the time they finished their set, Steve was sporting a half-chub in his shorts, was rearing to get fucked by this gorgeous drummer.

“What did you think!” Heather was beaming at him.

“Yeah, they’re okay.” Robin rolled her eyes.

“So, we’re just waiting for Billy, then we can get outta here.” Steve’s heart stopped. He had fucking forgotten they would be hanging out with this perfect Billy.

He came up behind Heather, picking her up from behind, laughing loud and beautiful.

“Stop, Billy! You smell like shit!” He rubbed his head onto her neck, making her slap at him. He released her, turning those eyes on Steve. He put out a hand.

“Billy Hargrove.” He took both of Steve’s hands in his, made him blush.

“Steve Harrington. I’m a friend of Robin’s.” Billy ran his tongue along his teeth, looking Steve up and down.

They ended up going to a club and getting hammered. Steve danced pressed against Billy, ended up laying on the bar while Billy led a few random guys in taking body shots off of Steve.  He ended up making out with Billy in a dark corner, hands roaming until

“My place is close by. You wanna get outta here?” Steve shivered as Billy rasped in his ear.

“Yeah, let’s go.” They found Robin, who slapped Steve on the ass as he left, tucked under Billy’s arm. They walked a few blocks to Billy’s place, a little apartment over a Thai restaurant. It was cozy, had posters all over the walls, and lots of plants. He had a fat little cat he introduced as my chonker, Diablo.

They made out on the couch for a while, but then Diablo started yowling at Billy, so Billy hefted Steve up, and tossed him on the bed, refilling the cat’s water. Steve wrestled out of his clothes as he could hear Billy cooing to his cat in the kitchen.

“Holy shit you’re hot.” Billy shut the door behind him, staring at Steve, spread out and naked on his bed. “Heather said you were just my type.” Billy came to the bed, crawled over Steve, settling his wight over him. Steve reached up, tugging his hair out of the ponytail.

Billy ducked to kiss him, nudging his thighs open. He leaned to dig through the night table, brought out a bottle of lube and a condom.

Tattooed fingers nudged at his hole, rubbed lube around the rim. Steve started tugging at his shirt, making Billy laugh while he had to tangle it off of himself.

“Relax, Pretty Boy.” Steve whined as Billy went back to circling his hole, so he pressed in. He pressed up to the knuckle, curling his finger. He fucked it in and out of him slowly for a while, pumping his finger in and out.

He pressed another in, curling and spreading his fingers, stretching Steve out.

Steve took hold of his wrist, angling his hand.

“Curl you fingers.” Billy smirked at him, curling his fingers. Steve jolted as they shoved into his sensitive little nerves.

“You know just what you want, don’t you?” Billy was mouthing at his chest, sucked a dark mark on his left pec. “Not afraid to ask for it, either.”

He was drilling into Steve with his fingers, fucking him roughly with his hand, bending his fingers, opening them up. Steve was gasped, his legs opening even wider. He added another finger, pouring more lube over his hand, over Steve’s hole.

“I’m ready, just fuck me.” Steve’s eyes were wide, being sure to pout just the way he knew guys liked, voice all perfect and whiny.

“You’re bossy is what you are.” Billy added another finger, making Steve cry out at the stretch. “Think you can cum on just my fingers? I think I’d like that.” He bite gently at Steve’s nipple, making him arch into his chest, pushing his hips down onto Billy’s fingers.

“I want you cock. Please, just fuck me. Please, please.” Billy grinned, resting his chin on Steve’s chest, speeding his hand up, jack hammering it into Steve. “Holy fu-uck.” Steve came all over himself, choking around a few breathy moans.

“That was hot. You’re gorgeous.” Billy pulled his fingers out gently, letting Steve catch his breath while he took off his jeans, tossing them on the floor. Steve took extra notice of the lack of any underwear.

Billy was hard, his cock flushed red against his stomach. He rolled on a condom, settling himself between Steve’s legs, spread wide.

“You ready for me?” Billy was stroking Steve’s cock, smirking as Steve whined, oversensitive. Steve modded, wiggling his hips, whimpering for Billy to fuck him.

Billy pressed himself against Steve, holding his hips down as he gentled himself in, going slowly, inch by inch.

“You’re so tight Baby.” He was pressed flush to Steve, grinding his cock deeper, making Steve choke. He pulled out, immediately setting a brutal pace, sitting on his knees, one hand holding onto Steve’s upper thing, the other gripping his hip.

Steve was fisting the sheets under his head, clawing at them to try and hold on.

Billy was gorgeous above him, hair messy and wild, skin glistening, his muscles moving so beautifully under his tattooed skin.

Steve was hard again, trailed on hand down his body to wrap his fingers around his cock, jerking to the speed of Billy’s thrusts. He was getting close again, Billy was expertly hitting that sensitive little spot inside him, was panting and muttering about how hot Steve is, was making him whine and flush and fly closer to orgasm.

It hit him like a fucking train, making him cry out, adding to the mess on his stomach, tightening around Billy.

Billy gave one final grunt, slamming into Steve, emptying inside the condom. He caught his breath, staring down at Steve, running a finger through the spunk on his stomach, pressing it into Steve’s mouth, his eyes going dark as Steve moaned around his finger, eating his cum off it.

“You’re ridiculously fucking hot.” He huffed a laugh, pulling out of Steve to ditch the condom. “Now I actually owe Heather. That sucks.”

Steve laughed, slapping Billy’s chest.

#steve in super short jorts is my RELIGION #yikes writes #lemons #steve harrington #steve harrington x billy hargrove #billy hargrove x steve harrington #billy hargrove #harringrove #harringrove fic #harringrove ficlet #harringrove drabble

[watercolourferns]

Random Modern AU everyday Julian headcanons

All my writings are so long, I’m really really sorry about it. u_u I just have a very active imagination...

Boots? Boots. He has so many of them he has to use the spare bedroom’s closet for the rest of his collection. He’s got biker boots, goth boots, military boots, riding boots... Most of them are in dark shades, except for a pair of flowery doc martens that he’s really proud of. 

Watches Marie Kondo religiously but can never really follow her suggestions. He’s not a hoarder, but he likes to keep things that have sentimental value, and since he’s never really at home due to his work cleaning up is not... as well done as he would like. He does try to tidy after himself now and then.

Pub hopping on the weekends? YES PLEASE. His work as a doctor is so stressful that pub hopping sounds like a plan, throw in a couple of clubs where he can dance his cares away and he’ll be all up for it. You will see him at the club dancing on the tables with a bottle of wine in his hand, or sitting in a dusty, badly lit pub discussing Nietzche and Socrates with the old men who gather there.

He also likes to go to cafes, though. Charming small ones, Starbucks doesn’t cut it for him. He needs the homey, warm environment of a mom and pop style cafe. He will always order a mug of black coffee and a tray yes a traynot a dish a whole tray of biscuits, while he relaxes reading a novel or the latest news in his cellphone.

Talking about cellphones, you’d think he’d have a really old one, but no. Your disaster Doctor has a good model, not exactly the newest one, but a good one with a good camera. As a doctor he sometimes takes pictures of his patient’s conditions to add them to the files and see evolutions of the treatments. He also has a myriad of memory cards for that.

He hates fad diets with a passion, can’t understand why people are willfully putting themselves in such danger with them. If a patient mentions any of them, he will shut down the argument and refer them to a real nutrionist. You can’t argue with him on this.

He loves visiting used items stores: used records, second hand clothing stores. Oh, he will go CRAZY at a used books store! Taking him there if you see him down and he will instantly have a chipper mood and be ever so thankful, showing you his finds: “Look MC!!! This is a sixth edition Dickens novel!!! I wonder if they know what they have in here!!”

On the fashion front he’s between grunge, goth, and rocker. Tons of second hand leather jackets, HIS BOOTS, grey or black tight bottoms, band tshirts... Even at work, he’ll wear a Nine-Inch Nails tshirt with a pair of acid-washed black jeans and a pair of impeccable biker boots, no makeup though, he feels patients won’t trust him if he wears his eyeliner, he leaves that for days off.

He has set up Malack with all the comforts a birb can want: his very own perch, toys to peak his interest, the finest good Petco can carry, and a fancy little nest inside a white cage that is always open.

Espresso machines? Espresso machines. He will have the highest end one, with a bean grinder and all. He also has a wide collection of coffee mugs that he’s bought or his patients have gifted him as a thank you gift. He will have a french press in his office, and it will always smell of freshly pressed coffee. He hates the pod machines with a vengeance. With the surge of reusable pods, he’s softened against them, but he still will not use them. He prefers freshly ground beans.

Ngl, this man loves bath bombs, they are fun to watch, smell delicious and help him relax after a stressful week. He has several on hand for when he needs them and loves shopping at Lush.

He’s the one other doctors call when there’s a rebellious kid that won’t stay still or listen to directions, he has a knack with kids calming them down with his voice and using his histrionics to make them laugh. He’s also the one called on when the hospital wants to put up a play or some other entertainment for the chronically ill kids.

He WILL cry if a patient doesn’t make it, that’s why he’s more of a family doctor than anything else. He tried working with the chronically ill, but he just can’t handle it. When he was in that wing he broke down more times than humanely permitted, so MC spoke to him and made him change wings least he would get sick from grief. He still goes up there from time to time either because he’s asked to put up a play (see above) or just to check up on things and try to brighten someone’s day.

If he’s having a particularly trying day he will go up to the maternity wing and watch all the newborns through the window. That always makes him smile.

He’s the type of partner that will bring you a small gift from the convenience store once he gets home, from a packet of cookies to a pretty postcard he saw in the rack he will always be thinking about you and let you know that. 

He plays old records in a 60′s turntable and asks for a dance with you almost every day. Sometimes it will be half heartedly, sometimes it will be enthusiastic, that’s the way you know how his day was. 

In summer he sleeps in the nude with the AC on and a blanket on top, don’t come near him, it’s too hot to snuggle... no questions asked. In winter he will snuggle with you in a soft, thick blanket. It’s not long enough to cover all of him, so his feet are cold as ice, so be prepared for a few chills during the night until they gain some warmth. 

Drives a 1985 Rolls-Royce Corniche convertible in red. He found it in a junkyard and fixed it up... then had someone help him because he doesn’t really know much about mechanics, but has been learning ever since and is good at maintaining it. Will take MC for rides when asked and when not as well. Almost always with the top off because he loves the wind in his hair not because he’s really tall and fits to snuggly in it, of course...

#juliandevorak #julian headcanons #it's too long #im sorry #please don't kill me #please dont hate me

[cosmicmoved]

ABOUT KARAM...

hi, i’m back with another oc & this time it’s a concept that might be a little confusing, i guess, but pls bear with me! <3 this is KARAM, and you might consider him a sort of...spirit? of sorts? not in the sense of being a ghosty-type guy bc he’s definitely not dead but he’s sort of a guardian entity who is concerned with guarding nature, specifically a certain area of land he considers to be his home. his story is that, basically, he failed to guard his home, thanks to humans destroying the whole place and forcing him out of there. now, he’s trying to live among humans? this would be where the fun, wacky adventures would start but Karam also kind of hates humans and thinks they suck /: y’know, partly bc they’re destroying the planet but also bc he thinks he’s better than them by default.

fun phob note........this muse is actually kind of a mash-up of a muse i made in 2014 who was actually a final fantasy summon type deal and a muse i made in like?? june 2019 for an rpg that closed really quick (obvs not the same one as tomo but i just don’t have good luck with this stuff huh)...but also with a whole ton of new shit thrown in. so this muse is essentially a whole new experience & i’m counting him as a new oc from here but the concepts have been in my head for 5 years.

i probably won’t be tackling ships & stuff with this muse unless i really feel The Chemistry bc he’s just......not that kinda muse! anyway, below are some basic pieces of info & a basic backstory. i’ll explain things in more detail later but i kinda wanna get this out of the way now! he’s got some spooky vibes so i definitely wanted to introduce him officially this month! also sorry if the backstory repeats some stuff already in the facts bc i wrote them separately.

Karam is actually relatively young as far as his type go; he’s 266 years old and born in a world that was already being vastly changed my destructive technology.

For the record, Karam doesn’t hate technology. He doesn’t avoid it. He doesn’t own a phone either but he can tell the difference between shit that improves people’s lives in some way and shit that’s sucking the life from the planet.

That said, he knows fuck all about most modern technology. He doesn’t GET human shit.

Tell me if you want me to stay away from this area of things but I feel like Karam can usually tell when somebody isn’t human, no matter how human they might look. By default, he’ll be nicer to muses who aren’t strictly human. This one actually has less to do with nature or the planet, this one’s just because he’s a bit of a snob. However, a lot of magic is based around these concepts of not abusing the natural order so uhh...that’s worth counting!

karam is dramatic. this bullet point could easily be left as is, nothing more said, but yeah, dal is dramatic. perhaps even overdramatic at times. he manages to strike a balance between imposing and showy when he needs to but he’s still a bit of a showoff at heart and he likes to make sure his feelings are known, even if he’s over-exaggerating. he can also be a bit blunt and very brusque. this makes him seem as though he might be a cold person but he mostly doesn’t think before he talks. but not because he’s easily distracted or verbally impulsive, he just doesn’t believe he needs to think first around most people. that sort of foresight is reserved for people more powerful and important than him!!

favourite food is all seafood. especially fish. he grew up eating fish from rivers and considers them to have a nostalgic taste but ocean fish are the real winners. dal doesn’t warm to people all that easily but, much like an npc from [insert harvest moon, stardew valley, animal crossing or your favourite calming game here], hand him a fish a day for a long enough period and he might just grow fond of you (bonus points for actual cooked dishes). but i mean he’s also that npc who’s rude to you the whole time, right up until he decides to have a change of heart, so it’s really up to you if you wanna pursue that,,,

he’s a bit of a solitary guy but not by design. dal grew up alone for the most part so he’s just not really all that used to having people around. he doesn’t go out of his way to isolate himself or anything like that but he doesn’t enjoy having too many people around. too noisy. too overwhelming. dude needs his space.

wears a lot of black, belts and leather. dresses kind of like a final fantasy character. everybody just assumes he's a goth. Karam doesn't know what a goth is.

has never even fast food. doesn’t know what a burger tastes like. chicken nuggets are a foreign concept.

BACKSTORY

Karam was raised in the mountains by a nature spirit as one of half a pair of fraternal twins. He was aided by his mother until he was old enough to fend for himself and promptly left to fight his own battles. He doesn’t remember much of the early days, they were much too long ago, and he barely knew his mother long enough to think of her as anything much more than a mentor long since passed from his life. His brother was abandoned with him but Karam barely remembers him. In fact, all he remembers are the days spent training his reflexes, catching and eating fish from the river.

After living in the mountain forests and standing watch over his land for over two hundred years, Karam lost his home to deforestation. The place he had once called home was to become a block of overpriced apartment flats for humans with more money than sense. Reluctant to truly leave his home behind and move on to another forest, Karam (who had spent years visiting the city proper out of curiosity and had learned a lot about modern humans in that time) settled upon living an aimless life amongst humans. So far, he hates it.

In the face of strangers, Karam is standoffish and even a little stuck-up. He's fussy and likes things to go his own way. It seems that he is disdainful of humans, blaming them for the state of the planet they inhabit. He is capable of befriending humans and has done so before but, for the most part, he is distrustful of them and has a low opinion of mankind as a whole. There is a kinder side to him too but it is carefully reserved for those who know him better, even in spite of him not being especially precious about his private affairs. Karam is very blunt and, like I said before, not because he doesn't care about others' feelings but because he believes he's too important to have to think before he speaks.

#« 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐘 (ᴋᴀʀᴀᴍ) » / 「 headcanon. 」 #i'm throwing this in my queue so my muses page won't be officially #updated with karam's stats and info just yet...they're IN the code already but i haven't added his official link yet ASDFG

[melodyofgraves]

Bad Boy (modern Chanevi)

A/N: This is a very stupid idea I’ve had today. I’ve been writing some of this modern AU (if you can even call it that because I think it will be kind of a series of one-shots rather than a full series. I’m not good enough at writing to make a normal series.) and I got an ask from a gang nonny that inspired this mess.

Also, it’s a scheduled post, I’m Julia from the past again and I’m writing it on Wednesday because I probably won’t be very active here tomorrow and maybe on Friday due to some personal stuff. So I thought I’d at least post something when I’m gone.

Anyway, this fic is pretty stupid. Feel free to ignore it. Just needed to get this out of my head.

Summary: Bart tries to impress his boyfriend.

Words: 659 (how?)

Tagging: @hellospunkiebrewster @brightpinkpeppercorn @queerchoicesblog @itsbrindleybinch

”Hello, Bart!” shouted Yusuf from the living room when he heard the front door open, his eyes never leaving the pages of the book he was reading. “How was your day?”

”Cool.” he heard his boyfriend respond, with an unusually emotionless tone. Most of the times, when Bartholomew came home, he would either collapse onto the couch and into Konevi’s arms, seeking comfort after a bad day or cheerfully talk about how great his day was. So Yusuf found the sudden cold greeting rather strange.

”Is everything alright? Something happened?” he took off his reading glasses, placing them neatly on the coffee table before turning to look at his partner from the couch. He raised his eyebrows at the peculiar sight.

Bartholomew Chambers stood next to the door, leaning almost nonchalantly against the wall with his hands in the pockets of a black leather jacket that was obliviously too big for him. His curly hair fell victim to an unsuccessful attempt to slick them back with hair gel, unnaturally shiny and greasy-looking, sticking out in various places.

”’Sup.” he gave the man his best brooding look before dramatically turning his head to gaze longingly at the nearest window. Yusuf could hardly stifle a laugh.

”Should I be worried about you, love? Or are you just doing a really bad impression of Ernest?” he shook his head at his partner’s antics.

”You don’t like it?” Bart’s cold expression melted away, replaced by a slightly disappointed pout as he sat next to him on the couch. “I thought I’d surprise you.”

”Oh, you certainly did.” Yusuf chuckled and ran fingers through his boyfriend’s hair, trying to fix it. He made a face at the unpleasant feeling of the sticky gel covering his hands. “And to what do I owe this surprise?”

”I was at Theresa’s last week and she showed me an article in one of those magazines she likes so much. It was basically about how everyone wants hot bad boys right now.” his fingers started playing with the hem of the too long sleeve. “So I wanted to be hot too. Thought you’d like it.”

”I think you’re always hot.” Konevi wrapped his arm around his shoulders and kissed his cheek. “Especially without all this goo in your hair.”

”I might have gone a little too heavy with this part of the makeover.” he shrugged, smiling softly. “I was helping Luke with cleaning up his old stuff today and found this old jacket. This idea just appeared in my head so the whole look was kinda last minute. So I asked to borrow it but he told me to keep it since he doesn’t wear it anymore.”

” Oh, so that’s Luke’s jacket. Explains why it’s way too big for you.”

”But I thought it made me look even cooler, you know? More muscular and stuff.” he raised his arm, flexing his biceps to prove his point. They both burst into laughter. “Yeah, Luke wasn’t very impressed either when I told him that.”

”Bart, you know I love you.” Yusuf put a hand on his cheek, looking him into eyes before kissing him sweetly. “But you’re the least bad boy type person I’ve met in my entire life.”

“Oh, come on!” Bart wrapped his arms around his neck. “Wouldn’t you like it if I was like those dangerous and mysterious guys from TV? I’d take you on a night ride in a stolen car, running away from police, or go with you on a date to illegal street racing and get you in trouble.” he winked.

Yusuf laughed. “I’d much rather order some food and watch a movie while cuddling with my sweet and loving boyfriend if you don’t mind.”

”That depends.” Chambers gave him a very serious look. “Can we also get some cake?”

”Only if you wash out that goo from your hair.”

”Deal. But you’re helping me.”

Yusuf planted another gentle kiss on his lips. “Deal.”

#why? #ugh #im sorry #im not a funny person #chanevi #chanevi au #mr chambers #mr konevi #desire and decorum #scheduled post #just checked if it posted and i forgot add tags so im editing

[lilacmoon83]

Finding You Always

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 187: Arabian Nights

A portal opened in the desert of Agrabah and deposited the four of them. Summer and Bobby looked around in wonder, as they had arrived on a cliff side overlooking an incredible, expansive city.

"Wow...so this is Agrabah?" Bobby asked. Snow and David smiled, as they joined hands.

"It is...and that's the palace," David replied, as he and Snow shared a smile at the wide eyes of their children, for they were seeing their beloved book that they had been raised with come to life before their eyes. Now, they would begin the journey of consulting all the Kingdoms and then bringing everyone in their nine realms of story together.

"I think we better have a change of wardrobe though. Our Storybrooke attire is a little out of place," Snow mentioned, as she pulled the Chalice out of her bag. She used its magic to give them Enchanted Forest clothes so they would look the part of the visiting dignitaries that they were.

Summer's outfit consisted of a deep purple colored leather tunic and gray pants, complete with slate colored riding boots. For David, she chose a crimson leather tunic with gold trim, black leather pants, and riding boots. For Bobby, she chose a tunic was much the same color as Charming's, but she had put cloth pants on her son. And she chose her favorite new attire for herself; her white warrior-Goddess type tunic dress and knee high white riding boots.

"There...now we can go," Snow said, as they made their way down into the city and mingled in the busy Agrabahn marketplace. They eventually found their way through the marketplace and to the gateway to the palace.

Naturally, they were stopped by the guards when they reached that point.

"No one passes into the palace," the guard stated gruffly.

"We're friends of Princess Jasmine and visiting royals," Snow responded regally.

"We've been told of no visiting royals," the guard responded.

"Then you should inform Princess Jasmine that Queen Snow and King David are here. Let her decide if she would like an audience with us," Snow said authoritatively.

"Look woman…" the guard said dangerously, as he attempted to intimidate her. David glared at him and put a hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Stand down Aziz...I've seen Queen Snow use a bow and a sword for that matter. She'll destroy you," Jasmine commented, as she appeared with her pet tiger, Raj, on one side and Aladdin on the other. Snow smiled and they rushed to hug each other, as the guards all took a knee. Jasmine pulled back and gasped when she saw the kids.

"This can't be Bobby...he was just a baby the last time I saw him," she exclaimed, as the boy gave her a sheepish look.

"I know...it's been a while," Snow mentioned.

"And Summer...look at you! You're practically grown!" she added, as they hugged, while David and Aladdin shook hands.

"It's great to see you all again," Aladdin said.

"You too...we actually have something exciting to discuss with you both and your father," he told Jasmine. But her face was marred with a bit of sadness and Snow frowned.

"Is everything okay?" she asked. Jasmine nodded.

"Father's health isn't the best these days," she mentioned.

"I'm so sorry to hear that," Snow offered.

"Thank you...but he will be happy to see you both and he'll insist in a grand dinner this evening. Perhaps you'll join us and we can discuss your news," Jasmine offered. Snow smiled.

"We'd like that," she agreed. They were led into the palace and given very lavish quarters they gave to visiting royals. The chambers had a sitting room, complete with plush furniture and large, plush pillows on the floor. Then there were three separate bedrooms all with washrooms as well.

"Wow...you can see the entire city from this balcony!" Bobby mentioned excitedly, as he and Summer rushed out to look. Snow and David put their arms around each other and watched them fondly. One of the servants informed them at that point that dinner would be served soon and Snow called the kids back in.

"Okay you two...this is a formal dinner, so we need to dress the part," Snow said, as she went to the closet to look at the attire that was provided for royal visitors/

"But...aren't we already dressed formally?" Bobby asked. David smiled and chuckled. They had adapted to life in Storybrooke without much of the royal pomp and circumstance, so they hadn't really felt the need to teach the kids about this stuff. After all, travel between realms had not been easy and for many years, they thought that Storybrooke would be it for them.

"These are formal traveling clothes. We need formal dinner and ball type dress, which here in Agrabah is attire that is still formal, but a bit lighter and more airy due to the climate," Snow admonished.

"Is it going to be itchy and uncomfortable like that dumb tux you made me wear to Henry's wedding when I was seven?" Bobby asked. Snow shot him her best mom look and he shrunk back.

"I mean...it was great, but itchy and the bow tie was awesome," he offered unconvincingly.

"Stop digging yourself deeper, kid," David admonished, as Snow gave them an amused look.

"You'll survive," Snow said, as she picked out something for her son. She went about picking out the rest of their outfits and they proceeded to get ready for the evening ahead.

~*~

Fandral sat beside his wife in his Throne, as she addressed their court from her Throne. She was informing them of the coming merger of the realms and her decision that they would be a part of this new undertaking. Fandral didn't have much patience with some of the elder members of her court. They were too stuck in the ways of old and had once supported her Uncle, King John's, tyrannical rule without question. They claimed they were afraid to go against him, but Fandral knew their fear of John had little to do with it. Her Uncle was capable of being ruthless, as well as greedy, irrational, and even evil. But he was also a man child that threw tantrums when he didn't get his way, so he was skeptical about how much fear he really invoked.

No, fear had little to do with their support of him. They spent their years under John lining their pockets with gold and getting richer, while the people suffered and poverty grew. When they unseated John, he was sure that her court was going to try and exert control and intimidation over Rose disguised as "advice". But he had watched with pride as she entertained none of their nonsense. She had put every single one of them in their place and promised that, under no circumstances, would her Uncle's policies and dictation continue. She no longer allowed them to tax her people into poverty, while stockpiling their hard earned gold in their own accounts. And twenty-years since they had taken the Kingdom back, their people were prospering. They trusted Rose and Fandral and he expected the news that they would be going to a realm where the opportunities for further prosperity would be well received by them. But her court was going to be stubborn as usual and attempt to exert some kind of control. How he loathed how they spoke to her, but his Rose let none of it bother her; the sign of the true Queen she was.

"My Queen...if I may," the Duke interjected.

"You have the floor Duke Gantry," Rose allowed.

"I understand your friendships with these...people are important to you, my Queen. But do you really feel that moving our entire Kingdom to a new land is the best idea?" he questioned.

"This has much more to do with than just friendships. This new land has opportunities that our world does not. And we're not leaving this land at all. We're bringing it with us too," Rose said.

"My wife is correct. The modern medicine alone will increase the life expectancy of our people exponentially," Fandral chimed in and she nodded to him.

"But there are sorcerer's and mediums that can be consulted for magical cures," the Duke reminded. Fandral could see his wife suppressing an eye roll, as she often had to do in the presence of her court.

"Magic always comes with a price and most of our people cannot afford the amount of gold or willing to give up their first child in exchange for magical favors. And it is absurd to let charlatans like that hold their magic over our heads as they often do," Rose admonished.

"Yes...in Storybrooke, medicine and care is widely available for everyone at little or even no cost. Queen Snow and Queen Mother Regina have developed programs to make sure even those with no funds can receive the care they need," Fandral added.

"It seems that Queen Snow relies much on charity to serve her people," the Duke stated distastefully.

"Providing adequate care for her people or ours is not charity," Rose said sternly.

"And medical advancement is not the only reason we will benefit. The educational opportunities in this new land are far superior as well and offered to people of all backgrounds and classes," she added.

"And there is no talking you out of this move?" the Duke questioned with a stern stare and Fandral had to smirk, as his wife returned his stern stare. As expected, he withered a bit under the Queen's stare and backed down.

"No...because this move will ensure prosperity for our people for all time," she declared. Fandral smiled at her and slipped his hand into hers. It didn't matter what her greedy court thought. This was a very good move for them and their people. He knew that Rose hoped they could see beyond their greed, but he had lived long enough to know that people like them would not. But that didn't matter either, for they wouldn't let a tyrannical rule like her Uncle's have control of the fate of their people again. And the uniting of the realms was the next step in their prosperity.

~*~

Boston

2018

Cecily looked around the penthouse apartment with an air of scrutiny and then shrugged.

"I suppose this will do," she said.

"It's a far cry from Federal Prison, which is still a possibility if you don't give me a good story," the Major reminded. Cecily smirked.

"Trust me...I've got your story. That is...if you got me what I asked for," she replied. One of the Major's subordinates handed her a paper bag and she extracted a white book from it, emblazoned with the words "Once Upon a Time".

"I'm failing to see how a copy of a book of fairy tales by a nobody author is going to be what I want to hear," she replied, as she tossed the book to Cecily. The dark haired woman smirked.

"Henry Swan is not a nobody author...he is the author and this book, though a copy, will tell you everything you want to know about the Nolans. Or as I know them...the Charmings," she responded, as she sat down and flipped the book open.

"If you want to know how David Nolan, who hasn't aged a day in thirty-fives years, ended up on the side of the road in 1983 with his infant daughter...then you only need to start at the beginning," Cecily told her, as she showed the woman the illustration. The Major scanned the text and noticed that it matched up with the events in the police report from that night.

"Start telling me everything," she ordered.

~*~

Storybrooke

Present day - 2023

"...I just keep telling myself that it's not a big deal. It was a curse...but I still woke up last night in a cold sweat," Leo explained, as he sat on Archie's couch.

"You were reliving the assault," Archie surmised.

"Was it really assault though? I didn't say no...I even reciprocated," he muttered.

"Yes, it was assault and you know that. You're trying to blame the victim here and that victim is you," Archie replied.

"The curse stole your ability to say no...but Jack was in possession of all his faculties. He knew you would never consent to sex with him if you had your memories. That's rape," the ginger haired man added.

"I know…" Leo admitted.

"I just want to move on from this," he added.

"Admitting it is the first step and your assaulter has received justice for what he did. The best way to move on is to find happiness," Archie advised.

"I have...I'm in love with Elsa," Leo said. Archie grinned at that.

"Then I don't think I have to tell you that love will heal those wounds that Jack inflicted upon you emotionally and psychologically," he replied. Leo nodded, smiling slightly.

"Mom and Dad always say that love heals. I know that I'm not the only one having nightmares. I know that my mom is still having them from her time being locked up in the mental hospital," he said.

"And like you, your mother will be seeing me for therapy and I'm glad you both are getting help with what you've been through," Archie replied. Leo nodded and stood up.

"Thanks...this really helped. I didn't want to admit that I was raped, but I was and I think I can move on now," the blonde said.

"Then the man that victimized you has truly lost in every way possible. He did what he did to you, because of his hatred of magic and his need to exert control over you, because of that hatred. But he loses when he no longer has power and I think you'll find now that you have accepted that you had no ownership in what he did to you...the nightmares will lessen. They won't stop completely right away...but they will stop eventually," Archie promised. Leo nodded, feeling more and more certain by the minute.

"Thanks Archie," he said, as his session ended and he left, feeling a bit of weight lifted off him, as he finally accepted what had happened to him and that it was out of his control.

The healing process was far from over, but he had a very loving family that he knew would help him get through anything. Not to mention his girlfriend and it helped knowing that they would soon be in the same place. That complication to their relationship was soon going to be a thing of the past and now that he was able to look forward and move on, he knew exactly how he wanted to begin doing that. So he made the short trek to the pawn shop.

The bell on the shop chimed, as Leo stepped into the pawn shop that afternoon with Graham beside him. Belle smiled from behind the counter and Gideon ran out to hug both Leo and his wolf.

"Hey buddy…" Leo greeted, as he ruffled the boy's hair.

"How are you, Leo?" Belle asked. He sighed, but nodded with a smile.

"Good...better than I have been in a long time. I...I just saw Archie. I promised my parents I would start seeing him after...after what Jack did," he mentioned. Belle squeezed his hand.

"I'm so sorry that happened to you, sweetie. I think it's really good that you're talking about it though," she said. Gold nodded.

"And Jack got what he deserved," he added. Leo nodded.

"He did...but I'm ready to move on and that's kind of why I'm here. I hope you can help," he replied. Belle smiled.

"I hope we can too. What do you need?" Belle asked.

"Well...I'm here to pick out an engagement ring," he announced. Belle gasped and then hurried around the counter so she could hug him.

"Oh Leo...you're going to propose to Elsa?" she asked. He nodded, as he looked down shyly.

"Yeah...I've been wanting to for a while now, even before the mess with the curse. And since we're not going to have the conundrum of living in different realms between us...I don't want to waste anymore time," he said.

"You lost two years with her...even if she only lost days," Belle realized. He nodded.

"Then you need the right ring...and I think I might have the one," Rumple chimed in, as he led them to his jewelry case, which had an impressive assortment of rings.

"This is a rare white sapphire," Rumple said, as he pulled out the impressive ring, which was transparent in color like a diamond, but had a slight pale blue tint to it.

"Wow...it's even got a light blue tint to it. It's perfect," Leo said.

"Not quite...for Elsa, we should add an enchantment," Rumple replied, as he waved his hand over the ring and a tiny snowflake appeared inside the ring. Leo grinned.

"You're right...that's even better. I'll take it," he said.

"Have you told your parents yet?" Belle asked.

"Not yet...I'm going to propose first and then we'll tell them. I figure that will be the easiest way to make sure my Mom only throws one party," Leo joked. Belle giggled.

"You laugh, but I'm serious. If I tell her before, she'll want to throw a pre-engagement party, an engagement party, and then a post engagement party," he added.

"She's not that bad," Belle chided.

"Yes she is," Rumple chimed in.

"You know he's right. She did a carnival when Henry graduated and wanted us to all sing at Emma's wedding," he reminded, as they chuckled. Leo paid for the ring and Belle found a small, blue velvet box for it.

"Congratulations," she offered.

"She hasn't said yes yet," he reminded, but Belle only smiled.

"But she will," she said confidently. He grinned and waved, as he left to be on his way back to the reserve.

~*~

The three of them waited for Snow to finish getting ready, as she had picked out their attire before getting ready herself. Their clothing was made of much lighter and airy material than they were used to, but they definitely looked the part of visiting dignitaries participating in local dress. Snow came out in a crimson satin dress that had gold accents. The dress was sleeveless and she wore a tiara, signifying her status as a visiting Queen.

"Wow…" David uttered as he put his arms around her and she did some admiring of her own, as his own crimson tunic dipped in a v His tunic was a mix of satin and cloth, with gold accents and his black pants were cloth as well, since the climate was a bit too warm for leather. Summer's dress was very similar to Snow's, except it was a deep purple color with silver accents. And Bobby wore a very similar outfit to David's too, only his

Dark blue with silver accents.

With that, they exited their chambers and made their way to the main dining hall. The Sultan was seated at the head of the table, to which Snow and David offered a bow of respect. Their two children followed suit and the Sultan waved them over.

"It is wonderful to welcome you both back to my Kingdom. Last time, we did not get to celebrate how you helped save my Kingdom from Abis Mal and Jafar," the Sultan praised.

"We're excited that we could finally return too, Your Majesty," Snow said.

"You have brought your young ones," he mentioned, as he took interest in the children.

"Yes, Your Majesty. This is our daughter Summer and our son Bobby," David replied, as their children bowed respectfully.

"Welcome young ones...perhaps you'll join me in a treat of a little baklava," he said, motioning to the plate of confections in front of him. Summer and Bobby smiled, as they tried some, as the Sultan enjoyed some too.

"Father...not too many sweets. It's not good for you," Jasmine chided.

"Bah...I'm an old man, my daughter. If I'm going to go...then I'm going to go enjoying myself," he argued. She sighed.

"Do you know what his illness is?" Snow whispered to her.

"No...but Aladdin says he has suspicions from his time in your land," she replied.

"He's always thirsty, his sight is diminishing...so if I had to guess, he's at least diabetic and I'm sure there are a slew of other things, most of which are at least treatable back in Storybrooke," Aladdin told them.

"You know he'd never agree to go. That's why he's been busy making preparations changing the laws," Jasmine added.

"Changing the laws?" Snow asked. Jasmine smiled.

"Well, as you know, Agrabah has a bit of a chauvinistic past. Aladdin and I are married now, but even though I am royal by blood, the current law would not allow me to become Sultan. It must be a man or my husband," she explained.

"Which isn't fair. Jasmine deserves to lead Agrabah. I'm more than happy to rule with her, but I don't want a job that should definitely be hers simply because I'm a man," Aladdin added, as they shared a smile.

"She loves this Kingdom and her people. She should be Sultan," he said.

"Father agrees. I told him that we could improve his health if we visited Storybrooke, but he does not like the idea of traveling to another realm," Jasmine replied. Snow and Charming exchanged a glance.

"What if we told you that there is a way that you might not have to and that modern medicine could soon be available to all your people, regardless of income or class?" Snow questioned. Jasmine looked at her in surprise.

"I'd want to know how," she replied.

"Me too," the Sultan chimed in, as Snow nodded and began to explain her plan for uniting the realms.

~*~

The Queen regarded the woman, as she swept into the room.

"Mim...let me guess, you're here because of Merlin," she stated. At the mention of that name, Madam Mim nearly got red faced and stalked toward the newcomer.

"Don't tell me that smooth talking hack is the reason you're here too?" she questioned. The Queen smirked.

"No...I'm sure you'll be happy to know that he's dead. I'm here, because of a good-hearted, fair little princess that has a big mouth and the true love she shares with her idiot husband," the Queen answered. Mim smirked.

"Defeated by true love...how embarrassing," she teased. The Queen clenched her teeth.

"This was no ordinary true love...this was a love championed by the Gods of Olympus," the Queen snarled.

"Let me guess...the truest love in all the realms," a voice said distastefully. The Queen looked intrigued by his obvious knowledge.

"Yes...how did you know?" she questioned.

"Because I was once a proud warrior and brother in arms to Nezha or better known as the mighty Dragon King," he replied.

"Ah...one half of the second pair of truest loves," she recalled.

"Yes...we were brothers in arms and we conquered the lands. The people worshiped us like the dragon Gods we were...until she came along and changed him," he spat.

"My mother always told me that love is weakness," the Queen said.

"And it was for him. She was a Princess from a mysterious island Kingdom and softened his heart. They married and began a benevolent rule. I was constantly chastised for my violent nature. But the last straw was when that Olympus harlot deemed me unworthy of being their Guardian. Instead, Sun Wu, a legendary dragon warrior was chosen as the Guardian instead," he explained.

"He was an incredible warrior, but a simpleton. I challenged him in battle and lost. The Dragon King cast me out and I was exiled through a portal he opened up using his Dragon staff. I ended up here," he continued.

"Sounds similar to my exile. The next truest loves saw to it that I was exiled too," she responded.

"Then we have much in common. I am Shan Yu," he introduced.

"The Evil Queen," she said. Amora scoffed.

"There is no way love could be that powerful...it's absurd," she commented.

"I'd like to agree, but I'm afraid they are quite powerful and to the point that it defies logic most of the time," the Queen reasoned, as she clenched her fist.

"What I wouldn't give to find a way to return to Storybrooke and crush them both," she hissed.

"That won't be happening. If you haven't noticed, there is no escape from this place," Mephisto chimed in.

"Or perhaps there is…" Mim interjected.

"What are you talking about? Not even the all powerful supposed great Pharaoh is able to escape this place," Amora retorted.

"Before now, it would have been impossible...but now there may be hope," Mim responded.

"Hope...please don't use that word," the Queen said distastefully, but she was ignored.

"By hope..you mean there might actually be a way to return to a living world?" Mephisto questioned with great interest.

"We were always told it was impossible," Amora agreed.

"It was...until now," Mim stated, as she looked at the Queen.

"As much as I'd like to leave whatever this place is...I don't know how," she refuted.

"We will not be leaving this place," a new voice said. It was deep and powerful, which matched the imposing figure that entered the room. The man wore a typical looking armor and head dress that one might expect of an ancient Pharaoh. He held a gold and blue scepter in his hand. The top of the staff had a frightening bronzed jackal head with glowing emerald eyes and the end of the scepter had a forked end.

"We will be taking this place with us when you cast another curse, Queen Regina," he continued.

"And who are you exactly?" she questioned in return. Mim shot a pulse of magic at the Queen and forced her to her knees before him.

"Show some respect!" she demanded.

"It is okay, Mim...she has a right to know the identity of the man that will soon be the Supreme ruler of the remaining nine realms from which we hail," he said, as the Queen got to her feet.

"I am Seth...ancient God of evil. Ten thousand years ago, the Olympians could not kill me, so they banished me here to Nephilim. But with your help, Queen Regina, we can all have our revenge on the heroes that have wronged us..."

~*~

"And that, is essentially the plan we are proposing to all the Kingdoms. It's a chance to unite our Kingdoms and provide the best life for all our people. The land that Storybrooke resides in has unique advantages that this one doesn't," Snow purported.

"And you expect us to believe that this medical science, as you call it, can treat the Sultan's ailments and succeed where magic potions have not?" The Sultan's new Vizier questioned.

"Magic can do a great many things, some that possibly even science cannot. But when it comes to medicine, the advancements we have in Storybrooke are superior," Snow said.

"She's right...our daughter is a true prodigy when it comes to medicine and has a gift like none that has ever been seen. She combines the practices of magic and science to a level that is nothing short of remarkable. If anyone can help improve the Sultan's health and quality of life, as well as the lives and health of all the people, it's our daughter Eva and our son-in-law, Paul," David added.

"And there are more benefits than just medicine. Long ago, all the ten realms in our sector were one. We do not know what cataclysm tore them apart, but we feel that it is our duty to unite the realms as they once were and we feel that this will create a lasting peace," Snow implored.

"And you lived in this place for many years, Aladdin?" The Sultan questioned. He smiled.

"I did, Your Majesty, and I can attest that it's true. The educational opportunities alone make it worth it, but the medicine and technology improve people's lives. What are considered serious ailments to us here are minor, treatable, and sometimes even preventable diseases there," Aladdin stated.

"And from my little time there, it seemed like a wonderful place to raise a family," Jasmine added.

"As future Sultan, it is your decision, my daughter," the Sultan said, as he smiled at her.

"And my support is behind this completely," he added. Jasmine smiled and hugged him.

"Then you can count on Agrabah wanting a part in this relocation," she announced, as she and Snow hugged.

"This calls for celebration!" The Sultan announced, as music began to play. Snow and David didn't waste an opportunity and joined Aladdin and Jasmine, as well as many others, on the dance floor to participate in a traditional Agrabahn dance.

~*~

That evening, after putting the children to bed, Rose and Fandral took an evening stroll through their lush gardens in the palace courtyard. Rose loved being in the gardens at any time, but under the moonlight was possibly her favorite time, for her favorite flower always bloomed in the moonlight. The midnight Irises were a rare breed that only grew, as a rule, in the edge of realms. But on one of their many journeys there, they had brought some seeds back with them and cultivated them in her garden. They were not easy to grow and required a lot of tending to, but she loved days where she got to spend so much time in the gardens. It was where they had fallen in love, after all and realized their feelings. So spending an evening in her husband's arms among the blooming midnight Irises was the definition of the perfect evening.

Fandral gently trailed soft kisses along her neck, as they lay together on a blanket beneath the stars.

"I love you so much…" he rasped, as he still marveled at how perfectly she fit in his arms.

"I still do not know who smiled upon me and deemed me worthy of you, my angel," he added.

"I got pretty lucky myself, my handsome warrior. I don't like to think about what would have happened to me had you not come into my life. My Uncle might have succeeded into forcing me into a loveless marriage with some horrible Duke or Lord of some kind," she told him.

"Mmm...perhaps we can say that we saved each other. I know that you saved me and not just from a mortal wound. You've made me a better man," he confessed.

"And you've made me happier than I ever imagined," she said, as their lips met passionately.

"Mmm...do you know what tomorrow is?" She asked playfully.

"Oh, I could never forget. It is exactly twenty-years since you gave me true love's kiss, broke that dreadful curse, and we escaped the Land of Untold Stories," he replied. She smiled, as he kissed her again.

"That day started out very scary, but it had a very happy ending," she recalled fondly, as she remembered their escape and then a very extended reunion once they made it through the portal.

~*~

Flashback

Twenty-years ago

The muscles in her legs burned in protest, as she and Hyde ran beyond the marketplace and into the vast woods surrounding the asylum. Her heart pounded in her chest and her breathing was ragged, but she would not stop, for the life of her beloved hung in the balance. Hyde pulled her along, as he could run much faster and cover greater lengths with his longer legs. She heard a ferocious roar in the distance and the sound of arrows thwacking into what she could only hope were trees.

They finally reached the next clearing, where three hunters had a monstrous looking bear cornered.

"STOP!" Rose pleaded, as they threaded their arrows again. But she was ignored. Hyde stepped forward.

"You will call off your arrows now," he ordered.

"You may rule the asylum, warden, but out here...this is our domain," one of them spat in return. Hyde advanced and the man shot an arrow, which was easily caught by the former and broken in half like nothing.

"If you do not want to find yourselves locked up in my asylum, then you will stand down," he growled. The three of them backed away, as Rose cautiously approached the bear.

"Fandral…" she uttered.

"That wench is crazy!" one of the hunter's exclaimed, capturing the bear's attention, as it growled.

"The next word any of you utter will be your last if you speak again," Hyde threatened, silencing them.

"Fandral...please…" Rose pleaded. The bear looked at her intently and slowly sat back on his haunches. She smiled.

"Yes Fandral...it's me," she said softly. She heard Hyde grimace behind her and hold her head.

"Rose...you must break the curse. Hurry…" he pleaded, as Jekyll started to fight his way out. She turned back and saw the bear gazing at her with a tenderness.

"You'll need this...to escape back to your land! I...acquired it for you," Hyde bit out, as he struggled to get the words out and tossed the ornate looking key at her feet. She picked it up and looked back at the bear, just as Jekyll emerged.

"No...kill it!" the ordered, as the hunters raised their bows. But Rose's lips touched the bear's nose and a wave of rainbow magic exploded forth from them. There was a blinding flash then, as the bear morphed into a humanoid form, breaking the curse on Fandral and returning him to his true state.

"Rose…" he breathed. Tears slipped down her cheeks.

"Fandral…" she squeaked, as he took her in his arms again at last.

"No...Rose, we belong together!" Jekyll pleaded. She looked at him with fear and tears in her eyes, as she clung to her beloved.

"Rose...who is this?" Fandral asked.

"He is someone I thought was a friend...but turned out to be a monster," she answered.

"Hyde is the monster! He's turned you against me, please Rose!" Jekyll pleaded, as he stepped toward them. In a move that was almost faster than the eye could see, Fandral brandished his sword and kept the doctor at bay. But the look in Jekyll's eyes was pure madness.

"Shoot him!" the doctor ordered to the hunters. They raised their bows, but Fandral expertly blocked all the arrows with his sword.

"You'll have to do better than that against an Asgardian, gents," Fandral commented, as Rose used the key Hyde had given her and a glowing doorway appeared.

"My love…" she called, as he took her hand and they fled through the door, leaving the crazed doctor behind. Jekyll let out a cry of anguish and frustration.

The door opened and deposited them back in their homeland and Rose nearly collapsed in relief against her husband.

"Oh Rose…" he uttered, as he swept her into his arms and spun her around.

"You saved me...again!" he exclaimed, but noticed the haunted look in her eyes.

"I've missed you…" she cried brokenly, as he held her tightly.

"Oh my angel...what has happened? Who was that man? Did he hurt you?" Fandral asked, with an edge in his voice at the last question. If that bespectacled man had hurt her, then he would use that key to return and avenge his beloved.

"No...he tried. It's a long story, but I'm fine," she assured, but he didn't look convinced.

"Please my love...I finally have you back and that is all I need," she promised, as he pulled her close again.

"I want you to tell me everything that has happened," he said, as he cupped her beautiful face in his hands.

"There will be no bottling your feelings on this...I'm here now. You saved me and I shall save you from the emotional turmoil that I sense in you, my darling Rose," he added. A few tears slipped down her cheeks and she relished his embrace, almost wondering if she was dreaming. The last few months without him had been excruciating, especially the cold nights. But that was over now and she knew that everything she had gone through was worth it for him. And now she could take comfort in him.

"I will tell you everything...but right now I just want you to hold me and kiss me," she requested and he gladly obliged, as he held her flush against him and kissed her with wanton passion.

"And I want to find a quiet place to camp for the night under the stars and then I want my husband to make love to me," she added desperately when their lips parted. And she wasn't surprised when he swept her into his arms like she weighed nothing and carried her off into the forest.

~*~

Rose's cheeks still colored at the memories of that impassioned night beneath the stars. The next day, they had revealed that they were back to their allies and waged the attack on her evil Uncle. They had won the battle and forced him and Sir Hiss to flee the realm. They took her Kingdom back and began what was a prosperous rule.

"You helped me through what Jekyll almost did to me and I will help you through the emotions I know you are feeling at what your people have gone through," she promised, as she rested her head on his shoulder. He smiled and kissed her hair.

"I know you will, my angel. I know I can get through anything with you by my side," he promised in return, as they continued to gaze up at the stars, safely ensconced in each other's protective embrace...

#Snowing #SnowxCharming #Charming family #OC Charmings #original season 8 storyline #the united realms #Fandral the Dashing #Rose Red #Dashing Rose #background Rumbelle #background OQ #background CS #romance #adventure #family #finding you always #the epic continues

[immortalcockroach]

THE END IS JUST A BAD DREAM | BELLARKE, MODERN AU

Bellamy Blake has many bad habits, but his worst is falling for girls he can't have. 

At twenty-four, Bellamy’s life consists of bars, gigs, park benches and—if he’s lucky—friend’s couches. It’s been two years since his life shattered into pieces around him and he still hasn’t started picking them up. 

For two years, Bellamy’s been good. Good stops being enough when he meets Clarke, a girl whose life is in the process of shattering, and somehow the two of them collect their own pieces to help the other, and themselves in the process. 

For all it’s worth, Clarke is off limits – but it might be this time that his bad habit is truly stopping him from getting the glue that would finally mend his life.        

This was inspired by the Coen brothers’ Inside Llewyn Davis. It’s an indie drama about a folk artist who has a horrible love life and is homeless and some elements are going to feature in this fic. If you’ve seen it, then you know exactly what kind of mood I’m going for with this fic.

Now, this is a mature fic. I’m fairly certain there will be no smut, but it’s mature as it’s dealing with topics such as homelessness, alcoholism, depression, PTSD, and abortion. These trigger warnings are spoilery, yes, but I want to make sure no one reading the fic is uncomfortable with these subjects.

Fret not, this isn’t an entirely dark fic, but these themes are important so I just needed to get that out there. I’m trying to approach this as seriously as possible. But I mean, Bellamy’s great with his guitar (he plays rock) and he’s definitely going to serenade Clarke at some point. (Spoiler: it’s in the very first chapter.)

So far, there’s only one chapter and since this fic is what I like to consider the most important thing I’ve written in my life, I’ll try to write some more before beginning to post it. Also, I’m currently looking for betas for this so if you read the first chapter and think this might be up your alley, message me.

Below the cut is an excerpt and all the lovely tagged people. 

THE END IS JUST A BAD DREAM

‘dirty fingernails, same as your mind, but he could strum the guitar just fine, every now and then he’d think about his life, daydreamin’ just to pass the time’

His fingers slide across the neck of the guitar, the tips hard and rough from a lifetime spent on the strings. They change positions and the chords like dancers, applying pressure in all the right places. The other hand strums the same strings with a black, leather guitar pick in a dazing rhythm. On the verses, the pick rests and his fingers slide between the strings, tugging at them in an elaborate, dark manner. His voice is hoarse, deep and lazy, captivating in the way it soaks in emotion during some parts, and is dry at others.

Shaggy hair and worn out clothes, he is just the type of person who plays at the pub, unnoticed by any of the guests. There is nothing memorable about him, from his week-old stubble and greasy hair, grey shirt with tiny holes throughout it and his leather jacket with as many patches as there are years behind him, to his decades-old guitar accompanied by his melodic voice that blends in with the chatter, as if arising from within the dark walls of the bar.

He finishes the set and few people clap. There’s beer already waiting for him at the bar and he sits down, watching as a kid in his late teens takes his spot, still a bright, nervous smile on his face. He greets the crowd, cheerfully, his face falling when hardly a head so much as turns in his direction.

The guy at the bar takes a sip of his beer, looking away from him when the kid begins his set, a dark smile creeping onto his lips. He slouches, both elbows on the wooden countertop, one hand laying on it with fingers tapping in the upbeat rhythm of the boy’s song, and the other holding a beer to his lips, never setting it down.

One of the boys who works here as an all-in-one approaches him with an almost empty tin. He takes it, throws all the money on the bar and gives the tin back to the boy, staring at the few coins without a word.

That barely amounts to twenty dollars, and that’s if he’s lucky. Five one-dollar bills, one fiver, and several dozen coins. He scoops it all up except for the fiver, sliding them into the one pocket of his jeans that doesn’t have a hole at the bottom. It clangs against his beat-up, five-years-old phone.

He listens to the people. Most of the chatter is incomprehensible from the distance and blends together, like white noise for his thoughts. Some things he can pick apart, though – the voices he’s heard in more than a dozen visits to the Bunker, gigs or not. They talk about shitty politics like the rednecks they are, or complain about the weather or politics upstate. They whine about their wives and bad beer and neighbours who shoot their rifles at odd hours in the night, and praise hunting.

Some of his songs, he picked up here. They are snippets of conversations between life-long friends, or a man whose mistress had just found out she’s the other woman. Occasionally, people come here after they have been broken up with, and he listens, creating songs about them inside his head.

By the time he finishes his beer, the kid is just taking a break in the middle of a set. It’s his first time, judging by the lack of blood in his face and his feet shaking as he stands beside him, asking for a glass of water.

The kid looks at him. “You were great.”

All he gets is an empty glass of beer raised in a toast.

“Bellamy,” says the girl behind a bar, in a tender voice. “You should get some rest.”

The bartender is leaning against the bar, looking at him with the curves of her lips turned upwards. Her smile reaches her eyes and the look makes him not let his eyes wander to her chest, which is showing the slightest bit of skin.

Her smile drops a little and there’s the slight wrinkle between her brows when she frowns, studying him. “If you need somewhere to—”

Before she can finish, he slides her the fiver.

He doesn’t wait for the change. The night outside the bar is cold and harsh, cold wind nipping at his nose already. He wraps his scarf around his lower part of the face and tucks his hands into the pockets, his guitar hanging off his shoulder in its case.

His pace is slow, prolonging the walk to the park for about three, four minutes. He’s humming to himself the songs he never plays, and his fingers strum inside his pockets. There’s an old Johnny Cash song that crosses his mind next and when he closes his eyes, his shaky lips flutter even more. His leg muscles ache and his feet are swollen so when he finally reaches the park, he props them up on a bench he’s sitting on.

It’s a quiet park. It’s even quieter now, at nearly midnight on a Tuesday, when most residents are asleep or in the comfort of their homes, if they aren’t drinking themselves senseless while people, like him, sing to them. Polis is not really big for a park, so from where he’s sitting, in the very heart of it, he can almost see its every edge. There are wooden benches scattered around the place and several sycamore trees planted in ideal spots for people to sit under them, or have the whole view of Arkadia.

Now, these benches are slowly being covered in a thin layer of snow, soon to turn the park into a winter wonderland.

A few benches from him sits a girl. She’s wearing a crimson set of a beanie, scarf, gloves, and a black coat, shielding her face from him. Her hands venture into her pocket and take out a paper tissue, which she uses to blow her nose – not in the way people do when they’re cold. He then notices it’s far from the only tissue around her.

He’s never known how to deal with crying girls who aren’t his sister. This one isn’t his problem, but he can’t help thinking if she’s here, crying on a Tuesday night, maybe she’s just alone as he is – even though her clothes tell him she’s not in the same situation as he is.

So he does the only thing he’s good at – he takes out his guitar and strums it.

For a while, his fingers are playing a song of their own. His mind is wandering and he doesn’t know what to play for her. He’s bad at covering songs and none of his own seem appropriate, so he lets his brain go to a different place.

He’s not worried about her. He doesn’t particularly care, either. It’s simply that he’s cold and playing the guitar is going to warm him up, and she gets a free show.

continue reading

i’m tagging people who might be interested (and i couldn’t tag everyone for whatever reason): @the-most-beautiful-broom @283livesforone @starrydilemma @ivegotyoufor-that @diyozaa @sunnyemori  @sjh-07-10 @kickthatassgirl @youve-got-a-big-heart @batdonthavenicknamecallmequinn @brooke-b23 @shadowheron2013 @octannibal-blake @clarkegriffintitties @divergentseagreengirl @isaweetdreamworld @veeshthefrog @halfbloodduchess @bella-my-blake @meh-g @megggggglmao @b3ach-waves @bellarke-stydia-olicity @forevery0ungggg @autumnessprime @aromanticcomedies @garfieldyke  @mommabeargriffin  @claire3534

#my fic #bellarke #the 100 #bellamy blake #clarke griffin #bellamy x clarke #bellarke fic #ff: bellarke #the 100 fic #the 100 fanfiction #bellarke fanfiction #gina martin #finn collins #raven reyes #roan kom azgeda #octavia blake #lincoln kom trikru #linctavia #flarke #these tags are about all relationships/characters in this fic not just baiting #zeke shaw #miles shaw #miles ezekiel shaw #roana #jasper jordan #monty green #harty #marper #memori #emori kom spacekru

[imjustthemechanic]

Natalie Jones and the Golden Ship

Part 1/? - A Meeting at the Palace Part 2/? - Curry Talk Part 3/? - Princess Sitamun

Operation Move the Mummy gets underway, and Natasha meets a rather intriguing man on the train.

It was nearly a month later, towards the end of October with the weather unseasonably cold, when the CAAP gathered again at Folkestone.  They arrived in time to see the coffin of Sitamun loaded onto the train to go through the Chunnel.

There wasn’t very much to see.  When Nat and Allen had gone to the museum, the coffin had been on display inside a temperature-controlled glass case with guards on either side of it.  It was one of the most precious things in the entire collection, some thirty-five hundred years old and carved from a single enormous block of alabaster.  The hieroglyphics that decorated the outside were gilded and inlaid with semi-precious stones, and even in the dim lighting and surrounded by other priceless artefacts, it was breathtaking.

The mummy inside hadn’t fared as well as its container.  Princess Sitamun had been unwrapped at a Victorian party, and her various custodians over the years had kept her in attics, garden sheds, and even a smoking lounge before the museum finally got charge of her.  Rather than being black and leathery, like mummies were supposed to, she was grayish-brown and covered with frayed cracks, like fake leather that had been left out in the elements.  Conservators in Egypt were eager to have a look at her, hoping that their expertise and their country’s dry climate could stop her deteriorating any further.

None of this was visible from the train station in Folkestone, though.  Sitamun and her magnificent sarcophagus had been carefully packed up in an enormous crate that was now being lifted, very slowly and gently, by a crane.  A few reporters were taking pictures while more men waited nervously on the platform to guide the load into the cargo car.

“I wouldn’t like to be any of those guys,” Clint observed as they stood on a balcony to watch.  “The Post said the mummy’s insured for sixty million pounds.  No pressure, huh?”

“Does the insurance cover curses?” asked Sam.  “Or is that just how the company’s planning to get out of paying if anything happens?”

Sharon, always ready to look things up, was reading something on her phone.  “It better,” she said, “because according to Wikipedia this particular mummy is extremely cursed.”

“Really?”  Sam leaned to look over her shoulder.

“Yeah.  They’ve got a whole list of victims here,” Sharon said, her thumb flicking as she scrolled down.  “Okay, so after it was stolen from Egypt by Napoleon’s troops in 1799, the mummy was brought to England in the 1840’s by a guy called Nicolas Desrosiers.  He suddenly died a week later, and the mummy disappeared, but it turned up again in 1865 in the collection of a guy named Sir Richard Hart.  He announced he would be putting it on display, then fell from a horse and broke his neck the very next day.”

“It didn’t kill anybody in the twenty years in between,” Sam observed.

“Yeah, but then it made up for lost time,” said Sharon.  “Hart left the mummy to his daughter Evelyn, who died in childbirth the next year, along with her infant son.  It then belonged to her husband, who’s supposed to have choked to death on a grape.  He left it to his brother, who had a heart attack at the funeral, and his widow was so scared of it she immediately sold it to another collector, who developed a gambling addiction, bet the mummy and lost, and hanged himself.  The guy who won it from him supposedly had his house burn down and the coffin was the only thing that survived the fire.  By 1900 it was supposed to have killed over twenty people and its last owner donated it to the museum.  It didn’t do him any good, since he was mugged and shot the day after.”

“Yikes,” said Allen.

“How much of that is true?” Natasha asked.  Wikipedia, after all, was something anyone could edit.

“I have no idea,” said Sharon.  “A lot of these people have their own articles so they must have really existed, and it looks like none of them after Hart owned the mummy longer than ten years before something awful happened.”

“Life was short and dangerous back then,” Nat pointed out.

“It was indeed,” Sir Stephen agreed.  “Particularly for women.  The Abbess at Rogsey told me once that for a woman to bear a child required more courage than for a knight to go into battle, for the risk to her life was greater.”  Nobody else was looking in the right direction, but Natasha saw him put a hand on Sharon’s back.

“What about the museum?” asked Nat.  “It’s had her more than a century.  Did anything happen there?”

“Looks like no,” said Sharon.  “The list ends there.  So if there’s a curse, I guess it’s only invoked when the mummy is privately owned.”

“I guess I wouldn’t want anyone showing off my corpse, either,” said Sam.

Very slowly, the crane set the crate containing the coffin down on the train car.  Men moved in to strap it down.  The guy who’d been running the crane stepped down out of the cab, tottering as if he were about to fall over.  A co-worker clapped him on the back, shook his hand, and handed him a bottle of beer.

That was the CAAP’s cue to leave their vantage point and board the passenger cars.  They grabbed their coats and carry-ons, and headed down the stairs.

“Even if the mummy does decide to get up and cause trouble, it’ll have a hard time getting out of its coffin with all those crates and straps around it,” Sam observed as they descended.

“In movies mummies don’t tend to care about those things,” said Nat.  “I’d be more worried that if she tries she’ll just disintegrate.  She looked in pretty bad shape when Allen and I saw her.”

On the platform, the group split in two to board the train.  Sir Stephen, Sharon, and Sam went on the car behind the mummy, while Nat, Clint, and Allen were on the one in front.  Other than them, the cars were almost empty.  No commuters or vacation-goers were allowed on this train, just the mummy and a variety of specialists, guards, and conservators who were there to look after it, and a few reporters who’d gotten special permission from the museums in both London and Cairo to cover the move.

People weren’t normally allowed weapons of any sort on the Chunnel trains, but the guards had guns, and Sharon’s police revolver was in its holster under her jacket.  Clint had also brought his archery equipment, having upgraded from Robin Hood’s medieval longbow to a modern Hoyt Buffalo.  He settled down in a window seat, and put the bow and quiver next to him.

“New arrows,” Allen realized, pointing to them.  Clint used several different types all identifiable to the touch by the texture of the fletching.  Today there were several unfamiliar types.

“Yeah, I hit up those kids at Shrivenham for some more of the trick ones,” Clint said.  “At first I figured exploding arrows would take care of a mummy, no trouble, but then I remembered we’re gonna be in a tunnel under the ocean.  You don’t want a fire in there.  So instead, I got these.”  He pulled one out and held it up, showing a capsule of something in place of a head.  “Liquid nitrogen.  It’ll freeze the mummy solid, and we can just smash it.”

“Smart,” said Natasha, nodding.  “Although the Egyptians will never forgive us.”  She and Allen sat down in the row behind Clint.

“They’ll still get their coffin back,” said Clint.  “That’s the expensive part.  I also got this, for the boat ride.”  The mummy, train car and all, would be loaded on a cargo ship for the journey from Istanbul to Cairo.  Clint showed them an arrow with a fishhook tip.

“What’s that?” Nat asked.

“A fishing arrow, obviously!” said Clint.  “You fire it into the water, and when something bites, it’s got a line to reel it back in!”

Natasha laughed.  “You really think you’re gonna use that?” she asked.

“I don’t know, but it’s damn cool,” Clint replied, sliding it back into his quiver.

A couple more people got on board, including one man who came and took a seat right across the aisle from Natasha and Allen.  He was in his thirties, with blue eyes and short brown hair, and a bit of beard stubble.  He was wearing a blue jacket and carrying a sports bag, and he put both of them into the overhead compartment before sitting down and leaning across the aisle to talk to Natasha.

“You’re Dr. Jones, right?” he asked.  His accent was American.

“Yes, that’s me,” said Nat.

The man offered a hand.  “I’m Jim Barnes from the New York Times.  I’m covering the story.”

“Nice to meet you,” Natasha said guardedly.  Internally she was bracing herself.  Reporters who talked to her were interested in one of two things – either her past as a spy, or, in the last week or so, the story of Sitamun’s curse.

“They’re talking about this all the way to New York?” asked Allen.

“They sure are,” said Barnes.  “We’ve got a lot of Egyptian stuff in the Museum of Natural History and in the Met, and people are worried we’ll be expected to do the same kind of ‘gesture’ for Egypt as the Brits are.  The Bugle had a headline demanding to know if we’ll have to send back Cleopatra’s Needle next.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Natasha said.  “I’m an archaeologist, not a politician.”

“Mm-hm.”  Barnes pulled out a digital recorder.  “Well, would you mind telling me, as an archaeologist, who was Princess Sitamun and how she ended up in England?  I figure that’s a way more interesting and education angle on this than any of the curse stuff or the politics.”

Nat relaxed a little.  “Sure,” she said.   “Although I’m not an Egyptologist, so this is just what I’ve managed to learn from textbooks and the people at the V&A.”

“That’s all right,” said Barnes.  “Tell me.”

As the train pulled out of the station and headed into the yawning mouth of the Chunnel, Nat decided to begin at the beginning.  “Well,” she said, “Sitamun was the daughter of a pharaoh of the seventeenth dynasty, around 1580 BCE.  We don’t know very much about her.  She married her brother Ahmose, who was supposed to be next in line for the throne, but she died before he was crowned…”

Barnes seemed honestly interested in what she was telling him, asking questions and nodding along – but halfway through her impromptu lecture, she heard snoring, and looked over to see that Clint had fallen asleep.

“Am I that dull?” asked Nat.

“No, you’re not.”  Barnes touched her arm and smiled at her.  “Not at all.  Keep talking.”

As they rumbled along in the dark, Nat found herself wondering what Sir Stephen, Sharon, and Sam were doing or talking about in the car ahead.  Sir Stephen would probably be interested in the Chunnel – among the first things he’d commented on about the future was what ingenious engineers the people here were.  The idea of a tunnel under the English Channel was one he’d probably find both impressive and terrifying, since it theoretically left the islands open to invasion from the mainland.  That had been one of the main objections to building it, since the idea was first proposed in the nineteenth century.

“So if you don’t believe in mummy curses,” Barnes said, “what are you doing here?  Because that’s what all the tabloids are talking about – the UK government is so scared of the mummy’s curse they sent along the people who defeated Totenkopf.”

Nat sighed.  “We’re a precaution,” she said.  “They’re just trying to plan for everything.”

“Are you going all the way to Egypt?” Jim asked next.

“We’re planning to,” she said.  “All the way to meet Dr. Mostafa in Cairo.”

Barnes nodded.  “I’ve been to Cairo before, actually,” he said, giving her a cockeyed smile.  “I know a couple of places there.  Maybe once we arrive and you’re done with your mummy-sitting and I’m done with my article-writing, you could come and have a drink with me?”

#fanfic #natasha romanov #steve rogers #sharon carter #clint barton #sam wilson #bucky barnes

[emjenenla]

I'm Holding On; Why is Everything so Heavy? [a SoC Fanfic]

Modern AU. Kaz knew he only was only asking because he thought he was supposed to. Most people were like that; Kaz’s multiple lives and many secrets relied on it.

Warnings: violence, panic attacks, PTSD, mentions of car accidents, near drowning, sex trafficking

Title: I'm Holding On; Why is Everything so Heavy?

Author: Emjen Enla (Fanfiction)/emjenenla (Tumblr)

Teaser: Modern AU. Kaz knew he only was only asking because he thought he was supposed to. Most people were like that; Kaz’s multiple lives and many secrets relied on it.

Rating: PG-13/T

Canon/Timeline: Modern AU; same general time frame as SoC (Kaz is seventeen, Jordie is four years older which means he’s twenty-one)

Dominant Characters: Kaz Brekker, Inej Ghafa, Jordie Rietveld, appearances by Jesper Fahey, Nina Zenik, Alina Starkov, Per Haskell, mentions of Pekka Rollins, Jan Van Eck, Wylan Van Eck, Mal Oretsev, one OC, various others

Pairings: technically more Kaz & Inej friendship than legitimate Kanej, mentions of Wesper

Warnings: violence, panic attacks, PTSD, mentions of car accidents, near drowning, sex trafficking

Notes:

- Long story short, I became obsessed with the idea of Kaz in a hoodie riding a subway with earbuds in so no one would try to talk to him and this fic happened. I hope you all enjoy. :)

-Special thanks to wylanvanwreck on AO3 and their story The Mighty Dregs as well as a post by @crows-and-co. Both formed the basis of the thought experiment that became Kaz in this AU.

-Also, why is Jordie in the Fanfiction archive character list as Joshie R.?

Disclaimer: I don’t own Six of Crows or “Heavy” by Linkin Park (the song I got the title from)

--

Kaz knew that his day was officially a bust when he had a panic attack in third period.

Okay, technically he didn’t have a panic attack in third period. He realized it was going to happen and fled to the bathroom, where he locked himself in a stall and waited until he could breathe again. The bathroom was thankfully empty. If someone heard him, one of two horrible things would happen; he’s be pitied or mocked. He’d lost a lot of his bully shielding when he’d cleaned up his school presence during the switch to high school. That change had been necessary both for Jordie’s peace of mind and to keep Kaz Rietveld and the Dregs lieutenant Brekker separate. Of course, that meant that he’d gone from that scary kid who smoked weed behind the school to a crippled AP student who no one thought could fight back.

Even worse than bullies would be if some well-meaning student told the nurse. Marya Hendriks was one of the nicest people on earth and she meant well, but if she figured out about the panic attacks she’d tell Jordie. Kaz had been hiding his admittedly shaky mental health from Jordie basically since the accident that killed their parents. He knew that was a bad idea in the long run, but it didn’t change the fact that therapy and meds cost money which was something the tragically orphaned Rietveld brothers did not have.

So he hid alone in the bathroom until almost the end of the class period before he admitted to himself that he had to go back. He felt shaky and a little panicky, but he was standing by the sink washing his hands when Jesper came in.

“What are you doing here?” Kaz asked. “You’re supposed to be in class.”

“So are you,” Jesper said. “You’ve been gone a long time. Are you sick?”

Jesper was Kaz’s oldest friend, though they didn’t spend as much time together as they once had. If asked Kaz would blame that on Jesper starting to date Wylan, though he knew it was at least partially because of the Dregs and the ever-lengthening list of things that Jesper didn’t know about.

“I’m fine,” Kaz said drying his hands and brushing past the other boy. “Did Dryden manage to explain anything today?”

“I don’t understand it,” Jesper said. “And neither does anyone else. Can you tutor me after school?”

“Lunch or tomorrow morning,” Kaz said. “I’m busy tonight.”

“Fine, lunch then,” Jesper sighed. He liked to have his lunch periods and he hated getting up early. “I honestly don’t get how you’re the only one who doesn’t get confused by Dryden. Everyone else is struggling.”

“That’s because I’ve long since accepted that Dryden doesn’t know how to do algebra and I don’t try to understand what he’s teaching,” Kaz said. “I still get all the right answers, so there’s nothing he can do to me.”

They reached the algebra classroom. Kaz’s bad leg was killing him after all the time spent curled up in the bathroom stall. He really should have been using a cane, but when the injury had first happened he’d refused. He’d come around to it after joining the Dregs because it turned out a cane was a pretty good weapon. Unfortunately, since the cane was now connected to Brekker, Kaz Rietveld couldn’t start using one.

Kaz opened the door just as the bell rang and students began pour out. He stuffed his hands into the big pocket of his black hoodie and tried not to hunch his shoulders to obviously. Touch aversion was on the list of things he’d pretended to get over to keep from worrying Jordie, in reality it was hard to shake the horror of being trapped with his parents’ bodies in a car that was slowly filling with water. The negligent and painful treatment he’d received from the doctors afterwards hadn’t helped either.

Kaz twisted his hands around the black leather gloves hidden inside his hoodie pocket and tried not to think about how much better he’d feel if he was wearing them. He could wear the gloves as Brekker because he could explain it away as trying to avoid leaving fingerprints, but there was no explanation for Kaz Rietveld wearing gloves.

If he was completely honest, he hated being Kaz Rietveld.

He crossed the room to his desk and began gathering his books. Dryden looked up from arranging papers on his desk. “Are you alright, Kazimir?”

Kaz knew he only was only asking because he thought he was supposed to. Most people were like that; Kaz’s multiple lives and many secrets relied on it.

“Yes, sir,” he said with a submissive smile that he knew Dryden’s ego liked. “Thank you for asking.”

~~~~

Kaz was feeling a little calmer by the time they got out of school. Helping Jesper with algebra during lunch had helped a lot. Kaz loved math; it was easy and straightforward and never failed to make him feel like he was at least partially in control of his life.

When the last bell rang, Kaz made his way through the halls to his locker, hands buried deep in his hoodie pocket. He unlocked his locker and pulled his ancient slide phone out of the front pocket of his backpack. The only texts he had were weird Instagram photos that Jesper had sent him during study hall. No texts from any of the Dregs which meant that things were still on for tonight.

Someone slammed into his back and Kaz almost broke the kid’s arm. He’d learned from being Brekker that nothing kept people from touching you without mockery or pity like the promise of violence to anyone who violated your personal space. Unfortunately, that was on the list of things that were frowned upon at East Ketterdam High.

He glared at the kid until he was gone, then pulled his second piece of ridiculously outdated technology out of his backpack. It was a 4th Gen iPod Nano in an absolutely revolting shade of orange. The thing had been Jordie’s first and bore his dubious taste in color as a result. Jordie had given it to Kaz shortly before their parents had died, and Kaz had been stuck using it ever since.

Still, it was better than having no music player at all. Kaz unwound the black earbuds and shoved them into his ears. He put his playlist of pirated music on shuffle and gathered up the rest of his things. Then he swung his backpack on and left the school.

He made his way to the nearest subway stop. Subways were pretty much the only type of transportation he could manage these days. He was so deathly terrified of cars that some days it was a struggle to cross the street, and buses could still be struck by other vehicles and be pushed off the road into water. Subways ran on tracks and had only limited interaction with other subways, so he could handle them.

The subway was busy enough that there were no seats. No one stood up to offer him a seat, but that was okay; Kaz didn’t want anyone’s pity. He hooked an arm around one of the poles and leaned against it, watching as the stops zoomed by. He finally gave into the urge to put the gloves on. The subtle leather covered his hands, and he felt a million times safer.

He got off the subway at a stop near West Ketterdam High. He was now on the opposite side of the Barrel from his school and the dingy apartment he and Jordie lived in. It was a long trip for what basically constituted as a commute, but when he’d joined a gang he hadn’t wanted to risk running into someone he knew from the East Barrel.

He climbed up the steps out of the subway station and set off down one of the streets. His bad leg was throbbing worse than before after the jarring it had received on the subway. He wormed a bottle of Advil out of his backpack and shook two into his hand. He chewed them so they’d kick in faster and put the bottle away. The Advil would barely help, but his prescription meds were too expensive to use most of the time.

His mouth was still full of the sour, acidic taste of medicine when he reached an old but well-kept house in a dingy side street. He climbed the front steps and knocked. A minute later Alina, Inej’s foster mother, answered the door. She was a young woman and dressed casually, her long, inexplicably white hair was hanging loose around her shoulders. “Hello, Kaz,” she said with a smile. “You know you can just come in. You don’t need to knock.”

“I know,” Kaz said stepping into the house.

The smile Alina gave him was fond and it made Kaz want to do something to wipe it off her face. “Inej isn’t home from school yet,” she said. “I made some cookies this afternoon, though. Do you want some?”

“Maybe later,” Kaz said. “I’ll wait for Inej upstairs.” He tried to avoid Inej’s foster parents as much as possible. He knew that they’d assumed he was Inej’s boyfriend though to be honest he wasn’t sure if he and Inej were even really friends.

He climbed the creaky stairs and headed into Inej’s bedroom. Her foster sister, Nina, was already there lying stretched out on her bed on the left side of the room. Kaz raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing here?”

“I was sick today,” Nina said in an airy voice that suggested she’d just skipped out.

“Fun,” Kaz crossed to Inej’s bed on the right side of the room. He took off his backpack and lowered himself to the floor, suppressing a hiss of pain. Then he leaned over and began rummaging under the bed.

He heard Nina’s sheets rustle as she rolled over. “Is it a big job tonight?”

“You know that I can’t tell you that.”

“Oh, come on, Brekker,” Nina whined. “I thought you’d stop this when I joined up.”

“Whether or not you’re a Dreg doesn’t change the fact that this is an active job,” Kaz said without looking at her. “Only people involved can know about it right now. If you want all the details, I’m sure Inej will be happy to fill you in tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Nina grumbled and fell silent.

Kaz pulled a heavy cardboard box out from under the bed and opened it. Inside were his and Inej’s knives, lockpicks and other equipment. He began separating his favorites out and strapping them to various parts of his body underneath his clothes.

“You know if Alina and Mal find those Inej is going to get in a lot of trouble,” Nina said. “This house has a ‘strict no weapons policy.’”

“I bought all of these,” Kaz said. “That means they’re technically mine, and I don’t live here.”

Nina snorted. “You know, I’m not sure Alina and Mal would accept that loophole.”

Kaz opened his mouth to respond, but something changed, and he knew Inej was there. He turned to see her standing silently in the doorway in her leggings and boots and oversized knit sweater. He didn’t know how he always knew when she was around, but he did.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hi,” Inej crossed the room and began taking her knives out of the box. “How are you today?”

Kaz did not let himself think about the panic attack he’d had that morning. Besides, Inej didn’t know about those so he couldn’t tell her anyway. “Ready,” he said.

“Me too,” Inej said. Settling down to strap on her weapons.

Inej had been abducted by sex traffickers at fourteen. She’d been rescued a year later and put into foster care while the system tried to find her parents. Two years later and it was blatantly obvious that no one was actually looking for Mr. and Mrs. Ghafa, and Inej would probably be stuck in the system until she turned eighteen.

Kaz finished arming himself by sliding an oyster shucking knife into one of his battered high tops. He worked himself to his feet, ignoring the worried look Inej gave him and moved his backpack into Inej’s closet. His cane—a sleek black thing with a rounded knob on top—was also there, leaning against the wall. He took it out and tried not to lean too heavily on it.

“Ready to go?” He asked Inej.

She nodded. At some point she’d changed out of her fuzzy knit sweater and put on a dark-color zip front sweatshirt with a hood that she could pull over her head later to keep her braid out of the way.

“Tell me how it goes,” Nina called after them as they left the room.

Inej called goodbye to Alina at the front door and they let themselves out into the street. At the sidewalk, they turned right and began the walk to the Slat. Kaz knew that Inej rode the bus to the Slat when he wasn’t around. When he’d first started keeping his stuff at her house, she’d suggested they ride the bus a number of times. He’d gotten around it by simply ignoring her and walking; eventually she’d stopped asking.

It took them a little over twenty minutes to walk to the Slat, which was a beaten down four-story building of an indeterminable original purpose. Even though it wasn’t even five o’clock yet, the place still had a number of seedy looking people hanging around. Those were the gang members who made their livings working for the Dregs and nothing else. That was Kaz’s legacy to the gang; before he’d joined up and started running things Per Haskell had barely been able to pay his own expenses let alone anyone else’s.

Kaz let himself and Inej in through the creaky front door, then he stalked across the big front room and knocked on Per Haskell’s door. “Come in!” the gang leader called and Kaz stepped inside leaving Inej outside.

“Just letting you know that Inej and I are here,” Kaz said.

Per Haskell looked up and snorted. “You look like a high school nerd, Brekker, that undercut doesn’t help.”

Kaz looked down his oversized hoodie, dark jeans and old high tops. “This is how I dress, sir,” he said hoping he didn’t sound like a petulant teenager, this was not the first time he and Per Haskell had had this conversation. “If you want me to wear a full suit, give me the money to buy one and I will.”

Per Haskell hacked out a sound that was half laugh half smoker’s cough. “That would be something to see,” he said. “When are you leaving for the job?”

“When it gets dark,” Kaz said. “It should only take us an hour or two”

“I’ll let you handle this,” Haskell said leaning back in his chair and reaching for the large mug of room temperature lager sitting on the desk. He spoke like there had been a chance he would come. Per Haskell hadn’t done any real work in as long as Kaz had known him; he didn’t even know exactly what the plan was, only what the goal was.

“I can handle it,” Kaz said without letting any annoyance in his voice. He reminded himself that his long-term goals relied on Haskell’s incompetence. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

~~~~

When the sun set, he and Inej rode the subway out of the Barrel and into the business part of Ketterdam. At this time of day, comparatively few people were heading into the business district because people didn’t live there, so they were both able to sit, something Kaz would never admit to being relieved about.

After they got off the subway they only had to walk a couple blocks before the headquarters of Van Eck Industries rose up before them. They stood on the corner looking up at the darkened windows. Kaz pulled off the backpack he’d brought from the Slat and pulled out a pair of ski masks. It was almost hilariously like something out of a movie, but they needed to make sure their faces didn’t end up on any of the building’s copious security cameras. They would deal with them, but only from the inside.

They both fitted their masks on and became a pair of extremely stereotypical bandits. Then they headed across the street to the employee entrance. The door was locked with a randomly generated password, but Kaz whipped out one of the laptops he’d bought for the Dregs with Per Haskell’s money and within seconds had bypassed the lock and they were in.

Once they were inside, they made their way to the security room. The guard on duty tonight was exceedingly lazy which was why they’d chosen tonight for the job. When they entered the security room, the man was sitting at his desk watching a soap opera and vacantly munching on potato chips. He obviously wasn’t watching the many security camera monitors around him, because if he had been he would have seen the two masked people slinking through the hallways.

Inej crossed the room on silent feet and punched the man a couple times with a pair of brass knuckles she always kept in one of her pockets. When he passed out, she heaved him out of his chair and began to drag him towards a closet.

Kaz sat down in the security guard’s chair, stuck a flash drive into the computer and released the most potent of his half a dozen custom computer viruses into the system. When he was finished, he glanced at Inej who stood in the center of the security room watching the security footage on the computer screens flicker out. “I’ll never get tired of that,” she said with a smile.

Kaz smiled as well and made sure he kept his face turned away until he could smooth out his expression again. “Whatever,” he stood up, and pulled his mask off. Now that the security cameras were out of commission there was no reason to keep wearing it. “Let’s move. We’ve got thirty-one minutes before the second security guard finishes her round and gets back here.”

~~~~

Jan Van Eck’s office was on the top floor of the building. With the computer virus in effect, Kaz had to open the electronic lock by opening it up and fiddling with the wires, but it still took him less than a minute. He’d started to learn to pick locks at age nine, while in the hospital after the accident and trying desperately not to think about any of the bad stuff. He’d kept practicing afterwards and now he was one of the best lockpicks in Ketterdam.

The door to Van Eck’s office opened into a borderline ridiculously expensive space that was exactly what you’d expect of man of his wealth and famous arrogance to have. A DeKappel painting hung on the wall behind the desk. Kaz and Inej lifted it down to reveal the safe.

Inej stood guard by the door while Kaz cracked the safe. Even though they were in the middle of a big job, Kaz found his nerves settling. Lockpicking was as relaxing as math.

He got the safe open in what he estimated to approximately half the time it would have taken the Dregs’ second best lockpick. He swung the safe door open and shone a flashlight inside to get a better view of the contents. There were stacks and stacks of cash inside along with some other boxes and papers. Kaz whistled softly. “Someone learns to learn that keeping copious amounts of cash in his safe is just asking for it to be stolen.”

“Is there a lot?” Inej asked.

“Yes,” Kaz began taking out the cash. It was all carefully tied up in those little paper slips you got on bills from the bank. Kaz estimated there was around twenty thousand dollars. His fingers itched to take the money for himself. Twenty thousand dollars would take care of rent and food and all that credit card debt Jordie pretended they didn’t have. He pushed the urge away; Per Haskell might be one of the most useless generals in the Barrel but stealing from him was still a bad idea.

Inej left her guard post and began loading up her backpack with money. Kaz dug deeper into the safe and pulled out some jewelry that was probably worth a couple hundred dollars apiece. Kaz stuffed them into his own backpack with part of the money and laptop he’d used on the outside door, then began going through the papers. This was not strictly part of the plan, but Kaz and Inej built their reputation on having dirt on everyone in Ketterdam so it wouldn’t be right to pass up a chance to gain some new information.

He found a couple worthy-looking papers and memorized them in a handful of seconds. When he was finished he looked around the office. His eyes fell on the DeKappel sitting in its frame against the wall. It was probably a nice painting, though all art looked the same to Kaz. Still, it was expensive and the fact that Van Eck had it so prominently displayed meant that it was important to him...

“Do we have a screwdriver?” Kaz asked Inej.

“Yeah,” Inej said still focused putting the last of the money into Kaz’s backpack. “Why?”

Kaz grinned as his heartbeat sped up. This was going to be great. “We’re taking the painting.”

Now she looked up at him, confusion on her face. “Why?”

Kaz’s smile got even bigger. “Why not?”

She stared at him for a moment then she smiled and shrugged. “Sure,” she dug around in the front pocket of her backpack and pulled out a screwdriver. “Here you go.”

It took them almost ten minutes to get the back of the frame off and the painting taken out. Once that was done they rolled the painting up and fitted it carefully into Inej’s backpack. Then they put the back of the frame back on, closed the safe and hung the empty frame on the wall again.

“Alright,” Kaz turned towards the door, pulling on his own, now significantly heavier backpack. “Let’s get out of here.”

They left Van Eck’s office and headed down the stairwell towards the outside. They were almost to the ground floor when they heard footsteps and voices. They both froze and stared at each other. “How long have we been here?” Inej asked.

Kaz checked his watch. “We should still have ten minutes,” he said. “Maybe-”

A door above them opened. Kaz looked up and his stomach clenched. A couple big, burly men Kaz recognized as members of the Dime Lions were pushing their way into the stairwell. He and Inej looked at each other in shock. Where had the Dime Lions come from? Had they just so happened to plan a break-in for the same night?

“You there!” one of the Dime Lions yelled. “Intruders! Stop right there!”

“Run!” Kaz told Inej and they took off down the stairs.

More Dime Lions entered the stairwell from the bottom. Inej slid down the railing of the last flight of stairs and slashed at them with her knives. Kaz reached the bottom a second later and took out one of the Dime Lions with a well-placed swing with the knobbed end of his cane. They shoved their way out of the stairwell. Within seconds they were out of the building through a different side entrance that opened onto a boardwalk facing the harbor.

“Split up,” Kaz ordered. “We’ll meet up later.”

Inej nodded and took off one direction. Kaz knew that within minutes she’d be up a building and well out of any danger.

He, on the other hand, had it a bit more difficult. His leg meant that he couldn’t climb as quickly as Inej could and he couldn’t run as fast either. Still, he would get away; he was way smarter than basically everyone Pekka Rollins had working for him.

Kaz pounded down the boardwalk with the Dime Lions after him. It sounded like most of them were after him. Which probably meant that they’d recognized him and Inej. They knew that he was Brekker, the most wanted man in Ketterdam, and they knew they’d never catch Inej.

He knew he’d never outrun the Dime Lions, so he just needed to find a good place to stand and fight. He turned left and ran along a narrower part of the boardwalk that jutted out into the water. When he was halfway along it he whirled around and lifted his cane, prepared for a fight.

Half a dozen Dime Lions pounded down the boardwalk after him. The front two charged him immediately. Kaz simply stepped out of the way so one ran into the boardwalk railing and beat the other over the head with his cane.

He stepped away until his back was against the railing opposite the one the Dime Lion had just hit. “So what are you all doing here tonight?” he asked with a classic Brekker smile. “Did the Dregs beat the Dime Lions to the pigeon?”

“We’re not Dime Lions,” one of the men said, eyeing Kaz like he was trying to come up with a halfway decent plan to attack him. “We work for Jakob Hertzoon.”

Kaz had never heard of Jakob Hertzoon before, but he also knew for certain that at least four of these people were definitely Dime Lions. You didn’t just switch loyalties in the Barrel, especially if you worked for Pekka Rollins. Something weird was going on here. He and Inej were going to have to look into this Jakob Hertzoon person. “Oddly enough, I don’t believe you,” he said.

“Give back the property you stole from Van Eck Industries, Brekker,” the man growled. That alone proved that he was definitely from the Barrel. Kaz’s face had never been picked up by the government, so no one outside of the Barrel gangs knew Brekker was really a kid.

“I think I’ll keep it,” Kaz said.

“Get him,” the man said and all six of them charged. Kaz swung his cane and caught the closest one in the nose. She screamed and stumbled back. Kaz got the next one too, but then the rest were on him, grasping at his clothes and backpack, shoving his up against the railing. Their touches were a million points of horror. Kaz struggled but couldn’t get free, his cane rolled out of his fingers.

They were trying to get the backpack off him. Kaz tried to twist away from their hands and felt himself fall backwards into space. He was weightless in the air for mere seconds before he splashed into the harbor.

The water of the harbor was cold, dark and dirty. Kaz couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or closed. He couldn’t tell which way was up. He couldn’t tell anything at all, because he was back in that car eight years ago, trapped with his parents’ bodies while the cold, disgusting water creeped inside.

He struggled but it was in vain. He couldn’t get out of the car, he was going to die here. There was nothing he could do to stop it.

Then hands grabbed him and dragged him out of the water. He struggled to get air into lungs that didn’t want to inhale. He was out of the water, he wasn’t going to drown, but now he was going to suffocate.

Hands grabbed at him, trying to sit up him up. They were too much like the bodies of his parents which had bounced and pushed against him as the car filled with water. He shoved the person away. “Get your hands off!” he screamed with all the air his starving lungs possessed. “Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me! Dontouchme!”

The hands vanished, and Kaz collapsed again. Gravel drug into his cheek and that was what reminded him that he wasn’t still in the car; there was no gravel in the car.

He lay there gasping for an indeterminable amount of time until his vision cleared, and he felt like he could sort of breathe again. Then he peeled his eyes open and looked around.

He was lying on his side on a gravel bank underneath the boardwalk, the water lapping a few inches from his shoes. Inej was crouching a little further up the bank, as dripping wet as he was. She must have dived in after him and pulled him out.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I thought you were drowning at first, so I tried to sit you up to see if you’d breathe easier that way. I didn’t mean to make things worse.”

Kaz realized immediately that the game was up. If Inej had been less perceptive she might not have realized what had actually happened, and he might have been able to pull the drowning card, but she knew. He could tell that she’d recognized the panic attack for what it was. He could see her rearranging every interaction they’d ever had--everything about him that had never made sense from the buses to the gloves--to accommodate this new information. He could see her bursting through the armor that was his Brekker identity to the sad, weak, pathetic Kaz Rietveld underneath. It was horrible.

He forced himself to his feet. Cold, slimy harbor water ran down his body. He tried not to think of the car. “Let’s go,” he said attempting to sound normal with dubious success.

“Kaz,” Inej said carefully, still not moving any closer to him, “the Dime Lions left after you fell in the water. We’re safe here for a couple minutes if you want to catch your breath.”

“I’m fine!” Kaz snapped. He tried to walk and stumbled, catching himself on one of the boardwalk supports. “Let’s get back to the Barrel before one of the Dime Lions manages to come up with the brilliant idea of calling the cops.”

“Kaz,” Inej said. “You know you can-”

“Inej,” Kaz spoke over her with his nastiest tone. “Let’s go.”

~~~~

Per Haskell found Kaz and Inej’s sodden appearances hilarious and spend a good five minutes laughing until he had tears in his eyes. He was decidedly less pleased about the soaked money in Kaz’s backpack and the ruined laptop. He told them he was docking part of their shares even though the money would dry out useable enough and he thought the laptops were useless anyways. At least Inej had had the foresight to ditch her backpack before jumping in the harbor, so her half the money and the DeKappel were fine.

After finishing up with Haskell, Kaz and Inej returned to Inej’s house. Kaz had a change of clothes stored there for bloody jobs (jeans, a tee-shirt and another hoodie, this one navy blue) but not a second pair of shoes so he had to settle for being completely dry aside from his feet. He tried not to think about the harbor water squelching between his toes as he gathered up his school backpack and fished his iPod out of the front pocket.

Inej watched him from her perch on her bed. “You know you don’t have to leave just yet,” she said. “There are still some cookies left over from this afternoon. We could watch a movie. I could probably convince Mal to make popcorn.”

Kaz knew what she was doing, she was trying to convince him to stay because she was worried about him, because she thought he was weak. He would not allow that. “I’m leaving,” he said without bothering to come up with an excuse. He had no idea how he was going to salvage this situation, but he was going to have to do it somehow and he needed some space to think about it.

“Kaz,” Inej said. “I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable, but I don’t think that just ignoring that is a good idea. You can talk about it with me; you can trust me.”

He couldn’t trust anyone. He’d learned that in the years since his parents had died. Even Jordie, who should have been his partner in this quest for revenge, could not be trusted. Kaz had something he needed to hide from absolutely everyone in his life.

“No, we’re not going to talk about that,” Kaz said as coolly and Brekker-like as he could. “As far as you’re concerned that never happened. Never bring it up again, and if I figure out that you told someone else--anyone else--I will not hesitant to kill you.”

Instead of flinching back in fear, Inej lifted her chin. “I don’t believe you,” she said. “You’re not that cruel.”

“You should,” Kaz said even if he wasn’t totally sure if he would kill her either. “Good night,” then he turned and left the house.

~~~~

It was now after ten pm, so the subway was nearly empty. Kaz sat in one of the cars, folded over at the waist, his forehead pressing into his knees, eyes squeezed tight closed, earbuds blaring overly loud music into his ears. He couldn’t get his mind off how catastrophically badly tonight had gone. Kaz Rietveld’s weaknesses were not supposed to affect Brekker. Brekker was supposed to be strong enough to get revenge on Pekka Rollins.

One of the curses of having a memory like Kaz’s was that nothing ever faded. Pain never got duller. He could still remember the exact way his dead mother’s soaked hair had felt against his hand. He remembered the way blood had trickled out of his father’s mouth. He remembered struggling to keep his head above water when his leg was too badly shattered to kick. He remembered it all as if it had just happened, and he would for the rest of his life.

Mr. and Mrs. Rietveld had died after a multi-car pileup had forced their car and a couple others off a bridge and into the harbor. Officially, it was just a horrible accident, but the fact that the accident had been orchestrated by Pekka Rollins and the Dime Lions was an open secret among all of Ketterdam. When Pekka Rollins wanted someone dead, they died, but what Kaz had never been able to figure out was who the target that day had been. He knew it was ridiculous to get caught up that detail, but he needed to know. He needed to know who Rollins had been after. He needed to know what his parents had died for, once he knew that, he would gladly rip Pekka Rollins’ throat out and everything would be better.

Kaz wasn’t stupid, he knew that destroying everything Pekka Rollins loved and then killing him wouldn’t fix any of his problems, but he had to believe that. He needed to believe that killing Rollins would be the magical cure for everything that was wrong with his life; he didn’t know how he would keep going if it wasn’t.

The subway arrived at his stop. He got to his feet, hissing in pain. He chewed another couple Advil while he climbed out of the subway station and stuffed the bottle into the pockets of his new hoodie. He headed down the dimly lit streets to the tumbled down apartment building where he and Jordie lived.

Their apartment was a two room, one bathroom flat that they probably paid too much rent for. Still they stayed because as long as they paid the rent, the landlord would overlook anything. That had been especially helpful back when they’d both been minors and their uncle had never been around enough to constitute as their actual legal guardian.

Their uncle had been supposed to take care of them, but instead he’d fooled around and burned through their admittedly meager inheritance before Jordie reached eighteen. He also went on long trips without telling them where he was going or when he’d be back, so they’d mostly fended for themselves. They hadn’t seen him since Jordie had turned eighteen and Kaz privately hoped the man had managed to die, though he doubted they were that lucky.

Kaz struggled up the steps to the eighth floor, wishing the elevator actually worked. Still he eventually made it to the apartment and reached for the knob.

The door was unlocked.

Instantly on high alert, Kaz pulled out his earbuds and slid his backpack from his shoulders. He’d left all his knives at Inej’s, but the backpack was heavy enough to serve as a weapon in a pinch. He twisted the knob quietly and stepped into the apartment.

He made his way silently down the tiny hallway to the main room. He saw the form of someone sitting on the old, saggy couch. He hefted the backpack up and stepped closer, then stopped. “Jordie?”

Jordie jumped and whirled around, getting to his feet. It was obvious he hadn’t heard Kaz come in. His face twisted into a frown. “Kaz! It’s about time!”

“What are you doing here?” Kaz asked. “You work nights on Thursdays.” That was why he’d planned this job for tonight; he knew Jordie wouldn’t be around to notice he was gone.

“We’re not talking about me right now,” Jordie snapped. “It’s after eleven! I’ve been calling you for hours! Where were you?”

Kaz knew he was failing at completely keeping the surprise off his face, he hadn’t checked his phone picking up his backpack and apparently, he should have. “Hanging out in the university district with Jesper,” he said. He remembered that Jesper had mentioned that he and Wylan had been going on a date in the university district tonight, so perhaps if Jordie had called Mr. Fahey this story wouldn’t be instantly disproven. “We lost track of time.”

Jordie ran a hand through his shaggy dark hair. “Kaz, you can’t just wander around the city with no one knowing where you are. I should give you a curfew.”

For as long as Kaz could remember, Jordie had always been a little more. A little taller, a little heavier, a little better looking, a little more trusting, a little more tactful, a little better. It wasn’t until Kaz had created his Brekker identity that he’d truly acknowledged the ways that he was more. He was smarter, and braver, and a better fighter, and a better planner. He was more untrusting and untrustworthy, more hardworking, more reckless, more morally gray, and above all more vicious. Jordie was the better brother, but Kaz was the one who would get them their justice.

That was how he knew Jordie would never go through with the threat of a curfew. Jordie liked things to be easy; he knew that he would have to fight tooth and nail to impose something like that on Kaz and he’d rather not do the work. Kaz resented that on some level, because it was the same method of thinking that kept Jordie from truly trying to seek justice for their parents, but in this situation, it was helpful.

Suddenly Kaz was very tired. He’d had an absolutely horrible day and he really just wanted to curl up on the couch with a warm blanket. He’d make himself a mug of hot chocolate and maybe spike it with that bottle of whiskey that Jordie thought he didn’t know was hidden under the sink. He’d turn on the TV and watch whatever mindless programs were on until he fell asleep. Now his brother was here, and he had to deal with him instead.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Jordie wasn’t done, “I asked off of work tonight, did you know that? I wanted to spend some time with you. We’ve barely seen each other recently and I thought it would be nice to have a night just the two of us. Instead you spend the whole night galivanting around the city and I was stuck here watching the hours tick by and thinking of all the money I was losing!”

Kaz would not stand for that. “You know,” he snarled. “If you wanted to spend time with me, you could have asked me in advance. You could have said, ‘Hey, Kaz, I’m thinking about taking Thursday night off, so we could hang out. Do you have any plans?’ like any normal person. You can’t just expect me to never have anything going on. I’m not a little kid content to sit around practicing magic tricks and waiting for you to finally have time to notice me!”

That was a low blow, and mostly untrue because while Jordie had had increasingly less time as he picked up jobs to try to take care of both of them, he’d always tried to make time for Kaz. Kaz knew he’d feel guilty about playing that card eventually, but right now it didn’t matter.

Jordie’s mouth opened and closed in shock. “How can you say that?” he asked. “Everything I’ve ever done is to make things better for you.”

“If you really wanted to make things better then maybe you would have stopped our uncle from spending all our money,” Kaz snapped. “Maybe you would try to make Pekka Rollins pay for what happened to our parents!”

“Kaz, I can’t either of those things!” Jordie snarled. “You can’t just expect things to work out the way you want them to all the time, sometimes you have to accept what you get.”

“And sometimes you can’t just lie down and let the machine walk all over you!” Kaz said.

“I can’t bring Mom and Da back, Kaz,” Jordie said. “Getting Pekka Rollins won’t bring them back either.”

“I know that,” Kaz snarled. “I’m not a child, but that doesn’t change that he still deserves to pay.”

“Let it be, Kaz,” Jordie said quietly. “There’s nothing you can do.”

“If that’s the way you want to be,” Kaz said crossing his arms. “Then I don’t see why you’re so angry about where I was tonight. I told you that I was hanging out with Jesper and we lost track of time. I’d known that we were going to hang out for a while, if you’d asked me beforehand we could have avoided this whole situation. Now, I’m going to bed and there’s nothing more you can do about this situation.” Then he turned and stalked off into the apartment’s only other room.

His bed was on the right and Jordie’s was on the left. He peeled off his wet shoes and socks and kicked them as far under the bed as he could so Jordie wouldn’t step on them or something and start getting more suspicious. He took off the gloves too; he was lucky Jordie had been too angry to notice them. Then he threw himself face down onto his bed without bothering to change. Perhaps his eyes were a little wet, but he’d never admit that; Brekker didn’t cry.

Jordie never came into the bedroom, and when Kaz got up for school the next morning he was already gone.

--

Honestly, I think that one of the things I enjoyed most about this story was exploring the dynamic between Kaz and alive!Jordie.

Anyway, hope you all enjoyed.

Emjen

#six of crows #modern au #fanfiction #fanfic #Kaz Brekker #kaz rietveld #inej ghafa #jordie #jesper fahey #pekka rollins #per haskell #alina starkov #alive!Jordie #kaz x inej #kanej #jesper x wylan #wesper #Appearances/mentions of Grisha trilogy characters #I'm going to figure out how to get the Darkling into this AU just watch #alina x mal #Who else had a 4th gen iPod Nano as a kid? #jordie rietveld #emjenenla #Emjen writes #tw: violence #tw: panic attack #tw: ptsd #tw: sex trafficking #tw: car accident #tw: drowning