#honestly I hate that i refuse to post chapter fics until all the chapters are written bvhvg

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

Your Mihawk has me weak on my knees so I wanted to request something for him.

S/O has scars on her body, mainly on arms. She does fight but some of them look… too precise. One time after she loses a fight she is really pissed and nervous, she goes to a place alone. There he sees her just giving herself a scar with a knife on her arm. Turns out she was taught scars are signs of losses and if she doesn't get one in battle then afterwards she needs to do it herself. That's why she's so determined to always win. She hates scars.

@patisilence tagging since I'm not sure if you'll get this since I had to save it as a draft to format everything right.

Anyway.

I DID IT I ACTUALLY FINISHED IT

I'M SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG 😭😭

And I honestly really really want to thank you. This is my first ever fic-request, for one.

And also, writing this has been an absolute emotional rollercoaster. I have kind of a personal history with self-harm and I wanted to depict it as realistically as possible. Which resulted in heavy focus on character development, which resulted in this practically turning into a novella. I'm going to split it up into a few chapters to streamline things and link them all in this post.

If I do it right, then the entire thing should already be posted when I post this, but I'm still pretty new to Tumblr so bear with me. Each chapter should be between 3k-4k words.

And ALSO ALSO I've been planning a longer Mihawk X OC fic, and I really hope you don't mind me using this concept for it? Because it honestly ties a lot of things together for me

Soooooo without further ado, here's the whole author note thing.

Your Scars Are Mine

Ch. 1

LA! Mihawk X AFAB!Reader

Tags: Fluff, Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Graphic Mentions of Violence, I guess that's it, I'm bad at this

⚠️ MASSIVE ASS TRIGGER WARNINGS⚠️ : Self-harm, Blood, Implied PTSD

Summary: In the few months that he has known you, Mihawk has noticed the scars on your arm. You've refused to talk about them and skirted around the subject successfully, but a trip to Shells Town throws everything out into the open in a way that neither of you were prepared for.

Ch. 2

Ch.3

You were hiding something.

In the few months that Mihawk had known you, he had come to learn a fair bit about you. He knew, for instance, that you had over the past few years made something of a name for yourself as a sword for hire, typically among pirate crews who required a more discreet touch.

That this reputation of yours had led the Buggy Pirates to hire you to assist in stealing a map of the Grand Line from a Marine base in Shells Town. You had failed to procure the map before it was stolen by other hands, leaving you in their debt. Buggy had sunk your sloop to prevent your escape, and you had gotten stuck working for the ridiculous crew for a brief time, remained stuck with them until the Strawhat upstarts offered you passage with them.

Mihawk knew you had traveled with them as far as Baratie, where you had crossed his own path for the first time at the bar on the ship's deck. Where you had approached him with a bargain—if he left Roronoa Zoro alive after their duel the following morning, you would serve him for a year, an errand girl to send off on whatever menial tasks the World Government assigned him.

"And why would I want a little bird flitting around after me around for an entire year?" Mihawk had asked coolly.

And yet you had made a fair point—acting as a government lapdog was growing old. He had been sent after the vice admiral's grandson, for heavens' sake, as if he had nothing better to do with his time than to handle the old fool's family disputes.

Though the surly pirate warlord wouldn't have dared to dream of admitting it at the time, you had his attention. Your offer of unquestioned devotion, your confident demeanor as you sipped a glass of whiskey and kept your eyes on his without showing an ounce of fear or intimidation. You were certainly an interesting diversion from the otherwise dull task that had been laid before him, and your certainty that he would accept your offer had irritated and intrigued him in near equal measure.

It was intrigue that won out in the end. He had left his challenger clinging to the edge of life and taken you with him on his departure. You stayed toe to toe with him in wit and banter, and that alone would have been more than enough to draw him closer to your charm. He had wanted you before two weeks were out, wanted to claim you as far more than his "errand girl," and it was easy to see from the way you effortlessly returned his subtle flirtations that you wanted the same.

And now you were lying back across his broad chest in the hammock aboard your new sloop, a book open over your chest and his hand resting over your stomach, his other tucked under his neck as he frowned thoughtfully up at the roof of the small ship's cabin, pondering over the whirlwind of events that had led up to this moment.

It had been just over two months since the pirate lord had taken you as his lover, and you had been an open book about most things. Your training under your grandmother. Your setting out on your own from a small island village to find your parents, or some clue of their disappearance. The many and varied pirate crews you had served as a hired hand.

Yet you refused to discuss your scars.

Any seafarer with a history as sordid as your own had their share of battle scars. Mihawk had a fair few of his own; one didn't become the most renowned swordsman in the world without a few losses, after all. Yet your voice turned to clear contempt when yours were mentioned, even in passing, and you tensed like a statue when his hands brushed over them. You were confident to the point of near arrogance, yet you clearly held nothing but shame and contempt for the many marks that marred your delicate skin.

Some of which appeared oddly...uniform, for having been gained in battle.

It was in part—in great measure, honestly—the mystery of you that had drawn him in to begin with, and this was just another mystery that Mihawk intended to unravel.

You closed your book abruptly, stirring him from his thoughts as he glanced down at you. He watched you gaze thoughtfully toward the ceiling for a long moment, your hand resting over his at your stomach, before you finally spoke up.

"Reading a book is just staring at a dead tree and vividly hallucinating."

You tilted your head back, grinning as his mouth turned down in a frown and his brow furrowed at your ridiculous statement. Mihawk sighed wearily, plucking the book from your hands and lightly rapping you over the forehead with it.

"No," he scolded, as you giggled softly. He sighed heavily again, dropping the book over the back of the hammock before pinching at the bridge of his nose. "Are you trying to give me a stroke?"

"No," you said, imitating his scolding tone. You stretched your arms out over your head, arching your back for a moment, before rolling over to lay across his chest and brush your lips to his. "But it's fun seeing the look on your face."

"You irritate my very soul, little one," he said, shaking his head as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

"And I enjoy every second of it," you countered, grinning as you laid your forehead against his.

"I can tell."

Your grin managed to draw a small smile from him, before he lifted a hand into your hair and pulled you down into a slow, deep kiss. Your fingertips came to rest at his broad shoulders, the hammock swaying slowly in the steady ocean waves carrying the ship along. He knew as well as you did that he wasn't honestly irritated—your strange sense of humor had grown on him, as starkly as it contrasted to his dry sarcasm, and he rarely had the pleasure of meeting anyone as adept at keeping up with his own banter.

You lay your cheek at his shoulder when your lips parted, your eyes slipping shut and your contented sigh tickling against his neck.

"If the wind holds steady it will be a few hours before we make port," you said, your voice low and soft. "I suggest we don't move from here in the meantime."

"I'm not sure I've ever heard a finer suggestion."

Mihawk pulled one of your hands to his lips, brushing a kiss across your knuckles. He pulled his hat down over his eyes to block out the sun pouring through the windows of the small cabin, tucked his hand back behind his neck again, and shifted beneath you to get comfortable as he closed his eyes. His arm remained curled around your waist, his hand slipping just beneath the hem of your shirt so his thumb could rub slow circles over your soft skin as you both drifted off toward the peaceful recess of sleep.

The first thing that struck Mihawk when he woke was that you weren't in his arms.

Every day and night for nearly two months, he had fallen asleep and woken with you against him, and the absence of your warmth jarred him instantly awake and aware. His eyes scanned around his surroundings as he sat up, taking in where he was—the small cabin of the sloop he had recently bought you as a replacement for the one Buggy's crew had sunk.

His sharp yellow eyes darted toward the door, taking in the sound of unfamiliar, muffled voices outside the cabin.

He was standing in an instant, straightening his hat and pulling Yoru onto his back as he slipped silently through the door and onto the small deck of the sloop.

There was another sloop tethered to yours.

A pair of no-name pirates holding you against the bow ny your arms, their captain pressing the barrel of his pistol to your forehead as they bickered.

"There has to be something on board."

"We could just take her. Looks like she's probably a feisty little thing."

"Still have to check the cabins. Could be—"

Mihawk cleared his throat.

The trio turned their heads in almost comedic synchrony, their jaws dropping at the mere sight of him leaning against the door of the cabin. Mihawk's eyes flickered from them to you, and you averted your eyes, clearly ashamed to be seen in such a compromising situation.

So he shifted his gaze back to the opposing pirates, his eyes flickering between each of them.

"You will remove your hands from the girl or I will gladly remove them for you," he said levelly, lifting his eyebrows.

They quickly let go of your arms, and stepped away when he moved forward to wrap a hand around your wrist and pull you to him. He curled his arm around your waist, lowering his head over yours for a moment and murmuring quietly, "Are you hurt?"

You shook your head no quickly, your jaw set at a rigid angle as you turned your gaze down to your feet, your shoulders tense. He pressed a light kiss to your temple for a long moment before lifting his gaze back to the trio that had dared board your ship, his eyes narrowing in an unspoken threat.

"Go." They remained frozen, glancing between each other. "Now."

They scrambled back over to their ship immediately, severing the ropes that were tethering it to yours. Mihawk kept his arm around you, but his eyes remained trained onto the opposing sloop as it drifted away on the wind, debating on just drawing his sword and splitting it in half on the spot.

He turned his attention back down to you when you began to pull away from him. He pulled you in close again, frowning. It wasn't at all like you to be bested by a few no-names, and it was clear that you weren't taking it very well.

"Tell me what happened," he said finally.

"I woke up," you said curtly. "Thought I'd check the charts and see how far we were from Shells Town. They were already on the deck. Seemed to think this was a small merchant vessel since there's no flag. I'd left my knives in the cabin and I was still half asleep when I came out here. By the time I registered what was going on, one of them had a pistol to my head."

You really weren't making a very good case for him to not sink their boat. He cut his eyes briefly toward the sloop before looking back down at you, your face shadowed by your hair as you stared down at the deck floor.

"Their captain started questioning me about cargo," you continued. "Told them there wasn't anything valuable on board. They were discussing taking me as compensation." You sighed heavily. "And that's when you chose to enter stage left and take approximately twenty years off the end of their lives."

He rolled his eyes the slightest bit at your quip. "I would have taken a great deal more than that had they hurt you."

"Well, they didn't," you replied, your voice still curt. Mihawk lifted an eyebrow. "And it's perhaps best not to go splitting any boats in half a stone's throw away from a naval base," you added, nodding back toward the bow of the vessel.

Mihawk gave a quick glance as well. He had been too focused on the fiasco he had just awoken to to notice that Shells Town was visible on the horizon now. It wasn't as if the Marines could do much about it if he did sink the sloop, but you were right—it would still be more of a hassle than it was worth. He sighed, shaking his head a little, and curled a hand under your chin to lift your gaze to his. You still kept your eyes averted, your jaw set. He hadn't seen you lose a fight before—apart from sparring with him while training, but that hardly counted.

You had proven to be quite the fighter when he had decided to test you. You were nowhere near his equal, but you knew precisely how to play to your strengths with your pair of daggers and your throwing knives. Your stature made you difficult to target even in single combat, your movements a graceful dance that toed the line between evasion and power.

Yet one loss—and a rather inconsequential loss, at that—and you were beating yourself up over it quite a great deal more than what constituted normalcy. Mihawk wasn't sure whether to scold you for being dramatic or attempt to comfort you.

"You were caught off guard, little one," he said after a long moment, brushing a thumb across your cheek. "There's no need to be so upset over that."

"I'm not upset, I'm annoyed," you retorted, pursing your lips a little. "Blades or no, I should have been able to take care of those idiots."

"Annoyed, then," he allowed with a small sigh. "And I've no doubt you would have had I not woke. I was simply able to handle it a bit more...subtly."

"Oh, yes, because sauntering out onto the deck with a giant sword and threatening to cut off their hands was so subtle," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you finally rolled your eyes over to his, lifting your eyebrows.

"Don't be a brat," he chided lightly. "We still have at least half an hour before we make port." Mihawk abruptly wrapped his hand around your chin and pressed his lips to yours in a brief, deep kiss that made you draw in a sharp breath. He parted just as you started to lean into it, resting his forehead against yours. He lowered his voice to an intimate murmur. "I would truly hate to have to spend it punishing you, my little bird."

You quirked an eyebrow, your lips curving in a small, coy smirk. "No you wouldn't."

He gave you a thoughtful frown and a small shrug of his shoulder. "Perhaps not." You let out a small cry of alarm when he stooped down and quickly scooped you up from the deck floor, one arm beneath your knees and his other curled around your back. "I suppose we'll just have to find out."

You chuckled lightly as he carried you to the door of the main cabin, plucking his hat off of his head and placing it on your own as you brushed your lips to his in a soft, teasing manner. Mihawk lifted his eyebrows when you nipped lightly at his bottom lip.

"You're really pushing your luck, my dear," he cautioned.

He lowered you down to the double bed in the cabin, his thumb rubbing small circles at the back of your neck. You lifted yourself onto your elbows, your lips nearly brushing his before he pulled back just far enough to stop you, lightly gripping your hair at the nape of your neck to keep you from sitting up any higher. You gave a small whine of protest, but didn't try to struggle against his grip—you and he both knew there was no point.

"Lie down." His voice remained low and intimate, but there was a subtle command in his tone, in the way his gaze burned into your own. You bit your bottom lip lightly, lowering yourself back down onto the bed fully. A soft, quivering sigh left your lips as he slowly began slipping the buttons down the front of your shirt loose. "Hands over your head. And you don't move them an inch until I tell you you can."

"Mmm..." You hummed thoughtfully, and Mihawk paused in unbuttoning your shirt as you lifted your arms from the bed, holding your hands high above you, straight up in the air. "I think my arms might end up getting tired."

Your lips pursed a little, clearly struggling to keep a straight face, and he lifted an eyebrow at you. "You're certainly in rare form today."

Mihawk wrapped his hand around both of your wrists, shoving your hands down into the plush white comforter over your head, and a couple giggles escaped you before you bit your lip again. It was honestly a bit endearing, how cheeky you were being—and all the moreso, as it appeared you were being so brazen just so he could have his fun with your punishment.

You were enticing him more and more every passing day, beyond the physical desire that had led him to claim you as his a couple months ago. It wasn't a feeling he was particularly accustomed to, nor was he quite sure what to make of it yet. He knew only that when he had seen you held captive against the bow of the boat, an emotion had flashed through him for a moment that he hadn't experienced in years.

For the briefest moment, Dracule Mihawk had felt fear.

He was not ready to contend with the connotations of that.

And he was a bit too busy at the moment, anyway. He let his forehead touch yours, his lips hovering a breath away from your own.

"You don't move your hands," he repeated, tilting his head to just barely graze his lips against your neck, drawing a small moan from your lips, "until I give you permission. Understood?"

"Yes, sir..." you sighed softly, your eyes slipping shut as he kissed down your collarbone, pushing your shirt open. His hand released your wrists and trailed down your arms, down to knead at the soft tissue of your breast through the sheer lace of your bra, feeling your nipple harden against his palm. He tugged the cups down, just a bit too hard given he felt one of them tear in his grasp, but that was a problem for later, not now.

You gasped out when he briefly pulled one of your stiff nipples into his mouth, his grip tightening slightly around your ribcage as you arched your chest toward his swirling tongue. His gaze flicked up to watch you writhe and shudder under his touch, your fingers digging into the bedsheets behind you, your hands searching for anything to keep occupied with.

"Very good," he praised, lifting a hand to brush a few strands of hair out of your eyes and brushing his lips to your jaw. "You see?" He wrapped his hand around your jaw and lightly pressed his lips to yours. "It's much better when you're a good little bird, isn't it?"

"This—doesn't feel much like a punishment," you commented, gasping softly as he circled the pad of his thumb around your nipple, lightly skimming across it once or twice.

"Yet," he corrected.

And gave you a small, devilish smirk, before lowering his head and biting down on the tender skin at the crook of your neck. Just hard enough to leave behind a small bruise, to draw a sharp cry from your lips and send a shiver through your body.

He straightened out as you heaved a sigh, standing over you. Your eyes remained glued to him while he shrugged away his long coat and tossed it back into a chair behind him, noting how your hands tightened down on the bedsheets again.

"Remember we still have a half an hour before we reach Shells Town." His fingertips curled around the waist of your shorts, the lace of your panties beneath them, and slowly inched them down your hips. "I could spend the entirety of it teasing you." Mihawk noted the movement in your throat as you swallowed in nervous anticipation, your eyes glued to his as he pulled them up the length of your legs and off, flinging them aside. "Making you beg for release but never allowing you the satisfaction."

How beautiful it was that it only took a few words to pull a blush to your cheeks and make your breath hitch. He brushed a light kiss to your calf and pushed your legs apart, rubbing his palms up your inner thighs.

"You're going to have to be on your best behavior if you want more, my sweet little bird." Trailing a single finger up your soft folds, dragging through your slick arousal and across your clit, pulling a small whimper from your lips. "Or would you rather I just torment you?"

You bit your lip, shaking your head quickly, your eyes flickering between his eyes and his fingertips trailing up. It was a struggle for him not to chuckle at you—always just cheeky enough to be amusing, but you knew the pleasure he could give you, were so desperate for it that you folded like a cheap deck of cards under his slightest touch.

Absolutely perfect.

Mihawk moved his hands up from your thighs, curling an arm under your back to lift you up and shift you further back on the bed. Your breathing was ragged with anticipation as he brushed his lips to your stomach, trailing his hands back down to your hips, his lips lower and lower, grazing slowly across the soft skin between your hip bones.

Shifting lower and dragging his tongue slowly up your slit, circling the sensitive bud at the apex, giving a quiet growl of approval as your breathy, shuddering moans filled the small cabin and your hips arched in his hands.

His gaze turned up toward your face, watching you draw closer to falling apart with every passing moment. This was only the beginning, and he still hadn't decided if he was going to give you what you wanted...but the sight of your divine, nearly naked and writhing under his touch with his hat still resting on your head made him just a little weak.

He moved from between your legs before he could get lost in the sight of you and the sweet sounds of your moans, reveling in the agonized whimper that left you as he trailed his mouth back up your stomach.

Across to your ribs, pausing at your breasts to brush his lips and his skilled tongue across your sensitive nipples.

Dragging his tongue up the column of your throat, seizing a fistful of your hair and crushing his lips to yours in a deep, possessive kiss, shoving your hip down onto the mattress to keep you from grinding against him, shifting his hand between your thighs to circle a finger around your tight entrance without pushing in. Your low moans and whines of protest were like music to his ears, your knuckles gone white from the force with which you gripped at the sheets over your head to keep your hands from wandering.

Every slow pass up and down your body brought you closer to the peak of pleasure but never quite there—and brought him closer and closer to caving in and giving it to you. He had to wonder whether you had any idea just how much of a temptation you were to him. It had been years since the pirate lord had allowed any woman to affect him quite as strongly as you had.

How much time had passed couldn't be ascertained for sure when he reached his breaking point—his mouth pressed into the crook of your neck while you moaned and begged desperately in his ear, one of his hands squeezing your breast hard enough to bruise the soft flesh while his other worked his belt buckle open and shoved his pants down his hips in a desperation that rivaled yours.

He shoved your open shirt up your shoulders and arms and flung it away; gripped one of your thighs, pushing your leg up as high as it would go, and the low growl that left his throat as he thrust into you was drowned out by your own cries of abandon. Your hips arched up from the bed to meet his, one of your arms flinging around his neck and your hooking beneath his arm to grip hard at his shoulder.

"I don't recall giving you permission to move," he breathed into your neck. He gritted his teeth as he pushed his hips forward hard, shoving yours back down into the bed as you cried out again, your slick walls tightening around his cock.

"I—I'm sorry, I can't—I can't—please—" You gasped, your head falling back as he moved in you in deep, hard thrusts, your fingernails dragging down his back. "Oh God, please—"

He lifted a hand to grasp at your hair as he crushed his lips to yours, delving his tongue into your mouth and drawing in a deep breath as you moaned desperately into the fierce kiss. The prospect of punishing you, of what the hell he had even been punishing you for was forgotten in this rush of unquenchable lust and desire, of pure carnal need for your body.

He normally hated losing control, but this was on another level entirely. There was no room to hate this, no room for anything but pure pleasure, for getting lost inside you as your walls tightened around his cock, as every muscle in his groin tensed and tightened in anticipation of impending release—

Your lips breaking away from his, your cry of abandon as your climax swept over you pulled him right over the edge with you. He pulled your hip up from the bed to slam into you as he came, gritting his teeth against a low groan, the rhythmic contractions of your tight channel milking him dry. His hips jerked toward yours with each intense wave of pleasure, fingers tangling in your hair as he pressed his lips to your neck, the two of you shuddering and tangled together over the bedsheets.

Mihawk heaved a shuddering sigh into the crook of your neck, his fingers tangled in your hair as he brushed his thumb across your temple. Maybe it was the lingering euphoria, but he didn't even think about the next words that left his mouth before he heard them himself.

"God dammit, (Y/N), I love you."

But it was impossible to deny any longer. You really were everything he had never realized he craved. No, it wasn't just the euphoria in the moment—it was that brief flash of fear earlier at the thought of you being hurt, at the thought of losing you. The utter fury at the morons who had briefly held you captive. How perfectly you balanced and complemented his desires.

He felt as much as heard you draw in a small gasp beneath him. "Y—you—wh—?"

"You heard me," Mihawk interrupted your quiet, almost cautious stammering, murmuring against your neck. He brushed his lips against one of the small, round bruises he had left on the soft skin, and said it again, quietly, "I love you."

You were quiet for a long moment, but he wasn't concerned, still trailing kisses up the side of your neck. He had seen it in your eyes before now, heard it in the softness of your voice when you lay against him, your fingers in his hair and your lips brushing his.

Several seconds passed, before you turned your head slowly and pressed your lips to his, tentatively at first, and then deepening the slow kiss with a soft sigh. He shifted onto his side, tugging you to him by your hip. Your forehead came to rest against his as your lips drifted apart, still barely a breath away, your eyes closed, your voice a quiet whisper.

"I...love you."

(Ch. 2)

#opla #one piece fanfiction #dracule mihawk #fanfic #mihawk one piece #mihawk opla #fluff #mihawk x reader #smut

[danpuff-ao3]

You know...I've long told myself not to post fics I didn't have written in full. I broke that promise in 2020 and told myself it was the exception, and here I am 3 years later...that fic still isn't finished (I'm halfway there!) and I've posted 2 new WIPs, too. Life's been rough and honestly, I needed the joy of sharing my works with people. (I do take solace in the fact that all of these stories are fully outlined. They just need to be written!)

So in honor of my grand failure...Please enjoy this self-promo of my 3 current WIPs!

A Taste for You

Harry/Severus. Rated: E. Words: 3,344. Chapters: 2/20(?). Sugar Daddy Harry. Bottom Snape. Poverty. Manipulation. Dubious consent. Self-hatred. Jealousy. Playlist on Spotify.

Severus Snape has been down on his luck since the war ended. Enter: Harry Potter. With no other causes to occupy his time, he makes Severus an offer he can't refuse; but Severus can't help but wonder: what is it the boy really wants?

Title change pending...I really hate the current title, which I only discovered as soon as I posted it. Oh well. Make sure you're subscribed if you like it and don't be confused by potential future title change!

Wasted for Love

Harry/Severus. Harry/Ron/Hermione. Rated: E. Words: 5,748. Chapters: 2/25. Established relationship. Developing relationship. Polyamory. Closed Triad. Friends to Lovers. Enemies to Lovers. Fluff & angst. Domestic Bliss. Temptation. Fidelity issues. Playlist on Spotify.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione are living happily ever after 5 years after the war. That is until the Prince returns, and with him all of the turmoil and temptation from the past.

smile with sweet surprise

Harry/Severus. Lily/Severus. Rated: E. Words: 13,655. Chapters: 3/5. Stepdad Snape. Underage. Infidelity. Angst. Playlist on Spotify.

Harry is barely sixteen. Had barely blown out his candle when Severus kissed him.

Another one with a title I decided I hated only when it was too late. At this point it feels like I can't change it, but never say never! This is why I usually just call it the Stepdad Snape fic haha!

#danpuff stuff #wips #snarry

[simmonsized]

Is it cool if I keep asking for your hcs? They’re pretty fun tbh. I got excited seeing the notification for the last one and they did not disappoint. Maybe I’ll ask for Alpha Dave this time because he’s pretty fun in your fic. I love his characterization a lot! Mom Lalonde would be nice too but hmm, maybe next ask? Or do both if you’d like to. It’s really up to you.

I just really like your guardians hehe.

Of course!!!! Honestly it is a lot of fun for me and it gives me an excuse to talk because, you know! Tbh it's the first time anyone has asked me in depth about any of the silly stuff I spend all my time thinking about, so I kind of love it! (also please always ask abt the guardians, i really like them, too!!)

WARNING THIS GOT AWAY FROM ME AFTER ALL IT’S VERY LONG I’M SORRY

SO: Alpha Dave (in context of rng)

A!Dave (and Bro) broke his nose when he was 13, for plot reasons, so his nose is slightly crooked (lists to the left)

He is Tall and hunches constantly because he hates being the tallest person in the room but no he doesn't but yes he does

Also it makes it easier to talk to people shorter than him

He can in fact fit into alpha Rose's clothes

He's a nail biter

This man has anxiety

He didn't get his glasses until he met Ben Stiller obviously so before that he would just wear very funny plastic sunglasses

Speaking of plastic this man own nothing but plastic cups EXCEPT

He owns one Whataburger mug that he has had since he was 10

He slept on John Crocker's floor for like, 4 years when he said he was going to college (he did not go to college)

This man did not even bother finishing high school

The Con Air Museum was a birthday present for John (he never got to see it in person)

Absolutely refuses to eat the crusts on his pizza and leaves them lying around the house for weeks until someone else picks them up

Only owns 7 pairs of socks god help him

Yes some of them have no heel

Also Left-handed for obvious reasons

collected Zoobooks until the fall of the humanity meant the publishing company went under

He keeps them in the back of his closet where no one but him will ever know

The secret to guardians is that they are duty-bound to their "kid", even if it means dying for them (example Mr bro bad man strider) but their separation over time and a whole life lived has caused Dave (and Rose) to lose most of that. Interpret any changes after meeting Dirk as you will

He is really bad with kids, mostly because

Dave Strider does not like kids

He does not like talking to kids, does not know how to talk to kids, because by the time he died at 65, there were no kids left for him to talk to, and he is just. Kind of a weird dude

My man has not had an apple juice in literally 16 years

Also to reference my last post, the alpha guardian formula [(2024+4n)-1995+t] means he and Rose were 65 when they died, according to RNG canon

He also broke his arm when he was 12 :)

He has never been to Disneyworld but used to take himself to Disneyland once a year for Christmas, sometimes Rose if she would fly out for him

He used to work in a record shop in Houston

This man can cook even less than Mom Lalonde

all his chapter titles have a theme

He does not like puppets but his proximity to Dirks (and Bro) are giving him pretty much unwanted exposure therapy lmfao

His favorite soda is Cherry Cola :)!

This man has never wanted anyone to like him as much as he desperately wants every iteration of Dirk Strider to like him

He is more interested in getting his own way than placating people, and this causes him to routinely mow over other people's thoughts and feelings

If he realizes he cannot get his way this way, he switches to Being Nice

He cannot (will not) stop following after Bro Strider like a lost dog after a bone no this will not change

It's fucked up but he is genuinely jealous that, at times, Dirk appears to get along better with Bro than he does with Dave

He uses strawberry scented shampoo

But still buys cvs brand detergent yes even now

He has scars across his knuckles in the exact same pattern as Bro Strider

He's also got the same scar across his palm as Bro :)

Only ties his shoes into bunny ears

There was a time when the alpha guardians did not know that their lil packages would never arrive

Can sleep literally everywhere on everything

Undisclosed back injury that causes bouts of sciatica from time to time

Is 120% more likely to accidentally kill a person than Bro Strider, but both of them have that kind of control you only get from a lifetime of not being particularly kind to yourself

Not afraid of blood

Has always wanted to go to a candy store

Actually likes driving BUT

Possibly the second most reckless driver out of all the guardians, after Mom Lalonde

Has some fucked up way of viewing both the Daves through the lens of his younger self, but unfortunately for all Daves, dead (or recently back to life) daves are the enemy

Did not learn how to swim until he was in his teens

Alpha Rose Lalonde was his only friend for like 20 years and my god, it shows

It is actually so fucking funny to me that bro spent so long trying to get Dave to stab him, on purpose, and yes this is also about Bro but mostly about Dave, and yes, he was in fact hoping Dave would stab him, and he was also a little disappointed that Dave had enough control to stop himself

Probably also impressed

Dave thought he was fucking insane (he is) and thus felt guilty every single fucking time because it's just a Dirk (bad)

But also at the same time has the same compulsion as Bro to like. Poke him until one of them gets stabbed by a sword, on purpose.

Wears a watch for the funnies

I really like the concept that Dave and Rose both maintained some kind of connection to their aspects but for Dave who never had a connection to the horrorterrors or Light (fortune), he mostly came across as what I am currently calling "a Failed Knight" (thus my joke about the old knight adage, "service without complaint")

Has a tendency to put things into his pockets instead of his sylladex without thinking about it

Started smoking younger than Bro

Pall malls, always, shitty on purpose, yes

Learned to sit still during [redacted] but has since pretty much lost that ability and is now completely fucking unlikely to stand still for longer than necessary unless it's like

Performative

I think he is more likely to yell than Dave, because that cold anger is a Learned Trait, and I think he has a lot to be angry about

He absolutely is going to need bifocals one day never before has a man squinted so much as a computer screen for so long

Coffee is half his diet

His favorite color is blue

stardust is an intentional parallel of neptunium

Remember that time Dave beheaded a juggalo president and no one talks about it what the fuck is up with that

He also has a fucked up death scar but I think I already said that

Thank you for asking I'm realizing I could go forever so I'm stopping here

#help i got too excited #not character meta but not as funny as i wanted it to be #ANYWAY #thank u #alpha Dave is my special little princess (number 2) #the run and go fic #yes #also whispers in my own tags i see a lot of people thinking of bro spooking d as him ''testing'' him but i am sorry to tell u he was just #kind of hoping d would kill him a little lol #sorry #well not that sorry but yes sorry #once again not a meta post but still it makes me kind of chortle to myself when i read the comments

[laximpulsion]

Director's Cut Commentary, Ch. 2-6 oh, she's the one i should hate

Since I'm just about at the end of what I had originally planned for this story i thought it might be an appropriate place to pause for some reflection... more under the cut because it got kinda long and i dont want to inflict blog-length posts on your dash without warning lol

So I thought this was going to be just like, some la-di-da high school romcom AU that would never get very feelings-y or anything, and i CERTAINLY did not expect to have actual character development lol. but it got kinda real??? I mean obviously compared to other things i've written it's still pretty la-di-da and im not planning on having any big-time angst, but i've ended up really invested in it and enjoying a lot of the turns it's taken for both fatin and leah.

i think i've said this before but i'll say it any chance i can get... i have loved getting to show this from both of their POVs; i think it's worked out well and it's been such a great, rewarding challenge to weave the story together through both of their eyes. i love that i get to draw parallels between how and what the two of them think about each other, and i like getting to dig into what moments cause shifts for each of them; what do each of them fixate on; how do they interpret the same event differently... it's been really fun.

and just in general i cant overemphasize how much fun this one has been to write. i almost always enjoy writing, whether it's angst or fluff, whether it goes slow or quickly, even when im feeling uninspired/stuck, it's satisfying to just get some words down. but theres a difference between enjoying it/finding it satisfying, and like, literally being entertained by it. and this one i am just...having FUN! and it's awesome. i think it also helps that my frame of mind going into it was that i wasn't going to take it super seriously (vs. my s3 fic which i am arguably taking TOO seriously and need to loosen the fuck up about) so it's easier for me to roll with the punches when things get off track.

speaking of which... things got off track! little miss leah rilke refused to cooperate with me, which is such a bizarre sensation because i know i'm the one writing her, but it really feels like a couple times this fic she has literally just rebelled against me. the first was when fatin presented the revenge scheme; i intended for leah to hop right on board but instead she got worried about it being traced back to her. which i think makes sense because the way she's been this fic is very concerned about what people are saying/thinking about her. the other time just recently happened while i was writing the next chapter and now it's leaving me kind of at a crossroads wondering if I want to stick to my original plan or go with what Leah seems to want me to do lol.

and obviously the first time leah went rogue I adjusted the story so that they don't do a really big revenge scheme, and i dont regret that, i think it makes sense and i have one more revenge plan related plot beat that i think will wrap it up nicely. so honestly im thinking I'll just adjust things again...because it kind of feels like this is what's supposed to happen anyway, like, i'm letting the characters call the shots instead of trying to shoehorn them into my own plotlines. maybe? something like that? ok, this is getting a little pretentious lol sorry...

what else...mmm...i think thats actually all for now! until next time...

EDIT: oh yea actually i have more. i had to "kill my darlings" a couple times for this fic, i.e. get rid of a scene/plotline that i really liked but that i just couldnt justify keeping after i decided to go in a different direction. i'd never had to do that before and it's harder than i expected it to be! the first one was that i changed the party scene, which was not a huge tragedy bc i think it was the right choice but there are a few lines/ideas from that that i was sad to lose. i'm making myself feel better about it by tacking it on as a bonus chapter at the end so at least i didn't write it for nothing lol. the other one i'm even more bummed to let go of because it is so dumb and messy and i love idiots and mess, but if i go in the direction that leah seems to want me to, i don't think it'll make sense to keep it. i am optimistic that i'll be able to work the general idea into another fic, but it won't be quite the same. so maybe i'll offer that one up as another bonus chapter.

#red corvette commentary

[pellucid-constellations]

🤦🏻🔬✍️

(Also I chose the first one because I’m so curious seeing that all of your writing is impeccable 😏)

Hii Col!! ❤️

🤦🏻 A fanfiction/chapter you are embarrassed about having written?

When He's Away 🥴 I try to forget she exists <3 Honestly, there's another one that I absolutely hate and I refuse to speak its name ever but I won't delete it because it was the first request I ever took like a week after I started writing 😬

🔬The fic you had to make the most research for?

Answered! :)

✍🏽 How much do you plan your fics beforehand?

For oneshots, it's literally a thought in my mind and then I write until its finished with no planning whatsoever 😅 For series, I have like a whole outline and I write at least half of it before I post!

Fanfic writer ask game :)

#asks #ask game #col 💖

[strawberryblondish]

ml fic recs!

so i read a lot of fanfiction and i constantly lose the ones i love :’) so i decided to compile them all onto one post for my convenience and maybe yours too!

most of these are probably pretty well known but i thought i’d put them here anyways

- Rainy Days by @thelastpilot

chapters: 10/10

“A storm rolls through Paris and refuses to let up, so when a water fearing cat is rescued by the kind efforts of his designing classmate he starts to pay a little closer attention to someone he should have always known better.”

this fic is my go to comfort fic, soooooooo much adrienette fluff and aksaksidhwishis it’s so good i love it, it’s a slow burn friends to lovers and it ends perfectly. just read it.

- Chat Noir's White French Man Hit List for Feminist Purposes by @peachcitt

chapters: 1/1

‘“Yeah, white French guys suck,” Ladybug had relented, but she could be very stubborn when she set her mind to it, which she did, quite often. She flicked the little golden bell that hung from the neck of his black leather suit and said, “but you don’t.”

“That’s very nice of you to say,” Chat had said, “however Chat Noir’s White French Man Hit List for Feminist Purposes starts with me.”

“Did you just refer to yourself in third person?” Ladybug had asked.

or

adrien agreste who is also chat noir absolutely chugs his respect women juice’

this one is SO FUNNY i love it so much and the ending is so pure and happy but at the same time it’s low key emotional. you just have to read it

- Smoulder by @midnightstarlightwrites

chapters: 36/36

“Marinette traced her fingers down the smooth lines of the magazine, a blush creeping to her face. It wasn’t just his toned, muscular body that set her aflame, although that was certainly a bonus. It was his eyes. The way his body appeared, languid like a summers day. His body said relax but his eyes said devour. From the pages of the advertisement, Adrien smouldered in a way that he’d never done during any of his other numerous photographs, and yet she was struck with a familiarity that made her skin tingle, made her swallow with sudden and surprising nervousness. She was sure she’d seen that expression somewhere before. A pair of green eyes looking at her like that, with an unknown question in his hungry gaze. She’d seen that smoulder before.

In which Adrien loses a bet and becomes an underwear model, Marinette loses her mind, and the whole fiasco starts a fire which might lead to the pair discovering their identities.”

okay this one is one of the oldies but goodies and i just recently re-read it and it’s honestly one of my absolute favorite fan fictions ever. it’s got everything and i could not recommend a fanfiction more. don’t start reading this unless you’re prepared to be on your phone for 12 hours a time.

- Sewing Sentiments by @frostedpuffs

chapters: 10/10

“Fed up with her miserable job at a fabric store, Marinette decides that it's finally time to quit and move on...until she's tasked with training a new employee whose golden hair and gorgeous green eyes have her feeling a certain way that isn't strictly platonic. Torn between hating her job and loving being in Adrien's presence, Marinette sticks by his side every step of the way, finding herself enjoying her new co-worker's company far more than she had ever expected.

But there's something about him she can't quite place—a certain sadness in his eyes that, despite only knowing him for a short time, causes Marinette to wonder about his past and what exactly he's running from...even if she wants nothing more than for him to be happy.”

GOSH this one is my new obsession. it’s a coworkers au and it’s so fluffy and cute already and so far updates have been super close together. she also draws and her art is amazing so this is definitely worth checking out

-Discordant Sonata by @edendaphne

chapters: 25/?

“Ladybug… I… What choice do I have? Hawkmoth, he’s ruthless and determined. And he’s… he’s not just my boss. He’s family. If I defied him, what would I do? Where would I go? He’d take my miraculous away if I even tried. I don’t have a choice.”

aged up enemies to partners au, what more could you ask for?? it’s a perfect mix of angst and comfort and fluff and it’a WONDERFUL. chat and hawkmoth have worked together since the beginning and you just have to read it. she also has amazing art for it, so definitely check her out!!

- when you’re near by @buggachat

chapters: 1/1

“When Ladybug and Chat Noir were together, dancing across rooftops and kissing under the moonlit sky, Ladybug loved her boyfriend. But when the masks fell and all that was left was Marinette, she hated her boyfriend. She hated the lonesome afternoons, the third wheeling, the way his name wasn't in her contacts...

She knows their identities are secret for a reason, and she tells herself she'd do anything to protect that— but when Marinette hears Chat Noir's voice coming from the boy sitting behind her in a coffee shop, she can't help but wonder if it's really worth not having him in her life.”

aged up au where adrien never went to school and only knows chloe. ladynoir are dating but adrien and marinette don’t know each other. it’s perfectly adorable and i love marinette in it so much. (and i also drew fanart of it back in 2020 :) any of buggachats writings are amazing, but this one is one of my top favorites!

- a hypothesis, an experiment, and a coincidence by @peachcitt

chapters: 1/1

"We do the experiment.”

“I’m following,” Adrien says, to show that he’s following.

“We do the experiment,” Marinette repeats, “and if it works and we fall in love, then maybe I’ll believe love is real because I’ll be in love, and people who are in love always think love is real.”

“Naturally,” Adrien says.

“But if we don’t fall in love, then love is chemicals.”

or

adrien and marinette perform a scientific experiment to discover if love is real. the experiment comprises of two participants: adrien agreste and marinette dupain-cheng, and both participants are, in fact, quite drunk”

i looovveeee every fic peach writes so naturally i have to include this one. it’s absolute comedic gold and written so well. adorable post reveal pre relationship fic <33

- seven is my lucky number by @miabrown007

chapters: 14/14

““Dating you, platonically, and moving in with you, platonically, that’s definitely optimal! No problem at all!” Chat Noir said to Ladybug, and realistically, it should have been true. He was having a crush on Marinette for the longest time.

***

aka post-reveal pre-relationship roommates. but is it really pre-relationship if they are fake-dating?”

okay the description says it all; prpr AND fake dating AND ROOMATES. literally read all of it in one sitting and i am in love with this fic. it’s absolutely adorable and makes you wanna smack them at the same time. i cannot wait to read the last chapter

#maybe i’ll make a part 2 one day #but i hope you guys like this <3 #miraculous ladybug #miraculous marinette #miraculous #ml season 4 #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #adrienette #adrinette #ladybug #cat noir #chat noir #ladynoir #ladrien #marichat #maricat #ml love square #ml love square fix #miraculous fanfic #adrienette fanfic

[eloves-writes]

a failed attempt to hate you

(tristan dugray)

a/n: i can only apologise if this writing is terrible, i wrote most of this in the middle of the night hopped up on medication for my disgusting cold. i hope it makes sense. anywho thanks for reading, enjoy, mwah <3

screw mr medina for making you help tristan study. you knew he knew from rory your inherent disdain for him, and it wasn’t your fault he was falling behind therefore not your responsibility to help him (as you had told mr medina last tuesday, with no effect). it was now sunday morning and you held little hope he would actually show up this time; he had somehow managed to cancel on your little study date 6 times already and it had only been 5 days since you were handed this apparently mammoth task. honestly, you didn’t expect him to show up at all, especially not anytime before noon- for which reasons you had made the decision put on your usual lazy sunday morning reading in bed get-up, which included (but was not limited to) an oversized rock concert shirt rory’s friend lane had given you in an attempt to clear her closet of non-christian attire, nothing but underwear underneath since you wouldn’t plan on leaving the comfort of your bedsheets for many hours, and a loose silk scrunchie you accidentally stole from rory keeping your hair out of your eyes. 

your book of choice today was ‘harry potter and the goblet of fire’ , the most recently released chapter of the boy wizard’s adventures at hogwarts. the clock beside you read 9:15 as you comfied yourself for a morning of magic and adventure, which naturally was ended a mere 8 minutes later at 9:23 when the doorbell rang downstairs. you assumed your mother would answer it, but when it rang a second time you remembered your parents had both gone out to watch your sibling’s soccer match and you’d have to get it yourself.

it didn’t even cross your mind to put pants on, or that it may not be the postman at the door, until you opened it to see your very favourite chilton student whose eyes had hastily wandered to your bare legs. typical high school boy, you thought to yourself before your brain actually grasped the situation and kick started into action.

‘tristan. hi.’ you said with a slight shock in your voice.

‘erm, hi. i hope i’m not interrupting anything,’ he smirked, glancing down at your thighs again.

you rolled your eyes so aggressively you hoped mr medina could hear it from wherever he was spending his day, irritating boy-less and free to do whatever he wanted with his time.

‘you’re not,’ you quipped. ‘i just didn’t expect you to actually show up this time. and early may i add, i’m sure we said 11.’

‘we did, but i’ve got plans later so i thought i’d come by earlier and get this over with.’

‘how did you know i didn’t have plans? i might have been busy before 11.’

he pulled a face of amusement and you could swear you saw a hint of sarcasm shining through his eyes too. ‘right. are you done talking now or can i come in?’

‘you can come in, i guess,’ you sighed, closing the door behind him and showing him to the kitchen table. ‘wait here, i’ll go and get my books.’

‘grab some pants whilst you’re at it.’

‘stop talking,’ you called as you walked upstairs.

you came back downstairs a few minutes later fully-clothed and carrying your english notes to see that tristan had wandered from the chair you specifically remembered telling him to sit in, and was instead tracing a finger along the bookcase that stretched across the far wall of your living room. for a moment you just watched him nosey into your life; the framed certificates, the family photos, the 5 tapes of ‘beauty and the beast’ stacked atop of each other because it was your favourite film when you were 9 and practically every living relative had bought you a copy. beside those was a picture of you dressed as princess belle at disneyworld with chocolate ice cream smeared from cheek to cheek, a huge smile plastered between. tristan picked it up and turned to face you.

‘thoroughly adorable. seriously, you should go for this look more often.’

‘ha ha,’ you grimaced, snatching it off him and placing it back on the shelf. ‘are we studying or reminiscing on my past fashion choices?’ 

‘oo, someone’s in a good mood this morning huh,’ he teased. you pulled another face, once again silently cursing mr medina for completely ruining not just your day, but in fact your whole week. by god this boy got more irritating the more time you spent with him- it had only been 10 minutes, but it was 10 minutes longer than you ever previously had or ever wanted to.

 ‘can i get a drink before we start?’ he asked, redirecting the conversation and walking past you back into the kitchen. he began opening various cupboards, searching for a glass. ‘where’s the-’

‘why yes, tristan. you can have a drink,’ you snarked, opening the cupboard behind him with a dramatic flourish. he raised his eyebrows at you and reached forward to grab a glass, leaning over you as he did so. you caught a whiff of his cologne and almost forgot to dislike him for a moment.

‘there’s, um, soda in the ... fridge,’ you told him, voice unwillingly faltering as he looked down to meet your eyes. he had pretty eyes. pretty, blue, sparkling, stupid, annoying, asshole eyes. 

you found the thick tension sickening. you refused to be another girl at school who simply swooned over him when he walked past your locker. you didn't like him. you were here to teach him english. because he was dumb. and actually, his eyes weren’t that nice.

he grabbed a soda out of the fridge and you both sat down at the table and began reading through your analysis of ‘to kill a mockingbird’, adamantly pretending not to see him staring at you the whole time. 

why? he had had every popular and pretty girl in the whole of chilton, how was he ever so starved of female attention that he would look at you so admirably when you liked to make it clear you despised him? in fact, you enjoyed making a special effort to flip him off, or pull a face at him when he walked by, or kick his chair extra hard in spanish, or... oh shit. you had seen it from an outside point of view now, and it was glaringly obvious; maybe you did like him, just a little bit. shit. rory owed lorelai 10$ and a cheeseburger from luke’s, though you didn’t want to have to admit she was right when she’d said you were like a kindergarten boy pulling a girl’s ponytails because he thought she was pretty.

‘hey tristan,’ you started, breaking the comfortable silence between his questions and suddenly nervous to talk to him. stupid, it was still the exact same boy you’d been complaining about all week, nothing new. 

he looked up from your notes. ‘what’s up princess?’ 

that was definitely new.

‘don’t call me princess’ -he smirked irritatingly- ‘do you need to stay much longer? i mean, is there anything else you want help with?’

‘trying to get rid of me?’

‘no! no. i just thought that you’d only stay and pretend to listen to me for like, half an hour then vanish. it’s 11:30 and you’ve been through my whole binder.’

‘it is? time flies.’

‘tristan.’

‘i do care about my grades, you know. and you’re a good teacher, i might have a chance at an A.’

‘why didn't you show up the last 6 times we planned then?’

he put down his pen- your pen, actually. it had pink sparkles on the lid. ‘got to keep up my street cred.’

‘ha ha. funny,’ you replied as blankly as possible, pulling back a smile you could feel in your stomach. you made eye contact again and, like every other time since you’d sat down and started studying, you held each other’s gaze for longer than necessary. funny how realising you like someone makes you suddenly act like it.

‘i should get going then right,’ he said, picking his jacket from the back of his chair.

you felt weird, almost as if you didn't want him to leave after praying earlier he wouldn't show up. alas, your parents would be home soon and you would be willing to bet money that tristan would have some interesting jokes about your being home alone that would not slide with your dad.

‘yeah. i hope you get that A,’ you said, accidentally smiling as you walked him to the door.

tristan turned to lean on the frame of the now-open door and put on a face of mock surprise. ‘my, my, y/n. was that a kind comment and a smile? you’re spoiling me.’

‘shut up, i hope you fail.’

he smiled back. ‘you really mean that?’

‘i guess not.’

there was yet another beat of heavy silence.

‘see you monday.’

‘see you monday.’

you closed the front door as he walked down the drive, but noticed tristan’s car keys still sat on the kitchen table. a porsche, of course. you picked them up and reopened the door to his fist poised to knock. the two of you laughed awkwardly for a second.

‘i forgot my-’

‘you forgot your-’

another awkward laugh. jesus christ this was uncomfortable. you passed him the keys, and with absolutely no warning at all, your lips were suddenly met with his. they were soft and confident, and his free hand held your face as you tried to process the new situation. you quickly melted into the kiss, letting him take control until he pulled away and smiled that sparkly smile you didn't hate as much as you tried to.

‘didn't see that one coming,’ you said breathily, brushing some loose hairs off of your face.

‘i knew you didn’t hate me.’

‘ever the arrogant twat.’

‘hey, does this mean you’ll stop kicking my chair in spanish?’

‘absolutely not. in fact, i think i’ll kick it harder.’

‘as long as you let me do that again.’

tags: @leossmoonn for inspiring me to start writing again, @account123445 & @lmaoidekanymore6 for asking me to post tristan fics! (couldn’t figure out how to make the tags work but if you read this, you know ✨)

#tristan dugray #tristan gilmore girls #chad michael murray #gilmore girls #gilmore girls fic #gilmore girls fanfiction #can't think of anymore tags so i'll just hope this does ok on its own

[captnjacksparrow]

Hello, I've been wondering when and how naruto fandom became so agresive when it comes to shipping. Multi shipping, shipping wars, toxic/no development/ dysfunctional ships exists in other fandoms but 1)none are rly as bad as this one 2)none lasted as long. Is this a case only with main/major characters in naruto? I'm baffled honestly...

The shipping fandom got rabid After the release of Chapter 700 and it got even more aggressive after the release of Gaiden. 😒😒😒

It doesn’t mean that SS and NH weren’t there before or anything. NH were less vocal until Chapter 700 & The Last and they weren’t that much hated back then because Hinata was a ‘silent waifu’.... 

However, When it comes to SS though, **Ahem**, those peeps were still rabid and nonsensical by mixing Fanon and Canon and they spew nonsense that Sakura could easily influence Sasuke because of that Forest of the Death Back Hug, Sakura would be the one to give him a family.... and all that nonsense. And also they constantly use that Databook fact, ‘Sakura, the one who filled my Lonely Existence with emotions called Love’... SOMETHING THAT HASN’T CHANGED EVEN TODAY.... EVEN AFTER A DECADE.

However, If you ask whether SS were Aggressive & Abusive back then??? 

I don’t think so. 

Because, they didn’t have any content to begin with... Atleast not in Part 2. So, If they ever start to spout bullshit, they were easily ganged up on by Non-Shippers, SNS Shippers, NaruS*k*s alike and troll them endlessly. 

So, they weren’t Aggressive but delusional & thirsty nonetheless. Like Cherry picking a single panel and wetting over it.

But once that Chapter 700 shitstorm happened, SS and NH became more rabid like a caged dog was being unleashed and they couldn't stop screaming, ‘We became Canon’. And after that most of the new Fans were introduced into Naruto series through exotic Fan Arts and smexy Fan Fics where they have Hot Sasuke with Innocent Sakura, Naruto having hot times with Hinata with her overflowing prospects and whatnot. Added to that, most of the SNS fans actually moved on to other Anime & left this Fandom. 

But Did it stop there??? 

Well, SP decided to go for some bullshit Next Generation series. And SS and NH were hoping that they would get more family contents and they dreamt that they will live on that Horny tree forever but that’s when everything went haywire because Kishi decided to shit on them even more by making SS into a dysfunctional one and NH to be a disconnected one in Gaiden.... 

This actually made them even more insecure and as a result they got more rabid by starting to aggressively lie and abuse & harass other people who criticize their ship because they earned a Victory by becoming canon in Chapter 700 after supporting it for more than a decade but couldn’t completely celebrate it even after they got what they wanted. 

None are really as bad as Naruto Shipping Fandom

Yes, because the author intentionally refused to give any positive development for SS and NH... And he ended up making them canon. It's like two morons (SS & NH) argue as to who is the worst moron...🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️.. That's why Naruto shipping fandom is bad. Whereas in other fandoms, they have contents to argue about and there are development...

None lasted as long

It's lasting even till today because of SP, who creates Boruto Anime which feeds these Jokers with filler contents and bad fanfiction. They are the ones who pushed for this Next Generation shit...

Is this a case with only Main Characters in Naruto?

Yes. Because majority of the fandom couldn't handle the nature of the feelings between N and S... Hence they get possessive about them... For example,

I took a screenshot from an old tumblr post from May 2014 (before the Manga was even completed)... [Link]

And there are other messages like this in Tumblr for which I don't have a source... But only Screenshots and all of them are from 2013, 2014...

Marry Sasuke😲😲????

🤷🏻‍♀️

-

-

Shippers get insecure and possessive about N and S because of these kind of views from Non-Shippers and Casual Watchers who just read and throw the Manga next day... If a casual fan could notice this 'intense' thing between 2 boys, then I am sure Hardcore Fans would have realized that there's something between N and S but couldn't accept it... That's why they want to die on that 'Brothers' hill forever.

So, Yeah... It's all because of Chapter 700 and what followed after that made these shippers go rabid because they couldn't be at peace even after they got what they wanted because Kishi wouldn't let them.😅

#sns #sasunaru #narusasu

[evieonic]

I love your blog!! I was wondering if you would write about platonic Yuuji getting tickled by Gojo & Megumi? Tysm!

Hi Anon! I'm so sorry it took so long to get this posted, I had a tough time coming up with ideas and then I got sick but it's all good now! Thank you for your patience. This is what I came up with, I hope you enjoy it. This fic can also read on ao3 if you'd prefer to read it there.

Remedy For A Broken Heart (Published:  08/15/2021)

Pairing: Platonic only, characters: Gojo, Yuuji, and Megumi

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Trigger Warning: None, though technically contains a break-up and non-consensual tickling though it's all in good fun.

Length: 1595 Words, 1 Chapter. Completed.

Summary: Yuuji's heart got broken by some chick at school and absolutely refuses to go to class. Megumi takes it into his own hands to get the strawberry blond happy again by calling Gojo-sensei who has some... talented tickling fingers.

------------------------------------ Megumi sighed as he stared down at the miserable sight below him. Yuuji was curled up in his bed with the covers over himself, completely ignoring the world. There were tissues littering the bed with tubs of empty ice cream on the nightstand. There was only one explanation for a sight like this.

Yuuji… got his heart broken.

“Yuuji,” Megumi sighed once more, pulling off the covers, “I know your heart is broken and the world seems to be ending, but you still have classes.”

“No!” Yuuji grumbled, pulling the covers back over his head with a yank, “tell them I'm sick or something.”

Megumi rolled his eyes, “Yuuji, it’ll be a good distraction.”

Yuuji only curled further into his bed, completely ignoring the boy. Megumi had never seen Yuuji this depressed before. It honestly concerned him. He placed his chin in his hand, his other on his hip as he took a moment to come up with an idea. What could possibly cheer up Yuuji? Talking about girls wouldn’t help, it’d only remind him of his loss. Maybe ice cream? No, the poor boy has had enough. A movie? No, he wouldn’t focus.

His mind raced with ideas until bingo, he had it. He smirked slightly as he folded his arms over his chest, “alright. Suit yourself.” He took his phone out of his pocket, dialing his emergency cheer up number. He knew it was going to work because Yuuji had done the exact same thing when Megumi was feeling down.

He grinned slightly as the familiar voice answered, “hello?”

“Gojo-sensei, I apologize for bothering you so close to class…,” Megumi began. He always felt a little bad for calling Gojo for anything that seemed minor.

“Hey, don’t worry about it, I'm here to help! What can I do for you?”

“Well, Yuuji got his heart broken so he refuses to go to class, so I was wondering if you could-” Megumi hadn’t gotten most of the words out when Gojo suddenly hung up. “H-Hello? Gojo?”

Megumi lowered his phone, looking at the ID in confusion, about to redial Gojo’s number when suddenly, their dorm room door was blown off of it’s hitches, hitting the wall with a hard impact.

“AYO I HEARD SOMEONE WAS SAD IN HERE,” A voice yelled and Megumi immediately realized what happened. Gojo had kicked down the door.

“Gojo-'' Megumi started, anger evident in his voice, but he was interrupted by Yuuji suddenly perking up, frightened by the sound of their door crumbling down.

He blinked. He glanced at Megumi, then glanced at Gojo.

And then he realized exactly what they had planned.

Megumi couldn’t help but smirk as he saw Yuuji suddenly remember that the last time Megumi was sad, he had called Gojo over and the two of them practically tickled him to death, making his sadness go away. Megumi had sworn revenge ever since that day. Today was a perfect opportunity.

“W-Wait,” Yuuji began, sinking back underneath his covers as Gojo’s eyes narrowed at him, “w-wait, there’s been a mistake, I’m-”

Gojo was making a beeline to him now.

“W-WAIT, I’m fine! Gojo, I’m- eheh !” Giggles were already catching in his throat, bringing a smile to Megumi’s face.

“Nurse, hold him down!” Gojo ordered. Megumi immediately obeyed, though cringed at being called a nurse. He held Yuuji down by his arms while Gojo yanked his covers away.

“N-N-NO! I’m fine, Gojo, I’m good!” Yuuji stammered, panicking before turning his gaze to Megumi, giving him his finest death glare, “why did you call him, you traitor?!”

“Revenge,” Megumi said.

“How?! You needed that and you know you did!”

“Well, you also need this so…,” Megumi shrugged, “point denied.”

Gojo hummed in thought as he straddled Yuuji, looking at him and thought, “hmm, I see, I see. I can see the sadness is located here,” he poked at Yuuji’s chest, right where his heart was, “we will need to prepare for an emergency tickle session.”

“Yes doctor,” Megumi nodded, falling into the scene Gojo was creating.

Yuuji only looked at them both as if they were idiots, “the fuck is wrong with you two? Can you please let me just be sad in peace, it’s okay to be sad every now and then- it’s healthy!”

“See, now that’s a symptom of extreme sadness, which means you’re too far gone,” Gojo said seriously, shaking his head. “He’s worse than I thought. Are you ready, nurse?”

“Yes doctor.”

“Can you two at least not be weird about this?!” Yuuji complained once more but Gojo ignored him, rubbing his hands together as if he was about to use a defibrillator on him.

“Clear!” He shouted before placing his hands on Yuuji’s sides and wiggling his fingers about.

The effect was immediate. Yuuji squirmed and thrashed about, forcing Megumi to hold on tighter, keeping him pressed on the bed as laughter filtered out of his mouth. “GAHAHA-! Nohohohohoho!! Staaahap! Staahp!” He giggled, trying with all his might to buck Gojo off, but the teacher was unfortunately too heavy.

“Seems like the medicine is working, nurse,” Gojo said, a hint of a smile on his lips as he continued his attack, “perhaps we should administer it to all locations of depression.”

“I agree, doctor,” Megumi smiled, nodding as he watched Yuuji smile with glee, despite the fact that his happiness was somewhat forced right now.

“I think I can see this being a huge problem area,” Gojo said, digging his fingers into Yuuji’s ribs, making him cackle with laughter, “oh yes, this whole area is pretty bad.”

“P-Pleehehehese,” Yuuji wheezed out, gasping for air as Gojo continued his treatment, “I cahahan’t breeeeathe!”

“Oof,” was all Gojo responded with.

“Gojo!!!”

“Well are you not sad yet?” He asked, halting his fingers for just a moment.

“I’m more pissed off than anything,” Yuuji grumbled, panting and glaring at his teacher.

His teacher only raised an eyebrow before thrusting his hands underneath Yuuji’s shirt, his fingers scribbling against Yuuji’s sensitive skin, making him howl with laughter. “NOOOAHAHA! Y-YOU BASTARD!”

“Nurse, he’s becoming critical!” Gojo grinned. “I need a hand stat!”

Megumi smirked, immediately catching on to what Gojo meant, “yes doctor!”

Yuuji caught the look in his eyes, squirming more vigorously in attempt to get away, “oh no, no you don’t, no you fucking don’t, don’t you da- PFFFAAHAHAHA!!” he erupted with laughter, the sound turning into a wheeze as Megumi, wiggling his fingers around his armpits, stimulating the sensitive nerves there. He had his knees pressed down on Yuuji’s hands, preventing him from moving his arms and keeping him vulnerable.

“T-T-T-This is t-t-torture, ahaha!” Yuuji wheezed, the words barely audible.

“It’s called medicine, actually,” Gojo said, “thought I guess depending on the medicine, it is torture.”

“Y-Y-You’re - ahahaha! - b-both - heh - s-stupid,” Yuuji giggled, his words distorted. Gojo and Megumi both only smiled down at him.

“Sorry, what was that?” Gojo smirked

“Aahahasshole!”

“Are you going to stop being sad?” Megumi asked, digging his fingers into Yuuji’s sensitive nerves, gently moving them to his neck, scribbling underneath his chin. “Are you going to get out of bed, make yourself happy and go to class?”

“Y-You cahahahan’t just autaha-automaahatically make sohohomeone hahappy!” He whimpered, trying with all his might to yeet them off but having no luck. He simply just had to lay there, as their fingers sparked up giggle after giggle. It was so unfair.

But finally, after a while, Megumi and Gojo both slowed to a stop. Yuuji made a breathless giggle, his eyes wet with happy tears as he blinked a few times before glancing at them both, confused, “Y-You… finally stopped?”

“Depends. Did we cure the sadness?” Gojo asked with a smile.

“If I say yes, will you guys sto- AHAHA!! WHA- HEY?!” Yuuji glared at the sudden tickling done by Megumi. He only smirked, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

“Just making sure you know we can keep going with this treatment all night long,” Megumi said.

“Yes,” Gojo nods, “I am the top rated doctor in the nation, I don’t let my patients leave when I know they need more treatment.”

“I hate you both.”

Megumi chuckled and rolled his eyes, “come on, Yuuji. I know it’s rough, but you can’t stay like this.”

Yuuji sighed, finally letting himself lose the sad attitude. He was sad that he got dumped but to be honest, he didn’t really like the girl anyway. It just hurt his ego more than anything. He slowly nodded, “okay, I’m fine.”

“Is that the honest truth?” Megumi asked, moving his fingers slowly in a silent threat.

“Yes!” Yuuji said, “It is, I swear.”

Gojo and Megumi exchanged a look of doubt before finally nodding. “Okay,” Gojo shrugged, “we believe you. Now we can go get you ice cream.”

“Eh? Ice cream?” Yuuji said, instantly perking up from that.

“You know how doctors give their patients lollipops at the end of their treatment? I don’t have any lollipops so… ice cream,” Gojo said, getting up off of the poor young boy, Megumi quickly following him.

“You know if you just gave me ice cream first, I would’ve been easily healed,” Yuuji said, rolling his eyes as he sat up.

“You’ve been eating ice cream all day with that same sulky look in your eyes, ice cream wouldn’t have the same effect as it will now,” Megumi said, smiling softly as Gojo nodded, completely agreeing with him while Yuuji glared.

“Again, I hate you both,” he pouted.

“Yes we know. Now, where do you want your ice cream?”

#jujutsu kaisen yuuji #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen megumi #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jjk #jjk yuuji #jjk megumi #jjk gojo #tickle fic #tickling #platonic #platonic relationships #also on ao3 #requested by anon #fanfiction #jjk fanfic

[turtleedovee]

Life Has a Funny Way of Working Out

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Chapter 2

Word Count: 3,111

Warnings: Cursing, abuse, angst, small descriptions of blood and bruises, shouting, breaking things (that’s about it but if you guys have anything else i’ll gladly add it to the list)

A/N: this is my first bucky fic ahh! idk if i’ve ever posted any fanfics on this blog before which is crazy. i was thinking of making a side blog but whatever it works here. this is gonna be a series of sorts. maybe three chapters, 4? we’ll see. reader is a female and has powers oOoOoo. i’ll post this on AO3 as well so check out my account on there too! i’ll reblog this post with the ao3 link once i publish it on there if you wanna leave kudos or see my other work 👀but anyways i’m done talking, i hope you enjoy! (not my gif)

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

You sighed at your boyfriend’s anger and frustration, you didn’t blame him of course, you had just told him you wanted to break up.

“Please just calm down and let’s talk about this-” You tapped the table lightly, signaling him to just take a seat because he wouldn’t stop pacing back and forth.

“No, I’m not gonna sit down, what the hell? Why are you doing this to me?” He ran his hand down his face; you were really hoping this wouldn’t turn into some big thing but life has a funny way of working out.

“We talked about this. You are constantly complaining about me not being around enough because you just want to hang out with me, which is sweet of you, but after thinking about it, I am not what you need right now, I can’t be an attentive girlfriend right now and you know why.” You tried to reason with him but he was still standing up, all jittery. You really did think about this long and hard; he was always upset about you being away on missions constantly but you had warned him about that the first time you both went on a date.

“Yeah, yeah whatever you save the fucking world, then why did you decide to put me through this if you knew you weren’t gonna be around.” He accused you. 

“Wow.” You were starting to get upset, standing up you started defending yourself. “I told you what we were in for if we started dating, you told me you didn’t care and wanted to be with me either way. So you knew this was going to be difficult, now I’m giving you an out. You can go be with someone who will be there for you alright? I can’t be that for you and I’m sorry.” He scoffed and turned away from you, after a couple of seconds of silence he turned around and looked at you in shock.

“Oh my god.”

You shook your head confused. “What?”

“You’ve been cheating on me.”

“What!?” Now it was your turn to shout. You could not believe how and where he drew his conclusion.

“No yeah, yeah!” He shouted as if he was trying to convince himself of this. “You constantly hang around this boy’s clubs all the time and what? I’m supposed to believe you’re just going on missions?” He said stepping forward.

You scoffed, honestly amazed as to how he was trying to blame this on you. “Yes! I am away trying not to die constantly to save the world your ass is living in.” You shouted, you clenched your fist so angry as to how this was the same guy who brought you flowers after you came back from your first mission while you two were a couple.

“Oh so now this is my fault.” He waved his arms around, exasperated. “Honestly how am I supposed to believe you.”

“You’re supposed to believe me because I wouldn’t lie to you. Because we’re in a relationship, isn’t that what it’s all about? Trust? I can not believe we are having this conversation right now.” You stepped closer now, just tired of this whole evening. 

“Well if you didn’t want to have this conversation maybe you shouldn’t have decided to dump me.” He yelled and then did the most childish thing you could think of: he punched your wall and made a hole in the column right next to the kitchen.

Now you were angry, mainly because you were going to have to pay to have that fixed, or else your landlady would never let you hear the end of it, but also because he was acting like a child.  “I decided to end this relationship because I couldn’t be the girlfriend you wanted me to be. You are constantly bitching and moaning that I don’t give you enough attention while I’m out there busting my ass working tirelessly day and night trying to oh I don’t know, save the damn world you live in and you decide to just complain about how you don’t have anyone to watch a movie with you? Honestly dating you had been like having a second job, fuck you-” Suddenly he turned around and swung at you.

Not a slap, it was a punch. He hit you with his right hand and hit the left side of your face, you’ve always been told to expect punches and hits, hell, one of the first rules you learned was to always protect the face. But no training could ever prepare you for the person that you cared for most would decide to swing at you.

The impact was enough to turn you around and almost cause you to fall but the couch was on your right-hand side so as your body motioned to the right you instinctively reached out for the couch and balanced yourself. 

You reached out to touch the spot where he hit and realized he broke some skin. As you removed your hand from the side of your face you realized that there was a little bit of blood. You didn’t look at him, trying to compose yourself and not explode.

Just breathe. Just breathe.

You should’ve used your powers

You reacted too slowly

Your powers could’ve stopped him

You should’ve broken up with him in public 

He wouldn’t hit you in front of random strangers like he did now… right?

A million and one things ran through your head but finally, after an excruciating 5 seconds of silence, you spoke quietly. “Get out.”

He looked at you as if he was confused as to what you meant by that, but still, he did not move.

“I said get out. Now.” You turned to him, stared him dead in the eye, and pointed to the door. “We’re done. I want you to leave and never speak to me again.”

He shook his head and began to talk, “Babe, c’mon you know I didn’t mean it.” He started walking closer to you and reached out for your arm, but you were ready this time.

You lurched your arm forward and up, lifting the now terrified man in the air, he knew about your powers and what they could do, but you promised to never use them on him; now those promises meant nothing to you.

“I told you to leave. You refuse to listen so here is how this is going to go,” You tilted your head slightly to the right and lifted him up higher, he tried moving his arms but your powers kept them to the side of his body, “you are going to leave. I don’t ever want to see you again, don’t look for me, don’t talk to me, do not even breathe the same fucking air as me. And if I ever see you in my line of sight again, I will not hesitate to end you. Are we clear?” He just stayed there staring at you. “Oh, and I almost forgot.” Using your free hand you motioned it up and to the side, two keys coming out of his pocket and landing in your hand. It was the spare keys you gave him when you first moved to the apartment so that way he could wait for you until you got home. “I’ll be needing these back, thank you.” Putting them away safely in your pocket, now ensuring he won’t be able to get into your apartment complex again. “Now leave.” Once again using your free hand you waved and the door began to open inwards revealing the empty hall. You moved your hand that held him in place towards it and launched him forward, his back hitting the wall. The last thing you saw was him starting to get up but you didn’t give him much of a chance to do anything else until waved for the door to close. Finally letting out the breath that you didn’t realize you were holding in, you ran for the door and double-locked it; turning around and resting your back against the door breathing heavily, you stayed there trying to wrap your head around what just happened. 

This man was stubborn as hell and you hated him for that. He stayed at your door for god knows how long, occasionally weeping and saying he was sorry for what he did, begging you to let him back inside to talk it out, to bangs on the door and screams shouting things at you whether calling you a “slut” or saying that he straight-up hated you. You were starting to regret asking Fury to find you a complex that had no other tenants on the same floor because you knew by now someone would’ve heard and called to complain, but since the complex was four stories and you were in the building furthest from the staircase, no one could hear anything.

————————————————————————

He checked his phone for the third time in the last 5 minutes

Sent 1 hour ago

Shit… 

He turned off his phone and threw his head back sighing. His partner now getting annoyed.

“Look man, don’t worry about it maybe she got just forgot or something,” Sam spoke, looking at Bucky who’s stare stayed unwavering at the ceiling.

“I don’t like it, Sam, she said she would text us once she finished breaking up with that douche bag.” Checking his phone once more, all that stared back was the 4 texts he had sent back to back constantly checking in. You had told him not to call but part of him itched to just hit the dial button and make sure you were okay.

“She’ll call us when she’s ready to talk, so just give her some space.” Sam tried to ease his nerves, but Bucky knew something was off, he felt it in his gut. It wasn’t like you to just not leave a message in case nothing happened.

“I’m gonna go check on her.” Bucky began to get up from the couch.

“Buck-” Sam warned.

“She said she was gonna text us once she finished dumping that guy, that was 3 hours ago and we haven’t heard anything from her. If it’s nothing then I’ll come back.” Bucky grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. Sam only shook his head knowing he couldn’t stop him now.

“Fine, but be careful alright. If this guy is still there by the time you come I don’t think he’ll be very happy to see you.” Sam chuckled a little.

But Bucky rolled his eyes and headed out.

————————————————————————

He arrived at your apartment complex in a little under 15 minutes, trying really hard not to break any traffic laws. But it didn’t matter after what felt like forever he looked at the building now shrouded in darkness since the sun had set less than half an hour ago. He tried looking for your window to see any signs of people in there, not getting very far he decided to go up to your door and knock. 

This building was not the most secure in the world. The front gate that led to every tenant space was left open so getting in was a breeze. After climbing a few sets of stairs he finally reached your door. The first thing he noticed was the dent on the wall that wasn’t there the last time he came to visit. He tried looking under the door to see any movement but all he saw was something dark standing in front of the door. But didn’t hear anyone speaking; so he just decided to knock quietly hoping you would answer and explain how you were just fine and how everything had gone well.

————————————————————————

Today couldn’t have been any worse

You heard another knock.

Dear fucking god can he not quit

It had been nearly 5 minutes since you heard the last knock and wanted to look to see if he was finally gone but something in your body told you not to move. You have never been this paralyzed in fear. You had gone through worse things before in your life as an Avenger but those guys were bad, they meant to do harm and had no reason to give you any false sense of security, but he did.

Knock knock knock

You couldn’t take it anymore. He had been at the door for over an hour and you just wanted to be left alone, so you got up created a ball of pure energy in your hand made solely out of anger, just ready to blast the ever-living shit out of him. 

You began to open the door and started to wind your hand back ready to launch the ball of energy in his face, “I thought I told you to leave me the fu-”

“Woah Woah Woah-!” You heard a voice say, and when you actually looked at who it was you realized it wasn’t your now ex.

“Bucky?” You asked in disbelief, still ready to launch your hand forward at any second. He held his gloved hands above him to cover his face from being blasted right off. “What’re you doing here?”

“I came to check up on you. You weren’t answering your messages so I got worried.” He said, slowly lowering his hands. 

You followed his movement lowering your own raised hand and dispelled the energy ball, fading away just like your anger.

You sighed in relief. “Oh,” you started realizing that he could probably see the mark on your face so you slowly rested the left side of your face on the door, slightly flinching at the contact, not expecting it to hurt as much, you hoped Bucky didn’t notice. “Well, uh, everything is fine.” You told him, giving a small smile.

He tried looking inside, “You sure?”

“Yes I am very sure, it all went smoothly.” You knew lying was going to get you nowhere with him, he was pretty perceptive.

“Okay, so you wouldn’t mind letting me in?” He pressed on, he knew he was getting nowhere standing outside the door, while you were inside desperately trying to hide something.

Your eyes widened ever so slightly, trying not to alert him of anything going wrong, but you knew if you told him he couldn’t come in he would suspect something and the last thing you wanted was for this to turn into something worse than it already was. 

“Of course, come on in.” You opened the door gesturing to come in, already regretting your decision.

“So, who were you trying to blast?” Bucky asked as you let him in, he examined the living room, nothing seemed too out of the ordinary. Your beige couch was slightly slanted forward but other than that everything else seemed to be in place, he did notice however, you having your back towards him, not making eye contact.

“Hmm?” You asked slightly distracted. “Oh, uh my neighbor’s kids, you know they keep running up and down the stairs and hallway.” You said, hoping he believed you, though you wouldn’t even believe your own lie given how shaky your voice was getting,

You cleared your throat, “Want some tea? I’m gonna make some right now.” Hoping a distraction would get you through this.

“No thank you I’m good, so uh, what did he say when you decided to break it off with him?” Bucky asked.

You weren’t ready to discuss this now, but what choice did you have, you could tell he was getting suspicious about something, so you just had to convince him it was nothing.

“Oh you know, he was upset obviously, but what’re you going to do.” You tried sounding nonchalant about the whole thing, you talked all the while putting water in the kettle and put it on the stove to boil. “He was upset but understood why I did it, and then uh, left.” 

“Really? Just like that?”

“Mhmm.” You spoke, the kettle starting to scream a little, grabbing your mug.

“So, if he just up and left without any struggle… then who made this hole in the wall?” Bucky asked as he tapped the wall with his knuckle.

Your fingers slipped and you dropped your mug, first hitting the counter then smashing into pieces on the floor, the screams of the kettle now almost piercing.

“Shit.” You whispered, for dropping the mug and completely forgetting about the hole he made right before he hit you. 

“Woah, hey are you okay?” Bucky turned around and saw you on your knees trying to pick up the broken pieces of the mug you had just dropped.

You were at your tipping point. Everything felt like it was unraveling all at once, you tried picking up the broken pieces of the mug, hardly noticing your tears trickling down and hitting the floor.

Bucky turned off the stove to stop the screaming and went up to you, gently putting his hand on your back. “Hey don’t worry about it okay? It’s just a mug you didn’t mean to drop it.”

“No… no no no, I wasn’t careful enough, I should’ve been nicer and more careful, this is all my fault.” You muttered to yourself. 

Bucky was starting to think that you weren’t talking about your mug. “Hey, look at me.” He spoke softly and gently lifted your chin and that’s when he first noticed the little bit of dried up blood that was on your left cheek and saw a bruise forming. “Oh god-”

You hated how he stared at you: pity, it was written in his eyes, you really didn’t want anybody to find out, especially him. Most of all, you were embarrassed, embarrassed with everything that happened and how you handled it all.

“I’m sorry.” Was all you could say, trying really hard not to break down crying, but it got harder the longer you stayed there on the floor staring at the shattered mug.

“Hey it’s okay, come here.” He wrapped you in a tight hug and that was all it took to get you to release the fear, anger, and sadness that you’ve had bottled up for the last few hours.

And there you two were, sitting on the floor of your kitchen, silently crying into Bucky’s shoulder gently gripping his jacket to steady yourself. Bucky just stared at the shattered mug, a mixture of relief and sadness filling his head; glad he went to check up on you but angry and upset that you have been put through something that dick had caused, and he intended to make his sorry ass pay.

#bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #avengers #mcu #sam wilson #bucky barnes x you

[akitokihojo]

Monster - Chapter 1

And, here we go. Chapter 1 of this monstrosity (no pun intended) is now up and running below, on AO3, and on FF.net.

I'm going to be completely and 100% honest with everyone before you start reading, so please heed this warning! This first chapter is rough in the sense where it contains a bit of brutality and the death of a child. So far, this is the only gruesome chapter, and while the gore is NOT detailed, I still want my more sensitive readers to be wary.

This is the most action-packed fic I've ever written, and also the most expansive world I've ever built (in my humble opinion). With that being said, while the setting is a bit more on the historical side, there are plenty of modern references. For instance, not in this chapter but in future ones, a bathroom is just a bathroom. I don't mention plumbing or the lack thereof. My attention and energy was on more important things and I just didn't care about those details, lol. Additionally, a lot of slang, jokes, and references are fairly modern. Don't @ me (but also do). All-in-all, what I'm trying to say is I built my own damn world where there is no historical accuracy, so don't go looking for it, lol.

Unless otherwise stated, I plan to post each new chapter every Friday. So, yeah... I think that's all I've got to say.... have fun! Enjoy! Thank you for reading! Ily! Bon Voyage! Don't hate me!

----------

The responsibility is ours.

Kagome gasped as her feet slid in the mud, the small decline of the path she and her younger brother hurried down gradually becoming more slippery as the rain began to pour harder. Through the noise of the droplets and the sloshing of their boots, she heard a slight commotion; horses’ huffs, heavy feet, and boisterous men barking orders. Initially, she’d figured it was the village men ushering their families indoors, their livestock into barns, their carts and tools under shelter, and their firewood into a dry place as the storm reared its ugly head. The sunset sky was shadowed in gloom, thunder making it’s entrance in the far distance as it was bound to be banging on their doors and windows in no time. But, at the tug of her arm by her sibling, her attention was shifted to the actual cause of it all: Naraku’s henchmen.

“Again?” She shuddered resentfully.

“Third time this month.” Sota confirmed, clenching his jaw as he slightly tugged his sister behind his smaller frame. He was perfectly aware that he was only twelve, well in the know that he stood no taller than her shoulders, but he’d be damned if he did nothing because of it.

This time, there wasn’t a hoard of them. No, there were merely four, all of which were already off of their horses on the main path through their little village, making demands and threatening anyone who got in the way of their objective.

Throughout the last four and a half years since Naraku rose as a fearsome demon that easily brought down peaceful powers and attempted to control the world Kagome knew, she’d become more than familiar with this procedure. It wasn’t until just recently that they’d started coming more often than a monthly visit, though. And, it was no secret what, or who, they were after.

Her.

Anyone of her kind, really.

She was different. She was hunted. Those like her were supposedly powerful, but matters being what they were had caused anyone who shared a similar fate to subdue their abilities to the point of total lack of recognition of their true potential. At least, that’s how it was in most cases. Because, if they were found out, they were killed on sight. The reason for it was entirely unknown. Naraku didn’t just target them, though; he made everyone’s lives hell, especially if they stood out in a supernatural manner. So, while she figured there had to be a yet-to-be-identified reason, she felt it was safe to assume it was also just because he could. Maybe he didn’t like the threat of other, similar forces that could collide against him. Maybe he was egotistical enough to think he was the only deserving being. Whatever the case, he was cruel.

Kagome’s kind had several names through the decades - so many, she hardly knew the correct term for herself. At one point, ages ago, they were called banshees. The title didn’t make sense whatsoever, given their powers and what a banshee actually was, and the story was so old that she didn’t know where the justification even stemmed from, but it caused them to be feared, and for that, she honestly wouldn’t have totally minded if the name stuck around. They were called priestesses, but then it sounded too peaceful, too practiced, and it painted them as “good.” They were called witches, mages, sorceresses, but they committed no typical magic of that sort. Kagome didn’t know a single spell, nor did she have nearly enough time in the day to pack an array of herbs, spices, and what have you into jars that were sealed with candle wax - though she had caught wind that there were some older women of her kind with the ability to curse. Now, they were called conjurers. Their abilities were that of the spirit, aiding with protection, purifying dark forces - passively or forcefully, bringing forth light, and more she was sure.

In Kagome’s unpopular opinion, given what they could do and what they supposedly stood for, priestess was more suitable a term, but she also understood that there was nothing holy about the world they lived in.

There was no birthmark of the conjurer. There was no dead giveaway of their kind. The powers were gifted at random, as far as she knew, not passed down through lineage. The only thing Naraku and his followers seemingly had to go off of was that conjurers were born female.

Sometimes, they’d conduct their mission by way of senseless inspections. They’d rip apart the insides of homes looking for all the wrong things in all the wrong places. Truthfully, with how absurd they carried themselves, it was obvious they didn’t know the telltale signs they were looking for and were wasting their time. Which was what made it clear that for them to be so clueless, even Naraku didn’t know all there was that made up a conjurer. They were ignorant and they were blind, but they were also relentless and ruthless.

The days where they singled women out were the worst. Kagome, so far, was spared that cruelty, but that didn’t make it any better. It was usually the more mature, the elderly, that received the short end of the stick.

More often than anything, they’d line up every woman and girl in town and go down the rows one-by-one, stimulating their nerves in one way or another to see if they could get a “conjurer’s reaction.” Kagome could only guess that meant a sudden surge of purification power. It was the main trait conjurers were known for; but they were going about it wrong. Screaming in their faces, threatening everyone, or jostling them around a bit wasn’t going to get the demons purified, no matter how much she wanted to toss something their way. Of course, she wasn’t going to be the one to tell them that.

Every so often, they’d come in a pack and create havoc with violence. They said it was their way to pressure people into giving up any information they might have, but in all honesty, the smiles some of the brute demons wore said they were bored and simply wanted a little entertainment. Apparently, screaming and pleading were equivalent to a musical number in their bloodlust eyes.

Their own little group of demon slayers that resided in the village helped prevent this from happening when they could, which was why the henchmen came in numbers. The demon slayers fought for a sense of control, not to kill. They would only allow so much, but belligerent violence was not an option. It was obvious that, as of late, their village was a targeted spot, one that got a little more attention than neighboring towns, and for what reason, no one knew. They didn’t have the fighting power to win that sort of fight, though, and the leader of the group of slayers was sensible enough to understand this and explain it to the masses that questioned them. They were made up of a handful of men with rigorous combat skills they didn’t learn from home, refused to take recruits below a certain age, and could only train so many at a time. As much as they’d all love to retaliate and end things for good, intuition was telling them not to in that manner. Even Kagome felt that. Deep in her gut, she knew that even if they could, killing them would only put the people of the village in a worse position. This wasn’t something that would stop by taking out the underlings. Not at all. Far from it. Anyone who was paying attention could see that they’d need to exterminate the head honcho in order for any positive difference to be made.

Unfortunately for them this time around, their little pack of demon slayers had left on a request to take care of a troublesome demon a little ways off just that morning. And, listening to the henchmen now, seeing them in their dark leather, their cloaks, feeling their dangerous energies wafting through the streets of their little town, Kagome could tell that they were going to do whatever they wanted tonight, despite the fact that it was just the four of them. It wouldn’t be horrible, and would most likely be a lineup, but they were definitely going to take their sweet time and see who they could break.

“There’s still time. They haven’t noticed you. We can hide you.” Her younger brother said, his tone more on the convicted side as opposed to suggestive. He should have known she wouldn’t have gone for it, though. So long as every other woman and girl had to stand in front of their villainous promises and vile breath, so long as her mother had to keep a straight face, Kagome would always stand there with them. She’d made a promise to her brother, her older cousin, and especially her mom that she’d never willingly out herself for no reason, but she just couldn’t bring herself to hide when everyone else had to stand through their harassment. She swore that if the demons were ever convinced an innocent was a conjurer, that was the reason to give herself over.

Never would Kagome allow another to mistakenly go down in her stead.

No one but her family knew of her powers, and until necessary, it would stay that way. According to her cousin, the more people that knew, the increased danger she was in.

“Let’s just get this over with.” She shook her head, minding her steps through the small slope of mud as she gently pulled her arm out of Sota’s grip.

“Miroku would say the same thing if he were with us.” He argued.

“Yeah, well he’s not. In fact, he’s probably getting himself into trouble by picking a fight with one of those goons.”

“Kagome, I have a bad feeling about this. Come on, just listen for once.”

“Okay,” She stopped, turning around to challenge his look. “Say something bad is going to happen. Knowing these assholes, you really think my absence will stop that?”

“No, but -“

“Right. They’re going to do something no matter what, correct?”

“Kagome -“

“And then what?”

“And then they’re wrong, but they didn’t get you.”

“How is that fair to the person they might hurt?”

“That person isn’t my sister.”

“What if it’s mom?”

Sota’s eyes slighted to the side, a heated huff leaving his lips just before he begrudgingly sealed them. His jaw clenched minutely as his head gave a little shake, brown eyes once more meeting his sibling’s. “Miroku and I will protect her.”

Kagome gave a fed up smile, sighing, rolling her eyes, and turning back on her heel to continue toward the main path. Families came out of their homes dressed in cloaks as they prepared to, once more, be harassed until Naraku’s men exhausted themselves, husbands and male relatives holding resentful expressions as they guarded their female family members until they couldn’t any longer.

“Kagome!”

“Sota, quit it. The louder you are, the more suspicious we become.” She quietly warned. Kagome heard her brother’s aggravated grumble before he jogged forward to catch up, his demeanor holding much like every other male in the village.

No one’s feet rushed toward the excitement. The tension of the town was up so dramatically that Kagome could physically feel the crushing weight of it all, the anxiety as they made their way closer to their disgusting visitors was causing her stomach to bubble and waver, and her throat constricted nervously as she and Sota finally met up with the crowd, her brown eyes scouring over shoulders to scout out her family. Sota’s hand encircled her wrist firmly, tugging her to the right as he found them and guided her over. Miroku stood tall in front of their mother, brows noticeably creased and indigo eyes straight ahead until he’d caught their movement in his peripheral vision. Immediately, his posture squared further, as if enlarging his shoulders so that he’d be able to successfully hide both Kagome and his aunt behind his frame. Her mother held out her hand for Kagome to take as soon as they were close enough, a peaceful smile unsurprisingly gracing her lips while she pulled her in, shoulder-to-shoulder. Somehow, no matter the circumstances, she always did her best to calm Kagome’s nerves with the simplest of sweet gestures. Sota took his spot before them, influenced by Miroku’s stature as he replicated it.

Allowing herself a brief moment, Kagome bowed her head further, bracing it on her older cousin’s shoulder. She shut her eyes, inhaling slowly, deeply, attempting to release her trepidation with a long and heated exhale before composing herself and straightening out.

“- But this is too much! Why the hell are you back again!? There’s no conjurer in our village! Don’t you fucking get that by now!?” A man shouted, livid, and it was evident she and her brother had missed the beginning of the argument playing out in the center of the uneven circle created by people.

“Get the fuck out of the way!” One of Naraku’s men yelled back.

“Not until you tell us why you’re back for the third time!”

“Would you rather we made ourselves at home!?” Silence from the opposing man answered his question clearly. “That’s what I fucking thought.” He spewed, and Kagome could hear the spittle fly out as he cursed. His attention returned to the general public, his tone shifting from vicious to gruff as he made his command. “Only girls ranging from ages five to twenty, line up! Now!”

Increased unsettlement coursed through the crowd, mothers and fathers clinging to their young daughters, little girls’ fearful whimpers polluting the air as they hid their faces in their parents’ legs, and even Kagome’s own mother’s hand tightened her grip as a breathy gasp left her lips - understanding that this meant her eighteen year old daughter was being sent into the fire without her. They were narrowing down, slimming the numbers, and the small smiles on the villains’ faces made Kagome assume that something last time may have tipped them off to lessen the demographic.

“What do I do?” Kagome whispered to her cousin, failing in her attempt to hide the sudden panic striking her.

“Nothing. You do nothing.” He urged quietly, shifting his head to look into his younger relative’s eyes. “Listen, Kagome, treat this like routine -“

“This isn’t routine.”

“Treat it like it is. Keep your head down.”

“If they -“

“No.”

“But, they’ll -“

“Kagome, no. You made us a promise.” Miroku reminded firmly, knowing exactly where her mind was traveling. In the case of an incident, which there seemed to be a higher chance of this time around, she may need to intercede.

She took a deep breath, straightening her face as much as possible so Naraku’s men wouldn’t grow suspicious as they impatiently yelled again for the girls to gather before them. “If this means they suspect something -“

“It may just be a tactic they’re using. For all we know, they have nothing and could leave here with the same. So, treat it like routine. Okay?”

“Promise.” Sota insisted during Kagome’s silence. The mens’ barking got louder, more demanding, as did the crying of little girls being pulled away from their parents. With the building weight in her chest, like a liquid filling her lungs quickly, the density making it almost impossible to take full breaths of air or move without falling forward, all she could muster was a meager nod before forcing herself to walk out. Miroku and Sota both leaned to opposite sides to part their shoulders for her to move through, her mother’s soft hand still lightly holding her own until she was far enough for their fingers to slide away from each other’s.

At most, there were about twenty girls in that age range to offer, and Kagome’s brown eyes drifted over the uneven row of heads as she approached, finding her friend in the mix trying to calm the little girl beside her. Sango glanced her way, as if feeling Kagome’s eyes on her, giving an apprehensive grin and waving her over.

“Ready?” Kagome asked, though it was completely rhetorical. It was just habit for these things. It was unavoidable, unexpected, and overall, impossible to be ready for. But, when they bounced the question off of each other, it was like one final reminder to stone.

Sango knew. Sango and her family were the one exception to the familial rule. She was Kagome’s closest friend and Miroku’s significant other. She was more than trustworthy. And, more importantly, had known since Kagome accidentally found out, herself, as a kid. Because, that’s how it was being a conjurer. You weren’t born knowing. You didn’t have an outward appearance that proclaimed your status much like demons did. It was always an accidental happenstance; in her case where she put a little too much oomph into her bow and arrow lessons and purified the evil - and life - right out of a passing crow demon after missing her target.

She remembered the feeling of total surprise, then tremendous fear because she thought she’d be in a lot of trouble. Kagome had literally thrown her bow to the ground like the thing, itself, was the culprit of the power. Miroku was gawking, Sango was covering her mouth with both hands, and their dad’s shared an identical, tight-lipped expression. Her papa was motionless for an overwhelmingly-tense sixty seconds before shifting his wide, curious eyes to her.

“Did you know you could do that?” He’d asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, daddy.” Kagome innocently answered, but she could feel the red, hot heat in her face from her lie. She was awful at those when it came to the people she was close to. Still was to this day. Give her a stranger and she could keep it straight, but in the face of friends and family, she cracked almost too easily. It was a guilt thing.

But then he’d laughed, ruffling his little girl’s hair before reassuring her that it was okay. He said they’d just have to go about her training a little differently from that point on to make sure accidents like that didn’t keep happening, and it was only because of him, his adventurism, his accessibility to knowledge from his travels, that she even discovered what she was in the first place.

Back then, though it wasn’t quite as dangerous to exist as a conjurer, her papa had still suggested they keep her abilities under wraps. She distinctly remembered binding that with a pinky promise after Sango’s dad had a private discussion with her own. Maybe it was because Sango’s dad was even more educated with the world, and knew the potential hardships that could come her way, being the leader of the demon slayers that he was - and still is. Honestly, the reasoning was hard to determine now because she didn’t put much thought into it when she could and should have. Being the young, spunky, loyal girl that she was, if her dad wanted her to keep a secret and held out his pinky to her, that was all the reason Kagome needed, and nothing pleased her more than making her papa proud. And, when he and her uncle were fatally wounded in a demon attack on their village, even though Naraku’s name had never once yet been muttered near her ears, he still made her do one final pinky promise to him saying, “Protect yourself for me, my little bird. Keep it in its cage. I love you so much, Kagome.”

She wasn’t even a teenager when that had happened. There was a part of her that wondered here and there if he was secretly clairvoyant, or if he merely studied the patterns throughout history of people of her kind and wanted nothing more than to keep her safe and make her life as easy as possible, given the reputation they had, their ever-changing titles, and the ignorance others had of their nature. If only he knew where she was now. Would he still ask his little bird to stay in the cage while the door was wide open?

“Ready. You?” Sango returned, standing straight and allowing the little girl to cling to her leg.

“Ready.” Kagome breathed.

Those not lined up hesitantly backed away, creating space and growing agonizingly silent as they seemingly held their breaths for those that were chosen. Kagome hated when they did that. It was like she could physically feel the onlookers’ anxiety, and it was the last thing she needed on top of that of those actually subjected and her own.

The four men walked back and forth, up and down the two rows of girls, criminal eyes taunting them with silent threats and menacing grins. It was creepy, but no longer was it fear-inducing. Kagome had a bad habit of not shying away anymore. Sure, she was nervous beyond belief, but the last thing she was afraid of were their snarls, scarred and dirty flesh, and crooked teeth. That, of all things, was the least intimidating factor for those who were calloused to the routine.

But, when an abrupt instruction was given by the leader, her already-loose expectations of “routine” fell apart completely.

“Hold out your left hands, palms up!”

Confusion soared through every individual, and Kagome met Sango’s brief side glance, minutely comforted by the fact that she wasn’t the only one without a clue as to what was going on. Questions weren’t allowed though, and even the little ones were well aware of that, so as the small group of men demanded everyone shut up and do it, all outward bafflement dissipated.

Slowly, Kagome raised her left palm, her arm outstretched, swallowing as she willed the slight trembling to cease. Brown eyes searched quickly as she waited for whatever to begin, weeding through the crowd and finding Miroku already pinning her with a stare. It was wary, but hard, his jaw visibly tense.

The sound of an unsheathing blade was unmistakable, and immediately Kagome’s attention bounced to her left where the leader danced the grip of a knife in his fingers, his lips curved downward into a permanent frown. The first girl in line couldn’t have been any older than fifteen, noticeably shaking as her anxious stare bounced from the man to the blade.

A man in the crowd began shouting, stirring, pushing forward through the heap of villagers to reach the forefront, “Hey! No! What are you going to do!? That’s my daughter; what are you going to do!? Don’t you dare touch -“ Abruptly silenced by a defensive elbow to the diaphragm, gifted by an all-too-fast demon.

The young teenager shuddered, not sure what to worry about first as the leader gave her no moment to react, grabbed her hand, extended it further, and gave a small slice with the tip of his knife to the center of her palm. She winced, a whimper easily escaping her mouth from the sharp pain, tears leaking from her eyes quicker than the blood that seeped from her laceration. And then he grabbed her hand in his, sealing their palms together as he stared her in the eyes for a moment. She was utterly terrified, wanting to pull away while knowing she shouldn’t, but as nothing else happened, the man released her, murmuring to stay in line as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his blade, his hand, then moved onto the next.

Kagome’s attention snapped back to Miroku as it dawned on her, his eyes holding the same idea as he gave a steady but stern shake of his head in retort. They were looking for the untrained conjurers. The conjurers who weren’t skilled in holding back. Everyone was already scared, and the wound inflicted a heightened sense of fight-or-flight. Then their hands gripping the victims’ - their demon hands against the victims’… they were working to spark a purification reaction, and they were going about it right this time. It wouldn’t be strong enough to kill them, nothing that small or unsuspecting would be, but it would hurt - much like the notorious fairytale of a vampire taking a quick step into the sunlight before swiftly turning around and heading back inside. And, that was all they needed.

Unbeknownst to everyone but Sango and Miroku, Kagome wasn’t completely helpless. Not only was she well-versed in subduing her powers, but alternatively speaking, she could knock a guy completely on his ass. She’d practiced. She’d practiced for hours at a time for several years now to see what she could do, what sort of strength she possessed, all on the far outskirts of the village, hiding near caves with only her friend and cousin who'd agreed, despite promises and secrets, that they all should try to be prepared for anything. By no means was she an expert, but she could handle her own for the most part and a situation like this was something she’d been well-conditioned for, for quite some time now.

Especially since she’d first received that message in a dream.

The responsibility is ours.

Whatever it meant, no matter how bleak it felt, it was a no-brainer that Kagome couldn’t go on without some sort of knowledge of her own potential.

She took a shallow breath, diverting her gaze to the goon before her as he happily took out his own blade, the other two following suit as they set out to narrow the time this was going to take. He stepped forward, grasping the wrist of the frightened and resistant girl beside Sango, who Sango had to hush into calming, telling her it would be done quickly. When nothing gratifying came from the occurrence, the man moved on to Sango, pinning her with a glare that she challenged right back. She hardly flinched at the slice of her skin, brown eyes never leaving the demonic ones of her assailant. When she shrugged a brow as he clasped their hands together, Kagome could practically see the heat rising in the man’s body language, quickly fuming from how audacious Sango was acting - which Kagome couldn’t help but respect, not knowing if the chuckle she forcefully swallowed was one of matched humor or nervousness.

The man threw Sango’s hand to the side, merely wiping her blood from his palm and blade on his pants before vehemently grabbing Kagome’s and extending her arm completely, bringing an inadvertent gasp to escape her throat. As the tip of his knife pierced her palm, dragging slowly to create a burning gash - one larger than Sango’s, so she suspected her nonchalant pass of amusement wasn’t as admissible as she’d thought - Kagome couldn’t stop the hiss that slid off her tongue, her brows creasing and jaw dropping as crimson dripped from her hand to the mud. With a clap, he pressed his palm to hers, fingers squeezing her small hand with unmitigated pressure. She felt a flurry in her abdomen, her diaphragm, her chest, warmth that drove her power, and that was her cue to hold her breath, to pretend everything was fine, to tell herself she was safe and trick her mind when she really wasn’t. She pretended she was holding Sota’s hand - the first person that came to mind, and the least intimidating one that she knew. Sota as an adult whose hand was finally bigger than hers. She couldn’t help but feel this was a huge insult to her younger brother, so she subconsciously apologized as she continued her visualization. It was like a lump built in her throat, the kind that grew too difficult to swallow, but she also felt completely in control, returning the man’s stare before he dropped her hand and moved onto the girl beside her.

“Shh,” Sango gently hushed the small child. “Everything’s fine now, but you have to stay quiet. Give me your hand.”

Kagome slowly let out her captive breath, the air she sucked in to replace it cold and not the least bit comforting despite the danger she’d evaded. She kept her palm face up but closer to her heart, cradling it for a moment as she tried to ignore the searing pain, diverting her attention to Sango and the kid. Her best friend was already looking up at her, using the long sleeve of her shirt to clean the blood from the girl’s hand and apply pressure so it’d stop bleeding, never minding the bleeding of her own palm. Thankfully, it only looked to be a little knick, and Kagome wondered if the creep of a demon that had handled them secretly had a soft spot for children.

“You okay?” Sango silently mouthed to Kagome. She nodded in reply, picking up the bottom hem of her own shirt and pressing it to her wound.

A sudden, deep, and broken yell punched through the air as one of the demons stumbled away, his hand yanked back, fingers furled in offense, and face twisted in rage. A little girl shrieked as he lunged forward, grabbing her by the collar of her cloak and pulling her out of the line, her feet stumbling to keep up as she cried apology after apology.

No. Conjurers weren’t common; now more than ever. How could there be two in one village? Especially one as small as theirs? How could there be more than one not even miles apart? How did Kagome not know? Didn’t conjurers have the ability to sense one another? She’d only assumed that was the case because of the seemingly-prophetic dreams she’d been having; because of the woman that had been coming to her in those very dreams. It was a weak hypothesis to go off of, but it was the only answer that made sense to Kagome. But, now there was a child being dragged into the center of where the town congregated, begging and pleading for her life while her mother screamed from the sidelines where she was being held at bay, and Kagome was none the wiser to her existence.

She wanted to yell that they were wrong, but how could they have been? It was a physical test. The accidental reaction of her powers was a dead giveaway. They couldn’t even lie their way out of this, or pretend the allegation was false. She was a conjurer. And they were about to kill her.

Kagome’s heart twisted and bunched painfully, that hard lump once more building in her throat, a murmured, “no,” barely leaving her parted lips, and her brown eyes caught a pleased grin on the approaching leader’s face that, just moments ago, seemed stuck in a scowl. He twirled his dagger in his fingers before kneeling down in front of the weeping girl.

“Found you.” He snickered, plunging the blade into her abdomen.

“No!” Kagome gasped, slapping her hands over her mouth in shock. The village was alight with terror, screams, cries, the rumble of defeat, the wailing of a grieving mother striking over all other sounds. Still, she was withheld from her little girl, reaching for her over the shoulder of the unforgiving demon who kept her away.

The knife was yanked free of the girl’s gut and she fell to her knees, her hands braced before her stomach as crimson crawled out, staining the front of her rain-soaked dress. Small hands weakly pressed into her abdomen, the wide look of horror, of pain, of fear etched into every inch of her expression as she gasped tremblingly. All too easily, the leader stood and walked away, not an ounce of remorse displayed.

“She was… she was just a kid.” A sympathetic village man stated morosely. “She wasn’t even ten yet.”

“She wasn’t dangerous!” Another testified.

“Would you like to be next?” A demon threatened, thinking his raised voice would retain order.

Kagome could hardly breathe, tears burning and brimming at her lower lid. All she could think to do was try to stop the bleeding, try to save the child, her feet moving on their own accord as she rushed out of line. Beyond the anger building in the crowd, the yelling growing louder, and the intense disturbance increasing rapidly and overwhelmingly, Kagome heard her name called multiple times. But, she couldn’t bring herself to listen, to stop, as she skidded to her knees in the mud, her arms catching the little girl as she fell forward. Her mother was finally freed, racing over and falling to the ground at her child’s side, helping through her weeping to lay her on her back.

“It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s here.” She soothed as best as she could, hovering over her daughter's face so the rain wouldn’t hit it, shaking fingers pushing sopping hair from her cheeks.

Kagome grabbed the length from the girl’s cloak that stuck out on her side, bunching it and pressing firmly into the wound. The choked gasp that came from the kid was agonizing, and Kagome apologized profusely, blinking away her own tears as she whipped her head around to take in the rousing group of people, fury evident in their tones, in their bodies, as they returned threats with the offending demons.

“Where’s the doctor!?” Kagome asked as loudly as she could, her soaked, dark hair whipping her in the face as she spun her head around to try and find their town's self-proclaimed physician. “Help! We need help!”

“He isn’t here; he left for herbs yesterday.” Sango informed as she dropped down beside Kagome.

“And he still isn’t back!?”

“The storm must have delayed him.” Sango shook her head in response, her brows creased together as she glanced over her shoulder to quickly mind the budding commotion before turning her worried expression back toward the crying child. “What can I do? How can I help?”

“I don’t - I don’t know.” Kagome stammered, her breathing growing heavier as she panicked, noticing the blood was barely halting, the stain in the girl’s dress expanding and absorbing through the cloth she pressed against the wound.

“Apply pressure!” Miroku instructed when he slid to his knees in the mud on their opposite side, careful of the girl’s mother.

“I am!” Kagome cried.

“Stay with me, baby! Stay with me! I’m right here, look at me!” The woman coo’d, sniffling and gasping with her tremors while the comforting smile never left her lips.

“Hey! Leave her! Let her die, or we’ll kill you too!” One of the vile men demanded, though his shouts went ignored, easily drowned out by the encroaching, enraged men who finally appeared fueled enough to physically challenge them. Kagome could only hope they’d hold the demons back so they’d have the chance to save her.

“Here, let me see!” Miroku pushed Kagome’s shaking hands away, pulling aside the cloth of the cloak to take a peek at the wound in her stomach. Kagome had to look away then, the sight of the thick blood seeping through too much to handle. Instead, she focused her attention on the little girl, crawling up to hold her cold, bleeding hand.

Scared, pained, blue eyes focused on Kagome as she took shuddering breaths, her chest convulsing slightly as her small voice broke with her cries. Little fingers softly gripped her hand in return, and the tiniest of smiles curved her lips upward, light beginning to dim from her irises.

“Miroku!” Kagome urged. She glanced back at him and noticed the hopeless expression on his face. One that claimed there was nothing anyone could do. Her heart dropped, a nauseating weight filling her stomach. Quickly, she turned back to the little girl, leaning an inch closer. “Kikyo and the other conjurers, they’re gonna win, okay? We’re gonna win. I promise.”

“Who’s…”

“You! What did you just say!?” Heavy steps sloshed in the mud toward them, his voice low, growling, dangerous.

Kagome had spoken up to be sure the girl had heard her over the yelling, but she hadn’t realized that it could have been heard by anyone else. She didn’t think about the ramifications. She didn’t think. She’d just wanted to fill the child with some form of final hope. What was wrong with that? Was it the fact that she’d said Naraku would fall?

She’d hardly had enough time to turn and react before she was grabbed by the hair and lifted to her feet, yelping as she was dragged back and away.

“You mentioned Kikyo!” He exclaimed, giving a forceful yank as Kagome loudly gasped from her constant stumbling, the pain on her scalp, the fear racing through her. In the thick of it, she’d forgotten Kikyo wasn’t a person who was widely known. She’d forgotten Kikyo was a secret beacon of hope to the surviving conjurers, who appeared in dreams and spoke in riddles.

“No!” Was all she could manage to reply, screamed brokenly, heard clearly throughout the number of villagers around as the action died down and all attention was on them.

“How do you know her!?”

She yelped again, forcefully pulled backward and released to only trip and fall over some tools.

“Tell me, wench!” He demanded, picking Kagome up by her throat and slamming her back against the wall of a home.

“I don’t!” She adamantly swore, still able to speak. His grip was there, but not choking.

“Liar!” He said, slapping her hard across the face. “How do you know Kikyo!?”

“I heard of her in passing!” Kagome cried, wincing from the sting before she was forced to look at him again.

“I find that hard to believe.” He growled, inching closer to her face. His hold on her throat tightened, cutting off air, thick fingers pinching painfully into the sides of her neck. “Where is she?”

“I - I don’t know.” She sputtered, wheezed, her tears hot as they glided down her face. The rain was nothing but a drizzle now, though the distant sound of thunder roared angrily. She was both cold and hot, her lungs begging for air as his hand pushed further against her windpipe.

“Stop it! Let her go!” Miroku barked, and his presence was just enough to distract Naraku’s henchman and cause him to release some tension from her throat. Kagome greedily sucked in as much air as she could, though he still constricted his fingers against her. It was like breathing through a straw.

Her cousin stood there, dark hair sticking to his temples, bloodied hands braced before him as if to reason. “She doesn’t know anything; she just told you!”

“Oh, another tough guy?” A demon behind him chuckled. “A little scrawny for that, don’t you think?”

“You have me wrong, I don’t want to fight. Release my cousin, and we’ll back away peacefully. She meant no harm.”

“The harm was done when she stepped out of place to save the girl!”

“She was a child!”

“She’s a conjurer! She has no place in this world!”

“She did! She did have a place in this world, and we all know it!”

“You best shut the fuck up, boy.” The leader said from the sidelines. “Word may carry that you’re on their side. Now, you wouldn’t want that. Would you?”

“Tell him to let go of her.” Miroku sternly ordered.

“Back off.”

“Let her go!”

“Suit yourself. Have some fun.” Their leader flicked a finger at the two other demons, allowing them to do as they pleased.

Miroku hissed a low, “Fuck,” before dodging a hit from one of the two demons enclosing in on him. He was able to throw one of his own, nailing an ugly bastard in the face before he was grabbed from behind, bulky arms wrapping under and over his shoulders to hold him in place. The other demon was eager while he arrogantly approached in front of him, smiling as he punched Miroku in the stomach.

“Stop! Miroku!” Kagome squirmed against her own offender’s grasp, her instincts beginning to kick in as she felt a wild sensation build in her veins. Something righteous whispered the power she held in her ear, told her to use her abilities to save her cousin, further fueling the heat that made her forget about the nip in the air.

“Kagome, don’t!” Miroku coughed, pinning her with his indigo gaze before his eyes pinched shut from a swift hit to his diaphragm, blood dribbling over his bottom lip and down his chin.

Control sucked Kagome back to the present, the earnest crackle of Miroku’s voice ringing in her ears and overpowering the one that told her to fight. The grip against her throat tightened again, closing off her air passage as red eyes turned back to her, the lines of his frown deep.

“Don’t, what?”

Kagome wasn’t sure if he actually expected an answer or not, but he’d made it physically impossible. She clawed her nails along the thick skin of his large hand, trying to pry him away so she could breathe. It was dire that she didn’t use her powers; she understood this. But, as the adrenaline raced violently through her body, it was growing increasingly harder to keep it subdued. She’d be killed in a heartbeat; she’d already witnessed their unforgiving lack of hesitation. Her mother and younger brother would have to watch. Her cousin, too. She’d promised everyone she would protect herself, and she'd promised herself that she would protect them. Above all that, a different, deeper, more rational voice spoke to her, drowning out the one that told her to take action just a moment ago, telling her that her fight was meant for somewhere else. Something bigger. She could practically feel the breath hitting her ear, urging her of the importance. It told her to swallow it, hold it at bay, keep it buried no matter how badly it burned for release at the underside of her flesh. Keep it in its cage.

Finally, the demon released his tight hold on her neck, opting to firmly grip the front of her shirt. His upper lip twitched in disdain while Kagome sputtered, and coughed, and gasped for air to fill her lungs.

“Don’t, what?” Naraku’s henchman repeated, this time a little lighter, and it was impossible to miss that he was visibly analyzing for any sort of body language that could tip him off.

“Fight.” Kagome attempted to say, though her voice came out incredibly raspy and broken.

“Like I’d be worried about what a girl as small as you could possibly do to me. Unless,” He cocked a brow. “I’d have a reason to worry. Unless, you’re a conjurer.”

She shook her head, scared to look away from him, hyperaware of any movement she made in that moment. She was absolutely terrified of letting him know she was lying, but what if her stiffness was what told him the truth? What if the vehemence behind her objection was exactly what he needed to convict her? Where was the happy medium? Was there one? Kagome’s bottom lip quivered, resisting the impulse to glance Miroku’s way when he continuously coughed, the sound slightly gurgled, scared the shift in her eyes would be mistaken for something else.

“How else would you know who Kikyo is?”

“I - I h-heard of her in p-passing.” Kagome said, still unable to use her voice, and she wondered if the strangulation was enough to damage her vocal cords or if her anxiety was the cause of it. “I-In a nearby town. By - by the r-river.”

The demon yanked her forward and slammed her back against the wall, the back of her head smacking the wood painfully. “Are you a fucking conjurer, wench!?”

“No!” Kagome wheezed, releasing her own hold on his fist to emphatically present the blunt cut on her palm to him before she repeatedly smacked it against his forearm, smearing hers and the little girl’s blood, showing him the exact reaction - or lack thereof - they were looking for in coming today in the first place.

“Let - let her go.” Miroku was on his knees, breathing impaired, holding his side with one hand while the other braced his weight in the mud. “She’s not a conjurer. She’s not. She can hardly even hunt. I have to take her everywhere. There’s no way anyone that knows her would believe she’s one of them.”

“Being a conjurer doesn’t have anything to do with hunting, boy!” One of them spit.

“Well, how the hell would anyone know!?” Sango shouted from the side, still seated on her knees beside the child. Her cheeks were flushed furiously, and her hands were held out inches from her chest, palms up, covered in blood that she was afraid would never wash off. Their attempts were in vain and the mother wept, clinging to her little girl, her face buried in her daughter’s still chest. “Conjurers are practically going extinct; you’re all winning! We don’t know what they can do! They probably don’t know what they can do! Conjurers either have to hide to save their lives, or they don’t even know they are one yet!”

For a brief second, Kagome allowed herself to glance beyond Sango’s head, finding her family. Her mother’s hands were cupped in front of her mouth, trembling as she never removed her eyes from her daughter. Her brow was creased deeply, concern etched so thick you’d think an artist may have been too heavy with their pen. Kagome couldn’t tell if her mom was breathing slowly, or if she was holding her breath. She couldn’t tell if her mom was saying a silent prayer, or if words could barely form in her mind as she had no choice but to watch the scene unfold. Her mother had to witness a daughter torn away from another; a daughter who held the same, supernatural fate as her own. Kagome could only imagine the stress that currently laced her mom’s system.

Before her stood both her brother and Sango’s, Sota bearing a wide expression, neck tense and lips parted uncertainly, and Kohaku wearing a more cautious grimace, watching apprehensively. Knowing her onlookers were nervous, worried, should have been the very thing to cause Kagome to proceed carefully, but instead it served as the switch that flicked on in her head. She was tired of living like this, done with the dreadful thought that this was their normal. This wasn’t going to continue.

She’d been waiting for a sign, waiting for her cue. Bags were packed and weapons were stored in a hiding place where they’d been training outside of the village. Miroku, Sango, and she had discussed a while ago that they were going to eventually leave together and find the called-upon conjurers, and join Kikyo to fight against Naraku. It was their - the conjurers’ - responsibility. As much as she wanted to know why, pleaded with the apparition of this seemingly all-powerful conjurer time and time again for an answer, at this point it was no longer deemed necessary. Not anymore. Kagome figured she’d hear this magical invitation telling her when and where - which was farfetched but a fair assumption given she barely had anything to go off of. She even thought she might have to wait a while longer until she was stronger, more trained in her capabilities, before Kikyo gave her some form of clear signal instead of these ominous, detail-lacking prophecies in her subconscience that she was currently getting every other night. But now a tick in her core, an itch in her chest, a steady deepening in her resolve told her the time was now. Screw waiting, screw messages, screw rolling over, screw self-pity, and screw Naraku. If he wanted a fight, if this was his initiation all along, his declaration of war, then he was finally going to get one.

“If that’s the case, bitch, then what were you telling the girl?” The demon holding her collar jerked her slightly to demand her attention, receiving it with vexation.

“I,” Kagome took as stable a breath as she could, her throat aching and voice pathetically weak, clearly evident now that it was due to the ruthless strangling she’d received. “I told her Kikyo would kill Naraku.”

“And, why the fuck would you say that?” He asked, almost surprised at her bold statement.

“I wanted her to go with hope, not fear.”

He guffawed, his chest pumping. “You don’t actually believe that!”

Without hesitation, as straight as she could manage while she halted his laughter, Kagome replied, “Yes. Yes, I do.”

His smile faded quickly, humor replaced with anger as his fists bunched tighter and he heatedly pulled Kagome away from the wall and threw her to the floor. Kagome landed on her front, quickly pressing herself to her hands and knees just before he pushed her belly down, her wrists sliding and giving out so the side of her face planted in the mud.

“Kagome -“ Her cousin called, stumblingly crawling her way before another demon kicked him in the side he’d been clutching, a tiny crunch being heard just as Miroku choked in pain.

“Miroku, stop! I’m fine!” She attempted to say clearly, a foot braced on her back.

“Enough.” The leader stated. “Everyone back in line. We haven’t finished yet.”

“Are you fucking kidding me!?” A man asked disbelievingly. “You don’t think you’ve done enough damage already!? Get the fuck out!”

“Yeah, get out of here!” Other villagers began to call out, joining in. “You aren’t welcome here! You’re only taking advantage because our demon slayers are gone!”

“You think that matters?” The leader chuckled. “Go ahead. Revolt. Fight back. Make us leave. See how quickly your entire village will be wasted the next time around. You see four of us and think you stand a chance. You see a large group of us and think you’re safe because you’ve got a little pack of demon slayers protecting you. Funny, that’s never stopped our inspections before, so I don’t see why you think that’d stop us now. Either way, not a single one of you would be left alive if we brought a fraction of the wild demons under Naraku’s control, and he wouldn’t bat an eye if we borrowed them to kill you all. In fact, that’s already in the plan if we don’t check in. You kill us all, congratulations, but you’ll be worse off. Compared to him, we’re the most compassionate monsters you’ll ever meet, and I suggest you learn to appreciate that. Now, get your girls back in line.”

“It’s okay, papa.” An older girl spoke. Kagome couldn’t see from where she lay, but she recognized the seventeen year-old’s voice. Ayumi. She was soft-spoken normally, but also fairly brave and kind. The only child of a widowed father, and a girl, like the rest of them, forced to grow up too soon.

Ayumi walked forward, having backed away from the rowdiness with the majority of the girls who hadn’t run back to the safety of their parents. Notching her chin upward, she raised her left palm, “Let them finish. They won’t seem so big forever.”

“Bold girl.” The demon complimented.

“Yeah. The more I find myself hoping the conjurers win, the bolder I feel.”

“Careful, now. You’ll wind up getting yourself killed.”

“Looks like being female might just get me killed, anyway. So, I might as well go down confident that Naraku is the true evil here, and evil never wins.”

“What a disgusting cliche.” He groaned. “Grow a brain and come up with something original before you spew that sort of shit. It’s embarrassing. Look, I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but as the chick over there stated, we already are. We’re winning. Now, I won’t argue that we’re the bad guys here, but at this point in time, that doesn’t really matter.”

Ayumi swallowed thickly, eyes faltering downward for the smallest moment before she rose them to meet the red eyes of Naraku’s henchman. As sickeningly as that notion sat in her esophagus, Ayumi felt it would be worse if she’d sunken her shoulders at the validity of their power. By no means was she strong, and by no means was she actually all that courageous. Ayumi, true to heart, was a daydreamer, was a fantasy-enthusiast, was a soft, sweet, and hopeful wisher, was tired, was passive. So, while she could admit her stare wasn’t striking, her irises would never be vivid with the passionate heroism she dreamed about, her lips would never curve with a compelling and threatening snarl, she could also admit that just the act of matching his gaze was all she needed to do to defy defeat. With chapped lips parting, not a waver traveling over her tongue, she spoke. “Yes, it does.”

“Yes, it does.” Another girl agreed, approaching to stand beside Ayumi.

“The world hasn’t always been this way. Naraku only grew large less than five years ago.” A woman said, a mother, holding her fearful daughter in her arms. Several more girls got back in line, their shoulders a little more broadened than before. “I find it appalling how arrogant you all have gotten in such a short time. I assure you, conjurer, demon, human, or anything in between, I’d give them my trust sooner than I’d yield to the idea of life staying like this. Good and evil, the difference will always matter. So, yes. Yes, it does.”

“Inspirational.” One of Naraku’s demons remarked sarcastically, cringing.

“Hey, whatever blows your skirt up, lady.” The leader shrugged. “You can believe whatever you want. No sweat off my back. Funny enough, I’d put down all the money in my pockets right now to bet not a single one of them would return that trust, nor would they risk their lives to save you. I mean, not to play devil’s advocate or anything, but look at the twisted circumstances. What the fuck have you done to help them? Human’s are selfish; only looking out for themselves. You hate us showing up because you don’t want us to hurt you. It doesn’t have a damn thing to do with us hunting down conjurers, and it doesn’t have a damn thing to do with that little girl on the ground over there. If it did, you would have never watched it happen. If it did and it was just the ‘shock factor’ holding you back, you still would have done a little more than yell at us about how unfair it was. Oh, cry me a fucking river.” He grinned, stepping over to the first girl in the newly-formed line. There were less than half left that hadn’t been tested, and he got straight to work, unforgivingly slashing at the pre-teen’s palm and slapping his own to hers as he continued his heartless speech. “Even better, there’s two of your own on the floor, both of them getting quite the beating, and not a single fucking one of you did a damn thing to help. I understand the lad; that’s his - er - sister? Cousin? And, I mean, at least the chick tried to help the conjurer survive. I’ll give them kudos, but I think I speak for all of us non-humans when I say fuck the rest of you egotistical pricks. Oh no, my child might have a scar on her hand. Oh no, more trauma.” The leader mocked, his tone high and whiney. “Yeah, well, at least they’re not dead in the mud like little Suzie over there.”

There was a collective gasp from the audience at the harsh and morbid insensitivity. Still, no one challenged him. Someone should have, and no one said a thing.

Kagome tasted bile on the back of her tongue from the disgusting sentiments plaguing the thick, electric air. How cruel. She wanted to open her mouth and beg him to stop and just finish his job already, force her broken voice out to demolish his train of thought and hope he doesn’t mention the death for the remainder of his stay. The only thing stopping her was Miroku’s steady stare on her. It held more power than an order from his mouth to stay quiet ever could. With a foot on her back as a warning for more damage, the impending threat that he would easily be hurt again, and the fact that she’d said enough as it was, no matter how bold she felt in the face of this evil, she knew she was meant to face the source. She could only do that alive. So, begrudgingly, she obliged to his logical demand.

If they wanted them to finish, they needed to stop fighting. They needed to shut up. A double-edged sword. Like bowing their heads to the abuse. Enabling it. Allowing it so it ends quicker.

Kagome could feel her palms burning in the mud, a sense of humiliating defeat flooding her chest, making her feel sick to her stomach. She kept her eyes on Miroku, he kept his eyes on her. She tried to raise the volume of her thoughts, no matter how negative they were, to tune out the gasps and muffled cries of the young girls as they received the cut to their palms for testing.

How could she hold any form of power, yet still feel so powerless? How could she have the privilege of a voice, but feel so irrevocably silenced? She wanted to believe she could save everyone there if she just untied the knots concealing her abilities, but it physically pained her to understand that it was the wrong thing to do. It would be counterintuitive. It would wind up getting them all killed later. She could fight, but she also couldn’t.

“And, there you have it.” The leader finished by wiping his knife clean and slipping it back into the little holster on his hip, the hint of pride and sarcasm on his tongue. “Thank you so much for your cooperation and understanding. We’ll be seeing you.”

The demon holding Kagome down applied a small kick of pressure as he lifted off of her, chuckling as his dirty boots stuck in the mud with each step away.

There was an eerie silence, one that grew more deafening as the henchmen took their horses and disappeared from the village. It was heavy, thick, like sludge. Weighted with failure and death. Even the cries from the mother were muted. For a moment, Kagome thought that instead of drowning out the pained noises with her own thoughts, her brain had responded late to her distress by completely disabling her sense of hearing instead. But, she could hear the stickiness of the mud as she peeled herself from the ground to sit on her knees. She could hear feet slowly walking - most likely children rejoining their families. She could hear the thunder threatening them of the next onslaught of rain to come. The silence that captivated them was one that couldn’t be lifted with a simple, “Thank god that’s over.” No one could make it dissipate by asking if everyone was okay. Because, it didn’t matter.

And, that was something everyone, even the young, could recognize.

The small talk that would eventually come when everyone was back in their homes, the whispers, the crying, and maybe even tiny chuckles from people trying to find the little joys to get them through this, they would all be irrelevant. Because, outside there would be a blanket of despair thicker than the friction-inducing clouds hanging over them at this very moment, and it promised them there that it would stick around as long as it needed to.

“Hey,” A soft voice spoke in Kagome’s ear, a gentle, cold hand brushing her arm, and it was only when she gasped and jerked upright that she realized she’d been hanging her head, sights stuck on her hands on her thighs. “Sh, sh. It’s just me.” Her mother reassured, kneeling beside her and using her sleeve to try and wipe her face clean of some clumpy mud. “Are you alright, honey?”

Out of sheer reaction, she gave a meager nod.

“Look at me, Kagome. Look at me. Tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m okay.” Kagome said as convincingly as possible. When Miroku groaned, catching her mother’s attention and even her own, she was happy to have the focus off of her. Kohaku and Sango were beside him, trying to sit him up, freezing as he struggled.

“Come on, boy. Let’s get you home.” A couple, larger village men came over, better suited to help. One of them firmly clasped his hand in Miroku’s, quickly pulling him up to his feet so the pain wouldn’t be dragged out. Her cousin hissed at the shock, clenching his throat to try and swallow his grumble, and the two men supported him by pulling his arms over their shoulders.

“Can you stand?” Kagome’s mother asked.

“Yeah.” She whispered, not wanting to irritate her throat further and finding no real need to speak up right now. “I’m fine, mama. Don’t worry about me. Miroku needs your attention more.”

“Even if that were true, he’s kind of surrounded. I don’t think I’m needed there, love.” She replied, grabbing her by her elbow to support her as they stood together. “Sota, take her other side, please. Just in case.”

“Wait.” A broken voice called to them, trembling but by no means weak.

They all stopped just two steps in, looking over to the mother on the ground. Her daughter’s body, from head to toe, was covered by a long cloak belonging to one of the villagers beside her now, attempting to give comfort.

“Kikyo? Is that what you’d said? Kikyo?” She asked Kagome.

As clearly as she could, with a little nod of her head as she processed the question, Kagome said, “Yes.”

“Who is that?”

Kagome could feel the tension in her brow falter as the sympathetic, concerned curve in them wilted away to change more into dubiousness. “You - you don’t…” She didn’t know who Kikyo was. Even her own mother knew who Kikyo was. Her mom was the first to hear about her dreams before she started discussing them with the rest of her family. Had her daughter not had the same messages coming to her? Or, was she so confused, so distraught from them all, that she chose secrecy over being seen as insane?

“She’s a conjurer.” Kagome answered.

“Is she - is she a strong conjurer?”

“I think so.”

“I’m sorry, did your daughter never mention anything about Kikyo?” Sango carefully asked.

“N-no. Why would she?”

“We were just under the impression that she may have been sending survivors telepathic signals of sorts.” She said.

“That’s preposterous.” A man scoffed.

“Maybe. We heard it in passing. From an old man, no less.” Miroku said, discomfort laced in his tone.

“What - what could she possibly have had to say to a little girl?” The mother asked, her bottom lip quivering while her hand rested on her daughter’s chest.

“I’m sorry. I wish I knew.” The words were painful to speak. Not from her throat, but from the fact that she had to lie to a woman who’d had her everything stolen from her. A woman who, more than anyone, deserved the truth.

When she’d said what she’d said about Kikyo before, the little girl had muttered something in return before the demon tore Kagome away. It seemed like she was about to ask who Kikyo was. Kagome was sure now that the kid didn’t know. She hadn’t had the dreams, the premonitions, the one-sided conversations, nothing. She hadn’t had any communication with Kikyo, whatsoever. Maybe Kikyo was kind to exclude the young, and only spoke to the older, potentially more conditioned conjurers.

Or, maybe there was a possibility that Kagome was the only one.

And, it terrified her.

“Will she win? Kikyo? Will she defeat Naraku?” The crying mother asked.

Kagome was finding it hard to reply, to communicate. Her throat was tightening up as she watched the woman’s body begin to crumble once more toward her little girl’s; like she needed to be connected with her to prevent her from going cold. She could feel her eyes stinging, tears brimming, her fingers quaking and legs growing weak. Her cheeks felt hot and her chest wouldn’t allow a full breath of air - only unsteady, unmatched, quick puffs that burned. A hot hand slid into her right, her brother’s fingers tightening their grip, but she couldn’t control her body enough to grab it back.

“I refuse to believe otherwise.” Sango answered confidently.

The mother now sobbed, nodding in acknowledgment as she weeped over the covered body of her daughter. “Thank you.”

Kagome wanted to apologize profusely. For failing to protect her. For failing to try to protect her. For her loss. For the chance she was never given to learn to defend herself. For the silence she had to keep. The guilt was so heavy on her shoulders, she was ready to give in in front of them all, but the hand in hers pulled her back, made her move.

More villagers were moving toward the mother and child to help comfort while they removed the body, and that was the prime opportunity to get Kagome out of there. Sota could tell from the moment it started that she was going to break down, maybe even panic. He knew his sister, he knew the signs, he understood the stress she was under, and he wanted nothing more than to get her away and help her as best as he could. So, he disregarded everyone else and began pulling Kagome ahead. Miroku would have to move at a slower pace, Sango and Kohaku would stick by him and the men that helped, and he figured their mom would respect that they needed a moment of peace where they weren’t under more eyes than necessary.

Sota ignored the broken utterances of his name that came from his sister, he ignored the threatening weather, and he ignored anything that could potentially get in his way. He directed Kagome around their house, to the back, and toward the tree line of the woods. Three trees in past the shrubbery bush, on the opposite side of the trunk, Sota found the rope ladder to the treehouse their dad had built them hanging. Holding it steady, he released Kagome’s hand.

“Come on. Climb.”

-> | next chapter |

#This is honestly the longest fic I've ever written I have zero self control #gooooooooood fucking luck yo #inuyasha fanfiction #inuyasha fanfic #inuyasha fic #inukag fanfiction #inukag fanfic #inukag fic #inuyasha #kagome #kagome higurashi #inukag #miroku #sango #mirsan #mama higurashi #sota higurashi #kikyo #monster #my writing #akitokihojo

[thedarklingxalina]

A Darklina fic I'm playing about with but not committing to yet. This would be the first chapter. I need to finish Dark Guardian first but this idea wouldn't leave me alone.

Eclipse

Summary: Alina is an investigative journalist, investigating the death of her childhood friend, Mal.

Alina is reunited with her other childhood friend, Aleksander - known to the world as Kirigan, a famous actor and grisha rights activist. All too quickly though, Alina begins to discover Aleksander is hiding a dark secret.

Modern Grisha AU. Everyone has their powers. Mentions of suicide. Mild torture.

Saints, give me strength. 

Alina stared at the rusty mesh gates through the rain speckled windscreen. A barrage of warning signs prohibiting entrance were pinned across the fencing. Keep out. Danger. Risk to life. On one fence was a display of withered flowers entwined around the metal, with hand-made laminated pleads to stay away, to remember that someone out there loves you. 

It was a somber sight. Careful reminders of the danger that lurked behind that run-down gate, past the abandoned warehouses, looming at the end of decrepit wooden bridges. Even from here Alina could see the mass of swirling shadows, an endless stretch of darkness that tore Ravka in two.

And here she was armed with wire cutters, ready to break in. Foolish, reckless, stupid. Exactly what she had been told not to do. 

This is for Mal, she reminded herself.  

Alina took in a deep breath and left the warmth and safety of her car. She put on her medical face mask, slipped on a pair of disposable gloves and tucked her camera inside her satchel. 

She didn't plan on staying here long, but seeing as research into the side effects of prolonged exposure to the Fold was ongoing, she decided to err on the side of caution. 

Gravel crunched under her boots as she approached the fence, making her way to a part hidden by the treeline. There she cut a reasonable size hole for herself to squeeze through. 

So far, getting into the site was easy. Too easy really, considering the dangers of this place.

Abandoned heavy equipment littered the rubble ridden grounds. Metallic, battle-worn Skiffs (centuries ago once manned by Squallers before new technological advancements replaced them) laid in ruins around the site; rust-encrusted, dented and torn up. The warehouses were dilapidated, weathered down and overgrown with weeds. 

And that wasn't even mentioning the bridges that crossed the ten foot moat, giving unhindered access to the Unsea and the monsters within. 

This place was a death trap. 

"Why in the Saints name did you come back here, Mal?" Alina asked. 

He had loathed this place. Everyone in Os Atla had. There had been vocal opposition from the public for decades, demanding the site be shut down. The residents of the city uncomfortable with an access point to the Fold being right on their doorstep. 

This skiffyard's infamous reputation for being the most dangerous, certainly hadn't endeared it to people, no matter the flow of trade it provided. It had the highest fatality and injury rate of an skiffyard. Budget cuts producing poorly made Skiffs that broke down frequently and were east pickings for Volcra. Breaching person capacity on each trip to increase profit. Bribing of safety inspectors. Understaffed. Overworking their employees to exhaustion. 

The place had been a nightmare. The stories Mal had told Alina about it over the years still made her recoil. 

The final nail in the coffin for Skiffyard 13 had been when three urban explorers had snuck into the docks, using it to bypass the the forest and ten foot moat separating the Fold from the city - deterrents erected over a century prior, to keep the public safe. The three individuals, the youngest only fourteen years old, had never came out again. 

The dock had been shut down. Workers like Mal had been relocated to other docks outside the city.

Yet despite this, the site had never been dismantled. It was too expensive, was the frequent excuse. The go to excuse for all failures in protecting the general public from the dangers of the Unsea. 

Now, it was the easiest access point to the Fold. No workers to sneak past, no checkpoints, and no maintenance to the gates and various deterrents. There wasn't even video surveillance or electrical fencing, as electronics were unreliable this close the Fold. And much to the people of Os Atla's grief, no armed patrols or guards dogs to keep trespassers like her out.  

Oh, the mayor promised they would upgrade the security on access points to the Fold regularly. But those promises seemed to be forgotten after the elections had passed. Funny that. 

As Alina scanned the deserted skiffyard, the Fold a short walk away, she realized the bitter irony of it all.

It didn't take long for Alina to find the place she was looking. Dock Six. The last place Mal had last been seen alive. 

Alina took a shuddering breath, her grip on her satchel tightening. she closed her eyes, feeling the sting of tears at her eyes.

Another life lost to the Fold, the news reporter had said. A tragic suicide, the police had decided, he left a farewell note on the dock.

A farewell note that doesn't mention me? His childhood best friend. That doesn't mention his girlfriend Lucy who he had planned to propose to on her birthday? 

But Alina's protests had fallen on deaf ears. She was nothing but a grieving girl in denial to them. Even Lucy had tried to discourage her, wanting her to accept-

No. Alina wouldn't hear it. Mal didn't take his own life. He hadn't. He wouldn't. Alina had spoken to him days before. There had been something he had wanted to tell her, something he hadn't felt safe discussing over phone or email. A story, he had said, that people need to know. Then that phone call the night he vanished. That desperate, breathless voice pleading with her through a breaking line. 

Alina... don't... Atla... away- 

Mal? Mal, is that you? I can't hear you, the line is terrible. Where are you? 

Distant shouting, five loud bangs, more static.

Mal? Mal!

Stay away... sorry... sorry...

Something had happened to Mal that night. Something awful that the police were refusing to look into. Alina was sure of it. And come hell or high water, she was going to find out what. She owed it to Mal, to Lucy, to herself. 

Alina scouted the area, alighting her hand with a soft glow to light her way.

It took a while, but the Saints finally took pity on her and Alina found something. Something that she suspected to be the source of the bangs in that final phone call. Gouged into a floorboard of the dock, into a post, and a concrete wall. 

Bullet holes.

They weren't old. The moss overgrowing the post and floorboards having been blasted off with the impact, yet to have grown back. 

Alina snapped some photos. 

After an hour prowling around each bullet hole site, sometimes on hands and knees, getting caked in dust and mud, Alina was ready to give up when an idea sprung to mind. She summoned her light, shining it across the ground until something silver glinted back. 

A bullet, hidden among the overgrown weeds. Alina took more photos before putting the bullet in a labeled ziplock bag. 

Suicide in deed, Alina mused bitterly. Had the police even bothered to check the scene? 

"I'll find out what happened to you, Mal. I swear it."

Alina rose to her feet, dusting her trousers.

Mal had come here for a reason, and whatever it was, someone had killed him for it. But what could be here that was worth killing over? 

There was only one warehouse stable enough to enter. Warehouse three. Alina didn't bother to pick the lock, just melted it off its hinges then crept in. 

The warehouse was massive and surprisingly well maintained. Everything was clean. There was no debris. Creates and boxes were stacked high and neatly.

Alina frowned, extinguishing her light in favor of using a battery powered torch.

If there were people here, she didn't need them knowing she was Grisha. That element of surprise could be the difference that mattered. Besides, there were too many out there that despised her kind; having people know you were Grisha was like walking around with a bullseye on your back. 

Alina crept behind a row of shelves, occasionally taking photos. She stopped at an easy to reach pile of boxes and pulled back the lids. 

Oxygen canisters, boxes of personal protective equipment, bullets (but not the same as the one that she found outside; these were longer and bigger, meant for something... larger.) 

This is all essential items for crossings, Alina realised. And it's all new. 

Someone had to making illegal crossings across the Fold, using these docks as their access point. 

Alina closed the lid, a dreadful unease settling over her. 

What are they taking across the Fold that requires all the secrecy? 

Maybe the answer was in another crate. Alina moved to open another- 

A sharp tug on her heart stilled her, making her choke for air. Alina fell to her knees, the energy in her body bleeding from her.

As darkness consumed her, one though flickered through her mind. 

Saints above, she hated Heartrenders.

☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑☀️🌑

Alina was no stranger to danger. Her investigative journalism had gotten her into many a difficult situation. But nothing ever quite this bad. 

When Alina had awoken, it was to find herself tied to a chair, her hands separated and bound to a steel bar (rendering her powers useless). She was blind folded; inconvenient and certainly unnerving, but it gave her some hope. Whoever had assaulted her, cared if she saw their faces. If they were going to kill her a blindfold wasn't necessary.

"Who are you?" A man asked. Middle aged by the deep roughness. Ravkan by the accent. A grumpy git, by the tone. 

Not the person you're looking for, Alina wants to snark, but thinks better of it. They might not be fans of Star Wars references and honestly, she is too exhausted to try and be smart. Besides, snarky quips and teasing here would only charm her way into a pair of cement boots and a dip in the river. Or the Unsea. 

Alina tried not to shiver. 

"I said who are you?" Grumpy demands. 

"Alina Starkov. Investigative Journalist for the Ketterdam Express News."

There's no point lying. They probably already know who she is with a quick internet search. Lying will only make them mad. 

"What's a small-time news journalist doing in Os Atla?"

Alina twitches at his comment. 

This time the man who speaks is younger. He has a scratchy voice and bratty attitude that made Alina want to kick him in the shin. 

"I'm looking for a friend of mine. Nothing more. He went missing three months ago and was last spotted working at the docks you snatched me from." 

Wouldn't happen to have seen him, would you? Put a bullet through his head perhaps? 

"Name?" Grumpy asks.

"Mal Oretsev."

"Never heard of him. Seems you've wasted your time, Nancy Drew," Bratty said. 

I doubt that, Alina mused bitterly. She had clearly stumbled onto something if they were willing to kidnap and interrogate her. 

"That's a shame," Alina said with exaggerated glumness. "Well, if you could just untie me I can head off. Wouldn't want to keep you guys later than need be."

Grumpy snorted. Bratty let out a nasty chuckle (Alina would wager a week on gossip column duty, that Bratty had a very punchable face).

"We can't have snoopy reporters buzzing around here," Bratty says.

Don't panic, Alina tells herself. Don't-

Alina hears the rustle of fabric, then the dreaded sound of a gun's safety clicking off. 

-starting to panic.

"And you think a dead one will prevent that?" Alina swallowed down the hysteria threatening to overwhelm her, but there was still a frantic edge to her voice. "There are people who know where I am and know to call the police if I don't make it back soon. Within an hour this place will be swarming!" 

"She's bluffing." 

"You think I'm stupid enough not to have a back up plan in case something like this happened?" 

If she said it strongly enough, maybe even she would believe it. Because really, a smart journalist would have done that. 

"You were stupid enough to get caught."

Prick.

"You have a heartrender, that's cheat-" 

Someone slapped her, Bratty she would bet. Alina cries out as pain flares hot on her cheek.

That'll leave a bruise, Alina muses bitterly.

"That's enough," Grumpy snapped, his footsteps loud as he got closer. "Tell us, what information do you have on Project Likhoradka?"

Alina frowned. The name rung a bell, but it was too distant to make out. Likhoradka... why would they think she had any information on it? Was it because she had mentioned Mal? Did it have something to do with the illegal Fold crossings? 

"I don't know anything about-" 

Someone slapped her again, worse than before. Where his hand had connected, her skin burned and ached.

Bastard, bastard, bastard, Alina thinks, gritting her teeth.

"I don't know anything! One of you is a heartrender, you know I'm telling the truth!" Alina snarled. 

Alina strained against the bonds on her wrist, tied behind her back. If only she could melt through them. She could distract them with a flash of blinding light, turn invisible, then flee into the night. Had they known she was Grisha and that was why they bound her this way? Or was it just a precaution?

A phone buzzed, cutting the interrogation short. A moment later, Grumpy spoke again. "The boss is here."

Alina heard the whirling grate of the warehouses large doors lifting. A brief wind tickled her face. Then a new set of footsteps, slow and precise, made their way closer. 

Damn it. How many of them where their now? Three inside, but could more be waiting outside? More heartrenders or maybe other Grisha? Infernis, Squallers, more heartrenders?

Alina swallowed hard, sniffing back the tears welling behind her eyes. Hope of making it out of this alive was dimming like a setting sun. 

"And what is this?" A voice asked. He had a pleasing voice; gentle, smooth, young, yet firm. The boss, she'd guess. Boss of what though?

"Nosey reporter from Kansas-"

"Ketterdam, I'm not Dorothy," Alina muttered. But Bratty would certainly make a perfect Scarescrow; no brains and all.

Bratty smacked her again; this time across the head, more chiding than malicious. Speak when spoken to, the message was clear. 

"Does she know anything?" The leader asked. 

"Don't know yet. But she said she's friends with Oretsev." So much for not knowing him. "We figure she has to know something about-"

Bratty stops talking. Footsteps come closer and Alina holds her breath as someone takes a delicate hold of her chin. She gets the impression they are studying her features intently. Long fingers brush aside the hair from her face, lightly tracing the scar on her forehead. 

A scar she had gotten when she was a child, when a group of bullies found out she was different from them. Witch, demon, freak... stones flying through the air... frightened shrieks and tears... and a little boy with onyx eyes, arms out stretched, shielding her from it all... 

The man inhales sharply. 

The heartrender knocked her out again. 

#darklina #the darkling x alina #aleksander x alina #im still debating whether or not to expand it as ive never done a mystery fic before

[bitter-sweet-coffee]

while i'm in a typing mood (but not typey enough to answer some analysis asks or write my promised fic chapters OR ANY OF MY WORK THAT WAS DUE THIS WEEK OH GOD) i just wanna say:

thank u! thank you lovely followers and mutuals and friends and bastards (you know who you are) you're all besties and my pms are always open (asks too! and anon is fixed if you wanna talk to me that way bc i sometimes seem scary, idk it happene)

you're all very lovely and sometimes i feel like i take the sonic fandom for granted sometimes or brush it off because it's a small circle on here for a pretty dead fandom, and infinite/espio/wave lovers are hard to come by (can't say the same for shadow but him interacting with these characters is quite uncommon).

sometimes i underestimate how much people care about all my random blabbery posts because there are only like 4 infinite blogs, maybe 2 infinadow/shadfinite shippers that were not poisoned or convinced by me, and like. a HANDFUL of insane espio enthusiasts who i love dearly

idk. i remember an ancient tumblr post about followers and it's like "oh, 100 followers online seems small but imagine 100 people in your house" and that's how i see this! i don't care about follower numbers because i honestly post and create content for myself and share it in case anyone else happens to give a crap, but the fact that there are over 100 people who actually want to see what i post and enjoy what i make is like, still mind blowing to me!!!

you all chose to be here (except @bluemarine but that's your fault for getting me back on this hellsite) and idk it means a lot?

and i feel like i don't acknowledge how much i appreciate everyone, so even if i don't follow back or interact directly or message you (i feel weird messaging y'all idk it feels unwarranted) i still appreciate every single one of you. i do!!!

obligatory sad paragraph that you can skip:

i spent most of my life thus far in isolation. i essentially didn't have friends until i started university, people at school did not want to talk to me growing up and i got bullied for it, my parents were never around, and i don't have siblings. my soul-partner is my lovely dog, who honestly saved my life because i could be home for hours or days without talking or seeing anyone and i'd at least have him, but it got lonely! and it made me feel a little unwanted, which i'm working on not feeling. i did some bad stuff for myself, and then i had to fix myself too because no one else was around or cared or even noticed. didn't help that i only recently got diagnosed with adhd and autism too (which has eased a LOT of guilt about being so bad at making friends and being wanted around) but i had to do that for myself because: no one else noticed or cared! i was being told to shut up, got talked and walked over, and then refused to open up in fear of making people hate me. some people broke that barrier down, i trusted them with this, and then when this meant i wasn't stroking their egos for once i got called selfish and was dropped! this has happened at least 12 times and it makes it REALLY hard to tell if i'm not giving enough, or giving too much at first so when i burn out, they drift since i set their expectations too high. so... i would spend my time just talk to myself or my dog because it's all i had.

(sad paragraph is over!)

idk i don't want pity for this, i just want to explain WHY i care so much about people liking my headcanons and analysis and rants and doodles, because i still think i'm annoying or talking about stuff no one likes. BUT CLEARLY SOME PEOPLE ENOY IT, AND THAT'S WHAT MATTERS! so i love u all ty for being here with me :") 💕

#misc #bsc moment

[cryinginthebackseat]

initials t.c.

Fandom: Open Heart

Pairing: Tobias Carrick x MC

Words: 7.299 (I’M SO SORRY)

Summary: Tobias Carrick makes Claire an offer she can’t refuse.

Warnings: 50% plot, 50% smut, swear-a-thon, blasphemy

Author’s Note: when the book first introduced us to tobias carrick, the first thing that hit my mind was “okay, but that dude is like the carbon copy of jesse williams and that’s hot” but then, once it reveals who he is and what’s his role in the book i went “interestinggggggg” cause you know, i’m a sucker for morally grey characters and all, and i’m not even ashamed to admit it. also, carrick is shaping up to be such an interesting character with each chapter and maybe one day- okay, maybe this sounds like a pipe dream- but one day, i hope he can be a li (let a girl dream plz) lmao

also if anyone’s interested, i made a PLAYLIST to accompany reading the fic.

the title is inspired by serge gainsbourg’s initials bb

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Cast down off heaven Cast down on my knees I’ve lain with the devil Cursed god above Forsaken heaven

To Bring You My Love - PJ Harvey

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Whenever Claire thinks about Tobias Carrick, admittedly, unfortunately, tragically, she always thinks about his eyes first before remembering what a colossal pain in the ass he is.

It always comes in that order. Like the number 3 always comes before 4, like the seawater dragging back from the shoreline before a tsunami occurs, like pouring milk before the cereal (she honestly didn’t get what the fuss is about until one day Elijah cried ‘oh, hell no you don’t, satan!‘ one morning and proceeded to give her bullet points why pouring the milk before the cereal is considered a sin and more of an abomination than Nephilims’ existence and that there’s a higher probability that she’s a psycho for being a ‘milk first’ kind of person). So apparently, Claire’s a psycho now which explains so many aspects- but she digresses and the point is, the reaction is uncontrollable and she high-key hates how she can’t control her goddamn mind most of the time.

The point is, she needs to stop thinking about him to begin with. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Claire Castelnuovo was born in the summer, under the sign of Gemini. Marilyn Monroe once said that stands for intellect, being a Gemini, but she was too blissfully unaware of this guerdon that she devoted her adolescent years to being outdoors instead. Too many days she spent trampling along the cornfields with her cousins until the skies faded out with brilliant purple-tinged amber and she was carrying a piece of the sun in her skin and smelled like one, stuffing wildflowers inside her boots as she walked around the neighborhood with her dad’s old stethoscope, napping in a hammock with Oasis’ All Around the World on repeat. By the time she hit 15, her black strands had turned brown from repeated sun exposure. She loved it.

But it was a different time, a different place. Somewhere that only exists on the margins of her memories, lost and hidden.

Now, Claire prefers the night.

It’s 9:30 pm when she arrives at a hotel bar in downtown Boston. A newly christened establishment which has somehow become a regular spot for Hemingway’s enthusiasts once the Boston Globe wrote an article about their Hemingway Daiquiri and how, as they wrote it, ‘probably the only place that’s brave and crazy enough to adhere to the 1930s original recipe’ and bourgeois party birds at wee hours during the weekend.

Her eyes are gritty, dry and strange. Her mind’s much worse for the wear- she feels like shit, like in the middle of watching that scene from The Green Mile shit when all is hopeless and you feel like walking out of the theater, but you’ve spent your last savings just to buy the ticket, so you decide to stick through it.

Claire makes a beeline for the bar, tries to flag down the bartender. She orders an Old Fashioned, making sure to specify to double it because she’s not a regular here and he’s not Reggie and that’s how she’s been taking her drink for years.

She knows well deep in her bones that she should be somewhere else. Somewhere more familiar, somewhere where Tim Mcgraw often plays from the subpar speakers, and the rustic wooden bar countertop is gouging and discoloring from the cheap household cleaners and alcohol stains, and her friends are cramming together in the same booth in the back, reveling and laughing until they close the bar down and make a mess all over. Perhaps it’s a mistake coming here, where no one’s a familiar face and the drinks are a tad overpriced for her budget.

But then, perhaps this is exactly what she needs; the unfamiliarity, the visceral feeling knowing that she doesn’t belong here, where no one knows her name and the huge deal of weight she’s currently carrying on her shoulders. Perhaps, she can’t face her friends after what happened, after what Esme has done. Shit, how could any of this happen? Claire knows this all on Esme’s, but her guilt has grown hopelessly tangled with her anxiety. She’s her intern, for fuck’s sake, Claire’s supposed to prevent this from happening in the first place.

Man, where’s Declan Nash when she feels like punching someone in the face?

Claire makes the mistake of drinking her drink too quickly, because it hasn’t been ten minutes and she’s drained half of the content. Then she reaches for her phone in her bag, fiddles with it, absent-minded, equal parts bored before then settles on watching the band performing Art Pepper’s You Go To My Head and immediately thinks of that time she accidentally dropped her brother’s saxophone in a moment of her rather graceless, wine-soaked self with the whole family present.

Someone plops down on the empty stool next to her. Claire’s now scrolling through her phone- again, bored. Sienna commented on the post Elijah shared to the group chat with a few unnecessary-yet-totally-necessary emojis to the already convoluted series of texts and Claire only reads them in silence, not only because her friends’ texting behaviors are too chaotic for her to follow sometimes but she’s not really feeling like talking to anyone right now.

“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in.”

Famous last words.

Claire freezes in her seat. Her phone’s still glowing in her hand, alighting her features. She recognizes that voice- too well, that is and it’s enough to set off her flight-or-fight response.

She glances up from her phone, preparing for the worst.

Well, what’s presented before her is literally the worst.

“Of all the gin joints…” she says once her eyes find Tobias Carrick sitting next to her, still in his work shirt, sleeves rolled-up, a few buttons undone, reeking of smoke, soap and antiseptic with a shit-eating grin plastered over his face.

She should have gone to Donahue’s instead.

“Evening to you too, Castelnuovo. Drinking your dinner tonight, I see?”

“What, this? No, this is breakfast. 100% daily value of alcohol and pretty much nothing else. I mean, it’s not the weekend without a bad case of hangover and an aspirin snowglobe in the morning, am I right? You know, like a glass of aspirin? Not a literal snowglobe?” she blabbers, realizing just so by the time she hears him snort. Claire chokes down another sip to shut her mouth up. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m about to commit first-degree murder and burn this whole place to the ground,” he drawls, the ever goddamn sarcastic. “What do you think? I’m trying to get dru-”

“No, I mean what are you doing here, of all places? Can’t you get drunk somewhere else?” she interrupts, her midwest accent does funny things to the vowels and consonants- something that only happens whenever she’s in distress, or at least according to Jackie.

“Last time I heard, this joint’s still owned by the Hilton, not a certain junior member of the Diagnostics Team at Edenbrook hospital.”

“Dude, what do you think of the H in Claire H. Castelnuovo stands for?” Deadpan, trying to keep up with the rolling sarcasm, she retorts. He smirks.

“Horatio?”

“Get the fuck out of here,” she mutters, mid-eye-roll, mid-snickering.

He chuckles, his voice rich and smoky amidst the late-night swing and distant chatters. Carrick doesn’t leave, of course, typically him- if those anecdotes Ethan told her has taught her anything about his character, that is- defying everything, scheming his way to the top, the embodiment of ‘those devilish boys with their heavenly eyes’ type your mother warns you about.

Not that the latter is relevant.

“Or what?” His mouth twitches but there’s a hard, challenging light in his eyes that she knows too well by now.

“Or I’m leaving.“ She shoots him a glare. He’s testing her patience- again, like it’s his finesse. Some things never change, it seems.

“Come on, Castelnuovo, don’t be a sourpuss. The night is young and I can promise you, the last thing I am is a horrible drinking buddy.”

With a touch of irony, she replies: “I’m sure. I bet you asked your friends to fill out a questionnaire every time you went out with them, did you?”

Carrick hums.

“You’re funny.” But he says it in the same tone that someone might say Jesus fuck, you’re probably one of the most frustrating creatures I’ve ever laid eyes on. Also, because the next thing he says is: “A little rough around the edges, but funny nonetheless.”

“That makes one of us then.”

Carrick frowns, which is kind of a surprise because she’s half expected him to flash her that signature cheeky grin of his.

“Listen, I’m just trying to make a friendly conversation here. I know we haven’t really seen eye-to-eye with each othe-”

Claire snorts and crosses her arms over her chest. “That, doctor, is an understatement of the fucking century.”

“Okay so, we’re like Tom and Jerry but sans the background music and a naive little duckling running around calling one of us his momma, but I feel like now’s the time to call out a temporary truce between us.” A beat, then: “I heard about what happened with the intern.”

Something flashes across her face- and Carrick must have noticed it, because his face does this odd thing- it softens, even for a moment. She hates it. He’s not supposed to be looking at her like that, not supposed to see her at her weakest state or saved her ass- And Jesus, why does she have to be indebted to Tobias Carrick, of all people- But god forbid, the last thing she’ll ever do is crying in front of him.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she mutters, barely audible, trying to temper her fluctuated emotions.

“Then don’t. We can talk about anything else or fall into some sort of endless, meaningless platitudes. Whichever will work.” As if sensing Claire’s lingering hesitation, he adds. “Tell you what, to sweeten the offer, your next drinks are on me.”

She assesses him for a long minute, eyes narrowing. She’s shaking her head, but her mouth, as if against her will, instead says: “Careful, Carrick, there’s a chance I’ll be abusing that offer and run you dry.”

"Hey, if you want to butcher your liver so bad, don’t stop on my account,” he says. “Don’t worry, though, I’ll make sure to save your ass again this time around. Pro bono.”

Claire looks as if she’s just swallowed a dead rat. “Thanks, but no thanks. Death seems more like an appealing choice.”

“Well, I stopped death from interfering then, I’ll stop it again.” Carrick winks, she pretends to gag again yet remains still in her seat, so Carrick waves at the bartender for their order- she orders for a refill and he, a martini and Claire is this close from asking 'shaken or stirred?’ but then remembers who he is and immediately washes the question down with her drink.

“You know, if anyone told me weeks ago that I’d be having a drink with you tonight, I probably would have socked them.“

Carrick is in the middle of lighting his cigarette, but laughs instead. “The Times They Are a-Changin’, as Bob Dylan said.” A puff of smoke escapes his mouth, curling around his fingers. Claire instinctively looks away. “Which reminds me of that one time your mentor sang Ballad of A Thin Man on the fucking subway when we were 20.”

She swivels her head to his direction, on the verge of choking on her drink. “Hold on, hold on, Ethan Jonah Ramsey sings?”

“Give him a dare he couldn’t refuse and a few shots of whiskey, and I promise you he’ll sing like Sinatra on crack.” He grins, his eyes are all crinkled and bright; she thinks that means he’s genuinely amused. “Ah, good times. We were like- wait, who was it he’d like to say we’re like again?”

A small smile pulls at her lips. “Bert and Ernie.”

“Jesus, he really fucking compares us to some Sesame Street characters, huh?” She laughs at that, loud and bright. He does the same. “Personally, I’d always say we were like Butch and Sundance back then- rebels with a cause, a band of misfits, trying to leave our marks on the world. You know those types. We were young, we wanted so much- I still do. I mean, let’s be real, whoever’s wanted to be defeated at their own game?”

A crease forms between her eyebrows, not quite a frown.

“Nobody,” Claire concurs, hating herself for it. “But was it worth it? Betraying the closest thing you had to a brother or a lover…” Carrick coughs on his smoke from the latter. “or whatever in the process just to get what you wanted?” Claire was obviously aiming for that brash, hard-hitting jab, but it lands gloriously too soft.

The bartender finally places their ordered drinks down on the bar. Carrick reaches for it, taking a careful swig, then sets his glass down. He takes a deep breath.

"It’s nothing personal. It never was. I never considered him as my rival.”

“Yeah, but by doing whatever you did, you’ve made an enemy out of him,” she counters. “Look, Carrick, I know we live in a dog-eat-dog world and I know being good sometimes doesn’t get the job done. Perhaps Machiavelli was right. Perhaps, when necessary, you have to be ruthless, dissembling and manoeuvring- what did he say again? ‘The end justifies the means’? But if any worthwhile end can justify the means to attain it, if everyone outright surrenders to their darker side, then what’s left of our humanity?”

For an interminable moment, there is only silence. He simply stares at her, as if she’s a walking, talking Rubik’s cube he can’t solve or a book that he has opened and now he’s got to know so much more and she feels pinned under those warm irises, uneasy.

Suddenly, his mouth begins to take shape; the corners hike up, stretch and then he does the unexpected.

The bastard fucking laughs.

“Excuse me?!” she spits, white-hot anger lacing each word. Carrick laughs harder- the audacity- despite Claire’s growing razor’s edge stare. “Did you just laugh at me? I was being fucking seriou-”

“Sorry, sorry.” Wiping an imaginary tear from his left eye. “I was just remembering Harper’s words. She’s right, you really are on the side of the angels, aren’t you?”

She points at him with her glass, snarling. “And you, mister, are the devil himself with a medical degree and an egg head- and I don’t mean the slang for a highly academic person.”

“Ouch,” Carrick says out loud, still kind of laughing, borderline frowning. “Okay, I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“Damn straight. Though you have a lot to apologize for.”

He groans. “Don’t tell me you’re still pissed about that one patient I stole under your nose?”

“The North remembers, ser,” she says, mean-spirited.

“Then does the North remembers that I saved her life?”

“Oh, so you’re discrediting the efforts of the other doctors that helped you make the cure?”

“Alright, alright. You win.” Carrick holds up his hands, the universal gesture of defeat and takes one final drag of his cigarette. He stubs it out, all the while keeping his gaze on her.

“So, how exactly can I make it up to you?“

Claire blinks- once, twice, thrice, realizing his intent. His voice drops an octave and he’s leaning in, close enough for her to notice the constellations of freckles splaying across his face and the way his brown eyes glinted like two shots of whiskey under a stream of light, intense and all-consuming. She feels her mind races, her brains feel as if they underwent a short-circuit and get caught on fire, and the fact that her mind’s on the precipice of exploring the idea is not helping.

A burst of laughter erupts from her throat, not that it’s funny- there’s nothing funny about the situation, but someone ought to diffuse this shift of tension between them, or that was her aim, at least.

“What, you wanna pay me back?” she asks, trying to keep her voice from cracking but failing miserably. Fingers trembling against her glass as she chugs nearly a quarter of her drink in one go.

He notices that.

"A Lannister always pays his debts, does he? If you think that I owe you one, then I’ll gladly pay.” His eyes flick back to her face, searing into her. The air crackles between them. The band is playing a different song now, a sound that only exists on the margin of her attention. If they’re in, say a mid 2000s rom-com movie, someone would probably interrupt this moment and save her from this. But this isn’t a movie.

Claire licks her lips, a candid reaction which encourages him to inch closer- or is it her? She can’t tell anymore. Tracing odd patterns on the palm of her hand with his finger and oh god, this is Carrick, the bane of her fucking existence, she’d shoot him first before she kisses him. But something about the prospect of fucking this bastard twists her insides deliciously into a confused mess.

“How? By fucking me?” she inquires, feigning scandalized- all that Catholic guilt bullshit.

He grins, all-teeth and wolfish and shrugs as if they’re talking about his life insurance policy or shit. “Well, that’s the idea.”

“But you don’t even like me.” It should come out as I don’t even like you, but even she knows that’ll be just another lie she tells.

“On the contrary, I enjoy our rivalry far more than I should, Castelnuovo,” he purrs and places a hand on her knee. Her throat bobs. She’s wearing a skirt, it didn’t seem important then, but now his hand feels warm against her skin, dangling on the edge of impropriety. Like gravity, all it takes is a little push for him to cross that line.

“I should be disliking the way you talk to me, challenging me and putting me on the back foot every goddamn time. I should be focusing on taking you down a peg, but the more I see you, the more I realize you have an attractive kind of power. And I’m just one man. And if there’s anything I learned, the only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.”

But then his movement suddenly ceases. Claire almost asks why.

"However…”

“What?” she stares up at him, eyes wide, breath hitching.

“However if you only accept alcohol as the currency for transactions, then I’ll tell the bartender to get us another round instead,“ he tells her, offering her one last chance to back out from this, from making this mistake with him.

Claire stares into her drink, actually mulling this over. Her mind tells her no, but the other part- the alcohol-infused part of her mind- whispers otherwise. She imagines if Ethan or any of her friends are here, they would probably grab her shoulder and shake the living hell out of her for even reconsidering his offer.

But then again, intelligence, alcohol and desperation have always had a bad history of getting along together.

“What about June?” Claire asks against her better judgement, after a long, considerable pause. Carrick raises a confused brow.

“What about her?”

“I thought you guys…” she trails off, makes a face, feeling all-kind of flustered and aroused and wow, she’s really doing this, huh? “I mean, I don’t know- I don’t wanna get in between you guys.”

“Nah. It was only a three time thing, but there’s never been anything between us.” He chuckles at Claire’s askance look. “If you don’t believe me, you can fact-check it with the woman herself,” Carrick adds, looking at her dead-on with his eyes like he wants to get the message across.

She regards him silently for a long second, and maybe she’s a touch drunk now, maybe the bartender put something in her drink, or maybe she just needs to blow off some steam after what’s been happening in these past few weeks and Carrick happens to be a decent warm body for the occasion, but Claire finds herself shifting closer.

"Then I want you to pay me back.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah,” she answers, more sure this time, more determined.

Her nose bumps his, his breath fanning across her face all the while Carrick’s slightly pushing her skirt up, letting his fingertips travel higher. His eyes keep darting back and forth from her eyes and lips, checking for her reaction. There is no inhibition here, not anymore. People might be watching- heck, they could be already watching and it terrifies her that she doesn’t give a damn about it.

“But if you tell anyone about this, I swear to god… ” she warns and a shadow of mirth passes across his eyes, making her almost regretting this. Almost.

“Claire, darling.” It’s the first time he’s ever said her name and her stomach does a tango. “Your secret is safe with me.“ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

He gets them a room in the hotel, it’s on the twentieth floor. Carrick handles the accommodation- he can afford it, apparently, which is not really surprising and the nuisating check-in procedure while Claire only waits in the lobby like a beautiful, agitated china doll amidst the turbulent sea the whole time until he comes back, flashes the room key at her and beckons her to follow.

She goes ahead of him, but he catches up. His body heat sends her anxiety rocketing sky-high through the roof as they walk next to each other, hands briefly brushing against one another but she ignores that (or at least she tries).

They are silent in the elevator, they are silent even once they reach the designated floor and walk down the hall to their room where the dim and shadowed lights follow their steps like vultures.

Carrick holds open the door for her and she enters, taking in the windows and the striking view of Boston skyline peeking behind the curtains, the TV and the queen-sized bed. The latter does nothing to assuage the anticipation that’s bubbling in the pit of her stomach, by the way.

Claire hears him shut the door, locking both bolts. She peers at him over her shoulder, half-turned, one eye on him. Their eyes meet, neither speaks. He’s taking off his black peacoat, back against the door, he’s looking at her as if wanting her is his full-time occupation and the realizations comes in like a mule kick, how that tiny voice inside her head, the one that tells her that this is a bad idea and she’s better off leaving never comes.

The room is not considerably huge (with $110 per night, you would have expected you’d get a bigger room), he could easily have her in six large steps, yet he stands there. Sizing her up, smirking rather devilishly, handsomely as if challenging her to make the first move. It’s another fucking game with him. A display of power, waiting who would fall first.

Claire finally turns around to face him. With a renowned determination, she removes her coat, letting it fall unceremoniously onto the carpeted floor. Her blouse follows next and her skirt, which she tugs it oh so slowly down her legs.

Carrick’s eyes widen, if she doesn’t know better, she thinks he’s speechless. He takes a deep breath, his gaze religiously following every movement as she twirls around once more to unhook her bra. His jaw clenches and unclenches. He’s having a hard time keeping himself in check which she takes an immense pleasure in. Claire just wants to see the man squirm for a change, even if she has to shed every article of clothing she wears.

By the time she slips off of her underwear, she is breathing raggedly. He hasn’t yet approached her so she crawls onto the bed, lying on her back with one elbow props her up, legs crossed. She kicks off her heels, rolls down her stockings with a bit of that noir come-hither, Lauren Bacall-esque heavy bedroom eyes.

Finally, Carrick steps closer until he’s only a hair’s breadth away, like a target, filling her line of sight. The tension in the room is hot enough to send the thermometer reaching its maximum limit and she’s burning, burning, burning right through the core.

Claire cranes her head up to meet his gaze, noticing the way he’s drinking in her body like a pirate ogling a bottle of rum. High-strung, tense, Carrick lowers his head to her, his fingers carding through her long hair. Dimness consumes him raw, his silhouette is starting to find its place amongst the shadows except for his eyes. Never does the fire in his eyes falter, merely alight.

They are already nose-to-nose when Claire suddenly raises her hand over his lips. He withdraws from her, looking confused and hot and bothered.

“Take a seat over there, will you?” She motions to the settee near the bed, her tone leaving no room for argument.

He smirks, but she can see his bravado if faltering. “Ordering me around in the bed now, are we?”

“Didn’t you say tonight is about you making it up to me?”

“Touche, touche.” Carrick straightens his posture and makes his way to the settee across from her, shifting uncomfortably in his seat given the growing issue in his pants.

With eyes still trained to his, Claire cups her own breast, fingers pinching her pebbled nipple before the same hand travels lower down her stomach, her thighs. Carrick leans forward in his seat, obviously liking where this is going before Claire slowly and teasingly part her legs for him to see.

A surprised groan escapes him.

“Jesus, Claire,” Carrick hisses. “Fuck, I didn’t know you’re a goddamn tease.”

She doesn’t bother replying to him, but a winning grin finds its way across her face as she lays on her back, her shame and modesty are distant, knees pulled up so he can have a clear view of her. With two fingers, she runs them along her folds, dragging them slowly up to her clit. Claire imagines they are his fingers- which once upon a time would have horrified her, but tonight, as she repeats the motion over and over, knowing that he’s sitting there, watching her without being able to get his hands on her, she decides to submit to this newfound fantasy.

A rustle pulls her back to reality. He’s undoing his own pants, palming his cock, runs his fingers over the leaking head.

A low moan catches in her throat at that, her gaze snapping up from his erection to his face where his irises have darkened and pupils dilated. He wants to show her, that’s he’s as depraved as her when it comes to wanting, that he fucking wants her and in spades and she fails to think like a normal human being anymore.

Claire uses that image to work on herself harder, faster, feeling the intense pressure beginning to build beneath her fingers. She’s so wet now, despite him being able to see that, she wants him to hear it as well as she uses her idle hand to tap against herself. Carrick growls, his pace matching the rhythm she’s setting.

She slips her fingers inside her, drops her head back against the mattress and bites a loud moan that threatens to escape her lips. Flushing scarlet all over her abdomen, her breasts and up to her neck. Her blood thumping louder than bombs in her ears, her breaths begin to come in gasps.

Another fast and hard thrust from fingers, and Claire finds herself sighing his name.

“Tobias…”

And every last bit of his self-restraint snaps.

In just a blink of an eye, Carrick is already on his feet, grabs her waist, harshly, and tugs her down onto the edge of the bed where he’s now kneeling before her. He doesn’t bother with the teasings or soft kisses or caresses, and even before Claire has the time to register what’s happening, he crushes his face between her parted legs and eats her out.

She gasps, high and fleeting, twisting the bed sheet between her fists while his tongue flicks over her, moving back up, back down, lapping along her folds in the same motions she showed him with her hand, how she likes it. Claire forgets how to breathe. It just occurs to her just how arousing the sight of him on his knees like this, sending her mind hitchhiking into outer space.

“Oh, fuck.” She breathes, back arching on the bed with a drawn-out moan. “Fuck, Tobias!” Her hips gyrate over his mouth and she presses her heels against his shoulder blades. She’s so close. All she needs is a little push to send her careening into oblivion and it seems that Carrick can sense it because he brings two digits to her entrance and slides easily inside her, setting a ruthless pace.

With her hands reaching out to the back of his head, Claire cries out his name and trembles violently. Encouraged, Carrick curves his fingers inside her, hitting that exact spot that finally undoes her as she comes, long and hard, around his mouth and fingers- the kind of orgasm that you can feel deep in your bones- and watches as fireworks dance behind her lids.

When she finally comes down from her high, everything is hazy. It’s like waking up from a deep slumber after a decadent soak in a scented bath and she loses all orientation, until she feels him nipping the inside of her thighs. She hisses, glances down, heavy-lidded eyes finding Carrick is leaving bruises after bruises all over her skin like some kind of a lewd memento of his work, like he wants her to remember this the next time she wakes up in her own bed and he’s not there.

"Are you trying to turn me into a Na'vi, doctor?” She asks, still kinda breathless, feeling surprisingly conversational despite having just experienced, if not, one of the best orgasms in her life. He smiles against her thigh and withdraws from her, only after her thighs are sufficiently bruised enough, licks his fingers clean and stands up at the end of the bed.

“Maybe. You’d make a cute blue extraterrestrial creature, though,” he replies cheekily, then undoes the button of his shirt, showcasing his naked torso.

Claire feels her cheeks heating up again, but forces herself to stare; eyes following his pectoral muscles, down to the toned lines of his abdomen while he slides off of his pants. The man is one fine specimen, alright, and he knows- smug bastard- and she thinks it’s such a shame that Carrick is… well, Carrick. If the man learns how to shut up for one minute or avoid trying to sabotage everyone’s career at Edenbrook altogether, maybe, just maybe, she’d consider him.

“But honestly, I just wanted to hear you say my name again,” Carrick continues, crawling his way up to her, pulling her out of her musings. He settles between her thighs. His lips finding her ear and nibbling at the lobe while his fingers pinching and pulling at her nipple. Claire shivers. Nails scraping along his skin, raising angry marks that would certainly be there tomorrow.

When they kiss, it’s so good that she can’t help but curl her toes. He kisses her like he’s trying to steal her breath or her name. She can taste herself in his mouth, which sparks so many feelings inside her. Her mind’s foggy, sweat pooling on her forehead. Carrick is but shoves his tongue into her mouth, lapping at her, biting, sucking and she leans hard into the kiss, retaliates by scraping her teeth against his bottom lip. It spurs him on. Making his cock twitch against her thigh and Claire decides she can’t wait anymore.

Claire rolls her hips at him. He takes the hint and rolls over to grab a condom from his pants. Then he’s back on top of her, his weight and heat crushing her most deliciously and brings her body further up the bed with him; she drapes her legs around his hips, hands gripping his arms. Her lust and anticipation collaborate to the point of near madness.

Carrick nips the taut line of her jaw and drives himself into her.

They both groan in unison.

“Oh, fuck.” Carrick mumbles between shaky breaths, his face pressed against her throat. “Fucking hell, Claire, you feel so warm.”

Claire, on the other hand, goes rigid under him. Her mouth hangs open and her world narrows down to the feeling of his cock inside her and the pleasure that builds up again in her abdomen.

This is happening, she thinks, he’s inside her and it feels so amazing. She might as well be crazy for agreeing to do this with him in the first place, but the promise of the thrill beats the doubts.

He starts slow, just the smallest fraction of hips, gently thrusting back and forth in shallow motions. She whines, frustrated and impatient, raising her own hips to meet his, but Carrick’s weight pins her onto the mattress and she can’t fucking move.

“F-faster,” Claire stammers, her molars grinding like toothache.

The bastard smirks, like he’s been anticipating the word coming out of her mouth.

“Beg for it.” His words are punctuated with every unhurried stroke he’s giving her, teasing her and if she’s not in the middle of being fucked right now, she would have kicked him in the balls.

Growling, she swallows her plea by pulling Carrick down for another kiss. This time, she’s the one who does the biting and the sucking, making sure he’s distracted enough and then just like with all the things she does in her life, she takes the matter into her own hands.

With all her strength, she scrambles up, pushes him off of her and knocks him onto his back flat on the bed. When she swings her legs to straddle him, his eyes pop.

“Holy shit, you are feisty.”

“Only cause I’m angry and horny,” she bites off. Angling herself above him and with one hand, guides his shaft back to her opening. “And you- you weren’t doing a proper job fucking me.”

He smirks. “I was trying to wind you up.”

“Fuck you.”

She lowers herself and sinks back onto his cock, relishing in his moans and growls.

“Baby, you’re doing it.” His hands curling around her waist, his head falls back onto the bed, exposing his throat and Claire is so hard-pressed not to bite him there.

Claire ignores his smartassness, naturally, and lifts herself, drops back down. Slamming her hips into his until she’s bouncing on him. Nails clawing at his chest. Finally be able to set a pace she desperately craves for, finally wiping that smirk off of his face.

Under her, Carrick is biting his lip in an effort to not to lose control. His hands are everywhere now; her stomach, her breasts, her neck, her cheeks. Leaving fire on its wake. She might still hate him after this is strange, little arrangement is over but at this juncture, he’s exactly the remedy she needs after everything.

Then Carrick wraps his arms around her and picks up the pace, thrusting into her hard and fast. Claire shakes. She can’t catch her breath, her forehead pressed on his shoulder, her teeth latching onto his skin. Breathing a string of 'fuckfuckfuck’ while he squeezes her ass and continues to fuck her with careless abandon.

"Tobias.” Her moans amplify. She’s close to climaxing again, her legs quivering. Eyes wide shut. “Please, please.” So much for not begging.

He pulls her to him so their foreheads meet. Their lips brush against each other, but they aren’t kissing, merely trading breaths. A hand touches her cheek and her lids flutter open, finding his eyes- those depthless, amber eyes that pretty much lead her to this point, are watching her, pulling her in.

“Say it again,” he encourages darkly, face twists in pleasure. “My name. Say it again.”

She does it again, it comes out as a groaned whisper, repeating it over and over again like a sacred mantra.

Her second orgasm sweeps through her, making her spine arches, it tears a winded moan from her throat and it’s more than enough to trigger Carrick’s own release; fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips, groaning gutturally.

Panting, sore but sated, Claire collapses on top of his chest, his arm still drapes around her. The rise and fall of his breath lull her to sleep. Before she knows it, he gently rolls her to his side, pulling the covers for them and kisses her on the shoulder, which comes out as… odd for her.

The bed moves and she feels him leaving.

He’s leaving.

He’s leaving.

She doesn’t know why it stings, but it does. But also Claire opts not to pay no mind to it and forces her mind to surrender to sleep that once again tries to take hold.

Claire wishes she doesn’t dream of him that night, but she does.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It’s way past midnight when she wakes up. The room is dark. The curtains are closed. She’s still naked and sore under the covers, mind reeling in from what has just transpired.

One might ask in which universe does Claire Castelnuovo agree to sleep with Tobias Carrick? Well, apparently they did it in this one and oddly still, she doesn’t regret it. Though she’s still low-key sad that he left her straight after sex, but hey, what can she do about it? This arrangement itself is nothing but a means to an end, anyway, a perverse alternative for him to pay back what he allegedly owes her, she shouldn’t be surprised if he left after the ‘debt’ is paid.

Feeling her mood somehow takes an unexpected dip, she gets us from the bed and gathers her clothes on the floor.

She’s in the middle of zipping up her skirt when the bedside lamp flickers and comes on.

Claire turns around. Carrick, rousing from sleep, looks at her, rubbing his eyes and stifles a yawn. His lips still tinged from her kisses and bites.

“Leaving so soon?” he asks, voice still raspy from sleep and Claire thinks her mouth is hanging open, standing rooted to the spot like a spider on an icicle; frozen in time.

For a moment, she does nothing but stares at him, being rendered speechless. For many times, Tobias Carrick never fails to surprise her. Just when she thinks she has him all figured out, he comes sneaking in through her windows like a thief in the night and it just strikes her, how he really is an uncharted territory for her. Despite her having him pinned under her, exploring the hard planes of his body under the touches just a few hours ago.

The man is like a fucking myth, at this point. She knows him only from stories and her limited time around him, but who is exactly Tobias Carrick? Is he the competitive doctor at Mass Kenmore, the Machiavellian asshole that severed his friendship/relationship with Ethan for the sake of his greed and ambition? Or is he, Tobias Carrick, the man who saves her life, makes her laugh and kisses her shoulder in the afterglow?

She’ll probably never know.

“Yeah, my roommates will probably deploy a search party if I don’t come home tonight,” she replies, distracted, finally finding her own voice back. He nods, feigning disappointment- or is he not? She clears her throat and continues putting on her clothes. “I thought you left.”

He chuckles at the absurdity of her deduction. “And without saying goodbye?” Carrick rolls off of the bed and rises to his feet. He’s already wearing his pants- thank fuck for that- and approaches her. “I may be an asshole, Castelnuovo, but just so you know, my mother raised me better than that.”

So they’re back to their usual last name basis perimeter. That’s good, right? After all of this, she thinks a little familiarity would be nice for her sanity.

“Good to know, then.”

Silence encompasses the room. It’s awkward and overwhelming and it throws her a little off-balance. At the bar, they seemed to know exactly what to say to each other- especially him; but now, even she can sense the hesitation in his gait, at the way he’s looking at her and a faint alarm is trilling her head. Because if he’s making this awkward, she can do a whole lot of worse.

"Oh, before you ask, that makes up for pretty much everything, yeah. I mean, it’s alright.” You fucking dumbass, she thinks to herself, averting his gaze while a smile blooms on his face.

“Good to know, then.” He parrots her words and she huffs a laugh, freely and sweetly, like she’s currently not knee-deep in her problems or she’s just fucked the most incorrigible man that ever exists. He does too, but his gaze lands on her mouth before going back to her eyes.

Another silence passes. It’s time to go.

“I have to go now.”

He nods mutely and moves away so Claire can step past him.

She wears her coat. In the mirror, she still looks thoroughly fucked; her hair’s dishevelled, she smells like him now, but she really needs to go. She promises herself that this will be a one time thing because, Jesus fuck, she’s supposed to be smarter than this. She’s not fifteen anymore, and this is not the summer where she can watch the sunset from the cornfields with her cousins even though his eyes possess the same color.

Yet she walks toward the door in a daze, like she’s forgetting something but can’t pinpoint what it is.

“Can I-”

“Hey, do you-”

She stops, mid-turning, and closes her mouth. She doesn’t realize she’s interrupting him.

“Oh, sorry,” Claire says, embarrassed. “You go first, it’s alright.”

“Can I have your number?” he asks, uncharacteristically hesitant.

She thinks he’s joking or maybe he’s just feigning interest, but one look at his eyes and she can tell that this isn’t smoke and mirrors.

The eyes, chico. They never lie. It’s dumb, but that line from Scarface is the first thing that comes to her mind. That’s why when she hands him her phone, her hand is shaking slightly. She has to bite her lip to stop herself from grinning like a maniac.  

Claire takes a cursory glance at her phone once he returns it. He saved his number solely as t.c. with the water drop, the syringe, the ghost, the eggplant, the firework emoji and she chuckles endearingly, questioning the universe how he can easily get both a rise and a laugh out of her.

“I’ll text you?” Carrick asks again and she nods a little too enthusiastically at it, but what the hell?

“Sure.”

“Alright.” He takes one look at her, steps closer and for a moment, she thinks he might be going to kiss her.

“Goodnight, Claire,” Carrick says instead and she nods, admitting the fact that he’s not going to do it.

“Goodnight to you too, Tobias.” Then pauses at the doorway, feeling surprisingly bold. “I gotta give it to you, though, for someone who’s become the bane of my existence for months, you’re a damn good lay.”

He barks out a laugh, obviously, that Claire can hear all the way down the hall. And she thinks she can get used to the sound.

                                                         fin.

Tag list: @villain-fuckarooni @beckaroo @arfeiniel​ @this-person-is-busy @colossalpainintheass​ @drethanramslay @hatescapsicum @theeccentricbibliophile

#playchoices #open heart #tobias carrick #tobias carrick x mc #open heart mc #oh mc #pixelberry #choices stories you play

[peppersonironi]

12, 21, 19

(Is this late? Oops. Sorry!)

12: Favourite character to write about this year

Stephanie Brown, easy. She's my spirit animal, so I might be doing a touch of projecting, but I honestly don't care. She's just pure chaos in the best way. Some of my favourite lines that I've written are for her. Such as:

"What's up bitches? I brought donuts!"

"My waffles await!"

"FEAR ME!"

"Welcome to Steph’s Glitter Bomb Palace, Where Snitches get Stitches™! So don’t tell Bruce or I’ll sic Jason on you."

She's also the character I've gotten the most comments on. People really seen to enjoy how I write her!

A close second would be Duke Thomas. Bliss, a fic I wrote for the 2020 Duke Week, was one of my favourites! Or maybe Damian? His dialogue just comes easy to me.

21: Most memorable comment/review

the batfamily exist:

everyone: is,,is that allowed?

On Code Orange (Batfam/Young Justice Crossover)

*Or*

I have wanted to read a DCU/MCU crossover for a VERY long time. This story is such a delight. Your characterisation (and for me an introduction to The Signal) was fascinating in the extreme. I loved the game playing and the fact that I could watch (open-mouthed) as Bruce Wayne enjoyed childlike fun with his children and Alfred(!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) was the cherry on top of the icing on top of the cake. I look forward to your updates in a way that you wouldn't believe.

On Batfam/Avengers Crossover

19: Any new fics to start next year

Oh boy. So many. You know what? Here's a list. It'll be good to get these ideas out. Plus, you guys can tell me what you'd rather see first!

Gen/just Batfam

Crack fic based off this piece of dialogue (came from a convo between my sister and I): Tim reached forward and poked Duke's face. "You're right!" He exclaimed. "You really *do* squish like a block of wood!" Duke Centric.

Based on THIS Incorrect Quotes. Talia moves into the Manor because she's sick of Ra's. Featuring a bunch of good mom!Talia.

Based off THIS Incorrect Quotes. Jason runs for President as Red Hood. I have so many ideas! This'll be really fun.

Loosely based on THIS post. It explores Jason and Cassandra's relationship, and how it evolves.

Duke Thomas Big Bang Fic (can't say much, but it'll be great!)

Platonic (need to be certain you understand that. There were some misconceptions w/ my Discord server) Slow Burn between Tim and Damian. At the beginning the absolutely despise each other. But over time they realise their own insecurities, and how they don't actually hate the other. And by the end they fully admit and embrace their being brothers.

Reverse Robins with Damian as the oldest (I made THIS post talking about it a while back. But I've highly revised it.)

Reverse Robins with Duke as the oldest (I wrote THIS fic, but I think I want to change this into a series!)

Cassandra as Batman. Stephanie as Catwoman. Carrie Kelley as Robin.

5 Times Bette Kane was the mastermind behind the batkids' pranks without Bruce's knowledge, and 1 Time her brilliance was brought to light.

5 Times Duke thought that he couldn't possibly get any more siblings and 1 Time he met the cousins (AKA: Duke meets the extended family)

Birdflash

Birdflash in the JL/JLU universe (based off that one hexagon by @novaviis ! Super fun!). The league is inviting potential members to the Watchtower one day. Except Wally wasn't there during the choosing of said members. So he's completely shocked when his husband Nightwing shows up. They have to act like they don't know each other, which basically involves Dick flirting his butt off with Wally, Wally trying desperately to remain professional, Bruce digging in the corner, the rest of the League in varying degrees of disapproval and confusion (at least a couple have seen Wally's wedding ring. So that adds a while 'nother layer).

Young Justice soulmate au. Dick, and eventually everyone else, knows that Wally is his soulmate. Wally is oblivious. Lots of pining and angst in this one. Slow burn to an extent (depends on how long I make it). But definitely a happy fluffy ending in sight!

Batfam Meets Young Justice

THIS fic.

Duke gets yeeted into the YJ universe, and promptly passes out. He wakes up in the Watchtower, and breaks out of the confinement the Team has set up for him. Pulls shenanigans (some unwittingly) and used his powers. The Team and JL are confused, and panicking. Because this guy keeps muttering things about the Batfam. And he has a bat on his chest.

The Team break into some ancient temple after getting info on a new Supervillian plot. They find purple clothed woman draped across a throne. She talks, and they panic, as she knows all their secret identities. The only one who isn't, is Tim. He looks bored. Alternatively: Steph needs Tim's credit card to take his sister out on a date, and absolutely refuses to text.

While the Team is on a mission to stop Lady Shiva, a dimensional portal opens up and spits out a strange Robin (Damian) and what seemed to be a female Batman (Cass as Black Bat). This new dynamic due promptly defeats Lady Shiva and all the goons. The Team is freaked out, and 'apprehends' the dimensional anomalies, bringing them back to the Watchtower. Where the due promptly break and and start chaos. Featuring "Toxic" by Britney Spears. I will not explain why.

The Watchtower gets a sudden emergency message from the Batcave. They accept, to find a stranger calling himself Signal panicking about Robin being missing. They all look at Tim, who ignores them, and says that he doesn't know where Robin is. Some naming shenanigans occur.

(Not sure if this fits here, oh well) Set in Season One, Bruce is tired of Clark's attitude towards Superboy, and adopts the clone himself. Not sure how far this'll go, but at least goes through Dick's time as Robin. (Based on THIS Tumblr post)

(Also iffy on placement) a continuation of one (not sure which? Probably Damian as older) Reverse Robins fics. It's a retelling of Season One of YJ, with Dick as Robin. Nightwing (Damian) feels protective of his brother, and so takes on the role Black Canary had in the show, training the Team. But as time goes on, he ends up being more of a big brother to the group. Cameos from the rest of the Batfam as well! And an Identity Reveal (including finding out Dick and Dami are brothers) at the end!

Batfam Meets the Justice League

Cass takes over being Batman for a bit, because Bruce was an idiot and broke his leg. This happens to line up with when the Justice League reach out to the Dark Knight, in order to extend an invitation to the league. They eventually meet Bruce as Batman, and are confused as to why he is so tall. And male.

Joyfire

Lian accidentally reveals her three parents' relationship by calling Bruce 'grandpa' over dinner.

Museum Heist

THIS fic

Operation: Seduce Nightwing. Based on a post for an ATLA ot3, Wally and Artemis realise silumaneously “Hey, we kinda have the hots for Dick” and decide together to see if he likes them back. Which involves a heck ton of over the top flirting, and shenanigans. The Team is sighing on the sidelines at their idiocy. Dick is internally combusting and thinking “Do they like me back? I’’m not sure.” 

5 times Dick and Wally fought over being the middle spoon, and one time Artemis had had enough.

Set in Season 3 (but ignores some canon), Bart is kidnapped by some mad scientist obsessed with the Speed Force. The Team mobilizes, and gets Bart back from the evil base. But when they get there, they find Wally West freed from the Speed Force. He and Artemis reunite, and everyone is happy. They prepare to leave. Then the Pick-up Squad arrive in the bioship, and Dick gets out. Everyone is expecting Dick to give Wally a hug, because hey, he's his best friend! What they weren't expecting was him to run forward and pull the speedster into a passionate kiss. They go back to the Watchtower, and some more stuff happens.

Soulmate AU where the first thing your soulmate says to you after they fall in love with you is tattooed on your body.

Post Season Two Get Together. Starts with Artemis living with Dick as opposed to Will. Might be Slow Burn? (They come pretty close to kissing) Eventually Wally comes back. Arty and Wally are back together. They both live in the same house as Dick, for convenience. Then some more Slow Burn happens. Maybe some Birdflash moments. Arty tells Wally she kinda had a thing for Dick. Wally admits the same. Maybe a touch more Slow Burn. They Eventually get together.

Batlantern

AU where Bruce met Hal back when he first came back to Gotham. Fic goes through how their relationship evolves over the years (up until current time, when Damian is 13). I'm considering a relationship reveal with the Justice League.

Hal's interactions with Bruce's kids.

Green Lantern Corp acting protective of Hal when Bruce comes to Oa. This was an ask that I got, and I'm holding off on writing it till I get as much into on the GL's as possible, as all I know if their characterization comes from that animated series, and Guy Gardener's (Hilarious!) parts on Young Justice.

Marvel

Like 3 different versions of the Peter Parker Field Trip to Stark Tower Trope.

2-part Crossover with the Batfam (they exist in the same universe), where the Avengers go to a Wayne Gala, and interact with the family. The second chapter involves them heading out the next night to try and contact Batman.

THIS fic.

#Pepper answers #Ask #batfam #dc #fanfiction #birdflash #joyfire #museum heist #batlantern #stephcass #young justice #young justice cartoon #marvel #the avengers #duke thomas #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #bette kane #damian wayne #tim drake #kate kane #jason todd #dick grayson #bruce wayne #wally west #artemis crock #roy harper #koriand'r #lian harper #hal jordon

[irontinystar]

hi! i was wondering if you’d recommend other authors that you enjoy or even specific fanfics you like? i’ve only just started getting into the steve/tony fandom and want to follow more people! thank you!

Hi there!!! Welcome to the fandom!!!<3<3<3

I’m so glad you asked this question since I’ve always wanted to do a fic rec post!!!!

HERE WE GO:

10K+ WORDS (ONE CHAPTER) FICS:

Quit while you’re ahead by magicasen

“It began, as things tend to between them, as a bet.”

the reason you ruminate the shadowy past by Mizzy

“So, Captain America effectively manages to cockblock Tony for a year.

It's not Steve's fault. Well, actually, it is. But he was just proving a point - that if a superhero is gay, how can it be wrong? Steve just picked the wrong superhero to make the point with. Now America will think they're dating - and Tony's not going to be the guy to break Captain America's heart.

There's only one way out. To save face, Steve and Tony have to become fake boyfriends. Steve thinks the "boyfriends" bit will be the hardest to act... but maybe it's the "fake" part that will be the hardest act of all...”

made to make you blue by gottalovev

“Steve, drunk for the first time since the serum, hits on Tony. It's everything Tony's ever dreamt about, but he refuses to have sex with a drunk Steve who can't truly consent. They do kiss, though, and Tony stays the night. The morning after brings a misunderstanding of disastrous proportion, where both men wrongly assume the other is uninterested. Life gets extremely complicated when Enchantress, mad at Thor, casts a spell that links people who love each other together, letting them feel the other's pain.”

On the Turning Away by thegraytigress

“Tony's new relationship with Steve is going great. They're a few weeks into it, and it's utterly amazing. He's feeling better and more sure of himself than he ever has before. Honestly, he's flying high.

But then he asks Steve a simple, logical, and seemingly innocent question: "do you want to spend the night?" And everything comes crashing down.”

love the sin, love the sinner by silkspectred

“It keeps happening. Not often, just once or twice a month, but it keeps happening. Always in the same way: it’s unplanned, sudden, unexpected, Steve is surprised and eager, his dick goes from zero to one hundred in two seconds, Tony’s touch is electric, everything he does drives Steve crazy, but he never lets Steve kiss him, he very rarely looks Steve in the eye, he never talks, never makes a sound when he comes, never mentions it later.”

Of Beards and Best Defenders by nannersmelo

“Tony finds out about when Steve had a beard once upon a time, and outraged that he never got to see it, decides to find a way to witness it by himself.”

Tony Pretends To Date Steve (Until He Doesn't Have To) by HappyStony

“"You alright?"

Of course he was not alright! Tony had a blue eyed, blond haired, six foot too high, two hundred who knows what pound, too sexy for his own good ninety something, mentally twenty, year old man on top of him. Who even asks that question in a situation like that?

Or: Basically the title. Tony pretends he's dating Steve until...well, you know.”

i have found the one (whom my soul loves) by soniclipstick (veriscence)

“It's been months since the Avengers were pardoned. One by one, they'd all gone home, until Steve finds himself alone in the grand old building T'Challa had given them.

But everything changes when Steve answers the doorbell, and Tony Stark strides in with more grey on his temple and make-up on his face than Steve remembers.”

Hating Steve Rogers by nanasekei

“The thing about hating Steve Rogers is that it shouldn’t be easy - but it really, really is.”

we have become something different, beloved (tragic and lovely) by Areiton, venusiaries

“"What's the Accords?" he asks, and Tony's head tilts. "I don't think that concerns you," he says. "But you don't deny that it's something." "There's a lot of something's I'm involved in that you don't know about," Tony says.

~~~~

There's a story, years long and publicly known, about the way the Avengers ended and why. And then there is the truth, carefully hidden and protected.”

remedy by quidhitch

““I like the walls,” Steve shrugs, knocking his knuckles against the side as if to demonstrate. “Makes me feel covered.”

A soldier in a fortress, Tony thinks, which is a pretty ridiculous thought to have about Captain America and his enormous limbs stuffed into a too-small bathtub, but there it is.

Or: Tony Stark learns a thing or two about what it means to be In Recovery™.”

Binary System by Annie D (scaramouche) ( @no-gorms )

“Tony tends to be tactile with people he trusts. These days that list of people includes Steve, which is a good sign of the progression of their friendship. For his part, Steve seems to enjoy it as much as Tony does... until Tony goes a little too far.”

The Best Policy by starknjarvis

“Tony Stark breezes through life on bluster and bullshit. When he gets hit by a truth spell, he locks himself away in his workshop so he can find a way to reverse it without anyone finding out. So why can't he say no when Steve keeps asking to spend time with him?”

Slipping off the Page into Your Hands by Sineala ( @sineala )

“Soulmates have their first words to each other written on their wrists. This should make it easy. For Steve and Tony, it is anything but. Steve's problem is that the future he has awoken into is nothing he was ever expecting: he has a soulmate now. Who might be a robot. And if his soulmate is Iron Man, how can he be so attracted to Tony Stark? It should be impossible. Tony's problem is that he is Iron Man, his soulmate is a man whom he in no way deserves, and he is going to fight everything in his heart and do his best to make sure Steve never, ever finds out the whole truth.”

How to Win Affection Without Really Trying by Annie D (scaramouche)

“Tony almost dies saving Steve’s life, but that’s just part of being an Avenger. It’s no reason for Steve to get all weird and intense around him afterward.”

A Certain Affinity by miobambiino ( @miobambiino )

“"They were like that a lot nowadays, ever since they got back from their little kidnapping escapade. Sure, they’d been close before then - they all had - but now… it was different. They were close, close. Squishing up next to each other, whispering to one another, playing with each others hair, apparently.

Steve inwardly grimaced at himself. He was being bitter and petty, he knew that. But he couldn’t figure out why, though. His teammates were getting along, which is only a good thing. Especially considering how they started things off way back on the helicarrier. But since when were Tony and Nat this cosy?"

Aka Steve is jealous of Tony and Nat's friendship, gets the wrong idea, and requires a little help from Nat herself to get some well-needed perspective.”

Admiring the Scenery by Annie D (scaramouche)

“Steve’s used to people checking him out, but when Tony does it, it feels… different.”

Symmetry Breaking by Annie D (scaramouche)

“After the Battle of New York, Steve rode off on his motorbike. That's how it went the first time.

This time he rides back, all the way to Stark Tower, where he asks Tony for help.”

MULTICHAPTERS FICS:

almeno tu nell'universo by silkspectred

“Tony drives off.

Well, he wants to.

But he can’t.

Because.

Steve Rogers is in front of his car.

Steve fucking Rogers. Is in front of Tony’s fucking car.”

take my heart clean apart by mistymountainking

“He’s tired, so tired of waiting, tired of touches with no meaning, tired of holding his breath when Steve’s in the room, tired of keeping this love to himself.

“I can’t—I can’t, if you don’t mean it.”

***

Tony comes home exhausted after an SI event. Steve acts as welcoming committee. It's an old, careworn routine they've perfected over the years, but tonight ends up going in a very different direction.”

Thrust Issues by Sineala

“A battle gone wrong leads Tony to the unexpected and pleasant discovery that Steve is much more well-endowed than he could ever have imagined. But when Tony learns that Steve has never actually been able to sleep with anyone because of his size, Tony does what any good friend would do: he offers to relieve Steve of his virginity. Personally. Tony's determined, Tony's methodical, and Tony has a plan. He's going to get Steve laid. Tony just needs to make sure Steve never finds out that Tony's in love with him.”

Overhaul by Annie D (scaramouche)

“Steve knows that Tony has feelings for him and, since he doesn’t return those feelings, has been mildly dreading the day that Tony decides to do something about it. When that day finally arrives, Steve discovers that Tony’s wooing strategy isn’t anything at all like he’d expected.”

Whatever Makes You Happy by WilmaKins ( @wilmakins )

“Steve and his team never stopped Avenging. So when T'Challa tells them about strange events at the site of an ancient landmark, everything seems quite simple. Of course they'll help Shuri to investigate it - helping people is what they do, after all.

Until they discover that a race of alien empaths are harvesting human emotions as a source of power. Specifically, they're using the misery of one Tony Stark.

So, until they work out what's really going on, the fate of the world might depend on them keeping Tony happy.

Not simple. Not simple at all.

Set six months after CA:CW.”

a catalog of non-definitive acts by firebrands ( @firebrands )

“Tony's seen the way Steve watches him, trails after him just for a moment, then catches himself. Let it never be said that Tony Stark doesn’t pay attention. At least, when it matters.

*

Or, Steve, Tony, and the emotional fallout of keeping secrets. (Set in some nebulous time pre-AoU.)”

The Single Biggest Problem With Communication by BlossomsintheMist

“In the wake of Steve's return from the dead and the end of Norman Osborn's reign of terror, the superhero community is recovering--Steve has taken on a new role and Tony is trying to put his life back together. Things are still awkward between them, but they're determined to put things to rights. But when a discussion about their feelings leads to further misunderstandings, they discover that might be more difficult than either of them realized. Set in the early Heroic Age after the end of Dark Reign, this is a get-together story about crossed wires--and second chances.”

Broken by livink ( @anthonyed )

“After Siberia, Tony Stark faces depression, a giant purple alien and a forced reunion. Ironically, he feels as if he's the only one who is broken in this journey. Until he comes across Barnes. Then, Bruce, Natasha and Wanda. Later, he realises that the man who broke him is broken too and this is a story where they heal and find their footings back.”

wonderland by Areiton

“Six weeks after being abandoned in Siberia, Tony wakes in a Tower, next to the man who broke his heart and his trust. But the world--whatever Wonderland world they’ve landed in--isn’t like their own. The Avengers are happy here. Tony and Steve are married here. With a direct line to Steve’s emotions and the team that he’s always wanted--Tony is more than a little tempted to stay. Seeing how happy Tony is, how healthy Bucky is--Steve doesn’t disagree. But there are cracks in Wonderland and the shiny paint peeling might leave a nightmare behind--one that Tony and Steve will need each other more than ever, to escape.”

when i run out of road, you bring me home by quidhitch

““Oh, I won’t bother you.” The tone of Steve’s voice implies that he definitely will be bothering Tony, aggressively and frequently. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll keep to my farm, you keep to yours. Solitude together.”

Tony opens his mouth to argue that that’s not how this works, but he snaps it shut at the realization that Steven Grant Rogers is fucking with him. That twinkle in his eye has accelerated into a full-on glimmer, and the ends of his lips are twitching. Jesus, he hates this man. Or maybe he wishes he did. Tony can’t really tell the difference anymore.”

Down in Lonesome Town by resurrectedhippo

“Tony eyes him. “Why do I always find my way back to you?”

Maybe he didn’t necessarily return to Steve, but fate is a funny little thing, and after living a life of loss, Steve wants something that’s his to keep. Tony deserves a love that’s unrestrained; Steve thinks he’ll erupt with it.

Love is messy, not easy, and takes work.

Maybe love feels like rage.

But maybe love could just be jumping off a rocky mountain and smiling anyway.

After the universe is restored, Steve is lost without any direction. Retiring from the Avengers, he moves across the country and ends up building a house by a misty blue lake. Across the bridge is Tony Stark’s new workshop.”

In the Stillness of Remembering by elise_509

“Steve Rogers is a reminder of a past that Tony Stark would rather forget. But when Steve’s own ghosts suddenly become the present, Tony finds he and Steve need each other to face the future.”

Good For You by orbingarrow

“Steve doesn't understand why Tony dates people who abuse him. Tony doesn't understand why Steve cares.

The rest is bad choices, good choices, rehab, milkshakes, paintball, YouTube videos, couples therapy and learning to put the past in the past. Or: How Tony finds his happy ending.”

SERIES:

Pulse-Point by itsallAvengers

Guys and Bots by Annie D (scaramouche)

AUTHORS:

I love very deeply each author of the fics I’ve listed, but these are the main blogs I follow here on tumblr who regularly post 1K (more or less) words fic:

@omg-just-peachy

@no-gorms

@maguna-stxrk

@natasharxmanov

@s-horne

@firebrands

@iam93percentstardust

@anthonyed

@ad1thi

@littlemissstark

@chirriko

@tinytonysnark

(Plus self-spam: MrsWinterBreath , my own ao3 profile!)

Lastly, check @sabrecmcstonyficrecs blog by @sabrecmc who is not only an extremely talented writer themself, but also incredibly patient and kind enough to offer masterposts with fics about any Stony trope you could ever think of!!!

This is a non-exhaustive list because there are a LOT more authors out there that deserve their works to be read, so I suggest you giving it a chance even to fics and authors you’ve never heard of, you might find a masterpiece without even realising it!!!!

And most importantly: always leave a kudos and comment if you liked what you read, this way I guarantee you the authors will be more than happy to keep on providing you with amazing works!!!!

#stony #stony fic #stony fanfiction #stevetony #stevetony fic #stevetony fanfiction #steve x tony #tony x steve #superhusbands #iron man #captain america #tony stark #steve rogers #stony fic rec #stevetony fic rec