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beautifulblhell · 3 years

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Something Better To Do

Mafia! Suna x F! Reader

A/N: So this is for @nkogneatho‘s FMFM collab! Thank you for letting me participate and I’m so sorry for the late posting!! My procrastinating ass couldn’t do it in June and when July came life hit me like truck-kun 😭 Typed this with one brain cell as the heat has melted my rest and not proofread, so if there’s any mistakes please let me know!! (Or just pretend you didn’t see it T_T) Not super proud of this, but lately my creativity has been 📉

Tags: smut, fluff, mafia! Suna but nothing dark, all characters are 18+, protection (be responsible) smut is at the bottom part if you are only interested in the smut lol

WC: 3177

The day had started off so well. Your parents had to leave for an abrupt business meeting abroad and left at the crack of dawn. Usually you would meet up with Suna whenever your parents were away, but he has been away for ‘work’ for the past few weeks.

You knew it was for something important for the Inarizaki gang, and Atsumu had been tasked to go on this trip. But he had an argument with Osamu a few days prior, and with the latter refusing to cook for him, Atsumu gave himself food poisoning when he tried to cook for himself.

So Kita had told Suna to attend instead.

Your finger hovered above the messaging app, wondering if you should text him. The last message he had sent was from a week ago. With a sigh, you decided not to disturb him and closed your phone.

Still, this was the longest you had been without seeing Suna.

As if your daydreams blended into reality, you heard the familiar purr of a motorcycle. At first you thought you were dreaming. However, when you looked down from your bedroom window, you saw Suna coming to a stop below your window, the morning sunlight reflecting off his motorcycle. He lifted off his helmet, and those yellow eyes raised up to meet yours, his lips curved up lazily when he caught sight of you.

He was already standing at your doorway when you opened the front door and flew into his arms.

“Rin!” You cried happily.

His name has hardly left your lips when his mouth descended upon yours. He cupped your face and pulled you towards him, your lips repeatedly met together, making up for lost time. It was only when you felt Suna’s lip against yours did you realise how much you missed him. Your head was spinning when you finally pulled apart. The comforting scent of the cologne he wore and a hint of cigarette enveloped you.

It’s been too long, you thought, looking up at his face.

One of his thumb wiped across your glistening lips.

“Somebody missed me,” he smirked.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your face.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you were coming back?”

“Thought I would surprise you.”

“Well, you certainly did.” That’s when you realised.

“How did you know my parents weren’t home?” You asked in surprise. Suna never came to your house unless your parents weren’t home, and you usually told him beforehand.

The image of your parents’ initial shock was still fresh in your mind when you broke the news about you and Suna being together, which morphed into disapproval then anger when you said you won’t break it off with him when they told you.

“But he’s part of Inarizaki, the yakuza!” Your mother had said in horror. She would have been less shocked if you told her Suna smuggled pandas for a living.

It would be easier if you moved out of your house, but Suna knew how much your parents meant to you even if they didn’t approve of your relationship, so you would meet up in town whenever both of you were both free or when your parents were away.

“Hmm,” Suna only hummed as his arms encircled your waist and he nuzzled your hair, but you caught a faint glint in those narrow eyes of his.

With a sigh, Suna relaxed his whole body, and you stumbled at the sudden weight you had to bear.

“R-Rin, you are heavy!”

He leaned into your ears and whispered, “You didn’t say that last time I had you under me.”

“Rin!”

He sniggered seeing your red face, and stood back upright.

“Get dressed. I don’t want that nosy neighbour of yours to notice that I’m here and tell your parents once they are back.”

“Where are we going?” You asked, pulling your arms back unwillingly.

Sensing your reluctance to let him go, Suna’s lips brushed against your forehead.

“You’ll see.”

“Are we going to your place?” You asked as you wrapped your arms around his waist behind him on the motorcycle.

“Is that what you want?” Suna flashed you a teasing smirk.

You felt heat build up on your cheeks, and you buried your face behind his back.

“I don’t mean that! Just thought we could watch a movie or do something relaxing since you just came back.”

Suna did look a bit tired. And the smell of cigarettes has been stronger than usual. It was a habit of his, he tended to smoke more when he was irritated or stressed.

“If you continue to be so cute I’ll really take you to my place right now.”

“Nope, take me where you wanted to.”

“Later then,” You could hear the laughter in his words.

Then, with a twist of his wrist, the throttle thrusted the machine forward.

It was always exhilarating sitting on the back of Suna’s motorcycle. He drove fast yet with precision. Instead of driving, the term flying would be more accurate to describe what you were feeling. The familiar scenery of the city blew past as Suna expertly maneuvered between the traffic without slowing down. It was only when he started slowing down did you realize where you were going.

It was a few months ago when you made a passing remark of wanting to go to the aquarium when they finished building the underwater tunnel.

It was one of the things you love about Suna. Sometimes you would make a casual remark about a certain place that you were interested in going to, but Suna would always remember and take you there whenever he had the chance.

As you arrived closer, you noticed the long queue extending from the entrance. It didn’t come as a surprise seeing it was the opening weekend, but you were worried about how long you had to wait.

Instead, Suna simply sped past them and came to a stop at the back staff entrance.

A man in a suit and name badge stood next to a door that said ‘STAFF ONLY’. He had an anxious look on his face, which only deepened when he saw Suna.

“Ah, S-Suna-san, I’ve been waiting for your arrival.” He smiled, sweat running down his face. “I’m the manager, very pleased to make your acquaintance.” He bowed deeply, to which Suna only replied with a curt nod after he got off the motorcycle.

“This way, please.” He gestured towards the back of the entrance.

You turned towards Suna as you walked behind the manager.

“He looks so scared of you. What did you do, hold his whole family ransom?” You whispered, your eyebrows raised.

“No, I told him that I would let Atsumu cook for him for a week if he doesn’t let us into the aquarium.”

You choked back a laugh, trying to hide it since the manager turned around to hold the door open for you.

You had just stepped into the aquarium when Suna’s phone rang.

Suna took out his phone. With one look at the name displayed on the phone screen the decline button silenced the noise. Yet within half a second his phone rang again.

“Just ignore it,” Suna muttered, and turned his phone on silent.

As if knowing the calls will be ignored, your phone chimed.

Sender: Atsumu

‘TELL HIM TO PICK UP THE PHONE!!’

Then

‘I KNOW HE IS WITH YOU’

“Shouldn’t you pick up the phone, in case it’s something important?”

With a look of resignation on his face, Suna picked up his phone. Even with the phone next to his ears, you could hear Atsumu’s excited voice on the other end.

Suna’s eyes flickered to you, and from the look of his face, you knew your date was going to end before it even started.

“Fine, but I’m bringing her with me.”

After he hung up his phone, Suna turned to you with a look of exasperation.

“Atsumu. He said it was an emergency.”

“Oh,” you could feel your heart sinking.

“I told him that you are coming with me, so afterwards we can head back here.”

“Can I?” Your eyes lit up. Suna had taken you with him to a few informal gatherings before

“Doubt it’s anything of importance, seeing who was calling,” Suna muttered.

He glanced at the manager. “We’ll be back later.”

“Ah, that’s absolutely fine, sir,” the man bowed, and you can’t help but feel he was relieved to see the back of Suna.

By the time both of you arrived at the private VIP room in one of Inarizaki's nightclubs, all of the top members have already assembled on the sofa in the middle of the room.

Atsumu had greeted you both enthusiastically when you first entered.

And unfortunately for both of you, his enthusiasm didn’t abate one bit. An hour and a half later, you were still sitting at the back of the room, with the prospect of listening to Atsumu’s voice for the rest of the day hanging gloomingly in front of you.

You looked up at your boyfriend on the sofa, the only one sitting facing you. Thin wisps of smoke rose from the cigarette dangling between his lips. He made a non-committal ‘mmh’ whenever Atsumu’s words seemed to be directed at him, but from the look on his face you knew he was hardly listening.

By now, even Osamu was heaving a sigh at Atsumu.

“Samu, what are ya sighin’ for?!”

“Just wonderin’ how that single brain cell of yours could work for so long without overheatin’.”

“Hah?! At least I got one unlike yer-”

“Osamu.” Kita’s quiet voice was enough to bring an end to the twins bickering in an instant. He nodded at Atsumu to continue, and no one dared to say anything seeing that Kita wanted Atsumu to speak.

You stared in boredom at the sudoku puzzle on your screen, wondering if you threw your phone at Atsumu’s head it would solve the puzzle. You finally get to see Suna yet the precious time you had together was ticking away, wasted here.

That’s when the idea entered your head.

You raised your arm slightly, trying to catch Suna’s attention. He glanced at you questionly.

With a teasing smile on your face, you placed a finger on your lips. Then, you ran your finger down, until you came to a stop at the button of your blouse.

Slowly, you opened it.

Suna’s eyes widened and he froze. It was rare to catch him off guard, and you suppressed a giggle. Holding his gaze, the next button fell open. His eyes darkened instantly as he realised what you were doing.

In the dim light of the room, a sharp light has entered Suna’s eyes. He leaned back, his eyes narrow, as if daring you to see how far you could go.

Your heart was hammering in your chest. If any of the men turned slightly, they would be able to see you. But seeing the burning lust swirling in Suna’s eyes, the way his sharp gaze raked down your body, as if stripping you even more bare, it was more than enough to heat you up and fuel you on.

Biting onto the collar of your blouse, you lifted your bra up.

If only you knew what you were doing to Suna. It took everything he could not just to take you there and then.

Every muscle in his body was tense. He took his cigarette and mouthed the word ‘bathroom’.

With a small smile on your face, you left the room.

The moment he walked into the bathroom, his mouth crushed against yours. One of his hands held the back of your head, and his other arm slammed on the partition of the toilet stall near your head, trapping you with nowhere to go. His hips were pushed against yours, and you could feel the hard bulge throbbing against you. The kiss was hard, furious. The taste of cigarette entered your mouth when his tongue slipped inside, exploring your mouth, twisting around yours. By the time he let you up, both of you were gasping, the sound echoed in the empty bathroom.

“What do you think you were doing?” His voice was low.

“Just thought I would give you something better to do,” you grinned at him. You looped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer to you.

With the partition supporting your back, Suna lifted one of your legs until it rested at the crook of his elbow. His other hand reached down between your skirt and slipped inside your wet folds. The feeling of his long finger sinking inside you so suddenly made you gasp and you tightened around them. His eyes thinned as he felt your wetness coating his hand.

“So wet. Did it excite you that much to flash yourself in front of other men? Do you want to see you like this?” His voice took on that dangerous low tone as he hissed out those words.

You shuddered, temporarily lost in the feeling of his finger reaching so deep within you. It was a good thing you already took your panties off before he arrived, because it would have been torn into shreds otherwise.

“Only you,” you whispered once you got your breath back.

Hearing that, Suna added another finger. He was stretching you hard, finger curling inside you, reaching depths where you couldn’t on nights when he wasn’t by your side.

You pushed yourself against his fingers when his movements turned languid. Suna watched you lazily as you fucked yourself on his fingers, but the heavy desires clouding his eyes betrayed his expression.

“Rin,” you whined. Because you wanted him to fill you up.

His only response was easing his fingers out of you. You whimpered, clenching around nothing.

The sound of a belt being unbuckled never sounded so glorious to your ears. You looked down. Suna’s cock stood erect, precum leaking at the tip. Just seeing the sight of it made you yearn for him.

“Hurry,” you begged.

He ripped the small foil packet with his teeth.

“Don’t think your family is gonna be even more pleased with me if you get pregnant, but is that what you want? Maybe I should just fill you up.” The sound of his low voice made the coil in your abdomen tighten. His fingers traced along your stomach. There have been so many times when he imagined just filling you up, stuffing you full of his seeds until it dribbled out, marking you as his.

But not today.

He hooked his arms underneath your knees and lifted you up easily. Your hands grabbed onto his shoulders and your legs settled around his hips. You lifted your hips up. Suna stroked his cock along your slit, teasing your entrance.

Then in a single stroke, his whole length sank into you. A strangled gasp left your lips.

“S-So big,” you choked out those words.

The stretch burned. His fingers earlier did not prepare you enough for the thick girth that forced its way into your walls, and you struggled to accommodate his huge length that was splitting you open.

Suna cursed under his breath. He rested his forehead against the crook of your neck. The feeling of your wrapped so tightly and deliciously around him made him shudder. He gritted his teeth to suppress the overwhelming urge just to fuck you and ruin you right here.

“Been wanting to do this since I saw you this morning,” Suna groaned.

His mouth ran down your neck, his hot tongue leaving a blazing trail in its wake until he reached your breasts. He sucked on your skin, leaving marks all over. Then, his hot mouth captured your nipple. He rolled it with his tongue, his teeth occasionally grazing it, earning a whimper from you.

Once you got accustomed to his length, you rolled your hips a few times, and seeing the pleasure was greater than the pain, you tried to lift up your body and move on your own seeing he wasn’t moving, but Suna grabbed your hips firmly. “Move,” you begged, close to tears. Suna simply rolled his hips, thrusting shallow thrusts that didn’t satisfy you.

A part of him knew you only wanted his attention, yet another part of him was angry that the other men almost got to see you. A sight that belonged to his eyes only.

“What do you want?” His voice was hoarse. Because he wanted you as much as you wanted him. All those nights he spent alone thinking of you, and here you were finally in his arms.

You looked at him straight in his eyes. “Fuck me, Suna Rintaro.”

The words snapped his last restraint.

Suna pulled all the way out, then slammed your hips back down, hitting the deepest part of you.

You would have screamed if it wasn’t for the fact that all the air was knocked out of your lungs by his sudden movement. Every nerve in your body was on fire. Your fingers digging into his biceps, leaving crescent marks.

The question of how you were going to walk briefly flitted through your mind, but by his next trust, your mind was empty because he had just hit that sweet spot of yours.

‘S-slow down!’

Contrary to your words, your hole was eagerly sucking him back in every time he moved, slick dripping down onto the floor.

His hips snapped to yours repeatedly as he fucked you relentlessly.

It took all you had just to hold yourself up. The pace he set was brutal. Lewd squelching sound and your moans reverberated in the enclosed space. The waves of pleasure crashing through your body threatened to drown you as Suna hit that particular spot that sent your nerves ablaze again and again.

Suna watched the way your eyes glaze over from the pleasure he gave you. The way you looked so perfect taking him all in.

You knew you weren’t going to last long.

“I-I’m coming, Rin,” you managed to say those words in between your moans.

“Then come,” his own voice was strained as he was nearing his own edge, his thrusts losing their rhythm.

It was the sight of you coming undone that led Suna over the edge. The way you arch your back, your walls spasmed around him, clenching so perfectly around him. And the way his name tumbled out of your lips as you came. Suna gripped your hips and with a few particular heavy thrusts, he came with a shudder.

For a few moments neither of you said anything. You were trembling from the high that you’ve just descended from, your heart racing in a furious double time.

Suna’s lips gently brushed against your forehead.

“You okay?” He murmured.

You nodded weakly. “Give me a minute.”

Suna nodded, his lips left light kisses across your collarbones.

Except…

“Wait, Rin, what are your hands doing?!”

Suna looked up at you with a smirk. “Time for round two.”

Masterlist | Ko-Fi | 2021.07.21

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buckyownsmylife · 3 years

Text

daddy issues - final chapter

The one where Ransom doesn’t feel ready to become a father, but he should have thought about it before sleeping with a complete stranger.

When Ransom’s latest one night stand lets him know that he’s going to become a father, he finds himself looking for the qualities he never believed to have so he can become the parent he never got to witness as a child.

for general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist.

A/N: this is it, everyone! Thank you for following along for the ride. This series is now officially completed, but I will write an epilogue for it eventually (it most likely won’t be coming out next Tuesday). If there’s anything in particular you’d like to see in it, please let me know!

Y/N’s P.O.V.

The gentle sunlight dancing through the sheer curtains woke me up. I did not understand why anyone bought these types of curtains - maybe for the living room, sure. But to place them inside a bedroom?

The aesthetic purposes weren’t as important as the usefulness and as far as drapes go, these were pathetic. I had told Ransom about them before, and all he did was chuckle and agree to call his interior designer to ask for something made of a better fabric.

Yawning, I sat up on the bed and stretched out my arms, moaning softly at the pleasurable pain on my muscles. I was still half-asleep, mind not yet connected to anything when I felt a sweaty hand slip from my stomach to my thigh, and I realized it was naked.

I was naked. All at once, the memories from last night returned and I whipped my head to the side to check on a sleeping Ransom, face turned to me as he snored gently on the pillow.

I remembered everything then. The fight, the insecurities, the reassurances, the physical reassurances… The way he told me he loved me…

I wanted to say it back. I really did because I knew I felt the same way about him, but I hadn’t anticipated it would happen during sex after what was probably one of the worst evenings of our lives.

It felt too real. Too much, too soon. I needed to get out of here.

In my rush to leave the bed, I dipped the mattress too abruptly considering there was someone else slipping on it - someone I didn’t want to wake up. So that’s precisely what happened.

Ransom’s P.O.V.

I inhaled deeply as the slumber slowly left my body, memories of the night before rushing in as I exhaled into a smile. God, that was the best night of my life.

Opening my eyes, I was hoping to find her body right next to mine, close enough that I could reach over, touch her and maybe repeat some of last nights best moments until hunger forced us to leave the bed.

But my fingers didn’t find anything and when I looked up, it was to find her frantically trying to put on some clothes as she fumbled from one side of the room to the other.

“What’s going on?” My voice came out harsher than I intended, throat hoarse from last night’s activities and the sleep that still somewhat dominated my body. Upon hearing it, she froze, keeping her back to me while my mind raced, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.

And then I understood it.

“You’re trying to leave me.” She didn’t deny it, but guilt must have been inside of her, fighting for dominance over her fear because she turned around to face me, a pained look on her expression.

“Ransom…” I knew that tone. I hadn’t even employed on anyone before because I never cared enough about someone to feel bad when I broke things off with them, but this feeling was universal.

I rushed to leave the bed, uncaring of the fact that I was still naked when I crossed the distance between us and took her face in my hands. “Don’t do this,” I pleaded. “Don’t lock me out again.”

Tears dominated her eyes and she blinked them away, forcing them out so they could run over her cheeks. Frustration was clear on her every feature, she shook her head as best as she could considering my hold on her, squeezing her eyes shut for a second like she was trying to think.

“Why the fuck can’t I control myself around you?” She burst out, and immediately the angst I was feeling escaped my body, letting me go now that I knew what was bothering her.

Taking a deep breath, I brushed her hair away from her face, gazing deeply into her eyes so she’d know how much I meant what I had to say.

“Because you like being with me just as much as I enjoy being with you.” She couldn’t counter that, but when she tried to avoid it, I called her out, “It’s true, you can’t deny that!”

She bit on her bottom lip, trying to contain herself, trying to get a hold of her emotions that must have been all over the place. I could understand that, considering… well, everything. Not only her pregnancy and our emotional connection, but the array of feelings we went through last night.

One thing remained true. I loved her and after what she did for me, I knew she loved me too.

“Your head’s trying to talk you out of it,” I recognized, hoping now that I was showing the problem she would acknowledge it too. “But you know this in your heart, just like I know on mine!”

Once again, she didn’t oppose it, and that gave me all the confidence I needed to keep going.

“We’re supposed to be an ‘us’, sweetheart,” I breathed out, hope and longing evident in every single word I uttered, as well as my eyes, that never strayed from hers. “Please, give this a try.”

Silence followed. She was calmer now, more rational. Her breathing was slower but she still looked weary, still looked scared. So I let her go, separating my skin from hers even though it was the exact opposite of what I wanted to do, so I could give her as much room to think as possible.

But I was going to lay all of my arguments because this was the battle of my life.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I felt cold without his hands on my body, his presence towering over me. Hugging myself, I hesitated between leaving the room or staying there, when he started to talk again, making the decision for me.

“You know it makes sense.” He was talking about him and I, I knew it. And I agreed. There wasn’t a single cell on my body that could deny this - not anymore. Still, my brain persisted, stuck on idiotic reasonings that had no place ruling something so important to my heart. “It makes so much sense.”

The fact that he was willing to fight for this, to fight for me was making this even harder on me. It was clear on the way he spoke - on every word he said - that this mattered to him and I felt comforted in the knowledge, but even more frustrated that my stupid insecurities still haunted me.

“I know I’m not easy,” he acknowledged, leaving me even more frustrated with myself. “And I definitely don’t deserve someone like you. But if you want me, I’ll be here.”

I had to say something. I couldn’t just let him think so low of himself, not when he was being the perfect partner and my only reason to hold back resided exclusively on myself.

“I do want you,” I managed to admit, my voice tentative as I played with my own dress. “I want you Ransom, and you do deserve me but I…”

That was enough to get him near me again, hands once more cradling my face as he dipped my head so I’d look him in the eye. “I know you’re scared,” he recognized, tongue wetting his lower lip as he rushed to try to calm me. “I know you’re scared of loving me, and I was scared too.”

A chuckle escaped his lips, he sounded almost guilty. “I still am, if I’m being entirely honest. But I’m willing to give this a try because the other option… well, the other option is simply unacceptable to me.”

Silence laid heavily in the room as I contemplated what he was saying, thinking about the other option myself. I didn’t want to live it. I didn’t want to go through this alone and love Ransom from a distance.

The fear of losing him brought me the courage I needed to push through and tear down the last wall I was stupidly trying to keep against him and I.

“You’ve done so much for me,” I recognized, trying to keep the shame in my voice to a minimum. “So much to prove to me that you’re worth it.”

The light coming through the curtains made the atmosphere almost romantic somehow, and now I found myself enjoying them because this way, I could see the sparkle of hope that twinkled in Ransom’s deep eyes.

I needed to say it. It was time for me to say it. “You’re the only person I want to be with,” I started, dipping my toes in the water while I prayed that the sea wouldn’t take me. When Ransom smiled, thumbs brushing over my cheeks, I felt comforted that if a wave should swallow me, I’d die happily in its embrace. “Ransom… I love you.”

His lips connected to mine, my heartbeat loud on my ears but I wasn’t anxious anymore. All I could feel was happiness, blinding, hopeful, bright - taking over my entire body when he parted and rubbed his nose against mine, cocky grin on his lips as he teased, “I know.”

Snorting, I allowed him to pull me back to bed, perfectly content on his embrace as I was suddenly reminded of something. “Oh, but if you ever cheat me, I’ll cut off your balls.”

It was my payback for his response to my love confession, but also my way of admitting my biggest insecurity. Ransom knew it, and so he pulled me back to lay against his chest so he could rub my back calmingly.

“You really shouldn’t worry, baby…” I knew from his tone that he was joining in on the light banter, but whatever he was going to say would be a truthful reflection of his feelings on the matter. “I don’t think anyone is more attractive than you.”

That sent me into a fit of giggles, aided by the fact that he took advantage of my distraction to start tickling me. Once he was done and I was trying to catch my breath, I caught him staring at me with those deep, emotion-filled eyes again.

“Besides…” he continued, like he had never even paused. “I’ve never wanted anyone half as much as I want you.”

#my series #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale reader #ransom drysdale reader insert #ransom drysdale reader inserts

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queenoftheworldisdead · 3 years

Note

Number 8 of best friends to lovers 👀👀

For Sale

Number 8 of best friends to lovers “so, we’re just going to ignore the fact that you drunk-dialed me to tell me you love me?”

Ransom x Reader

warning: Kissing

not dark. i wanted this to be dark, but it didn’t happen. probably because my brain is story.

🏡

The real-estate sign that bared your face now freshly planted in the yard of a gorgeous luxury mansion. Mrs. Thrombey had finally saw fit to give your first high end listing. The commission from this alone would be more than what you could earned if you sold every listing you had thus far.

As you marched off the lawn you headed to your car to grab your camera. Lots of photos needed to be taken before you could post the listing online and bring it officially to market. While bent over in your backseat in the driveway you were surprised to hear a car pull up behind you.

There is no way a potential buyer could be here this soon. The sign just went up.

Looking over the backseat you peer out curiously. A classic Porsche now parked almost bumper to bumper with you.

Ransom? What the hell?

It was far beyond unusual for the son of your boss to bother you at a listing. He normally preferred to annoy you at your desk, in the office of Thrombey Real Estate.

Grabbing your camera and closing the door to your car you stand with hand on hip curious as to why he was here.

"Don't even think about it. This is my first high profile listing and I am not letting you defile it. Like you did the loft." You looked at him accusingly.

🏡

When you first got hired everyone was quick to tell you that Ransom had a reputation around the office. He had fucked a number of Mrs. Thrombey's assistance and three different girls in accounting. So when he finally made an appearance your defenses were up.

🏡

A month in and to your surprise he never made a move. It was a slight hit to your ego as you sat and watched him try and fuck anything that moved in the office.

If his mother wasn't around he would often gravitate to your desk. You were suspicious at first, but when he brought your favorite flavored coffee his presence became a lot more tolerable. Even if he spent most of the time talking ad nauseam about other women while you rolled your eyes and chided him for being a douche.

You had gotten so close with the arrogant playboy that his mother would reach out to you on occasion for her sons whereabouts. So when your new bud asked to borrow the keys to one of your lofts you saw no problem with it.

He returned the key the next day, leaving them on your desk with a frosted sprinkled treat next too it.

Unfortunately that didn't makeup for the destruction he rot. When you opened the door to the loft it looked liked he fucked over every inch of the place. The living room's upholstery had mystery stains everywhere, the kitchen was trashed with empty takeout boxes and the bedroom you had staged looked ran through. Leaving you with no other choice but to cancel the showing and hire a cleaning crew to fix the damage he had done.

🏡

Your face soured at the sight of his cocky smile as he exited the Porsche.

"A little ungrateful don't you think?"

You scrunched a brow very confused as to what he could mean by grateful. "What are you talking about?"

"This listing.. I convinced Ma to give it to you. You deserved it." He said as he placed and arm around your shoulder, walking with you up the drive and into the estate.

Planting your feet once you passed through the entryway you nudge him with your elbow to give you space, but he didn't move.

"Ransom I don't know what game you are playing with me today, but I need to take these photo's so that I can get it officially listed on the market" you say flatly as you try and move away. Ransom's hold on your shoulder is unwavering, pulling you closer with every escape attempt. Pushing your frustration aside you begin fiddling with your camera, resolving to taking photo's with him on your hip.

Snapping shots in the foyer while Ransom leans his weight on you. "And besides even if what your saying is true it still doesn't make up for you destroying my loft a day before a showing" you huffed with the camera pressed to your lash.

“So, we’re just going to ignore the fact that you drunk-dialed me to tell me you love me?”

The sudden change of subject had you lowering the lens. The stunned look sending him into a fit of deep giggles as you stared off into the distance. You could not dare bring yourself to look him in the eye.

🏡

"Don't be all shy now. I was really flattered" he said digging out his cell from his coats breast pocket. Holding the device out he let it play for you on speaker. 'Hey! Hey Ranny! Ransom... Handsome! Oh my gawd did you know your name rhymes with HANDSOME..' You cringed at the volume of your drunken voice as the song Holy jolly Christmas played loudly in the back ground. 'You are so handsome. UGH! Why do I have to be in love with your stupid handsome face? I know the only reason you even talk to me is to use me for my listings, but FUCK! At least toss a girl a bone!' The voicemail cut out after that. Ransom stared at you the entire time, your discomfort very apparent as it brought him further joy.

🏡

Mrs. Thrombey's Christmas party did you in. You got shit faced at an office party. You raked a hand over your face as you relived the moments of last Saturday. He had been sitting on this tape for days and you weren't sure why he waited so long to drop a bomb on you like this.

Seeing Ransom with some hot random yet again made you feel some kind of way. He had already asked you for a key to a listing earlier in the day. You knew he was set to bring her there before the night was through. The Tequila must have stirred something in you, because as the free drinks flowed you realized how devilishly handsome the son of your boss was, how you wanted nothing more than to be bent over and railed by him on his mother's desk.

The next morning you checked your phone as you normal did. Nothing out of the ordinary no missed calls or text. So you had no idea that drunk you was all in her feelings, leaving voicemails like a needy idiot.

🏡

You were so lost in thought you hadn't realized that Ransom was behind you until you felt the camera slip from your fingers and into his hand.

"Look Ransom that was drunk me. Sober me is.."

"Shut up. " You felt the vibration of each word as he pressed into your back. Swallowing thickly you tightened your lip. "Come on lets play house."

He led you up the stairs and through the estate with an air of familiarity. Your legs moved, but you felt as if you weren't in control of them. When he opened the door to the master bedroom you started to snap out of it.

Ransom turned to look at you when you halted your stride. As you opened your mouth to protest he crashed into your lips. His tongue invading your mouth as you held up your hands in helplessness.

Ransom's hands took either side of your thighs, hooking them and lifting you off your feet. Your weight being moved effortlessly to the bed where he laid you with care.

When the door to the master bedroom swung open only two people were surprised.

"Jesus Christ! Ransom!" Mrs Thrombey's voice startled you, but did not faze her son.

"And you. I am so disappointed in you" she slammed the door to the master bedroom.

#Ransom x black reader #Ransom x black!reader #Ransom x reader #black writer

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crispyjenkins · 4 years

Note

B U I R, continuation of the last fic? Padawan Obi and master Dooku are freakin great. Would like to see more of jango being a disaster & a himbo for one (1) man

(my kid enabled me and i’ve been writing this between packing/moving the last week and i don’t know when i’ll be able to start something new (tonight? tomorrow? next week? lord knows), so i’m very sorry to the quinobi anon, yours is next, i promise!!

imagine that one Stiles/Malia cuddle that literally will not stop looping through my brain even though i haven’t watched teen wolf

warning for minor blood and injury, minor descriptions/implications of torture. takes place maybe three years after the last!)

It’s a little uncomfortable, trying to sleep against a wall while also trying to keep your sort-of-love-interest's headwound elevated on your own lap, and whatever remains of Obi-Wan’s internal clock protests to the surely late hour should they have been on Coruscant.

Which they’re not, of course, because Obi-Wan has apparently run out of brownie points with the Force, and all his bad luck is catching up to him all at once: getting kidnapped by the Daan for ransom is one thing, getting his shuttle knocked clean out of the sky over Odos and barely managing to protect his fellow passengers in the crash is another entirely. A concussion and a Force-suppression collar later, Obi-Wan had been thrown in a clinically-plain but entirely-dark cell with a barely-conscious Mand'alor that he hasn't seen outside of holocomms since Concord Dawn.

And some part of Obi-Wan is thankful for the excuse to see the real Jango again, not just the fuzzy holos that barely passed recognition and had to be viewed in private, but most of Obi-Wan is livid that this had only been made possible by the both of them getting snatched by the beginnings of a separatist alliance in the mid rim.

Livid that Jango has been here days longer than him, the passage of time marked in fist-shaped bruises and a bleeding lip — and Obi-Wan can't do anything about it, not cut off from the Force as he is.

The single door on the other side of the durasteel bars slides open, spilling harsh white light into the room and sending a nauseating pulse of pain through Obi-Wan's head. The Rattataki nightsister that had dragged him out of the wreckage of the shuttle all but bounces up to the bars, smile cruel in its delight. Force, but she can't be more than twenty-four standard, and already she has two red 'sabers at her hips.

“Well, isn’t that sweet,” Ventress purrs, and Obi-Wan is far too tired to deal with her posturing. He elects to ignore her, letting his head sag into the corner all while giving Jango's wrist a harsh squeeze to surreptitiously wake him, careful to keep his free hand curled around the back of Jango's neck to let him know they're not in immediate danger, but to be wary.

The Mand'alor stirs, and he had been raised a soldier, he knows better than to give himself away immediately. Instead, he keeps his muscles slack even as he takes in the situation, the breathing of a third person in the room, the slow, steady brush of Obi-Wan's thumb over his pulse.

"You can ignore me all you like, Jedi," Ventress says, certainly sounding at ease in her upper hand. "When my master arrives, your tongue will quickly loosen."

Obi-Wan simply grunts, glaring at her for all the good that will do. "I do hope he's not quite so young as yourself," he drawls, as Jango carefully shifts and tests his aches and pains. "You'll have to forgive me for finding it difficult to fear one younger than some padawans."

Ventress hisses, one hand grabbing the bars to pull herself closer. "Not all can be so perfect as you, young Master Kenobi." Jango twitches against him, and Obi-Wan doesn't need the Force to feel his rage. "I do look forward to my master showing you what real power is."

"Well, then I hope he arrives soon, before you manage to bore us to death."

"Obi-Wan," Jango murmurs in warning, stupidly alerting Ventress to his wakefulness.

To his credit, Ventress doesn’t even look like she notices, lips curling back as she waves her hand and the barred door slams to the side. It’s a careless use of the Force, Obi-Wan thinks, which is a shame because she certainly isn’t lacking in skill, though perhaps this isn’t what he should be focussing on.

Slinking into the cell followed quickly by two magnaguards from the hall, Ventress uses that skill to effortlessly grab Jango with the Force and drag him off of Obi-Wan, flinging him across the room into the arms of one of the magnaguards. The other shoves its electrostaff into Obi-Wan’s face to stop him from scrambling up to follow, Ventress leering over Obi-Wan with her fingers gliding over her ‘saber hilts.

“My master warned me of your wayward words, Master Kenobi, you are foolish to think you can use your powers against me," she hisses.

Maker, at least she's earnest. "I didn't think you'd be so quick to forget, darling," Obi-Wan says with a disarming smile, "that you've already made sure I have no powers to speak of."

Over Ventress’ shoulder, Jango jerks in the droid’s arms with a desperately angry frown aimed right at Obi-Wan, and he’s probably right: Obi-Wan really should stop antagonising their captors. It’s difficult, though, when the bleary half-light through the open door frames the fresh split at the corner of Jango’s lip, that Obi-Wan is helpless to remedy.

Ventress snarls at him and grabs the suppression collar underneath his chin, pulling just enough to make him grunt in pain as she forces his head up to look at her; Jango doesn’t make a sound, but yanks against the magnaguard’s grip with enough force that both he and the droid stumble. Ventress pays them absolutely no mind as she leans right into Obi-Wan’s face.

“You will learn to fear us,” she whispers, sibilance bouncing around his mind like the spots that start to dance at the edges of his vision. “We have some more questions for his honor, but you get to sit here in the dark and reflect, perhaps you should meditate, Jedi, on the fate that awaits you at my master’s hands.”

Obi-Wan has just enough leeway to suck in a breath, and uses it to murmur back, “I’m starting to wonder if you even have a master, with the way you hide behind his ‘power’.”

With a ferocious snarl, Ventress yanks him clean off the floor and into the air by the collar, his surprised gasp cutting off into a wheeze as his head snaps back. Jango barks something at Ventess, though Obi-Wan can’t hear exactly what over the roar in his ears.

He scrambles at Ventress' wrist in an attempt to pull himself up enough to just kriffing breathe, to take some of his weight off his neck, but it's been days since he's eaten, and his toes barely brush the floor, and Ventress knows exactly how to manipulate his body to make it hurt. Force, he can hear Jango's voice, low, dangerous, edged in panic, and he can't make out a single word. Instead, Obi-Wan curses his height that he normally doesn't mind, for the way someone at least five years his junior can hold him so powerless so easily.

And then after an eternity, after the world starts to grey and Obi-Wan almost feels like his neck will break, she drops him, oozing smugness as he crumples to the floor and barely manages not to smack his head against the durasteel; he lacks the strength to save his knees from the same fate. He chokes and coughs on the frigid, fake air, nearly retching at his lungs' attempt to suck in all his missing oxygen at once, and he's vaguely aware of Ventress saying something to him, probably gloating. He focuses on just keeping his head off the floor.

Endlessly gentle hands brace his ribs and the back of his neck as they maneuver Obi-Wan up from his stomach to the closest wall, and Obi-Wan knows to trust these hands, that the hurried murmur cutting through the din is not Ventress, that he should probably listen to the owner of those hands.

Jango presses two fingers under Obi-Wan's jaw and checks his pulse, his holo-fuzzy face only coming into focus when the bars slam back into place and the door glides closed on the other side of the room.

"You with me, ner ca'tra?" Jango asks, tilting Obi-Wan's chin up until he nods.

Chest still jerking but forcing himself to calm, Obi-Wan looks around Jango's shoulder to the door, finding with relief that both Ventress and the magnaguards have left them in the dark once again. "Ar-Ar you alright?" he coughs, voice sounding as rough as it feels.

Jango sighs sharply and drags his hand up to push Obi-Wan's loose hair back from his face. "Force preserve me from jetiise suicidal selflessness. I'm fine, kih'jetii, I'll pretend you asked because you've gone stupid from oxygen loss."

Obi-Wan laughs, though it still sounds like a gasp, and lets the Mand'alor pull him gently into his shoulder.

"Padawan," Yan says softly, side stepping in front of the Neimoidian senator that had been talking his ear off for the past hour. Obi-Wan relaxes immediately as his master blocks out the rest of the room, the sounds and the light and the people, and he's never so thankful for Yan's height than he is when chill creeps over the back of his mind and digs its claws into his temples.

It's easier now that he's older, he has more control, has a better understanding of the Unifying Force, and under Yan's tutelage, his shields certainly aren't lacking. Visions are rare, Obi-Wan mostly gets jabs and encouragement from the Force these days, and even in dreams, events are rarely clear enough to preemptively act upon.

But sometimes it's like this, ice starting just where his spine meets his skull, swiftly growing under bone and frosting over gray matter, crystalising his mental shields until they're brittle enough to shatter. He's been under Yan's care for more than half his life now, his master can feel a vision coming on almost before Obi-Wan does, and if it weren't for the crowded ballroom around them, Obi-Wan would sob in relief when his master gently settles two fingers on his temple and supports his mind from below.

Obi-Wan chases the flashes of colour and pictures, the vague senses of warmth and rain and contentment, before rock explodes and durasteel rends. Amorphous screams slam against the inside of his skull, and he leans harder into Yan's hand to combat it, to prop himself up until he can reach out and try and catch those will-o-the-wisps of answers, of hints of where or when these flashes will matter.

"Soon," he mumbles, feeling Yan move slowly and methodically over the cracks in his mind, patching them with care. "I don't... A terrorist attack, Master Yan, I don't—"

"Easy, padawan," Yan soothes back and sets his free hand on the other side of Obi-Wan's face, like he used to before Obi-Wan had learned enough control. "The details matter not."

He lets out a harsh breath. "The details matter not. The details... Desert. Refugees. Claw marks, master, and..." Obi-Wan frowns, pinching his brows together in confusion. "The... the stolen armour. From before."

Yan rumbles unhappily. "Are you sure, Obi-Wan?"

"I'm sure," he whispers. "I would know that armour anywhere."

Mand'alor — “Sole ruler”, contended ruler of Mandalore. ner ca'tra — “my night sky”, intimate term of endearment jetiise — “Jedi” pl., sing. jetii kih'jetii — “Little Jedi”, usually offensive but the relationship between Mandalorians and Jedi are better in this ‘verse so

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janetbrown711 · 4 years

Note

“hold my hand.” Hazel and Loucy

Hazel woke up in a cold, dark cell with her little cousin Lucy curled up on her. It took her a moment to take in the scene before she realized that they definitely weren’t at Uncle Louie’s house, but it didn’t take long to remember what had happened.

She shuddered at the memory.

She took another moment to take in the scene before her. The cell was dark, damp, and dirty. There wasn’t any furniture and she quickly noticed she and Lucy were wearing tracking anklets to ensure they wouldn’t escape. Great.

“Finally awake I see,” A familiar female voice spoke from the dark. “Well... at least one of you. I’d suggest waking the little one if I were you. She’ll need to hear this.” Hazel didn’t trust the woman, but she didn’t feel as though she had a choice. She nudged Lucy awake.

“H-hazel?” she rubbed her eyes. “Where’re we?” she blinked.

“As if I’d say that,” The woman spoke. This caused Lucy to shrink back.

“Who is she?” she asked Hazel.

“Your father knows me very well Lucilia, though I wouldn’t be surprised if he hasn’t told you out of all of them about me,” The woman chuckled darkly. It made Hazel shudder again.

“What do you want from us?” Hazel asked.

“From you? Hmm... I suppose not much. It’s your parents that have our interest,” She said.

“Why does uncle Louie know you?” Hazel interrogated.

“So many questions,” She woman brushed it aside. She clapped her hands and lights flickered on and the girls were able to get a good look at their kidnapper. Messy green feathers, a scar over a now robotic right eye, a giant brown fur coat, a cracked beak, and a grotesque figure overall. When Lucy saw her, she clung to Hazel’s sweater and Hazel wrapped her arm around her.

“Now, let me make myself clear: you two are here for ransom; a ploy to get your parents here if you will. I know they want you in one piece so I won’t hurt you,” She said, and Hazel sighed a breath of relief.

“Unless you misbehave, so don’t get too comfortable,” she grinned. “However that doesn’t mean I’m not going to make use of you two. I’ve compiled a list of chores for the both of you to do. The little one will start with cooking, and you will chop wood outside,” She said.

“Lucy can’t cook, she’s six. A-and it’s the middle of winter, way too cold to be chopping wood. I-i don’t even have snow gear,” Hazel looked at her like she was insane (which she was, but that was beside the point).

“That wasn’t a request,” her eyes flashed in anger.

“W-well I get that, b-but-”

“Listen here little girl,” Turaco opened the cell door and picked up Hazel. “If you keep talking back to me there will be dire consequences. You may as well say goodbye to your little cousin now, understood?” Hazel nodded, pure terror in her eyes. Turaco laughed and tossed her back on the ground.

“Good. You will do what I ask as I ask or else. Now come along, you’ve got work to do,” Turaco left the cell.

“Haze, are you okay?” Lucy asked. Hazel grumbled and nodded.

“We should go. C’mon, hold my hand,” she said as she stood. Lucy bobbed her head and held her cousin’s hand tightly.

“I don’t like the scary lady,” Lucy stated.

“Me neither... but we have to do what she says so we can go home, okay?” Hazel asked.

“Okay,” Lucy nodded. She paused a moment before saying, “I wanna go home.”

“I know... me too,” Hazel squeezed her hand and Lucy squeezed back.

“Ah here we are. The kitchen. Get to work on making us something good,” Turaco ordered.

“I-i don’t know how to-”

“That wasn’t a question. Now get in there,” She grabbed Lucy by the collar of her dress and tossed her to the floor. Hazel ran to her but Turaco snapped her fingers.

“You and I are going elsewhere, remember? Hurry along now,” She glared before beginning to walk away again.

“I’m sorry Lucy. I’ll see you later; hang in there,” Hazel said before running off to catch up with Turaco.

“And this is where you’ll be,” Turaco opened a door and a gush of wind came in, causing Hazel to shudder.

“I-it’s fr-fr-freezing,” She rubbed her arms.

“Good thing you’re wearing a sweater. Get to work,” she pushed Hazel outside and stationed a robot guard at the door.

“Well... let’s just hope this doesn’t go horribly for both of us...”

.o0o.

For hours, Hazel worked away at chopping wood. She had terrible aim and the arm strength of a limp noodle. By the end, she gained very sore arms, and blisters covering her hands, but eventually, she considered her work done and was let back inside to the cell. She waited there for what felt like hours that she tried to sleep through before she heard the cell door open and Lucy crying. Hazel immediately sat up and saw that Lucy was holding a burnt and bloodied hand that had been struck by a ruler.

“Lucy, what happened?” Hazel opened her arms and Lucy ran into her arms.

I-i w-was trying t-t-to coo-cook l-like she sa-said,” she hiccuped, “b-but I-i burned m-m-my ha-han-hand a-and i-i couldn’t st-stop crying a-and the food went b-black a-and sh-she g-got mad a-and-and got a ruler a-and now my ha-hand really hurts,” she sobbed. Hazel squeezed her cousin tightly, trying to pour as much comfort as she could into it.

“Well if you keep it up, there’ll only be more where that came from,” Turaco had suddenly appeared in the room. Hazel glared at her. “My my, such a feisty one,” She shook her head. “I suppose it runs in the family.” Hazel had to raise an eyebrow at that. She definitely wasn’t as mad as her Uncle Donald.

“She’s only six. Punish me next time,” Hazel said.

“While that does sound fun because you are pretty weak for your age, I’ll have to decline. She messes up, she’ll get the punishment. Just like her father,” She grinned.

“What do you mean ‘just like her father’?” Hazel pressed.

“Oh? Did he really not tell you about me?” she seemed almost offended. “I’m the one who kidnapped and nearly killed him all those years ago. My... I think it was a little more than a year before you were born,” she said.

“h-how would you know that?” Hazel asked.

“Oh, FOWL knows a lot of things, especially about your family,” she flashed a grin that sent another shiver down Hazel’s spine. “Your father was quite a thorn in our side when he was not much younger than you are now,” she said.

“I-is that why I’m here?” she asked a lot more quietly.

“The collection of Hubert Duck and Webbigail Vanderquack would very much benefit our causes so I suppose... yes. That’s exactly why you’re here. You’re fish bait that your oh so doting parents won’t even hesitate to fall for,” she smiled. Hazel wished she could’ve argued that, but it was true. They wouldn’t hesitate a moment to go try to rescue them.

Oh god, she wasn’t going to be the reason her father died too, was she??? Her mind quickly spiraled.

“However, they likely won’t be here until tomorrow, maybe even the day after, so here we are. Waiting while I struggle to find some use for you two,” she sighed. “Children are such pains, but it’ll all be worth it soon. I’ll have your daddies heads on a platter, as well as Webbigail too. Oh! And if we’re lucky we might even get Scrooge McDuck! Isn’t this exciting?!” She clapped her hands, but Hazel looked at her terrified, clinging onto her cousin even more than before.

“It isn’t true Lucy, everything is gonna be okay,” she said. Lucy shook her head and continued to cry.

“Awww, is the little one scared?” Turaco’s sarcasm oozed. “Well at least that means she’s got some brains in her. Now, don’t get some rest. We have a ransom video to record later.” With that, Turaco cackled and left the room, leaving Hazel feeling so many emotions all at once she couldn’t tell what was strongest.

“I-i want m-my d-d-daddy,” Lucy sobbed.

“I know Lucy, it’ll be okay,” Hazel stroked her hair.

“I-i don’t wa-want them to g-get hu-hurt,” she looked up to her cousin. Hazel looked away in a failed attempt to hold back tears of her own.

“i-i know... I want my dad too...” her voice cracked and she found herself unable to speak. She just hugged Lucy tighter and together they just cried with all their might in the small cold and damp cell, somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

#my fics #lucilia 'lucy' duck #hazel duck #turaco #ducktales fanfics #ducktales next gen #my ocs #feels #angst #tw kidnapping

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falloutmelody · 4 years

Text

“You are the best thing that has ever been mine.”

(GIF IS NOT MINE, FULL CREDIT TO THE PERSON WHO MADE IT!)

PAIRING: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

WARNINGS: Mild threat, especially towards the end. The reader is injured in this following an interrogation, although there is no vivid description of these injuries! Nat and the reader are also being held hostage and are locked in a cell, but again, it’s nothing too vivid!

REQUESTED BY: Anonymous! Thank you so much for requesting, I hope this does your image justice and that you enjoy this one too! Don’t hesitate to send any more requests my way, especially if they’re for Nat, because I love writing for her!

WORD COUNT: 2016! Again, I had a lot of ideas, so this is a long one!

I wasn’t too sure if anon wanted this to be a follow up to my last Nat x reader, where the reader was Bruce’s sibling, so I’ve left it intentionally vague! So, if you want it to be a follow up because you liked that story, or just want something separate, either way, this should be okay with you! Again, I pictured this as happening post the first Avengers, but before Winter Soldier! But as always, no spoilers, so don’t worry! I wasn’t expecting to have time to get this done until next week, but, somehow, I did, so it’s a bit earlier than I promised!

As always, my requests are very much open! I write for Doctor Who (Thirteen’s era only currently), the MCU and Buzzfeed Unsolved! So, if you have something you want me to write, don’t hesitate to let me know! Please send requests to my ask, which you can find here!

Your feet scraped on the ground as you were dragged through the dimly lit corridors by two men that were insanely well built. You tried your hardest to focus on where exactly they were taking you- to give yourself some sort of mental map of the maze-like halls of this underground base. But you couldn’t. Your head was hurting way too much for that, and despite all your hours of training, all that was really dominating your mind in that moment was how much pain you were in. Apparently, not even all the fancy SHIELD training in the world could help you ignore the pain that came from being punched repeatedly in the face.

The sound of a distant creak reached your ears as the guards beside you roughly grasped your sore upper arms, forcing you to come to a very sudden stop. “What’s happening?” You weakly mumbled almost immediately, obviously not expecting an actual answer. All that you’d heard from these guys since they’d caught you the day before was increasingly aggressive demands for information about your mission and SHIELD in general, and of course, very violent threats to both your own life, and the life of your partner.

You were proved right as you received absolutely no verbal response. Instead, you were merely thrown forwards, hitting the cold ground before you with a violent thud. Sharp and searing pain radiated throughout your whole body as you forced yourself to bite back any cries of pain, scrunching your right hand up into a fist to try and help you cope.

“Nice to see they’re being hospitable.” A familiar female voice reached your ears soon afterwards, causing your pain to momentarily be replaced with relief.

Natasha was safe.

As the sound of a metal door slamming shut reached your ears, informing you that you were once again locked back up in the dismal holding cell, you weakly rolled over and pushed yourself up, deciding to settle for just sitting partly upright when your tired legs protested too much at the idea of physically standing up. “Yup. Made me feel very welcome,” you mumbled quietly as your vision finally focussed and adjusted to the light in the room, leading you to soon move your head in the direction Natasha’s voice had come from.

There she was. Thankfully, as far as you could see, the redhead seemed completely unharmed. God, you’d been borderline out of your mind with concerned that they’d try and get answers out of her whilst they’d been ‘interrogating you’. Whilst you of course, knew that she could handle such things, the image of her being physically hurt understandably caused you great distress.

A brief look of concern momentarily brushed over the expression of the Avenger as she met your gaze, with Nat soon making her way to your side, easily kneeling down beside you. “Jeez, what did they do to you, Y/N?” The two of you had spent a fair amount of time together now, but this clear tone of concern was genuinely new. Not that Nat had never allowed herself to express a softer side towards you, because she almost certainly had done, but this just a new level. Apparently, they really had hurt you. Given the pain you were in, that fact didn’t surprise you in the slightest.

“Mostly punching, I think. I… I’m not gonna lie, I kinda lost count after a while,” you admitted truthfully. Had it been anyone else in that room with you, you 100% knew you wouldn’t have been so open, out of fear of how you would be perceived. But this was Nat. Nat, who somehow always provided you with a strong sense of safety and made you feel incredibly comfortable being your real self around. Whether it was the same for her, you weren’t entirely sure, but you liked to think so.

You were brought out of your thoughts soon afterwards by another thing that caught you off-guard. Nat soon allowed her partly gloved hand to lightly settle on the left side of your face. You winced at first due to the pain but didn’t outright protest. It was an oddly comforting gesture. It was an oddly comforting gesture, a very nice and welcome contrast to the violence you’d suffered mere moments before.

After allowing her hand to linger there for a few moments, Natasha proceeded to very gently apply pressure, causing your head to lightly tilt to the side. That was when you figured out exactly what she was doing. She was trying to get a better look at your injuries.

“Nothing looks too deep, so you should be okay. When we get out of here though, you’d better promise me that you’ll get this looked at by a medic,” Nat spoke, her words being quiet to ensure that you were the only one that would hear her. You forced yourself to give a small smile, not wanting to nod and break out of the comforting touch of your partner.

“Yes, Doctor Romanoff,” you couldn’t help but softly remark in your best attempt at a playful tone. You just badly wanted something to lighten the mood. Your efforts were soon rewarded, as a small scoff of amusement came from Natasha, the soft sound causing your heart rate to pick up for something positive for the first time since you’d been brought here.

“Glad someone’s appreciating my skills,” Nat countered. “Just give me your word that you’ll get it treated, okay, Y/N? I don’t like the idea of something serious happening to one of the few people I trust to have my back.” Once again, you were somewhat caught off-guard by her words, allowing yourself a few moments to process the compliment, which was possibly one of the most meaningful you’d ever received, before you responded.

“I promise, Nat.” Your words were quiet but sincere, as you focused your gaze on her eyes. If you weren’t concerned about making her uncomfortable with sentimentality, or rushing things and ruining your relationship, you would have taken that moment to reassure her that you had absolutely no plans of making her lose you in the near future. Meeting this woman was, quite frankly, one of the best things that had ever happened to you, you had no plans of tossing that aside.

So, instead, you decided to once again make a light-hearted comment, to lighten the mood once more, before you would presumably start discussing how you were going to get the hell out of here. “You know, if I didn’t know you better by now, I’d think that this concern meant that you loved me.”

You watched as a somewhat coy smile soon formed on Nat’s expression. “Maybe I do,” she responded.

Wait.

What?

Your brain repeated those three words in a frantic manner, not being too sure how to respond to that. Hell, you didn’t even know if she was being serious. But if she was… Your heart rate once again slightly spiked at the idea, making you feel almost like a cliché character in a romantic novel.

You struggled for words for a few moments, something that you presumed showed on your expression, as you heard Nat give another small noise of amusement. Should you say it back? Would that make it seem insincere? Would that make her uncomfortable to outright state it? Thankfully, your rambling mind was soon given something to bring it back down to reality as Natasha proceeded to speak once more, her hand slowly coming away from the side of your face as she did so.

“Anyway, I’ve been thinking, and I think I’ve come up with something to get us out of here. I managed to get started on it whilst you were-” the red head began. However, she was very abruptly cut off, as the metal door suddenly swung open with a bang, and a man walked through that you vaguely recognised. You had absolutely no idea what his name was, but he was the man that had been doing most of the questioning during your interrogation. A deep-buried sense of nausea and fear formed in your stomach as the peaceful bubble Natasha’s presence had created for you was instantly shattered. What did this guy want now?

“My men and I are growing tired of getting nowhere. We’ve informed your beloved SHIELD that we have you, and what the consequences will be if they don’t pay the ransom we’ve stated.” No need to ask what those consequences would be. Your earlier conversation with these guys had given you a clear enough picture of how they liked to deal with people. Your stomach only dropped further as the man soon brought his attention over to Natasha, gesturing to his men with a simple hand gesture. As two soldiers began to make their way over to her, panic raced through you.

No. No. They were not going to hurt her like they’d done with you.

As they grabbed Nat’s arms, you quickly shot up onto your feet, earning you the attention of everyone in the small cell. Trying to ignore the sharp pain that was once again racing through you as a result of your sudden movement, you immediately spoke.

“Wait. I might have known more than I let on. I’m the one you want to speak to.” Of course, you were lying. Besides, even if you did know anything important about SHIELD and why you’d been sent here, you’d rather die than share it with these guys. But they didn’t need to know that. All you would have to do was ramble on about nothing and endure whatever they did to you until Nat was able to spring herself free.

“Y/N,” Natasha began, but she didn’t get much of a chance to finish her thought as the supposed boss shot her an aggressive look indicating that he wanted her to shut up.

The boss took a few steps towards you, studying you for a few moments. You weren’t entirely sure what exactly was running through his mind as he did so. Was he trying to figure out if you were being sincere about your claims that you knew more than you claimed? Was he trying to physically assess your weak points? You weren’t sure, but you refused to look away from him as he did so. This strange studying lasted for a few moments, before he turned back to his guards, and gestured with his head in your direction.

It was almost familiar at this point, the sensation of those insanely well-built men grasping your upper arms. “You’d better be telling the truth. Or your girlfriend will suffer for it, understood?” The boss spat at you, causing you to give a weak nod. As they went to lead you out the room, you brought your attention to Natasha, not entirely sure how to communicate in a simple glance that this was part of some complicated plan to buy her time to get you both to safety. But you were certain that she’d caught on to what you had in mind. Natasha had been doing this job far longer than you had, after all.

Unfortunately, though, you didn’t get to hold her gaze for long, as the guards quickly dragged you back out into the corridor. As you were once again stopped whilst the door was locked behind you, you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing back at Natasha through the small window at the top of the door, giving her a weak smile as you did so. That was supposed to be some sort of comfort, a promise that you were going to be okay. You knew you couldn’t really guarantee that, given what was going on, but you wanted to try and give her some sort of reassurance.

With that, you were soon dragged off, back into the cold, dark maze of this underground facility, with only one goal in your mind.

You were going to buy her time to get you both free. And when you were both free? You were going to tell her you loved her too.

AN: And I’m going to end it there! Thank you so much for reading this! I hope you enjoyed it! Don’t hesitate to send requests in, if you would like me to write something for you! Hope you’re having a good day, and I’ll see you all next time!

#marvel x reader #mcu x reader #mcu imagine #marvel imagine #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #black widow imagine

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need-a-new-hobby · 4 years

Text

The Instincts

prologue

part i

It was too late to catch the train, so they used Piper’s bike. The whole drive, Piper acted like the night before hadn’t happened. Instead, she complained about how far he lived from the office. They finally pulled into the parking lot of the Quantico complex. There was a missing kid in Vegas and they didn’t have time so they planned to brief on the jet. Spencer noticed how different Piper acted with the rest of the team. Stronger. Braver. Not the woman who bared her soul to him at 3 in the morning. Not the woman who cleaned his apartment so she wouldn’t have to see the nightmares. He hadn’t slept quite right, so when he was the first on the jet, he fell asleep, case file in hand.

Spencer, Piper and Hotch stormed the house, guns up. They’d narrowed down the unsub to this house and searched the house in fluid formation. Spencer led the team down to the basement, then stepped aside as Piper moved ahead, letting out a wail at the little 6 year old boy that lay on the tiled floor. Are you sure it’s him? She just nodded silently, crying. Spencer heard the laughter of a baby and whirled around. A baby? JJ can't let her baby be at a crime scene.

Spence. Spence! “Spencer!” He jolted awake as the rest of the team stared at him.

“Sorry, sorry. I was uh...”

“Asleep?”

“Yeah, that.”

“Here,” Piper chuckled, handing him a cup of coffee before taking her usual seat besides him.

“We found a 6-year-old boy who had been abused and stabbed. Your baby was at the crime scene,” he nodded to JJ. “I was trying to get him out of there. Sorry.”

“It's ok,” Emily’s smile faded.

“You know, Reid, simple dream analysis... If there's a baby in your dreams, that baby's actually you,” Morgan prompted.

“Jung suggested the role of dreams is to lead a person to self-realisation through what he called a dialogue between ego and the self,” Piper explained. “The self aspires to tell the ego what it does not know, but it should.”

“That means...” JJ asked.

“Umm... the ego is how we perceive the self. So the self is trying to converse with the ego.” She still caught blank stares. “His brain is trying to tell him something.”

“Well, just say that next time,” Emily joked.

“Oh, if I didn’t have a hot cup of coffee in my hand, I would--”

“Whatever, I don’t believe in dream analysis,” Reid interrupted before things got violent.

“I don't know,” Hotch remarked. “It makes sense. The case we're working on and the case in your dream both involve children. Maybe your subconscious is telling you you want to sit this one out.”

“I don't.”

“Well, maybe you're just stressed out about going home to Las Vegas. Have you told your mom you’re coming?” Piper caught the question before he could retort.

“Guys, kid missing? We can analyse Spencer’s dreams later.”

Ethan Hayes was 5. 2 weeks ago, he was abducted out of his own front yard. His mom just ran inside to grab her purse. When she came back, he was gone. Police found his body exactly one week later in the desert. He was in a new change of clothes. His nails clipped. His hair was combed.

“There’s no sexual assault, a lot of remorse, and waited exactly a week. Why?” Rossi posed.

“Could be the unsub viewed the death as merciful,” Hotch suggested. “They did smother him.”

“They took care of him,” Piper pointed out. “I mean, apart from the death bit. It looks like he just fell asleep in the desert.”

“Who's the new boy?”

“Michael bridges. Yesterday, he set out to walk by himself to a friend's house a block away. He never showed up. The unsub called each of the families. But no ransom demand. It was more like taunts. He's telling them it's their fault that their child was taken.”

“So, we have an unsub who shows remorse and then projects his guilt onto the victims' parents,” Morgan summed up.

“And if we're lucky, 6 more days to find a boy before he's killed,” Hotch murmured darkly. “We’ll hit the ground running. Bishop, Reid, go to the ME. JJ, we’ll visit the families. Derek, work on victimology. Prentiss, you and Dave go to the disposal site. We’ll meet back at the precinct in an hour.” The team ebbed away from the middle of the jet.

Piper nudged Spencer with her foot. “Are you gonna see your mom?”

“Depends. You gonna tell me what your nightmares are about?” Piper glanced back at the team. “That’s what I thought.” Spencer slammed his file shut and moved to sit next to Morgan. Piper rubbed her face with her hands, then lay down on the couch, going through the file. Piper lugged her go-bag into the SUV and she got in besides him.

“They’re about you. But they’re different every time,” Piper stared out the window. “The first ones were after Hankel. I didn’t say anything ‘cause at first they weren’t as frequent, but now it’s every time I close my eyes. It’s...It’s like Groundhog Day.” Piper picked at her nails. “I kept reliving it until I started writing in my journals. If it was poison, I’d look up antidotes. If it was a stab wound, anything. And the more cases we see, the more creative my subconscious gets. It’s like my brain’s trying to convince me that no matter what happens...no matter how much I learn, or read or research or how many degrees I get...” She closed her eyes and breathed out. “I’m never going to be able to save you.” She sighed, leaning her head against the headrest. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to know that.”

“So, when we were at that ranch--”

“It was like my nightmare realised. So, we cool?” Piper tilted her head at him, pouting.

“How can I say no?”

“So, you aren’t visiting your mom?” Spencer was silent. Piper just bobbed her head. “Ya know, we never did go to that haunted house in Denver?”

“We didn’t see those caves either.”

“Hold up. You were gonna come with me? Huh.”

“Wha-- Why, didn’t you want me there?”

“Let me put it this way. When I asked Luce to come away with me to see them, she laughed and said ‘there are 12 amusement parks in Colorado and you want to see historical ruins?’ So I didn’t expect anyone to really be that...excited. Then again, you aren’t just anyone,” she murmured.

“Really?” Shit. I forgot you have bat hearing. “Who am I then?”

“Doctor Spencer Walter Reid, with 3 PhDs in topics I can’t pronounce, an eidetic memory and an IQ of 187 and yet still, somehow dumb as a bag of bricks.” He pouted and she ruffled his hair, laughing.

At the ME’s office, Piper snapped on the medical gloves, goofily smirking, as the examiner pulled out the body. “There was no bruising around his neck or face. I'm guessing he used a pillow,” the examiner started, ignoring Piper.

“Was there any sign of a struggle?” Spencer asked him.

“No, but he would have been extremely weak.”

“Why's that?”

“This is where it gets weird. He was noticeably thin. And both his stomach and intestines were completely empty.”

“He was being starved?”

“It seems that way.”

“So, what's the weirder part?” Piper asked.

“I wanted to determine if malnutrition played a part in his death. So, I looked for evidence of starvation ketosis by analysing some vitreous humour...” The examiner noticed Piper’s blank stare. “The squishy part of the eyeball... and I couldn't find any ketone bodies there.”

“Meaning?”

“He was getting nutrients somehow,” Spencer looked puzzled.

“Through an IV?”

“There were no marks to indicate that,” the examiner filled in.

“Any idea what else could it be?”

“Honestly, I have no idea.”

On the drive back to the precinct, Piper and Spencer discussed the effect the findings had on the profile. “So we know the unsub’s remorseful but they’re starving them too?”

“Not necessarily.” Piper thought aloud. “He has to be getting nutrients somehow. What if the kid was being force-fed tablets or something? It’s not exactly food, would it show up in an exam?”

“I don’t think so.”

Rossi and Emily stepped out of their SUVs, grumbling at the site of the unkempt disposal sight. “It’s those damned crime scene investigators. They all want to play cop instead of just being scientists and they end up trampling on everything,” Emily groused to Rossi as they slipped down to the dusty disposal site.

“So, he suffocates the boy at another location, prepares the body, takes him out to the middle of nowhere and dumps him.”

“Except there were no traces of the unsub's sweat on the boy's clothing.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Well, it's like 1,000 degrees out here. If he carried the body, then he would have gotten traces of sweat on the clothes.”

“So, he wraps him in something.”

“No fibres.”

“So, he took the time to change the boy's clothing and groom him once he got here.” Rossi glanced back up the way they came. “If he took that much time, he'd have to do it at night.”

“But you still run the risk of someone recalling your car once the body's found.”

“Not if you didn't have to park it by the road.”

“Well, you'd want to park a distance away from the dump site just in case someone saw the car and came to see what you were up to,” Emily suggested, pointing to the tire tracks leading away. “If you can drive out into the desert to dump a body, why not go in deeper, where you won't be seen from the road?”

“Because he wanted to be able to drive by and see the body.”

“That's why he groomed him. It's like he was preparing him for a funeral.” Rossi pulled out his cell, updating Hotch on their find.

| part ii |

#criminal minds #criminal minds x oc #bau #bau x oc #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid #dr piper bishop #dr reid #agent rossi #agent derek morgan #agent prentiss #agent hotchner #agent morgan #agent garcia #agent jareau

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whoacanada · 5 years

Text

Sailor Moon Zimbits AU - Part II

Listen, I love the idea of Sailor Moon AU but I don’t want to recap the entire first season so I’m just gonna play fast and loose with the timeline so Jack and Bitty get together as fast as possible :)

LINK TO PART ONE POST

ALSO ON Ao3

Life goes on as normal, better than normal, because Jack’s finally chilling out, classes are getting easier, and Bitty’s crush on Tuxedo Mask starts to blossom into something far more tangible as they continue chirping, fighting, and flirting; until finally, one night, Tuxedo Mask stays close enough Bitty feels he’s being invited to touch. Bitty takes his chance, gives the man’s jacket a soft tug, pulling him down inch by inch until Bitty can gently press their lips together.

Bitty waits for the man to respond. Prays he doesn’t recoil in disgust or pull away angrily. And, no, Tuxedo Mask doesn’t pull away. Instead, he slides one hand into Bitty’s hair, holding them together as he brings up his arm to shield them from view with his cape. What was intended to be a chaste first kiss becomes a dance of cautious tongues, soft lips.

“I have to go,” Tuxedo Mask apologizes when he finally pulls away, pressing a last peck to the corner of Bitty’s mouth. Then another. “I’ll see you again very soon. I promise.”

“Gonna hold you to that,” Bitty breathes, staring up into his partner’s pale blue eyes. “Maybe you could even swing by when I’m not in mortal danger?”

That gets a laugh, Mask ducking his head and nearly losing his hat. “I’ll do my best. Until next time, Sailor Pie.”

With a rush of wind, he’s gone. Disappearing into the night like Bitty’s hopes of going to bed early. Oh course, Luna is waiting. Wide eyed, like she’s ready to give Bitty a stern talking-to.

“Nope.” Bitty vanishes his costume, bypassing his guide, practically walking on air. “Not tonight.”

__________

Classes are normal. Practice is normal. They’re winning games, which is fantastic, and Bitty’s finally feeling like he has some control over his normal life. Bitty’s world is perfectly fine, you know, except for the fact he’s still dealing with murderous monsters and a mysterious paramour who only shows up when his life is in imminent danger.

On the plus side, Bitty’s midnight monster-slaying sessions are now being followed by increasingly enjoyable make-out sessions. Like tonight, for example. The dust has barely settled on their battle with a soul-stealing cat witch, and Bitty is perched on Tuxedo Mask’s lap, palming at the man like a rowdy teen.

“You were beautiful,” Mask nuzzles Bitty’s throat, clutching at his waist as Bitty slides off his hat. The mask stays on. Just like Bitty’s costume stays in place. They haven’t discussed boundaries, but they’ve found them all the same.

“Kiss me again,” Bitty orders, nudging Mask’s chin up. He’s so handsome. So familiar.

“Always.”

The stay in the park for a little while longer, until Bitty’s lips are swollen and his pants are getting uncomfortable (not that Mask needs to know about any of that just yet). Bitty wants this all the time. He wants Mask in his dorm room, wants him in the stands at games, Bitty just really, really wants a boyfriend.

“You’re strong enough to face down the General sending these things every night,” Mask offers before they part ways, straightening his hat, adjusting Bitty’s hair. “You know you are.”

“I’m not sure,” Bitty hesitates. The sentiment is kind, but their whole relationship has been predicated on Bitty’s ability to not-handle most situations. “I can barely use the attacks I want, when I want.”

“Hey.” Tuxedo Mask rests his hand on Bitty’s shoulder, comforting, sincere. “Sailor Pie, you can do this. I’ll be right there with you. Just like always.”

So, fun fact, Bitty is actually not strong enough to face Nephrite alone, and for once Tuxedo Mask, for whatever reason, does not seem to have Bitty’s back.

“Oh, poor Sailor Pie,” the General taunts, summoning shadow tendrils from nowhere and thoroughly screwing any attempt at Bitty getting the high ground. “Nowhere to run? Here, let me help —” Bitty finds himself upside-down being lifted and crushed by the dark energy. Unable to escape, with a growing dread that no lame, last-minute interruption could stop this.

No one should be in Faber this late. No one should be able to hear Bitty getting his ass handed to him by Nephrite. He’s going to die, and things only get worse when Ransom, Holster, Shitty, and Lardo come running in from the locker room, gawping at the scene.

“Fucking what — “

“Don’t you hurt him!”

“Sailor Pie! Hold on!” Lardo yells, throwing open the gate. “We’re coming!”

“Run,” Bitty chokes, grasping for the Moon Wand and any hope of breaking free. “Guys — run.”

“No escape,” Nephrite yells as the magical bonds trapping Bitty tighten. “You’re too late.”

“Don’t you hurt our frog you ugly fuck!” Holster shouts, enveloped in an orange-gold glow as he flashes the finger and shouts, “Venus Power, Make Up!”

Bitty’s vision is sparking but he’s still aware enough to see his orange clad teammate in a fighting pose when the light clears, fists raised and ready to rumble. “Listen up you Nega-dick, let go of him or, I, Sailor Venus, will rip your heart out through your dickhole in the name of love!”

“Sailor . . . Venus . . .?”

A flash of green, another of red, and one more of blue has Holster, flanked by three more scouts wearing familiar faces. They’re all wearing the same uniform, the compression suit, like Bitty’s, but Shitty is the odd-man out in a green skirt and knee high boots.

Lardo, in red, a tiara shining on her forehead, whips her arm out and yells, “The Soldier of flame and passion, I am Sailor Mars! Back the fuck off, bitch!”

Shitty steps up onto the bench, allowing Bitty to see his bare legs. He hasn’t shaved. “The Scout of courage and protection, Sailor Jupiter, is here to knock your fucking teeth in, bro!”

“With Water and Wisdom as my guides, Sailor Mercury will drown your chances of victory! Let him go!”

Ransom — Mercury — sounds good. Very official. Maybe it’s the lack of oxygen, but all Bitty can think is, what does it say about him that he hasn’t been able to come up with a kick-ass one-liner introduction like literally everyone else he knows. Lord, he’s still going by Sailor Pie instead of Sailor Moon.

Darkness begins to creep at the edge of his vision as the others begin firing off elemental attacks. Then, head lolling, Bitty finally sees a flash of red in the rafters. Tuxedo Mask.

“You’re . . . late . . .” Bitty whispers.

“Sailor Pie!”

Everything goes black.

“— knew it. I knew Bittle was special. No human could make pies that good.”

“Sailor Pie, man. I thought it was just Jack fucking with us again. You think there are more?”

“Enough. We need to let him rest.”

Bitty clenches his eyes closed, the voices aggravating his splitting headache — all he wants in the world is to slip back into unconsciousness, but his two working brain cells start putting together the fact his secret identity isn’t a secret anymore, and his teammates know too much for him to play dumb.

“You know you aren’t our Captain all the time. We should be here when wakes up. To explain.”

“You’re so loud,” Bitty moans, trying to roll away from the noise only to be gently rocked back by large, familiar hands that coax him upright against his every silent wish. “Ow,” Bitty cracks his eyes open and finds Holster, Lardo, Shitty holed up in what appears to be Jack’s room, except there’s a familiar top hat and mask on the desk beside Jack’s calculus textbook.

There’s no way. This is a dream. A terrible trick.

“There he is,” Holster says, voice far too loud even as he’s trying to be gentle. “Thought you were toast for a minute, Bitty. Good thing Jack got there when he did or we might have lost you.”

“Not fast enough,” Jack curses from somewhere Bitty can’t see, and when he turns to look there’s no warning before a light is shining in Bitty’s eyes, making everything suck so much worse.

“Easy,” Ransom urges, his hand holding Bitty in place as he tries to get away. “You hit your head pretty hard.”

Bitty blink away, spots dancing in his vision, to find Jack hovering in the doorway, arms crossed, as stern as ever. Except, if Bitty wasn’t mildly concussed, he’d say his Captain looked almost upset. Guilty, even. (And now that Bitty knows Jack is probably pulling double duty as his secret not-boyfriend . . . )

“It’s my fault,” Jack mutters, and Bitty knows a Zimmermann apology when he hears one. “I could have stopped this.”

“What’s with the selfless act, man? We were all there,” Ransom tucks away his penlight. “We were just as helpless as you.”

“It’s different for him,” Lardo says cryptically, giving Bitty’s foot a squeeze before rising to join Jack. “He has to be the fall guy on this one.”

“Can I have a few minutes alone with Jack?” Bitty asks. “Please?”

Though they go reluctantly, the room does clear, and Bitty is left with his overbearing, overdressed hockey captain, who is also, apparently, his midnight beau.

“So, it’s you?” Bitty tugs at a loose thread on the dark blue comforter trying to calm his racing heart.

“It’s me,” Jack agrees, knocking his heel against the floorboards. “And it’s you, too.”

“Was it all a game?” Bitty presses his palm to his temple as if the action will stop his head from throbbing as he slides off the bed. Jack’s bed. Tuxedo Mask’s bed. “The flirting? Pretending to care about me — Did you know he was me?”

“No.” Jack breathes, still as Bitty crosses the room to confront him. “Never. I didn’t pretend to do anything, and it wasn’t a game, I —” he swallows, forcing himself to look at Bitty like the act is painful. It probably is. “I had suspicions, but I couldn’t confirm anything. Not before tonight.”

“How do you feel? Knowing I’m . . . me?” Standing, Bitty can finally feel just how messed up he is. Everything aches. Even his hair.

Jack swallows, hand lifting as if all he wants is to touch, so Bitty obliges, leaning into his Captain’s personal space, allowing Jack to catch him. To hold him. Again, just like before.

“I don’t feel any different, you’re still you,” Jack whispers, cradling Bitty close, “Crisse, I told you to fight. You could have died.”

“But I didn’t.” Bitty whispers, wincing at his own voice. “I’m okay.”

The only response is a soft pressure against his scalp. A kiss. The sudden relief that floods him is better than any drug — Tuxedo Mask still likes him. Loves him, even. Now, maybe Jack can love Eric Bittle, too.

“You need to rest,” Jack holds Bitty steady, guiding him back to the bed. “The guys are going to keep watch while I take care of a few things with Hall and Murray.”

“You’ll come back, right?” Bitty eases under the covers, wincing. “We’re going to talk?”

“In the morning,” Jack promises, brushing the fringe out of Bitty’s eyes, expression unbearably fond. “When you feel better.”

The sheets smell like Jack. So does the pillow. It should be gross, but, Bitty kinda likes it. Before he knows it Jack is gone and everything is dark once more.

#sailor moon au #zimbits #my stuff #my fic #another grade-a crack au from whoacanada #who should be working on other things #but whatever we have fun #long post

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luminisvii · 5 years

Text

Am I losing my shit about fanfiction again? You BET! It’s time for Tell to lose her goddamn mind about some truly awful fanfic! It’s my blog, I get to do what I want! And that’s to talk about how people are more blessed than they believe since they didn’t read this!

Today I’m going to talk about Super Smash Sisters: Damsel to Hero. Given the title uses a word like Damsel in it and it’s rated M, this is going to be GREAT

content warning for well what do you think a horny man on the internet would write ie: cheating, incest, terrible depictions of women being horny, violence (I don’t explain any of this in detail so you’re welcome. but it is mentioned) I’m not linking this thing because you guys don’t deserve this.

It took me forever to finish the entire fic, and I actually wrote most of this before finishing. You may say “Wait a second Tell, you need to fully read the work in order to discuss it!” No I do NOT. Trust me, this doesn’t need to be finished to understand. I needed moral support for this, I couldn’t have possibly read this by myself. I feel really sorry for my poor friends that have to deal with this horse shit with me because it’s kind of got a bit of je ne sai completely godawful. I’m semi tough and can stomach some senseless nonsense pretty nicely, but the real heroes here are my friends for toughing out the rampant sex and terrible female character writing all mixed with Call of Duty plot and characters. You thought this was about Smash Bros? WRONG!

I know exactly jack about the author, Yamagata, other than they are probably some poor horny straight guy in high school or maybe a genius troll. We just don’t know. Either way they were pretty dedicated. The fic itself is 91,621 words and 45 chapters, and apparently on hiatus but we all know hiatus is just another word for dead. It’s better off that way. All good awful fics end on a cliffhanger.

The premise, as the title implies, is that all the men of Smash are kidnapped by nazis or some shit after a failed drug raid and it’s up to all the women to save them of which there are Zelda, Peach, and Samus because this was written in the Brawl era. You might think “Wait, isn’t that not a lot of female characters?” right you are! The author decides to bring in tons of female characters from all sorts of video games and anime. A personal favorite is a major character in this fic is Bright Noah from Gundam, notably not a woman. I love him! I’m disappointed he hasn’t slapped anyone yet! What’s the point of importing Bright Noah into a fanfic if he isn’t going to deliver a Bright Slap? Sorry folks, there’s gonna be me getting distracted about Gundam once in a while.

I can’t remember exactly what happens because the chapters really blur together quickly. They’re almost always first half violence in COD land and second half really bad lesbian sex scenes. See, the title is a misnomer. The women don’t actually do a lot of hero work. It’s still handled by men. Ones who aren’t even from Smash Bros. Bright Noah and another guy called Hargrove who I’m not familiar with are constantly telling the women what to do and while the women sometimes go on missions to fight Nazis or whatever, half the time we’re following some random male characters. A good friend had no idea one of them was Tuxedo Mask because they used his dub name and we spent like ten chapters with this idiot before realizing it was him. They just spend their time fighting different various enemies from real life as opposed to smash. So the guys fight and then the women all fuck because when your boyfriend is missing you have to immediately bang the nearest female out of grief. It’s not cheating if it’s gay! Even worse is there’s a lot of incest because apparently that’s how women act, too. Also for some reason when the women DO fight it plays exactly like the men’s side but with Bright Noah just telling them what to do. Also for some reason Peach just fucking kills people and I’m not really sure how to deal with that. Like, yeah, I guess.

Let’s try to do a plot recap but that’s going to be difficult because I’m not sure what the plot is. Okay, in theory, I do. But we’re just circling around and doing the same thing so many times that I’m plain lost.

In theory, the plot is as mentioned before. The men of Smash get kidnapped and turned to trophies by Nazis. I’m noting that besides Nazis the men are all brutally murdered in order to turn them into trophies. Then it turns out that Samus, Peach, and Zelda are safe because they were at the Smash Mansion cleaning and having sex as princesses and bounty hunters are known to do. Then they find out from Bright that the men have been kidnapped so they have to form a task force against them. So there’s a long ass paragraph of characters, many of which do not have speaking lines until much later anyway, but they’re all female characters from other games or anime. I’m really into Fire Emblem and there’s a bunch of those so time to cry. Bright has to tell these women to stop being so damn emotional and be ready to start murdering.

Also in the first chapter, we have the reveal of the villain, some Tabuu knock-off named Emerald. She too recruits a ton of villainous characters who all introduce themselves AFTER THEY’VE BEEN RATTLED OFF IN PARAGRAPH FORM. You didn’t get it the first time? They’re all going to painstakingly state their name and identity. Admittedly it’s kind of funny to have Cell in a room with Liquid Snake and Ashnard. Also who invited Valtome? They didn’t even invite Zelgius. Maybe our favorite Begnion General figured out that a certain thirsty ass senator was gonna be there and stayed in bed today. Okay, fewer tangents, I promise.

With the establishing of all the villains and heroes, everything instantly turns to shit. Half the time we’re not even following a group who’s connected to the main characters and when we are with the main characters they are either having terrible sex or shooting nazis. This sounds like it’d be funnier than it is but it’s really Grade A Depressing. I can’t tell what’s going on or why and since I have exactly no knowledge of Call of Duty I’m afraid I don’t know anything about our actual protagonists either. Every chapter starts with some pretentious usually WWII related quote and involves some guys dying and then some ladies bonking. It’s the same format every time and after a while I feel like this is some advanced torture method.

Among the bad sex is for some reason moms are banging their elementary school age daughters because their husbands are out. Women are so horny they’d rather fuck their children than wait long enough for their husbands. It’s so messed up. My eyes naturally glaze over on the sex scenes because they’re kind of clinically written and something about cute pussies or whatever. I feel bad for Bright Noah, he has to break up these badly written orgies to talk more about the nonexistent plot. Bright Noah needs a raise. All in all the sex is something that maybe a 13 year old boy might find hot if he hasn’t managed to read all the other way better smut fics out there. If 13 year old boys even do things like that.

Since there’s no way for me to coherently walk through the plot since each scene hardly seems to amount to anything besides either violence or a roll in the hay, I’ll just have to start briefly talking about the few notable things that happen, probably out of order. Who the fuck even knows what chapters these happened in? I sure don’t!

First off, a lot of the women conscripted into the task force have supernatural powers but they’re just given guns. I also think the author has something for Krystal or whatever since we focus on her a lot for no good reason. The women are also often infiltrating secret bases to nazis or other bad guys that I’m not as well versed in because admittedly I’m not that interested in the history of warfare, modern or old. I just assume this is a COD thing. But in order to infiltrate the bases, they just wave papers at literally every guy they come across and that does it somehow. I started going ballistic and every time they mentioned papers I would start screeching again. They get stopped by some dude and he’s always like “Where are your papers?” and they ALWAYS have the papers and then they go past but the author FEELS THE NEED TO KEEP BRINGING IT UP. It’s like The Black Fucking Mountains again. Something I’ve learned about myself is that I do poorly with overly repetitive writing, so I wonder why I’m reading world’s most repetitive piece ever penned for fun. I can’t recall anything that happens in any chapters.

Somewhere in the mix they actually save Ike, Marth, and Roy. Somehow the most in character thing in the entire fic happens with them when it’s offhandedly mentioned that they sometimes dogpile into the same bed as a joke. What was more shocking to me is that suddenly Ike is a total nuclear bomb genius out of nowhere. Sure, he’s from a medieval fantasy setting, he knows what nukes are. We finally get some more plot. Apparently Emerald is trying to develop some insanely powerful nuke in order to destroy the trophies of the remaining captured heroes. See, she’s holding them ransom so she can get… money? Power? Fame?

Trying to do this from memory is so hard. I did My Inner Life practically all from memory, only going in there for the copy and pasted quotes! What the heck? This fic just slides off my brain. I don’t know if finishing it is even worth it since it’s not like I’m reading any of the sex scenes in detail (I mean why would I, a woman with decent taste, want to read about usagi feeling up chibi usa) and I sure as hell can’t understand the Call of Duty parts so in conclusion this fic really wasn’t targeted at me.

But whatever. So now the main crew has to slaughter their way to bomb storage or development or something. Some of the COD guys died and I didn’t notice, some of the villains died (tragically Valtome was K.I.A.) and all in all too much sex was happening. Seriously, Mist has sex on her brother’s bed, that’s kind of nasty. I don’t know why I’m so hung up on all of that. It’s like the piss drinking thing, it’s a minor offense in a long line of “HOLY FUCKING SHIT” but here’s where I get derailed.

How many times can I say that this fic is terrible? Because it is. I don’t understand who a lot of these characters are and why they’re here or what they’re doing. I managed to read to the end and all that I learned was Shadow the Hedgehog apparently cheated on Rouge with some guy called Makarov who is another major villain. What, so when Rouge cheats on him with another woman it’s fine, but when he cheats on her with a man he gets killed for it? I smell double standard! Don’t worry, I’m a feminist, I support equal rights of everyone getting punished for their perpetual horniness. Still, there’s this shocking turn of events where the men are somehow the ones who aren’t constantly obsessed with sex and the women are going around topless and banging each other constantly while homosexuality in men is seen as evil and wrong. For some reason I think the person who wrote this might be a man. He feels the need to remind us, 40 chapters in, that there will be No Yaoi scenes but plenty of Yuri. No shit dude, like, fuck! I didn’t know!

Towards the end, Washington DC gets overrun by Colombians and the team has to kill them. There’s some drawn out attack sequence where everything is described in monotonous detail with military terms I don’t understand. I have a general revulsion to military weeaboos as they are sometimes called, so this stuff turns my stomach. It also features Kenichi, the main character of the animated Metropolis adaptation, which I DID see a long time ago! This little boy is killing people! It’s fine! Also it mentions Frau Bow from Gundam and discusses that she’s training to fight in a mobile suit to help support, but Peach and Samus are the ones who actually use the mobile suits. Peach kills people in the RX-78-2. I’m not sure how to feel about that. Another aside is King Boo is in the mix and he dies. How do ghosts die? Asking for a friend.

There’s also some weird aside of the COD guys doing an arrest in Disneyland. Gaz, Soap, and Price all go there guns akimbo and chase down some dudes and some people die. I don’t think Disney would like that. This also comes out of nowhere, Gaz was playing fucking Go with this dude called Katsuie and it was practically a smash cut transition of “well I arrested a guy in Disneyland once wanna HEAR about it?” and it was. Something. I don’t understand why we did this.

We end with Krystal and Fox discussing that she’s breaking up with him because while he was held hostage, she got engaged to a woman and is unceremoniously dumping him. The scene was honestly kind of funny for the fact that she was having a lesbian three way in his fucking bathroom and then was like “Yeah we’re not dating anymore. I’m engaged. Later idiot!” while naked. Shortly after it’s decided that they need to bomb some German base, I think. So Bright Noah tells the crew to suit up and get ready, and so Krystal and her Lesbians fly off to go fight. Krystal ends up in a one on one with a dude called Scales who I’m unfamiliar with since I don’t know Star Fox lore but I’m sure it’s super important to Krystal. The duel ends so badly that Fox needs to jump in and he and Scales end up plummeting to their death out a window and also getting blown up by grenades. Fox just fucking died for the girlfriend that cheated on him the second he wasn’t home. Honey, you deserve more than this, and Krystal deserves to be treated better by the narrative as well. He gives his blessing as he’s dying, though, so it’s fine.

The whole thing ends shortly after that. It was never completed, not that I think it could be, since I read all 91k words and I still don’t understand who is who, what’s going on, or why things are happening. Even if I did know all the characters featured I don’t think it’d help. I know about 50% of them and it’s not helpful at all. I completely forgot that Emerald is a thing. She’s the main villain! She’s hardly in it! The guy should have cut the shit and just written

Tell’s recommendation? Don’t read this unless you’re really, truly a masochist. It’s not funny enough most of the time to justify the insanity. It’s sexist and racist. Chapters monotonously drone on with the same things happening almost every time. The bad sex isn’t even funny. Save yourself the trouble and if you really must know, check out the first few chapters only and then call it. The author has other works that I haven’t read but I’m not sure that I will based on the quality of this work, and they also published something as recently as 2017 meaning they could probably rise from the hiatus grave and kick my ass for trash talking them.

One Sentence Review: Bright Noah doesn’t slap anyone.

#don't tell me tell #i gotta think of a tag for when i go feral about fanfiction

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thunderheadfred · 7 years

Text

Red Streak [1.3]

Chapter 01: Shakedowns [Part 3 of 4. Revised June 2017]

Read the complete fic on AO3

Jane SSV Normandy 2183 CE

After tossing violently through an hour and change of restless sleep, Shepard still managed to wake forty-five minutes early for the morning sitrep. Knowing this would be her first chance to make a formal impression on Kryik, she took advantage of the extra time. She wouldn’t let him catch her out of uniform again.

Quick, dark smudges across the brow to harden her eyes. Thin tinted moisturizer from the commissary to hide the most damning of her freckles. Hair yanked back into an un-flirtatious knot. Last, she slid into something more comfortable. A mismatched set of mercenary armor in her family colors. Bloody crimson, with a crude Red Squad insignia burned into the right pauldron to make it official.

Hardly standard issue, but reg-breaking cosmetic dalliances had become synonymous with Shepard’s name. In Basic, she’d nearly been held back for showing up on the yellow footprints with red nails. When she’d refused to scrub off the paint, Sargeant Velasquez had ordered Demon Squad to rip Shepard out of bed at First Call and “scrape the vanity away by force.”

Shepard’s fingers had bled for two days and she’d felt naked for the rest of training, but by the end of it, she was Squad Leader.

She flexed her hand as she pulled an armored glove over those nails, red once more. A flawless, solid laquer that matched the Ariake suit by careful design. A gift from a krogan battlemaster, the armor was Shepard’s sturdiest and most trusted disguise, and the color made her feel at home. She’d been practically glued into it ever since earning N7.

Two years previous, on a nowhere backwater called Akuze, Shepard - along with her Lieutenant and a scrappy platoon of Alliance Marines - had rescued a clan of krogan mercenaries from a nest of berserking thresher maws. Shepard had been sent to Akuze to hunt down an unrelated terrorist cell, but unconventional teamwork had its payoffs. Thanks to the krogan, casualties had been minimal and the rewards had been numerous. The surviving Marines had been given first dibs on a veritable dragon’s horde of mercenary loot. Meanwhile, Shepard delivered a top-secret bio-weapons base to Hackett himself, earning her final Interplanetary Combatives commendation.

To avoid looking like an overeager suck-up, Shepard dawdled away her last few minutes before the sitrep. Looking for an easy out, she took a detour by way of Normandy’s cockpit, where she paused to shoot the breeze with the talkative new pilot, Moreau.

He was glowing over a successful FTL jump straight into orbit, and being none too humble about it.

“Nothing but net, Commander,” he purred to his console, knocking his cap over his eyes.

No wonder everybody called him Joker. She liked him, but unless he really did turn out to be God’s gift to aviation, he’d need a bit of knuckle rapping to keep that cheek under control. For now, she let it slide.

At precisely 0700, Shepard walked into the comm room. Anderson and Kryik were already present, deep in conversation. Despite the careful timing, she felt like she was late for her first day of school.

Anderson acknowledged her first.

“Good, you’re here. Nihlus tells me that the two of you finally got a chance to talk.” He allowed a knowing pause, paternal on the verge of condescending, holding two warring children by the ears.

“Yes sir,” she said, biting her tongue.

She inclined her head towards the Spectre, whose eyes seemed to be burning brighter than usual this morning, probably to hide an urge to gloat. He’d also donned armor carefully chosen to look big, cool, and menacing, except he had Spectre-grade equipment and therefore automatic seniority. Red and black, and parts that glowed. She pursed her lips, beaten at her own game.

Breaking the awkward silence, Anderson said, “Sorry to keep you out of the loop, Shepard, but my orders came down all the way from the top. Strictly need to know. Nihlus will work directly with you and Lieutenant Alenko to extract the Beacon, he needs to see you in action. Speaking of which.”

He’d given her the opening, and she took it.

“I’m not sure I’m cut out to be the Council’s poster girl. The Spectres?”

“Humanity needs this, Shepard. It’s time for us to step up and join the community, and you’re our best shot. You’ll take the job, kid.” He looked at Kryik, then back to Shepard, and sighed good naturedly. “If they’ll have you, anyway.”

Moreau’s voice sliced into the comm room with thinly disguised anxiety. Over the comm, they heard a tense, “Captain, we’ve got a problem.”

Shepard barely knew the pilot, but his sudden rigidity struck her right in the gut.

Anderson’s face sank. “What’s wrong, Joker?”

“Transmission from Eden Prime sir. You better see this.”

“Onscreen.”

Joker forwarded the transmission from the bridge. Filling the large vid screen on the aft wall, the feed was pure chaos. Marines running back and forth, bullets flying, comms jamming only to break through half garbled. Bits and pieces, all bad. Attack, massive casualties, immediate evac.

Shepard moved closer, straining to see, to hear. Had pirates found the beacon? Like Kryik had predicted, rogue batarians fishing for a hefty ransom?

Then she heard it, a sound that rattled her from stem to stern.

A deep, mechanical crush of noise, too multitudinous to stomach. It augured deep into her brain, settling behind her eyes, burning. Onscreen, above the scrambling Marines and the smoke of the firefight, a titanic shape emerged from the sky. It was incomprehensible: a stormy hand reaching out of the clouds, like God’s vengeful fist groping for souls.

The screen turned to static.

“Everything cuts out after that,” the pilot said, talking fast. “No comm traffic at all. Just goes dead. There's nothing.”

There was a brief pause, then Anderson showed his usual mettle.

“Take us in, Joker. Fast and quiet. This mission just got a lot more complicated.”

Kryik stepped forward, his eyes flicking between Shepard, Anderson, and the dead air of the vid screen.

“We stick to the plan,” he said. Decisively, he turned to Shepard. “A small strike team is still our best chance. Tell Alenko to suit up, then grab your gear and meet me in the cargo hold. We’ll be going in hot. Follow my lead.”

She looked to Anderson, who nodded his approval and added, “Looks like there’s going to be a lot of injured people down there, but helping survivors is a secondary objective. The Beacon is your top priority.”

Shepard didn’t like that ultimatum very much, but she didn’t like the look of that giant hand dropping out of the sky, either. She pinged Alenko with her omni-tool.

Going in hot, LT. Civilians down. I need you in medic mode.

Aye-aye Ma ’am. Wilco on extra band-aids. Ready in 5.

Kryik tried to rush out, but she blocked him with a forearm, her fist thumping crudely into the keel of his armor.

“Hold it, Blasto. I realize a Spectre’s whole M.O. is doing things alone, but if we’re going to maintain a three-man strike team against a completely unpredictable force, we need to hammer out that team part. Right now. Alenko says you carry enough firepower to wipe out a whole platoon. I need to know how you operate, so I can pack enough changes of underwear for whatever vacation you have in mind.”

Anderson’s hand smacked the back of her skull as he rushed to take his place in the CIC. Fair.

Kryik shrugged her off and loped to the elevator, but she dogged his heels and slid in next to him. As they descended to the engineering deck, she stepped a few inches into his personal bubble, willing it to burst. Finally, he relented.

“I like to mix and match.” He said, knocking his arm against the heavy armor covering her shoulder. He’d noticed her outfit, then. How nice. “Mid-range. Aggressive tactics. Lots of firepower. Shotguns, mostly. Pistols on occasion. I can deploy a tactical cloak, some hand-to-hand tricks if the enemy gets too close.”

He pushed the information onto Shepard’s plate and waited to see what she’d do with it, Spectre bullshit chafing more than ever. She didn’t have the patience for it. Not after that S.O.S.

“That thing we saw attacking the colony is 100% bogey,” she said, rounding on him. “Don’t try any one-man-army vanguard theatrics on my squad. We stick together. Alenko is light on weaponry, but you’ll need his tech and biotics to shore you up if you step into fire.”

“Is that so,” he said. Voice flat, revealing nothing. “And what will you be doing in all this, Commander?”

“Never met a gun I didn’t like,” she said, meaning it. “And I never leave home without a grenade launcher.” Meaning that too. “I’ll pack a full load-out and keep you covered.”

The elevator opened into the cargo bay, where Alenko was strapping on the last of his emergency response gear. Once the elevator was secured, the top lip of the loading ramp cracked open. As the air seal broke with a rush of atmosphere, Shepard’s ears popped, and she flexed her jaw to compensate. She squinted into the pinkish sunrise of Eden Prime, secured her helmet, then turned to Kryik.

“Shall we?” she said, voice barely carrying over the sound of impending landfall.

“After you."

#I'll just keep these coming shall I?#:)#Red Streak #Fred Writes #RS chp

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khaleesi-in-the-north · 7 years

Text

In the Crosshairs (30/?)

@theluthor

By the time they reached the border to the Eyrie, Ygritte’s ransom video was playing on every news station in Westeros.

No one had bothered to tell Jon. He called Margaery’s untraceable phone to chew out Sansa. Margaery heard clearly despite Sansa sitting in the back of the car. Sansa took it all in, never flinching at his words or tone of voice.

“It was her idea, Jon. If you have a problem, take it up with her,” was all she said before hanging up.

The car ride was particularly draining for her. She had confessed that she’d been feeling nervous having not heard from Bronn for some time prior to leaving High Garden. During the dirve Petyr called her. A body bag containing Bronn’s body riddled with bullet holes was discovered in Flea Bottom. Sansa cursed before hanging up on him. She told Margaery that evening while Oberyn had gone to a rest stop.

“We need to tell him,” Margaery told her.

Sansa glanced over Margaery’s shoulder to make sure he wasn’t returning yet. “Margaery he’s known as the viper for a reason. I don’t want him knowing.”

“Cersei knows something is up. We need to trust each other and we need to trust him. It only confirms what we already knew: Cersei knows the Starks are back,” Margaery insisted. They both knew it meant much more. Sansa had lost her man on the inside. All advantage they had through what limited knowledge Bronn had acquired was gone.

The media whirlwind picked up after that. Although Margaery still felt her story was incomplete, there was no more time. Oberyn dropped her and Sansa at the cabin before going back to town and using one of the local library’s computers to send the article to Doran. It was the front page story of the King’s Courier. She imagined the look of eerily calm anger on Jorah’s face when he saw the cover. He would call each one of his reporters into the office. But he would never suspect Doran. He was too well-reserved and he and Margaery had barely spoken to each other in her year there.

That evening Ygritte stumbled into the train station in Dorne, directly into an Unsullied officer so she would be whisked away to King’s Landing asap.

Half of the reporters in the city were camped outside L&C while the other half were on knocking down doors to get an exclusive interview with the miraculous escape of Ygritte Thenn.

All of this is relayed by Oberyn. The mountains have shotty cell signal, no satellite signal, and outdated television cables. Being the least suspicious of the contingent, he spends his daytime in town. Sansa speaks daily with Petyr Baelish and her sister. The two are holding down their operations well enough for the time being, as far as Margaery can tell.

It’s five days after they’ve left High Garden when Sansa knocks on her doorframe and comes in. Margaery sets aside her book and looks up. Sansa gives her a soft, wary smile. “Can I come in?”

Margaery nods.

Sansa shuts the door quietly behind her. For once, Lady doesn’t follow her in. Likely she’s out roaming the trees around the cabin. From a distance she looks like a wolf, so any wanderers steer clear of her.

“What are you doing?” Sansa asks.

“Distracting myself,” Margaery says. Without writing and media to occupy her time, she has too much time to think about Loras’s rescue mission tonight, to think about her grandmother’s continued comatose state, and to the about what Sansa is to her.

“Loras will be okay. Jon knows what he’s doing, and I trust Podrick,” Sansa assures her. Podrick must be her inside man.

“I know Obara,”- Alayne frowns at the name -“and Jon are prepared. He’s been in there so long, and he hasn’t had anyone to help him grieve. I’m scared of what Loras will be when he’s out.”

Sansa puts an arm over her shoulder and pulls her against her own shoulder. Margaery tucks her head against her neck. She glances down and notices the tattoo of her name underneath her nose.

“You and Garlan and your father and grandmother will be there to help him. He’ll come out okay in the end,” Sansa strokes her hair. It’s such a familiar gesture that for a moment Margaery imagines that they’re sitting against the couch in Alayne’s living room just talking. “Margaery, I want to talk to you about me and my past.”

Margaery sits up. Sansa stares back evenly, not giving away sign of hope or desperation.

“Tell me, what became of Sansa Stark?”

*******************************************

“The basics you probably know. I grew up in Winterfell, I had three brothers and a sister. My Aunt Lyanna died in a car accident when Jon was still a toddler. Father took him in and raised him as part of the family.

Then there was the mafia business. Dad did his best to keep it out of the home. Only his most trusted men had access to the home. Howland Reed, Petyr Baelish, Jon Umber. Back then there was no need for the mafia to be underground though. Press would take pictures of mum and dad when they were out, even Robb. They were more protective of me and the little ones. We wore disguises in public and never made actual family outings.

I knew dad was into some bad things. He and mum would argue about them when they were in bed and thought I was asleep. But he loved is so much. We were his greatest concern, even if he had a duty to the North. Everyone In the North respected him for his sacrifice. Without him, so many families would have spent winters freezing and starving. He made decisions that are easy to criticize when you’re not the one responsible for thousands of lives. He was the best man.

Mum shielded us the most. She was loving and kept us from the public eye. She wanted us to live lives as close to normal as we could, even with Unsullied force members spying on us and news press looking to find that one break to catch dad in illegal activities.

When I was young, his work frightened me. But as I grew up, I saw the romantic side of the mafia: danger, love stories, romance, passion. Ridiculous dreams of lovesick girl.

That was when dad’s best friend Robert moved to Winter’s Town with Cersei and Joffrey and Myrcella and Tommen.

Joffrey was a dream to me. He was charming, he said all the right things, he had a pretty smile and pretty hair. He had an air of danger to him. He showed interest in me and I convinced myself I loved him for it. Silly twelve year-old me.

I’m not certain how it came about, but one day after my thirteenth birthday, dad came home with a contract. He asked me what I thought of Joffrey Baratheon. And I told him he was the dreamiest, handsomest, nicest boy I’d ever met and that I was in love with him. Arya scoffed at that.

He asked me what I thought of marrying him. I felt like I could jump over the Wall, I was so thrilled. Now, I don’t know why. It was such a stupid thing. What girl with a brain full of visions of romance and love and without an inkling of what the real world was would say no to a boy like Joffrey?

That night mum and dad screamed at each other until their voices gave out. Mum thought it was the most idiotic idea to sign away my life into a marriage at my age. Dad said it wouldn’t be until I turned 18. Mum screamed that it shouldn’t happen at all. I should be free to live my life. At the time, I thought I was exercising my right to be free. Dad said it was this or the North would fall apart. We needed the Lannister money to keep the investments of Northerners from driving us into a recession.

I must have fallen asleep, but in the morning, mum refused to look at dad.

I saw Joffrey more after that. I would go to his parents’ huge cabin and he would come to our house. He’d tell me how one day he would take over the Lannister mafia. No one would ever defy him.

His words became harsher. He began with simple teasing at quirks I had like pinching my fingers when I was nervous. I tried to stop doing that around him. He’d talk endlessly about how the mafia would be better under him.

I knew nothing of the mafia world back then. I would nod and agree and smile, and he would call me an idiot. I started accepting his words as truth. Then one day he hit me. We were in his backyard and next thing I know he smacks me across the cheek. He said I should respond when I’m spoken to.

It happened more and more. He’d punch my arm, whack the back of my head. Sometimes he would apologize. Most of the time he didn’t.

Arya noticed first. She saw the bruises and asked how I got them. I told myself I loved him, so I told her they were none of her business. She told Robb. Robb knocked on his door, excused himself past Myrcella and clocked him in the mouth. He said if Joffrey ever hurt me again, he’d have more than his pretty face to worry about.

Shortly after that, Robert Baratheon died. Joffrey became even worse. Nastier toward me. One day while Robb was at his best friend’s house, he came over. He put on the charade of prince charming, asking to take me on a walk to someplace special. Like every other time, I believed him for his performance and went. We held hands and he led me to this little park. I thought he’d do something romantic. Instead he grabbed a fistful of my hair and forced me to my knees.

He screamed at me to take off his pants. I refused. He’s wanted me to do things like that before, but I wasn’t comfortable doing that back then. He kicked me for not obeying. He caught me in the mouth and I started bleeding.

I’m not sure what else he would have done. Arya had been playing in the park with some boy when she heard the commotion. She ran over and saw what was happening and threw a rock at Joffrey. It bent his finger back so far he broke it. He ran off screaming.

Even after all that, I thought I loved him. He was allowed to be angry with me. Arya had no right to do what she did. I told her that much. Rather than listen to my hollow threats, she ran home and told dad what happened.

When I got home, I remember the look on mum’s face. She ushered me to the bathroom and cleaned me up. She asked me what happened, but I wouldn’t tell.

They sat down together and said no matter what, I wouldn’t be in trouble. I said I loved Joffrey.

Mum- her eyes looked so sad. I know I disappointed her then. She said there were other boys, nicer boys, boys that would treat me the way I deserved to be treated. Dad said a man capable of love wouldn’t do this to a girl. He asked me again if Joffrey did it. I nodded. He hugged me. For the first time since I was a baby, I fell asleep next to my mum that night.

By morning the contract was ripped up. Dad said he wanted nothing to do with the Lannisters. They’d make things work on their own.

At the time, I’m sure Cersei thought we’d crawl back to her. The Lannisters were on the verge of becoming as influential as the Targaryens had once been. It was shaping up to be another bleak winter and the mafia would need to increase drug sells to match demand from the families. They flooded the market with their own drugs.

That backfired on them. The Dornish cracked down on drug smuggling into the region, closing down one market. Smaller, local cartels ran their own drugs at cheaper prices. We didn’t need any of that though. Somewhere around the Dreadfort, Roose Bolton discovered oil. Dad allowed him to take a chunk of the profits himself, but that discovery was more than enough to keep the bellies of Northerners full that winter.

Cersei was furious. She took the contract to court claiming we breached our terms, but no sane judge was going to uphold that marriage stipulation. The mafia increased security for dad, but it felt unnecessary.

And then- that night...”

Sansa sniffles and her breath hitches.

“Sansa? Are you okay, Sansa?” Margaery gently squeezes her shoulder.

Sansa looks pale, but she takes a breath and nods. “I’m fine. Just…I’m fine.”I

“It was Robb’s birthday. It was supposed to be happy. We went skiing. It was Rickon’s first time in skis. We got home and we were going to have cake when Petyr came over. He had work he needed dad to look at. Arya and I were arguing about something, I don’t even remember what now. Mum made us clean the basement as punishment. I wonder would have happened had we not been bickering.

We were still arguing in the basement, and then there was a loud bang. The entire house shook. Arya tried to open the door but it was searing. The handle was glowing red. I don’t remember much after the smoke got in. I passed out. When I woke up Jon was giving me CPR. The house was gone. Later he told me he kicked in the basement window. Arya crawled out, Petyr pushed me out and barely escaped himself before the building collapsed.

Sansa stops again. She ducks her head and Margaery watches as she blinks the tears away. She doesn’t realize that she’s holding Sansa’s hand until Sansa’s fingers twitch beneath her hand. For a moment she thinks of pulling her hand away. The thought disappears instantly. She wants Sansa to know she won’t run away, not now. She squeezes her hand, a gesture to continue.

It was obvious the Lannisters did it. Cersei and Joffrey took everything from me. Only those closest to dad knew we were still alive. They told us of Cersei’s vile joy and Joffrey’s smugness that his damn plan worked.

I blamed myself. I was the idiot who insisted on wanting Joffrey. I was a lovesick fool and told myself they died because of me. Such an idiot…

Sansa’s voice grows hoarse and muffled. Her fingers tighten around Margaery’s to ground herself.

“Hey, hey,” Margaery coos gently. She draws Sansa’s chin to look in her eyes. They’re the same pale blue ones she’s known all along. There’s desperation for acceptance in them. “You’re not an idiot. You were a little girl. You’re allowed to have dream at that age, Sansa. Dreaming is never idiotic.”

Sansa sniffles. A couple of tears stream down her cheeks. Margaery hesitates before softly rubbing her thumb across Sansa’s cheek. She shifts closer, enough to feel Sansa’s deep breaths against her lips. She pauses, and then murmurs, “I’m sorry for your family. I know you loved them.”

Sansa nods, her eyes trained on Margaery’s. “I did. I miss them.”

Margaery wants to pull back. She doesn’t. Her desire to comfort Sansa keeps her in place. Her stomach twists in knots from the intensity of Sansa’s gaze. Her hand still caresses Sansa’s cheek when Sansa moves in.

Margaery maintains eye contact up until the last moment, when Sansa’s lips brush against hers. She closes her eyes and it’s not Sansa she’s kissing, it’s Alayne. The lips feel the same when they brush hers again, more . Margaery parts her lips slightly and savors the feeling of Alayne gently sucking her bottom lip between her lips.

A hand cradles the back of her head and she pulls Sansa closer. When she pulls back, she half expects to see the black hair she’s loved for so long.

“I’m sorry,” Sansa murmurs, although the small quirk of her lips betrays her. “I think I…I pushed a little too far.”

Margaery swallows and shakes her head, while pushing herself to stand up. “I forgive you.”

It wasn’t the response Sansa was hoping for, but it was the only one Margaery felt comfortable giving. She wasn’t going to lie to Sansa. Still, she wanted nothing more than to make the pain on Sansa’s face disappear. She smiles and offers Sansa a hand. “Thank you for telling me the truth. It… I’m sorry about your family.”

Sansa takes her hand and pulls herself up. “Being with you made it easier. Your presence makes everything better, Margaery.”

Margaery’s heart pounds faster. An inexplicable warmth drapes her and suddenly she can see it. All the similarities between Sansa and Alayne. She’s falling for her again.

The cabin door slams shut, startling Margaery away from her realization. “Margaery! Sansa!” Oberyn calls.

The girls meet him by the doorway. He’s breathless, but wearing his cocky gin. “We need to prepare the extra room.”

“Why?” Margaery asks.

“Because you have your brother back, Ms. Tyrell,” he opens his arms wide as though he deserves all the praise.

“The breakout wasn’t until tonight though,” Sansa says.

“What does it matter? My girl never fails. Loras is safe because of her,” Oberyn wraps his arms around Margaery.

Margaery hugs him back. She presses her forehead into the juncture between his shoulder and neck. For the first time in weeks, something has gone right. Loras is safe.

#in the crosshairs #sansa stark #margaery tyrell #sansaery

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imhereforbvcky · 7 years

Text

I’ll Be Good - Part 19

Masterlist - Series Masterlist - Part 18 - Part 20

Summary: Series - You’re an old colleague of Natasha’s who finds herself face to face with the Winter Soldier on the wrong end of an Avengers’ op. Chapter – You make a decision, refuse to follow anyone’s rules, and learn whether it’s a gamble that will pay off.

Warnings: swearing, violence - I don’t know what’s wrong with me… honestly I worry about my own brain writing parts like this., angsty angst aaagnst

Word Count: 1986 - ok! Back in the 1000 range! Only just… and you might hate me for it.

Author’s Note: Oh gosh you guys. This one’s rough. I feel awful leaving you here before my little hiatus! Oh boy. Don’t hate me. I love you, ok? I do!

Standing at the register, you wiped the sleep from your eyes. This was simple and habitual for you: exit the plane, purchase a new hoodie and hat at the gift shop, catch the train to Dresden in 10. Clockwork. It was all so natural, such a habit that you didn’t think twice about sleeping most of the flight.

You stopped short, though, when your eye caught on the books near the register. Thus Spoke Zarathustra.

Without another thought, you dropped it onto the pile of items for purchase and tucked it under your arm before ducking into a bathroom to disappear. You couldn’t be followed through Berlin, not to Dresden, not north of Dresden, not to the Commander’s hold.

After changing into the sweater and pinning your hair beneath the hat, you stood with the book in your hands, looking the role of the tourist. Staring at the cover for what felt like ages, you finally made the decision, quickly seeking through the pages and tearing one out. Just one.

The wind snapped at your coat, pulling the hem taught as you stood in front of the post box, gripping tightly to the envelope you’d prepared just a few hours ago. The envelope you’d agonized over, the envelope you weren’t sure you should send.

The city hummed around you, people brushed past, pieces of your hair whipped across your face, tugged loose by the wind. But you remained perfectly still, clutching the envelope you’d prepared on the train, the envelope you’d turned over in your hands again and again on your way here, to Dresden, your last stop. Finally, here you stood, immobile with indecision.

If you tucked the envelope in your pocket, shredded it, discarded it in the nearest trash bin, Bucky would be safe, and you’d face your fate alone, like you should do. He would assume you’d left after the debriefing, unwilling to work through the complex team dynamics in the wake of your failed mission in Kiev.

He would assume he wasn’t enough to keep you in New York... to keep you with him. That was an unbearably painful thought when he meant so much, was worth so much, was more than enough. It was that very thought that had led you here. Just a few miles from the greatest risk you’d ever take, holding an envelope that could undo everything you were taking that risk for. But you just couldn’t let go of it.

It would be so selfish to send it, because if he knew why you left, there was a chance he’d come for you, and this would all be for naught. Your peace of mind or his life; that’s what was in the balance here, but somehow the difficulty of that decision weighed heavier even than the decision to come here in the first place.

He deserved an explanation, but any you offered only put him at risk.

It’s harder now to turn it off. Why is it harder? you thought. The back of your hand swept over your cheek, taking tears and grime away with it. I’m a trained and hardened assassin. Did it all really come undone in just a few months with them?

Your hand returned to the heel of the gun, steadying your grip.

“I'm sorry,” you whispered to the anonymous form bound and kneeling before you. “They'll kill you either way.”

“Does that make you feel better about being the one to do it?”

Remember Bucky. You’re doing this for him. A sharp roll of your head and a readjustment of your aim were followed by a deep, shaking breath and the loud snap of the gun firing in your hands. Bucky deserves his freedom more than anyone, far more than me.

“It doesn't,” you whispered back to the corpse, lowering the firearm to the table beside you and raising your hands beside your head, as was the necessary routine.

The guards swarmed to either side of you, jerking your arms down and back. Your stiff joints screamed at the hash kick to the back of your knees as you fell to the ground. The skin deeply bruised, blue and purple and yellow, never permitted to fully heal before the next harsh blow. You stared down at the palette of discoloured flesh, at the deep red liquid from the man a few feet away, seeping beneath you through the pattern of the tile floor, easily recognizing it as the narrative of your life.

Silence was your only defense now as your body was once again jerked upward by strong, merciless hands.

When you’d first arrived at the stronghold you weren’t at all surprised to be immediately apprehended, dropped to your knees, patted down for weapons, and restrained. It was standard precaution. You had just spent the last few months betraying this man and his work, selling his secrets, killing his men.

You still weren’t fazed when you were made to wait in a holding cell. It wasn’t until the Commander came to you there in the cell, instead of negotiating with you in his office or a conference room, that the weight of the situation sank in: worst case scenario.

The second the door groaned shut behind him, the tension in the room grew like a heavy shadow. You shifted to lift your chin, defiant and proud, watching him closely for leverage, an opportunity. There wasn’t much point in eyeing him for weapons, you knew he was armed, but he made a show of sliding the long slender knife onto the table in front of you. It screeched across the steel surface.

You remained silent as always; waiting him out. Both of you knew that an interrogation was a careful dance, and whoever took the first step, took the lead, gave away the most information.

“You’ve come alone.”

“You said I owe you, so I’m here,” you fired back, voice strong and defiant.

“Those weren’t the terms!” His fist slammed onto the table making the knife jump, but you remained even, unmoved.

“The terms have changed,” you answered coolly, leaning forward as much as the restraints would allow. You knew you needed to present with absolute confidence. Anything less would be met with a swift power-play and this would be over in moments. It was clear that this was going to hurt… but you might still get what you wanted.

“You can’t get him without me, and I won’t give him to you. So you can accept my offer of a contract with me...” He scoffed at your proposal before you even finished the sentence, “...or have done, and kill me already.”

“Does your soldier like those pretty big eyes of yours?”

That threw you. You managed to keep silent, not spilling your confusion with words, but it was clear in the way your head jerked back, how your eyes narrowed for a split second.

He rounded the table, gripping your face roughly in his hand, his thumb and forefinger digging into the hollows of your cheeks. “Those big pretty eyes that only see what they want to see? Hmm?”

You tore your face away as he reached for the knife. He hummed softly, tapping the tip of the blade gently on your cheekbone. “You want to believe you’re stronger, that you hold all the cards, but you’re weak and inoperative.”

You bit your lip, trying to withhold the eruption of pain as he dipped the blade into your skin. “You’re useless to me on your own, Y/N. You’re not the shadow you were. You’re protecting him.” You forced yourself to focus on the warm tickle of the blood dripping down your neck instead of the slow stroke he was making across your cheek. “And when you have priorities of your own, I can’t trust you to focus on mine and carry out a mission.”

He pulled the blade away and sat on the table in front of you, watching the thick trickle of blood on its stream over your cheek and neck. “When the asset comes – and he will come for you – I’ll activate him.” He tapped your shoulder with the point of the blade.

“See, you’ll remember him, how he protected you, came to save you, how you made this sacrifice for him. But he won’t remember you at all. He’ll have a directive to keep you in line. And you won’t have the heart to do what it takes to get out… to hurt him.” He ran his thumb over the edge of the blade, testing its edge. “You’ll stay for him and together you’ll be the most effective team of operatives we’ve ever had.” His gaze snapped to you again, locking on you with hard narrowed eyes, “Without him you’re just… collateral.”

“You’re wrong.” You were seething now, reeling. How had you miscalculated so badly? Surely you were more valuable as an agent than a pawn for ransom… But Bucky was their asset. “He won’t come. The others… they won’t let him. Not for me.”

His laugh was sharp in your ears, “If that video from Kiev is any indication, nothing will stop him from running into my hands the moment he sees your sweet face, bleeding and bruised.”

Before you could think to anticipate the pain, the knife flashed in his hand and sank deep into your side. The cry that ripped out of your throat was almost inhuman. Your jaw dropped in shock and pain, gasping for breath as he pulled the blade expertly from between your ribs, coated to the hilt in bright red stain.

“But I suppose you might as well earn your keep while you’re here.”

Dropping your head back, you could hardly focus on his words, concentrating on just breathing. Your gulping, gasping, insufficient breathing. The pain radiated through your chest and shoulder with every breath as your lung threatened to collapse.

He stood, wiping his knife clean before looking to you again. “I’ve done some research, you know, for how to instruct your new handler when he finally gets here and we…. reprogram him. But maybe we can get some of that shadow back in you before he gets here hmm?”

You didn’t speak, couldn’t speak, could hardly breathe. “I had one of your old handlers before you killed him. I’m told blind executions are effective in quelling your more sentimental outbursts. Shall we start there?”

“Go to hell.” You spat at him, a pool of blood landing at his feet. Definitely a punctured lung, then.

That did it. He was nothing if not clean and efficient. He pressed the tip of the knife to the juncture of your throat and clavicle. You stared at him, hard and unmoving, clenching your jaw, daring him to sink the point in, to end this now, to free you and hopefully, ultimately, Bucky.

“Y/N, you’re smarter than this,” he sighed, “I will kill you. Slowly.” He wasn’t bluffing, he never did. “For every execution you refuse to carry out, I will gouge you with another gaping wound until you drown in your own blood. I will send your body to your Winter Soldier and he will come to me anyway, and it will be so easy to take him, when he’s blind and reckless with rage.”

The shudder that rippled through your body was insurmountable, your ragged wheezing did nothing for your negotiating stance. “And I promise you, every last one of the people you refused to execute, will have died anyway.”

With a sinking, agonizing dread, you realized he was right. You’d fucked this up in the worst possible way and now your best chance at keeping Bucky away from here, at saving him from this, from everything he had already escaped once in his lifetime was to do this. To do this and pray to whatever monstrous gods were out there that he never received that damn envelope and that he never came for you.

Everything Tags: @creideamhgradochas, @johnmurphys-sass, @tired-alpaca, @whatsbetterthanfantasy, @abloggernamedsecretly, @ailynalonso15, @almondbuttercup, @amrita31199, @annieluc, @assbutt-son-of-a-bitch, @beccaanne814-blog, @brittanymcsharry, @caitsymichelle13, @calaofnoldor, @callamint, @canumoveyourseatup-no, @cassandras-musings, @charlesgrey1875, @cojootromuelle, @deanskitten, @decemberftw, @demonastracja, @denialanderror, @dopelandconnoisseur, @dracsgirl, @emilyinbuffalo, @earinafae, @forgottenswan, @ginamsmith, @givemethatgold, @glittervelvetandlace, @graysonmalfoy, @haleyloveshugs, @heismyhunter, @hellomissmabel, @iiharu-kunii, @imheretomarvel, @impala-moose, @indominusregina, @james-bionic-barnes, @k-nighttt, @kaaatniss, @kinqshley, @langinator, @lifeislikeatimebomb, @lilacs-lavender, @lillian-paige, @marvelatmytrash, @marvelatthepeople, @marvel-lucy, @mellifluous-melodramas, @midnightloverslie, @nikkitia7, @nykitass, @nicmob, @omalleysgirl22, @penumbrawolfy, @redstarredbucky, @rlsebastianbarnes, @sapphire1727, @sassysergeant, @science-of-deduction-sh, @sebbytrash, @sgtjamesbuchananbarnes107th, @skycrane9, @sociallyimpairedme, @tequilavet, @thatgirlsar, @that1awkwardfangirl, @theulimatefangirll, @the-witching-hours12-3, @thisisthelilith, @tori-medusa-belongs-to-bucky, @violentlyfarts, @watch-out-for-thorns, @winterboobaer, @winter-widoww, @wintersvldiers, @you-didnt-see-that-cuming

Series Tags: @38leticia, @agentraven007, @allthecoloursposts, @ant-pool, @ayanemoonlight, @becauseifuckingcan, @bellenuit45, @bibitchalicia, @blackwidovv, @blue1928, @blueinkandgoldpapyrus, @bridgeneem, @broby---dick, @capdanrogers, @chocolatereignz, @colouredwater, @danimuhle, @dazedandcarefree, @dc-marvel-trash, @debbichaos, @demonchild01, @disappointing-af, @dreamtravelerme, @emilypkuzu, @factorfreshness, @feelmyroarrrr, @filthylolita, @flashwarning0-0, @gingerbatchwife, @guiltyissues, @hermosachicaaa, @holywinchesterness, @honeybee-hayes, @imsunnysu, @inevitablegalaxy, @ipaintmelodies, @joshuad-n, @kurosaki224-new-blog, @late-night-fandoms, @laurenwhitehouse-blog, @lbouvet, @letbuckyeathisgoddamnplums, @letsgetoutalive, @magickandmoons, @marvelbase001, @melonberri, @mightbeapirateval, @misty-summer-nights, @mizzzpink, @morixeddu, @mytasterpeculiar, @mywaywardboys, @namastay-in-bed-2002, @nenyakj, @netflixa, @person0thats0not0a0people0person @petitelaurie9, @poopetters, @pickylittlebitch, @pietro-no, @pumpkinspiceavenger, @pretentiousaf, @rainbow-milkyway, @rainbowfez, @readingtoescape, @sammedrano, @sarahjeaniejean, @selfproclaimedmess, @sergeant-james-bbarnes, @shaexoox, @shamvictoria11, @shiejinx, @simplyashley95, @simplystarsinthesky, @sireanscall, @skeletoresinthebasement, @smarigreen, @smoothdogsgirl, @stephanie11220, @stylesnbarnes, @subtletynotwithstanding, @supersoldier-wifey, @tater-totts-hp, @tequilavet, @tropicalumthood, @thedragonblood, @thisiskalia, @trust-hurt-frickle-frackle @tvshow4life, @vanilla-seabass, @voidjillybean, @unevenpages, @w1nterchild, @what-a-brave-little-and-you-are, @winteraconitum, @xoxoaudreymarie,

#bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes #bucky x reader angst #bucky #bucky x reader fluff #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky barnes x reader fluff #marvel imagine #bucky barnes imagine #i'll be good #i'll be good part 19 #i'll be good fic #my fic

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skookworks · 4 years

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Gallery: The Unspeakable and the Inhuman Above is my 2007 cover design/illustration for a give away CD of recordings of The Unspeakable and the Inhuman. Unspeakabe was a comedy horror podcast serial produced that year. The series was written by Derek Fetters and Sam Stewart. It’s an original, very funny take on the Cthulhu Mythos. Derek handed out the CDs to interested folks at the H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival that year. He and I attended the Festival a few times before life got in the way.

Derek and Sam put together nine episodes of Unspeakable before, yeah, life got in the way. Those episodes are currently being hosted at 19 Nocturne Boulevard, a site that presents original adaptations of horror stories. Download and listen!

In 2008 a friend of Derek’s designed a website for the show and asked if I could contribute some art. That website is gone but the illustrations are below.

#gallery-0-6 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-6 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 33%; } #gallery-0-6 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-6 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

Story Seed #42 1-800-MAKEDIE

Posted in a less prominent place on one of those community bulletin boards often found in grocery stores and coffee shops and bars, a small flyer reads: 1-800-MAKEDIE Call anytime. Leave a name. No explanation needed. We’ll handle the rest.

The protagonist calls the number. Perhaps as a joke. Perhaps out of morbid curiousity. Perhaps in a moment of late night drunken justification. Leaves the name of someone they hate on the recording.

Possibilities:

The person named is found dead, horribly murdered. The protagonist waits in agony and guilt for the other shoe to drop. Time passes. The murder goes unsolved. The case is forgotten. The protagonist calls the number again.

The person named is found dead, horribly murdered. The protagonist waits in disbelief and guilt for the other shoe to drop. Time passes. The murder goes unsolved. The case is forgotten. The protagonist becomes obsessed with finding out who was behind the number and who committed the crime.

The person named is found dead, horribly murdered. The protagonist waits in trepidation for the other shoe to drop. Time passes. The murder goes unsolved. The case is forgotten. The protagonist has saved the flyer. When a friend laments about a horrible person in their life, the protagonist gives them the number.

The person named is found dead, cause unknown. The protagonist waits in agony and guilt for the other shoe to drop. Time passes. The protagonist questions whether they were responsible for the death or if it was just a weird coincidence.

The person named is found dead, horribly murdered. The police arrest the protagonist and charge them with the crime. The protagonist was at home, asleep, during the time of the murder but has no witnesses and all evidence points to their guilt.

The person named comes after the protagonist with murderous intent. Their family has been kidnapped and the ransom is to kill the protagonist.

….?

Recommendation: Monster Brains

Monster Brains is a primarily visual blog from Aeron Alfrey. The blog is themed around fantasy illustration. Each post is spotlights a single subject. Sometimes it’s a run of covers from a specific publication. Sometimes it’s a collection of related images – VHS box art or book covers. Usually each post features the work of a different fantasy artist. Alfrey has been updating this blog for years so there are thousands and thousands of weird images to peruse. If you like what you see, add something to the tip jar.

Current Events

I love how “unlimited data” becomes “we didn’t expect you to use this much data so we’re throttling your usage”. We get our cell phone service from Consumer Cellular. The Nephew spends most of his waking moments using his phone. On Friday I got a notice that we had reached the limit of our unlimited data plan. Kinda. Sorta. Consumer Cellular gives us 35G of shared data per month. “Unlimited”. Once we hit 35G we can use more data, they just throttle the speed that they provided that data. For an additional fee they will allow the data to be provided at high speed.

So Consumer Cellular has gone from being a company I’d recommend to being just another lying cell phone company. Their plans are still cheaper and easier to manage than the previous companies we’ve worked with. And if we didn’t have a Nephew our data usage would be much, much lower. I’m just not a fan of being lied to.

That I’m leading with complaints about our cell phone service tells you how exciting our life is right now.

Big Sister delivered another cooler full of wonderfulness – French Beef Burgundy Pie, Cuban Pork Ribs over Red Beans, and Thai Green Curry Chicken. We are lucky, luck people.

This week did demonstrate why I’m still more concerned about dog bites than about infectious diseases. One of my fellow carriers got her hand mauled by a dog. She’s the sixth carrier to get bitten in the last 12 months. I don’t know the exact circumstances of this bite. Like far too much news I heard about it via a post on Facebook. She included a photo of her bandaged hand. Dog bites happen more in sunny weather. Customers leave their dogs out in their yards or leave their front doors open to get some air in their house. They think that keeping their screen door closed with keep their dog in the house. And that works until the dog sees someone approaching that door.

I’ve had it happen a few times over the years. The dog leaps at the door (or window) and goes through the screen. Oftentimes the dog is surprised that the screen didn’t hold and pauses momentarily to process this new state of being. It had, after all, been throwing itself against the door (or window) on a regular basis and had never passed through it before. On a good day the dog’s owner will grab the mutt and pull it back it in. On a bad day someone gets bitten. On my route I’ve learned which houses are inadequately prepared for dog breakouts and I just don’t deliver on days when they’ve left door and windows open.

Things get trickier when delivering on other routes. You never know what ferocious beast might be lurking on the other side of a fence. Even the sweetest, friendliest dog has sharp teeth. A concientious carrier will include dog warnings for subs in their pulldowns but they can’t cover all the addresses all time. People dog sit. People have new dogs. People have dogs that the carriers don’t know about.

I end up appreciating the friendly, mellow dogs on my route even more. The ones that just look out the window at me and shrug. The ones who just don’t care. Those are my “good dogs”.

Hopefully your week has passed pleasantly. Hopefully your coming week has something worth looking forward to nestled amidst the chores and noise. Take care of yourself. Be good to your friends and family. Be kind to strangers. And if you have the opportunity to punch a Nazi be sure to wear gloves.

Tuesday Night Party Club #19 Gallery: The Unspeakable and the Inhuman Above is my 2007 cover design/illustration for a give away CD of recordings of…

#99Stories #1-800-MAKEDIE #19 Nocturne Boulevard #Cthulhu Mythos #Derek Fetters #H.P. Lovecraft #Monster Brains #Sam Stewart #story seed 42 #The Unspeakable and the Inhuman #Tuesday Night Party Club

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khaleesi-in-the-north · 7 years

Text

In the Crosshairs (19/?)

@lanasexuall

A dull throbbing pain surges from the base of her skull to her forehead as though on a tether. A muffled and distorted voice speaks quietly. Why can’t she hear properly? Or see?

She blinks her eyes a few times. Her vision returns quicker than her hearing. She raises herself onto her elbows. There’s a bed beneath. She doesn’t remember being near a bed. She remembers a scream, blood…

“Margaery be still,” says the voice. Jon walks across the room, his voice gradually becomes recognizable.

Memories of Brienne, Loras, and Renly flash through her mind. “Jon!” she croaks, voice hoarse and dry. “Jon we need to call the cops, we need to-”. She tries to sit up but nearly passes out as the room spins.

Jon gently nudges her back. “Lay down, Margaery. The maester thinks you may have a concussion.”

She groans presses her fingers to her temple. “Where are we? And where are Renly and Loras?”

Jon looks away from her. Glimpses of gun shots, Renly laying on the ground, A picture of a curly haired boy and Sansa Stark. She scrambles away from Jon. “You’re with her. You’re one of them, part of the mob!”

She leaps from the bed, but can’t fight through the pain. She falls to her hands and knees as her eyes struggle to focus on anyone point.

Jon loops an arm over her shoulder and helps her up. Too confused to keep fighting, Margaery lets him guide her back to the bed. “Try not to move until the maester can look at you.”

There’s no use in arguing with him. She’s in no shape to walk, let alone escape from Jon.

“Where’s Loras? Where’s my brother?” She doesn’t want to ask about Renly. If she doesn’t ask, he can’t confirm what she knows.

Rather than speak, Jon gets up. Margaery watches him walk to a television built into the wall. The reporter talks about the recent economic struggles facing Storm’s End.

“Jon, where’s Loras? I want to see him!” her voice cracks. He has to be okay. Maybe he got away. He’s a trained police officer and skilled gunman. He escaped and has a search party looking for her. Wherever she is.

“Breaking News” flashes on the screen. The anchor reads, “Good evening King’s Landing. We have breaking news from the press conference concerning the deadly apartment shooting on the outskirts of the Western Gate district today. Chief of police Jaime Lannister has confirmed that police are holding Loras Tyrell in connection to the murder of Renly Baratheon. He did not confirm whether Mr. Tyrell is a suspect in the case. Police are looking for these two women as well.” A grainy security video shows two figures—Brienne and Mercy—outside the apartment complex. “One is believed to be Brienne Tarth. Police are still working to identify the second woman. Both are considered at large and dangerous. They may also be involved in the disappearance of King’s Courier reporter Margaery Tyrell, who was seen entering the apartment with Mr. Baratheon before the attack. If you have any information on these women or this case, please call police.”

The screen changes to a throng of reporters outside the Courier office. Jorah stands at a makeshift podium. He addresses Margaery’s disappearance and Renly’s death. He says it’s a tragedy, like losing family. He says how wonderful Renly was. Kind, friendly, confident. He pleads for Margaery’s safety.

She imagines Loras alone and crying over his boyfriend. Locked in a cell for something he had no part in, no knowledge of. She imagines Olenna in a tizzy, calling the best lawyers in Westeros, hiring private investigators. She wonders if her father is raging with anger and flying to King’s Landing to speak to his boy, or if he’s consoling her mother back home. What is Garlan doing? With a child on the way, would he and Leonette come north? The stress couldn’t be good for the baby.

Jorah walks off the podium, replaced by Stannis Baratheon. He takes out a crumpled sheet of paper. His daughter, baring the scars of her bout with skin cancer, stands by his side. He surveys the crowd with a stoic expression, but Margaery knows better.

“Today, we have suffered an irreplaceable loss. Renly Baratheon,” he stops and then says, “my brother was a good man. He used to tell me that his greatest hope was to improve the lives of the smallest among us. I believe he accomplished that. His work helped lower crime rates and brought attention to the plights of the poor in this city. He was the kind of man who would give money without question. We can never thank him enough for giving himself to this city.” He takes another breath, shakier than the last, but never once looks anything less than in control. “As a city we must carry on his example. Be good to one another. Find ways to help each other. I never got along the best with Renly, but he was a man that people admired. I wish I told him that I admired him too.”

From the throng of reporters, one cries out, “What would you say to Loras Tyrell?”

Stannis’s fingers grasp the stand and pale. “Loras Tyrell can hang in his cell.”

Stannis storms off stage, camera flashes capturing each movement. Reporters shout questions after him as Shireen keeps pace at his heels.

The channel cuts back to the reporter. “We received video moments ago from outside the residence of Margaery Tyrell.”

Whomever the cameraman was must have been new on the job. The image shook as it zoomed in on the front door outside Alayne’s house. Alayne covered her face walked down the pathway leading to the front door with Petyr Baelish on one side, a short, long faced girl that Margaery doesn’t recognize on the other. She ducked her head down as bright lights flashed. The crowd of reporters here was smaller than at Stannis’s press conference, but just as desperate for a quote. Alayne gave them nothing. She slid into the driver’s seat of her car without a word and revved the engine to warn the reporters to back up.

As the car drove off, the anchor said, “Local bar owner Alayne Stone is the girlfriend of Ms. Tyrell. Although Ms. Stone has not spoken publicly, she released a statement pleading for the safe return of her girlfriend and privacy in these tough times. According to Chief Lannister, Ms. Stone has been fully cooperative with the investigation.”

“Turn it off,” Margaery utters. She doesn’t want to see her.

“Margaery-” Jon says.

“Turn it off!” Margaery yells, cringing at they way her ears ring.

She stands up, but the room spins. She sits back down. Jon makes sure she’s okay, then turns off the tv.

Margaery lays down again.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Jon says. “Your concussion still seems bad.”

They sit together in silence for what feels like hours.

She’s a captive. She’s not sure what that means. Maybe she’ll be ransomed to her family. Maybe she’ll be interrogated about what she knows.

She decides she won’t talk. She won’t tell what she knows about the Lannisters or what she’s knows about the Starks. Alayne doesn’t deserve to know any more than she told Margaery.

While she’s fostering her resolve, Margaery catches a glimpse of a deep red scratch on Jon’s cheek hiding amongst his beard hair. “Where’s Ygritte?”

Jon glances up, sorrow in his eyes. “She’s safe.”

It’s not enough of an answer. Margaery opens her mouth to demand to know where Ygritte is. A knock on the door interrupts her. Jon cracks the door open and whispers through it. Margaery stands on shaky feet, and wobbles closer. A whisp of bright blonde hair gleams through the crack.

Margaery stomps forward. “You bitch! You killed him! You fucking killed him!”

Jon blocks the door and gathers Margaery. She kicks and reaches for the Brienne. Brienne stands stoic, mere inches beyond her reach.

“Margaery she didn’t-” Jon says as he carries Margaery back.

“You killed Renly. He was a friend to you and you shot him!” she screams.

Brienne moves aside, out of Margaery’s frame of view and a man in a white coat steps forward. He’s close to her grandmother’s age. He has a kindly face and a hunched back from years of bending over patients. The door shuts softly behind him.

Jon manages to get a still kicking and fighting Margaery back to the bed.

“Get the fuck off me Jon! You can stick your chivalry and fake concerns up your arse,” Margaery yells. Her brain pounds against her skull and the room spins faster.

“Ms. Tyrell. I need you to calm down,” soothes the maester. “You’ve had a hard knock on your head that could cause permanent damage if you do not calm down.”

Margaery stops struggling with Jon and starts crying. She feels tired. There’s nothing familiar for her to cling to anymore. Renly is gone. Loras is far away. Ygritte is missing. Alayne was never there. She’s never felt more alone.

Through her slowing sobs, she can’t hear what the master tells Jon.

“But Maester-”

“Go on Jon. She won’t hurt me and I won’t hurt her. Sansa will be here shortly. I think it would be best for Ms. Tyrell if she not come in here until after I fully evaluate that head injury.”

Jon hesitates, but nods. Margaery watches him go, then she looks down. The maester sits on the bed. “You’ve been through a great ordeal Ms. Tyrell. Please allow me to check you out. Then you can rest in peace.”

Margaery looks up. His voice and face seem kindly. She doesn’t fight when he gently grasps her chin. He shines a small flashlight in her eyes. The light burns too much. She snaps her head away and blinks rapidly. “Still fairly sensitive to light. Do you know your name?”

She doesn’t answer.

“I need your cooperation. You have no reason to trust me, but I will not hurt you. Aside from what you may believe, Ms. Stark wishes you no harm.”

A moment of silence follows. He promised to let her be if she cooperated, so she says, “Margaery Tyrell.”

Her mind begins drifting again. Back to Loras in his cell. Then to the paper.

“Ms. Tyrell?” the maester says.

The look on his face tells her he has been trying to get her attention for awhile. “Yes?”

“What day is it?”

“Thursday,” she says.

“Are you experiencing any headaches or nausea?”

“My head feels like a hammer is bashing into it,” she admits.

“You have a concussion Ms. Tyrell. I’ll speak with Ms. Stark about getting you a CAT scan to make sure there’s nothing more serious,” the maester tells her.

As he promised, he leaves her in peace. Jon comes back in with orders to wake Margaery every two hours if she falls asleep.

“Am I allowed to go to the bathroom?” Margaery asks after a while.

He escorts her down a dark hallway. He stands outside, giving Margaery privacy to relieve herself. Her head doesn’t feel quite as bad anymore, but she still feels dizzy when she walks. She can’t follow a train of thought for more than a minute.

Until she hears Alayne’s voice. Sansa’s voice. She turns off the water and dries her hands.

Alayne sounds furious. “I told you not to hurt her!”

“Ms. Stark she was about to-” Brienne attempts to explain.

“I don’t care. I don’t fucking care. Arya can handle herself. ‘Get her out and keep her safe.’ Lady could understand that order. Why couldn’t you?” Alayne yells.

The response is too quiet for Margaery to hear. She doesn’t care that Mercy is Arya. Right now nothing could surprise her.

Margaery leaves the bathroom, praying she makes It back without seeing Alayne. Instead, Alayne is walking down the hall, Brienne by her side.

Margaery brushes by Jon and tries to get back to the room quickly.

“Margaery!” Alayne calls out. She comes just as quick as Margaery.

Margaery tries to speed up, but the faster she goes, the more her head hurts. She catches herself on the wall and clenches her teeth. The stop gives Alayne enough time to reach her.

“Sansa wait,” says Jon, “Maester Luwin doesn’t think it’s good for Margaery to see you right now. She’s still not feeling well.”

She ignores him and walks around Margaery. She engulfs Margaery in an embrace. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” she whispers.

Margaery clenches her eyes shut. She wants it to stop. She struggles in Alayne’s grip and pushes her away. This time she ignores the pain as she tries to pass Alayne. It’s not easy. Alayne follows her down the hall, Jon on her heels and Brienne behind him.

“Margaery, let me explain. Let me-” Alayne says.

Had she not been afraid of another dizzy spell, Margaery would have doubled over in laughter. Alayne had every opportunity to explain. What made now any better than when Margaery had last seen her?

“I don’t want an explanation. I don’t want anything from you,” She discreetly wipes away the tears forming along her eyes. She won’t let her see them.

She tries to go back to the room again, where she can pretend this is a dream until she wakes up from her next one.

Alayne won’t let her go. She seizes Margaery’s wrist. Margaery’s icy glare is met by the most pitiful expression. “Please Margaery,” she begs.

Margaery feels no remorse for her. Hatred boils in her blood. “I asked you to explain to me earlier. You didn’t. Renly is dead because of you. Loras is imprisoned for your crimes. I don’t want an explanation anymore.” The tears come back. Damn them.

They well in Alayne’s eyes too. Alayne was always sure to never let Margaery see her cry. Yesterday, Margaery would have held Alayne, promised her that everything was okay, that she’d fix whatever the problem was. Now she yanks her arm away and walks off.

“I-” Margaery slams the door behind her.

Voices muffle through the door, then quiet as Jon comes in. She shoves her face into her pillow to muffle the sobs she can’t hold back anymore.

The next time she wakes up, Gendry is there. He has a split lip and a bruised eye. He smiles apologetically, though it’s useless. What a fool. Everyone knew, everyone was part of the charade.

They come in rotations. First Jon, then Gendry, then Bronn. “I work for the highest bidder. Ms. Stark has always known my price,” Bronn had said. He was the only one who spoke, more for his own benefit than for Margaery.

Margaery asks where she is, but of course none of them tell her. Of all of them, Gendry is the one that nearly falters. He’s about to respond when a crackling sound buzzes in the silent room and he winces. The same way he winced at Joffrey’s party. After that, Margaery stops asking questions.

During his shifts, Jon turns on the TV. Sometimes Alayne is on, acting as though she cared for Margaery and was actively searching for her. Sometimes her grandmother and father are on, advocating Loras’s innocence and pleading for Margaery’s safety. Those are the times Margaery felt her will crumble.

In small print, the news network announces that Ygritte and Jon are also missing. Having determined that their disappearances aren’t newsworthy enough, the anchors focus solely on Margaery, Loras and Renly.

Her headaches become less painful and less frequent. The dizziness goes away as well. The maester checks on her and says that her concussion is healing well. Alayne hasn’t come back since their incident in the hall.

She eats little. Her meals consist of food she loves: Dornish chicken, roasted pork, summer squash, peaches, lemons, pies. Food worthy of royalty, not a prisoner. She refuses to be seduced by finery.

When the maester visits her again he tells her she has to eat. Her concussion requires her to have more energy than usual to heal and not eating only heightens the risks.

Aside from the bread and the peach, she doesn’t eat. Bronn is reliving some tale of a theft gone wrong that evening when the door opens.

Alayne walks in, a small plate of food in one hand, Margaery’s leather jacket in the other. Bronn stands straight, almost like a military captain.

“Ms. Stark,” he says.

“Stand outside Bronn,” she orders him.

Without question, he quietly shuts the door behind him. Wrapped beneath a blanket, Margaery doesn’t budge. Alayne cautiously approaches and kneels to the floor beside Margaery’s bed. She sets down the plate next to her. She lifts her hand as though to stroke Margaery’s hair.

“Don’t touch me,” Margaery warns.

She puts her hand back down. “The KLBI ran some DNA tests on your jacket. When they realized it had no evidence, I convinced them to let me hold on to it. It’s not in good shape anymore.”

She lays the jacket by Margaery’s feet. Margaery stays silent.

“Your parents and grandmother arrived today. I’m going to meet with them and the lawyers in a couple hours. Olenna and I are splitting the cost for the best law firm in Westeros to handle the case,” she pauses then adds, “She wants me to focus more on finding you and let her worry about Loras.”

Still without a response, Alayne grows restless.

“Margaery you need to eat. Starving yourself won’t help anyone.”

“Then don’t feed me like I’m an honored guest. I’m your prisoner for ransom or torture or whatever you have planned. Stop pretending I’m anything else,” Margaery sneers.

“You’re not a prisoner ba- Margaery. I know you don’t understand, but this is to keep you safe from Cersei,” Alayne says.

“I don’t need protection from Cersei. I need protection from you.”

“Those men that came for you were Cersei’s men. They would have killed you had it not been for Brienne and Mercy,” Alayne insists.

“Arya,” Margaery corrects her. She pushes herself up. “If you’re going to pretend to give a shit, let’s have a little honesty. That woman with Brienne was your sister.”

Sansa nods, eyes shut tight. “Yes. She’s Arya.”

“Your help killed Renly,” Margaery says.

“They saved your life. Those bastards would have-” Sansa argues.

Margaery cuts her off. “They were after Jon! Not me! I had it under control until you butted in. I’m not as stupid as you or your family!”

Sansa recoils as though Margaery had just slapped her. She stares at the floor for a moment before getting up and walking out. Margaery releases a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

Bronn returns, eerily quiet. He doesn’t speak for the rest of his shift.

Eventually, Margaery takes eats the food Sansa left. She tells herself it’s because she has no choice, not because of the absurd guilt weighing on her chest. She has nothing to feel sorry for. She only spoke the truth.

The next day, there’s a knock at her door. She’s sure it’s Alayne, coming back to tell her off. Instead, Ygritte tumbles through the door, followed by the girl who had been walking through the throng of reporters that first night with Alayne. She wears a fading bruise on her cheek.

“Shift’s over Gendry. I’m taking over,” the girl commands. Margaery remembers the voice. Arya had been more disguised than Margaery knew. Everyone’s mask seems to be falling.

“I’ll be outside Arry. That one can be a handful,” Gendry points at Ygritte as he walks out.

“Marge, what the hell is going on?!” demands Ygritte.

#Sansaery #in the crosshairs

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