#consistent light source? I don’t know her

[unholyhelbig]

the oversight part 5? i love that series!

Title: The Oversight [Part 5/7]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Wordcount: 7589

Warnings: Blood, guns, general violence, empty threats, angst, and horrible grammar.

[A/n: Listen, I straight up just finished watching 'The Iron Claw' and if you value your ability to hold it together, I suggest not seeing it. But also... go see it because it's phenomenal. Oh, and Happy Holidays!, like with most things, I regret my direction on this.]

[ Part one | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven ]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

Softly, you denied the small wooden bowl that was passed person to person, filled with numbers scribbled haplessly on strips of paper. There was a pit of guilt in your stomach for not bringing a white elephant gift- but as the honorary plus one of Darcy Lewis you succumbed to your fate. She’d drawn a middle grade number and sidled up next to you with her third vodka tonic.

You took a swallow of your own cranberry flavored drink, something that masked the sharp taste of alcohol. You were feeling fuzzy, but in the light way that would assure you’d get through the rest of party and the competitive game of gift swapping.

“Thanks for doing this,” Darcy said to you, nudging your shoulder “it was a little too fancy for my liking.”

She had stressed that she needed your presence to get through all the small talk about science. Darcy was an expert engineer but she could only go so far when it came to awkward co-workers murmuring amongst the twinkling Christmas lights and pre-paid meals. She got along well with most, but you could sense her anxiety well.

“Of course, you know I’d never turn down smoked salmon.”

Truthfully, it sounded a lot better than what your own work was planning. It took some quiet background checks and calling babysitting references, but you eventually conceded to a teenage girl that was certified in CPR and didn’t charge interest.

Your own holiday celebration at the Diner had been lackluster and consisted of much more alcohol. This was quiet and subdued, and a welcome break from the usual chaos that surrounded your life. You were more than happy to watch people tear paper from candles and blankets and ornaments.

“How much money do you want to put on Jimmy bringing some sort of magic kit?”

You hadn’t noticed the girl that hugged the side of the bar, waving down the bartender wordlessly. She was drinking something sweet and garnished with orange. She had a beautiful smile and the clearest eyes you had ever seen. Darcy smiled at her with familiarity and it eased you.

“I don’t bet on things I’m going to lose.” Darcy said with finality. “Y/n, this is Monica Rambeau.”

“It’s nice to meet you,”

Her grip was firm, and you squeezed her hand back with the same amount of pressure. Her smile widened at that before the bartender returned with a fresh drink garnished with another twirled orange peel. The two of you separated.

“So, Monica, what do you do?”

Something in science, the answer was obvious if she was at this holiday party. But she humored you all the same, turning her back to the counter and leaning close to you. There was pride in her answer, and it bloomed in her chest.

“I’m a mechanical engineer, specializing in astrophysics and astrobiology.”

“Don’t’ sell yourself short.” Darcy interjected with a watery laugh “She’s the head of our S.W.O.R.D division.”

Darcy had spoken about this before and the name rang familiar. Her company was looking at alternative fuel sources that could supply space exploration. All the while, they focused on vertical growing and bettering the community. From what you understood, this was a big deal. She was a big deal.

“Wow, that’s very impressive Ms. Rambeau”

Your voice was filled with genuine awe, but your conversation was cut short when the number sixteen was called out. Monica sheepishly pulled herself away from the bar and held her strip of paper up before approaching the table filled with wrapped gifts. She went for a medium-sized one adorned in reindeer.

“Oh wow!” She forced a smile, voice sweet like honey “A magic kit!”

The air in your room was stale and fought you as you pulled it into your lungs. You’d, at some point, kicked off your comforter and were splayed out on your sheets in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts and an oversized shirt. Sweat hat soaked through both and the fabric clung to your skin.

On a blind instinct you grabbed at the gun under your nightstand, fastened by nothing more than duct tape. You could feel your heart in your throat and struggled to swallow it down again. You weren’t sure when this became second nature for you, something within the last two months of accompanying Natasha to the gun range for hours a time.

All the same, you held the tip of the weapon to the ground and rounded the corner of your bedroom into the dark hallway. You were unsettled from the dream you’d just had. The memory. Your subconscious had finally connected the woman who stood at Carol’s side. Her familiarity.

Monica Rambeau.

It was true, there was a stark coldness to her when you’d met at a Christmas party just the year before. It was only in passing and there were moments, like at the fair, when Darcy would mention her co-worker.

This changed things. Anxiety spiked haplessly, even as you diligently searched and cleared each room the way you had been taught. Keep your gun down, keep your eyes on the darkest corners of the room, ready to fire your weapon at any point. Especially if it was aimed at Natasha.

There was the slight movement of a shadow to your left and you quickly raised the gun, aiming it directly at the disturbance. Veronica stood on a chair in the kitchen, struggling to fill a glass with warm water, the only temperature that the faucet would allow.

You let out a quiet, mortified sigh before tucking the weapon into the waistband of your shorts. Your daughter blinked with wide eyes and that same guilty feeling flooded you at once, overtaking the anxiety.

“Baby,” You breathed, closing the distance between you and flicking on the overhead lights. You both flinched at their harshness but eventually blinked the shock away. “What are you doing up?”

You didn’t expect an answer, nor did you get one. Instead, you scooped her up under her arms and set her gently on the linoleum. There was water in the fridge, but she always had issues pouring it from the large jug. Ronnie was stubborn and shot you a frown at your intrusion.

“Don’t give me that look, kid.”

Her expression eased and you dumped the water down the drain before refilling the glass with something colder and more refreshing. Ronnie gulped it down eagerly, soaking the collar of her shirt with the liquid. She let out an appeased noise and wiped the rest of the water away from her mouth. She stood on her tip-toes and placed the glass in the sink.

“Couldn’t sleep, huh? Me either.”

You tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She blinked tiredly at you, your heart melting at the sight. It was easy to remember the words Natasha had trusted you with on the Ferris Wheel. Veronica would talk when she wanted to, but you had become quite good at reading her expressions and movements. Within the last month, you had stopped the long drives and the specialists. It eased you both.

“How about a sleepover?”

The exhaustion turned into joy and then combined within her look. You couldn’t help but chuckle as you scooped her up. She was getting too big for this, but you didn’t much care. You’d gotten stronger in the last few months and even if you hadn’t, you’d do the same.  

With a show of dramatics you tossed her onto the bed and replaced the duvet that you’d flung off. Carefully, as Ronnie’s stare averted, you placed the gun in the drawer next to your bed. The last thing you did was prop the window open, letting out the flat air and letting in the sound of the city.

Ronnie was pulled flush against your chest in a matter of moments, though you had suddenly lost all exhaustion. You listened to the sirens, to the calls of people just ending their nights. If you listened hard enough, you could hear the horns of the boats that settled into the harbor.

“I love you so much.” You whispered into the small of her neck, “One day I’m going to get us out of here.”

Veronica didn’t respond, but the squeeze her little hand gave yours was all the reassurance that you needed.

Clint swallowed down steaming black coffee without blowing on it to cool it down. The nutty scent filled the cab of the car and warmed your nerves. He drank like your daughter did, but with the purpose of waking himself up before the sun. You never did get back to sleep and were wired enough to refuse the cup he offered you this morning.

He’d knocked on your door as the orange sun moved over the horizon. You were to accompany him to the docks to check on business. This somehow seemed less intimidating than the dinner you’d attended with Natasha.

“It’ll be easy. We have a chokehold on the harbor, we just have to check with a few of the vendors to collect their dock rent and call it a day. Everything else is done under the table. People aren’t too happy because at the end of the day, we’re the ones that take money from them. But it’s a necessary evil.”

You nodded and watched as the city went by. It was peaceful, quiet. There had been a single foster home that you stayed in that had a view of the entire skyline. You were too far away to see the bustling people and the everyday chaos that accompanied it.

There were, of course, moments of calm when you would work the early morning shift at the diner. But that would always shatter by the time you made the two minute walk from your apartment to the back door that was choked with the scent of garbage and cheap cigarettes.

“We have some invitations to hand out too. In the glovebox.”

You furrowed your brow and popped it open. His weapon (or his second, or third) sat upon a stack of manilla cards with elegant writing on them that had to be done by hand. You inspected them but didn’t’ dare separate the paper.

“What are these for?”

“Nat throws a party for her benefactors every single year. It’s real fancy, a suit and tie thing. Her renters are invited too and if they have the balls to show up, they always have a good time. She makes sure of it.”

“We’re expected to attend?”

He nodded, “It’s a requirement, really. As Natasha’s right hand. You go where she goes and once your probationary period is over, you’ll be on her like glue. Though, I don’t think that’ll be much of a problem.”

You frowned at his statement, his insinuation. Sure, you had gotten close to Natasha, had even grown to like her. She had a way of getting under your skin until it felt like she lived in it. Otherwise, you would have cut your losses long ago and let her slit your throat the first moment she met you.

There was a feeling of devotion that you felt the need to uphold. She had spared your life, after all. You’d spent the last two and a half months with her guiding you, teaching you how to obey her every word. Without fault, you would. Clint knew it, Kate and Yelena knew it. You knew it.

Instead of admitting it, you frowned and slumped further in your seat, struggling to ignore Clint’s own shit-eating expression. By the time he pulled to a stop, it had started to drizzle enough for him to flick his wipers on. The sound of them scraping against the window filled the silence.

You took careful attention to stay quiet and observe. Your gun was strapped carefully to your side and the invitations rested in your side pocket. You didn’t dare get them wet and let the ink run in a soupy mess. It had been years since you’d been out here and part of you was unsteady on the aged and slick wood.

“Sam is a cool guy. His family has hold on a good portion of the harbor. He likes to joke, so don’t pay him any mind.” Clint jabbed you with his elbow. “And loosen up a little bit, would you?”

You glowered at him and rubbed the stiff spot on your ribs but felt your shoulders lower a bit. There was a lot of weight behind this, that had been made clear to you the second you were inducted into this system.

Instead of heading directly down the long stretches of worn dock, Clint took a turn just before the asphalt ended. A small structure that looked less weathered than the rest of your surroundings rested at the lots end. The windows were thick enough to withstand the watery winds.

Clint stilled his large hand shooting out across your chest. It took you a few seconds to clock the shattered glass on the front door. Small smears of crimson pocked the shards that remained. Much like the evening before, you drew your gun on instinct, and Clint did the same.

He didn’t take care to hide your presence. Instead, he took the brunt of his large boot and cracked through the doorframe with the force of one kick. Wood splintered, raining down on linoleum and a desk that was easily from the 70’s.

You could smell the blood before you saw it, nearly sliding on the flooring. You caught yourself before that happened, heart pounding in your ears. “Fuck!”

“Jesus Christ,” Clint mirrored your sentiments.

Whoever had been here was long gone, but they’d left quite the mess. They’d torn through the filing cabinets, leaving legal papers and folders scattered against the desk and the expanse of cabin space.

You tracked the source of the pooling blood with little difficulty. A man- one that you had rightly never seen before- was laying on his back, facing the ceiling. From edge to edge of his throat was a long cut leaking an ugly red color. His stare was frosty, soaked into his sweatshirt.

It was like a car crash, something that you struggled to avert your eyes from until Clint physically grasped your chin and turned your attention to him. “Hey, you alright?”

“Yeah, yes. Good.” You answered cooly, swallowing whatever dryness was in your throat. “Who would do something like this?”

“Carol… one of her lackeys. This is an eye for an eye thing.”

Even if it was an act of revenge, this was extensive. It sent a clear message even if you didn’t’ exactly know all the specifics of the feud. Of course, you’d seen Yelena at work and even that was mild compared to the brutality of this.

The thought of Monica, if it even had been her, completing a task as unfeeling as this filled your veins with ice. You felt your nails dig into your palms, soft and stinging. There was a surge of anger, and sadness that mixed into resolution. Natasha was right to despise the Danver’s family. Any family that treated the world with this much cruelty.

Natasha was in the gym on the second floor. Large windows overlooked the backyard, and a prolonged view of the harbor. There were blue mats adorning the floor, and a few wracks meant for weightlifting.

You had never seen this part of the house before. Usually the weather permitted sparring outside, but the late summer rain had made that impossible. Sheets of water obscured your usual view, though, it wasn’t exactly trained on the windows.

Natasha had her back facing you, her breathing timed evenly with each punch she threw at an 80-pound bag filled with sand. She wore tight-fitting shorts and a sports bra that left little to the imagination. Not that you had imagined her in that situation before.

Her muscles tightened and relaxed with each movement. They were scarred in a deep orchid pink, long ago healed. At one point, she was lashed. You recognized the damage done by a leather belt and shivered at the memory of it.

Natasha was fit, she was coated in a layer of sweat that dripped across her strength. You had to be clear minded for this and the state of her wasn’t making it easy on you. Her knuckles were wrapped, and she would grunt with each thrust of her fist. For just a moment, you wished you were under her mercy instead of the punching bag.  

That broke when she panted against the bag, stopping its swinging with a firm grasp on either side. “Are you just going to stand there and watch?”

Natasha had focused her green eyes on you through the reflection of the window. Of course, you hadn’t intended to gawk as long as you had. But you were leaning against the doorframe of the gym, practically drooling. You had forgotten yourself and you wouldn’t’ put it past Natasha to notice.

She turned to you, a wolfish smile on her face. “Take your jacket off. Holster too.”

You struggled to ignore the haughty expression on her face when you did exactly what she said without question, almost too eagerly, depositing them on the edge of the mat. You pushed your shoes off too, knowing not to track mud on any of Natasha’s carpets.

Her eyebrow lifted at the action. She’d moved closer during your actions, and you’d nearly run into her before noticing. Her presence was intoxicating. All-consuming.

“You’re here to tell me something,” She proclaimed “you’ve got that adorable look on your face. It’s good to know someone in this house still fears me.”

She was joking and it tugged at your heart to send that mood down to the ground before lighting it on fire. You’d expected her to be in poorer spirits after Clint had called her and let her know what had happened at the harbor. Instead, she responded in her same calculated coolness that she regarded you with now.

There was nothing about her demeanor that eased you, and suddenly, it felt like you were being scolded for a decision you had made. Even more so when she grasped your chin and forced you to look at her.

“That woman with Carol from the other night. I know her. Briefly.”

“Briefly?”

“As in, I met her at a Christmas party a few years back and… left with her.”

Natasha’s grip tightened against your chin, her thumb digging into your jaw. There was too much alcohol flowing that night and after making stinted conversation about how to disconnect two metal rings smoothly, the two of you went back to her apartment.

Before the sun came up, you left. There was shame in it, and the walk back to your own apartment punctuated with Darcy’s scolding was enough to make you forget the encounter altogether. It was one night- a fun night, but singular all the same.

Natasha let out a small noise of disapproval that sunk straight to your core. “Is that so?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Does she remember you?”

“It… didn’t seem like it.”

Her eyes narrowed, nose a short distance from your own. You could feel the hotness of her breath against your throat. How you had disappointed her. That much was clear from the lack of tenderness in her grasp. She eventually released you, trailing her fingers down the expanse of your neck.

She played with the small charm of your necklace, nothing more than a dainty gold chain with the tiniest whisper of a diamond in the center. Your skin prickled at the sensation, breath audibly catching as she worked her fingers over the length of chain.

“Well, I suppose this could be a problem. Especially with Carols violent behavior lately.”

Natasha sighed dramatically, and within an instant her nimble hand had tightened around your throat. She walked you the three steps backwards to the nearest wall. The small of your back landed with a heady thud and you used the last of your available breath to grunt out in protest.

Of course, you had seen her angry before, but it was never directed at you. Not like this. She wasn’t squeezing tight enough to injure you, not really. But the shock of the movement had made you think she would end you all the same.

“You should have come to me right away, pet.” Her grasp tightened; words growled. “And here I thought you were such a good, obedient, girl.”

Her words filled you with an immense shame for letting her down. Over the past few months, it had become impossible to be anything but perfect for Natasha Romanoff. The fact that you hadn’t connected the dots sooner was disillusioning.

The grip against your throat loosened ever so slightly as she leaned closer, her lips nearly ghosting your own. You could barely taste her, a strangled whimper escaping you. She pressed her body close. It was warm and overwhelming.

“I expect you to handle this on your own if it becomes a problem, darling.”

Before you could close the distance, Natasha pulled away from you entirely. It left you panting against the wall, wanting for something more. She knew exactly what she was doing. You craved her more than anything, and she had brought you so close to something you both wanted before denying it altogether.

Natasha sauntered, actually sauntered, across the gym and grabbed a towel from a nearby bench. She regarded you with flushed cheeks, her eyebrow raised as if nothing had just happened and you supposed that nothing did.

“Clint has told you about the party?” It took a few seconds before you found your voice, after her gentle urgings “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Yes ma’am. He did.”

She reached for a water bottle, exchanging it’s spot on the bench for the towel. She takes three hungry swallows, and you watched the way her throat moved in response to the water. Each of her movements seemed deliberate, nearly calculated to get a reaction out of you.

“Perfect. Don’t worry that pretty little head of yours about what to wear. I’ll lay a dress out in your room.”

“My room?” Your words were squeaked.

There was a short hum in response as she gulped down another helping of water before setting it down entirely. That anger had ebbed away from her almost entirely. The fire that had been within her eyes excited you, and despite yourself, so did her demands.

“You’re so skittish. Come here. We need to work on your lead hook.”

Natasha didn’t offer to wrap your knuckles, nor did you ask. Instead, you leaned into the bag, letting the course material cut into your knuckles with a welcoming sting.

There was great thought put into any Romanoff party that was thrown. Lights were wrapped around the banister, and caterers walked through the teems of people with unwavering silver trays of finger food that cost more than your old salary for a number of months.

Back storm doors were opened to the pool, lit up and buzzing with an equal amount of people. Natasha had hired a piano player who haplessly pressed down on keys and drew a small crowd with each song that would crescendo into the dining room.

The overlapping theme was a dark forest green that reminded you much of the paint color slathered on Natasha’s bedroom walls. Something you hadn’t seen in months, but remembered so fondly. It was clear that she wanted to present a united force, something strong and unwavering in their power.

Clint was dawned with a finely pressed suit and a deep green tie that matched the shade of Kate’s dress to the very hue. She wore something silk and modest, reaching down to her heeled feet but leaving her muscular arms entirely bare.

Yelena stunned in a dress of her own, a crushed sage velvet that had a dipping neckline and sleeves that met at her wrist. By the confidence of her stride, you had no trouble believing she had chosen the outfit with the thought of how many weapons she could conceal. Her devilish smile only confirmed your thoughts.

As of you, Natasha had picked out something a little more revealing. Much like the maroon number she wore to dinner the other night, the dress she chose for you hugged every inch of your body. Its fern color complimented your complexion, bringing out the redness of your cheeks.

A slit moved from the base of your dress to the middle of your thigh. A halter neckline clung to your breasts, nearly pushing them up and out. It had been years, high school prom, since you’d worn something even close to this. You felt your shoulders flush red when you descended the stairs and struggled to blend in.

Natasha was sidled up by the mantel in deep conversation with someone who was a stranger to you. Most of the people here were. Though, their hands gave way to their high-ranking positions in the city. Few had callouses or oil stains.

She was in a three-piece suit that was color matched to your own outfit down to the shade. There were gold accents on her jewelry and the neckline of her waistcoat dipped down the tanned expanse of her skin.

Kate let out a low whistle in response to your entrance as she offered you a hand at the base of the stairs. You’d almost missed the last one due to your shameless gawking at the woman of the party. “Quite the looker, y/n. Natasha chose this?”

“Naturally,”

She chuckled softly, a small sound “Nothing if not calculating. Do you know how to socialize at one of these things?”

“Mm, as the caterer, yes.”

This seemed to amuse her more than you’d like. Katherine Elizabeth Bishop was a name that you had reluctantly googled early on in your employment. She had grown up wealthy and well acquainted with gatherings such as these. Of course, that was before her mother wound up incarcerated for white-collar crimes. The skills seemed to benefit her here, however.

Kate did everything with practiced fluidity that you envied. She plucked two champagne glasses from a nearby tray. “Only one of these, nurse it like your life depends on it. That way they won’t keep trying to shove alcohol into your hands. This is work, after all.”

You followed her lead and took a small sip of the bubbling, sour liquid. It was more expensive than anything you had ever had before and far-from-palatable. It wouldn’t be had to keep the drinking at bay.

“The man that Yelena is schmoozing over there is Billy Russo. Jigsaw. He’s in charge of the lower quarter. The Romanoff’s and the Russo’s have a cordial relationship and Yelena is much more feared than him.”

“Why do they call him jigsaw?” You whispered.

“He tends to chop people into pieces until they’re impossible to put back together. And that’s if you find all the missing parts. He has a very nice summer home up in the Poconos, so don’t get on his bad side.”

Suddenly the drink in your hand didn’t look too bad, but you held it right where it was. Clint was laughing by the window, obviously pushing his charm on a woman that you had never clocked before. She was running her fingers up his tie, tightening it before letting her hands drop.

“Barton is with Ophelia Sarkissian, the Viper. She is known for her cunning leadership. She’s got a huge organization in Hell’s Kitchen. Something called Hydra. I wouldn’t worry too much about it though because Natasha is keeping a tight eye on it.”

“Mm, cut one head off, two more grow back.”

“What?”

“Greek mythology. Hydra is a big water snake that has nine heads. Each time one was cut off two more would grow back in its place. It was practically unkillable until Hercules came through the marshes with his nephew. Hercules would slice each head off while Iolaus cauterized the wounds so the heads couldn’t grow back.”

Kate blinked at you with shock in her eyes. You simply gave her a shrug in return. People constantly underestimated you and your intelligence. Besides, when you were a child, you had a morbid fascination with Greek mythology as a whole.

She stared beyond your shoulder, lilting her head to the side.

“I didn’t realize that Natasha’s new plaything was so knowledgeable.”

Ice ran thorough your veins. Your eyes darted to the window where Clint and Mrs. Sarkissian had once been. It was vacant now, and an expertly painted hand drummed past your arm. They were sharp and sent chills down your spine as she rounded you, sidling up next to Kate.

“Trust fund kid, leave us.”

Kate drew in a sharp breath, straightening her shoulders. She nearly opened her mouth to stay something but thought better of it before shooting you a look of apology and vanishing into the crowd in the dining room.

Ophelia was intoxicating in her presence. She towered over you and wore snakeskin heels to widen the distance. She wore a tight-fitted black dress that had cuts on either side, exposing her toned stomach to the world. What she wanted with you wasn’t clear, but her hand toyed coyly with the neckline of your own dress, adjusting it.

“Word travels fast in this city. I just couldn’t wait to see it myself. Hearing that Natasha Romanoff of all people expelled her Winter soldier for a… Summer Sentient. All seasons are temporary, I suppose.”

“Expelled?”

The word had slipped from your tongue, and you quickly thought better of it when she settled her splayed hand against your shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. It was cold, unfeeling. Unlike the fire that Natasha had instilled in you earlier.

There was a demonic smile that spread across her face, both of her eyebrows lifting as she let out an exaggerated grasp. It was clear that this woman, this leader, couldn’t keep her hands to herself in any manner, including the internal affairs that she dangled in front of you like a prize.

“Oh, did Natty not tell you? She had Bucky under her thumb for years, nearly a decade. A few months back, he was just gone. There’s a lot of gossip in these streets and not much of it is plausible, but I’d put money on this one.”

 Again, her fingers danced over your collarbone. “Miss Romanoff is not known for her mercy, but after beating the Winter Soldier within an inch of his life, she let him go. He ran like any sensible man would, of course. But he left a trail of blood behind him. I’m quite sure he’s somewhere out west struggling to move in an upper body brace.”

She laughed cruelly at the look on your face. There was no use in masking it. You knew that Bucky had been absent, but through your own turmoil you had forgotten all about it. Your stomach twisted in unease. What if Natasha grew tired of you? It was inevitable, really. You’ only prolonged your fate by bending to her whim.

“Ophelia,” Natasha’s voice drew your attention first, and then the heat of her touch on the small of your back. “Have you tried the lamb?”

The woman faltered, gritting her teeth “I was about to.”

“Oh, you must.” Yelena seemed to materialize out of nowhere, looping her arm around Madame Hydra herself. She pulled with intent. “I haven’t seen you since Moscow. We need to catch up!”

“I was never in Moscow.”

“That’s a shame. I can paint you a brilliant picture.”

Their voices faded away into the rest of the party. It was then that you noticed Clint by the door, his stance stiffened. Kate glowered next to him, not following her own rule and downing the rest of her drink before plucking another off the passing tray.

You stepped out of Natasha’s grasp, not wanting to be anywhere near her at the moment. Her perfume was intoxicating. Its floral scent made you dizzy and took away your ability to think straight. It was part of the reason you had been lulled this far into complicity. It scared you that you were willing to do anything for her.

“y/n,” she urged.

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Natasha’s stare hardened. She gripped the back of your neck in a movement that would otherwise be familiar, sweet, even. However, the way she led you down the hallway made your stomach drop in a feeling of doom. “Not here, Malen'kiy krolik.”

Natasha’s office was strictly off limits, but you found yourself in the warmth of it in a matter of moments. There was no wall that wasn’t adorned with floor to ceiling bookshelves, and a large cherrywood desk was at its head. It was kept neat like the rest of the house.

There was a PHD on the wall, and an associates under that. Each bore Natasha’s name. She closed the doors behind her. Without regarding you, she went to a shelf in the back of the room, pouring herself a glass of bourbon, much like the one she was drinking when you stirred in her bed.

She swallowed it back, before pouring another. This time she sipped it. Your own back was against the far wall, heart pounding mercilessly through you. Yelling at Natasha had a lot more weight behind it than you anticipated.  

“You’re going to do the same to me.” You eventually whispered.

Her body stiffened, muscles tightening and then releasing before she turned to you, her eyes reddened. “What?”

“I’ve been entirely blind to my purpose here. I’ve never… I’ve never understood why you chose me. Why not go for someone who knows what they were doing? Who knew how to protect you and care for you? You had that with Bucky.”

Her eyes hardened. “Don’t you ever mention that name in this house.”

“It’s the truth, Natasha! You could have let me die, just like that, and you didn’t. Instead, you took me in and trained me, and for what? Just to throw me into the harbor with cement blocks chained to my ankles.”

“That is an entirely outdated practice and frankly, it’s insulting.” Her words were soul deep, but they barely broke your skin. “I would never do that.”

“A bullet through the head, then?”

“No.”

You were gaining traction enough to pull yourself from the wall and take heady steps towards her. If you didn’t do it now, you would never. Part of you was certain that you’d never see the outside of this room again. That she’d snap and do exactly what you were imploring her to.

“He served you for years and within a singular night you nearly kill him.” Your breath shook, you were so close to her now. “What is stopping you from doing the exact same to me?”

“No, no” She reached up and grasped both sides of your face. There were tears against your cheeks, something you hadn’t realized dripped from your chin. “Malyshka, no don’t cry.”

Everything had come to a head; the months of non-stop training, the pressure of keeping this side of your life away from your daughter, away from Darcy. A true friend that you had been lying to. And now, knowing that it could be all for nothing. It was easy to dispose of someone like you.

There was no reason to show weakness in front of the woman who was training you not to feel anything at all. Above everything, you found yourself ashamed. She still held your face within her grasp.

“He hurt you.” Her jaw clenched and unclenched, there was a fuzzy vulnerability in her green stare. “I can show mercy, y/n. But I’ve learned, not when it comes to you. Even before all of… this, there was something that I saw within you. Something that made what I did to Bucky all the more worth it.”

You breathed in a watery sniffing sound that was replaced by nothing but a whimper. Natasha softened even more, letting her shoulders fall. She tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“He was pulling back for months, and you were the final straw. I had never seen someone so resilient, someone who didn’t beg for their life but recounted it. In a moment of weakness, I let you go. I thought that training you, that making you mine, would absolve my sins but it’s only deepened them. My feelings for you have only deepened.”

Her forehead was pressed against yours, her ministrations, and God help you, her apologies were startling. Her lips were so close to yours; you could nearly taste the liquor on her breath “Natasha,”

Suddenly, she was all you could feel. Her hand was against you back, pulling you into her body to fit directly on hers. There was such a strong guiding power to her. Your shock was muffled by her mouth on yours, your whine swallowed in moments.

You melted into her, kissing back with enough fever to leave you both breathless. There were stars dancing in your vision, you lungs burning eventually pulling you both apart. She panted twice before pecking your lips once more, you nearly chased after her.

“Fuck,” she growled “you… are absolutely delicious.”

Your cheeks suddenly heated up and you hid your face in the small of her neck, letting out a small groan in embarrassment. You felt Natasha’s laugh rumble through her.

“No need to be timid, pet. There will be plenty of time for that later.” She raked her nails up your back, “Right now, I have a snake to behead.”  

[Taglist🕷♡: @dumbasslesbi, @lostremind, @toouncreativeforausername @autorasexy @eringranola @mikookaaaaaao @marvelwoman-simp @pacmanmiles @mostlymarvelsstuff, @mrsrushman, @milfsandtittyenthusiast, @random-raccoon4, @ravenromanova, @mysticalmoonlight7, @ahintofchaos@cowboyboots236 @lissaaaa145, @natsxwife]

#Natasha Romanoff x reader #Natasha Romanoff x you #Natasha Romanoff x y/n #Natasha Romanoff #Natasha romanov #Natasha Romanov x reader #Natasha Romanov x y/n #Natasha Romanov x you #Marvel #Marvel Au #Mafia au #Kate Bishop #Yelena Belova #Clint Barton #bucky barnes

[apocalypse-shuffle]

JASON TODD & DAMIAN WAYNE (generalized fanon | maybe wfa)

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“Reaction Time” (Jason Todd x Fem!Reader) and (Damian Wayne & Platonic!Reader)

| Reader is introduced to the first of her new boyfriend’s extended family.

| SFW, breaking in, Damian Logic™ -frazzled!reader

| pic sources: beg.=rebirth rhato, middle=batman & robin#12, and end=rebirth teen titans • all comics

| part of the meet the bats series

| 1k+ words

It’s the small hours of the morning still, you can tell by the heat of Jason’s body pressed along your side. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, the comforter hasn’t fallen off your body at any point, you're not too hot, and when you listen over the sound of your own breathing you don’t hear anything off.

Your soft breaths sound normal, nothing concerning there. You hold your breath so you can hear better. You want to go back to sleep but you have to get rid of the nagging ✨wrongness✨ that had you awake in the first place.

You find Jason’s breathing fine, luckily calm, and when you focus harder you can make out the tiny murmurs - Jason consistently had nightmares, whether they woke him or you up or not - and the more pronounced huffs of breath that were a product of wherever the Sandman had taken him. There was something off about it though, like it was louder.

Your nose scrunches and you finally open your eyes, sliding blurry sleep crusted orbs to watch your boyfriend you piece it together. His breaths weren’t louder; they were overlapping. Or-

You blink your eyes open wider, watching his chest rise up and down. Both sets of breaths weren’t matching. Your world stutters.

The breaths were coming from opposite directions too.

It’s as your head’s whipping around that you feel the barely there scrape across your neck and the flash of metal in the corner of your eye. Your body freezes, breaths quickening in your chest just as Jason jumps up and your eyes lock on a small shadowy figure.

“If I was you I wouldn’t move another inch,” Jason warns.

You whimper, barely registering the safety of a gun clicking off and Jason's arm raised over you.

Then you scream.

A small voice talks right over you.

“Tt, this is who you want to be your girlfriend? She has terrible response time.”

“Damian?”

Jason’s exclamation makes you gasp.

“You know him?”

Jason glances at you when you talk through your screaming, face creasing in worry, before he groans and clicks back on the safety of the gun. Putting it back underneath his pillow and then easing the blade away from your neck.

“Baby, breath, okay? I’m gonna deal with him,” he nods at the shadow who sounds like a fucking baby - what the fuck? “And you're gonna be fine. Sheath this shit Damian or so help me god,” he grounds out.

You’ve stopped screaming but your chest is heaving as you watch the kid move and put away the sword. That’s a suspicious amount of stop light colors.

“Is that Robin?”

Another scoff from Robin. There’s a superhero in your apartment, why in the world?

“Y/n baby-”

Jason’s voice is only the tiniest bit hysteric, which is utterly inappropriate because you are buzzing out of your skin right now. You scramble up when Jason tries to keep you down, squeezing as close to the other side of the bed as you can with him in the way.

“Why are you so calm? What the fuck is Batman’s sidekick doing in my apartment, Jason?”

“Leaving,” he shoos the boy harshly. “He was fucking leaving.”

Robin shrugs and you find yourself laughing lightly.

“Oh my god….”

What if you were naked? You could’ve so easily been naked right now.

“Oh my god…”

Robin waves towards you with a scowl.

“She is an insufficient choice for a partner.”

“What the- get out! I’ll deal with you in a minute.”

“You are also losing your touch, Todd, you should have sensed me seconds before my weapon got that close-”

Jason grits his teeth and whips around to point at the door.

“I’m not losing shit. Now, go. The fuck. Outside.”

Robin purses his lips, domino creasing in what you can only guess is a glare, before marching out. You stare wide eyed after his back, eyes drawn specifically to the hilt of his sword.

“Jason…”

“I am so sorry. Is your neck okay?”

All you can do is nod.

He moves so he’s in front of you, blocking your view of the door and the tiny vigilante behind it. His hands hover awkwardly over your body while he speaks in hushed tones.

“That’s good at least.” He huffs, “I told them to give me space because you weren’t ready, I did. I promise.”

“Mhm,” you nod then drop your head in your hands. “Jason?”

“Yes baby?”

“I’m about to cry.”

He sucks in a breath.

“Okay, alright okay, just hold on. I-” he jumps out of the bed. “I’m gonna draw you a bath and get you some tea and send my little brother home, alright?”

“Yeah okay,” you mumble. Bless him but your boyfriend never knew what the hell to do with blatant emotions.

Or, scratch that, he knew what to do and could talk it out just fine when they were your feelings. He also just overcompensated for the teary stuff.

You take in a deep breath, rubbing at your temples.

This time when Jason reaches for you he touches. Warm hands grab your own and bring them down to his lap, thumbs rubbing over your knuckles.

“It’s fine. You’re fine. I’ll handle it.”

“Yeah,” you breath, blinking wet eyes at him. “I trust you.”

He blinks, “You trust me?”

His brows move up and his head tilts, and it’s all very endearing but-

“I know, okay, but not right now. Let’s shelve that for when I’m more awake and your kid brother who’s Robin isn’t in my living room.”

“Agreed,” he licks his lips. “We’ll talk about everything tomorrow.”

“Amazing,” you lean in and the two of you share a brief kiss. “I’m gonna head to the bathroom.”

“You deserve it, get in there.”

You laugh faintly, pulling your sleep shirt over your head and grabbing a shower cap to switch out your bonnet with.

“Passion flower tea?”

You give him a thumbs up and a ‘yes please’ before disappearing behind the bathroom door. You miss the way Jason smiles at your retreating form.

The last thing you hear before you slip into the rising warm water and flowery scented bath salts is a litany of soft curses before Jason forces himself to go have that conversation with his brother.

- - -

“So how’d it go?”

You lean against your closet door, new set of pajamas on.

“He’s embarrassed but he’ll live,” Jason heaves a sigh, hands running down his face. “I’m sorry again.”

You shrug, “It’s fine. Not like you planned it. Now, are you okay?”

“No, yeah, I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

You walk up and wrap your hands around his wrists, he gives in to your request and lets you pull his hands away. You bring them down to his sides and run your palms up his arms, rubbing out some of the tension, before cradling the sides of his face.

He cracks his neck before looking at you and you give him a little smile.

“It’s cool, I’m not going anywhere.”

“If you say so,” he hums, hands coming up to rub at your forearms. He turns to press a kiss into your palm.

“I do say so. You told me your family was weird Jason.”

“Yeah, but that wasn’t regular people weird and I can’t even promise he won’t do it again. Or that one of the others won’t just show up one day too.”

“Uh huh,” you shrug and move in so you can peck him on the lips. “I’ll just have to get used to your brand of weirdness then. No big deal.”

He scoffs, “‘No big deal’ she says. Just wait.”

You laugh much less tinged with panic this time.

“I will, because I want to be a part of your life.”

His eyes crinkle.

“Yeah yeah,” he murmurs before kissing you longer this time. When you pull away he’s smiling. “I love you too.”

He clams up, casts this guarded look at you, and you shake your head.

“Oh my god, Jason. I also love you. Can we go back to bed now?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Sounds good.”

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!

#jason todd #red hood #black!reader #black y/n #•meet the bats (the series) #jason todd x black!reader #red hood x black!reader #jason todd fluff #red hood fluff #damian wayne x platonic!reader #damian wayne x black!batsis #- in-law #potentially? #damian wayne & black!reader #damian wayne fluff #Jason Todd and Damian Wayne are brothers #overprotective!damian #batfamily x black!reader #batfamily imagine #batfamily x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd imagine #red hood imagine #damian wayne imagine #jason todd x fem!reader

[lincolndjarin]

Best Kept Secret

chapter fourteen : condemned (RE-UPLOAD)

ao3 link ✿ series masterlist ✩ main masterlist ✧

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 4.9k

summary : reader tries to take her mind off of things

warnings, etc. : domestic violence, language, angst

A/N : i had to change accounts so this is a re-upload of my ongoing fic bks!!

You’re having trouble sleeping. 

You have no problem falling asleep, it’s mostly staying asleep. There’s a million different things that consume your thoughts and everytime you drift into unconsciousness you find yourself jolting awake, barely able to stay asleep for more than an hour at a time. 

You’re haunted. 

Your dreams are plagued by visions of faceless men. They’re fuzzy and vague, all you know is that you’ve been left behind, you just can’t keep up. And in every nightmare the faceless man carries on without you, as if you never meant anything to him at all. 

You wake up covered in a thin sheen of sweat, gasping for air, with a dull ache in your chest.

So by the time the sun's up you’re more exhausted than you’d be if you had just stayed up without trying to sleep.  

You have to fight to keep your eyes open as Lysa and Elaine carefully dress you, Elaine takes you by the arm and guides you to sit on the bed, crouching down to be eye level with you. Her mouth is moving but you can’t seem to figure out the words until she’s saying your name, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. 

“Sorry… what were you saying?” You manage to murmur out between yawns. 

“How do you take your caf, my lady? 

“Oh… I umm, I don’t know. I’ve never had it.” 

Why is she looking at you like that? 

“I’ll bring you some options okay?” You can only bring yourself to nod, your thoughts are muddled as she leaves, Lysa silently running a brush through your hair. 

What had that look been? It had been sad, but it seemed like more than that. 

Pity. 

That’s what it had been. Huh. Maybe she had just noticed how tired you were these last few days. 

Elaine returns just as Lysa is finishing your hair, she’s got a tray with three mugs on it, all containing liquids of various shades of brown. She hands you the darkest one first, it’s almost black, it smells… strong. You take a small sip and your face scrunches at the bitter taste as you quickly hand it back to her. 

“Definitely not that one.” You cough slightly as you reach for the lightest one, a creamy beige, sipping this one carefully, not sure what to expect. You’re pleasantly surprised by the sweetness of this one, nodding as you take several sips. It’s the same color as the gown you’re in today, a light sort of cinnamon color. It makes your skin buzz, your mind still feels tired but at least your body feels awake. You watch curiously as Elaine sets the tray onto the vanity before taking the mug of black caf to the door, opening it slightly, setting it on the floor just outside before shutting it once more. 

You continue to slowly drink yours, the girls standing across the room from you whispering to each other with a companionship that fills you with yearning. When you finish the caf you walk to the tray, setting it down, thanking Elaine as you open the door. 

And there he is. 

Setting an empty mug on the stone window sill across from your door. 

And then there is an emotion you aren’t sure you’ve ever felt in your life, at least not like this. It’s an unpleasant feeling and you’re certain you aren’t doing a good job of keeping it off your face as you look at the mug and then at his visor. You desperately wish you could hide behind a helmet so he couldn’t see the wounded look on your face. 

Jealousy is an ugly emotion. 

And it’s one you have no right to feel for two very obvious reasons. One being that Elaine has done nothing to earn the resentment you feel bubbling up inside of you. She has been nothing but kind to you, she takes care of you, she has been a consistent source of comfort to you just by being in your presence. So why do you suddenly feel like she’s your adversary? 

The second reason is plain and simple. You have no claim over the Mandalorian. No right to be bitter over him accepting a drink from someone who wasn’t you. 

You need to stop. You can’t be thinking things like this, it isn’t healthy. So you summon Leo with a call of his name as you glare at Mando with a faint look of betrayal. He’s there quickly, giving you a low bow. 

“How may I be of service, princess?” 

“Can you find me a few empty journals? And some more pens, just bring them to the library if it isn’t a hassle.” It isn’t a hassle, nothing is ever a hassle when it comes to you and it’s getting infuriating. Only one person ever said no to you and you never thought you’d miss it. 

Leo gives you a nod and vanishes as you storm off to the library. 

For Makers sake, stop throwing a tantrum. He isn’t yours to feel envy over. 

You get to the library in record time, pinching your eyes shut as you walk past the nook, deeper into the library to the table from yesterday, still covered in parchment. You shuffle them all into one pile and set them aside before beginning your search for books with pictures. You decide on A Field Guide to the Creatures of Tatooine and The Illustrated Encyclopedia of Fish & Shellfish of Naboo. 

The Mandalorian still isn’t speaking to you. 

At all.

Sure he’s always been quiet, (except when he’s fucking you senseless, then he can’t seem to shut up.) but this is different. It’s intentional silence, and it hurts. 

So you pretend he’s just muted himself through the helmet, that he’s talking to you and doesn’t even realize you can’t hear him. 

It doesn’t really help. 

Leo is as quick as ever to bring you your items, two leatherbound sketchbooks and a handful of pens. 

You immediately get to work, desperate to get thoughts of the Mandalorian out of your mind as you draw as many animals and fish as you can until you have to take a break because your wrist hurts. It’s a messy jumble of inky fish swimming around the pages and a lot of them were drawn so hastily you can barely tell what they are. But you stopped thinking about him, briefly. 

And this works for a few hours. But then it stops working when you flip to a page with koi fish that has you furrowing your brow. You swear you’ve seen them before and before you can stop yourself from making the connection you realize that they’re the same fish that swim in the lake near the garden. The lake that he lives next to. The lake that he took you to. 

And drawing in the library to distract yourself becomes a short lived success. So you decide to pack up your supplies and explore. It’s been a long time since you felt the urge to do so, giving you déjà vu to your first couple of weeks here. Maybe you could pretend you’re back in those days, when you could still be optimistic about your marriage, and the Mandalorian was nothing more than an annoyance. You walk the halls until you stop in front of a set of large ornate doors, you aren’t even sure what’s inside but you sit on the floor, your skirt falling in a circle around you, with your torso in the center as you open one of the sketchbooks. You draw the woodgrain of the doorframe. You leave an absence of ink on the brass door knob to show the light reflecting off of it. And you’re about to draw the stone walls around it but you freeze in place as you hear the familiar crackling static of a modulator. 

It’s barely audible, most people wouldn’t ever notice it. But not you. You notice things, especially when they have to do with him. 

You don’t dare move. Holding your breath in anticipation until it stops. 

You resist the urge to turn around to look at him, hoping that if you don’t pressure him he might speak but it never comes. 

He was going to speak. 

That’s a start. 

Do you want him to speak? Don’t you hate him? Do you even know anymore? 

You’ve been so busy trying to not think about him that now you don’t know how you feel about him. That should be a sign for you to say something, or at the very least allow yourself to think about him. 

But instead you stumble to your feet and start walking. And you keep drawing to distract you from the living armor that follows behind you silently. You lean against a wall as you draw the stone archway above a staircase, and once again, just as you're finishing up you hear that crackle, just behind you. 

This time you can’t help but cock your head to the side slightly, the moment you do you’re back in silence. 

Kriff. 

This carries on like clockwork through the rest of your day. You draw as many doorways and windows as you can, if you were tired when you started the day you have no idea what you are now. You’re loopy with exhaustion as you stumble to your chambers.

Maybe it’s the lack of sleep or maybe you’re just sick of hearing that crackle but when you open the door you lean against the frame and stare at him. You don’t say anything but you give him the chance to if he wants, you wait several moments, just glaring at him.

He doesn’t speak. So you close the door. You don’t even make it to the closet, not bothering to remove your gown you collapse onto your actual bed. 

✩

You get a few hours of sleep in this time. It isn’t much because you’re still chasing after faceless men but it’s better than nothing. This time when you wake you stumble to the vanity, the bags under your eyes are dark and they make you look too serious. 

It’s clockwork again, You’re back in purgatory. Without Mando planning things for you to look forward to you’re trapped in the loop you hated so much when you first arrived. 

Wake up, be dressed like some sort of doll, find an aimless task to keep your brain occupied, sleep, repeat. 

Except today isn’t another day in the loop, because when the girls arrive Elaine already has a mug of caf in her hands for you and Lysa is getting a blue dress from the closet and you have to physically restrain yourself from groaning as you realize you have dinner with Kodo tonight. 

Everything is blending together. Days seem shorter and you feel like you spend all your time trying to get to sleep.

Is this the rest of your life? Days so unremarkable you can’t remember them?

You gratefully take the cup and drink it down quickly as they dress you. At least you have something to worry about other than the Mandalorian today. You can worry about your revolting husband who was more than frightening last time you had spoken. 

You push those thoughts away the same way you push thoughts of the Mandalorian away. When the girls are finished you thank them both before grabbing the sketch book and pens. You leave at the same time as Elaine and Lysa and you catch Elaine glaring at Mando, she gives him a look of rage and then raises her eyebrows expectantly at him before taking Lysa’s arm and walking off. 

You didn’t even know Elaine was capable of anger, she was always so reserved and put together. 

Maybe he did the same thing he did to you to her. 

The thought makes your stomach ache. 

You decide it’s best not to dwell on it further as you begin to walk. He follows behind you like always, just a few steps back. You don’t bother going to the library today, you don’t want to copy pictures anymore. Today you’re going to draw from memory. It takes about half an hour but eventually you find a window with a wide enough sill that you can sit in it, pulling your legs up as well so you can balance the sketchbook against your thighs. The Mandalorian settles against the opposite wall.

As of today it’s been a week since you last heard his voice. 

Don’t.

Don’t think about him. Just draw. 

You draw Elaine. 

You draw the short horns that come up from the top of her head in cone shapes. The long head tails that fell down her shoulders, you’d never seen a Togruta with them as long as hers. You lightly shade in the red parts of her skin, leaving the white spots on her face empty of any ink. 

You try to draw her with the expression she had made earlier. 

You can’t seem to get it right. Your depictions never seem angry enough. 

You draw Lysa. 

Her big round eyes, her olive skin, and her short black hair. You draw her next to Elaine. It feels weird to separate them. 

You draw Leo. 

His head tails are significantly shorter than Elaines and he usually wears a beige cap over them. 

You draw him exactly as he always is. 

Stern looking and uptight. 

You wish you had asked for paints so you could color his skin orange. 

Before you know it you’re flipping to a new page and drawing someone unfamiliar. 

Your eyes glance up for just a moment to look at him. There hasn’t been any static today. 

You draw a sharp jawline, covered with stubble. 

You draw round, plush lips, open just enough to see his front teeth. 

You draw furrowed brows, and forehead creases from frowning too much. 

You draw short buzzed hair, before deciding it doesn’t look right and scribbling it out.

You draw several noses. Some small, some large, some button and some bumpy. None of them fit the face you’ve drawn. 

It looks all wrong, so you start again. 

And again, and again, and again. 

But none of them look right. None of them suit him.

You keep trying. Your wrist aches but you have some sort of primal desire to get it right. 

You try hooded eyes, round eyes, almond eyes, at one point you draw squares just for the hell of it, of course they don’t look right but neither do any of the other ones. You try every face shape you can, round, sharp. None of it’s right and you’re starting to get frustrated. 

Again.

And again, and again, and again. 

And then there’s static.

He’s standing just in front of you now. You hadn’t realized he’s walked over as you slam the journal shut. 

He clears his throat. 

That’s it. 

He doesn’t speak but he does make you aware of how much darker it is in the hallway, you need to go to dinner. You look at him once more, waiting, hoping he’ll say something but there’s nothing. So you nod and stand, walking to your chambers first, tossing the book inside along with the pens before heading towards the dining hall. 

Your pace is sluggish. You know you’re already late but you have no desire to see him and Mando doesn’t rush you so you take your time.

Your walk is over too soon as the guards at the door nod when you approach.

As the doors are pushed open you can’t help but pray to all the gods that he isn’t sober. There’s no way you can handle that bone chilling venom in his voice when he talks to you without his drunken drawl. 

You step in to see him already finishing what you assume isn’t his first glass of ale, relief rushing through your veins, the Mandalorian hot on your heels, Kodo looking up at the sound of your footsteps with a twisted grin.

“There you are my nervous mouse!”  Nevermind, sober would be better than this anyday. 

“Hello dear husband.” You mutter as you take your familiar seat across from him, the Mandalorian taking his position just behind you. 

“How are you my mouse? Have you been well?” He chews with his mouth open, little bits of the meat pie before him spewing out from between his lips. 

Maker, he’s disgusting. You wish he was the one who was sworn to forever wear a helmet.

“I’m perfectly fine, my prince.” You play with the food in front of you, you have no appetite as you watch him, possibly the most drunk you’ve ever seen him. 

His dinner conversation is filthy. 

He won’t shut up about one of the girls his brother just became betrothed too. He goes into graphic detail how attractive he finds her “lithe figure.” 

There’s a sadness in your heart for this stranger.

Does she know what she’s marrying? 

Of course he can never seem to stop talking about his brother's wives as he mentions that one is currently pregnant, claiming she’s the size of a barn. 

You don’t hide your frown. 

Why should you?

If he’s going to be a pig you might as well treat him like one. 

Eventually he settles on rambling about how he wants to get more battle droids for his personal guard because the people in the city don’t seem to be fond of him, and because he’s often out in public spaces he needs more protection.

Personally, the six he currently has following him at all times already seems to be a bit much but you could care less. 

They take your untouched plate and bring out another course that you don’t touch as he continues to ramble about his battle droids for the entirety of this course. 

Finally someone comes to take the plates and you’ve only got dessert left to get through. He finishes another drink as he begins to talk with his mouth full of whatever pastry is in front of the both of you. 

“Still hiding in the library little mouse” He raises his once again filled glass in your direction. 

Your jaw twitches at the nickname. 

“Yes my prince.” 

“Still my little mouse I see. How dull.” He laughs loudly, when he slams his glass down on the table a bit of the dark liquid spills onto the white tablecloth. 

“I suppose I just like reading.” You don’t want to entertain him any longer. You just want to go back to your room. 

He hiccups as he releases the glass in his hand and points at you, taunting you. 

“You’re a tedious little thing aren’t you?” There’s that cruel grin.

He must get off on this or something. 

You have no interest in being a part of that so you just pick at the pastry in front of you with your fork. 

“Did you hear me little mouse? Your prince asked you a question?” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“I’d like to be dismissed.” You push your chair away from the table standing and collecting yourself before you start walking out. You hear Kodo’s chair screech against the wood floors and he goes around his side of the table to cut you off before you reach the exit. 

For someone as drunk as he is he’s surprisingly quick on his feet. 

“You’re dismissed when I dismiss you.” He spits out, glaring down at you, even slouched he’s got a few inches on you. You roll your eyes as you start to push past him but you’re suddenly knocked to the ground, a sharp sting on the left side of your face. 

It all happens in slow motion. 

The force of the slap has you reeling to the floor. Your head knocks against the cold ground.

Your teeth cut deep into your lip, and you taste blood.

His handprint lingers against your face and you know you’ll have a mark. 

All of this registers in an instant. The next thing you do is purely on instinct, your eyes go to the Mandalorian. Because somehow you know that if you don’t stop him he’ll do something irreversible. 

You give him a warning look, eyes wide, shaking your head the tiniest bit, just enough that only he will register it. 

And you were right to do it because his hand is already on his blaster and he’s taken a step forward in your direction, positioning himself beside you defensively. 

You’re actually grateful for how drunk Kodo is because he doesn’t seem to notice any of this and it only takes one more stare from you to get Mando to take his hand off his firearm. 

“Now you’re dismissed.” Kodo growls at you before throwing his glass against the wall, screaming at one of the servants to find his brothers, not bothering to be discreet as he yells about some whore house. 

The moment he storms off you’re struggling to your feet, groaning, you never actually get to your feet though as you’re lifted off the ground. 

The Mandalorian picks you up effortlessly, holding you bridal style as he rushes you out of the dining room, his helmet trained on your face as he brings you towards your chambers on muscle memory alone, his visor never looking away from you. 

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, trying to process anything that’s happened in the last two minutes, your hand coming to your face causing you to wince as you poke at the gash on your lip. 

He’s shaking. 

His entire body trembles and his grip on you is unyielding as he walks. 

You stare up into the black line of the visor and the shakes seem to lessen so you stay like that, staring at each other as he carries you until you get there and he leans down to open the door, never letting his gaze falter as he brings you inside and sets you on the bed. He puts his satchel next to you before giving you one final look. 

“I’ll be right back. Don’t move.” It’s the first time you’ve heard him speak since the night he ended things. The hoarse rasp of his voice crawls deep into your brain, settling like warm honey and calming your nerves. 

You want to plead with him. Beg him to stay, but he said he'll be back so you stay put. He quickly leaves the room, grabs the book on flowers off the vanity on his way out. The one he had been reading that you had taken. He’s only gone a moment, you hear a tearing sound and when he comes back the book is gone. 

You don’t push further as he approaches you. Taking your face in his hands to observe the injury.

“I’m… I’m sorry.” He says it like he’s the one who hit you. Full of regret and longing. 

“I don’t want your apologies.” Liar. You want anything he’ll give you. You want his apologies, his insults, and his praises. But more than anything you want that soft tone, that gentle way of speaking that he reserves just for you. 

“I don’t care what you want right now. My only concern right now is making sure this doesn’t scar.” You cringe as he runs his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down slightly to get a better look at where your teeth cut through the tender flesh there. 

“I’m sure you’d hate that. What use would I be to you without my looks?” You don’t know why you say it. Maybe you just need someone to be angry at right now. Maybe he deserves it. You aren’t really sure. But there’s a harshness in it you didn’t know you were capable of. If he has a reaction to your words he doesn’t show it physically as he continues inspecting the small wound. 

“I’m the last person who cares about that…” Now he seems concentrated on prodding and inspecting the red mark that’s certainly forming on your cheek as you push his hands away.

“Thanks.” You scoff, crossing your arms as you glare up at him. He lets out an exasperated sigh. 

“You know that’s not what I meant, now can you not be difficult? For just a few minutes? This is really deep… it’s almost all the way through your lip. It will definitely leave a mark if I don’t take care of it…”

His gloved hands gingerly grab your chin, he sounds more frustrated than you’ve ever heard him. He reaches into his bag and retrieves some antiseptic and a rag. He pours a bit onto the cloth before dabbing it at the broken skin of your lip causing you to wince at the sting. 

“I know. Just a little more.” It’s almost that familiar soft tone he takes with you as he finishes up before grabbing a small vial from his bag, a viscous clearish, white liquid in it. You can’t help but furrow your brows as you stare at it. It’s like he reads your mind as he uncorks the top.

“It’s bacta, you deviant.” He mutters as he pours a bit of the slimy solution onto the fingertips of his gloves as he generously applies it to the cut. Your nose scrunches up at the sour smell of it. He’s silent as he carefully coats the side of your face with a thin layer of the stuff before hesitating and then continuing. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

No. 

Not really.

You weren’t really sure how you felt about it. You knew Kodo was a bad person. You just hadn’t realized how bad. 

And you’re married to him. Condemned to be his wife. 

But you don’t want to tell Mando all that so instead you just shake your head no. You’re grateful that he doesn’t push you for more, he simply nods as he coats the inside of your lip with the bacta. 

“Maker, that's gross…” You groan as a bit touches your tongue, it tastes just as sour as it smells. 

“It is. But it won’t scar.” He hands you the rest of the vial. “Have one of the girls put more on in the morning, you should be good as new by tomorrow night.” 

“Oh great. It won’t scar, thank the gods.” You roll your eyes as you take the tube, tossing it onto the bed. 

“Watch it.” His tone is sharp and you feel it stab into your chest, it’s just like the first few days. When he’d snap at you because he thought you were plotting against him, of course, you were but he was presumptuous to assume that. 

You don’t like that it reminds you of what you used to be. 

“You don’t get to talk to me like that anymore. You don’t get to do anything to me anymore, including tell me if I can or cannot have a mark on my face. It doesn’t bother me, so maybe when you leave I will wipe off this disgusting salve and let it scar, I don’t understand why you care so much about my face having an imperfection.” You shove past him.

You don’t know why you’re so mad. It isn’t his fault. 

You definitely just need someone to be mad at and he just so happens to be here.

But that doesn’t matter. You deserve to be angry. And he deserves to have someone angry at him because of how he’s treated you.

You walk to the closet, as you open the door he’s already caught up to you, grabbing your arm. He immediately pulls it back, like your skin was ablaze and you had sent him up in flames. You glare, waiting for him to speak or leave. 

It's quiet for a long time.

The only sound is the crack of the modulator. 

It gives you goosebumps as you wait. 

“If I had to look at you every day and see that reminder of what he did, sooner or later I would walk into whatever pleasure house he’s defiling on that particular day, and no amount of battle droids, or royal guards, would be able to stop me from cutting off the hand that had struck you.”

Oh. 

You don’t have a witty remark. 

Or any sort of comeback. 

There are no words to explain how you feel so you nod before stepping into the closet and shutting the door. After a few minutes you hear the click of your bedroom door and you know he’s gone. 

Oh. 

You can’t really focus on anything that’s happened tonight. There’s too many things happening in your brain. 

So you tug at your dress. 

Desperate to be free of the suffocating blue fabric. You don’t know when you start crying but your cheeks are wet with tears and bacta and eventually you manage to tear the fabric in the front of your bodice as you rip the front of the dress completely in half. Frantically pulling yourself free of the cloth you open the closet door to throw the wretched thing into the main room before curling into a ball on your blankets. 

You’re just so tired.

But you can’t stop thinking.

And you don’t want to think about Kodo. 

So you let yourself think about Mando.

You don’t tell yourself to stop. And you don’t deny things as you think about what he said. 

Eventually you fall asleep. 

And that night in your dreams the faceless man stops running away.

I am no longer doing taglists so follow @lincolndjarinnotifs and turn on notifications to be notified when new chapters are posted !!

#lincolndjarin #the mandalorian #best kept secret #bks #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x you #din dijarin x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #RE UPLOAD

[passingnotions]

Dublur | Dahyun

smut, trigger warning for noncon/dubcon—Dubucon? I'll stop with the name puns when I stop writing Dahyun. Disciplinary Action Pt. 2 btw. 1200~ words A/N: Huge thank you to @capslocked for all the help editing; I'd lowkey call it a collab thanks to his input.

The secluded door at the end of the hall is intimidating. Overseer Kim D. You take a breath before the two knocks.

“You may come in.”

It’s a sterile environment: every piece of furniture and storage is neatly placed within measured ranges, properly squaring off Kim Dahyun’s desk in center stage. Two chairs face the ensemble and the Overseer herself, who stands prim at your arrival.

“I was beginning to doubt your return. Was our first session not compelling enough to warrant another—in this case apparent—mishap?”

You stand behind both guest seats, matching Dahyun in posture. “My apologies, Overseer. I feared that making another mistake in such a short period of time might attract unnecessary attention. I’m not prone to slip-ups.” 

“Something you should be proud of, yet here you are: willing to sacrifice that perfect student record for another meeting with yours truly. Sit.” 

You obey.

“What will it be this time?” Excitement gets the better of you.

“Now now.” The Overseer steps around her desk, over to the front, where she leans back and sits herself on the edge. “No rushing.” She reaches behind her and slides a glass of water towards you. “Thirsty?”

The glass sits at the edge beside her, fingers trailing the rim as she awaits your response—you’ll have to reach out, not her. “I—yes. Thank you.” You lean in and extend your arm. Her hand never leaves the glass and your eyes stray to find her plump ass spilling onto the desk, at odds with the tight dress that wraps way too short around her pale thighs. 

Another glass is revealed as you pick up yours and you both drink the room temperature water in unison.

 “So, why come back?” Her voice blunt and direct.

“Um.” You ponder. It seems like an obvious answer: the basic pleasure of it all, how it has you crawling back. But Overseer Kim is not that simple. Regardless—”I wondered… about the methodology.” you give the answer a shot despite your unsure voice. “Why… uh… that, out of all things?”

“It’s simple, really.” A satisfactory smile surfaces. “This academy primarily focuses on science—as you know—and students are to learn through testing within realistic conditions.”

“Of course, our primary focus is to learn with real tools, chemicals, and subjects. We—” You trail off, unable to finish your sentence. A bout of confusion follows and you don’t understand how—

“Exactly.” Dahyun picks up your trail. She’s somehow behind her desk now—when did she—searching through one of the open drawers. “You’ll be surprised to know that, as faculty, we are encouraged to do the same.” Her last words feel a world away, and the final image before blackout is Dahyun, blurred, with an object you can’t make out in hand.

~~

You slowly come to. The bright light overhead burns into your eyes and there’s the realization that your neck cranes backwards. With slight pain you level out, sight still adjusting. There’s a sound, a wet sound, and you manage to feel the source before spotting it. 

“What’s—ngh—going on?” You barely manage to speak. 

“You’re being reprimanded, remember? Keep still.” The order is accompanied by fingernails that pierce into your thigh and prevent you from shuffling about your seat. 

When the sight is finally made clear, you notice the Overseer; she holds a device of rubber, plastic—both? It grips your erect cock with gratifying pressure, sliding up and down with the consistent rhythm of Dahyun’s hand. “You—” the glass of water you once held is fixed on the desk behind the Overseer. “What did you put in that?!” You would stop her stroking, but your hands and feet are bound, constrained, fucked.

Her grip on your thigh tightens. “I said still.” The rhythm slows to a crawl and Dahyun looks up from her kneeling position at your still-dazed face. She observes your lubricated length, the veins that shape it firm, and how it throbs with each miniscule motion. “It’s an aphrodisiac, to answer your question, with a very convenient side-effect.”

“Fuck. I would’ve—hng—I would’ve undressed anyway. That’s why I’m here—” She picks up the pace and you’re tense all around. You never thought being tied up would be this enticing. 

“To answer your other question.” Dahyun begins to twist the device on every upstroke, sending waves through your restrained body. “The one about methodology.” She pauses her train of thought to feel your cock ache, watching each pulse make the device move and shift. “It’s about control.” And with the words, she bottoms out on your length, having it completely covered by the rubber interior. “You’re mine, and you’ll do as I say.”

“Mmm—fffuck.”

Dahyun begins to stroke once more. “Do you understand?”

“Y-yes.” The aphrodisiac is surely having its effect—you’ve barely woken up and you’re as sensitive as one can get. You feel how your cock pulsates, nearing its threshold.

“How close?” She asks plainly.

“So fucking close.”

The grip she had on your leg turns gentle; it caresses your inner thigh, stimulating the area around your extremely sensitive length. Dahyun is examining you, appreciating you: her live subject to do as she pleases. In the passing minutes, her eyes liven up as your chest quickens its breaths; she finds amusement in the way sweat builds up on your forehead and brows; and how your wrists fight against the tight grip of their restriction?  She revels in it. 

The buildup feels like an eternity—you don’t want it to end—but Dahyun’s pace hastens as she notices your tells. Your hips jolt up and you hiss: “I’m going to cum.”

As your breaths become moans, Dahyun releases you and chucks the device to the floor. “Don’t think we’re done yet.” She lets you pump your seed for about three throbs before grabbing your cock with her own hand, lubricating it with both oil and cum. 

Your moans become grunts; pain—more so pleasure—enraptures your now burning cockhead as Dahyun continues to stroke through the dying grasps of your orgasm. “Cum for me. Again.” 

“Fuck Dahyun, it’s so—fffuck—it’s so sensitive.” She doesn’t care. Her hand is a completely different sensation: it’s soft, silky, and in contrast to what she used on you before, you can feel each finger press down on your length as opposed to the encompassing yet inanimate pressure of the rubber.

It’s a struggle—on one hand, your cock begs for her to stop, each nerve crying out on how it reached its utter limit, yet on the other, her hand strokes your length with such delicacy; it’s downright skillful. 

You decide to succumb to the ravishing sensations—perhaps whatever she gave you is also working its magic—and your cock reaches climax within the minute. It’s a staggering volume of pleasure, all at once, out of nowhere. This time, Dahyun decides to drain you herself, not letting a single throb go to waste, and strokes each and every drop into the air, onto her hands, as the trails of oil mixed with white cover her hand entirely. 

You sit there, tied, spent, as Dahyun cleans herself and the device; it's not until after she's done that she even thinks to release you. Your wrists and ankles are marked and chafed, but the most worn-out feeling stems from your cock. 

“Control?” You ask and break the silence.

She stores the device back in its drawer. “Yes, control.”

“You tied me up.” You accuse.

“As if you didn’t like it.” She deflects. “You would’ve tied yourself up if I ordered, but you’re more agreeable this way. Simpler”

Something stirs in you. You don’t disagree; her assured gaze knows this. 

“You’ll be back before long,” Dahyun speaks before you manage to retort. “Off you go.”

#kpop smut #twice smut #dahyun smut #male reader #reader insert

[literary-illuminati]

Book Review 51 – Women Warriors: An Unexpected History by Pamela Toler

This was a book I never would have heard of were it not for the magic of word of mouth marketing (here meaning ‘ recommended on tumblr.com), so I went in with basically no expectations. It’s a history book, but very much pop history – this is a collection of fun anecdotes for a general audiance wrapped in a persuasive essay, not any sort of academic work. Which is to say it’s also extremely accessibly written and easy to read, excellent for when a hurricane hit and you lost power for the day and have nothing to do but laze.

The book is, well, what it says on the tin – a collection of historical woman warriors from across the globe (if disproportionately but not mostly European) from classical Scythian warrior-aristocrats through to Soviet tank drivers (Well, I presume there’s someone out there for whom the ‘unexpected’ bit is still true, anyway. But it’s about women warriors!) The book begins with an introduction that lays out its thesis – that woman fighting in war is thoroughly historical unremarkable, and not any sort of freak aberration or insignificant exception to war being a uniformly masculine affair – and the agenda its trying to advance – that woman should be allowed to serve in the US military on equal terms with men – with I’ll say admirable clarity. Each following chapter is then dedicated to a specific typology of historical woman warriors (e.g. who become warriors due to their fathers, their husbands, patriotic fervour, those who disguised themselves as men to fight), generally consisting of a light coating of theory before diving into the examples and case studies that make up the meat of the book.

I, needing no convincing of the thesis and having limited interest in the politics of who gets to go kill in uniform for America, was reading this entirely for those anecdotes. Those were entirely worth the price of admission – Toler specifies in the introduction that she’s only talking about woman warriors, as in those who either personally fought or directed troops like a man with an analagous command would have, with the result that e.g. Elizabeth 1 gets skipped and some figures I’d genuinely never heard of get included. There’s also something of an attempt to focus on woman who served openly, rather than those who disguised themselves as men, though that’s hardly universal (there’s still at least a couple crossdressing 18th century bravos, don’t worry. Though shockingly enough no Julie d'Aubigny). Each woman profiled gets a short potted biography: her origins, the sources for her exploits and the historiography around her, then a recounting of her exploits, and a short epilogue of her life afterward if there was one (these are rarely particularly happy).

The book’s very much written for the general audience, with some effects on the choices of women to feature I’d call regrettable (e.g. Katherine of Aragon is very clearly only there because people already know her as Henry VIII’s first wife, the historical Mulan probably gets more wordcount than was strictly needed), but overall they were fun and interesting stories, and (thankfully) focused more on explaining why the women profiled were interesting or notable than getting twisted in knots trying to explain why a given mercenary captain or feudal magnate or pirate queen was actually a moral role model or feminist icon or something (an issue a lot of works in this vein do fall into, I’ve found).

I do wish there was more of an attempt to theorize about the general role of religion, given (if nothing else) the sheer wordcount Joan of Arc gets. But overall? No complaints, plenty of fun interesting historical figures I’d never heard of before.

The author does have a couple very clear pet peeves that each get called out often enough I felt like I should start a drinking game. These range from the entirely sympathetic (yelling at how previous generations of historians have applied wildly different amount of skepticism when reading sources about male versus female warriors) to very fair points that are probably a bit belaboured (by orders of magnitude more woman have fought openly as woman in e.g. sieges of their homes than ever disguised themselves as men to join the army) to the sort of thing that only really makes sense as a pet peeve when you remember Toler spent like a decade reading the source material for this and got pretty sick of the tropes (her visceral annoyance whenever anyone is refereed to as ‘th Joan of Arc of [X]”).

Speaking of pet peeves – Toler keeps a very casual, conversational sort of tone throughout the book, full of asides and tangents. She’s got a very strong voice, and it’s just a matter of taste whether that’s a positive or negative, I suppose. She also uses a lot of footnotes for her asides, especially about historiography and sources, and very annoyingly just uses a basically random series of symbols that I couldn’t distinguish half the time to mark them instead of just using numbers. The combination can grate on occasion, though that might just have been my eyes getting sore reading all the small text.

Politically the book is very consciously and explicitly liberal feminist propaganda, in a way that feels oddly dated for something that came out in 2019? Also incredibly American (woman across the globe are profiled, but she clearly assumes a lot of prior familiarity with, like, the folktale of some woman who loaded a canon during the American Revolution once, and similar). Toler is, as mentioned, incredibly passionate about the cause of women’s service in the united states military, something which I haven’t seen mentioned in the news for so long it almost seems quaint (even though I have no idea whether anything’s like, changed.) Honestly given my social circles at this point it was mostly just deeply bemusing to read a book by someone who clearly considered ‘being able to serve in the US military’ as, like, something to fight for and take pride in. But even beyond that, a lot of the avuncularly and style just felt very 2010s online feminist, I suppose? I really would have assumed the book came out in 2014 or so if I hadn’t checked.

Speaking of – it was just deeply strange how the book had no framework to discuss trans-ness? As in, several of the people the book catalogues disguised themselves and joined the army as men and even after being found out just, never stopped. To the point of fighting duels over the matter, sometimes! And the book never figures out a graceful way to handle referring to them (the ‘him’, scarequotes included, makes a few appearances), let alone really discuss identity. Again, makes the whole thing feel like a bit of a time capsule – it’s about the handling of the issue I’d expect from, like, an old Cracked listickle about ‘10 badass women warriors you’ve never heard of!’, not a recent book clearly marketed towards a progressive audience.

Anyway, as a work of theory or historical scholarship, not going to set the world on fire. But did teach me about the times the Pope and Emperor of Russia separately gave people written permission to crossdress and stab people, and also an actual written pocket biography of Matilda of Tuscany I can cite instead of just ‘forum threads arguing about Crusader Kings 2 circle 2013”. So on balance not a bad read. Just don't go in expecting theory or political enlightenment.

#book review #history #women warriors #pamela toler

[luckbealincoln]

Best Kept Secret

chapter fourteen : condemned

THIS SERIES HAS BEEN MOVED AND RE-UPLOADED TO ANOTHER ACCOUNT. WHICH CAN BE FOUND HERE. THIS POST STILL EXISTS AS AN ARCHIVE BUT THIS ACCOUNT IS NO LONGER ACTIVE!!

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 4.9k

summary : reader tries to take her mind off of things

warnings, etc. : domestic violence, language, angst

You’re having trouble sleeping. 

You have no problem falling asleep, it’s mostly staying asleep. There’s a million different things that consume your thoughts and everytime you drift into unconsciousness you find yourself jolting awake, barely able to stay asleep for more than an hour at a time. 

You’re haunted. 

Your dreams are plagued by visions of faceless men. They’re fuzzy and vague, all you know is that you’ve been left behind, you just can’t keep up. And in every nightmare the faceless man carries on without you, as if you never meant anything to him at all. 

You wake up covered in a thin sheen of sweat, gasping for air, with a dull ache in your chest.

So by the time the sun's up you’re more exhausted than you’d be if you had just stayed up without trying to sleep.  

You have to fight to keep your eyes open as Lysa and Elaine carefully dress you, Elaine takes you by the arm and guides you to sit on the bed, crouching down to be eye level with you. Her mouth is moving but you can’t seem to figure out the words until she’s saying your name, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. 

“Sorry… what were you saying?” You manage to murmur out between yawns. 

“How do you take your caf, my lady? 

“Oh… I umm, I don’t know. I’ve never had it.” 

Why is she looking at you like that? 

“I’ll bring you some options okay?” You can only bring yourself to nod, your thoughts are muddled as she leaves, Lysa silently running a brush through your hair. 

What had that look been? It had been sad, but it seemed like more than that. 

Pity. 

That’s what it had been. Huh. Maybe she had just noticed how tired you were these last few days. 

Elaine returns just as Lysa is finishing your hair, she’s got a tray with three mugs on it, all containing liquids of various shades of brown. She hands you the darkest one first, it’s almost black, it smells… strong. You take a small sip and your face scrunches at the bitter taste as you quickly hand it back to her. 

“Definitely not that one.” You cough slightly as you reach for the lightest one, a creamy beige, sipping this one carefully, not sure what to expect. You’re pleasantly surprised by the sweetness of this one, nodding as you take several sips. It’s the same color as the gown you’re in today, a light sort of cinnamon color. It makes your skin buzz, your mind still feels tired but at least your body feels awake. You watch curiously as Elaine sets the tray onto the vanity before taking the mug of black caf to the door, opening it slightly, setting it on the floor just outside before shutting it once more. 

You continue to slowly drink yours, the girls standing across the room from you whispering to each other with a companionship that fills you with yearning. When you finish the caf you walk to the tray, setting it down, thanking Elaine as you open the door. 

And there he is. 

Setting an empty mug on the stone window sill across from your door. 

And then there is an emotion you aren’t sure you’ve ever felt in your life, at least not like this. It’s an unpleasant feeling and you’re certain you aren’t doing a good job of keeping it off your face as you look at the mug and then at his visor. You desperately wish you could hide behind a helmet so he couldn’t see the wounded look on your face. 

Jealousy is an ugly emotion. 

And it’s one you have no right to feel for two very obvious reasons. One being that Elaine has done nothing to earn the resentment you feel bubbling up inside of you. She has been nothing but kind to you, she takes care of you, she has been a consistent source of comfort to you just by being in your presence. So why do you suddenly feel like she’s your adversary? 

The second reason is plain and simple. You have no claim over the Mandalorian. No right to be bitter over him accepting a drink from someone who wasn’t you. 

You need to stop. You can’t be thinking things like this, it isn’t healthy. So you summon Leo with a call of his name as you glare at Mando with a faint look of betrayal. He’s there quickly, giving you a low bow. 

“How may I be of service, princess?” 

“Can you find me a few empty journals? And some more pens, just bring them to the library if it isn’t a hassle.” It isn’t a hassle, nothing is ever a hassle when it comes to you and it’s getting infuriating. Only one person ever said no to you and you never thought you’d miss it. 

Leo gives you a nod and vanishes as you storm off to the library. 

For Makers sake, stop throwing a tantrum. He isn’t yours to feel envy over. 

You get to the library in record time, pinching your eyes shut as you walk past the nook, deeper into the library to the table from yesterday, still covered in parchment. You shuffle them all into one pile and set them aside before beginning your search for books with pictures. You decide on A Field Guide to the Creatures of Tatooine and The Illustrated Encyclopedia of Fish & Shellfish of Naboo. 

The Mandalorian still isn’t speaking to you. 

At all.

Sure he’s always been quiet, (except when he’s fucking you senseless, then he can’t seem to shut up.) but this is different. It’s intentional silence, and it hurts. 

So you pretend he’s just muted himself through the helmet, that he’s talking to you and doesn’t even realize you can’t hear him. 

It doesn’t really help. 

Leo is as quick as ever to bring you your items, two leatherbound sketchbooks and a handful of pens. 

You immediately get to work, desperate to get thoughts of the Mandalorian out of your mind as you draw as many animals and fish as you can until you have to take a break because your wrist hurts. It’s a messy jumble of inky fish swimming around the pages and a lot of them were drawn so hastily you can barely tell what they are. But you stopped thinking about him, briefly. 

And this works for a few hours. But then it stops working when you flip to a page with koi fish that has you furrowing your brow. You swear you’ve seen them before and before you can stop yourself from making the connection you realize that they’re the same fish that swim in the lake near the garden. The lake that he lives next to. The lake that he took you to. 

And drawing in the library to distract yourself becomes a short lived success. So you decide to pack up your supplies and explore. It’s been a long time since you felt the urge to do so, giving you déjà vu to your first couple of weeks here. Maybe you could pretend you’re back in those days, when you could still be optimistic about your marriage, and the Mandalorian was nothing more than an annoyance. You walk the halls until you stop in front of a set of large ornate doors, you aren’t even sure what’s inside but you sit on the floor, your skirt falling in a circle around you, with your torso in the center as you open one of the sketchbooks. You draw the woodgrain of the doorframe. You leave an absence of ink on the brass door knob to show the light reflecting off of it. And you’re about to draw the stone walls around it but you freeze in place as you hear the familiar crackling static of a modulator. 

It’s barely audible, most people wouldn’t ever notice it. But not you. You notice things, especially when they have to do with him. 

You don’t dare move. Holding your breath in anticipation until it stops. 

You resist the urge to turn around to look at him, hoping that if you don’t pressure him he might speak but it never comes. 

He was going to speak. 

That’s a start. 

Do you want him to speak? Don’t you hate him? Do you even know anymore? 

You’ve been so busy trying to not think about him that now you don’t know how you feel about him. That should be a sign for you to say something, or at the very least allow yourself to think about him. 

But instead you stumble to your feet and start walking. And you keep drawing to distract you from the living armor that follows behind you silently. You lean against a wall as you draw the stone archway above a staircase, and once again, just as you're finishing up you hear that crackle, just behind you. 

This time you can’t help but cock your head to the side slightly, the moment you do you’re back in silence. 

Kriff. 

This carries on like clockwork through the rest of your day. You draw as many doorways and windows as you can, if you were tired when you started the day you have no idea what you are now. You’re loopy with exhaustion as you stumble to your chambers.

Maybe it’s the lack of sleep or maybe you’re just sick of hearing that crackle but when you open the door you lean against the frame and stare at him. You don’t say anything but you give him the chance to if he wants, you wait several moments, just glaring at him.

He doesn’t speak. So you close the door. You don’t even make it to the closet, not bothering to remove your gown you collapse onto your actual bed. 

✩

You get a few hours of sleep in this time. It isn’t much because you’re still chasing after faceless men but it’s better than nothing. This time when you wake you stumble to the vanity, the bags under your eyes are dark and they make you look too serious. 

It’s clockwork again, You’re back in purgatory. Without Mando planning things for you to look forward to you’re trapped in the loop you hated so much when you first arrived. 

Wake up, be dressed like some sort of doll, find an aimless task to keep your brain occupied, sleep, repeat. 

Except today isn’t another day in the loop, because when the girls arrive Elaine already has a mug of caf in her hands for you and Lysa is getting a blue dress from the closet and you have to physically restrain yourself from groaning as you realize you have dinner with Kodo tonight. 

Everything is blending together. Days seem shorter and you feel like you spend all your time trying to get to sleep.

Is this the rest of your life? Days so unremarkable you can’t remember them?

You gratefully take the cup and drink it down quickly as they dress you. At least you have something to worry about other than the Mandalorian today. You can worry about your revolting husband who was more than frightening last time you had spoken. 

You push those thoughts away the same way you push thoughts of the Mandalorian away. When the girls are finished you thank them both before grabbing the sketch book and pens. You leave at the same time as Elaine and Lysa and you catch Elaine glaring at Mando, she gives him a look of rage and then raises her eyebrows expectantly at him before taking Lysa’s arm and walking off. 

You didn’t even know Elaine was capable of anger, she was always so reserved and put together. 

Maybe he did the same thing he did to you to her. 

The thought makes your stomach ache. 

You decide it’s best not to dwell on it further as you begin to walk. He follows behind you like always, just a few steps back. You don’t bother going to the library today, you don’t want to copy pictures anymore. Today you’re going to draw from memory. It takes about half an hour but eventually you find a window with a wide enough sill that you can sit in it, pulling your legs up as well so you can balance the sketchbook against your thighs. The Mandalorian settles against the opposite wall.

As of today it’s been a week since you last heard his voice. 

Don’t.

Don’t think about him. Just draw. 

You draw Elaine. 

You draw the short horns that come up from the top of her head in cone shapes. The long head tails that fell down her shoulders, you’d never seen a Togruta with them as long as hers. You lightly shade in the red parts of her skin, leaving the white spots on her face empty of any ink. 

You try to draw her with the expression she had made earlier. 

You can’t seem to get it right. Your depictions never seem angry enough. 

You draw Lysa. 

Her big round eyes, her olive skin, and her short black hair. You draw her next to Elaine. It feels weird to separate them. 

You draw Leo. 

His head tails are significantly shorter than Elaines and he usually wears a beige cap over them. 

You draw him exactly as he always is. 

Stern looking and uptight. 

You wish you had asked for paints so you could color his skin orange. 

Before you know it you’re flipping to a new page and drawing someone unfamiliar. 

Your eyes glance up for just a moment to look at him. There hasn’t been any static today. 

You draw a sharp jawline, covered with stubble. 

You draw round, plush lips, open just enough to see his front teeth. 

You draw furrowed brows, and forehead creases from frowning too much. 

You draw short buzzed hair, before deciding it doesn’t look right and scribbling it out.

You draw several noses. Some small, some large, some button and some bumpy. None of them fit the face you’ve drawn. 

It looks all wrong, so you start again. 

And again, and again, and again. 

But none of them look right. None of them suit him.

You keep trying. Your wrist aches but you have some sort of primal desire to get it right. 

You try hooded eyes, round eyes, almond eyes, at one point you draw squares just for the hell of it, of course they don’t look right but neither do any of the other ones. You try every face shape you can, round, sharp. None of it’s right and you’re starting to get frustrated. 

Again.

And again, and again, and again. 

And then there’s static.

He’s standing just in front of you now. You hadn’t realized he’s walked over as you slam the journal shut. 

He clears his throat. 

That’s it. 

He doesn’t speak but he does make you aware of how much darker it is in the hallway, you need to go to dinner. You look at him once more, waiting, hoping he’ll say something but there’s nothing. So you nod and stand, walking to your chambers first, tossing the book inside along with the pens before heading towards the dining hall. 

Your pace is sluggish. You know you’re already late but you have no desire to see him and Mando doesn’t rush you so you take your time.

Your walk is over too soon as the guards at the door nod when you approach.

As the doors are pushed open you can’t help but pray to all the gods that he isn’t sober. There’s no way you can handle that bone chilling venom in his voice when he talks to you without his drunken drawl. 

You step in to see him already finishing what you assume isn’t his first glass of ale, relief rushing through your veins, the Mandalorian hot on your heels, Kodo looking up at the sound of your footsteps with a twisted grin.

“There you are my nervous mouse!”  Nevermind, sober would be better than this anyday. 

“Hello dear husband.” You mutter as you take your familiar seat across from him, the Mandalorian taking his position just behind you. 

“How are you my mouse? Have you been well?” He chews with his mouth open, little bits of the meat pie before him spewing out from between his lips. 

Maker, he’s disgusting. You wish he was the one who was sworn to forever wear a helmet.

“I’m perfectly fine, my prince.” You play with the food in front of you, you have no appetite as you watch him, possibly the most drunk you’ve ever seen him. 

His dinner conversation is filthy. 

He won’t shut up about one of the girls his brother just became betrothed too. He goes into graphic detail how attractive he finds her “lithe figure.” 

There’s a sadness in your heart for this stranger.

Does she know what she’s marrying? 

Of course he can never seem to stop talking about his brother's wives as he mentions that one is currently pregnant, claiming she’s the size of a barn. 

You don’t hide your frown. 

Why should you?

If he’s going to be a pig you might as well treat him like one. 

Eventually he settles on rambling about how he wants to get more battle droids for his personal guard because the people in the city don’t seem to be fond of him, and because he’s often out in public spaces he needs more protection.

Personally, the six he currently has following him at all times already seems to be a bit much but you could care less. 

They take your untouched plate and bring out another course that you don’t touch as he continues to ramble about his battle droids for the entirety of this course. 

Finally someone comes to take the plates and you’ve only got dessert left to get through. He finishes another drink as he begins to talk with his mouth full of whatever pastry is in front of the both of you. 

“Still hiding in the library little mouse” He raises his once again filled glass in your direction. 

Your jaw twitches at the nickname. 

“Yes my prince.” 

“Still my little mouse I see. How dull.” He laughs loudly, when he slams his glass down on the table a bit of the dark liquid spills onto the white tablecloth. 

“I suppose I just like reading.” You don’t want to entertain him any longer. You just want to go back to your room. 

He hiccups as he releases the glass in his hand and points at you, taunting you. 

“You’re a tedious little thing aren’t you?” There’s that cruel grin.

He must get off on this or something. 

You have no interest in being a part of that so you just pick at the pastry in front of you with your fork. 

“Did you hear me little mouse? Your prince asked you a question?” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“I’d like to be dismissed.” You push your chair away from the table standing and collecting yourself before you start walking out. You hear Kodo’s chair screech against the wood floors and he goes around his side of the table to cut you off before you reach the exit. 

For someone as drunk as he is he’s surprisingly quick on his feet. 

“You’re dismissed when I dismiss you.” He spits out, glaring down at you, even slouched he’s got a few inches on you. You roll your eyes as you start to push past him but you’re suddenly knocked to the ground, a sharp sting on the left side of your face. 

It all happens in slow motion. 

The force of the slap has you reeling to the floor. Your head knocks against the cold ground.

Your teeth cut deep into your lip, and you taste blood.

His handprint lingers against your face and you know you’ll have a mark. 

All of this registers in an instant. The next thing you do is purely on instinct, your eyes go to the Mandalorian. Because somehow you know that if you don’t stop him he’ll do something irreversible. 

You give him a warning look, eyes wide, shaking your head the tiniest bit, just enough that only he will register it. 

And you were right to do it because his hand is already on his blaster and he’s taken a step forward in your direction, positioning himself beside you defensively. 

You’re actually grateful for how drunk Kodo is because he doesn’t seem to notice any of this and it only takes one more stare from you to get Mando to take his hand off his firearm. 

“Now you’re dismissed.” Kodo growls at you before throwing his glass against the wall, screaming at one of the servants to find his brothers, not bothering to be discreet as he yells about some whore house. 

The moment he storms off you’re struggling to your feet, groaning, you never actually get to your feet though as you’re lifted off the ground. 

The Mandalorian picks you up effortlessly, holding you bridal style as he rushes you out of the dining room, his helmet trained on your face as he brings you towards your chambers on muscle memory alone, his visor never looking away from you. 

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, trying to process anything that’s happened in the last two minutes, your hand coming to your face causing you to wince as you poke at the gash on your lip. 

He’s shaking. 

His entire body trembles and his grip on you is unyielding as he walks. 

You stare up into the black line of the visor and the shakes seem to lessen so you stay like that, staring at each other as he carries you until you get there and he leans down to open the door, never letting his gaze falter as he brings you inside and sets you on the bed. He puts his satchel next to you before giving you one final look. 

“I’ll be right back. Don’t move.” It’s the first time you’ve heard him speak since the night he ended things. The hoarse rasp of his voice crawls deep into your brain, settling like warm honey and calming your nerves. 

You want to plead with him. Beg him to stay, but he said he'll be back so you stay put. He quickly leaves the room, grabs the book on flowers off the vanity on his way out. The one he had been reading that you had taken. He’s only gone a moment, you hear a tearing sound and when he comes back the book is gone. 

You don’t push further as he approaches you. Taking your face in his hands to observe the injury.

“I’m… I’m sorry.” He says it like he’s the one who hit you. Full of regret and longing. 

“I don’t want your apologies.” Liar. You want anything he’ll give you. You want his apologies, his insults, and his praises. But more than anything you want that soft tone, that gentle way of speaking that he reserves just for you. 

“I don’t care what you want right now. My only concern right now is making sure this doesn’t scar.” You cringe as he runs his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down slightly to get a better look at where your teeth cut through the tender flesh there. 

“I’m sure you’d hate that. What use would I be to you without my looks?” You don’t know why you say it. Maybe you just need someone to be angry at right now. Maybe he deserves it. You aren’t really sure. But there’s a harshness in it you didn’t know you were capable of. If he has a reaction to your words he doesn’t show it physically as he continues inspecting the small wound. 

“I’m the last person who cares about that…” Now he seems concentrated on prodding and inspecting the red mark that’s certainly forming on your cheek as you push his hands away.

“Thanks.” You scoff, crossing your arms as you glare up at him. He lets out an exasperated sigh. 

“You know that’s not what I meant, now can you not be difficult? For just a few minutes? This is really deep… it’s almost all the way through your lip. It will definitely leave a mark if I don’t take care of it…”

His gloved hands gingerly grab your chin, he sounds more frustrated than you’ve ever heard him. He reaches into his bag and retrieves some antiseptic and a rag. He pours a bit onto the cloth before dabbing it at the broken skin of your lip causing you to wince at the sting. 

“I know. Just a little more.” It’s almost that familiar soft tone he takes with you as he finishes up before grabbing a small vial from his bag, a viscous clearish, white liquid in it. You can’t help but furrow your brows as you stare at it. It’s like he reads your mind as he uncorks the top.

“It’s bacta, you deviant.” He mutters as he pours a bit of the slimy solution onto the fingertips of his gloves as he generously applies it to the cut. Your nose scrunches up at the sour smell of it. He’s silent as he carefully coats the side of your face with a thin layer of the stuff before hesitating and then continuing. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

No. 

Not really.

You weren’t really sure how you felt about it. You knew Kodo was a bad person. You just hadn’t realized how bad. 

And you’re married to him. Condemned to be his wife. 

But you don’t want to tell Mando all that so instead you just shake your head no. You’re grateful that he doesn’t push you for more, he simply nods as he coats the inside of your lip with the bacta. 

“Maker, that's gross…” You groan as a bit touches your tongue, it tastes just as sour as it smells. 

“It is. But it won’t scar.” He hands you the rest of the vial. “Have one of the girls put more on in the morning, you should be good as new by tomorrow night.” 

“Oh great. It won’t scar, thank the gods.” You roll your eyes as you take the tube, tossing it onto the bed. 

“Watch it.” His tone is sharp and you feel it stab into your chest, it’s just like the first few days. When he’d snap at you because he thought you were plotting against him, of course, you were but he was presumptuous to assume that. 

You don’t like that it reminds you of what you used to be. 

“You don’t get to talk to me like that anymore. You don’t get to do anything to me anymore, including tell me if I can or cannot have a mark on my face. It doesn’t bother me, so maybe when you leave I will wipe off this disgusting salve and let it scar, I don’t understand why you care so much about my face having an imperfection.” You shove past him.

You don’t know why you’re so mad. It isn’t his fault. 

You definitely just need someone to be mad at and he just so happens to be here.

But that doesn’t matter. You deserve to be angry. And he deserves to have someone angry at him because of how he’s treated you.

You walk to the closet, as you open the door he’s already caught up to you, grabbing your arm. He immediately pulls it back, like your skin was ablaze and you had sent him up in flames. You glare, waiting for him to speak or leave. 

It's quiet for a long time.

The only sound is the crack of the modulator. 

It gives you goosebumps as you wait. 

“If I had to look at you every day and see that reminder of what he did, sooner or later I would walk into whatever pleasure house he’s defiling on that particular day, and no amount of battle droids, or royal guards, would be able to stop me from cutting off the hand that had struck you.”

Oh. 

You don’t have a witty remark. 

Or any sort of comeback. 

There are no words to explain how you feel so you nod before stepping into the closet and shutting the door. After a few minutes you hear the click of your bedroom door and you know he’s gone. 

Oh. 

You can’t really focus on anything that’s happened tonight. There’s too many things happening in your brain. 

So you tug at your dress. 

Desperate to be free of the suffocating blue fabric. You don’t know when you start crying but your cheeks are wet with tears and bacta and eventually you manage to tear the fabric in the front of your bodice as you rip the front of the dress completely in half. Frantically pulling yourself free of the cloth you open the closet door to throw the wretched thing into the main room before curling into a ball on your blankets. 

You’re just so tired.

But you can’t stop thinking.

And you don’t want to think about Kodo. 

So you let yourself think about Mando.

You don’t tell yourself to stop. And you don’t deny things as you think about what he said. 

Eventually you fall asleep. 

And that night in your dreams the faceless man stops running away.

tag list : dm to be added!!

@stagerightlauren - @dins-riduur-anthe - @littleguy-bendy - @rarachelchel - @laurensnotsparkly -@gerardingurway - @reallyidontcare- @clear-your-mind-and-dream - @estoniacobaltpayne - @buckyandgeraltsupremacy- @cookielovesbook-akie - @diabaroxa - @love-the-abyss - @sasakipsposts - @eclipsedplanet - @fatima-marisa - @somanyminidragons - @dindjarinsmut - @lemonboynsp - @disregardedplant

#din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin/reader #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin #best kept secret

[peachyteabuck]

permanent jetlag (please take me back)

summary: after being kidnapped, you realize slowly that things are not what they seem

a commission for someone who wishes to remain anonymous

pairing: peggy carter x reader

words: 7170

trigger warnings: straps ons, stockholm syndrome, PTSD/serious trauma from a toxic work environment, dark!peggy, kidnapping, drugging (nothing sexual happens until drugs have worn off), god complexes, supervillain!peggy

The first thing you realize when you crack open your eyes is that it hurts. Everything hurts. The light stings, each inhale has your temples pounding even harder than before. You can feel your bones scraping against the muscles attached to them, each joint pops as you curl further into yourself. You feel like every hangover you had in college was rolled into some sort of horrible, lukewarm wrap that a rat is pulling from a dumpster in his paws.

There’s a ringing in your ears that ebbs and flows, but always stings from your toes to the top of your spine. Speaking of your spine, if it’s not broken in eight places you’d be surprised.

A voice both distance and near ripples like water above you, a sweet sound you’re not sure the origin of.

“Hi, darling,” it whispers. You can feel a hand brushing over your clammy forehead. “I know, baby, I know it hurts. It’s okay, it’ll be okay.”

You should probably be freaked out, probably should be kicking and screaming and trying anything and everything to get away. But you can’t speak, let alone run for your life. Fuck, everything hurts.

“Just go to sleep, love,” the voice coos. “I promise it’ll all feel better soon.”

You can’t fight it, can barely muster up a sarcastic retort. So, you do all you can: you just curl up into the best ball you can manage and fall, very non-blissfully, into the deep, black, murky bliss of your sweet unconscious.

You’re awoken by the sound of typing. It’s fast, consistent typing that reminds you of late nights in the library before exams – confident, quick, focused. You’re in a different spot from the hard floor from earlier. You open your eyes just enough to see that it’s a large bed. It’s unmade, the numerous beige blankets strewn across the entire bed.

A woman in a maroon, large knit sweater faces away from you. It doesn’t take long to realize she’s the source of the typing. She’s in front of two large monitors, the familiar black background and colored text lines of code.

You want to turn around, want to try and silently move around so you can see where exactly you are.

But then you hear a dog bark, and your plan is over before it’s truly begun.

“Knox!” the woman snaps around in her chair to call what you presume is the dog’s name. “Heel!”

The dog immediately trots over to her side, steely gaze still trained on you when he sits to her right. He’s wearing a thick collar adorned with silver stones you soon realize are diamonds. The woman doesn’t turn around again, doesn’t even look at the dog. She just waits until he’s properly placed himself, and goes back to whatever it is she’s doing.

What the fuck is going on?

“I-uh…”

Should you even be talking? Are there rules to being kidnapped? You feel like you should’ve paid more attention during the part of your onboarding that involved watching survival training videos for hours on end.

The woman across from you doesn’t turn her back as she speaks, busy typing and moving her mouse and occasionally petting her dog. You’re a little petrified of upsetting in her in some, of sending her off the rails so that she kills you or maims you or…you don’t know, something worse than that. The dog continues to stare at you with its heavy gaze, black eyes bearing into yours in the same way one expects a disappointed parent or upset boss.

You pull the blankets tighter to you as you try to muster the will to speak.

“Wh-“

She cuts you off before you can get out as much as a syllable. “Who am I? Where are you? What is this? Why are you here?”

The woman laughs, as if this is a game to her and you’re already losing. “Do you really not know who I am?”

You shake your head, looking her over once more. She seems…familiar…in the same way one can smell the scent of fresh-baked bread amongst the thousands of other scents on the average New York City street. You’ve seen her face somewhere, if only you could find the single string amongst hundreds of others that leads to revealing her identity in your complicated, overused memory.

She sits back down, crossing one leg over the other and resting her arms on the rests attached to her chair. “I’m Captain Carter. And I want to destroy the Avengers.”

You blink once. Twice. Three times.

“You’re Captain Carter?”

The woman in front of you shrugs just a little. “The one and only.”

That triggers a wave of understanding. Whispers in the breakroom, emails flashing across screens you’re not supposed to see. News stories that are buried at larger publications but slipping through the cracks at the lower ones. Mentions of her on the Dark Web sites you frequent to blow off steam.

Shady businessmen mysteriously dying. Stocks dropping overnight. Bank accounts in tax havens around the world emptied. Dossiers leaked. Politicians failing re-election despite poll numbers. Politicians leaving office under mysterious circumstances. International and domestic incidents, all unexplainable.

She’s rogue, but she certainly has a steeled code of ethics. You have to respect that about her.

Just then, another dog – nearly identical to the one in front of you (Knox, you remember his name) – comes walking into the room. It sees its brethren and sits on the woman’s opposite side, seemingly bored with the whole situation. As if its owner has kidnapped a menagerie of poor, helpless victims before – and it’s only a matter of time before you’re replaced just as the others were.

A slew of thoughts beat against your already sore skull, your heart thumping in rhythm with the horrendous symphony.  The steeled gaze of the dog sure as shit doesn’t help, its soulless eyes a terrifying preamble to the cruelty you’re terrified you’ll face.

You can’t wrap your head around it – the entire situation.

You’re a scientist. You wear your silly little lab coat and do your silly little experiments. You help colleagues write grants, you teach every once and a while, you publish papers every so often. You’re recognizable, sure. But you’re certainly not world-renowned. No one outside your field really knows who you are, and it’s not like the Avengers know, either.

So why this woman kidnapped you is beyond your understanding.

It’s a long while before she turns back around, the typing stopping for only a second before you’re locking eyes. The first thing you notice is how…calm she seems. It’s as if she’s ordering as a regular in a family restaurant, or picking up her clothes from the dry cleaners. For her, it seems the situation feels mundane; some sort of regular occurrence.

“Don’t worry about her,” she gestures to the equally bored dog. “It’s not that Maverick doesn’t like you…” she continues petting her, who continues to look completely unamused with the situation. “She’s just very protective.”

You wish you felt comfortable enough to give a dry laugh. Yeah, you want to jab. I’m really the threat here, you should be super worried about me right now. So sorry for making you worry about your own safety.

“How are you feeling?” the woman looks at you with what you think is genuine concern. “I know those drugs are quite strong.”

You want to scoff, ask her if she was so worried why she would drug you in the first place. But you’re too exhausted to be sarcastic, your head pounding too much to churn out witty retorts. “I..” You’re unsure of what to say. “I’m not great, but I guess it could be worse.”

The woman gives you a small smile. “That’s good. There have been some reports of serious long-term neurological damage, but I was assured that your monitoring during transport raised no red flags. You’re very healthy, you know.”

You cringe just a little, thinking about your steady diet of energy drinks, chips, and ramen. Sure…healthy.

When you look back up from the floor you realize she’s…staring. She’s staring at you. You fidget under her intense gaze, folding your arms over your chest to cut her off. The feeling of your face heating forces your face down again, staring back at your socked feet once more.

“So why me?” You chew on your bottom lip as you ask, the words propelled out of your mouth by sheer adrenaline. It’s the only way you can meet her eyes again, too, your rapid heartbeat straightening your spinal cord and forcing your face forward.

The woman’s own expression falls a bit, but she quickly fixes her signature smile.

“I’ve been watching Stark Tower for a long while…figured it would be a good way to get to know more about the whole…” she wrinkles her nose in disgust. “Operation. I had various helpers with surveillance who brought me a few possible targets for consideration.”

You cross your arms across your chest, uncomfortable with how much you didn’t notice. “A-and you decided on me?”

She nods.

“Why?”

The woman hmms. It’s obvious she put considerable thought into her decision to, well, kidnap you. What she mulls over is whether she wants to tell you.

“Truthfully, you were the first to really catch my eye—all the other people we tailed were very aware of their surroundings,” you flinch as you remember how tired you always felt after shifts, your usual paranoia superseded by extreme fatigue. You still clutched your pepper spray with an iron grip, but a pair of goggles and a good long-sleeved shirt could overcome that decently easily. You’ve never been…a fighter, in that sense. It’s not as if you remember what happened, or all the times you were followed home, or when you were forced to do some bullshit sparring session with the trainees for whatever reason. You had a habit of blacking out, unfortunately, your fight or flight response fucked after years of pushing yourself.

She continues. “And I found it curious that your security detail was lacking, considering your position.”

A huff escapes you. It’s probably not the biggest deal that you don’t get the same 24-hour security or a free home security system that alerted Stark Industries’ personnel if someone were to break into your apartment, or any of the other FBI shit the other, higher-level scientists get. But still, the fact not a single person was monitoring you when you were walking from your lab, the fact no one saw that you were taken….

You dig your blunt nails into your palms to calm the storm inside of you. Everything you’ve suppressed for years slowly reveals itself, bubbling to the surface at a snail’s pace.

“I found it especially weird considering your great contributions to Stark Industries.”

You turn away from her, hiding the sneer inside of you. What’s disturbing to you, though, is not that you’re upset with her. She’s…right. She’s deeply and unfortunately right.

She continues, her voice feeling far away as a pit of despair settles in your gut. “All in all, lowest risk and greatest possible reward.”

It’s hard to argue with her point. Especially since she’s…correct. About all of it. You didn’t have high security, even when you traveled internationally on public planes. It always felt weird to you that the others often had at least one bodyguard, and carried around special Stark phones with 24/7 trackers. You took a self-defense class every year, sure, but never got the always-changing passwords or security team or the occasional Avenger guarding you when you conducted field research.

It's soul-crushing to realize that you were easy prey. It’s as if you were an injured gazelle, a bird that dropped from the nest too soon, the bunny too tired from being chased.

You try to swallow the boulder in your throat. Bile threatens to rise, too, and you struggle to fight the urge to ask where the bathroom is. If this is how it feels to live in reality…you’d rather go back to your false sense of self again.

One of the dogs – Knox – nudges his head into your hand, whining just a little. Is he…trying to comfort you? It feels ridiculous, you haven’t even tried to gain his trust and you don’t know anything about animal behavior. Do dogs know when you’re freaked out? When you’re scared out of your mind? When you’re glad you finally got your last will and testament notarized a week ago? You let him bump against your hand, though, licking at your palm.

“I’m glad he likes you,” she nearly whispers, as if she doesn’t want to spoil the moment. “He doesn’t normally enjoy new people.”

You preen just a little, the feeling of this dog accepting you so easily. It’s easier, with that knowledge, to scratch him behind the ears more aggressively; to let him lick all over your hand.

There’s a long silence, the heavy kind that comes after a heavy conversation. It reminds you of when your mom said she couldn’t afford to pay for your undergraduate degree like she had promised. Or when your dad told you he was divorcing your mom.

“I’m Peggy, by the way,” she tells you, as if it was something you had begged her to tell you. It was nice to know, of course, you thought you’d scream it as loud as you could when she’d try to dispose of you in the future. “No one calls me that. But I figured ‘Ms. Carter’ would be a little weird considering the circumstance.”

Peggy. You turn it over in your brain, admiring it from all sides. It feels warm, like a fresh croissant handmade in a fancy French bakery. Perfectly flaky and buttery, melting in your mouth as you sink your teeth into it. It warms you, the chill on your skin fading you try to make sense of everything that’s happened to you.

It's silent for a moment, the both of you watching each other. It’s not the awkward silence, though, but the nice kind, the calming kind. You choose not to think too hard about how it’s better than the angry silence of the late nights in your lab.

A deeply annoying, shrill sound interrupts the blessed moment.

“Well, would you look that…”  The woman – Peggy - turns, facing a pulsing blue circle in the center of her screen.

“What’s that?” The trill chime grates against your ears. It reminds you too much of the same chime Stark Industries uses for their teleconferencing platform.

Peggy just smiles, eyeing the screen. “That, darling, is the call to negotiate your return.”

Took ‘em long enough, you think. You stay where you are, watching as she answers the call. She’s already in frame, and from your position to the side you can see all the Avengers in the same conference room you’ve seen them have countless arguments in. At the sight of the interior of Stark Tower, your heart rate nearly doubles – all you can think about is the work you left unfinished, the food in the fridge you bought so you didn’t need to leave for lunch or dinner or breakfast or-

Peggy’s voice cuts through the mental noise, tugging your sinking body back up to the surface.

“Gentlemen,” she greets, a Cheshire cat grin growing on her face. “And Natasha,” she adds when she notices the Black Widow’s annoyed eyebrow raise. “Where’s that nice little witch you picked from Sokovia? Haven’t seen her in awhile.”

Steve pointedly ignores her. “We know you took her.”

You’re just off-camera – able to see them but out of the range of the lens. It’s a weird place to be, the fly on the wall of what feels like a nuclear meltdown. Just as an onlooker of a car crash, you can’t find it in yourself to tear your eyes away from the traumatic scene in front of you. You can feel your heart bursting in your chest, crashing against your ribs at a pace you’re sure indicates it’s about to explode.

“Peggy,” Steve’s voice is pointed, the same kind you heard when he was speaking at the UN after they found loose nukes in South America. ”We know you have her. Just tell us what you want for her.”

Peggy just laughs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Can you be any more specific, Stevie?”

He ignores her use of the nickname, even if a vein in his neck begins to protrude. You feel as though you’re watching a game of cat and mouse, if the mouse was more stubborn than afraid. “Peggy, please, we know you took a scientist of ours. We just want her back.”

Tony speaks up, equally frustrated. “What is this about,” he scoffs. “Money, we’ll give you money. Just tell us what it is you want, what it is you’re looking for.”

Peggy just laughs – that dignified, artificial kind you’ve heard from PTA moms since you were in elementary school. “Not sure why you want her now, though, considering you were so willing to leave her all alone.”

Natasha is the one to speak next, the stress in her voice palpable. “Peggy, this isn’t the time for games. You’ve taken a top-level scientist who has access to numerous trade secrets and has clearance to the top level of our security. She knows things less than twenty people in the world know. We’ll admit you have the upper hand, just tell us what you want in exchange for her and we’ll give it to you.”

Peggy hmms, tapping her foot against the floor. They all stare at her, watching her every movement on the screen. It’s…infuriating. If they cared about you so much, if you were so valuable to them why did they spend your entire career treating you like shit.

You step out from the sideline, crowding the camera in front of Peggy.

“Glad to see you’re okay,” Bruce says. If you could kill him with just a look, you’d twist your face into whatever expression it took to send him six feet under.

“What’s my name?” you ask, staring at all of them.

Steve’s jaw tenses, but he doesn’t speak. Tony rolls his eyes ever so slightly.

Tears prick at your eyes; rage you’ve suppressed ever since you were seventeen and applying for colleges bubbling to the surface. “I’ve worked for you for years - you paid for my second doctorate and own my research. I represent Stark Industries at every conference I-”

Bruce sighs. “We have a lot of scientists-”

“I went to your daughter’s birthday party! Our names are on a patent together!” You choke back a sob and ball your hands into fists. “I spent years of my stupid little life working my ass off for you people and you don’t even know my name?”

Tony’s the next one to speak. “What do you want us to say? Sorry? We deal with a lot in our day-to-day lives, you know. I can’t be memorizing the name of every intern who gets promoted.”

White-hot anger explodes inside of you like fireworks, pushing you to walk in front of the Captain. “Goodbye, Stark. Take this as my resignation.”

He opens his mouth to speak – likely to defend himself – but you hear none of it as you end the video call. The screen goes back to Peggy’s wallpaper – a dark blue background and one or two icons – and you feel just as empty as the screen in front of you.

You’re the first to talk, your heart slamming against your ribs like a car skidding off of a highway. All you can do is talk, trying to get this part of your life over with as soon as possible.

“So,” you can hear the nervous breathlessness in your throat. “What am I supposed to do now?”

Peggy just smiles, something you’ve come to understand is a harbinger of chaos.

“Come on, we’ll go to my real office and we’ll find something for you to do while you figure out you’re next steps.”

You’re speechless, your entire life very suddenly turned upside down, flipped inside out, and buried six feet underground. It’s easy to follow you when you’re so disoriented, letting her guide you through long, twisting hallways lined with identical doors. When she finally opens one, it’s as if she picked it at random. There, in a room larger than your apartment, is the most exquisitely decorate office you’ve ever seen. You don’t have much time to look around, though, because on her large oak desk is a charcuterie board so big you’re convinced you’re hallucinating from hunger.

Peggy slides past you, sitting in the dark, velvet-lined chair on one side of the desk. Grabbing one of the small plates, she fills it with meats, cheeses, fruits, and crackers that you can smell all the way from the other side of the room. Your mouth is watering, and before you know it you’re having to wipe the drool away from your chin.

“Come, darling,” she commands. “Come here, I don’t need guests starving in my home.”

It’s easy to follow orders from her, going to sit in the equally large, plush chair before making your own plate. Upon closer inspection, some of the crackers are fresh-baked bread, with butter and jams and spreads whose names you probably can’t pronounce. You eat, just as she does, picking the fat and juices from your fingers as if you were a bear at the beginning of salmon season.

It’s easy to be bold when your belly is full, the board picked over and pushed to the side. Gluttony fills you, emboldening you in ways that were unimaginable a few hours ago. Still, you avoid eye contact as you speak.

“Why do you want to destroy the Avengers, then?”

Peggy just shrugs, taking another bite of her food. You wait, anxiously, as she chews and swallows with the intention of someone accustomed to the finer things in life. “I find them deeply annoying, and I figured you’d agree with me.”

Can’t argue with that one.

“More specifically,” Peggy continues, sighing as if the mention of the Avengers gives her the beginnings of a migraine. “I think they’re awful, and they actively make the world much, much worse.”

You’re not skeptical…certainly, the Avengers made your life worse. But you still furrow your brow as she continues.

“I know I sound like one of those…” she waves her hand dismissively. “Reddit conspiracy theorists, or whatever stupid website the most radioactive scum of society has infected with their drivel. But…”

You lift your eyes from the floor, her face softening just a little when you lock gazes with her.

“I need you to understand the Avengers aren’t what they seem.”

You snort just a bit, unable to hide your reaction. Don’t need to tell me that, you think.

“They’re part of the current world order,” she explains. “They’re not heroes, they’re not outliers – they’re puppets. They’re not heroes, they’re ways to placate the public into accepting whatever new horrors the government can cook up. You know, they can fix everything, they can solve poverty and terrorism and end all wars and all that shit. But it makes them a lot more money to just act as if international law is real and destroy New York City every few years.”

Another part of your old life breaks apart as you process her words. She’s right – of course she is, why wouldn’t she be? It’s not as if any of this wasn’t obvious before, either, as if you weren’t contributing to their heroic façade by giving them your research and letting them parade you in front of reporters whenever Stark R&D made a major breakthrough in their labs.

Peggy seems to sense your worldview breaking down and rebuilding itself, notices the ways your hands fidget in your lap. “Oh, darling,” she sighs, a butler appearing out of seemingly nowhere to take the plates and food away. In the empty space it leaves she places a thick stack of papers, ones you don’t understand through your watery eyes. “Here, let’s get you busy so you don’t have to think about all that anymore.”

She explains the pile slowly, dividing up the tasks so that you can work in silence together.

The activities are simple, easy to understand and emulate. She’s just having you forge checks in silence as she goes over the credit card bills of her estate, making sure the itemized bills match the actual prices. You work for awhile, silent besides the scrape of pen and highlighter against pencil. It’s nice, working with no pressure.

“Have you thought about what you want to do next?” Peggy asks, ushering her words between swift flicks of her wrist.

You shake your head. “No more than I’ve thought about what just occurred.”

She shrugs. “Well, you can stay with me, if you like. I have numerous helpers who can grab anything you need from your apartment and bring it here,” you wrinkle your nose at the memory of the food in your fridge. You’re not sure how long you were out, but it's definitely spoiled by now. “If you don’t, I have plenty of money and we can get you all set up in a separate room.”

You cross your arms over your chest again. “Live here? What would I-“

Peggy just shrugs. Any movement from her is enough to cut you off effectively. “Listen, you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. If you want, now, you can leave and go back to Stark Industries-“

You bristle at the mention of your old job.

“Because I know that’s the only place that will hire you. You’ve been working at Stark’s labs for how long? And have how many publications where your name isn’t obscured by et al?”

Zero, you reply internally. Your resume almost looks worse than it did when you entered graduate school.

“So, your options are simple,” she continues. “You are welcome to stay with me where you’ll never have to worry about money again, and I’ll keep you busy with various jobs that’ll challenge you when you want and are easy when you wish, or you can go back out into the world and try your luck with a job market pushing publish or perish in a world where you’re essentially in career rigor mortis.”

You try to find reasons to scream at her, to protest, or fight for your right to go back home. But all you can do is swallow tears that threaten to fall down your cheeks.

It takes a long while before you can speak, the words barely audible. Peggy stays sitting upright the whole time, her eyes bearing into yours.

It makes you stop your nervous fidgeting, your hands stuck in midair and your mouth agape ever so slightly. “I…uh…”

“You don’t have to accept my proposal,” she tells you, as if she’s just offered to buy out a company or offer to dog-sit for you while you’re on vacation. It’s casual, flat. “But I want you to know I find you incredibly attractive, and it can be quite lonely inside my little lair. So, if you’d like to stay…”

Blood rushes to your ears, your heart ramming against your ribcage.

“Wh-“

She cuts you off before you can ramble, before you can protest or lose your mind or scream until your throat bleeds.

“Listen, we can talk about the specifics later. But know you can stay here if you’d like.”

You try and swallow the toad in your throat. It remains firmly on its lily pad. “Do…do I have to decide now?”

Peggy just shakes her head. “No, dear. You can take all the time in the world.”

You fully intend to, too. Your life is now free of worry, of the Avengers and all the bullshit that came with it. It’s certainly strange, this newfound freedom.

“It’s weird, my whole life was that job,” you pause to sign the check in front of you, copying the signature next to it. Peggy inspects your work – a look of surprise washing over her when she realizes it’s an exact copy. “I had a side gig in high school faking everything under the sun.”

Peggy hmms but doesn’t say anything else.

“Like, I worked twelve-hour days constantly, I missed weddings and funerals and girls’ night outs,” you sigh, copying over more signatures. “I forfeited entire sections of my life for…I don’t even know…”

The woman next to you just grabs a series of envelopes and gloves and drops them in front of you. The sound has you shooting upright, catching you in the magnetic pull of her gaze.

Peggy’s eye contact is unwavering as she speaks. “What did you do to like, relax?”

You’re the one to break away first, staring at a bit of the patterned wallpaper instead of her. “I didn’t. I worked.”

“Nothing?” She only sounds a little surprised.

“I had a treadmill in my office,” you wrinkle your nose at the memory, how bad your calves hurt after receiving comments back from the peer-reviewers from one article you’d been working on for years.

“No guys…girls…” Peggy changes tasks, using one of those bingo dopplers filled with water to seal the envelope before placing it to the side. You watch as her hands grab the cylindrical tool, her blood-red, long sharpened nails a heavy contrast to the white marble of the table. “Nothing of the sort? At all?”

You shake your head. “Barely had time to swipe on Tinder, let alone actually date.”

“That’s a shame,” she says – it seems, more to herself than to you. “Because I think you’re the most fuckable little thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

If you were drinking something you’re sure you’d be choking on it, your whole body confused as to what was just said to you.

“You heard me. Do you want to fuck me, darling?” She presses, pushing herself forward across the desk. You remain silent, eyes wide and whole body frozen. “Or would you prefer it if I fucked you?”

When you don’t answer, she moves what you were working on to the side, jumping over the desk so that you have to look up at her where she sits.

“Answer me,” she says, her voice slightly harsher and eyes narrowed.

“I, I-“ You can feel your body heat up in embarrassment. “I want you to fuck me.”

All she does is smile before she’s grabbing your hand without so much as a “follow me,” leading you through another maze of hallways until you somehow find yourself in the most impeccably decorated, perfectly clean bedroom you’ve ever seen. It’s somehow more disorienting this time around – being ushered through her mansion without preamble or explanation. Peggy instructs you to wait on the bed as she disappears into what you guess is a closet, a command you follow easily as breathing.  

That seems to stop, though, when she emerges undressed except her underwear – a pale, skin-toned brassier, panty, and garters. It’s classic, obviously vintage…and it fits her perfectly. Tailored to hug against her curves and fit perfectly against her milky skin. She looks like a goddess, really, like Venus emerging from her shell. Your eyes follow the outline of her form, desperate to commit the scene to memory despite how it’s failed you in the past.

That’s when you see it, dangling off one crooked finger. A royal blue strap made of a thin, supple leather. Attached to that is a shiny black dildo, girthy and slightly curved at the end.

It takes everything in you to remember how to breathe in that moment, to not let yourself pass out from her taking all the air from your lungs and flattening them under her heel. Speaking of which – she’s still wearing her navy-blue heels.

Our God in Heaven, hallowed be thy name…

You understand why Jesus wept as she steps toward you, a confidence in the air that has the heat in your abdomen growing rapidly. It’s like a wildfire during the dry season – overtaking your body and soul so rapidly you feel as if you’ve lost all control.

And God...you love it. It’s as if you can feel the adrenaline in your teeth, on top of your tongue. It fills your senses with molten gold that singes you in all the right places. It sparks something inside of you, something you haven’t felt for ages.

“You’re adorable like this,” Peggy murmurs as she moves closer, standing over you.

You stutter out a response. “L-like what?”  

She smiles the same wicked smile you saw earlier. “Flustered, surprised, awed, horny. Take your pick.”

You blink widely, eyes glassed over.

“Are you a virgin, dear?”

She asks it like she’s asking whether you take cream in your coffee, her plain tone a contrast to her actions as she fits the strap to her hips. Her actions are smooth, practiced. You suddenly feel very insecure.

“No,” you reply honestly. “But I’m not very experienced.”

“Hm,” is all she says. It feels like a long while before she speaks again, stepping close to you and grabbing your chin so that she looks at you. “You’re so cute. Strip for me.”

The clothes that you were placed in while drugged peel easily from your body – the nondescript hoodie and sweatpants dropping to reveal your vulnerable form. She steps forward silently, running her hands over the softest and most vulnerable parts of you.

“Beautiful,” she whispers. You can barely hear it, but another wave of heat flashes across your skin as she continues to stare. It makes you feel like a painting, or a statue recently unveiled in some large art museum. All eyes on you, dissecting you and putting you back together again. It makes you feel more naked than all the skin exposed to the cold bedroom air. She pushes you back, then, until the backs of your knees hit the bed and you’re fanned out in the middle of it. She spreads your legs without preamble, ghosting her fingers over the wettened lips.

“Such a pretty little pussy,” Peggy says, watching as you react to her light touches. “She’s so sensitive for me, isn’t she? Pretty pussies like this deserve to be ruined.”

She pulls you close to her on the last word, folding you in half so that the most sensitive parts of you are exposed to her. It’s so sudden you barely have time to give a little yelp, one that transforms into a moan as she enters you.

It stretches you deliciously, a wonderful and welcome burn you can barely describe. None of the times you’d ever used toys on yourself had ever felt this way, let alone all the unfortunate one-night stands you’d had. You’d convinced yourself sex just…wasn’t enjoyable, that Big Porn had sold you a dream you could never truly have.

That’s bullshit, you tell yourself as Peggy draws a deep, animalistic moan from you. All those guys who came within minutes, spewing all over your stomach before rolling over and snoring so loud you thought it would register on the Richter scale. All those shitty dudes you brought home from clubs and conferences. All the gross men you let push you to your knees in alleyways. They all sold you the same bullshit story.

Peggy, as she splits you open, holding your legs apart – she’s the only one to ever tell you the truth. The whole truth. Not some mangled version that forces you to wear rose-colored glasses. No, she tells you everything. And that honesty is more refreshing than ice-cold lemonade on a summer day.

(Visions of licking the condensation from her fingers, of tracing your tongue between her breasts as stray droplets sink down her shirt flash in front of your eyes. You’re determined to make it through the cold New York winter to be there when it begins to warm up.)

“How does it feel, baby?” she coos, watching you in your blissed out state. She knows what she’s doing – she has to – because the fake pity in her voice only grows as she watches you struggle. “C’mon, darling, tell me how it feels to be fucked by someone who really knows what they’re doing.

Your moans turn into something like squeaks as she readjusts her hips, the angle sending the toy deeper. She hits something inside of you – something you’ve never felt before. If you were feeling like you were lit ablaze before, now you’re the fire itself. Reborn in the flames and running uphill like a feral stallion, weaving through trees and ignoring the pain as your hoof catches on a fallen branch.

It's chasing something – you’re not entirely sure exactly what it is, what it wants so desperately as its lungs cry for air. All you know is that you’re chasing pleasure, your hips rising to meet Peggy’s thrusts as she fucks into you at a steady, bruising pace.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Peggy whispers, the awe in her voice sending another wave of arousal through you. “Knew from the first day I saw you you’d be the best decision I’d ever make.”

You preen under her, a protesting whine rising high in your throat. “F-fuck,” is all you can get out.

The dildo is smooth inside of you, your desperate attempts to grip it inside of you failing as she thrusts in and out. “So glad I was able to save you from that horrible place, from those horrible people.”

You nod in a frantic way, low murmurs and babbles leaving your lips without consideration for what you’re trying to say. Truthfully, you’re not sure you’re saying anything, unable to speak in your current state.

“C’mon, say thank you,” she hisses, grabbing your chin so that you’re forced to look at her. “Thank me for saving you.”

You’re panting now, digging your hands into the sheets and gripping them so hard you’re convinced you’re cutting off circulation to your fingers. Still, somehow, you get the words out. “T-thank y-you for saving me.”

Peggy grins, snapping her hips so that the toy goes even further inside of you. “Good, my darling.”

She’s said it before, but now it feels even dirtier – and you’re not sure if it’s because she’s fucking you into another dimension.

“Oh, god,” you moan, the wet sounds of your pussy ringing throughout the room. You don’t think you’ve ever been this wet, even when you lived near that sex shop in college that was located in the basement of a resale book shop. It’s not disgusting, though, this new side of you is hot. And you’re beginning to learn to revel in it.

“C’mon, baby,” she coos, fucking you in sharp, hard thrusts. “Come for me.”

And, Heavens above, you do. It feels like a wave crashing upon the shore – a tsunami claiming countless lives and causing millions in damage. It shocks the air from your lunch, chokes you from the inside-out. More accurately, it turns you inside out, burning away the old you so that the new you can rise from the ashes more brazen and bold than before.

You’re sure your moans can be heard for miles around the property – guttural and animalistic and scratching at your throat to get out. Peggy fucks you through it, timing her thrusts to the clench of your cunt until you’re kicking her away. Only then does she pull away, peppering kisses over your temple and disappearing with the promise of water and to clean you up.

You lay there in the center of the bed, panting as if you’d just run a marathon. You’re not sure where it comes from, but a cool breeze hits you and it feels better than anything else you could’ve wanted.  

Peggy re-emerges from what you guess is the bathroom, dressed now only in a silken nightgown with matching lace trim. It’s white, lacking any stains. Ironed, too, so that there are creases at the side.

In one hand she has a damp, fluffy washcloth. In the other, a cup of what you’re guessing is ice water – judging by the condensation. Does she have a fridge in there? A kitchen?

You don’t have much time to try and understand the layout of the parts of her…mansion? Cave? Underwater lair? Because she’s crawling into bed beside you.

“Sit up, darling,” she waits for you to adjust yourself, laying against the headboard with one pillow at the base of your spine. “Can’t have you becoming dehydrated, now can we?”

You take the mug from her, clutching it with both hands as she nudges your legs apart. Quietly, you sip at the cold water as she wipes down your center. The cloth is soft, softer than imagined any washcloth could be. It rubs against the most sensitive part of you and has you gasping ever-so-slightly.

“I know, my darling” Peggy coos. “I know, don’t worry, it’ll be over soon. I promise.”

It’s hard not to just whine the whole time, whimpering as she cleans you and wipes the sweat from your brow.  She stops, eventually, when she decides there’s nothing else left to cleanse from you. When the washcloth is discarded into the dirty laundry bin and the empty mug is placed on the nightstand, she crawls into bed right beside you.

It’s easy to fall asleep against her, with her steady heartbeat and soft breasts. She holds you, too, wraps her arms around you presses kisses to the top of your head every so often. You haven’t been this comfortable in…truly, you can’t remember the last time sleep didn’t overtake you like a tsunami, instead of this slow, gradual pace that has your eyelids feeling heavy in a way that doesn’t make you want to cry. Is this how everyone else has been sleeping? Is this why the rest of world talks about how much they love naps and sleeping and going to bed?

You cling to Peggy, thumbing at the silky fabric of her nightgown and burrowing into her chest. She laughs lightly, in that beautiful way, as she pulls the heavy comforter over you and kisses the top of your head. “Go to sleep, darling. We have a lot to go over tomorrow, but for now, just go to sleep.”

It’s hard not to with her assurance, beautiful unconsciousness waving over you slowly but surely. It’s then that you hear is the sound of the door opening, and Peggy readjusting.

A whine rises high in your throat at being jostled, and she immediately goes to calm you. “Sh, my darling, don’t worry. It’s just my new butler bringing me the tea I asked for earlier. I wanted to test his timing.”

You hmphf, moving ever so slightly until you’re nice and comfortable again. The last thing you hear is the distinct sound of Knox’s collar jingling back and forth as if he’s being pet.

#peggy carter x reader #peggy carter #peggy carter fanfic #peggy carter fan fic #lukis writes stuff #lukis does commissions

[doll-elvis]

Do you consider the memphis mafia trustworthy sources on Elvis? Idk if I always believe some of the stuff they’ve said about elvis

thank you so much for this ask!! I have way too much to say about this topic, therefore I apologize in advance for how long this is 🤧

firstly I think it’s important to clarify who the Memphis Mafia actually consisted of: based on what they themselves have said, it was Red West, Sonny West, Alan Fortas, Marty Lacker, Lamar Fike, and Billy Smith

I was confused why people like Jerry Schilling, Charlie Hodge, Joe Esposito, Larry Geller, George Klein, etc. etc. weren’t technically considered Memphis Mafia until I learned that Elvis’ entourage were categorized into two groups, the Memphis Mafia, and the others

I also really recommend for every fan to read Alanna Nash’s “Elvis and the Memphis Mafia” which is just an oral history from Billy Smith, Marty Lacker, and Lamar Fike

and then to watch the documentary, it is 5 hours but it’s so worth it, I’ve literally rewatched it at least 8 times at this point because it’s my favorite Elvis documentary 😩!!

I also want to say if you are going to read from one of them, you should try to read from all of them because they all have their own unique experience with Elvis and therefore all have their own viewpoints/opinions and biases *which is why it’s important to cross reference between them

For example in the Alanna Nash book there are several instances where Lamar Fike, Marty Lacker and Billy Smith all have a different opinion on something and you basically have to decide for yourself which one you agree with

I’m just going to be breaking down each Memphis Mafia member, as I’ve been fortunate enough to read each of their books, and say if I think they are trustworthy sources:

Lamar Fike: Personally, I think he is one of Memphis Mafia members that you really have to be cautious about. If y’all didn’t know he was Albert Goldman’s main source for that horrible book, “Elvis”. In Alanna Nash’s book, Lamar Fike spends a good majority of the time disagreeing with everything Goldman wrote, and said that Goldman would twist his words and retell things to fit his own agenda. He said “even though I was one of his main sources, and shared in the royalties, I couldn’t control Albert”. He admitted he did the book for money which is why I lost respect for Lamar because he knew that Albert was saying things that weren’t true and that the book’s main purpose was to make Elvis look bad. I would also be cautious of Lamar because he tends to twist reality just a little bit and over exaggerate things. For example whenever he tells the story of Elvis and Priscilla meeting, he always says that it was he who introduced them “Elvis this is Priscilla, Priscilla this Elvis”. But no one else who was in the room has told it that way, Lamar just inserted himself into the scene (he also once said she was 13 when we obviously know she was 14). So yeah I would really recommend to cross reference everything Lamar says before believing it. He just tells things in a really blunt (and lowkey funny💀) way, which makes it interesting insight, but from what I have also seen he is more than willing to exaggerate things just to be able to tell a “better” story

Marty Lacker: I really really enjoy reading his viewpoint and his book is one of my favorites out of the bunch however I think he too often lets his own biases affect his story telling. This man really really really hated Priscilla 😭 So much so that every time he talked about her it was in a negative light. I’m not saying Priscilla is perfect, she has done many things I don’t agree with, however, none of these men knew what it was like to be in her shoes so I’m just wary of them placing so much blame on her when she was so young, and I find that Marty can be a little unsympathetic in that regard (but again I’m not saying that Priscilla hasn’t done things that deserve criticism). Also Marty Lacker wasn’t around in the late late 70s so I would just be cautious of anything he says about that time because he simply wasn’t there to know. But in general, beside his obvious biases, I would say he is a trustworthy source

Alan Fortas: He was the first Memphis Mafia member to pass away in 1992, we sadly didn’t get to hear too much from him, but I’m very grateful to have his book. Since he wasn’t around much in the late 60s and not at all in the 70s, his best stories come from the 50s and early-mid 60s. He provides a really unique insight especially when it comes to Priscilla and Elvis because he was more or less her chauffeur when she first came to the United States. He also knew Frances Forbes, Gloria Mowell, Heidi Heissen and Arlene Cogan and spends a decent chunk of his book talking about them. I can’t say it is in a way that looks good for Elvis because Alan really disagreed with those relationships, even though he said he knew nothing s*xual was going on, he genuinely couldn’t fathom why Elvis, who could have any woman he wanted, wanted to spend time with teenage girls, including Priscilla. But nothing in his book I found to be untrue and everything he says corresponds with what other has said, plus he has some really great stories about the movie-making times and his beloved chimpanzee, Scatter (I know it was Elvis’ technically but Alan was his real mom lmao) but I overall trust him as well

Red and Sonny West: I’m about to get controversial; I think these are two men, that as Elvis fans, we have been a little too critical of. It’s not fair to completely write off their experiences with Elvis just because of the book they did, which in retrospect, doesn’t say anything different from what the other Memphis Mafia men have said, it was just horribly timed. But I do want to clarify that I don’t support their decision on writing “Elvis: What happened” in 1977 and at the end of the day I will always support Elvis over anybody else. As for their credibility, Red West has one of the most important perspectives imo because he was literally the first Memphis Mafia member. He was with Elvis in highschool, in Germany, during the movies, during the comeback special, during Vegas, during the American tours, he only wasn’t there for the very last year of Elvis’ life. Unlike some of the other men here, he never stopped being with Elvis, except for of course the end. I have read the book he did in 1977 and I have watched tons of his interviews and I’ve personally never come across a story that wasn’t told/referenced by another Memphis Mafia member. I do think he is trustworthy in that sense but I think he has gotten very defensive in the past and is willing to throw Elvis under the bus in order to protect his image. I feel like it is the same thing with Sonny West. These men felt betrayed by Elvis, they got fired, and they both definitely harbored vengeful feelings for a while so you have to take that into account when listening to their stories. For example when they talked about how Elvis hired h00kers in the 1977 book they didn’t mention that they were also cheating on their wives and actually slept with the hired girls while Elvis only wanted to watch the girls simulate lesbian s*x. In that book especially, they often conveniently left out that they indulged in the same kind of behavior Elvis did. But with age, I think they both mellowed out and ultimately realized that they betrayed Elvis also, and they have both said they have regretted the book. The documentary I linked above really helped me understand their perspective more, and while things ended badly between Elvis and them, I do think both parties still cared about each other. So while both of their perspectives are very important (and I think Red was one of Elvis’ truest friends), I wouldn’t fully trust anything they have said until I checked another source to confirm

Billy Smith: He is sadly the only Memphis mafia member still with us and he still makes videos answering questions on the YouTube channels Elvis fans matter and Memphis Mafia kid. I really do enjoy reading Billy’s perspective and he is one of the few people who were with Elvis from the very beginning (childhood) to the very end. But Billy rarely actually went on tour with Elvis and he also wasn’t around for most of the movie time, so his best stories are about his times with Elvis at Graceland imo. They had such a special relationship and I think Billy was the closest thing Elvis had to a brother (y’all have to read about the oath he and Elvis took, it almost made me cry😭). However this man, like anyone, is not without his biases. When reading the Alanna Nash book you can see that Billy’s main purpose is to protect Elvis and the Smith family so much so that I think he denies some things solely because he believes it will make his family look bad. For example when in the book they talked about how Gladys may have had some Jewish blood in her, Billy Smith who is Gladys’ nephew, just shot that down right away. I didn’t think much of it until Billy Smith later on admitted in the book he was slightly prejudiced against black people and jewish people because of how he was raised. But that book was also in the 90s and I haven’t seen him speak in the way since so hopefully he has changed. This man really hated Priscilla, and especially hated Ginger, so take into account these biases as well. For example, in the Nash book, he was dead set on saying that Ginger called the national enquirer after Elvis passed away. Many fans believe this also but there is just no proof to support it. If you are someone who hates Ginger because you believe she called the enquirer (I did too at one point), I really recommend reading this https://elvisdecoded.com/2021/03/13/the-ginger-hit-job/

Another reason to be slightly cautious of Billy Smith is that his opinions have changed so much since the Alanna Nash book 😭 Like how I said he hated Priscilla and Ginger, that seems to be no longer the case, at least on his YouTube channel. I was so surprised when he praised them both in the YouTube video “Elvis’ relationship secret”. He even said Ginger was good for Elvis and that she loved him- I was shook because he hated her in the 90s!!! But anyways-I would say he is trustworthy and he was no doubt one of the dearest people to Elvis’ heart but it’s always good to take into account biases, and cross reference everything

To wrap this up- They have all told the good, the bad and the ugly, and as fans of Elvis it can be hard to accept the “bad and ugly”(like was he sometimes completely unreasonable, demanding, and temperamental? yes! but do we still love him? yes!) These guys just have such a unique perspective and we are truly lucky that they have opened up their lives with Elvis to us, even if it is stories that we necessarily don’t want to accept. But there is not a single doubt in my mind that all these men loved Elvis, despite what some of them have done, and that Elvis loved all these men. The documentary I linked above has made me cry every time I have watched it because they all cried in it and something about grown men crying just hits me different okay 😭

also if anybody read all this kudos to you, I’m sorry for typing so much lmao 😩💗

#thank you for the ask<3!! #I need to learn how to get my point across with less words😭 #but I hope this helped!! #I would love to know what y’all think about them also #elvis presley #elvisaaronpresley #elvis #memphis mafia #Lamar fike #marty Lacker #Alan Fortas #red west #Sonny west #Billy smith #Elvis history #Elvis asks

[cinebration]

Come Back To Me (Jack Russell x Reader) [Part 2]

Your Hunters’ Guild boss sends you out on the hunt for the werewolf.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Epilogue

Tagged: @lucy-sky, @faeoftheapocalypse, @theconsultingdoctor10, @starfirette, @bitchyglitterfox, @thefandomqueenuno, @scarlettsoldier, @russell-ed, @xasement, @stand-with-cap, @marvelenthusiast10, @supermarvelgirl15, @mobiusismyfav, @killeromanoff, @hawkins-2000​

Warnings: mention of blood and gore

Gif Source: stedebonny

“I’m sending you after the thing that took out the Bloodstone hunt,” Jaeger announced.

You shifted in your chair, wincing as pain lanced through your abdomen. Gee, no “How’re you feeling?” today? “I’m not ready to go back into the field.”

“Doctor said you’re ship-shape.”

He most certainly did not. “Are you sure? Because he told me to take it easy.”

“It’s been a month and a half. All you’ve been doing is lying in bed.”

You stared at him, your expression caught between disbelief and disgust. “I’m not fully healed.”

“You don’t need to be.”

“Excuse me?”

Jaeger picked a pile of documents from his desk and dropped them onto your lap. In your mad scramble to keep them from falling, you pulled your slow-healing puncture, gasped aloud as the pain spread through you.

Jaeger returned to his seat behind the desk, unfolding his long legs before him. At six-two, the man virtually towered over most of the people you had ever seen around him. Admittedly, that wasn’t very many, but it was enough to give you the sneaking suspicion he never contracted or worked with anyone taller than him.

Brown eyes gleamed dark from underneath black eyebrows that matched his short hair. In any other context, he would have been handsome, his cheekbones chiseled and his frame lean and muscled, but the steel in his expression made him unpleasant to look at for any length of time.

“The wounds are consistent with a werewolf,” he said, gesturing to the glossy photos you were still marshalling into some order on your lap.

You glanced at the bodies captured in the harsh lighting of a lightbulb flash. Gouges from claws raked across limbs and chests, chunks of meat missing from throats, the gaping holes outlined by ragged teeth edges.

You frowned. “I thought they were hunting something else.”

“They were, but that thing escaped. They were left with a werewolf instead.”

Sorting through the photos, you counted the number of bodies, then turned to the manila folder Jaeger had also given you. A list of names told you what you needed to know.

“There’re two people missing.”

“Elsa Bloodstone,” Jaeger answered. “The Bloodstone manservant confirms that she won the hunt for the Bloodstone prize, but he seems to be hiding something.”

“And the other one?”

“Jack Russell. There isn’t much about him. All we know is that he’s responsible for over a hundred deaths.”

“And he wasn’t among the bodies,” you muttered to yourself, your gaze shifting back to the glossy photos of carnage.

“Man knows when to save his own hide, looks like.”

Against your better judgment, you were intrigued by the problem. How a werewolf had entered the premises was curious, as was the fact the original monster intended for hunting had escaped. You glanced at the date stamped on the back of the photographs, frowned.

“That wasn’t a full moon.”

“What?”

“The massacre happened a few days before the full moon. The werewolf shouldn’t have been there.”

Jaeger shrugged. “Maybe it’s something new, then. Whatever it is, there’s a bounty out for it.”

You jerked your attention back to him. “A bounty? By who?”

“The Hunters’ Guild. It massacred some of our best.” Jaeger shook his head, rose from his seat to lean over the desk. “You won’t be the only one looking for it, but you’ll be the one to bag it.”

His tone brooked no argument.

~~

There was no point speaking to Elsa Bloodstone. The daughter of Ulysses Bloodstone had all but made her position officially known on anything related to her family. That she had been at the hunt at all was a huge surprise, one that itched under your skin with hundreds of questions. Given that the heir had walked away with the Bloodstone itself, it wouldn’t surprise you if it had been some kind of “birthright” thing to show back up after all these years.

Regardless, you had no intention of confronting her. Her thorny personality was well-known and not something you were up to facing in your weakened state.

The next full moon wasn’t for another seven days, so you had time to figure out if you needed to talk to her at all. By then, you hoped, you would have regained some more strength and energy.

You focused your efforts on tracking down Jack Russell instead. The file folder on him had been unusually thin and lacked even a photograph. A free agent, then, not a member of the Guild.

Not that you were one, but you did work for one, so that made your position a bit strange.

Russell wasn’t that hard to find in the end, however. You called up the car service that the Bloodstone family had sent out to retrieve each of the invitees and sussed out the man who had driven the hunter to the mansion. From there, you succeeded in eliciting the address from the man.

Russell had been picked up from outside an apartment complex catering to the middle class. The building lacked a doorman, but it did have an apartment receptionist. The woman behind the desk lifted her head and greeted you with the familiar smile of a customer-service employee.

“How may I help you today?” she asked in faux chipper tones.

You smiled back, feigning hesitancy and an awkward demeanor you hoped spoke volumes. “I’m looking for someone.”

The other woman frowned.

“I’m supposed to be meeting Jack Russell,” you added hastily, your tone chagrined, “but I forgot the apartment number. I’m not even sure I’m in the right building, to be honest. But I can’t call my boss, because he’ll take one out of me, you know?”

The receptionist’s frown turned to sympathy. “What is with bosses?”

“I don’t know. It’s like they drink unhappy juice for breakfast.”

The woman laughed, nodding in agreement. “Become your own boss, honey, believe me. It’s worth it.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“Mister Russell is in room three-fifteen. He should be home.”

“Thank you so much. Do you like coffee? Or bagels and doughnuts? I should bring back something for your help.”

The woman shook her head, dark hair sweeping in front of her face. “That’s sweet, but I’m okay. Have a nice day!”

“You, too!”

You chose the elevator over the stairs, your abdomen already sore from all the walking and standing. The car rose to the third floor. You stepped onto modest-quality carpet that could use replacing in some spots.

Scanning the doors, you found the right direction and headed for 315. It sat buttressed against the end of the hallway, directly across from the stairwell.

Figures.

Squaring your shoulders and waiting for the twinge of pain in response to pass, you knocked firmly on the apartment door. Light footsteps sounded behind it, drawing near. A lock disengaged, and the door swung open.

“Mister Russell, I…” You froze, the words dying in your throat.

Jack recognized you immediately, his face lighting up with surprise and delight. “You’re alive!”

#Jack Russell x Reader #Jack Russell #Jack Russell imagine #Gael Garcia Bernal x Reader #Gael Garcia Bernal #Gael Garcia Bernal imagine #Gael Garcia-Bernal x Reader #Gael Garcia-Bernal #Gael Garcia-Bernal imagine #Werewolf by Night #Marvel #MCU

[enwonz]

kingmaker | p.sh

masterlist | next

CHAPTER I

As an assassin working for the Hwangs, you have proven your loyalty to your benefactors for more than a decade. But when Lady Hwang's plans for a rebellion land you in a bride selection for the Crown Prince, you find yourself at a loss. Unfamiliar with the ways of the gentry, your reliance on a previously unknown informant is your only source of hope. And yet, you learn very quickly that no one in high society can be trusted, including yourself. Because who else but you is there to assassinate the King?

WARNING: please do check the masterlist for potential triggers/themes you feel uncomfortable with! this chapter contains graphic depictions of blood, as well as a fairly unhealthy dynamic resembling slavery between reader and another character (for the purpose of historical accuracy and plot).

Completing a job isn’t the hard part, it’s the report you have to give afterwards.

You stand at attention, your back ramrod straight, sword sheathed to the hilt, barely concealing the fresh blood it is stained with. A single lit wax candle rests on your lady’s desk, its haunting glow the only source of light in a room darkened by night. The moon does not shine tonight – perfect conditions for a job as messy as yours.

The fewer eyes, the better.

After what feels like hours of waiting, your lady finally lifts her gaze from her papers. Everything about Lady Hwang is regal: her elegant posture, her fine hands that gracefully dip her quill in the inkpot, even the way she schools her expression to be one that is cold and calculating. She looks every part the head of the household she is meant to be, such that it is hard to believe she is only a few years older than yourself.

“My lady, I bear the report of my task.” You bow deeply, as is expected of you. As it always has.

Lady Hwang waves her hand noncommittally, and you take it as your invitation to speak. “The target has been eliminated.”

“The eyewitnesses?” Her voice is soft, but you know better than to underestimate the attention she’s paying to you. It is a dangerous game, to work for Hwang Yeji. One wrong move and you could lose your head.

“All taken care of effectively.”

“Hm, as always. Keep up the good work. You may leave to freshen up.”

You bow once more before taking your leave. As you exit her office, Lord Hwang enters in a whirlwind of papers. “Sister, the informant’s report has arrived.” In his frenzy, he doesn’t even notice your presence, throwing an envelope on her desk.

Yeji barely looks up from her work as she speaks. “If it’s another description of the stagnant political climate, I will cut off that fool’s hand myself.”

“No, this time it’s important. More important than whatever you’re doing at the moment. Spare it a glance, I implore you.”

As you turn the doorknob, you hear the rustling of paper. Any letter from the informant is always opened with haste, but in recent weeks their reports have become too quiet. Too consistent for your masters’ liking.

You, of course, have no idea of the informant’s identity, and you suspect your masters don’t know either. All you know is that whoever they are, they’ve been feeding your side information from within the highest circles of society. A high-standing member of the gentry, at the very least. It is rare for someone of such a standing to align themselves with a cause such as that of your masters’, and yet…

Your thoughts are interrupted by a quiet inhale from Yeji, the contemplative tapping of her pen breaking the silence. You swear you can almost feel Hyunjin’s anxiousness radiating off him and permeating the whole room. 

“This…this is groundbreaking,” Yeji whispers, a cautious hope evident in her voice. Rarely is she so pleased. It must be a very good piece of information, then. You turn away from the door. “My lady, shall I prepare for my next task immediately?”

Wordlessly, she scans your figure with little to no subtlety. There is a strange light in her eyes, one that wasn’t there before. It’s the same odd look she has when she’s crafted you a perfect plan, and you can almost see the cogs in her mind whirring away. “It would be best if we gave you a thorough bath. Hair oils, essences for the skin…” Yeji snaps her fingers, and a servant rushes in. “Prepare a bath for Y/n just as you would for me. Skin, nails, hair, everything has to be done. Cover every blemish, I won’t allow for anything but a fair complexion. Oh, and send for the dressmaker as soon as you can.”

You falter in your steps. “M-my lady? Is everything alright?”

“Oh, nothing. Take a good rest, you’ll need it.” Yeji waves you all away, and the servant ushers you into a private room. 

This isn’t the first time Lady Hwang’s kept you out of the loop. More often than not, preparations begin for your next task before you even realise it’s for your next task. You’re not sure if it’s because her brain simply works too fast for anyone else to comprehend, or if she enjoys making people think the latter. 

Either way, an order is an order. Who are you to disobey?

The scent of a creamy lather of soap lingers on your skin as you make your way back to Lady Hwang’s study. With the crusted blood in your fingernails and hair removed, and an array of unknown fragrances and oils rubbed into your body, you feel almost transformed. The servant even pinned your hair up into an elaborate hairstyle, as per Lady Hwang’s instructions. Only your clothing remains the servants’ garb you wear every day. The amount of careful detail to your appearance is similar to what they usually have for a noble lady, and it makes you glow as though you were truly a member of the gentry. A far cry from reality, quite obviously.

You knock twice on the door. Unsurprisingly, the door is left slightly ajar, and you push it open. The orange glow of early dawn trickles in through the large windows, bathing your mistress’ figure in faint sunlight. She looks…ethereal. As expected, a single night’s worth of washing and scrubbing can’t turn you into a noble lady who’s spent her whole life bathing in goat’s milk and whatnot. 

Yeji steps towards you, the ruffles of her rich purple gown fluttering as she walks. Every foot forward seems perfectly calibrated. As though she is the one in control, and always has been. She gestures towards a delicate periwinkle dress draped over the sofa. It’s exquisite, with shimmering crystals sewn into the fabric, and a translucent layer on the outside that resembles a butterfly’s gossamer wings when it catches the light. Elegant, sweet, resplendent. None of which suit you.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Try it on.” Her tone is almost incredulous. As if you would have any reservations about putting on a gown so bombastically opulent for someone of your stature. Hilarious, isn’t it?

Still, you make quick work of your clothing, sliding the gown over your head with as much care as your calloused hands can manage. The dress fits perfectly, and in the glass window you catch a small glimpse of yourself. It’s gorgeous. You look gorgeous. 

It’s uncanny.

Yeji nods, assessing your appearance with more scrutiny than expected. “Excellent. My judgement was correct.” She takes out a diamond-encrusted brooch to match, fastening it into the fabric. “This is your new assignment. The Crown Prince is holding a bride selection, to choose his Crown Princess…and future bride.” She hands you a sheet of parchment, with a long list of names. It has both hers and her brothers’ names, as well as their parents’, and every known ancestor. And beside Hyunjin’s name is your own, written in beautiful script. The Hwang family seal is on the corner of the page, telling you everything you need to know.

“Your Grace, what…what is this?” you barely manage to stammer out. “Why am I listed as a member of your family?”

Yeji laughs, arms crossed as she smirks to herself. “Becoming the head of the household was no easy feat, but now that I can do such things with ease, it was indeed worth it. This will allow you to enter the selection as a noble lady of the Hwangs. Genius, aren’t I?”

The parchment feels cold in your hands. “My Lady? I’m afraid I do not understand.”

“Don’t you? You will slip into the palace as a bridal candidate, then assassinate the king when you get the chance. If the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, his son won’t be pleasant to deal with either. Feel free to make him collateral damage, if necessary.”

This is the true nature of your job, and your mistress’ ultimate goal. For years, the king’s tyranny has governed your kingdom, drafting soldiers into pointless wars, dragging fathers and sons into battle. Few returned, even fewer made it out in one piece. Yeji and Hyunjin’s father died this way, and their mother had lost her life to heartbreak soon after. Meanwhile, the king gorged himself on the spoils of battles not his own, hosting revels and balls with renewed vigour each time. And if the rumours were not without truth, his eldest son Jay was no different.

But assassinate the king and his offspring? In front of numerous bride-to-bes and the whole of the palace guard? Not only would it be the hardest mission to date, but also…a suicide mission. Your mistress is essentially sending you to your grave.

You clench your fist, nails biting into the flesh of your palm as you try to bite back your protests. It would do you no good to go against Lady Hwang. And yet, your traitorous little heart hopes for her to spare you the dishonour of dying at the hands of the king’s men.

Seemingly sensing this, Yeji sighs, her hands coming to cup your chin as she lifts your gaze away from the ground to her. “Y/N, many years have passed since our first fateful encounter. I’ve given you so much since then. Don’t you agree?”

There she is, the Hwang Yeji you’ve come to know in the past 13 years. An eternally infallible, mortal devil. A schemer, born with power, learned in knowing exactly what to say and do. When someone like her is dealt an unfair hand in life, the thirst for vengeance only grows, and you know for a fact that she would do just about anything for a taste of what she’s owed. So of course her mercy came at a price all those years ago. Till now, you can only imagine what it would mean to repay her. Gratitude is no simple business, not in a line of work like yours.

You swallow the building lump in your throat and drop on one knee, ignoring the way the fabric of your dress strains as you bend your head towards Hwang Yeji. Your mistress, your benefactor. Your saviour.  

“Anything for you, My Lady. My heart and body is yours to control.”

Her eyes flash, like a cat’s in the dark. “Then prove it.”

a/n: chapter one!!! yay!!!!! idk who made it this far, but congrats if ur here! taglist is still open, so if u enjoyed this and wanna read more, js go to my asks! until next week!

#enhypen #enhypen sunghoon #park sunghoon #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon x y/n #sunghoon x you #enhypen jay #sunghoon fanfic #sunghoon fanfiction #enhypen niki #park jongseong #enhypen historical au #enhypen royalty au #itzy yeji #itzy #skz #skz hyunjin

[absolutebl]

what is your top 5 love confessions in bl?

imma do top 10 because all my lists are top 10 and TRADITION demands consistency 

My Top 10 BL Love Confessions

*0. Togawa’s can’t hold it in any longer in Old Fashion Cupcake has now scooped to top spot. Look, it’s just brilliant and you know me, I love a desperate emotional kiss. It just works for me the most. The want and thirst dripping off of Togawa this whole show culminates perfectly in this scene, and the way Nozue can’t help but respond, but is also so confused. GAH SO GOOD. 

1. ShinWoo’s “thinking about you” confession in Light On Me. I’m on record that this is my favorite and it still sort of is. I just LOVE the quiet earnest high school cheese of it so much. Because it’s not about ShinWoo wanting anything for himself, it’s about what he could do and give to TaeKyung, acknowledged or not. 

2. Yuzuru running the clock down on those Seven Days so he can ask Seiryo to be his boyfriend outside of the “game” because he’s too scared about the dishonesty that the game implies (since he is a character driven by brutal honesty). You knew this one was coming. This is me, after all. 

3. “You’re the lucky one, you always have been,” to baby (is not asleep, he’s NEVER actually asleep) in We Best Love. (And of course the desperate drunken kisses in WBL2, but I don’t think that strictly counts as a confession scene, more a reunion confession scene?) 

4. Utsukushii Kare: Kiyoi’s yell it at that idiot, and then storm off version. Because it’s about being seen as a real living human with needs and not just a god on a pedestal. And then the way he has to articulate this later for Hira to finally realize his own worth and right to actually be Kiyoi’s boyfriend. 

5. A First Love Story (where did the kimchi go?) in the street “I like you, hyung.” 

6. Semantic Error’s seme subscription service. Technically the confession (or demand in JaeYeong’s case) comes just after the kiss in the scene prior: “We like each other, why can’t we just date?” But the whole sequence is great and such a classic example of a seme dealing with an extreme tsundere uke and trying to force a confession out of him. (Never gonna work, buddy.) 

6. SeoJoon’s “I think I actually like you” in To My Star and JiWoo’s absolute terror at this and the prospect of happiness. 

7. See You after Quarantine’s “I like you and I didn’t mean to hang up it was just a power outage and please don’t be mad” adorable awkwardness. 

8. The locker room scene in Love By Chance. THE LOCKER ROOM SCENE... ICONIC! The car first kiss “I think I like you more than a friend” is probubly Ae’s first confession but I like the one where he’s like “no, actually, I really do want to date you and fuck you so just PLEASE just be my boyfriend.” The desperation in it is so telling. 

9. " I love you so damn much” in Puppy Honey 2. Old guard here, but sometimes they just did it best, tsundere seme bringing the drama. 

10. Until We Meet Again: “Do you understand?” “I understand that we love each other.” 

Others I like

Pete in Kiss, “I broke up with her because I like you,” plus Kao’s response “yeah, fat chance, I don’t trust your player ass.” Fair, dude. Fair. 

Grabbing his face “It’s you Tine, I like you” from Wat in 2gether. 

Forth to Beam, “shall we try being boyfriends?” in the hospital bed in 2 Moons 2. Similarly Ming’s “You’re my earth” very poetic confession to Kit kneeling in bed together. 

Addicted’s kidnapping OBEY sweatshirt in leu of a confession, just trash terrible and dumb and great. 

I was reminded of Type’s “I love you, asshole Tharn” in Tharntype. It is a good one. 

Mark’s drive by “I like you” smooch and then later “meet my friends as my boyfriend” in Love is Science? 

Okay that’s it! What are some of yours? 

(source)

#confession scenes #top confession scenes #best confessions #best love confessions #confessions in BL #Taiwanese BL #Love is Science? #addicted heroin #addicted the series #chinese bl #2 Moons 2 #Thai BL #2gether #PeteKao #Until We Meet Again #deampharm #Puppy Honey #pickrome #Love By Chance #aepete #See You after Quarantine #To My Star #korean bl #Semantic Error #A First Love Story #Strongberry #Utsukushii Kare #My Beautiful Man #japanese bl #adapted from a manga

[hazard-symbols-that-fuck-hard]

SEXY SIGN ALERT

This beauty’s full legal name is the NFPA 704: Standard System for the Identification of the Hazards of Materials for Emergency Response, but most people like to call her by cute pet names like “Fire Diamond”, “Safety Square”, or “Sweetcheeks”.

Signs that consist of only numbers usually don’t make it on here, but mmm~ this babe’s different.

Have a nude, too. My treat.

🤤

She was born to the Charlotte Fire Department (who is a total MILF, if you ask me) on a sunny day in 1960, on which three angels descended directly from heaven to bless her with ultimate utility (and hotness).

You see, unlike most hazard signs, NFPA 704 doesn’t communicate just one danger. She tells you about FOUR. And she gives you the intensity of those dangers.

You see, every smaller square communicates a different danger.

Now, every space is equally easy on the eyes, so I think each deserves a section of its own.

RED

Red communicates the flammability of a given material, and damn is she smokin’!

The higher the number, the more flammable the material:

0: You would have to REALLY try to set this thing on fire. Like, you’d either have to be a chemist, or a major dumbass.

1: This could possibly light up, but it’d be pretty hard to actually get it to go up in flames.

2: If you put a fire up against it, it’ll probably catch on fire. But it’s not gonna ignite on its own.

3: Take the cigarette out of your mouth and use extreme caution

4: Ignites at room temperature or lower. Get the fuck out of there.

YELLOW

Yellow, in my opinion, is the most difficult to grasp. She’s seductive and fleeting. But if you take the time to get to know her, you can understand her.

Yellow communicates the chemical reactivity of a material.

0: Solid as a rock, baby. If you like her, put a ring on it, ‘cause she’s never gonna change.

1: She can get angry and reactive, but you’re gonna need a lot of heat/pressure!

2: Crazy bitch at elevated temperatures and pressures, but otherwise pretty cute

3: She needs a strong initiating source, but when she blows, she blows.

4: Will explode under normal conditions. Don’t even think about touching her!

BLUE

Blue is for health hazards. Might wanna keep some of these relationships short-term.

0: Touch it, lick it, stick it up your ass… You’ll probably be fine.

1: This one might sting! But irritation is the worst it’s gonna do to you.

2: Intense or prolonged exposure may cause temporary incapacitation or permanent small injury.

3: Short exposure could leave you seriously injured and/or moderately disabled for life.

4: If you’re close enough to read the sign, you’re already dead. Or left with a serious lifelong disability.

WHITE

Free space! White is for other hazards, and contains a symbol rather than a number.

She only has three authorized symbols, but that doesn’t stop some people from getting creative.

STANDARD SYMBOLS:

OX: Oxidizer - can burn without a supply of oxygen

W: Reacts with water in a dangerous or unusual manner

SA: It’s technically safe to breathe, but it’s also… not air. You can suffocate if you breathe it instead of air. Because it’s not air.

COMMON NONSTANDARD SYMBOLS:

COR: Corrosive

ACID: Acid

ALK: Alkaline

BIO/☣️: Biological hazard

POI: Poisonous

RA/RAD/☢️: Radioactive

CRY/CRYO: Cryogenic

The NFPA 704 gives clarity and efficiency to emergency responders.

And I’d definitely give it a good fuck in my condo. Just sayin’.

[help-itrappedmyself]

BNHA snippets

Kei doesn’t know where she is, but she never really does so she isn't concerned. What she does know is how to get back to the abandoned building she has been sleeping in. Kei is on her way there now, after having a full day of running around, trying her best to get some food and having to run away from adults a few times. Kei did manage to get food, though, which makes them very self-satisfied. She managed to find an unopened bag of chips, some bread in a bakery dumpster, and some nice woman gave them a protein bar. Should be enough even if she can’t get any food tomorrow, but she will still try of course. There’s no taking a break when your life depends on it.

Kei turns into an alley between two apartment complexes as she thinks of where she could go tomorrow. The bakery- the most consistent source of food with all the leftovers thrown away at the end of the day- will be closed, so she has to try some new locations.

A noise breaks her from her thoughts. It’s dark in the alley, all the apartment lights are off because people have gone to sleep. So Kei can’t see what made the noise, but she hears it again, a quiet shuffling.

“Is anyone there?” Kei calls out. The only response is a whimper. Kei moves towards it and finds someone curled into a ball.

“Are you okay?” Kei kneels down next to the ball, who looks up at them in question. He has anger in his eyes, but Kei’s attention is turned toward the muzzle covering his mouth and nose. 

“That’s horrible.” Kei gasps out. She starts to reach out towards the boy, but thinks better of it first.” Um, can I get that off of you?” After glaring at her for a while, the boy nods. Kei looks over it and finds the latch is on the back of his head, but when she goes to take it off she finds that it’s locked. “You don’t happen to have a key on you?” They boy glares at her like she’s an idiot. “Okay, but without a key I’m going to have to cut it off of you. I have a pocket knife. It’s not sharp which means if I poke you by accident you’ll be fine, but also means it might take a while to cut  through the strap.” Kei digs in her bag and pulls out a very old pocket knife that has rust on it in some places. It isn’t the best but she gets to work quickly. 

A while later Kei finally gets the muzzle off of the boy. His face is bleeding a bit, the cuts irritated by the tugging while cutting it off, but it isn’t bad. 

“What’s your name?” Kei asks, throwing the muzzle down the alley and standing up.

“Shinsou Hitoshi.” The boy stands up as well. “Thank you for helping me.”

“You can call me Kei. Who put that on you?”

“Foster parents. They didn’t like me much.”

Kei gives the boy a long considering look. “Well I’m staying in this old restaurant that got closed because some villains crashed through the front. If you want you can stay with me for a while. The back office is still closed off so it’s warm and no one can see you.”

#my writing #fanfiction #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #shinsou hitoshi #trigger warning child abuse and muzzles #child shinsou hitoshi #original character #Kei is an OC #do not expect to know who she is

[isfjmel-phleg]

Constellation of Six [Revised]

The December Josiah turned seven, his brother Mikaiah was born, his mother died, and a new companion named Tamett came to live in the royal household. But let’s flash back to late summer before all that, when the family dynamic was rather different, when six-and-a-half-year-old Josiah had other concerns on his mind…

The intended point of this story was to offer insight into why Josiah is the way he is. This isn't his complete origin story, but a glimpse into what he has since lost. We see his relationship with his family (especially with his beloved mother), how Nyella and Odren parented him, the beginnings of traits that would become more ingrained as he gets older, the source of habits of behavior and thought still present later. The relationships among the rest of the family are also important and should explain the dynamics we see in Books 2 and 3.

I've made some modifications from the previous version. These include:

using "Josiah" instead of "Josia" for clarity and consistency (I didn't want to use Liennese spellings for every name--Ayra would be spelled "Era," for instance)

adjustments to wording

expanded passages of dialogue

clearer indications that Nyella is already pregnant with Mikaiah

additional passages of Josiah's inner monologue

So here's the revision! How does (or doesn't) it work for you? How can I make it better?

Josiah hazarded one foot out of bed, certain the very furniture could hear the floor as it creaked beneath him. By daylight, the chairs, cupboards, and tables of his nursery were a solid, comforting presence, but now, utter darkness had transformed them into vague shapes impossible to rely on. Josiah hated nighttime. Nothing stayed the same. Never had he been more betrayed by his world than tonight.

Which was why he needed to be his very bravest and venture out into the corridor. He wiped his face with his sleeve, set his jaw, and stumbled across the room, trying his best to tiptoe. The crunch of the carpet with each step made him shudder. At last he found the doorknob—or rather, it found his face—and slipped out.

He had never been in the corridor by himself in the dark before, and he expected further unknown terrors. But a few dimmed lights shone high on the walls, reminding him why he needed to continue. If anyone caught him, he might get sent back to bed—and he couldn’t sleep in that nursery without a light, he just couldn’t! 

So he ran—ran as he never had before, as if he had never been forbidden to run indoors, as if all the creatures of the night were at his back. Perhaps they were. He dared not look over his shoulder.

Nor did he slow down once he reached the stairs. He remembered to safely hold the rail, but he went bumping dangerously down each step until he burst out downstairs. 

He didn’t need to count the doors. Even in his sleep his feet would have remembered the exact one he needed. It was open a crack, as if he were expected, and he let himself in. The empty room at first sent the beginnings of a sob through him, until he saw the open door to the balcony.

There sat Mama, her eye to one of her long telescopes in its three-legged stand and her hand rapidly writing or sketching something. Josiah flung himself at her, buried his face in the soft white ruffles of her loose gown, and broke down immediately.

At once, her arms were around him. “Yozi? What’s wrong? What are you doing up?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” he choked out. “My nightlight isn’t lighted.”

“Did it go out?”

“Ayra didn’t light it!” he announced with smug dissatisfaction. “She left me alone in the dark.”

“And where is she now?”

“I don’t know. She and Ateva wouldn’t let me go with them.”

“So you came here all by yourself to find me? That’s my brave boy.” She kissed his forehead. One last sob shuddered out. “Oh, no need for that. You’re here now. I think you’ll live, don’t you?”

He sniffed and nodded solemnly.

“I’ll speak to Ayra later,” she added in a very different voice. “But there’s no point in being awake and not enjoying it. Come and look with me. Let’s see some stars. Up with you. I think you can still fit.”

Josiah nestled unsteadily onto her knees. There had been less and less room for him lately in her lap, and it wasn’t the most comfortable seat, but he had no intention of budging. The dark couldn’t get him when she was there. 

“See,” said Mama, “the dark’s really nothing to be afraid of. Not when there’s a sky full of stars. You’re never alone beneath them. They make the night beautiful.” 

He had never thought of it that way before, but she was right. The summer evening warmed him through till he couldn’t tremble if he had wanted to, and the friendly lights in the sky warded off the darkness. A final trickle—the last trace of his cry—dripped from his nose. He swept it away with the back of his hand.

“Now,” said Mama, “what would you like to look at first?”

“I want to see the brothers!” he said.

“Who? Oh, the twins! I don’t think they’re out this time of year. But there are other constellations out. Do you want to see a dragon instead?”

“Dragons aren’t real.”

“No, but this is one from a story. He’s right next to a warrior who’s going to fight him.”

That sounded like a very silly story. Josiah knew all about real battles from the books in Papa’s library, and they were nothing like that. “I want to see what you’re looking at.”

She put the telescope to his eye, and he squinted at the array of twinkling lights. They seemed to be sprinkled through the sky at random. Important stars that people gazed at made pictures. He tried to imagine the lines that might connect these stars into something sensible, but all he could see was clustered meaningless dots, like an ink splatter that earned one a scolding.

“I can’t see it! There’s nothing there!” he cried. “I’m looking at the wrong ones.”

“Do you see the stars? Then you’re in the right place. That’s exactly what I’m looking at. These don’t form any particular constellation. But they’re very bright, so I’m thinking about exactly what kinds of stars they are.”

And she told him about how not all stars were the same, how they came in many colors, how some were hotter and some colder and some farther away, and how there were ladies (“and some gentlemen too,” she added) at the university right now who were thinking up new ways to put the different stars in order.

“Like your books, Yozi. You like to line them up a certain way—by title, right? But someone else, like Ateva, might arrange books by color, or size.”

“The wrong way,” he said.

“Not wrong, but different. All the astronomers have different ideas about types of stars, so they talk about it and try to figure out the best way to do it.”

“Who’s winning?”

Mama laughed. “Everyone. They’ll probably use a little bit of all sorts of ideas.”

“I want to be the one to find the right way.”

“And perhaps you will someday. They can call it...the Yozi system.”

He glared at her reproachfully. “No, it’s the Prince Josiah system. Because it’s important.”

“Oh, of course, pardon me.”

“But,” he conceded, “the Prince Josiah and Mama system would be all right too.”

“After me? I’m honored.”

He returned to the eyepiece. “There are...six stars,” he announced, holding up fingers to reinforce the point. He might as well embark on his grand career at once, for Papa always said that one couldn’t begin achieving excellence too soon. 

“There are. And do you want to make up a constellation out of them?”

“Can we?”

“Of course! That’s how all constellations start.”

“But you can’t make them up. They come with the sky.”

“Perhaps this one hasn’t been discovered yet. And we’ll be the very first ones.” As he bounced with excitement, she shifted him forward a little, away from her front. “What are you going to call it?”

“Six People.”

“That sounds very...factual.”

“The dots are their heads. You can’t see the rest of them because they’re wearing black.”

“Why are they wearing black? Are they in mourning?”

“No. They just like it.”

“I see. And who are the people? Constellations need proper names.”

He counted them off. “Josiah, Mama, Papa, Ateva, Ayra, and my brother.”

She hesitated before saying brightly, “Your...imaginary brother?”

“No. The one I’m going to get.”

“Really?” She readjusted the folds of her gown. “What makes you think that?”

“I want one.” That was usually enough reason, wasn’t it?

“What if it were a sister?”

He wrinkled his nose. “No, we already have too many of those. I want someone to play with me.”

“I see. Well, let’s talk to Papa about it.”

“Talk to me about what?” The other door off the balcony opened, and Papa emerged from his private study in his shirtsleeves, wearing his spectacles and clutching a bundle of papers. His tie was missing. “Josiah,” he said, “what are you doing up? You need your rest, and you shouldn’t bother your mother.”

Josiah shrank back. “I didn’t mean to bother her.”

He started to slide off her knees, but Mama held him back. “He wanted to stargaze with me tonight. He’s like me, can’t sleep when the heavens are so beautiful.”

The conversation, once Papa bent to kiss her and murmur something in her ear, ceased to interest Josiah. Finally Papa patted his shoulder and said, “Don’t stay out too late then,” and Josiah knew he could stay as long as he liked.

“This young man,” said Mama, “would like a brother.” She paused, as if she had just made a joke. Josiah didn’t know why. There was nothing funny about his urgent need.

“Well, if our clever little plan works out…” said Papa, bending down to put a long arm around her waist and whisper in her ear again. Mama turned pink and smiled.

“I was thinking that we might try finding him a friend. Someone his age to keep him company. He’ll be starting with the new tutors soon, and there’ll be no one else in the schoolroom. Perhaps not for several years,” she added quickly, glancing down at the studiously listening Josiah.

“We can’t bring in just anyone, though. There are so few who would make a suitable companion for the Hope of Lienne. Did you have anyone in mind?”

“Not off the top of my head, but I hardly know anyone’s children here.”

“I do,” said Papa grimly. “And I envy you. We can’t afford to let in any bad influences, especially at this stage. I’m sorry, Josiah, but you do perfectly well on your own, don’t you? You don’t need anyone to do lessons with. No one would be able to keep up with you anyway.”

Josiah put out his lip. “I want a brother,” he said in a dangerously petulant tone, prepared to explain more emphatically if they still didn’t understand.

“Prince Josiah,” began Papa sternly, but instead of scolding, he checked his pocket watch and turned back toward his study, saying, “Nyella, would you talk sense to him?”

“Odren? Where are you going?” said Mama.

He held up his papers. “Business, darling. You’ll have to excuse me.”

“Oh, that can wait. You’ve been at it all night. You’ve earned a rest. Shall we ring for chocolate and make a regular gazing party of it? We can talk about this another day.” She laid a long-fingered, soothing hand on Josiah’s and squeezed it, as if wringing out his temper. He remembered to take a slow breath and blow the last of it away. There was no need to be angry. Mama understood, and she would see to it that he got what he wanted.

“Tempting, darling, but—” Papa hesitated. “Wait for me?”

“You have exactly...” She fished out her watch brooch from among the ruffles. “Forty-three minutes before the invitation expires.”

Papa’s eyes glinted at the challenge. “Thirty-five at least, see if I don’t.”

“Do it in thirty and I’ll…” She stopped herself. “Well...you’ll be glad you did.”

Once he had dashed away, Mama rang for the chocolate and some biscuits. “No sense in making you wait for it, Yozi,” she said. “I get cross when I haven’t had my chocolate either. Oh,” she said to her maid, “if you see the princesses, send them in please. I want to speak to them.”

Ayra came shuffling in shortly afterward, hands in her pockets, with Ateva in her wake, forehead furrowed, babbling a flow of garbled apologies. Mama nudged Josiah off her knees and pushed herself up slowly by the arms of her chair to look down at the girls from her full height. She was only a few inches shorter than Papa (who went on for miles), and next to her Josiah’s elder sisters looked as insignificant as they really were.

“I understand,” said Mama in her sweetest tones, “that you thought it was a fine idea to leave your little brother alone in a dark room. Would you care to tell me more about this, ladies?”

“I’m so sorry!” cried Ateva. “We didn’t mean to, only we were in such a hurry and your brothers were waiting and I really didn’t want to leave him like that but—”

“I have no doubt it wasn’t your idea, Ateva, but then,” said Mama, crossing her arms, “you were not the one asked to see that he was put to bed.” She turned to Ayra.

Ayra met her gaze sullenly. “I wasn’t the one engaged as his nursemaid either.”

“I’m sorry that one task was too much to ask on a night when his nurse is off and I had an important meeting.” 

“Must have been rather a short important meeting. If you have time for this.” Ayra raised her eyebrows at the telescope.

“What I do with my own leisure time is none of your business, young lady. And I was unaware that your timetable was so full.”

“It was, in fact. Full of entertaining your brothers. But I did put him to bed, no thanks to them, so I don’t see what the problem is.”

“You neglected his nightlight. And goodness knows what else.”

“I forgot. It was an honest mistake. And if he needs it so badly, he can light it himself.”

“I’m not allowed to play with fire,” said Josiah virtuously.

“You’re also not allowed to stay up past your bedtime fooling around with your uncles.”

He was almost certain Ayra had made up that rule. Only Mama and Papa could tell him what to do, so he needn’t listen to her.

“Your brother,” said Mama, “is six years old. You were the one given a responsibility. He needs your help, and you left him alone in the dark to cry. I hope that’s not how you plan to treat your own children someday.”

Ateva gave Ayra a pointed look, but Ayra said nothing. 

“Show her the watch,” said Ateva. “Show her.”

Ayra fished a reluctant hand out of her pocket and uncurled her scratched fingers to reveal a mound of pocket watch insides and shards of glass amid the wreckage of their former home.

Once when Josiah had been taken for a walk in the royal park, he had nearly stepped on a bird that some cat had left in the path, with all its feathers and bits strewn about. He couldn’t look at it without feeling sick, and the sensation returned at the sight of the once-beautiful watch. Its polished gold was engraved with delicate curling designs on both sides around an ornate O and an inscription inside that Josiah hadn’t been able to read since it was in Faysmondian. Besides, the watch hadn’t been in his hand long enough.

“Josiah broke it,” said Ateva. “He took it from Ayra when she told him to go to bed and then he dropped it on the floor. And I’m sure he probably didn’t mean to, but—it’s awfully important, it was Mama’s, and he didn’t even say he was sorry and it’s just not fair to Ayra. She wasn’t going to mention it but I thought you should know.”

Mama surveyed the damage. “Did you break it, Yozi?”

Technically, the floor had broken it. He had barely touched it. He had never expected a drop to the marble floor would so thoroughly destroy the watch. Although Mama would likely understand, Papa might not when he heard, and it might distract him from Ayra’s crimes, which were far worse and required swift justice.

So Josiah widened his eyes in shock and said, “No!”

Ateva gasped. 

Ayra clenched the ruined watch back into her fist. “Well, someone broke it, and I know I didn’t.”

“How could you?” said Ateva. “I saw it happen. Ayra’s telling the truth, Your Majesty. You have to believe her!”

Josiah pitied her. A twelve-year-old should be embarrassed to make such a dramatic spectacle of herself. He knew better, and he was only six and a half.

“Ateva,” said Mama, “I can’t blame you for trying to defend your sister. But honestly, Ayra, at your age this is ridiculous. A pity about your watch, and we can see about having it repaired, but must you blame Josiah? Surely you have more pressing concerns than making my little boy miserable?”

“You’re doing what?” thundered Papa’s voice. At the commotion, he had burst out of his study to investigate.

Ayra and Ateva, raising pleading eyes to him, both tried at once to present their side, but as Mama stepped in to explain that Ayra hadn’t been fulfilling her responsibilities, their faces fell in obvious guilt.

“Come to my study,” Papa said in a terrible voice. They trudged behind him through the door. Ateva’s hair ribbon draggled over her slumped shoulders, but Ayra’s narrow frame had stiffened to resemble a walking clothes rack. The study swallowed them up with a slam of the door.

Mama patted Josiah’s shoulder. “Your father will take care of them, don’t worry. I know you wouldn’t lie to me. Now, where were we?”

His face burned and his stomach knotted as he returned to her knees. He had lied to Mama. But if he admitted it, she wouldn’t think he was a good boy anymore. Josiah was good. He had to be. He had a perfectly good reason to lie.

And with his eye to the telescope again, the beauties of the heavens flooding his vision, and Mama’s voice surrounding him like an embrace as she told him stars’ names and how far away they lived, he soon forgot any discomfort. He nearly forgot his sisters, except when the muffled rumbles of voices drifted from the closed study. 

Once the chocolate and biscuits arrived, his attention was entirely diverted. The golden-brown biscuits were stacked double, cut in star shapes in the middle to reveal gobs of raspberry jam within. They crumbled in the mouth, smooth and buttery, answered by the tart, squashy sweetness of the berries. Through increasingly sticky fingers, he demolished three biscuits and washed them down with the chocolate. Despite the warm evening, the heat running down his throat with a stripe of cool cream refreshed him.

He paused mid-sip, surprised, when Papa brought out the girls and lined them up in front of Mama.

“What do you say?” he growled.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” recited the girls. Ateva ducked her head, but Josiah didn’t miss her red nose and eyes. Ayra’s face had gone blank, and her mouth buttoned shut as soon as the words were out.

And of course Mama graciously forgave them and favored them with a smile as she sent them back to their room without offering them any biscuits and chocolate. The girls exited as they were told, though Ateva glanced over her shoulder at the partially filled tray. Josiah consumed another biscuit with satisfaction, for, as a good child who didn’t need a scolding, he had earned it.

“Do you see what I mean, Odren?” said Mama.

“I’m sorry, love. If they ever give you any nonsense again, send them straight to me.”

“Oh, I would anyway, but I think a certain someone really could use some company his own age.”

Josiah surfaced from the chocolate glass to remind them. “What I want is a brother. Not a stranger.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” said Papa. “I’ll start investigating tomorrow. Doesn’t Böllingfurt have a son about the right age?”

“Three years older, I believe Erna said.”

Papa shook his head. “No more than a year older, if at all. I’ll ask around.” But his unfinished business demanded attention, leaving Josiah and Mama once more together at the telescope.

“Yozi,” she said, “if you were to have a brother, or a sister—if—I can’t promise anything, he or she would be a baby. It would be a long time before that baby would be old enough to play with. And by then— Well, you might be away at school. And he—or she—would be at home.”

“I don’t want to go away to school.”

“Your father wants you to, but not till you’re much older. You’ll want to go by then. And of course you and your brother would love each other and be good friends, but...it wouldn’t be quite like what you’re expecting.”

Josiah struggled to wrap his mind around this. As far as he could tell, the whole situation was the result of gross negligence. “I should have been a twin, Mama. Or we should have had a brother much sooner.” He took a long sip of his chocolate and eyed her over the rim of the glass.

“There wasn’t anything I could do about that, even at—oh, Yozi!” Her serious tone turned into laughter. “Look at you!”

“What did I do?” She shouldn’t laugh; he had raised a perfectly reasonable point.

“Cream on your nose! That’s not where it goes, silly!”

Josiah permitted himself a slight giggle while she wiped it off with her handkerchief.

“Trying to have a moustache like Papa too, I see,” she said. That got a real laugh out of him. “See? That’s something you could do with a friend that you couldn’t with a baby: sharing chocolate. And you could play together and do lessons and practice your music and have adventures together. You can’t do that with a stranger. But you can with a friend—more than that, a—a companion. Wouldn’t you like a companion?”

He nibbled another biscuit and thought it over. “I might.”

“I know it would be new, and new things often frighten you. They’re strange; you don’t know anything about them or what to do. But sometimes new things are much better than you expect. We gazed at stars tonight that are new to us, didn’t we? And our household is like that. We discover new members, and they make everything more beautiful. So you’re going to be brave and try it, won’t you? You’ll be kind to your companion and use your best manners and make him feel at home?”

He nodded hesitantly.

“That’s my good boy.” She kissed the top of his head and offered him the last biscuit.

“Perhaps,” he said, committing to a mouthful before he could admit to himself that he didn’t really want a sixth biscuit, “he would like to see the brothers constellation with us when it comes back later.”

“I promise you, Yozi,” said Mama, “we’ll do exactly that in December. It can be a birthday treat.”

“And you won’t forget?”

“I won’t if you won’t.”

“I won’t. Never ever ever.”

Once he filed away the promise and locked it in his brain for future reference, he couldn’t lose it. December was such a long time to wait, months and months, but he could count on the stars to plod their way through the heavens on time, and Mama to keep her promise, and perhaps even his new companion to stay by his side and listen reverently as Josiah related his astronomical discoveries.

Perhaps he didn’t really want a brother after all.

#The Blackberry Bushes #The Blackberry Bushes short stories #Constellation of Six #my writing #Josiah Callon #Nyella Callon #Odren Callon #Ayra Callon #Ateva Callon

[helenaheissner]

Love During Robot Fighting Time: Chapter 11

Hello, lovelies! Hope y'all are doing well :)

Don't forget you can read three chapters ahead on this story, twenty chapters ahead on "A Dream of Summer Rain", and two chapters ahead on "Magical Girl Exorcist Squad", by becoming a paid subscriber on my Substack or my Patreon!

Thank you so much for your continued support of my work! Every little bit helps me to keep going :)

And now, back to our regularly scheduled nerdy romcom shenanigans!

***

Zeke

24 Hours Earlier

I walked down the aisle of a RadioShack in Northridge. I’d meant to come here earlier to scavenge for parts, but I’d let myself pass out on the couch again texting with Kate all night. It was like… The third night in a row where that had happened. She sent me a meme, then I sent her one back, then she sent me another one… 

This had been happening basically nonstop since we hung out earlier in the week. And it was… It was… 

It felt great. 

But there was a part of me that wasn’t okay with how great it felt. Kate was part of the competition, and besides… Part of me felt like I was betraying Faith by hanging out with Kate so much, by starting to… 

The other night we’d been watching Gundam and laughed at the same profoundly stupid bit of unintentional comedy. She’d laughed first, as if she’d stumbled upon her favorite sort of inside joke, and it was just infectious. She giggled, and I started laughing with her, and it fed into each other, and we wound up having to pause the show so we could both laugh. Her dad wound up knocking on the door and asking if we were both okay, and that just made us laugh harder. 

The night had worn on, and she kept stealing glances over at me. I don’t think she knew I noticed, but… She was looking at me with these great big puppy dog eyes, sparkling blue even in the dim lighting of her bedroom. 

She’d done all this for me. She’d invited me into her home, into her bedroom no less, and gotten gussied up for me. I never used to notice stuff like that, until Faith came out and she started dressing up more, had us start doing that as part of our gimmick. Now I… I realized that Kate didn’t have to dress up and put on makeup and do her hair for me, but she had. And she couldn’t stop staring at me, smiling whenever I smiled. 

When she stopped laughing, she was leaning against my shoulder. I didn’t do anything to correct that. She was… Not what I’d expected. She was warm and soft and sweet, with a beautiful smile and a beautiful laugh. We found the same stupid stuff funny, and talking to her was… Easy. 

Easier than talking to Faith. 

I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. 

Objectively, I knew I’d been repressing some latent attraction to Faith for a while now, but she didn’t like guys, and besides, we worked together and lived together, so it would just be awkward if anything went wrong. 

And when I looked at Kate that night, I… I felt something, and I was worried it was stronger than what I felt for Faith. But that’s ridiculous- I had to be projecting my feelings for Faith onto Kate. I didn’t know her nearly as well, and… 

That was when my phone rang as I walked down the sterile white tile floor of the RadioShack, combing through shelves of electronics. It was Kate. Because of course it was. 

“Hey,” I said. “What’s up?”

“Well… I… Ran into Faith today,” she said, in her practiced, high-pitched voice. She was getting better at it, and I was proud of her for working at it so consistently even when she still wasn’t ready to completely admit she was trans.

I stopped dead in my tracks. “Did you?”

“Yeah. She came into my parents’ shop,” Kate said. “I was, uh, in girl-mode.”

“How… Did that go?” I asked, choking on my own dread. 

“Really well,” Kate said. “She gave me some pointers on my voice. We talked about work, clothes, and cute girls.”

“Oh!” I said, a massive surge of relief going through me. “That’s great!” 

“Yeah, we both decided that she and I should try to get along if you and I are gonna…”

She trailed off, and I swore I heard my pulse racketing up with each second I waited for her to finish that sentence. Finally, I bit the bullet and said, “Gonna what?”

“... I’m not sure yet,” she replied. “What do you want me to say?”  

The words nearly choked me, but I managed to spit them out: “I’m not sure yet either.”

“That’s fair,” she said. “Well then… We can figure it out together.”

I smiled. “I like this plan.”

“I’m excited to be a part of it,” she finished for me.

“Yeah,” I said. “And hey- if nothing else, I like having you as a friend.”

“Same,” she said. 

And honestly, in that moment, it was all she needed to say. 

***

I noticed Kate’s hands trembling as she left the battle box, and I leaned forward inside the dugout as she walked- practically ran- back into the pit. 

“We should check on her,” Faith said. 

“Yeah,” I said. 

We both stood up and rushed after her, dodging Team Flipper wheeling their bot through the tunnel for their match with Team Jolly Roger. We made it to the end of the tunnel before I heard a familiar voice call out, “Guys, wait up a sec!” 

I froze, and so did Faith. 

I turned around slowly, and so did Faith. 

Olivia was walking towards us down the tunnel. 

My eyes went wide as I put myself between my best friend and her ex-girlfriend. “What do you want?”

Olivia was taken aback, but she stopped in front of me and said, “I just-”

“Actually, I don’t care,” I snapped. “Just get out of here-”

“Let her talk,” Faith said in a hollow voice, slowly walking forward with her eyes aimed strictly at the floor. 

I heaved an angry sigh through my nose, and then moved aside and let Faith face Olivia. 

“Hi, Faith,” Olivia said. 

My eyes bulged with shock at the sound of Olivia using Faith’s real name, and Faith’s head snapped up and she locked eyes on Olivia instantly. “Hi, Liv.”

“I just wanted to say,” Olivia said, “That it was a good fight. And I’m sorry for how I acted before. And how I acted tonight. I didn’t mean to go all ice queen on you, I just… I froze up when I saw you, saw how… Beautiful you looked. I felt horrible. And I was too cowardly to face you, to say anything to you. I guess… I dunno, I guess hearing Calloway decide to put a target on my back made me realize I’d gone too far. Like, if that idiot thinks I came off as a heel, I probably came off as a real heel. And I’m sorry. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but… I hope eventually that maybe you will.”

Faith was too stunned to speak. She let her jaw hang loose while she stood there, but eventually, she managed a gracious nod. 

Relief surged through me once again, to an almost incomprehensible level. 

“That’s all I had to say,” Olivia said. “Like I said, good fight. I’ll see you both around.”

And with that, she walked away. 

Faith still didn’t say anything, but once Olivia had vanished from sight, she turned around, and I saw the happiest, purest smile I’d ever seen from her spring to life on her face while tears of what had to be joy leaked out of her eyes. 

“You okay?” I asked. 

“Yeah,” Faith said. “I think… I think I’m okay.”

“Good,” I smiled. 

“Let’s go find Kate,” Faith said. 

She darted off down the tunnel, and I chased after her. 

We scoured the pit looking for Kate, doing a full circuit before we came back to the empty swath where her workstation had been. We looked, and looked, and we couldn’t find her. 

“Excuse me? Zeke? Faith?” came another familiar voice. 

I heard Faith mutter ‘milf’ under her breath as Mrs. Calloway came up to us. 

“Have you seen… You know?” I asked. 

“Yes. She’s in a state, though. I think you should talk to her, Zeke,” Mrs. Calloway said. 

“Uh… I… I dunno if I’m qualified,” I said. “Faith though-”

“Both of you, then,” Mrs. Calloway said. “Please, come with me.”

Faith nodded, and so did I. 

We followed her out of the arena, and into that side parking lot once again. It all came back to here. A damn parking lot. Wasn’t sure what to do with that information, but I had more important things to worry about. 

Mrs. Calloway guided us over to Kate’s black pick-up truck. Mr. Calloway was there, leaning against the back of it. Kate sat in the trunk, curled into a fetal position, head on her knees, not moving or saying anything. 

Mr. Calloway walked up to me and put an arm on my shoulder. “She asked for you specifically. Please be careful with her, young man.”

I nodded, the unspoken implication of ‘if you hurt her, I’ll kill you and make it look like an accident’ ringing loud and clear. 

“Same to you, miss,” he said to Faith. Fair enough- Kate must have told them about her and Faith’s… More antagonistic relationship. 

I leaned against the back of the trunk and looked at the person… The girl curled up inside it. Her eyes were wide and glassy. “Hey.”

She grunted.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. 

“I…,” Kate trailed off. “I did it again.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “You won a fight- isn’t that a good thing?”

“Not that,” Kate said, finally blinking and making eye contact with me. Those eyes, those beautiful eyes, they just… Looked so defeated. “I went too far. I… I did what I always do, but I went too far this time.”

“But you hate Haverfield,” I said, furrowing my brow. 

“Yeah, but when I did what I did, I felt like… I felt like somebody else. And I didn’t like that person,” Kate said. “It felt like someone else’s skin was on me and it felt disgusting. I felt disgusting. It doesn’t make sense- I used to do this all the time and felt nothing.”

“Nothing?” Faith said, climbing into the trunk with Kate and sitting down next to her. 

“Yeah, it was just… Something I did. I would go hammy and act all tough and antagonistic and… And…”

“Macho?” Faith offered. 

“... Maybe a little.”

“A little?” Faith cocked an eyebrow. 

“... A lot,” Kate said. 

“And now when you do that, it stings, doesn’t it? Like you’re putting on a mask that doesn’t fit you anymore?” Faith said. 

“Yeah,” Kate said. 

That was when it clicked for me- just how much of an act Kate’s heel routine truly had been, and that maybe… She hadn’t actually enjoyed it that much, she just didn’t know how to stop. Like there hadn’t been any other options she’d been aware of, but now… 

I climbed into the trunk too, and Faith and I flanked Kate on both sides. An instinct, and impulse, ran through me, an electric understanding that I needed to put my arm around her. Every part of me wanted to, but… Something stopped me. Like it was a line I was too afraid to cross, that now wasn’t the right moment, that-

Kate tilted to the side and leaned against my arm. My eyes bulged and I blinked rapidly, unsure of what to do. Faith’s face went through an identical journey, and I could see gears turning inside her head. 

Then she nodded at me, and gestured to my arm, the electric sensation came back, guided my arm around Kate’s shoulder and brought her close, held her tight. She was warm, and she was big, but she felt so damn small. I knew she was strong, but at that moment, I knew she was letting herself be fragile and vulnerable. 

It was crazy, how much she’d opened up to me, and so quickly, but the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. She needed someone outside her family, someone who she could trust implicitly as she figured out her true self and started showing it to the rest of the world. Faith had known me for years when she’d come out, but Calloway and I… We’d mostly just avoided each other. I’d kept to myself last season- Faith and Olivia were the power couple face of our team, I was just a weirdo hanger-on. But Kate had been alone. 

And she’d opened up to me. Not entirely on purpose, but… The real her, underneath the surface, was a lot more delicate than the rough and tumble exterior would suggest. Showing that to someone, let alone someone who’d cursed you out in this exact same spot, must have been terrifying. But as far as she was concerned, I’d done everything right, and she’d made a friend. She trusted me. 

I had to do everything in my power not to betray that trust. And I had to do everything in my power to keep that beautiful, fragile girl who was finally stepping into the light after a lifetime stumbling around in the dark safe and happy. 

“What’s going through your head right now, Katie?” I asked. 

Her cheek was pressed into my ribcage. Her parents had stepped away, her dad looming with his back turned a dozen yards off while her mother had darted off somewhere else. For practical purposes, it was just the three of us. “I feel like I don’t deserve to go by that name.”

“Don’t be ridiculous- of course you do,” Faith said. 

“But I… I’m not good at being a girl. I act all and angry and aggressive and loud and obnoxious to get attention-”

“I hate to break this to you, but none of those are inherently masculine traits,” Faith said. 

“And it served its purpose for you,” I said. “It got you where you needed to go. But you don’t need to be that person anymore.”

“Then why did I fall back on it like that?” Kate whispered. “Why did I fall back on being an asshole without even thinking?”

“You were… You were upset,” I said. “Haverfield got under your skin. It happens.”

“It shouldn’t happen.”

“So, what, you expect to be perfect all the time?” I asked. “That’s not how it works.”

“He’s right,” Faith said. “You’re… Look, you’re never going to be a perfect picture of femininity all the time, but neither is anyone else.”

“Maybe I… Maybe I want to be,” Kate said. “Do I deserve to be? To have that opportunity? Why should someone like me get to be that, ever?”

“Because it’s what you want,” I said. “And you’re good at it. Look, I know you’re not… A hundred percent convinced yet, but you’re really good at being a girl. It comes naturally to you. And you’ve just gone right for it. It’s the same with this job- you told me you had to put yourself through community college and save every penny to build your robot, and you did all that yourself.”

“I had help.”

“Everyone always does,” I said. “What’s important is that you went for what you want on your own terms. That’s who you are and I… I admire that about you.”

“You… You do?” She said, looking up at me with those big, hopeful, sparkling blue eyes. 

“Yeah,” I said. “I… I spent my whole childhood doing whatever my parents wanted me to do. If I didn’t obey them completely at all times, they came down on me like a ton of bricks, always telling me how I’d only be good enough to hack it if I did exactly what they said. Even when I finally disobeyed them and joined the robotics team in college, it wasn’t even my idea- Faith and Olivia asked me to join because they wanted someone else to help out. You’ve got a drive that most people don’t, Kate. And it’s really something special. So, if you want to be Kate, I know that you’ll go for it. And you’ll be…”

“... What?”

“Even more amazing and beautiful than you are already,” I said, astonished at my boldness. When the hell did I get this articulate? I believed every word I was saying, but I usually had more of a filter than this.  

That was when I noticed Faith had scampered off somewhere. It was just Kate and I in that trunk. Her father had gotten even further away, giving us… 

All the time and space we needed. 

“I… I think I don’t want to be Keith anymore,” Kate said. “I thought I did, but he just feels… Like someone I don’t need to be anymore, and like someone I don’t know why I ever wanted to be.”

“So, what do you want?” I asked. 

“I want to be Kate, even if I don’t deserve to be her.”

“You deserve it,” I said. “You’re not a bad person. You just get a little carried away sometimes. Everyone does.”

“Thank you,” she said, snuggling my chest.

An iron spike of shame tore through my heart, shattering the bliss. There was a part of me, an irrational one, that felt like I was betraying Faith. But Faith wasn’t into me like that; if she was, she surely would have told me by now. There was nothing to betray. And she’d given us space just now to… 

To… 

“There’s one other thing I want,” Kate said. “But I’m not sure if I should go for it.”

“I feel like you will anyway,” I said, my heartbeat skyrocketing. 

“I really wanna kiss you,” she said. 

I gulped, my chest tightening and fireworks going off in my mind. “I… I wanna kiss you too,” I said, the words slipping free before I could stop them. “But I’m not sure… I don’t think now’s the time. You were just having a panic attack, and I’d feel like I was taking advantage of you.”

“Okay,” she nodded. “That’s very reasonable. I understand completely.”

“Thank you.”

“But… I think I’m catching feelings for you, Zeke,” she said. “I didn’t expect to- I didn’t even realize I liked guys until pretty recently. It’s all so new to me still, but… You helped me realize who I am. And you’re so kind and respectful and goofy and laid-back and… And handsome and it… And you…”

My impulses betrayed me, and I kissed her on the top of her head, the lavender scent of her shampoo wafting through my nose. “How’s that for a compromise?” I said. “Because I think I might be catching feelings for you too.”

“And you’re smooth, too,” she said. “Dammit. That’s perfect. This is… For right now, this is perfect.”

 “We can figure the rest out together,” I said. 

She smiled at me, as if it were all I’d needed to say. 

“Can we stay here like this a little longer?” she asked. 

“As long as you want,” I said, holding her close. 

I knew I needed to get back to Faith, but… Goddammit, in that moment, I never wanted to leave this spot, never wanted to let Kate go. 

#serial fiction #original fiction #web novel #trans woman #trans protagonist #wlw #comedy #romance #romantic #romcom #bookblr #indie author #author life #writers on tumblr #writing #creative writing #battlebots #tournament arc #love triangle #bisexual protagonist #bisexual #polycule #polyamory #enemies to lovers #enemies to friends to lovers #rivals to lovers

[my-mt-heart]

Hey MT. Marketing anon, again. Can we go back to getting Melissa and McReedus content again? No, that’s not why I’m here. I read your post—Engage with what you want to see, not what you don’t. Did you drop the mic after? Because that's a mic-drop statement. 

I’m here to shed some light on the fear tactics I’ve seen for weeks so the audience is aware of how this technique works. I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this, but if some people plan on using fear-mongering to bait a vulnerable audience, the audience deserves to know what they’re getting into. 

As always, take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t. <3 

Why Do People Use Fear-Based Click Baits? 

Short answer? Clicks (gee, thanks, marketing anon). And clicks mean more money, more engagement, more authority. 

Long answer? Fear-based headlines/posts/tweets generate more engagement because “Fear can sell almost as well as sex”. We live in a world where grabbing an audience’s attention is getting harder. So often, news outlets or people looking to build their authority online (by any means possible) use techniques to grab attention in any way possible. 

Let me elaborate. When you see fear-based words—it jolts you to attention. It makes you uncomfortable and triggers a response that seeks a form of relief from that feeling. And who best to ask than the person who induced in the first place? When you feel invalidated, don’t you want validation from the person who invalidated you in the first place? This is precisely how it works. 

What Do Fear-Based Click Baits Look Like? 

Here are a few examples of fear based headlines/ tweet ideas. (Trigger warning. Some of these might trigger a strong response. And if you think it’s overwhelming for you. Skip the list <3 )

How TWD Plans On Killing Off Its Most Popular Character (with a picture of Carol & Daryl)

Will Carol Peletier Survive The Daryl Spinoff? (with picture of Daryl and nun delacour)

Will Daryl Dixon Spinoff Kill Off Their Most Anticipated Returning Character? (picture of Carol)

5 Reasons Why Carol Peletier Won’t Survive The Spinoff (picture of nun delacour)

4 Reasons Why Daryl And Carol Won’t Be Endgame (with a picture of Daryl and Carol with other potential romantic interests—don’t make me name them, I’ve had a day)

Why Carol Peletier Return Won’t Ensure Her Survival (the new pic of Daryl and the kid with him holding a shovel)

Is TWD Bringing Back One Of Its Popular Characters Just To Kill Her Off? (picture of Mel & Carol)

Why This Beloved TWD Character’s Return Could Be A Sign Of Their Permanent Exit (picture of Carol)

I can keep going. 

Every headline (OR TWEET) consists of a trigger word that makes you think that your fears are valid and you should be afraid. And everyone reacts to that feeling differently—you know yourself best.  

The Framework of Fear-Based Content And Why It’s Unethical

Here’s the basic framework of the chain reaction that this type of content starts (remember, this is generalized and everyone reacts differently). 

You come across a triggering post that elicits a strong reaction.

You engage with the post to get some relief or find any validation that proves they could be wrong.

The person/entity that’s posting only provides context, narratives, and ideas that further support their claim and invalidate your own. (Often, it’s done politely so their authority amplifies, and your reaction amplifies in response.) 

It aggravates you further, so you make your own posts or tweets or QRT them to try and seek relief from others who may help you out of the spiral. 

More people go to the source and start a discourse, and the chain continues. 

It builds authority for that person/entity. If it's an article, the ads on the website are triggered to pay them every time someone engages. It generates traffic to their website and boosts their ranking online.  

The reason why it’s inherently unethical? The tactic invalidates and aggravates you to put that person/entity in a position of authority. So you end up going to them for relief because they are the ones that aggravated you in the first place. Then they withhold the validation to unconsciously let you know that they hold the cards.

(source: https://shorturl.at/chsSX)

Don’t Take The Bait.

MT is right. It’s an illusion. It’s a tactic. Don’t fall for it.

Now let me ask you something, dear Caryler? What is the BIGGEST fear we have as Carylers besides losing to another ship? One of them dying and leaving the other behind. Am I right here to assume that? 

So if you see something that insinuates that? Wouldn’t it hurt you enough to make you spiral? Especially if you deal with mental health issues on a daily basis. It’s meant to do that. It’s intended to feed on your vulnerabilities to get them 2 mins of fame. 

DONT. TAKE. THE. BAIT.

And you know what? If you did—don’t be hard on yourself. It’s meant to mess with your feelings, and if you spiralled or had a rough day or reached out to your friends for support, it’s because you’re human. And you were excited about Carol/Caryl coming back, and some (pardon my language, MT) douchenozzle decided to take advantage of your vulnerability so they could feel better about themselves.  

Protect your energy and redirect it towards what you want to see.

How Do You Fight The Clickbaits?

It’s difficult. Some days are hard, and they just get you. The moment you realize, dust yourself up and redirect your energy to what brings you joy. 

Short answer? Starve them. Don’t give them the attention. Just the way you did when the click baits were circulating a few weeks ago because some dude from another show played PR agent to his ex-coworker’s return to the franchise. 

Here are some ideas on what you can do instead when you see a clickbait circulating. 

Don’t engage with it, but make posts or tweets of your own calling it out (without linking. If someone asks, dm them a screenshot and tell them to avoid engaging)

Redirect your attention to what you’re looking forward to seeing 

Focus your energy on talking about what you’ll tune in for

Show them how serious you are about withholding your investment for anything less than what you want

And most importantly—take care of your mental health. Step away from the fandom, and take a breath. Go for a walk or talk to a friend.  But remember to be kind to whomever you speak to. <3 We’re all in this together. 

In Carol, We Trust.

Carol Peletier is one of the most resilient characters on TWD. Melissa McBride knows her worth and knows what she is signing on for. And whatever your feelings about Norman may be, he understands Daryl better than most and must know for sure that if Carol dies, Daryl will follow—without question. And even if it's from a pure franchise survival perspective, they can’t afford to lose two fan favourites. 

Here’s a question for you: How many times have you seen a tweet/post/article where one of the white male leads is the target of this type of discourse? How many articles exist where Negan, Rick, or Daryl’s survival is questioned? Why is it that a person from a perceived minority is often considered expendable when these hypotheticals are entertained? 

Because we all know perceived minorities are usually the ones that don’t survive. And it further reminds us why they’re unsafe. (Don’t believe me? Look back at the deaths in TF and compare the ratio yourself.) 

The reality is, yes, in TWD nobody is safe. But then I’d like to see people entertain the idea equally for all characters. If they aren’t—it’s because they understand that the “safety” is less about the show’s narrative and more about industry practices (where TPTB decides whom to elevate and whom to discard). 

And they found a way to bring back Carol Peletier because we rioted the last time they wronged her. Do you honestly think they don’t understand the storm that’s ready to hit them if they play with our trust (and our wallets) again? 

Take Heart, Dear Caryler 

I'm putting my faith in Melissa and know that if she signed on to this show, it's because she trusts the narrative and is here to do what’s best for her character. Join me if that resonates with you.

Be kind to yourself. Remember that these tactics are to convince you that they hold the cards when you’re the one holding all the cards (and the money they need to sustain their service). 

Please be kind to people you reach out to for relief. Especially MT, because she’s one of the lights in this fandom. She deserves kindness and respect. Keep calm and Caryl on. <3

Thank you, marketing anon. Where are the articles celebrating Carol’s return and hyping Caryl’s story potential? I want more of those.

#caryl #caryl spinoff #carol peletier #melissa mcbride #darylneedscarol