#most of them did fuck all to even remotely suggested that this was knowledge that was passed down

[ayrennaranaaldmeri]

george r r martin will bitch about aragorn “genociding” orcs or whatever (even though it’s a literal non issue) and then turn around and then retcon the targaryen invasion of westeros to make the invaders look like speshul misunderstood uwus with altruistic motives bc prophecy lol.

#tbd #anti grrm #anti hotd #anti targaryen #i mean he's like will someone think of the orcs k george will someone think of westeros then? #i'm glad that ragger lived up to his ancestor's rock fucking stupidity of how to handle prophecy i guess #bro it's like even if you went for a 'they were fucking shit up despite this' it makes no sense #'don't you seeeeeeeeee??' aegon yelled over the sounds of 4000 screaming men being burned to death by his and his sisters' dragons #'i am doing this to save you people from the ice zombies!!!' #(or whatever tf the others are since they're more mysterious than ice zombies) #just having them be ambitious conquerors was enough /sigh #tagging for blacklisting purposes bc #i want to pretend i do not see it but this is so stupid #most of them did fuck all to even remotely suggested that this was knowledge that was passed down #like did anyone other than alysanne even breathe positively in the direction of the wall #and that was so specific to her experience not the secret prophecy or whatever #it makes them look worse but in a super dumb way. #hotd spoilers

[andarthas-web]

Wakanda Forever? More like Wakanda WTF!

I finally managed to watch Wakanda Forever and....WTF WAS THAT???

Who thought it was a good idea to center the movie on two BIPOC communities, both of which are threatened by neo-colonial and capitalist western ambitions, going to war with each other, because one of them can’t come up with a better solution to the dilemma they’re facing than murdering a black woman? I mean....Namor is several hundreds of years old and apparently an experienced and good ruler. It’s pretty clear Riri didn’t even know what was going on and would never have willingly put Wakanda at risk (which makes it likely she wouldn’t have wanted to put Talocan and its’ people at risk either). Also, if Riri could invent something like this, sooner or later some other scientist will pop up who can do the same, because people who are gifted like that are rare...but by no means a one-time-only-in-all-of-human-existence. So no matter HOW she’s taken out of the picture, that’s only delaying the problem, not solving it. And FFS!!! If he wanted to keep her out of reach of western ambitions, keeping her in Talocan (if he didn’t trust Wakanda enough) would have been perfectly sufficient, no murder needed. Then there’s the bit about firing Okoye. WTF??? First of all, Shuri’s an adult and a princess responsible for her people, fully capable of making executive decisions on her own and EVERYBODY was aware that this was a risky mission beforehand. Hell, it wasn’t the first time Shuri did risky stuff in her life either. So yeah, punishing Okoye for not being all-powerful and not being able to pull an unrealistic Deus Ex Machina move to save Shuri, and especially considering that it is up to Shuri to decide for herself which risks and actions to take? Doesn’t make one lick of sense. It makes even LESS sense, considering that from all the people present, Okoye is the most qualified where it comes to getting Shuri back. And EVEN LESS SENSE that Ramonda’s anger comes from “having lost ALL of her family” when at the end of the movie, we learn that she has a grandson AND that she’s met him. Doesn’t he count at all for her? Btw, fridging characters in order to motivate others to grow and take action they wouldn’t have otherwise? A really tired old trope that robbed Ramonda of her dignity and power. Never mind that we already lost T’Challa in this movie and adding Ramonda on top of that was just adding insult to the injury. Then there’s this bit about “oh, I had the Kimoyo beads bugged” from Valentina Allegra de Fontaine? Please. Since when is western tech and knowledge even remotely on par with the tech of Wakanda / with the tech Shuri built? All within the few couple of minutes it took Ross to get to the scene to boot too. Without any kind of explanation on how the fuck they pulled this highly unrealistic feat off, this bit totally undermined the competence Shuri and Wakanda’s tech are supposed to have and it seems like an utterly unnecessary “ha ha, see, ultimately white people are better than you” gotcha moment.

Also, Namor is supposed to put his people first...but in the end, after sending a LOT of his people to die in the fight against Wakanda, he decides to just call everything off, after stressing how absolutely and utterly NON-negotiable murdering Riri was, just because Shuri decided to spare his life. Yeah, that’s hypocrisy of the highest order. Nevermind that somebody who witnessed / is well aware of the violence of white colonizers against BIPOC women and who is obviously still angry and upset about it, should NOT be willing to murder a black woman that easily and without second thought, let alone without a DAMN good reason and only after much, much soul-searching.  Also, what did it get him in the end?

NOTHING HE COULDN’T HAVE EASILY HAD WITHOUT GETTING TONS OF PEOPLE KILLED ON BOTH SIDES. Riri is still alive and free (and not even been kept safe and out of reach in Wakanda, like Shuri suggested at first, but returning to her life in the US, where she will be at a higher risk of being abducted / forcibly conscripted by other powers). (Side-note: is it just me, or did her suit seem very shoddily animated when compared to Tony’s?) And Wakanda is now an ally? HELL, considering how isolated they were becoming on an international stage, they’d have probably been perfectly delighted to consider an alliance well before he started this whole shit-show. Overall, the plot of this movie makes NO sense and violates a lot of the characters’ integrity six ways to sunday, having them act like immature, stupid teenagers instead of the experienced, competent people they’re supposed to be. Somebody (or a lot of somebodies) took lazy shortcuts here in order to drive a plot forward that was all focused on a maximum of flash and bang and Celebrity Big Brother style drama instead of telling a meaningful, consistent story. Among the few bright lights here were Okoye, with Danai Gurira pulling off a small miracle to give the character dignity and depth despite the godawful script, Shuri, whose struggle with the grief over her brother’s death and with trying to find a path forward for herself really hit home hard, as well as Riri, who was fun to watch as she rejoiced in the tech she had created, but who was also willing to take on responsibility and do the right thing. And finally Nakia, whose heartbreak was still palpable and yet it was incredibly admirable and inspiring how she worked through that, nevermind how she was absolutely badass as she came to rescue Shuri and Riri, as well as M’Baku, with Winston Duke adding either a light-hearted or a serious note to the scene as needed.  Sadly, overall, it’s not a movie I’m going to watch again and it was a huge disappointment.

#Wakanda Forever #Black Panther #T'Challa #Wakanda #Okoye #Shuri #Namor #Ramonda #M'Baku #Riri Williams #Ironheart

[phoenixyfriend]

Rey Gives No F*cks About the Grandfather Paradox

Okay so since nobody’s suggested a fic under these terms, I ended up expanding on this post on discord and things snowballed. We kept to the basics of the entire plot revolving around Rey really hating her grandad and leveraging her blood relation to not be unalived about it.

With contributions by @atagotiak​, @dracothulhu​, @thepallaspalace​, and several others. The title comes from @gelpenss​.

The basic thing I absolutely need is this: Rey gets thrown back to the middle of the clone wars, and the subsequent plot leans in really heavily on her being, genetically-via-clone-dad, the daughter of the guy running the entire galaxy.

Nobody knows what to do with her.

The timing is mid-TCW for the past (because I want Ahsoka there) and vaguely between Episodes 8 and 9 because I... never watched E9 and don’t want to worry about the timeline. The only things that matter is that Luke is dead (he can die as he did in canon) and that Rey knows she’s Palp’s granddaughter (not the way she does in canon).

We'll say Luke found out from Anakin's panicked force-ghost and just went "well, fuck, okay, I should tell her this before she ends up in a situation like mine and finds out mid-battle or something."

Luke, prior to time-travel: Okay, so, now that I'm dead I know some things I didn't before. Like who your parents were. In the interest of full disclosure because I was in a very similar situation and I don't want you learning the way I did, I'm just going to come right out and say that your father was a clone was Sheev Palpatine. Rey: ... Luke: Are you okay? Rey: I don't know who that is.

(She grew up on Jakku, the history education was a little subpar.)

Setting The Scene

Imagine Rey showing up during or immediately before the clone wars. There’s this phenomenally powerful feral teenager from a desert backwater who tells you that if you ran a paternity test, it would probably pop up the Chancellor. She may or may not bring up cloning. She accuses said Chancellor of being a Sith Lord.

Your other phenomenally powerful feral teenager from a desert backwater, who may not be a teenager anymore but only barely, is very offended by this because Palpatine’s a Very Nice Old Grandfather Figure, but also he’s a little full of side-eye because if the blood test comes back as proof, then Palpatine had a kid and didn’t even know about them, or lied to Anakin, and that’s! Bad! Family’s important!!!

Palpatine hears about this daughter he apparently? Has? And is very confused because the timing doesn’t match up with ANYTHING he was doing, so the kid isn’t natural, and he says as much. (There is an explanation! It’s not a correct explanation, but he does come up with one.)

Finn and Poe and BB-8 all get dragged along because why not have the gang there? Nobody that’s already born, because [handwave] conservation of souls or something, IDK, point is the only person dragged along that’s even remotely close to already existing is Luke’s Force Ghost, who mostly hangs around begging Rey to be less impulsive. Finn is good because he is a nice polite boy, but for actual useful information they need Poe. The unfortunate situation is that the three do not land together. They land at the same time, in completely different corners of the galaxy. This means that nobody is there to curb Rey being her most impulsive self.

Time travel Rey knows two things. Luke’s dad ends up evil. Palpatine has always been evil.

She can solve one of these problems by killing the other, yes?

Rey: Ready to Rumble

See, the initial idea was this: Rey tried to break into the senate to kill Palpatine, got arrested, and then used the "he's biologically my father" card to get out of jail free. (Force Ghost Luke follows her like “please take five seconds to think this through.”)

But.

But.

It would be very, very, very funny if The Force just dumps her in a flash of light in the senate building and she just attacks Gramps on sight. Just a shouted "YOU!" and no-hesitation attempted murder.

Palpatine has no idea what's going on.

Rey took maybe two seconds to get identity confirmation and then started swinging.

[Image Description: An individual in a green metal helmet with an eye slit, holding a pistol. In the upper left, upper right, and lower middle are the phrases “I do not know who I am...” “I don’t know why I’m here” and “All I know is that I must kill.” End description.]

Of course, she gets arrested. There are Master Jedi in the Senate. There are Clone Troopers. Palpatine isn’t the weak old man he pretends to be. Of course she’s stopped.

But she isn’t executed in time for Palpatine to stop her from ruining his entire reputation.

Immediately after Rey fails to kill her Shitty Granddad, Luke's ghost shows up and begs her to not talk about the Sith thing because it will completely undermine everything she's trying to do. Pass off the attempted murder as something else!

Rey, panicking: "that fucker left me on a desert planet for 10 years!" "You owe me 19 years of child support you son of a Hutt!"

The Jedi have to do the investigation, because the girl showed up with a laser sword, and the conversation is, uh... interesting. (“Where did you get that lightsaber?” “I got it from a mysterious old pirate lady I never met before. I don't know, I was being shown around by a smuggler and a Wookie.”)

Interviewer: Why did you try to assassinate the Chancellor? Luke: Say it wasn't assassination. Rey: It wasn't assassination. Int: You weren't trying to kill him? Luke: Assassination has to be politically motivated. Rey: This was, um... not political. Assassination is political, right? Int: You mean this was personally motivated? Rey: Yes. Int: I see. What personal motivation? Luke: Jakku! Rey: He's my grandfather. Int: ... Rey: Possibly father. Nobody was very clear on that. Int: ... Luke: Tell them to run a paternity test. Rey: Oh hey, a blood test would tell us which, right? Int: ............ Rey: I spent ten years as an orphaned scrapdealer on Jakku. He's my father. I'm kind of a little angry. Int: ........... Luke: Good job, kid. You bought yourself some time. Int: I'm going to get a medic to see about that parternity test.

Obviously, it comes back positive. Congratulations, Sheev, you’re the father.

Rey comes with a ready-made built-in excuse for hating Palpatine that nobody can question or fault her for!

Rey, pouring Truth into the Force: I didn't even know I was related to the Chancellor until a few months ago, but it's his fault I grew up the way I did, and he should take some responsibility!

The entire thing is mostly kept hush hush but someone leaks it to the press and Palpatine's ratings tank.

"Chancellor, I think we'll need to waive family visitation until she wants you a little less dead." "I would like to find out why she wants me dead, and indeed, where she came from." "...sir, for your own safety--"

Who would win? A master plan years in the making spanning decades of manipulating and work? or One (1) paternity test

"Okay, so, Rey Palpat--" "Ew, no, I don't want his name." "You--okay. Sure, we can understand that. Is there a name you would prefer to put on the paperwork?" Rey, who would have gone by Skywalker in honor of Luke but can't do that when Anakin is right there and all: "Can I think about it?"

Rey: I don't know what I want my last name to be but I know I don't want his, and most of the people I’d want a name from have famous families like you... Luke's ghost, pointing out the Literal Nobody that she cares about a lot: How about Solo? Rey: ...Solo, then.

(A few months later she runs into Poe again and he offers for Finn and Rey to both take his name because honestly they need SOMETHING but at that point she’s already decided on Smuggler Dad.)

Backtrack a bit. We’ve got a bigger cast.

They all arrive separately. Poe, for one, does better than Rey, who is aiming for a murder, but not quite as well as Finn, who is currently being adopted and hidden like a secret cat by a bunch of Alpha Clones on Kamino. He vibes with the names-or-numbers thing. He doesn’t necessarily tell them where and when he’s from, but he’s very sweet and a great liar and they adopt him wholesale anyway.

The Finn situation is just... "Buir Ti, we need you to hide this man, we've decided he's our little brother but if Nala Se finds out she'll make him leave."

Of course, this leads into Shaak Ti teaching Finn how to Jedi.

Maybe consider Finn needing to almost be tricked into learning Jedi things because he willfully forgets it could apply to him. Finn does not like to think of himself as special, which is super valid, but frustrating for Shaak Ti when it comes to, you know, getting him to acquire knowledge. Finn's training at some point is "here, levitate objects with the Force to entertain the tubies." It’s a lot easier to convince him to practice when it involves the babies.

(Everyone on Kamino looked at Finn and went “oh I love him I’m keeping him and teaching him things.”)

(He’s just very lovable.)

Poe, meanwhile, buys the trust of Anakin Skywalker via R2D2 declaring BB-8 the absolute most baby of droids. R2D2 met BB-8 three hours ago but.

"Hey Obi-Wan this is Poe I met him like five days ago but R2D2 says he checks out because his droid is a baby." "That's nice, Anakin, did you know the Chancellor has a daughter who tried to assassinate him in broad daylight yesterday? Because guess who had to stop the Chancellor from getting assassinated by his daughter in broad daylight yesterday."

A summary so far:

Finn, on Kamino: Hey, um, I don't know where this is, but it's not where I was a few minutes ago. Do you think you could get me a comm? What's your name? Poe, on [dice roll] Denon: Oh, hey, you're General Skywalker? Nice to meet you, I'm so sorry about my droid, she's a little excitable and thought your R2 unit looked like a friend of hers-- Rey, on Coruscant: DIE, GRANDFATHER

Finn: [Peacefully vibing on Kamino, unaware of the chaos and bonding with the clones] Poe: [Trying to explain how he knows someone who tried to kill the chancellor and defend Rey] Rey: [Arrested for trying to kill the chancellor]

Just... just...

Anakin: Some guy ended up lost on base yesterday with his droid, how’s your day going? Obi-Wan: I had to stop someone who claims to be the chancellors daughter from murdering the chancellor after she seemingly blinked into existence in the Senate building. Poe: 😐

(Poe: Oh, so that's where Chaos^2 went.)

Poe: In her defense, she is his... well we don't know if she's his daughter or granddaughter, but she's definitely related to him, and she definitely grew up in a shitty situation that was his fault, so...

(Poe is trying very hard to explain this and not get arrested on the military base.)

As you’ve probably guessed, what's especially funny about all of this for me is the fact that Palpatine is fully aware that this girl shouldn't exist, but can't find a single piece of evidence about where she came from. He didn't start any experiments that could result in a female child, and he didn't have sex in that period of time, so where the hell--

Rey spends so much time in jail... BUT they do eventually assign her a Jedi Master. Possibly before she actually proves her evil grandfather is in fact evil. Most votes went to either Plo Koon or Obi-Wan. Plo, because he’s dad-shaped, and Obi...

"Obi-Wan, you already raised one feral desert child with implausible amounts of power, you handle this." Rey in return is very "Sweet, you vaguely remind me of Master Luke," and nobody knows who the hell she's talking about. Obi-Wan is NOT on board with this plan, she'd really be better off with Plo or like........ Mace.

Reunion Tour

What I need out of this is the eventual Finn and Rey reunion scene that is just excited screaming while someone in the background explains to Shaak Ti that yes this is apparently Palpatine's terrifyingly force-sensitive daughter who hates him.

(Finn senses Rey’s approach and just. Gathers the everyone to wait. He’s just :D REY MY FRIEND REY GUYS MY FRIEND REY IS COMING.)

Anakin shows up with Poe--just a guy who signed on to the military, no big deal--and then Poe and Rey are EXCITED and everyone's just like "Cool, how do you know this literal terrorist child?" And Poe has to scramble and "Uhhhhhhhhhhhh she saved my droid from a scrapheap once and BB-8 is basically my child so I owe her one."

Rey knows that Anakin ends up evil so she’s maybe not actively hostile but definitely very “I’m watching you.” That said, she vibes with him on a lot of things that he maybe doesn’t actively notice.

Rey picks up a snake, snaps off the head for venom avoidance, and starts biting off chunks. Obi-Wan's reaction: [undisguised horror] Anakin and Ahsoka: Ooh, where'd you find that? (Obi-Wan: And now I’m up to three feral children.)

What Does Palpatine Even Do?

OBVIOUSLY at a certain point, Palpatine is just phoning up every ally he has to figure out who broke protocol to synthesize a daughter for him.

So of course, Palpatine blame Plagueis.

She'd have been born five or so years before Naboo, just a few years younger than Anakin. It's such an EASY theory to build a conspiracy around. It is ENTIRELY WRONG, but it’s plausible! And anyone who might have been involved to say otherwise is probably dead!

A random bio-kid shows up you can’t possibly have contributed genes to? Maybe it’s the evil bio spark that did it.

Palpatine tries to placate her with the ‘my genes were stolen for an experiment and I didn’t know’ thing. It doesn’t work because her actual main complaint is he’s evil in her future but he tries.

It'd be a struggle to even get access to her, because of the aforementioned “maybe don’t try to talk to the daughter(?) that hates you” thing, but you know who Palpatine does have access to? The Chosen One.

Rey kind of decides on her favorites early on (she gravitates to Dad Energy and Sad Old Men so Plo and Obi-Wan are on her list, and that means decent time around Anakin and Ahsoka). It's really easy to talk Anakin into helping to some degree because "he'd like to connect to a daughter he never knew" and "a child of her power on a planet like that, you'd know her struggle, my dear boy" and so on. Anakin tries to connect! He tries to play up Sheev’s kind political work and how it can’t have really been his fault! It doesn’t work. Rey does not believe a word of it. Mostly she doesn’t even seem to hear him.

Rey's just like "...oh right, you're the melted mask that Kylo Ren was always ranting about," which means absolutely NOTHING to Anakin, but he mentions it to Palps, who loses his goddamn mind trying to figure out what she's talking about, because it also means absolutely nothing to him.

Here’s the thing: Rey’s already decided that Obi-Wan is cool, because Luke said so, and Plo Koon is dad-shaped, and she also gravitates towards earnest kindness in general, like she made friends with Finn real quick, so Ahsoka? Already getting along great.

She doesn’t dislike Anakin, really, he isn’t evil yet, he’s just... meh. She’s a little suspicious and she likes him less than the others but... Anakin.

Rey, to Anakin: You are my least favorite. Anakin, to Palpatine: YOUR DAUGHTER HATES ME???

And he goes from “she’s a lil standoffish” to “she doesn’t like me” to “she hates me” as is normal for Anakin.

It’s just an escalation of this one time Palpatine wants Anakin to not have rifts and trust issues with a person, at least not until later, because he needs information.

Meanwhile, that very moment, Rey is just like "huh, nobody here is listening to me about how make a sixth-hand carburetor work, where's Luke's dad?"

Anakin is venting to Palpatine about how hard it is to talk to Rey, and she's over in the Temple just like "Hey, that guy was useful last time, I should ask him," but also she only ever thinks of him as Luke's Dad.

(At one point, Obi-Wan is having a bit of a break down, and then Anakin starts having a breakdown about that, meanwhile the clones are (badly) trying to hide Finn behind their backs, Rey is watching Ahsoka practice and being like "I want two lightsabers," and Poe is trying to keep R2 from stealing BB-8 and Force Ghost Luke is just face palming in the background.)

(Rey deserved a saber staff, maybe one that can detach and turn into a jar’kai set. Possibly a pike. Mostly I just wish she got more chances to whack things with a big stick.)

#Rey #Finn #Poe Dameron #Sheev Palpatine #Luke Skywalker #Anakin Skywalker #Obi Wan Kenobi #Darth Sidious #Plo Koon #Shaak Ti #Ahsoka Tano #r2d2 #bb 8 #star wars #time travel #Rey and the Grandfather Paradox #Phoenix Posts

[babylyctor]

can John actually control time or am i making things up? trying to reach a conclusion via tumblr posting

so as a theory this is 75% vibes. however there’s some things in the books that give me pause, and i wanted to put together all those bits and see if there’s something there. i’m not totally on board with this idea because it seems too complex to leave entirely to the last book, and i don’t know how it could fit with the rest of the narrative (or do i?) but in any case i keep thinking about it so here’s this way too long post. spoliers for everything

first, this fucking suspicious sentence that’s one of the first things John tells Harrow (Chapter 2, HtN)

"I would let you come back, bit by bit, until you felt entirely ready to wake up. I can’t. I mastered Death, Harrowhark; I wish I’d done the smarter thing and mastered Time. I have to ask you to get ready soon, and so I am going to show you something I hope might … trigger your readiness.”

so this sounds like a really dull complaint on this immortal god’s part but also i don’t trust a single thing out of this man’s mouth, and this would be the exact kind of private joke he would make if he had actually mastered Time (capitalized) too. Also the context in which it’s said, talking about Harrow coming back from her coma, regaigning consciousness, awakening... you get it, oddly relevant theme wise.

then there’s the whole Soup Moment (Chapter 25, HtN), in which John seems to actually stop time maybe? i have doubts about this so lets see what our narrator tells us;

And God said, “Stop.”

The world slowed down. Augustine and Mercymorn stopped, arrested in the act of half-rising from their seats. Ianthe stopped, left arm paused, outflung, to shield her face. You stopped, sitting upright in your chair: your bones somehow rigid and still, and your flesh chilly and rigid around those bones. The shrapnel spray from the Saint of Duty did not stop, [...] But what remained of him stopped too, half man, half rupture—his prurient details hot and white, naked insides clothed with the sinus-drying burst of the power of God.

so here John freezes all the lyctors in place, they’re still conscious, or at least Harrow is, but they have their range of movement almost totally restricted. this is not like Mercy pinching Harrow’s dorsal nerve to paralyze her, this is a completely different feeling, maybe John’s thalergetic powers? it would make sense, all the lyctors are living bodies, they have thalergy and Johs is able to manipulate that, presumably. the bits of Gideon OG cascading down the table don’t stop but that might be John selectively using his powers, or it might be that that’s no longer living flesh.

so we’re saying this could just be John’s super special thalergy magic and nothing else. the first problem though is that technically he shouldn’t be able to use it against his lyctors without touching them, thanks to lyctoral invisibility. in fact when he explodes Mercy’s chest (rip in peace queen) he expressely reaches out and touches her to do so, because presumably he needs to make contact with a body in order to use magic against it, same as Mercy. so that’s a caveat, then there are these descriptions from the same Soup Moment;

You stared down the table at him: at the blank, remote faces of your two nominal teachers—at the frozen ivory stillness of Ianthe, her hair now whitish pink—at space outside the window, where the asteroids themselves seemed to hang in tranquilized arrest.

The Emperor of the Nine Houses stood. The spell, whatever it had been, dropped like a white sun setting.

These seem to imply certain ambiguity. John’s God and all that but i don’t think thalergetic magic should be able to affect asteroids, lifeless space rocks. of course it says they “seem” to hang in tranquilized arrest, not that they are really unmoving, but i think it’s a suggestive sentence all the same, and i’m suspicious of every word Muir writes. The second quote, specifically the highlighted part, is also a bit frustrating. It seems to imply that John isn’t exactly doing magic as we know it, but something else. If it was Harrow narrating we could go further with it, but since it’s Gideon we could simply attribute it to her lack of knowledge and familiarity with magic. However, two sentences after that we don’t have that problem;

The construct gamely clamberign our of the Saint of Duty dwindled to a powder of pink dust. The shard you had been driving up the cervical vertebrae to the base of the spine [...] simply disappeared: destroyed or removed, you could not tell.

This is still Gideon narrating but in this case she’s specifically telling us that Harrow doesn’t understand what John just did, it’s not magic Harrow is familiar with. There’s also the contrast between what we know is a normal process of destroying a construct - reducing it to dust -  vs this mysterious disappearance, that doesn’t really fit into what we know so far about the way thanergy/thalergy work.

so far, nothing conclusive, we know John is really powerful, but we don’t know exactly how, where his power comes from or what it can do. Then there’s the moment he unexplodes himself (Chapter 52, HtN);

White light.

It bleached the insides of your nose and the back of your throat. It hurt coming out your ears. It bled out your eyeballs. It wasn’t a flash of light, more … a suddenness; when it was gone—as though it hadn’t even existed, but had been a luminous hallucination—time stopped.

That light took colour from the room—everyone was a slow-motion cavalcade of greys, of eyes caught widening, of mouths parting in stone-shaded articulations of shock.

It happened in an instant. It happened over a myriad. A wet red construct knitted itself back together, [...]

again that white light that has been associated with thalergy magic and again all these references to time slowing down, stopping or just behaving in strange ways in general. again lots of ambiguity, this could be a thalergy based power - the ability to hold living bodies in stasis, and therefore make everyone feel like time has slowed down - or it could be that John is actually affecting time, maybe even reversing it (?) since he literally un-exploded himself, after Mercy put all her millenia of expertise into atomizing him and reducing him to almost nothing.

is that even explicable with regular thanergy/thalergy based magic? i’m not sure, a regular necro could never do that, a lyctor couldn’t do that. So if John isn’t just an overpowered lyctor what’s the difference exactly? i mean, how do his powers manifest differently from those of every other necromancer we know?

the other person we’ve seen using powerful thalergy magic is Silas. Whenever he siphoned, Gideon describes a similar vacuum sensation to the one that John’s magic also provokes, as well as white light;

As he faded, the pale Silas incandesced. He glowed with an irradiated shimmer, iridescent white, and the air began to taste of thunder. (Chapter 17, GtN)

Gideon felt an internal tug, like a blanket being pulled off in the cold. (Chapter 17, GtN)

Silas clambered to his knees, clasped his fingers together, and the feeling of suction popped the pressure in both of Gideon’s ears. (Chapter 34, GtN)

Silas is nowhere near as powerful as John but siphoning - thalergy based magic, condemned by God - still causes that suction effect and is marked by white light and lightning, just like John’s magic. However, there’s no mention of a time altering effect, no slowing down, no freezing in place, and seeing how both kinds of magic are similarly coded otherwise i find this difference suspicious.

To end this somewhere, two quotes, first, this thing Harrow tells Ortus when they both discuss what it must be like to be a lyctor (Chapter 5, HtN);

“Nigenad, what would be the tragedy in living for a myriad? Ten thousand years to learn everything there is to know [...] What is the tragedy of time?”

honestly to me that sounds like Muir making Harrow say things she will regret later. of course it could be about any of the numerous tragedies in Harrow life but still, gave me pause, specially because it kinda echoes John’s earlier sentiment, wishing he had mastered Time.

finally, a quote that might be totally meaningless and completely off base in this theory or it could round it up perfectly, i haven’t decided yet;

[...] ; yet you prayed all the while knowing Ianthe’s facility for tergiversation would have given the whole universe pause. (Chapter 36, HtN)

we know Ianthe is a girlboss and gaslighting is her thing. However, isn’t this sentence a bit too dramatic to describe Ianthe? doesn’t it sound kinda ominous to you? it definitely does to me, and although it might totally be my Ianthe bias wanting her to play an important part, who is Ianthe hanging out with lately? exactly John God “Jod” the Emperor.

in conclusion, i haven’t reached any conclusion. but i still think there’s something off with John’s powers beyond what we’ve been told, which isn’t much really, and i think there’s something going on with Time within the narrative (that’s another whole post though), and i think these two things are most probably related. but i can’t say i’m 100% sure of any of it. this was fun though. if you made it here thank you so much you’re the best <3

#the intermitent use of capitalization throughtout this wole thing... #this is really very long. if you read it and have any thought whatsoever about it please do share i'd love to hear them #htn spoilers #harrow the ninth spoilers #the locked tomb #meta commentary

[cosmiclatte28]

Camboy (camboy ty x reader) suggestive, smut 🔞

a.n : oh no, it's officially my first more than suggestive (i mean i go more than i usually did... sorry if it's messy or bad i am not a smut writer) but here's a camboy ty x reader, where he is requested to be subby/ Oh it's also my first fic with pictures in the middle (because y'all gonna be thirsty and wilding over him )

warning : toys, sub!Taeyong, noona (yeah i don't use mommy i use noona) and it's still suggestively safe.. curses? nothing that wild

here goes my first (extra almost smut) suggestive fic

i finished my promise.. tagging @mingisstar1117 @full-hd-sun and nah idk who to tag :))

“Welcome back to another night with your favorite boy, TY. It's Friday and I miss you guys a lot.” The man on the screen shows his toothy sweet smile, totally different from the charisma he can pull off in real life. You smile behind the camera as you sit back on the sofa behind the camera to watch your boyfriend does his weekly cam show which was the reason you first met him. You were a regular subscriber to his cam show where he acts like a sweet charming dreamy boyfriend every Friday evening. You were lucky to win one of his special lottery “a date with TY". You enter the lottery without much thought thinking your luck is not good enough to win. But well you won it and from one date to another coffee meet up and more hang outs. To first dates and first visits and voila you are his lover now. You click with him in so many ways, including those you'd rather keep secret in public.

“What will we do tonight?” he playfully asks his fans as he presses some buttons to change the mood lamp in his room You monitor his live by watching it from your phone and you grin when you see the comments. Taeyong's eyes grow wider when he also reads one comment that pops up from the rest. He glances at you and you nod. Taeyong clears his throat “Oh, lots of comments and hearts there! Thank you for the hearts.” He blows some flying kisses to the fans who donates money by sending hearts. “Since tonight you all are generous, I will consider doing anything you want. Please comment and I’ll do the most voted one.” He winks.

You raise your brow, did he really just say that in front of you? “Someone asks about the dating lottery. Well I did that one time and I am sadly not doing it again.” The handsome boy under the purple mood light chuckles lightly as he lays down lazily on his bed and brings his cam with him. “Why?” he reads the comment to communicate with the fans. You feel butterflies in your stomach, whenever you remember the first encounter and how you're his lover now just makes you feel so lucky. He looks at you and smirks “Because I belong to someone already. Right princess?” he glances at you and winks to which you slap his foot slowly and he winces “Aw she just slapped me.” He acts like he's in deep pain while looking at the camera

Oh gosh TY and his antiques! You choose to ignore him and just read the comments there. Oh they're all wild. “Baby, didn’t you promise them to do whatever is voted here?” your husky voice suddenly resonates in the purple lit room and of course in the rooms of all his listeners. Taeyong gulps when you stands up and shows your screen “The most voted one is to see you as a sub.” You step boldly into the camera, not showing your face but just your back and your long hair.

“(Y/n), what are you-" he whispers to you when you lean closer and closer to his ear. You give it a quick nibble and breathe “Do it, they want to see a sub TY and I can help you with your camera.” You smirk and hear a light whimper from the god under you. You disappear behind the camera again and giggle when the comment section is flooded with fans saying how hot the scene is. Well everyone will drool on you seeing that nice small jeans hugging your waist and a thin crop top.

Taeyong is still blushing so hard but the lighting makes it hideous. You clear your throat “Girls and guys, I will be helping him with the cameras. So, prepare to take screenshots and only for tonight this live won’t be saved. No recording, just screen captures okay?” you make the rule nice and clear because you don’t really want others to see a sub Taeyong but come on you're super thrilled too with this!

“Okay since I will be keeping my words, let's do this.” Taeyong smirks at you but his smirk fades when he sees you waving an object in front of him. You press your finger on your lips, telling him to keep quiet as you climb under him where the cameras cannot see you and swiftly tuck down his boxers and after one good lick and suck on his member just enough to make it wet, you slip in a vibrating ring on his aching member and tuck back his boxers. “Act like nothing is going on" you whisper on his ear while the camera is only showing one of his wall because Taeyong left it there when he sees you quick blowing him “What?” he still wants to protest but you press a small remote on your hand and he gasps when he feels the vibration. “They want you to pose, why don’t you be a good subby TY and pose for them?” your evil smirk comes to your face and Taeyong feels his cheeks burn. “Yes Noona,” he teases you back and you only click your tongue before turning the setting up by one notch.

“Ah" he closes his mouth with his hand when he realizes he's live and people are watching him.

He reappears in the cam, and after some more greeting and talking to the fans he finally get ready to pose. “Okay guys be ready, my girl will be helping me with the camera, so if it's ugly or the angle is wrong… blame her.” Taeyong playfully laughs to his fans who didn’t know what's happening under his shorts and boxers. Poor Taeyong is already jumpy when you pick up the camera and shows up in front of him only in your crop top and panties. Where the hell did your shorts go? Is all Taeyong can think about.

“Okay, pose one” you smile as you see Taeyong trying his best to still look manly with his pose under the purple light. He attempts to act like he's taking off his hoodie and oh that generous skin air time will make everyone drools. You even have to hold yourself from pulling it down and punishing him for that, but the show has to go on.

“Sexy, be more pliant Tyong,” you comment on him as you wave your remote to him and he groans because in this game he feels losing.

“The fans love it, but keyword is submissive honey,” you make the session heat up by making comments on him and tracking the fans hearts and requests. Oh gosh they're so generous in gifting moneys.

“Nicee!” You decide three is enough for his fans no way they're getting four.. that's for another time.

Taeyong groans but turns it into a moan when you press another button at your remote “One two three,” you focus the cam on Taeyong who's actually not ready but has to hold it for his fans to capture the picture

You send him a glare of warning but he cockily looks at the camera and says “Come on sweetie why did you freeze? Am I too hot?” he puts on his big boba eyes to you and you shake your head before moving back to shoot him at a nice angle. You put the vibration on top notch and Taeyong clearly shakes before you. You playfully spread your legs too so he can see how wet you are from his cute play too. Taeyong smirks when he knows you're also trying hard to not attack him on place so he gets bold and takes off his shorts. Your eyes widen when you realize he's gonna be in his boxers only for the last (best) shot.

You gulp when you see how pliant and delicious he looks like. Your hand shake and Taeyong quickly snatch the camera off your hands.

He shoots his face and winces when his member is still painfully locked in your vibrating ring “See you all next week, thank you and sweet dreams love,” he whispers his closing routine to his fans and ends the webshow “Final pose for tonight to all my TYfs out there, this is for you guys. I love you all.” Taeyong sends a flying kiss before bravely wrapping up the night with his lips quivering from holding back the moan and his boxer painfully holding his bulge back

“What are you thinking?” he asks from his gritted teeth. You froze, knowing you fucked up. Taeyong has always been the one incharge but for once you want to be the dominant one. You shake under his piercing gaze, where is the subby TY five seconds ago? “Sorry-" you whisper before getting cut by a plump lips on yours. “Finish what you started noona,” he softly mewls into your lips. His big eyes stare into yours with submission and desire. Your core burns when he kneels in front of you and keeps his hands on his back. “I'll be your good boy tonight. Use me and have fun with me.” He blinks two times in aegyo and that's all you need to get the green light to take over him tonight. “Good boy, noona is here to take care of your aching baby” you smirk before straddling his laps and placing a hand over his moist boxer. “Looks like my little kitten messes himself down there, do you need help kitten?” you whisper in front of his lips. Your hand is playing with his hair while the other one is touching his member. He nods “Please noona, I need you.” You press a quick kiss on his lips “You've been good. Noona will reward you tonight.”

end

oh gosh (runs) good bye, did y'all figure out how i actually know a lot of smut knowledge ( i know more bye)

#taeyong x reader #taeyong x you #taeyong x y/n #sub!taeyong #taeyong smut #camboy au #taeyong scenarios #taeyong suggestive #taeyong oneshot #taeyong imagines #taeyong drabbles #taeyong fanfic #sub!nct #nct smut #taeyong au #taeyong nct #nct suggestive #nct scenarios #nct imagines

[axwalker]

CREEP: I’m a creep

HIGH SCHOOL AU 

Pairing: Drake Walker and Lexie O’Brien -- Book TRR 

A/N 1 This came up to me after I got an ask from @nestledonthaveone

I was listening to my iPod on my way home from work yesterday & Radiohead's Creep came on. One of my favorite songs, and I think the lyrics are great for an angsty Drake fic. It reminds me of him. Could you please write an angsty fic inspired by the song? I love how you write angst!!

I used to hear this song when I was a teenager, so when I read this ask, I immediately wanted to write something angsty but situated in high school.

This is part one of two. 

I hope you enjoy it @nestledonthaveone 💕

A/N 2: Because they’re younger than usual, I decided to change my  FC --just for this fic. I’m still picturing Michiel and Valerie when they’ll be older though. 

A/N3: I’m participating in @wackydrabbles Prompt #105   It's definitely ... interesting.”

Thank you ladies! 

WARNINGS: Parental abuse. Eventually some lemons.  ALL MY FICS ARE 18+ 

Tags in the comments. 

LEXIE 

I’ve always loved sunsets. The entire sky is painted orange and pink, streaking with white light and many other colors; I can’t take my eyes away from it. Sunsets remind us that no matter what is happening in our lives, the sun will be out again tomorrow. It’s raw, beautiful, and comforts me—the thought of the sun watching over me. I sit on my porch, my knees against my chest. I’m wearing a white tank top and jean shorts to fight the intense heat that invades Cordonia in early September.  I fix my eyes on the sky, wishing a miracle. Something that takes me away from my father and his new wife. Away from the pain of losing mom.

“What are you doing?” The voice is so resonant, deep, and rasping. Slowly, I sit up and look around, pushing my long, brown hair out of my eyes. I raise my head, and I see him. Drake Walker. 

 My breath catches, and I cross my arms over my breasts, knowing the thin material of my shirt isn’t keeping me remotely modest. What is he doing here? At this time, no less. I go to school with Drake. We’re both sophomores at Valtoria High School. He’s six foot two, with strong shoulders, and has a knowledge of life in his eyes that boys our age simply don’t possess. We have five classes together, and he sits through them like a statue, his chocolate eyes unreadable. Tall, dark, and angry. Handsome in a hard way that makes the other girls nervous when he walks down the hallways. Not me, though. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve stared at him from behind my locker door, breath trapped in my lungs, wondering what he’s thinking of behind his brooding eyes. 

“I asked, what are you doing? This isn’t a safe place to be alone at night. You should get inside.” 

“Inside is no safer.” Why would I say that? My first time talking with this boy, and I tell him my deepest secret? His eyes narrow at me.“I mean, there’s not a lot of crime in this part of Portavira.” That loosens the tension in his broad shoulders. “I’m looking at the sunset. I love it. It’s so beautiful and wild.” I bit my bottom lip noticing his eyes dip to catch the action. 

“It’s definitely ... interesting,” he says, noncommittally. “There are things I like more.” 

“Like what?” I ask. 

He shrugs but looks back down at me, wrestling with something. He lifts a hand, brushing the very tip of his fingers down my cheekbone. “You,” he rasps.

Drake’s deep brown eyes look at me with something I’m only on the cusp of understanding. Is it…lust? His fingers move down my jaw, traveling slowly over the hollow of my throat to tease one of my tank top’s straps. “I like you. I can’t seem to stop…wanting. Wanting you to look at me. Wanting you…period. It’s why I sit behind you in all your classes, O’Brien. You don’t know that?” My knees start to tremble. I’ve always wondered how we end up in the same classes every single semester. He’s arranged for it to happen? He…likes me? That much? Say something, dork. Don’t act like it’s not mutual. 

 As if I haven’t lain my bed after school, when no one is at home and touched myself while thinking of Drake Walker. I must be doing a terrible job of keeping that secret to myself because Drake’s breath begins to grow shallow. “O’Brien.” He drops his forehead to mine, the pads of his thumb rubbing the soft skin of my neck. “Have you ever been kissed?”

I can’t talk, so I shake my head. 

“Please,” he groans. “Let me.” 

My head is spinning. “Let you what?” 

“Kiss you. Finally.” His hands move to cradle my head, making me feel delicate, like something special. His minty breath is close to my ear, setting off an ache low in my belly. “I need to kiss you, O’Brien. I need it.” He leans down and kisses the corner of my lips in the most torturous, exquisite way. My heart is beating wildly in my chest when he puts his soft lips on mine for the first time. My first kiss is an amazing one. He bends his head, and his mouth finds mine with soft pressure. I thought he would be rough or impatient may be clumsy, but I didn’t expect the gentle way his lips caress mine. The way he coaxes my own lips apart before I’m even aware of it. My knees buckle, but he holds me firmly against him. He kisses me as if this wasn’t our first time but our last. It’s the most erotic moment of my life, but all too son Drake leaves my lips. I only feel urgency. Want so deep that it burns inside of me.  It has existed between us all along, hasn’t it? Not one-sided. A yearning pull between two people, orbiting each other in the earthly, incongruous setting of school. 

Drake opens his mouth to say something, but my name is shouted in the distance. From inside the house. With glittering eyes, Drake drops his hands to his side, though it obviously pains him to do so. He gives me a chaste kiss on my cheek. One second later, the back door of my house opens, revealing my father, his imposing frame backlit by the interior. 

“Alexis!” I start to tremble; I try to speak, but I can’t. ““What are you doing out here this late?” There’s a tight smile in his voice. “Did you come out here to retrieve the handyman?” I do a double-take, noticing the strain forming around the corners of Drake’s mouth. 

“Handyman?” 

“Yes.” My father chuckles, coming forward to clap a hand down on Drake’s tense shoulder. “He’s here to repair a leak in the attic. Liam called you by the way.” Drake can’t look at me now, his gaze cast over my shoulder. Empty. A minute ago, we were equals. But my father’s words have called into focus one very important thing. I’m rich, and he’s very poor. It just didn’t matter. To me, it still doesn’t. But the economic divide between us is deepening by the second. 

“Why don’t you get to it?” My father suggests to Drake, his tone hard. “Alexis has to study. She is going places.”

 I down my gaze to the ground, humiliation burning up my throat. My father is an expert at belittling people, and he’s just done it to Drake. I want to say something to make it better, to defend Drake, but I know I’ll only be making it worse. I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to offer Drake an apology. At school. I’ll talk to him then. 

“Yes, sir,” Drake responds stiffly, turning on his boots and stalking toward the house. Behind his back, my father reaches over and digs his thumb into my bicep until I double over, releasing a silent scream. He lets go a moment before Drake glances back over his shoulder, eyes hooded, and my expression is serene. Because I know better than to let anyone see the pain. My father has never been physically abusive, but his temper is getting worse. He hated mom and he’s taking it out on me. As soon as we’re in the house, I run up the stairs to my room and lock the door, leaning back against it. Listening to Drake’s boots walk back and forth in the attic. More than anything, I want to go up there. Feel his hands on me again. Cherishing hands, instead of hateful ones. I ache for that. For him. But an hour later, Drake leaves, and that’s when I face the consequences. My father knocks on my door. When I open it, the look on his eyes let me know it’s going to be worse than usual. 

“If I ever see you talking to that boy again, so help me God, I’ll kick you out of this house.” His face is contorted with rage. “Then, I’ll ruin him, too. I’ll make his life even harder in this town. You know I can do it. I can have him cast off that filthy land and no one will ever hire him again. Is that what you want?” 

“No,” I whisper. 

“No,” he sneers, mocking me. “Never look at him again. Do you hear me? My daughter does not associate with penniless dirt. The only boy you’re allow to date is Liam Rys. No one else.” 

“I won’t. I promise.” 

“See that you keep that promise. Or you’ll both pay the price.” And I pay a good deal of it that night when dad slaps me for the first time. The next day at school, I don’t look at Drake in the hallway. I don’t pause in the doorway of our classes, absorbing the sight of him waiting at the desk behind me. I simply keep my head down and try not to show the bruise on my cheek. On my body and my heart. I could never have predicted he would hate me for it.

 Drake

 Two years later 

I walk past O’Brien in the hallway and slam my fist against the locker to her left, making her jump. Shame, frustration, and resentment have been like a poison inside me, rotting my bones every second of the last two years, ever since that night in her garden when she tricked me into thinking she felt the same. Maybe she did. Until her father reminded her that I’m nothing but a poor handyman. Yeah, she remembered pretty quickly that she’s better than me. Good enough to date a rich quarterback like Rys but definitely not a low life like me. Rich, stuck-up brat. What’s worse is that she fucking ruined me with those lips. She brought me to my knees. Made me reveal myself in ways I’ve never done with anyone. And now? Now she’s left me lonely and fuck-starved for two years. Obsessed with her, unable to let her go and hating her guts for it. Because she won’t even look at me anymore. I’m nothing but the dirt beneath her spotless sneakers. Two years ago, I decided that if she was going to make my life hell by ignoring me after what we shared, then I could return the favor. So I do. By tormenting her. That’s the only term for it. I torture her, and I hate that—I fucking hate it—but so be it. My jaw is close to shattering as I watch O’Brien calmly collect the books from her locker and hurry toward our next class. On top of being a bully, I’m also a masochist because I still trick the school into having the same five classes every year. My aunt Leona works in the front office, and she feels bad for me because of my dad dying and my mom abandoning me when I was still in middle school, leaving me in the trailer alone. Not bad enough to invite me to live with her family, but bad enough that she slips me O’Brien’s schedule every semester so I can match it to mine. Before I follow her, I stop at her locker, sliding something in it, and continue on my way. When I walk into class behind her a moment later, I slow to a stop in the doorway at the sight of Rys kneeling to speak with O’Brien where she sits at her desk—cajoling a smile out of her. She refused to date him two years ago, but fucking Liam didn’t get the memo. No one has as much money as his father in this town. If  Rys is asking her out again, she’d probably say yes. If I let it get that far, which I won’t. I never do. She’s mine. Only mine. 

#drake walker #drake walker x mc #drake x lexie #tw abuse #tw parental trauma

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

Raise the Stakes, Part 8

I swear, I will wind this one up in the not-too-distant future but I keep kind of thinking of different things to do with it. Bad writer, bad. Finish your work!

You can find the previous bits of the story:

Place Your Bets

Part one two three four five six seven

Pairing: David Finlay x OFC (referenced Jay White x OFC)

Word count: 3,824

Content advisory: graphic sexual content, cursing

You feel like an idiot for actually believing that he was going to talk to you the next day, or that he was going to do anything other than ignore you the way he has since your arrival. If anything, he’s ignoring you harder than ever, or at least taking greater pains to be anywhere around you. If you see him, he’s always moving and with others. The wall between you is so thick you start gaslighting yourself, wondering if you imagined the tryst in your car.

The whole company is buzzing. It’s the last few days before the big Slammiversary show, the peak of their year. The excitement for the show and for finally having a small audience is mingled with the knowledge that every year, there are some surprises. THe bigwigs play their cards close to their chests, which means that the talent and behind the scenes people, yourself very much included, don’t know who could pop out at any moment. New Japan has been frustratingly tight-lipped. It’s supposed to be your job to bridge the gaps between New Japan and Impact but no one will tell you who might be trying to cross those bridges.

Is Nagata coming back? You’ll find out.

Another appearance by Phantasmo? Wait and see.

Tama and Tanga are mouthing off at the Good Brothers all the time on social media. Are they showing up?

It’s like shouting at a wall.

Finlay and Robinson are there, they tell you. Take care of them.

It’s almost more frustrating to hear that because, of course, you’d like to do that but one of them is very determined not to let that happen.

By Thursday afternoon, you’ve done everything you can.

“Take a day off,” Scott Damore, the man tasked with keeping this little beehive running tells you. “Go home and relax. You’ll want to be rested for Saturday.”

You want to tell him there’s no need for you to leave now but your aching back, neck, and head disagree.

“What time do you need me here Saturday?”

“Morning?” He looks surprised. “Just come in an hour or so before the show.”

“But what do you need me to do?”

“Sit in the audience, cheer at the right points, look excited if the camera passes you.”

“That’s it?”

“There’s nothing that needs to be liaised in the middle of a show. Grab a seat, have some fun. Be a fan for a few hours.”

You laugh a little because you can’t remember the last time you were able to just be a fan.

“You do like wrestling, don’t you?”

“I do,” you chuckle. “I just don’t really have the opportunity to indulge that very often.”

“So go home, have a nice dinner and a glass of wine. Do whatever it takes to get rid of that headache that I can see right through your skull. Spend the day in your pajamas playing videogames with teenagers online.”

You rise slowly, thanking him as you move to go.

“Hey,” he calls softly, “you’re doing a great job. Don’t think they’re not going to hear about it in Tokyo.”

It’s such a sweet note to leave on that you’re most of the way home, or to the temporary rental that’s passing for home right now, before you think about the fact that you haven’t laid eyes on David all day. He’s been around, because if he hadn’t been, you’re the one who would have had to field questions about it. But he’s been invisible to you.

You end up taking Scott’s suggestions very much to heart. You order dinner from the Chinese place you’ve become addicted to, watch early episodes of The Walking Dead, and have a couple of drinks until you can feel a warm blanket of sleepiness wrapping itself around you.

And that’s when your doorbell rings.

You grab your phone, although there’s a large part of you that wants to ignore it because it’s a little unnervingly late to be getting callers. But you pick it up just on that off chance, because there’s that sliver of hope that it’s…

“It’s David.” He sounds tired and grumpy but you don’t even care because he’s there, at your door and it makes your heart race. You buzz him in and then just stand in front of your apartment door like a complete idiot until you hear him knock.

As soon as you open the door, though, your heart sinks.

“Seriously?” he snaps, holding your panties up for anyone to see.

“How long does it take you to go through your damn pockets,” you hiss, trying to hide how close you are to crying.

“What the hell is wrong with you? You want me to get a restraining order?”

“I’m sorry,” you croak. “I know it was stupid, I just thought maybe if I left you a little reminder that… I don’t know. I thought that if I could get you back once…”

“You did not get me back. I’ve been lonely and I had a weak moment. And even then I couldn’t bring myself to fuck you.”

“Fine. I misinterpreted and thought it was me you wanted. Happy to have given you a show and a nice warm surface to rub one out.”

He throws your panties on the floor without another word. Now you have a problem. You know perfectly well that the second you let him out of your sight, he’s going to disappear. But the door to your apartment is going to lock automatically if it closes unless you step back inside and adjust it. So if you want to avoid giving him the chance to run away, you have to find a way to reach your discarded panties without allowing the door to close behind you.

Awkwardly, you bend forward but it’s immediately obvious that the offending garment is still out of reach. You try looking at him but he seems amused by your predicament. So you have to get right down on your knees and stretch, all while keeping your foot on the door, which weighs a ton. You’ve never felt less elegant in your life, nor more ridiculous than when you glare up at him. His expression is scornful and amused, but there’s a hint of something else you can see in his eyes. There you are, the bitch who he believes used him, the one who’s been begging for his attention, now on her knees in the most humiliating position.

You grab the scrap of fabric and scramble into a standing position before starting to speak. Unfortunately, you move enough that your foot slips from the door. You flinch as you hear the heavy thud.

“Fuck!” he yelps, loud enough you think the neighbors will show up.

It takes a second for you to register that he stuck his hand up to stop the door from closing and that the full weight of it crashed onto his fingers.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” It’s like every time he gets near you, something awful happens to him.

You push the door open and take his hand, trying to see if there’s any damage. He’s obviously irritated and tries to pull it back but it occurs to you that this could be serious.

“Come on, you have to at least let me put some ice on that.”

“No.”

“You have to. If it swells up, your hand could be screwed up for Saturday.”

He looks positively disgusted as it dawns on him that you’re right but he lets you lead him gently into your apartment.

You take out your ice tray and wrap a few cubes in the dish towel, pressing it softly against his hand. He swats you away and holds the makeshift ice pack himself. There’s a little grunted sound that might be a thank you.

“What even happened?”

“I thought the door was going to lock if it closed, I just tried to stop it. Don’t know why I did that.”

“Thank you,” you say softly, guilt soaking your voice. “I would have been locked out.”

“Boohoo.”

“I’m really sorry about the panties, I just-”

“You’re just a disaster area and I need to stay the fuck away from you. I should have just thrown your little present in your face at the show.”

“I’m so glad you didn’t.”

“I’m going to wait a few minutes until I’m sure my hand is ok. I would really appreciate it if you would just not speak for the rest of the time I’m here.”

The look on his face is so pained, so defeated, that you just nod and look at the floor. But you can’t hold it in. The insanity of the situation you’ve put yourself in and the feeling of having him close enough to touch while also being so remote burns through your insides like a wildfire and you just… break.

You let one loud yelp out and then it’s nothing but tears and loud sobbing. He immediately looks up at you and although your vision is blurred, his expression isn’t unsympathetic but that just makes it worse and you cry harder as you try to speak.

“You’re right, you should stay away from me… I thought that if I came here… I thought that if you knew I left him… that I left him for you…”

Your voice breaks up and you have to wipe your face just to keep yourself focused.

“I didn’t think about how bad I am… for you… for whatever… I just wanted…”

You break down in sobs again and you’re just about to go and hide on the balcony until he leaves when it happens. A miracle. He lays the towel on the counter and walks towards you. Even through your tears, you can see that his expression is much softer and that allows you to hold it together until he lays his hands on your shoulders and pulls you just a little closer.

At that point, once again, you lose it, the memory of how that touch felt back before you’d made a mess of everything. He presses you close to his chest, which amplifies the feeling and you feel like you’re going to pass out.

“Look at me,” he murmurs, cupping your face with his hand.

You open your eyes a little and he makes a face.

“You’re a mess.”

“I know,” you blurt. “I don’t know why I do the shit I do, it’s just-”

“No, I mean your face… there’s mascara stuff happening. It looks like an oil spill.”

Despite yourself, you laugh, holding back the tears as he uses his sleeve to wipe your face.

“Your hands are freezing.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t have another pair with me. Besides, it helps with swelling, remember?”

You laugh a little again, trembling when he holds your face in his hands. For the first time in ages, he doesn’t have any of that vicious resentment in his eyes. It’s almost like the way he looked at you that day you had breakfast in the cafe, just sadder.

He looks at you that way for what feels like a long time, allowing you to regain control of yourself.

“You have really cute ears.”

“Wh- what?”

He smiles. “Your ears. They’re so cute, you have no idea. You always have your hair pulled back or up and I just remember noticing at one point. I’d smile about it all the time when you weren’t looking.”

“How do ears… be cute?” You can’t imagine what he’s talking about and yet the weirdness of the compliment makes it wonderful.

“Come here.” He takes you by the wrist and leads you into the bathroom. He positions you in front of the mirror, standing behind you and pulling you back against his chest. He takes your jaw in his hand and gently turns your head so that you can see the side of your face and your apparently adorable ear.

“You see,” he explains, running his thumb delicately along the outer ridge, “it’s kind of big and round up here, and then it tapers right off into this perfectly proportional little lobe and it looks like a half a heart. So they look like two halves of a heart. I can’t believe you’ve never noticed this before.”

He laughs softly and presses his face against yours, the scrape of his beard on your skin sending shivers through your whole body. His lips touch your cheek so fleetingly that you almost wonder if you’ve imagined it.

“Crying takes it out of you,” he sighs. “Let’s put you to bed.”

You feel numb as he leads you into the bedroom and helps you onto the bed before turning to close your blinds.

“Do you like being back in the States?” you ask, hoping you can stretch out his visit a little longer.

“Yeah, I do. I mean, it’s weird, all the back and forth lately. I swear I think I’m still jet lagged, or I’m just permanently fucked up.”

You smile as he sits down on the side of the bed. He smiles back but he makes no move to touch you or get closer.

“How do you like Impact?”

“I like not working Japanese hours.”

“Damn, I’ll bet. It’s one thing with the wrestlers but they don’t give you guys a break ever.”

You suddenly realize that you don’t want to talk about your work in Japan at all.

“I heard your brother is getting into wrestling too now?”

“Yup. I’m not sure Dad wanted either of us doing this for a living but I guess it really is in the blood.”

He takes your hands and places them on your stomach, very ladylike and demure, and pats them with his.

“You need to get some sleep. I’ll go fight with the door to get out.”

“Tell me a bedtime story?” You try to make yourself sound as cute and harmless as possible and not like some crazed broad desperate to prolong the moment.

“No.”

You pout a little, gratified when you hear him chuckle.

“Ok, once upon a time there was an extremely silly little princess who could never figure out what she wanted. And no one ever seemed to be able to help her decide what that was, no matter how hard they tried. The end.”

You can’t help but give a wry laugh at that. “At least it’s nice to be a princess.”

“Who said I was talking about you?”

You stare at him a long time, trying to figure out how to untie all the knots of what you’ve done. You can’t even imagine. You’re still trying to figure it out when he bends down and touches his lips, very softly, very quickly, to yours.

He pulls back but then almost immediately repeats the gesture. Then repeats it again. And again. He shifts so that he’s hovering over you, continuing to give you these little kisses.

“Stop that,” he rasps.

“Stop what? You’re the one kissing me.”

“Hm. I guess you’re right.” He leans in again. “Stop me.”

“I don’t want to.”

He doesn’t stop.

“Yeah, I don’t really want you to stop me either.”

And from that point, it gets more insistent, more romantic, and more passionate, until you feel him easing your pants down and running his hands over your thighs and ass. Determined that he is not just going to turn this into another resentful mutual masturbation session, you pull at his shirt. He wriggles free of it immediately easing you out of yours.

“How do you manage to run around without a bra on like that?” He squeezes and licks at your breasts with a little wink.

“I’m in my own apartment. I’m allowed to walk around however I want.”

“Yeah. But you don’t always wear one at work either, do you?”

He crashes his mouth into yours, tongue eagerly breaching your lips.

“Don’t think I don’t notice,” he pants.

He slides down and presses his face between your legs before you can think of a witty comeback, and once he does, you can’t think of anything. It’s so intense, so determined the way he goes at this, the way he picks up on every little twitch and tremor in your body, how he paces himself and you enough that it never feels like a rush to a goal. You don’t deserve this. You have no right to have him be this good to you.

You twist your hand in his hair, pulling it loose from the disheveled bun he’s always sporting. The parts of it that were trapped inside are still damp and you tug firmly to make him look up at you.

“Did you shower before you came over here?”

He smiles coyly and presses two fingers inside you, curling them like he’s beckoning you forward, making you moan and twist even as you’re trying to keep your mind focused.

“I shower pretty frequently,” he grins, “what’s it to you?”

He presses his lips close to your clit, allowing his tongue to flick ever so lightly against it.

“I don’t know,” you breathe, trying not to get overwhelmed by what he’s doing, “I like thinking you got yourself all cleaned up and handsome for me.”

You feel the soft vibrations of his laughter as he dives back into you, tongue pushing up inside you and making you scream before you grab at his hair again.

“I don’t know why you’re doing this,” you whimper.

“Oh I love doing it.”

“I mean I don’t know why you’re doing this to me, when I’ve been so-”

You’re cut off as he goes right back at it, licking and pushing harder for a few seconds before he whispers, “If you had any idea how often I’ve jerked off fantasizing about eating you out, you’d probably stop speaking to me.”

With that he pins you down and continues in earnest, going at you with a zealot’s vigor so that you can’t question him or do anything but scream and beg him to continue what he’s doing until you fall apart, trembling and gasping.

You feel him wriggle out of his pants before he pulls you onto his lap, kissing you and playfully biting at your lips, his arms wound tight around your waist. You run your hand slowly down the length of his shaft, smiling at the little gasp this elicits.

“I want you inside me.”

“Yeah…” the hesitance in his voice terrifies you. “I was… I was hopeful enough to get all showered and freshened up before I came over but I wasn’t so confident that I actually brought any kind of protection with me.”

“I’m on birth control. And I get checked regularly, I swear, I’m-”

He kisses you hard, so passionately that you almost tumble over.

“You sure?” he whispers when he breaks the kiss.

“Very sure.”

He flips you onto your knees and pulls your hips back towards him. As he enters you, you realize that you’d convinced yourself you weren’t ever going to get this again. It’s like a reprieve from prison, feeling him fill you up.

He leans down enough that the feathery tips of his hair brush against the skin of your back, a stark contrast to the powerful hold he has on your hips. There’s an unbroken stream of praises coming from him but all you can think of to whimper in response is, “Thank you.”

“What?”

He slows his pace just a little.

“Thank you,” you repeat. “I didn’t think you’d want to touch me again. I don’t deserve you being this good to me.”

“Oh sweetheart no.” He pulls you up and holds you against his damp chest, one hand immediately falling to your clit while he continues to thrust inside you. “It’s ok, I’ve got you. I want to feel you come again, I want you to come on my cock.”

You let yourself relax into his touch and it takes very little time until he has you falling apart for him again, your muscles contracting sharply around him as he clearly fights to keep control.

He flips you onto your back like you’re nothing and smiles down at your dazed face.

“Let’s do this right.”

He leans down and pushes himself back inside you slowly crushing your body close to his and planting a fierce kiss on your lips. His movements are agonizingly slow, letting you feel every bit of what’s happening, picking up only when you hitch your hips against his. He keeps you wrapped up tight and close, faces practically touching as he finally lets himself come, eyes locked on yours. It’s a long, tender few minutes while he holds you, touching his lips to your forehead.

“I love you.” You just put it out there before the post-coital haze can fade, hoping it’ll stop him from closing himself off again.

“I love you too,” he whispers, nuzzling against the side of your head. “But you knew that already.”

You dig your nails into his shoulders a little.

“Stay with me. Sleep here, please.”

He looks thoughtful but it doesn’t take long for him to smile, stroking your cheek as he does.

“Yeah,” he beams, “I will.”

He rolls onto his side and pulls you close again.

“Did you seriously think I was going to be able to stay away from you forever?”

“Yes. I was pretty sure that you didn’t entirely want to, but I figured you’d fight it off.”

“How long have we known each other?”

“About six years.”

“You were working at the dojo and we all used to hang out together, right?”

“Yes.”

“How long had we been there before I asked you out to dinner?”

“I don’t know. A few months.”

“Closer to four. And I was already so hung up on you that I could barely think straight when you were around.”

You look at him in surprise. Yes, you’d known that he’d flirted a lot, but at that point all the boys at the dojo were trying to scheme their way into your pants. You’d always assumed that his real interest had developed much later.

“Yeah,” he says, noticing your expression, “I was that into you that early. And you know damn well it only got more intense from there.”

He wraps his arms around you and presses your head against his chest, kissing your hair. “And you thought that having finally gotten to take you to bed, having gotten you to say that you liked me, that I was going to be able to walk away?”

You squeeze him tight and nestle against him, your head immediately finding its way to the hollow of his shoulder. And as soon as it does, your whole body feels warm and safe and content. You want to keep talking to him but you can’t because this sort of bliss doesn't allow you to stay awake.

#david finlay fanfic #david finlay imagine #njpw fanfic #njpw imagine #impact wrestling fanfic #jay white fanfic #jay white imagine #wrestling imagine #wrestling fanfiction #wayward wrestle writing

[millllenniawrites]

top shelf (FO! Poe Dameron x f!OC)

part one of when the stars miss the sun

words: 1.7ish

warnings: dark!ooc!Poe Dameron (if you want specifics, dm me); smut (not in this chapter but in the rest of the series so 18+ please folks); prostitution; established relationship (sort of); slow burn (yes the two can coexist leave me alone); redemption arc; Pixar ending; murder; warnings will be added as the series progresses

a/n: okay I never post oc content on here so this is scary. thank you to @kesskirata for giving me the confidence to post this. This was a writing exercise that @vampirewithbedsidemanners and I wrote while editing Horizons that ended up being really cool? So now y’all get to see it. THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR HORIZONS so if you’re keeping up with that series, don’t read this! like, major major spoilers! It’s literally all the same characters in an AU together! If you are somehow reading this after Horizons is fully posted in 2023 cause it’s probably gonna take that long, you’re good. The spoilers only go up until the end of that book.

__

Around the bar was a collection of high-top tables, packed with men clad in leather and partially obscured by the clouds of spice that hung around their heads. Redell moved like magic between the tables, shimmering and glowing even in the dark, eyes drawn to her against their will from men would never get their hands on her — men that couldn’t afford her even if they gave up their lives.

Redell waltzed down the dark hallway to the back rooms, her hips swaying with every step. Her heels clicked softly on the polished floors, their sound drowned out by the moans coming from the closed doors that lined the hall. Every step was one foot closer to victory or an early grave, not that anyone could tell she carried the knowledge on her shoulders.

She reached the end of the hall and opened up her room. The door slid shut behind her, leaving her in the dim lights that illuminated one tall, dark man sitting on the couch. He leaned forward, setting his glass on the short table in front of him. His strong jaw, a loose curl falling into his eyes, little details that almost let her overlook the uniform he wore.

She smiled, sweet but double-edged like the blade that ran down her back, as she sauntered over to him and straddled his lap.

“Long time no see, Admiral. Did y’miss me, honey?” She grinned, her voice low and tempting, playing the role she knew like the back of her hand .

“You know it’s hard not to.” He let his eyes move slowly over her. Not that he really needed to. He had her memorized.

Sliding his hands up her thighs, he smiled sweetly at her. “Is this room one of yours? Or do I have to behave?” He wasn’t new to this. Though not all of his meetings with the Resistance had been with Red, they were predictable. Either the room was clean and they could talk freely, or he’d fuck her for the cameras that were watching his every move and leave, slipping her the drive in his pocket and hoping that next time, they’d get to have a real conversation.

There weren’t many real conversations to spare in the First Order.

“It’s one of mine. I set it up just for you.” Redell’s fingertips trailed down his chest. Her nails were short, not like the long claws on some of the other girls, but he had no doubt that Red could tear his throat out without them. “Is that okay, baby?”

“Y-yeah that’s just fine.” He relaxed, the exterior that had been drilled into him since he joined up faltering in front of her. “It’s been too long, Red.”

“I know.” She murmured, kissing him deeply as she grinded on his lap. It was never like it was with everyone else. Her persona faltered, leaving her soft and vulnerable and sweet. There was something so real to the way she kissed him.

“Are you coming home with me this time?” She whispered, the same question she asked every time she had him in her arms, not ever wanting to let him go.

He shook his head. “But I’ve got you until tomorrow.” The Order looked the other way when their officers landed on-world. They’d barely notice the thousand credits transferring from their account directly into Resistance hands. “Come home with me.”

“Yes.” She answered immediately, kissing him again.

He shuddered under her, his hands tangling in her loose, curly hair. She brought out a softness in him that no else else ever got to see. Cradling her to his chest, he let his hands slide over her forbidden skin. He would never deserve this.

When she pulled away, leaving him gasping, she asked, “As your whore or something else?”

“As a friend?”

“Friend works. For now.” She murmured against his lips.

“Just for now? You looking for a promotion?” His hands hovered over her ass. The moment she asked for it he’d have her way with her, but before then he needed to make sure they looked like they were playing their parts if the door opened.

“I’d like to get fired, actually. So I get a choice.” She ran her fingers through his hair, tilting his head back and gazing softly at him. He let her manhandle him, even as she trailed a finger down his neck. “Is there anything I should pass on before you take me home? Just in case?”

His head spun with how quickly she could go between work and ruining him. “Just the stuff at the house.”

“Lead the way then, baby.” She said softly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

He carried her out the back of the bar, so no one stopped them. Reached his shuttle, he unlocked it before carrying her up the boarding ramp.

He settled into his seat, Red sitting in his lap with her legs draped over one arm of the chair.. “You comfortable there, sweetheart?”

“Mhm.” She hummed, resting her head on his shoulder. “Is this your shuttle or do I have to behave?” She asked quietly, already kissing his neck.

“It’s mine.” He let out a soft moan as her lips brushed the sweet spot under his jaw, following it with a chuckle. “Don’t make us crash.”

“I won’t.” She kissed his lips briefly before nestling into his lap. “You were gone a while. Do anything interesting while you were out?” She asked, playing with his hair.

“We had a couple of yours end up in one of my interrogation centres. That was a headache to fix. Otherwise, not really. Just the usually dark and gloomy.” His face split into a wry grin.

“You know, it’s much nicer back with us. You’re welcome to come with me. Defect. I’ve got space in my bed for you.” She said suggestively, like it wasn’t something she offered most times he saw her.

“As tempting as that is, sweetheart, your leadership is never gonna accept an ex-Admiral from the Order. If I defect, I’ll be spending the rest of the war in one of your prisons.” He toyed with the ends of her curls as he piloted the shuttle with one hand. “And you’d lose your informant. Isn’t it better for you to have a man on the inside?”

“Would my man on the inside consider making this arrangement a little more permanent then?”

His eyebrows knit together. “You’re the only one getting my intel.” She had been for a while.

“I’m not talking about the intel. I’m talking about access. You can’t come to us. Maybe I can stay with you.”

His eyebrows shot up. It sometimes took him a minute to remember that she wasn’t just a pretty face. “Yes. Yeah. Let’s do that. Assuming you’re okay with coming on the Finalizer with me in four weeks.”

“Sounds like fun.” She grinned. “You’re my only client at Vinny’s. I don’t have to go anywhere but your bed for the foreseeable future.” Her hands slid down his chest, tucking under his shirt. “I’ll work on getting you a pardon. To keep you out of prison.”

“I’m sure you’ve got better things to do.” He got himself into the mess. He was just doing as much good as he could before it all caught up to him and he ended up in a First Order prison or open space, depending on how his boss was feeling.

“I’m very talented at multitasking,” she said quietly. “You never told me why you joined the Order.”

He grumbled, “It sounded like a good idea at the time.”

She’d never asked before. If he was going to tell anyone, it might as well have been her. Red was the only one it was even remotely safe to be open with, and he knew he was going to die before he had the chance to find someone else he could trust as much as he’d come to trust her.

“The government was a mess. I was young. I wanted to prove that I could be a rebel like my parents.” He traced patterns on her thigh to ground himself. “By the time I realized that it was a knock-off Empire, I was in too deep.”

She cupped his face, her persona dropping. She wasn’t a prostitute anymore but a true rebel, flames burning in her blue eyes. “We’ve all got skeletons in our closets, Poe. It’s never too late.”

“Sweetheart, you don’t get to Admiral by doing nothing.” A Destroyer would be his coffin. Deep space, his grave. There was no running from his past.

Her eyes turned black. “You don’t get head an intel team just by floating by either. Doesn’t make me any less of a rebel.”

He tilted her chin up and kissed her, softer with her then he should have been.

#poe dameron #poe dameron x oc #poe dameron fic #fo!poe dameron #first order poe dameron #dark poe dameron

[nimmy22]

A Mistake: Chapter 12

~ The following day, Saturday ~

"Do something, Wesker! These fucking imbeciles at the papers are starting to question my competence as chief all because of a pathetic group of boys you can't seem to dispose of." Irons seethed, slamming his cup of whisky on the desk, knocking his nameplate to the ground.  

Wesker gave nothing away of his emotions, save for a tick in his brow. His hands craved to wrap around Irons’ neck, giving it a swift snap. It's how he felt most of his days at the station. Irons was replaceable. The man didn't realize just how worthless he was to Umbrella. His replacement could arrive this very afternoon.

"We are working on finding the gang's nest. The big players keep using young boys for the jobs but tell them nothing about insider information. There are too many eyes watching us right now. We cannot use any special means to dispose of the group in order avoid questions."

"Just Do your fucking job right. I can't stand the news conferences anymore. the journalist's questions make me look laughable." Irons clutched his glass, throwing it hard against the wall. Tapping a finger on the armrest, Wesker didn't bat an eye at the behavior of the chief of police. One couldn't expect much from such a lowly creature.

"You seem to forget why Umbrella put me as captain of STARS. It isn't to keep up your public appearance but to protect theirs. I'm not the one who isn't doing his job. Deal with the journalists while I handle the little boy scouts." pushing back his chair, Wesker made sure to leave deep grooves on the freshly varnished floors. The scraping sound was like music to his soul. He didn't miss the deathly glare on his way to the door like hot iron rods.

Returning to the STARS office, Wesker ignored the gossiping of Chris and Jill about the newest trouble between their captain and Irons. Shutting the door to his office, he took a seat behind his desk. Through the office blinds, he eyed each present member of STARS. of course, no one was getting any work done, lazing around the office, making meaningless bets.

This simply will not do.

It was time they did some undercover work, gathering information about Raccoon city's newest crime family. These boy scouts wouldn't last long around here, especially since they fell on the radar of the real monsters in the shadows of Raccoon.

---------------

She sat alone on the staircase, elbows resting on her knees, wondering how the hell she got here.  The house was familiar to her. How many times has she looked after Sherry here? Still, it felt strange. It was his space, and she was invading it.

This was now supposed to be her home. The place gave no hints as to who lived here, lacking any personal touch. It was likely the work of an anterior designer following the most fashionable trends. The home of a bachelor.

Speaking of Wesker, he left after dumping her here last night and vaguely pointing her towards the guest room with a 'help yourself' to any food. As always, he gave her the bare minimum of info, not that she asked what he was up to. She didn't care whether he spent the night hiding bodies or doing legitimate police work. She was too terrified to sleep under the same roof, only a few walls apart. Does the man ever sleep? Shower? Eat?

She won't lie. She was glad Wesker left. But even with him gone, she couldn't stop thinking about what happened. More so the kiss than almost becoming a guinea pig. It was a lot to process, and she couldn't even begin.

For the nth time, she forcibly pulled her fingers away from her lips, scolding herself for replaying the memory again. This man was absolute bad news. She needed to get out of the house, and an incoming call from Claire had her scrambling to answer as quickly as possible. Her friend presented an idea, and Cara was all too grateful to join in.  

Pulling up Wesker's name in the contacts, Cara's fingers hovered over the letters, unsure of what and how much to tell him.  Where did they stand? Did he really mean everything, or was it a trick?  Was she free to leave? Did he give up completely on the idea of killing her?

"Going out with Claire. I will be back late." she texted, fully knowing a lot of info was missing. But it's not like he ever gave her a ton.

"Stay out of trouble.' came a replay moments later.

The words were unsaid, but Cara definitely heard them.  'I don't have time to drop everything and run over to the rescue each and every time you get in trouble,'

'I asked for help only once. The other time's nobody asked you to come.' Cara grumbled but deleted what she wrote. she could've gotten herself out of those situations...with a little bit of thinking. Actually, a lot of thinking.

----------------------------

Cara had to walk several blocks away from Wesker's house to prevent suspicion. If by any chance, Claire knew the address of her brother's captain, it would be a hole she did not want to leap into.

Standing in front of an old bookstore, she waited for her friend. The building was slightly rundown, its walls covered in graffiti, but the owners were a kind elderly couple. They pushed discounts her way, and she was guilted to buy something. She ended up buying a useless cat plushie toy after seeing that most books were non-fiction or raunchy romance novels. She would rather die than have Wesker coming across an erotic novel lying around his house.

She stared at the plushie as she leaned against the wall outside the shop. Cara considered giving it to Sherry the next time they met. This would be the first present she ever gave the young girl, and she could almost imagine the excitement on Sherry's face. It made her smile.

A helicopter passed overhead, sleek black and adorned with the Umbrella white and red symbol. Cara watched the chopper get smaller and smaller until it disappeared, heading in the direction of the Arkley mountains. she wondered about their business up there was. Looking around, no one else seemed to notice nor care. Maybe it was best to keep all knowledge to herself.

Seeing a familiar redhead and a motorcycle, Cara waved as Claire pulled up, handing her a helmet.

---------------

The barn smelled of sweat, dust, and old wood. The unmistakable smell of alcohol was thick in the air as it was passed around freely in cheap red plastic cups. She recognized kids from school, but many more were older, likely from Raccoon university. A light disco machine was nailed to the wall, casting the barn in a series of flashing lights. Tall Straw piles of hay distributed across the barn ensured there was no shortage of dark corners for people to disappear to.  For a moment, Cara considered hiding in the straw and then going home when the party was over. But seeing the sparkle in Claire's eyes about hanging out with her best friend threw the idea out the window. With a sigh, she followed her friend.

Over the course of the night, the girls danced and drank, carefree. A blond-haired boy was staring at her, Cara noticed. He attempted to walk up to her but turned around before getting within ten feet. He tried multiple times but always chickened out despite his friends constantly cheering him on. Claire thought it was cute and refused to stop openly staring at him and giving a thumbs up.  Cara swatted Claire's hands before holding them behind her back in a pretend arrest, pushing her against the straw pile.

"Sorry Officer! I was just trying to help you get laid," Claire giggled. "I hope you're into blonde's though,"

"This is so embarrassing. Stop, or I'm leaving," Cara snapped, feeling a blush heat her face as Wesker crossed her mind. Fuck, why now?

"Oh? so you are into blondes," Claire's smile was cunning. "Let me help you,"

"No. Bad Claire, bad, bad girl. No treats for you tonight." Cara scolded, Stealing the can of beer her friend stole from a guy before cracking it open and downing its contents. She wouldn't yet consider herself drunk, just pleasantly buzzed.

The boy ran off again. Cara felt bad for him and was actually tempted to go up to him instead. His friends kept a steady stream of alcohol into his hand.

"H-hey, " And then he did it, with the help of liquid courage, of course.

For the effort, Cara decided not to openly embarrass him with rejection but not lead him on either. Walking away backward, Claire gave her a thumbs up along with a suggestive motion of the eyebrows, making horrid shapes with her hands. Cara covered her face, hoping to purge the image out of memory. She'll get her back in no time.

Ben was a bit shy at first, but soon they got talking and enjoyed themselves. His hair was a few shades darker and shorter than Wesker's. She didn't have to look up at him as they stood at a similar, comfortable height. Slender and skinny, he would shrink to nothing beside the captain. Cara grimaced, realizing she had been comparing the poor guy to a demon. It wasn't his fault that her mind was occupied with someone way out of her league... the legal kind.

The barn was becoming more and more crowded, and the dancing crowd swallowed them. Sticking out like two sore thumbs, they did their best to dance. Cara felt awkward but seeing the dimples in his smile made her feel better even as it became a tighter fit among the crowd. They had to dance closer lest they got separated.

She wondered what it would feel like to dance with Wesker. He seemed like the sophisticated type. The awkward moves of a teenager would never be adequate for him. Did he ever do anything that was remotely recreational? What do villains even do in their spare time? Manipulating the feelings of underage girls looks like. What stupid, stupid thoughts.

She prayed all these ideas would go away soon, as the thrill of the kiss wore off, and everything went back to normal. Did she want to go back? Why in the world would he like her? she knew who he really was, and he still let her live. Why take the risk with her? she was just a seventeen-year-old. Useless to everyone, with no connections and no money.  

Fuck it. Cara refused to think about Wesker anymore tonight. There was a perfectly alright guy in front of her, someone her own age, someone in her league, someone she wouldn't have to hide. Someone who was looking at her with a soft expression, blinking slowly.

Cara placed her hands on either side of Ben's face and pulled him towards her, connecting their lips. He reacted instantly, kissing her back. His hands awkwardly hovered over her arms before stroking them softly.

He was a nice guy, not a terrible kisser, but she hated it. Hated every touch because it wasn't as good as with Wesker. She couldn't stop comparing, and it was frustrating, spurring her to kiss Ben harder.

She continued, out of spite, to kiss the boy who looked at her with affection. in the background, she heard a few boys cheering, likely his friends. This was wrong, very wrong.

A firm hand gave her waist a painful squeeze before it was gone, and she thought it was Ben. Her eyes flew open as she felt a warm breath by her ear. It wasn't Ben.

"If I was not undercover right now, this lesser specimen of a boy would've made some unforgettable acquaintances a lot sooner. You could've done so much better, yet you have chosen to this..." Wesker seethed by her ear, sending shivers down her spine. Her body froze, but Ben didn't pick up the cue.  Wesker's muscles were tense as he pressed against her back. She could almost hear the exhale through clenched, grinding teeth.

Then he was gone, slipping through the crowd just as he came. No one notices anything. Cara broke the kiss and shoved Ben away. "I'm sorry, it isn't going to work out." She hurried after Wesker, but he was already lost in the crowd.  

She shoved her way through the throngs of people but only managed to find other members of STARS in civilian clothes. None seemed to notice or recognize her. They must've been here on undercover work, but why? she put that question aside as there were more pressing things to worry about.

She felt sick and wanted to throw up, but nothing was coming up. she burst through the doors of the suffocatingly hot bran, raking her hands through her hair. The cool night air hit her heated skin, but she couldn't find relief. She wanted to be swallowed by the ground.

She needed to find Wesker. But then what? Apologize? Apologize for making her own choices? They weren't a couple.

She continued to look for him nevertheless. She walked further from the barn towards an old car junkyard. She thought perhaps a fuming man would need some privacy. A strong feeling in her gut told her this was the right way.

Cara walked far enough from the party that the music was nothing but a distant noise. It was dark and quiet, the perfect place for an assault. If Wesker decided to murder her, no one would find her for at least a week, stuffed in the trunk of a car. If ever.  

Grabbed from behind, she was thrown against a car. Sliding to the ground, she cradled her aching arm, squinting in the dark to see her assailant. Wesker kneeled beside her, his civilian clothes dark and expensive.

"Why cut it short? You should've kissed him more while you still can because he will be the last boy you will ever kiss." squeezing her cheeks harshly, he dragged his thumb with heavy pressure over the flesh of her lips, still swollen from kissing Ben.

As Wesker let go of her face, she felt the cold muzzle of a gun pressing against her temple. Her heart skipped a beat, but she glared at him straight in the eye. Daring.

"I don't know what you want from me! You told me to keep out of trouble, and I did. Yet here we are," Cara lied. She knew what he wanted but didn't know why he wanted it.

"Were my intentions not clear enough? Do I have to spell it out for you? But I suppose intelligence was never your strength,"

Wesker pressed the gun harder against her temple, her glare unwavering. "Go ahead. Shoot me. why do you even bother?"

Neither moved, naked eyes locked with no shades between. Cara reached up and pulled the gun out of his hands with ease. He didn't resist, glaring at her with a tense jaw. Looking down, she almost laughed, seeing the safety was still on. This man couldn't bring himself to kill her. It was all a show of intimidation, and she wasn't falling for it. Not anymore.

As she made to stand, his hand pushed her down. Thinking he wanted the gun back, she returned it to his hand and tried to stand. again, he pushed her down. "Can I get up now?" she scowled, staring up at him.

Things happen too quickly for her to process. The hands on Cara's shoulder grabbed her legs, lifting her off the ground as Wesker wrapped her legs around him before slamming her against the car. She was winded, gasping for breath as he watched her with a smirk. She grabbed his arms, digging her nails into his defined muscles.

"You're up now," he whispered before his lips kissed her neck, sucking and nibbling the skin. A moan escaped her lips, and she covered her mouth immediately.

Grabbing both her hands, he pinned them against the car. "I need to clean your mouth of all traces of that boy,"

"Are you going to rinse my mouth with soap or something? This is childish and-" Cara's words settled in a moan as Wesker began grinding a very defined length against her growing sickness. She tightened her legs around his waist, drawing him closer.

Trailing his nose across her skin, he followed the curve of her neck to the ear, taking the lobe between his teeth. She melted against him when his hot tongue entered her ear. His tongue plunged in and out repeatedly like a preview of what he could do to her. Her heart went on an overdrive.

"Just kiss me," Cara breathed, a tension building in her belly. She wanted to taste him. in addition to sparing any additional marks on her neck to hide.

"No,” nuzzling into her neck, he grinded harder against her, earning a series of moans.  

"You know who else wouldn't mind kissing me-" Wesker slammed his lips to hers, kissing her roughly, their teeth clashing. Cara melted further, a smile on her lips as her tongue danced with his. She savored everything, The taste of him, softness of his lips, his warmth, and the building friction between their bodies. There was nothing more she wanted.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Three gunshots were fired.

Cara was barely steady on her feet when Wesker dropped her to the ground, his eyes scanning their surroundings. What little they heard of the music was drowned out by distant screams of the partygoers.

"What's happening?" she questioned, grabbing his arm, but his attention was fixed on the barn.

"Stay here," Wesker warned, already talking to someone by an earpiece she hadn't noticed before.

With his gun ready, he took off, running towards the barn. Cara made to follow him but was pulled back towards the car by her hand.

The fucker handcuffed and left her in the middle of a junkyard in the dark.

#resident evil #claire redfield #albert wesker #Albert Wesker X OC #oc

[hisunshiine]

Money Heist | knj | Part 1

moodboard 1 | moodboard 2 | playlist | Netflix ReImagined BTS Masterlist

↳ #NetflixReImaginedBTS: Kim Namjoon x Reader starring in a bank robbery au

↳ M-18+, implied sexual content, major character deaths, bank robbery actions (violence, use of weapons, deciet)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Money Heist Masterlist | Heathfritillary (author)

The Professor’s Rules

Rule #1 - No real names Rule #2 - No falling in love Rule #3 - Absolute trust Rule #4 - No games Rule #5 - Follow the plan, throughout Rule #6 - No taking lives, no civils Rule #7 - Low profile Rule #8 - Memorize the plan Rule #9 - Codes, escape routes Rule #10 - Blend

Prologue: Dread was not the right word to use to express how I felt. Every waking moment was an uncertainty. Every passing day I had to look over my shoulder. Senses on high alert, heart-pounding fiercer, I had to stay sharp. All I had to rely on was my intuition, rationality, the rush of adrenaline as it pumped through my veins as it guided me to safety.

There was no room for fuckups. Rules were set in place before, during, and after the heist. The Professor made sure of it.

Everything was methodically thought out. There was zero tolerance for anything that steered from what already was part of the Professor’s plan. Every detail was thoroughly calculated, gone through numerous times until perfected, and every possible scenario or turn the heist could go, the Professor had already considered it.

When I met him, I guessed him to be someone who was reserved. That initial thought, however, remained throughout the months I spent and got to know him. Regardless of my attempts to loosen him up, he grew more inward. A timid and quiet man, one I could not quite figure out despite my intuitive bullshit radar. My instincts told me otherwise. The Professor was someone I could trust. Moreover, he was someone who had my back if the going ever got tough.

Even after I had broken one of his sacred rules, he kept me around.

He stated it was solely because of my natural blend-ability. In other words, I was the type of person who could go unnoticed and get away with things. Although originally offended, one of the Daegu brothers – during our first meetings – mockingly pointed out my pretty privilege, claiming it was a universal thing to bend the rules and show favoritism to people that society deemed as attractive.

It bothered me to my core but despite it – and as the only woman on the team – I had to admit, I could complete missions and do things the others were not able to. Because of this, I was an asset regardless of how many rules I broke.

I was aware of it being careless, stupid even. It was not something that was planned, it was merely something that happened beyond my control. It occurred and I did not regret it one bit.

Love always seemed to happen at the least likely places. It was not a foreign concept to me, neither were relationships. In fact, I cherished everything about love and my language of expression was forever limitless.

When I was introduced to the other members the Professor carefully handpicked for the heist, I was taken aback by their charms and charisma.

They were handsome, all six of them; each with their own styles and skills to assist the Professor and his master plan. Some of them knew each other from rumors or past jobs and others did not.

I worked alone, always had and always would.  

The day the Professor recruited me, he had asked to meet him at Chateau de Foix, a castle in France. He had sneakily placed a note in my jacket as I was scouting a Chanel store intending to rob it days later. I was not sure what I was getting into but before even meeting him, he assured me with his note that he could make me wealthier than I could ever contemplate. So, I met him at Chateau de Foix.

I was interested. He caught my attention.

He did not disclose much until he was certain I was someone who he could trust. Honestly, I could not blame him. Partners were not my thing, especially partnering with a man. There was something about them that made my skin crawl. When it came to men and money, there was always one certain thing; they would fuck you over.

The Professor laid out pieces of his plan and as obscure and ambitious as it was, I kind of felt intrigued by his nerdy appearance, his hesitation to look me in the eye, how well-spoken he was and how greatly he sold his plan.

Again, he caught my attention.

Luckily, he had informed me where the next meeting would be and that I was the only woman on the team. He requested I thought it over and I did. I flew to South Korea. That was where the plan had to take place.

At first, I could not escape the futile catcalls or misogynistic remarks. The Professor was too much of a beta to control the dominant thieves who thought they knew better than most.

The worst one was the man with the effortless beauty and striking features. At first glance, he did not look Korean. GC as we called him, or Geochang County as the Professor had dubbed him. Younger brother to Daegu and quite frankly, a little too handsy for my liking and too excited to see a pair of tits on the team. So, I did what I had to ensure my survival and role as well as what I did not tolerate.

He did not appreciate the sass and the chokehold on his intimate part as I stood my ground.

Since then, no one had attempted to try my patience. In fact, all the teasing became just that, teasing … with zero malice or ill intentional comments. They were guys around me, sure, but they became mindful, more tolerable. Exactly how I preferred my men.

For months, I spent time with the six guys including the Professor as we prepared to rob the Bank of Korea. I got to know them individually and I had to admit they were starting to feel like family.

The Professor had set us up at Jindo, a remote island known for its parting sea during the spring season. He had rented a beach house and from there we listened as the Professor disclosed his plan, made the necessary preparations such as getting familiar with the bank, its routines, staff, and much more.

Busan, Seoul, and I would often get paired when a trip to the Bank of Korea was presented.

Busan was a mastermind in human behavior and expertly designed profiles of everyone that worked at the bank; from cleaners to CEOs. If you ever wondered or had questions about anyone going in and out of the bank, Busan was the man to call.

Despite his small size and soft features, he was a man who could not tolerate disadvantages. Knowledge was power he would often say especially during a heist and he would stride for perfection.

He was smart.

I did not think of making profiles for the law enforcement that would be called to deal with the hostage situation we would inevitably have to take to secure our survival. But Busan did. He knew exactly who the bank would call, their past, their marital status, the number of kids, he knew everything.

He was an asset.

Seoul, however, possessed something that completely went over my head. Technology. At first glance, I guessed him to be an assassin of some sort.

He was the quietest of the group and the hardest man to get close to. Despite his big eyes and tattoos, he was extremely fun to be around. Once he opened up, I realized my instincts about him were a tad off. Although a part of me questioned my abilities, I came to the realization that looks could be deceiving. Seoul was someone who did not open up as easily as the rest and had to assess his environment first.

I was much like him and because of this, he and I became the closest.

The technology was not my strongest suit but it was his. Every trip we made to the capital, he gained more knowledge about the bank and the software they used including hacking their system, so we could gain access to the security cameras.

The Professor was beside himself when he received the live footage of the bank. This meant we did not have to expose ourselves by making those trips to the capital but could spy on everyone from the comfort of our beach house.

I was relieved. Unlike Busan and Seoul, I had to be the one to risk everything and use my abilities and go inside the bank. The Professor had bought wigs and often I would rotate them with each trip but that did not stop my heart from beating faster than it ever had.

A thief afraid of getting caught, Busan would joke often in my earpiece but the Bank of Korea was something far greater than the high-end stores I used to steal from. It was a different level and the consequence of getting caught was larger than a meaningless brand shop.

Once the dust settled and we gathered some information, part two of the Professor’s plan could start. Breaking in the bank and taking hostages as leverage was the easiest part. Once inside, we had to establish some kind of order. The Professor would be on the outside helping the rest coordinate from within while being the voice of the heist.

I caught him blankly staring at the vision board he often used like a teacher standing in front of his class, deep in thought as his eyes wandered across the whiteboard, “Can I help?”

“No, I’m thinking.”

“Need help thinking?” I teasingly suggested the wine bottle I was drinking from.

“Once inside, what is your job?”

“The hostages with GC.”

“Why?”

I shrugged as I took a sip. The Professor ripped his gaze from the board and glared at me. He was not in the mood for my games. Something was bothering him. So, I sighed, “We both can handle a gun, GC isn’t afraid to use it. By having one of each gender there, the women will feel safer and the men won’t try anything.”

“And?”

“And we are the calm and order. Our job is to keep them quiet and put the fear of God in them.”

“And you?” he murmured as he placed his index finger on the bridge of his nose, keeping his glasses from falling, “I am sure there will be arguments and disagreements once you get inside. There’s no going around that fact. All of you have some kind of experience but most of you are hot-headed. Who will put the fear of God in you? As you eloquently said. Who?”

“Gwacheon is the oldest.” The Professor stood up after my answer. I watched him as he began to collect his things from the desk before he excused himself, “Where do you plan on going?” I asked as I followed him to the front door.

“I’ll be back in a couple of days.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” He reached for his jacket and told me to trust him and take a break until he returned before leaving for an unknown mission.  

A couple of days turned into a week. The Professor was gone and some of the other guys grew agitated. Some questioned him and his plan while others, including myself, did as he had asked and took a break.

Gwacheon, the oldest and the most level-headed person on the team, was lounging by the bonfire created for the dinner he was preparing. Loyal to the Professor as I was, he went ahead and took his suggestion.

Everyone was desperate for a break. It had been months of planning and thinking of every detail. A break was welcomed, needed.

Gwacheon had planned a dinner for the team and was thrilled to have some downtime. With beers in the cooler, the sun setting beyond the horizon, and a cozy fire, he began to season the beef as he hollered for me to start the music. The Professor was on my mind. So, in honor of him, I played ‘Bella Ciao’ by Manu Pilas. He was far from home as was I and although he was not around at the moment to enjoy the festivities with us, I knew he was with us in spirit.

I tapped on Gwacheon’s broad shoulder and he shot an amused smile. The Latin vibes of the upbeat song made me dance with soju in my hand. Allowing the Spanish words to energize and elevate my mood as I poorly attempted to sing along. He laughed at my dance but could not help swing his hips along to the beat.

My eyes then caught Daegu’s as he was assembling a gun. He smiled and shot me a quick nod to sit by him.

I eyed him as he began to pick the L85 apart before placing it in front of me. I raised an eyebrow at him, he chuckled while gesturing I gave it a shot. Proclaiming it was better to be prepared for a situation rather than a situation unfolding and remaining oblivious.

From the moment I met him, I knew he was the real deal, even heard rumors about the great mastermind who stole the Hope Diamond. When questioning him in my drunken state, Daegu simply flashed me a gummy smile. I was not too sure what that meant but I was certain he was someone who was legit and that I could potentially learn a lot from. I did.

Daegu was the kind of man who kept to himself, quiet and reserved like the Professor but he did not shy away from passing down his experiences and knowledge. I often caught myself wondering how polar opposite he was from his brother, GC. Daegu struck me as someone methodical with his approach while GC was spontaneous. But as the Professor ensured, GC had something most in the team did not have; quick thinking, unique perspectives, and the kind of smarts that could never be taught.

“Go ahead,” Daegu said as GC came into view with Gwangju carrying bowls of rice, kimchi, and steamed vegetables.

I grabbed the disassembled parts and attempted to assemble them to my best capabilities. Daegu grinned and GC approached the table. He waited a moment and watched as I struggled with the parts until he groaned and grabbed the gun from me.

Swiftly, he assembled the gun while casually counting in his native tongue, “Samshipil,” he announced as he slid the gun back to me, “31 seconds.”

“That’s a record,” Daegu smiled at his brother.

“I don’t know what the Professor was on but I doubt you’ll get any hostage to take you seriously if you can’t even do that.”

“Don’t listen to him. He’s a prick,” Daegu shot his brother a glare, “We have time,” he began to disassemble the gun once more, “Try again.”

I was grateful for Daegu’s patience. Although I had some knowledge of firearms, I tended not to use them during my ventures. A small pocket pistol was always in my bag and I could operate it. However, these types of guns were far from anything I had experienced, bigger too.

Luckily though, Daegu was a trained assassin and this was his specialty. He along with Gwacheon and Gwangju had pulled off heists before; together as well as separate. In other words, they were the experts on the team.

Daegu and Gwangju had a friendship like no other and had often saved each other from dire situations. They had worked multiple jobs together and relied on one another in admirable ways. For a moment, I was envious of their friendship and loyalty to each other.

Although Gwacheon had worked with them before, he often carried out small heists on his own. Much like myself, he preferred not to have a partner but made me realize that sometimes they could be useful, especially when it came to bigger jobs.

He was a lone wolf when he had to be. He told me to remember that. And I did.

I did not see the appeal. In fact, humans tend to be unreliable and oftentimes selfish. I could not trust it, anyone for that matter. It was one of the first things I learned from my father. His partner had sold him out, so he could reduce the sentence the authorities were threatening him with. Since then, I did not seek the help of others.

It was always me, myself, and I. However, the Professor managed to find a group of people whose company I actually enjoyed. Despite being thieves and some of them murderers, they were a group of men I had grown to like and trust.

Gwangju sat opposite me as I struggled with the L85. He clinked his soju bottle with mine and I grinned before giving up, “Look me in the eye as you take the first sip,” I ordered.

“Cheers,” he said and grinned, “Does that mean something where you’re from?”

“Means you’ll have bad sex if you don’t.”

“Well in that case,” he clinked his bottle with mine once more, “We don’t want that.”

He shot me a big and pearly smile before he began to assemble the gun. I studied his prominent features for a moment, admiring his natural beauty and olive skin before directing my gaze down at the heavy firearm as he explained which parts went where.

Fully focused on his words and his handle of the gun, I felt Busan’s presence behind me. He climbed between Daegu and me, “What’s up?” I asked when I caught his eyes.

“After dinner, we should get lit and go to the festival,” his suggestive demeanor forced a smile from me. Out of the six men, he was the one who actively sought my attention, persistent fucker.

He was interested in me, I could sense it. And although it would have been easy to spread my legs for him or any of the others, I was only interested in collecting my end of the robbery. Completing the heist unscathed was my sole concern and these little horny thieves were not going to stray me from my goal.

“Low profile,” Gwangju spat as my eyes were on Busan’s, “We can’t be seen together. Rule number seven.”

“Screw the Professor and his rules,” he responded without taking his eyes off mine. Busan studied my features as my gaze shifted from his plump lips to his dark eyes, “Besides, we deserve a little fun,” he directed his attention to Gwangju, “What the Professor doesn’t know won’t kill him.”

“He did say we were on a break until he got back.”

“Do not encourage him, London,” Gwangju warned after finishing the assembly of the gun.

“A little fun didn’t hurt anyone,” Busan voiced as his fingertips caressed my bare shoulder.

“Careful there, brother,” GC sat beside Gwangju with soju in hand, “You do not want her claws piercing your ballsack.”

“London wouldn’t be that mean to me,” Busan’s eyes wandered between mine and then my lips as he leaned closer, “Would you?”

I felt the hot air from his parted lip brush against mine and I could not help but meet him halfway. With a cocky smirk, I reached down for his clothed manhood, digging my sharp nails in the jean fabric he wore as a sudden groan escaped him, “Don’t get too comfortable, kiddo,” I whispered against his mouth as he hissed and cursed under his breath.

“Told you,” GC grinned, and soon after the rest began to laugh at Busan’s failed attempt.

➰

Busan convinced GC and Seoul to join him at the spring festival. Every year on the day of the parting sea, locals would celebrate the event by throwing a massive street party. The island was known for its festivities and attracted a lot of tourists. I could not visit South Korea and not experience what Jindo had to offer. So, I went, and as reluctant as Gwangju was, he joined us as well until Gwacheon decided to make it a family affair and convinced Daegu to join the outing too.

South Korea had always been a country I wanted to visit. It was known for its rich culture, delicious food, and its kind people. So far, I enjoyed everything I had experienced.

Despite the intention of the visit, I was grateful to be here and be amongst native men who could guide me and translate if needed. Sadly, one of the Professor’s rules was to blend as much as we could and not draw any attention to ourselves. Knowing him and the stick up his butt, he would not have been too pleased to know that we were lounging with the locals, getting drunk until late, and essentially making a mockery of his rule system.

Close to midnight, Daegu wanted to head back to the beach house and he did along with me and Seoul who had to prepare to monitor the bank in the morning. He was close to hacking into the internal security system, the one that allowed us to view everything on the inside.

Freshly out of the shower, the house was painfully quiet with most of the others still enjoying the festivities. I danced around with a pair of headsets blasting music in my ears, enjoying the alcohol that roamed in my system as I shimmied into my undergarments. ‘All That’ by Emotional Oranges came on and I sang along as I smeared lotion on my body. Soon the music captivated every inch of my body and I began to dance when suddenly I caught a glimpse of a man watching me by the door.

A loud gasp came out of me, but as startled as I was, my body knowingly eased, assessing the situation as I stared down the stranger without showcasing any fear. I had not seen him before and I wondered how he had gotten inside of the beach house.

Seoul had explicitly explained that the place was safely secured.

The man leaned against the doorframe as a small sigh evaded his plump lips while he unapologetically allowed his gaze to travel down my body, “The Professor didn’t say anything about a woman being on the team.”

“The Professor?”

He eyed me momentarily, “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m Ilsan. What’s your assigned city?”

“London.” I nodded as the realization came over me. He was what the Professor was searching for. He was the mission he had mentioned; the team’s leader and the one to instill the fear of God in us.

Just then did it occur to me that Ilsan had to be someone the Professor trusted completely. He was almost obsessively calculated with everything about the heist. For our safety and his own. Everything had to be planned. And he was right. We were hot-headed, argued, and disagreed many times. Everyone had their own styles but for the heist to be successful, it required that we all moved as a team. The Professor knew this, knew once we were inside, he was limited in terms of guidance. Although communication would be out of the question, he needed someone on the inside that would make sure the proper steps would be taken.

I eyed Ilsan and sensed why the Professor had chosen him. He had an authoritative aura. I was sure he was the kind of man who inserted his dominance well. The Professor was a beta but based on first impressions, Ilsan struck me as someone who did not mind and preferred - despite the pressure and responsibility - to be the top alpha of the team.

“London,” he sang, “That's a pretty name. I have been there. Wet country.” I attempted to hold back the appearing smile that the comment accurately described about my home city, “Did you choose it or did the Profess--”

“You got your sneak peek,” I hastily voiced, not interested in his small talk and especially with lack of clothes on, “Fuck off. I’m getting ready for bed.”

He chuckled into a low hum as he crossed his arms, resting his head against the doorframe, “You usually have a party before bed?” I caught a glance of his smirk and the dimples that came along with it. He was a flirt, much like Busan, and I was not having it. Ilsan did not know that I was someone not to be messed with. But he would soon. I walked over to the door and shoved him backward by his chest before slamming the door in his face.

↣ all rights reserved © heathfritillary 2021. please do not repost. translations & modifications are not allowed. 

#hisunshiine event #bts au #bts story #bts fanfic #jungkook #bts v #jimin #j hope #suga #jin #bts rm #jungkook story #bts v story #jimin story #j hope story #suga story #jin story #bts rm story #Netflix ReImagined BTS #heathfritillary #namjoon smut #namjoon au #namjoon writings #namjoon fic #namjoon fanfiction #rm smut #rm au #rm writings #rm fic #hisunshiine

[theonewiththefanfics]

Touch (one-shot)

Synopsys: There was a time Bucky hated touch. He hated to be touched and to touch. Not anymore. Now things are different. And as the snow slowly covers New York, Bucky thinks of how he got to that point.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Genre: fluffffff, lil bit of angst as insecure and guilty Bucky

Warnings: swearing, suggestive stuff, Bucky feelin low at points and insecure (yes, that is a fucking warning)

Word count: 5517

Bucky loved touch.

          He used to hate it, given how any time for the past seventy years touch meant harm, excruciating pain and torture. And not just it being inflicted upon him by his captors. Sometimes he was on the delivering end.

         But he loved it now, just like he loved the early mornings of New York when the city still somewhat slept, and he could just watch the twinkling lights flicker through the pale curtains. 

         Now, everything was covered in a layer of snow. The sky looked lighter, despite the fact that it was 5 AM, but each flake reflected the beams of the city, encasing it in a warm white blanket.

         He loved the touch of snow. It was cold, but not an angry cold. It was the kind of cold that reminded him of her feet stuck under his back in the middle of the night or the kind of cold that he felt on his lips as he leaned down to kiss her frigid nose. It was a safe cold. A loving one.

         It hadn’t come easy though – getting to the point where he didn’t wince when someone clapped on his shoulder, or be the one to seek out someone’s hand, let alone initiate a hug or bring her in for a kiss. 

         It was Tony’s funeral of all places where everything had started. Sam was talking with Steve as his best friend passed on the mantle of Captain America. In a way, Bucky was glad it hadn’t been him. He didn’t feel like he deserved it, nor did he feel like he could carry such amount of responsibility. Not then at least.

          He turned around, head tilted downwards as he watched pine needles crunch under his feet when another pair came in view. Bucky instantly recognised her.

          Y/E/C eyes met his blue ones, and although there wasn’t much physical resemblance of her father, Y/N carried herself in the same suave way, and her gaze always glinted with knowledge and mischief. Now her eyes were rimmed with red.

          “I uh,” she started before clearing her throat. “I wanted to say thank you for coming. He’d… he would’ve really appreciated it.”

          Bucky almost choked on the sudden tears, and he shook his head. Throughout the whole funeral, he’d barely kept it together, as waves and waves of guilt rolled around. “Y/N, I don’t think anyone would want the murderer of their paren-“

          She shook her head in dismissal not letting him finish the sentence. “He forgave you. A long time ago. In fact, I don’t think you were the one that hurt him the most. Dad was a lot of things… but despite what many believe, when he found out he was wrong, it wasn’t hard for him to admit it.”

          Bucky swallowed hard. He should be on his knees begging for forgiveness and mercy, he should be begging her to believe how truly and utterly sorry he was. 

          “I’m so sorry.” He couldn’t come up with anything else. Because there was nothing else to say. Nothing he’d do would ever bring Tony back, and nothing he’d say would ever bring Tony back. He was just stuck in a loop of grief, guilt and sorrow, and would never get out of it.

          Maybe that’s what he deserved, Bucky thought to himself, maybe that was his punishment for Tony sacrificing his life only so he could live.

          “Anyway, I found this while going through his stuff…” Y/N handed him a little flash drive taking Bucky out of that wallowing pit. “I really think you need to see it.”

          Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed, and he looked at Y/N as she wiped away tears. “What’s on it?”

          She shook her head. “It's not my place to tell,” and gently she took Bucky’s still open palm and closed his fingers around the little device. “Please,” Y/N sniffled looking from their clasped hands back up at him and gave Bucky a tight smile. “Don’t be a stranger. I’d love to get to know you.”

          And then she left. Her black trench coat billowed around her in the soft spring wind. He watched as she picked her sister up in her arms, and Morgan’s little legs and hands wrapped around Y/N in a secure hug. Brown eyes met Bucky, and a little hand raised in a wave. He waved right back.

          That night he went to the hotel the Stark’s had so generously placed everyone who had been decimated and newly brought back or who had arrived at Tony’s memorial. Most of them didn't have a place to stay. Bucky was one of them.

          He felt Sam approach before his strong hand clapped on his right shoulder. 

          “You gonna be okay?”

          Bucky nodded. “It’s just been a long day.”

          A deep hearty chuckle, that had an underlying layer of exhaustion reverberated through the quiet hallway. “You can say that… If you need anything just knock. I’ll probably be up until whenever…”

          Sam wasn’t one to really talk about his emotions, but Bucky knew he felt just as much guilt as he did. Maybe not as much, but he could see that emotions and words left unsaid, weighed on his friend’s shoulders. 

          Sam's door clicked shut, and only then did Bucky turn to his own, swiping the key card, and letting the small happy beep announce that it was open. He stripped off his jacket, combat boots and jeans. Unlike Y/N, he didn’t think Tony would have wanted him there, that’s why he wasn’t in a suit. It had been a last-minute decision when he realized there would never be a time, he’d be able to apologize to the billionaire. Not anymore. So, the least he could do was show respect by supporting the people he’d loved more than anything. 

          In a black tank top and boxers, Bucky plopped down onto the hotel bed and sighed, looking up at the ceiling. For a good couple of minutes, he stared at it, trying to find answers to unanswerable questions, but once he figured, unless the walls started talking there would be none, he grabbed the jacket and pulled out the flash drive Y/N had given him. 

          Not only had the whole Stark family been generous enough to grant him a place to stay until they figured out further accommodations, but they’d also given him anything he wanted or needed. A computer had been one of the things. He hadn’t requested it, but Pepper refused him refusing. 

          “If only to quench the boredom,” the redhead has smiled and slipped the slim rectangle in his hands along with a phone, credit card and a notebook. The last thing was already almost half-filled. 

          There was no password necessary as the computer camera scanned his facial features and granted him access. He plugged the flash drive in. Only one file resided on it.

          With bated breath, he clicked on it. The second he saw Tony, Bucky sat up straighter.

          “Hey… Hi… Bucky… I don’t know if you’ll ever see this because… well, because you’re dead,” Tony let out a bitter chuckle. “And I should be happy about it. I feel like I should. But I’m not. I’m not happy about any of this. There’s not much to celebrate nowadays." There was a slight pause as Tony bit his lip and smiled. It looked like he almost didn't want to, but he couldn't help himself. In a moment, Bucky understood why.

          “My daughter was born today. My second kiddo. Her name’s Morgan… probably the greatest day of my life… it would be the second greatest had I been able to see Y/N be born, but I gotta do with what I’m given.” 

          He shook his head and waved a hand around, “I guess that’s why I’m making this. Also, because my therapist said it might help, but I think it’s because of what happened today… I don’t want to live with all of this weighing on me. Ever since that whole thing in Siberia, this has been the one thing on my mind I haven’t been able to push away into some dark corner with the rest of my problems…” he looked up at the camera as if he could see Bucky. “You can’t blame me for how I reacted. You can’t tell me that I was wrong in how I dealt with everything… but you can tell me that I should’ve given you a bit of time to explain yourself.

          I know this will sound like an excuse, but the only thing I was thinking was – he already took away the people I love, so I won’t let him take what little I’ve got left… I know how unfair it is… was… but I hope you understand…”

          Bucky let a tear freely flow over his scruffy cheek as he nodded. He did. He’d do the same if he had a family. Without. A. Question.

          “But here’s the thing,” Tony sighed and looked to the side. “I can’t change the past… not what happened with my parents, not what happened with Thanos… I can’t do anything to bring you all back. And then I started thinking – what if I could go back far enough that I could save you?”

          The super-soldier almost felt his heart stop at the thought of Tony risking his life just to save his. 

          “What if I was able to save you before any of this happened? And I pondered it for quite a while. All of those what-ifs and such… and I came to the conclusion that I wouldn’t. And I know it sounds horrible, but here’s the thing, if I did – I wouldn’t have become the man I am today. There would be no Iron Man, no Stark Industries as they are now, and I wouldn’t have Pep or Y/N or now Morgan… I would've never have become an Avenger if things were even remotely different. I’m not saying it’s easy to come to the terms that it wasn’t you who did that… but I’m saying that every single piece has led me to where I am now. And that also includes you. And if you’re even a little bit like me, which from dad’s stories, I think you are, I know how you’re feeling, so I just want you to know that I forgive you, Bucky. For everything. I read some of your file and yeah…” he dragged a hand down his face. “Fuck man… I get it… I understand it…”

          Bucky could see in Tony’s face that he truly did understand. He had been kidnapped and held captive as well. He knew what it was like to do things against his own will and be betrayed by humanity. Hell, he had been betrayed by someone he had considered family.

          “And I want you to know I’m sorry too. It’s hard. Knowing everything you ever thought is a lie. I blamed my dad for most of my life for what happened when instead I should’ve been blaming someone else... HYDRA fucked us both over, didn’t they?” 

          Bucky choked back a sob. “Yeah, they did.”

          The high-pitched wail of a child cut through Tony’s words, and he looked at the camera with a soft and genuine smile. “I gotta go, Maguna’s calling. But yeah… I guess that’s all I wanted to say. But if I could ask of you one thing – if you’re watching this, most likely I’m not there to tell this to you in person, so just… take care of them, please. My girls. They’re the one thing in this world that I have left.” And with a delicate smile Tony said ‘bye’, and the screen turned to black.

          Bucky cried that night and the following morning. He curled up in his bed and sobbed until he couldn’t breathe, and then he took a warm bath and cried some more with his knees pulled up to his chest and hands in his hair. 

          That day he cut the long tresses off. It was sloppy and uneven, but it felt good. Like he was letting go of all of the guilt and pain, and he was finally forgiving himself. Sam wasn’t half bad at evening everything out. 

          That same day he went over to the lake house Pep and Morgan still resided in. As did Y/N.

          “She’s in the basement,” Pepper nodded towards a set of stairs and readjusted how her daughter sat on her hip. “She’s been working on one of Tony’s unused patents. Something with nanotech and neurology.”

          “Smart girl,” he mumbled and tickled the little sock-clad feet of Morgan, who giggled and tucked her face in her mother’s hair. 

          Pep laughed and patted Morgan's back. “Just like her dad. Hasn’t even taken a break since last night… would you be so kind and maybe bring her lunch? I just made some lasagna, which you’re more than welcome to as well.”

          Without a second to spare, Bucky plated some food, ready to bring Y/N the much-needed fuel. He would’ve left without taking a bite for himself, but Pepper’s disapproving gaze told him he didn’t have a choice. 

          “No, DUM-E!” he heard her exclaim as he balanced the two portions in his hands. “Fuck, why do you even have that function? You do that again, and I’ll donate you to a community college. Dad didn’t go through with it, but I will; mark my words!”

          Metal elbow knocked against the glass door, and it made her spin around.

          “Sorry for interrupting,” Bucky apologized in a quiet voice. Rock music had been turned on a low hum, and goggles sat perched on Y/N’s nose before she removed them and beckoned him inside not even glancing in his direction. He heard the band sing something about teenagers and having the living shit scared out of them by them. He chuckled, thinking that teenagers were the least horrifying things on the planet.

          “Don’t worry. It’s not something that can’t wait a bit,” she pulled off two heavy-set gloves and threw them onto the table, and immediately stumbled back a bit as her eyes befell on Bucky. “Sorry, I just... you look very different without the uh,” she waved at his head.

          “Yeah, I uh, cut it off.”

          Y/N snorted and turned back to whatever she had been fixing, pushing a piece of paper away. “I noticed. Oh, shit, sorry,” she motioned to how he was still holding the food and took one of the plates. “You made this?”

          “Uh, no. Pepper did. Said you hadn’t eaten in ages and asked to bring you down something.”

          She rolled her eyes but gave him a small smile as a thanks and put the plate on the table. “I’m not that bad. I just got carried away.”

          He did it without a warning. Bucky just stepped forward as she rambled on about finding some clean forks when he grabbed her by the writs and pulled the woman in his chest. It was the first time he made the first move to hug someone. He pulled Y/N against him and pressed his face in the crook of her neck, muttering never-ending apologies and promises to keep her, Morgan and Pep safe just as her father had asked him to do. She didn’t respond, just wove her own hands around his shoulders and soothed him until he could form a coherent sentence.

         Thumbs roughened by battles she should've never been involved in and manual labor because, just like Tony, she always had to be tinkering with something, wiped away tears. “It’s okay,” Y/N whispered. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

         He pulled in a shuddering breath. “I just needed you to know.”

         “I do,” Y/N smiled at him. “And so does he. Now… food?”

         After that, he really kept his promise. He didn’t have any external threats to really worry about that could harm Y/N, Pep or Morgan, but Tony’s eldest daughter could be a menace to herself, so Bucky was sure to supply her with water and food and overall company.

         They talked about everything under the Sun. Mostly everything beyond the Sun, as he was a huge space nerd, and even in her contacts Y/N had named him ‘Bonky-the-space-Boi’. He’d be lying if he said his heart didn’t flutter every time she sent him a meme or a NASA article while sitting right beside him. 

         “Maybe you could ask Carol to take you with her when she visits next,” Y/N suggested, chowing down on some duck gyoza and soy sauce. “See the universe for yourself.”

         And Bucky had thought of it. He’d met her at Tony’s funeral as well, and had fallen in a two-hour conversation with the woman because there was going to be no meteoroid left unturned. Not when he had the expert available for him. But he shook his head.

         “I don’t think I’d be able to stay away for that long.”

         “From what? Earth?” Y/N quirked her eyebrow up.

         “No, Earth I could live without…”

         “Then what?”

         “You.”

         It was so simple, a single word, yet it held so much weight to it. And at first, Y/N was going to say, if it was because of that promise he’d made to her dad, Bucky had nothing to worry about, but she didn’t. Because in his eyes she could see - that wasn’t it. She could see that when he said ‘you’, he meant that he wouldn’t be able to live a day without her. That any moment she wasn't in his life, was dull and bleak.

         Y/N cleared her throat, put down her chopsticks and took Bucky’s hand in hers, slowly intertwining their fingers. “Well… if you do uh decide to visit space someday… I wouldn’t mind going with…”

         Bucky swore when she looked at him, all the stars dimmed in shame from just how much her eyes sparkled.

         He had asked her out that evening. With half-said words and pieces of rice still stuck in his throat, he had mumbled out something along the lines of ‘would you ever consider going on a date with me’, and Y/N had shaken her head and returned to her food with an ‘I already thought this was a date’.

         Still to this day both of them continued to argue when did their relationship truly start – the evening in the basement when they’d confessed their feelings, or the following week when he’d taken her to a quaint little Italian place in Brooklyn; where they’d sat in a corner booth and shared two pizzas.

         Bucky said it was the latter. Because it was also the evening when they’d first kissed. She had been the one to initiate it. They were on their way to the Avenger’s tower which had been rebuilt in the memory of her father and to house the new generation of Earth’s mightiest heroes as well. It was also where Bucky resided.

         “Do you not want to kiss me?” she asked, chuckling before he could even say a thing. He could hear there was no hurt in her tone, and his breathing evened out a bit, knowing she wasn’t offended. “’ Cause I see you keep glancing at my lips, and I’m just waiting for you to make a move, but any time I try to look at you, you look away.”

         Bucky gave her an apologetic smile and squeezed the hand he was holding in his won. “I don’t think it’s too shocking if I say I haven’t kissed anyone since the forties, so ‘m sorry that I’m a bit nervous.”

         “Hey, it’s okay.” Y/N brought one of her hands to his cheeks, and he practically melted. “There’s nothing wrong with being nervous. I’m nervous too. You just gotta talk to me, ‘cause your eyes are saying one thing, but you’re doing another. I just wanna know if we’re both on the same page… I don’t mind waiting.”

         Bucky’s eyes softened at her words. “Really?”

         “Of course,” she scoffed as if him doubting that, was the most offensive thing in this world to her. “I want this to be enjoyable for both of us, and putting you in a situation you don’t wanna be in, is not how to achieve that.”

         With every passing second, Bucky’s heart beat harder and harder, and despite him giggling, he was terrified to the core. “So, if I said I wanted to kiss you now?”

         Y/N shrugged as if she wasn’t about to leap out of her skin from the anticipation. “I’d say I’d be more than up for it. I did say I don’t mind waiting, not that I want to.”

         Bucky’s core was shaking as he leaned in. He rested his forehead against hers; her beanie scratched against his skin, but he didn’t mind it much. He didn’t even mind the first flakes of snow that covered the November swept Central Park. 

         “You gonna kiss me, Buck, or just stare into my eyes?” Y/N teased him, her breath fanning over his face in a white cloud. It smelled of the sweet red wine both of them had drunk. He couldn't wait to taste it on her lips. Never in his life did he think he'd be jealous of a wine glass, but that night he had been.

         “I could stare into your eyes forever.”

         She snorted. “You’re such a sap… but I kinda like it.”

         Bucky smiled as wide as his cheeks would allow before slipping one of his hands to rest on Y/N’s waist and the other cupped her autumn-air touched cheek. 

         The kiss was more than he ever could have hoped for. It was sweet and short, but it filled Bucky’s soul to the brim. He didn’t know if he believed in souls or God, not after what had happened to him, but what he did believe in is that there was a person out there that was meant just for him.          

 Not a soulmate that would complete him like a missing puzzle piece, but someone that made him strive to be a better person, someone that would bring only the good out in him and the bad parts… they’d accept and help him find a way to shape them into something worth living for. With that one kiss, Bucky was one hundred percent sure he’d found her.

         Y/N pulled back, eyes still closed and a wide smile on her face, and Bucky watched her face intently. “Not bad,” she muttered, “for someone who hasn’t kissed anyone in like eighty years. But you could use some practice.”

         Bucky’s whole chest exploded with warmth. “Yeah. And are you offering to be the teacher?”

         She opened her Y/E/C eyes and gazed at him; lips pulled in a teasing smirk. “For a good price.”

         “And that would be?”

         “Another kiss,” her mouth skimmed over his. This time Bucky was the one to press his lips against hers first.

         Now any time he wanted affection he’d gently come to Y/N, though never if she’d slipped into work, and he’d lean down to her ear and whisper his wish. He wanted to be respectful of her space and boundaries much like she was of his. Sometimes he still whisked his hand away from her if she touched him a bit too quickly and unexpectedly. Once he’d realize what had happened, he’d inch his fingers along Y/N’s forearm and intertwine them.

         ‘Sorry,’ he’d say with a squeeze of his hand.

         ‘Me too,’ she’d squeeze right back with an apologetic smile. 

         So, he always had to make sure she wanted his affection.

         “Bucky, you never have to ask if you can kiss me or hug me,” she responded one late evening as she pecked his lips and rested her back against his chest. Brooklyn Nine-Nine played in the background. “I always want to kiss you and hug you.”

         And although he tried to settle it in his mind, that he needn’t question whether she wanted him, because for some weird (in his mind) reason Y/N wanted him in every way, there was a thing he wanted a solid confirmation on.

         “Can we sleep together?” his question came out as an uncertain whisper, voice trembling.

         Y/N chuckled as Jake Peralta smashed through the window from a zipline and busted the bad guys. “Of course,” she said. “I kinda expected you to stay over. It’s snowing like crazy right now.” And it was. Behind the window of her house, an actual blizzard raged on. Pep and Morgan were out of town for that weekend visiting her side of parents. Y/N had insisted they stay over there and had actually threatened Happy if he tried to even sit in a car. She wasn’t going to let anyone get hurt. Besides, Christmas was in two days. They’d all make it back just in time.

         “I wasn’t gonna let you drive in this kind of weather,” Y/N said, trying to reassure Bucky that he was more than welcome to snuggle up with her and spend the night. But it wasn’t what he was asking.

         “No, I meant can we… sleep together?”

         Instantly, her head went to the side only to see him looking at his lap. Her heart stuttered in her chest, not just at the thought that Bucky wanted her in that kind of a way, but because he asked. Because he wanted to know if she was ready to be intimate with him to the highest degree. 

         “Bucky,” she lifted his face so their eyes could meet. “Do you want to have sex with me?”

         There was no judgement of having asked that question, there was no mockery of him being shy and scared to bring it up. All he could see was Y/N making sure he was certain in what he asked. He fell a little more in love with her. 

         “Yeah,” he breathed out. “I think – I know, I’m ready. I wanna be with you… in every possible way… do you want to?”

         She nodded her head maybe a bit too eagerly, but there was no shame in it. “As long as you’re completely sure.”

         Bucky knew there was nothing in this world he was more certain of. 

Y/N switched off the TV and rose from the couch, her hand extended for him to grab. Both of them were filled with nerves and excitement as she led him through the house, up the stairs and to her room. Fairy lights had been left on just so she wouldn’t have to walk inside a pitch-black room, but unintentionally it created the perfect mood – gentle, kind and trusting.

         “Guide me, Bucky,” she kissed right below his ear and wove her hands around his middle. “I want you to tell me and show me what you like.”

         His touches started out trembling, slow and unsure, but soon enough, as he moved Y/N’s hands and allowed himself to show her mouth where he liked to be caressed the most, they became greedy and demanding.

         They demanded to feel more of her, so he removed the shirt that had been covering her body, they were hungry to roam over her skin, so both flesh and metal slipped across every curve and dip in their way, eagerly memorizing how she shuddered and responded, how she became pliable in his fingers.

         He didn’t know that it was Stark who years ago had sent over to Wakanda his nanotech patent, so Shuri could one day implement it in his arm. He didn’t know Y/N had been doing the final tweaks before Bucky was called over to the other country on the same day he’d made the promise to keep her safe. He didn’t know it was because of Tony he was able to touch and feel and relish in being touch and felt. But the day he found out about it, he swore all over again to never let go of his word.

         Their first time had been soft and tender and filled with reassurances and breathless love confessions. When Y/N had touched the shoulder where his metal arm connected to real flesh, Bucky almost started crying. Her nails were digging into the scarred flesh much like his own had at one point, but they weren't trying to pry that horrid silver appendage that he once owned away. HYDRA had had to restrain him in the chair and sedate him to repair the damage he’d done to their newest weapon. Bucky had practically ripped his arm off anew that time leaving his skin in bloody scraps. But Y/N was holding onto him like if she didn’t, she’d be the one to fall apart, that somehow someone would rip her away from him, and there was no way she would allow that to happen. She bit down on the joint as she came soothing the sting with her tongue.

         That night (or rather that morning), after they’d tried every possible position before Y/N had exhausted all of her energy, Bucky watched her sleep on his chest, her right palm cradling his left shoulder. She let out a small snore and furrowed her eyebrows. Whatever she was dreaming about, she was not agreeing with it. Bucky huffed and pushed away a sweaty strand of hair from her forehead. Instantly the lines between her brows disappeared.

         “I’m in love with you,” he whispered as the Sun slowly rose. He thought his only witness had been the quiet of her room, but the small ‘I love you too’ proved him wrong.

         Bucky had never been the white-picket-fence kind of a guy, not even before the war. And he wasn’t one either now. But he did want a family, he did want to belong somewhere... with someone. And he’d found that with Y/N.

         What had started off as a promise to her father, had morphed into a vow to himself. Bucky looked over to his left where Y/N had her head resting on a white cloud of a pillow, Y/H/C hair sprawled all across it.

         Three years later to the day, with Christmas fast approaching, they found themselves in the exact same position as they had been in her house, this time, in the Avenger’s tower. Their frames were covered by the fluffiest and warmest duvet ever known to humanity. Bucky wouldn't allow anything less. ‘I’ll keep her safe,’ his thoughts rang, ‘because I love her’.

         It was as if she could feel him thinking. Two Y/E/C eyes blearily blinked open, trying to focus in on Bucky. “You okay?” she whispered sighing and rolling closer to snuggle deeper into his chest. She shivered when his metal hand trailed down her naked spine. “Nightmares?”

         “No.”

         “Then why are you up at,” she leaned over to his side where the clock sat, “5:30 in the morning?”

         “Jus’… thinking.”

         She raised her eyebrow but didn’t pry. Bucky would tell her in his own time. “You should get some sleep,” Y/N rested back into his side. “You won’t be able to get any until he turns eighteen.”

         Bucky let out a soft laugh and allowed a warm hand to weave away from her waist to her stomach. “I think you’re the one that needs sleep the most.”

         Instantly Y/N winced and glanced down. “Yeah, well I woke up because you woke up, and now I’m up because someone likes to fucking assault my bladder. I swear he already loves you more than me.”

         Bucky chuckled and slipped under the covers. If he wasn’t dead tired, he would’ve taken Y/N for another round, especially as he gazed over her bare chest. But he didn’t. Instead, he pressed a kiss to her round belly and addressed the person growing inside there. “Hey, Anthony, please let your mom sleep. You know she needs it. It’s how she’s keeping you safe and strong.”

         “You do too,” Y/N whispered holding Bucky’s cheek in her palm once he emerged. “We’re both in this together, you know.”

         If this had been the first time, she’d ever said those words, he was sure he would’ve cried. He had cried. Nobody in his life had trusted him to the degree Y/N did. Not to love or keep or hold or touch.

         “You already do, Bucky,” she had wiped his tears away the day she told him he was going to be a father. “Every day you keep Pep and Maguna safe. You keep me safe… you’ve kept your promise… you’ve always taken care of us… what makes you think this will be different?” a small laugh escaped her when he finally smiled. “We’re in this together. You and me. We’ll figure it out. You'll keep them safe too.”

         They still hadn’t grasped everything, not fully at least; every day was filled with new challenges and obstacles, but if there was one thing Bucky always had, it was Y/N’s touch to guide him.

         With a hand on her huge stomach and a kick from their boy against Bucky’s palm, he fell asleep cocooned in the warmth of their bed with the soft winter layer protecting New York.

         Y/N laid her palm over his. Yeah, Bucky loved touch.

         P.S. Thirteen-years-later Bucky could finally understand why teenagers were scary.

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Forever tags: @lumelgy​ @palaiasaurus64​ @supernaturalbaesduh​ @breezy1415​ @crazy--me​ @thatawkwardlittlefangirl​ @sea040561​ @staryeyedgirl​ @deathbyarabbit​ @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91​ @dalilx​ @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki​ @maladaptive-ninja-returns​ @averyrogers83​ @in-the-end-im-still-trash​ @gallifreyansass​ @dewy-biitch​ @avxgers​ @unlikelygalaxygiver​ @sweet-ladyy​ @magicwithaknife​ @ollyoxenfrees​ @bnhvrdy​ @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines​ @thatkindofgurl​ @sj-thefan​ @teenwolflover28

A/N: woo, am I on a roll! All this Seb content is giving me life! I might have something for Star Wars with Kylo Ren/ Ben Solo that I’m thinking of writing since I’ve seen the movie now :)

P.S. what did ya think?

P.S.S. my tags are always open :)

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #the winter soldier #winter solider imagine #winter solider x reader #the winter solider imagine #the winter solider x reader #Sebastian Stan #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x y/n #Avengers #avengers imagine #avengers fanfiction #The Avengers #avengers 4 #marvel imagine #Marvel Studios #imagine marvel #marvel #marvel endgame #tony stark #Iron Man #sam wilson #the falcon

[asexual-juliet]

Why Making Cassidy Casablancas the Rapist was an Absolute Shit Move

1. It’s a blatant retcon of 1.21 Veronica spends 1.21: A Trip to the Dentist looking for the person who raped her at Shelly Pomroy’s party sophomore year. She eventually finds out that it was Duncan, who had also been drugged and who had believed the sex was consensual. During her questioning of them, Dick, Sean, and Cassidy confirm that Cassidy had been left alone in a bedroom with Veronica that night, but Cassidy swears he never touched her—“Look, I swear to god, I didn't touch you, Veronica. Okay, I mean, Dick, he was, he was all on me to, and there was, there was this girl, this, this freshman, her name's Cindy, and she's kind of, well, she's easy, you know, and me and her, we were, we were supposed to—I don't know, Dick—Dick, he set something up, okay, and then, and then she was all over Logan and then she left early with him.” Cassidy seems genuine, if not a bit nervous and rambling, and Rob Thomas himself has admitted that while Cassidy was introduced with the knowledge that he would later become the season two villain, the idea of him being the rapist didn’t come along until later. For the writers to reveal him as the rapist twenty-three episodes after the plotline was neatly tied up reads as an overt attempt to start some unnecessary drama.

2. The show provides no solid reason as to why Cassidy raped Veronica. The only possible motives Not Pictured provides for the rape are Veronica’s assumption that Cassidy “wanted to prove [he was] a man” and the underlying implication that his childhood of sexual abuse thoroughly fucked him up both emotionally and sexually. Veronica’s assumption makes no sense when paired with the fact that nobody knew Cassidy had raped her until a year-and-a-half or so after the fact. If he really wanted to “prove himself,” he would have probably at least told his brother, who was the only reason he had the opportunity to rape Veronica in the first place. The argument can be made (as it was by my brother, who is sick of listening to me talk about this shit) that Cassidy didn’t tell anyone what happened because it was illegal, reprehensible, and would definitely have landed him in jail. This is all true, but Dick Casablancas is, despite his charm, a piece of garbage who, as written in seasons 1-2, would not have given a single fuck that Cassidy had raped Veronica. Dick demonstrates his tendency and ability to withhold important information from the authorities in 1.22: Leave it to Beaver, when he tells Cassidy “You need to chill out, Beav, right now. To the grave, man, that's what we said,” in reference to the fact that Logan was not in Mexico when Lilly was murdered. This information was (although not in the way Dick may have expected) crucial in implicating the real murderer of Lilly Kane. Both Dick’s lax regard for the law and the fact that he himself was the one who encouraged Cassidy to rape Veronica suggest that if Cassidy had told him what had really happened at Shelly’s party, there would be very, very little risk of Dick going to the authorities. Thus, the motive of “prov[ing himself] a man,” doesn’t hold up: if Cassidy really wanted to prove himself to someone, it would be Dick, and he would probably have told him what happened. We know for a fact that this isn’t the case because when Veronica accuses Cassidy of raping her, he just responds “And Dick still thinks I’m a virgin. You see, I know how to keep a secret.” Another interpretation of the “proving himself as a man” thing is that Cassidy was attempting to prove to himself that he was a man, but I honestly don’t know if that tracks, because he knew why he was uncomfortable with sex and while proving to himself that he could have sex without being a “baby” about it might, like, make him feel better about himself, he chose to do it in such a way that is eerily similar to the abuse he suffered as a child, despite the fact that he appeared to have other options—that very night, Dick had arranged for Cassidy to sleep with a freshman named Cindy. The other underlying motive that the show provides for the rape is Cassidy’s sexual trauma, which does not hold up for reasons I will address in entries #3 and #4. 

3. It enforces the “cycle of abuse” stereotype

The cycle of abuse is a psychological theory that states that victims of abuse are more likely to become abusers themselves later in life than those who have not experienced abuse. This theory is not supported by much evidence, and there is, in fact, evidence against it. Cathy Spatz Widom of John Jay College conducted a study in which “only 3 percent of the sexually abused boys had become adult sexual offenders, and only 4 percent of adult sexual offenders had a confirmed history of sexual abuse.” Despite the facts disproving the cycle of abuse as a psychological theory, it remains a common trope used to either a). make the audience sympathize with an abuser (as in the case of Billy Hargrove in Stranger Things) or b. vilify an abuse victim (as in the case of Cassidy Casablancas). This trope enforces the harmful notion that past abuse can serve as a valid reason for harming others and serves to justify the actions of abusers. 

4. It 𝒹𝑜𝑒𝓈𝓃’𝓉 𝒻𝓊𝒸𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓀!

Throughout season two, Cassidy is shown to be extremely uncomfortable in even remotely sexual situations. He finds himself unable to engage in any kind of sexual activity with Mac, which is understandable given his past trauma. What doesn’t track is that this same trauma is used to explain why he raped Veronica. The show presents Cassidy as uncomfortable at the prospect of sex with Mac, which he was only entertaining because he genuinely cared about her, but it also presents him as an unremorseful rapist who took advantage of a girl at a party for some unspecified reason, which… doesn’t fucking track. Make a goddamn choice in how you want to portray this character and his trauma—Has a childhood of sexual abuse made him sex-repulsed or has it made him a sexually abusive piece of shit? You can’t go down both roads. 

5. It’s clearly an attempt to make Cassidy seem more evil

It obviously took viewers some time to process the whole “Beaver’s a killer” thing because of Cassidy’s soft, sensitive nature. Given time, that plot twist can be broken down and understood: Cassidy was, first and foremost, a terrified, traumatized kid who felt like he had no other way out. His fear of what would happen if anyone found out about the abuse he suffered far outweighed any moral compass he may have possessed. Though Cassidy’s actions were objectively extremely fucked up, he did have his reasons, and they are easy to understand if you look at the situation from his point of view. The reveal of Cassidy as the rapist reads as someone in the writing room being worried that no one in the audience will believe that this smart, sweet kid could ever be truly unforgivable, and trying to amp up the sheer amount of evil in Cassidy’s actions by discarding a large part of his character and making him do the most awful thing they could think of. 

Anyway, Cassidy as the rapist makes no fucking sense, rest in peace my ace Cassidy headcanon… you still live in my head, but in kind a shitty apartment at the back of my brain and you are paying me rent because unlike canon murderer/rapist Cassidy you’re a respectful boy. 

#feel free to call out my logic if this is actually nothing #i'm viewing the situation as an asexual person so i might not be thinking about it as a lot of other people are #rob thomas really loved using rape as a plot point huh? #cassidy casablancas #veronica mars #vm #dick casablancas

[litwitlady]

Send Me Home (1/?)

Read on AO3.

‘The Braves are down to their last at bat, Jeff. And it’s Michael Guerin in the on-deck circle. What’s Ramon’s strategy here? Does he try to jam him up inside or keep firing fastballs and hope Guerin can’t catch up?’

It’s September in Atlanta and the Braves are playing the Marlins. Every game counts as both teams vy for a spot in October baseball. Michael Guerin is a lead candidate for MVP, and he’s always a threat in the bottom of the ninth with two outs and the bases loaded. The sellout crowd roars as his walk-up music begins to play.

I was born to the desert And to the desert I’ll return Sun-soaked and leathered Tattered and tethered Send me home, send me home, send me home

‘Ramon’s got that curveball, Chip. I’m not sure Guerin’s ever met a fastball he couldn’t hit. Especially in the bottom of the ninth. So, I think Ramon starts with the curveball even if that’s exactly what Guerin’s expecting.’

Michael steps into the batter’s box and takes a couple of quick practice swings, eyes wide and watching Ramon’s every move. He squares his hips and lowers his hands on the bat just a touch. It’s an adjustment he’s been working on for the past month or so with great success. Ramon lets loose his first pitch. As expected, it’s a nasty curveball and a pitch Michael has struck out on more than once during his twelve year career. But this time he’s prepared and anticipates perfectly where the bottom of the curve will land. He shoots a laser to shallow right field, and it drops in for a walk-off single. The dugout empties and everyone tackles him as he crosses home plate, one game closer to October.

--------

Later that night, Michael sits on the tailgate of his Chevy, beer in hand and staring up at the stars like so many nights before. Several of the guys had harassed him about going out to celebrate, but he’s not in the mood. He’s never in the mood these days. The winning still feels good and the possibility of the MVP is a dream. But for a long time now, he’s felt like there’s something missing in his life. Something essential, something elusive, something just out of his reach.

The truth is that he’s lonely. It’s a truth he can admit to himself when he’s alone underneath the cosmos watching the stars blink down at him against the wide expanse of space.

There have been relationships along the way. Women he’s dated earnestly. Once upon a time, maybe even a couple he could have loved. When he was younger, there had also been a few men. But none recently. The deeply rooted homophobia of baseball to blame. Mostly anyway. It’s strange now - everyone knows he’s bisexual, a simple Google search is all it takes. But he’s fairly certain baseball collectively decided to ignore his sexuality altogether after he got called up to the majors all those years ago.

He wants to believe he’s not afraid to be seen with men. He tells himself it’s just simpler this way, less complicated. Fewer awkward questions and the focus remaining on his athletic abilities rather than his sex life. Besides, only two major league players have ever come out and they both only did so after they’d retired. He supposes maybe he counts as the third. It’s not the stuff of fairytales, and Michael had learned that lesson during his brief stint in Double-A ball.

That feels like a lifetime ago.

Alex Manes’ new album drifts through the truck’s windows. His low, throaty voice practically purring into Michael’s ears. He’s been a big fan of Alex and his music for several years now. They’re both from New Mexico and the way he sings about the desert rings true enough to Michael that listening to one of his songs sends him right back home. Despite their many issues, he misses his brother and sister so badly sometimes he can barely breathe. Alex’s music reminds him of all the things and all the people he’s left behind - for better or worse. A couple of years ago, he’d had the opportunity to see Alex perform live but he’d turned it down. He still can’t explain why.

The night stretches out before him. Beer and music lulling him into a peaceful sleep until a bright light flashes in his face and startles him awake. He sits up and raises his hands peacefully. ‘Hey, Ernie.’

‘Oh, Mr. Guerin. I didn’t recognize you. What are you still doing here? It’s past midnight.’ He clicks the flashlight off and clips it back onto his belt. ‘Congrats on the walk-off!’

Michael shrugs. ‘Thanks. Didn’t want to go home just yet. Like watching the stars at night. But I haven’t seen you in a while. The grandkids still running circles around you?’

‘You know it! Caleb just turned five and is a holy terror. Michelle is eight going on eighteen. I can barely get a word in edgewise between the two of them.’ His eyes shine even in the darkness, crinkling at the edges.

Michael’s heart aches at Ernie’s easy, simple joy, but he manages a genuine smile thanks to the night’s shadows softening the edges of his jaw. ‘That sounds nice.’ He hops off his tailgate. ‘I’ll get out of your hair. Got an early game anyway. Need to get some sleep.’

‘Well, now, don’t let me chase you off. I don’t mind the company. It gets a little spooky at night. You can always come knock on my door if you ever need anything.’ Ernie opens the Chevy’s door for Michael and shuts it behind him. ‘All these other guys with their flashy sports cars and you in this old rust bucket. You’re a weird one, Mr. Guerin. But I like that about you.’

Michael runs his hands around the cracked steering wheel. ‘Most days this truck is about the closest thing to home I’ve got. There’s still desert dirt in the bed and an engine I rebuilt myself. What the fuck would I do with a Ferrari?’

They both laugh and Michael waves and honks his horn as he pulls out of the player’s lot. The streets are mostly empty, cars keeping to the well-lit interstate at night. He decides to stay on surface roads and take the long way home, radio softly playing old country songs. His thoughts drift to tomorrow’s game and the rookie pitcher the Marlins are starting. His own rookie year had been tough, and he makes a mental note to speak to the kid at some point during the game, ask him how he’s doing and if he’s being treated well.

The streetlights along Peachtree illuminate his path through Brookhaven. He crosses into Atlanta city limits and enters Buckhead just as ‘Lay Me Down’ by Loretta Lynn and Willie Nelson starts to play through his speakers. And all too soon, he turns down his street and opens the cedar gate at the end of his driveway, parking his truck and sitting in the darkness until the song comes to an end.

Climbing out of his truck, he unlocks the front door with his telekinesis, slipping inside quietly and deactivating his alarm system. He’d bought the house in foreclosure, spending most of his money on remodeling the mid-century ranch. It’s not extravagant, but it’s the most expensive thing he owns. He’d even let Isobel fly out to decorate the place within a very strict budget, and he’d had to admit she’d done a great job - one side of his front door Atlanta, the other side New Mexico.

But even so, it has never felt like home.

The first few nights he’d spent in the house had been rough. It was too quiet and too soft and too much. More than once he’d grabbed his ancient, worn sleeping bag and crawled into the bed of his truck. Sleeping hard on the uncomfortable. ribbed metal but beneath the stars he loved so much. The morning dew waking him with the sun each morning.

These days he manages to sleep in bed at night, but only because he’d installed two skylights overhead so that the stars would always be his. And only his. He rarely brings anyone home anymore, preferring their house to his. But when he does, he takes them to a guest bedroom. None of them ever seem to mind how empty the space is or how devoid of personality. Four blank walls and a lone bed filling the room. Why would they? It’s not Michael the foster kid from the desert they’re sleeping with. It’s Michael Guerin the multi-millionaire first baseman with the single-season home run record and the aw-shucks, good boy smile.

Tonight he doesn’t bother turning on any lights. He just pads through the kitchen to grab an apple and a bottle of water, undresses and climbs into bed. He takes a large bite of the granny smith and pulls out his phone, calling Isobel.

‘Congrats on the walk-off!’ He can hear another game in the background. Isobel had never watched a baseball game in her life - including any of his - until the day he’d gotten drafted right out of high school. But now she watches all of them. Or as many of them as possible. Her scouting reports are better than anything stamped official and readily available in the team clubhouse.

‘Thanks. Didn’t really see the ball that well tonight, though. Is Max there?’ It’s stupid to ask when he already knows the answer.

‘Out with Liz. They’ve been inseparable ever since she moved back to Roswell. It’s gross and I miss you.’ The sound on her tv goes silent and he knows she’s settling in for a long conversation. ‘Tell me about tomorrow. Any surprises?’

‘No. New kid on the mound just called up. Got a mean slider. Torres has some pain in his wrist so he’ll be benched.’ Michael finishes his apple in two large bites and guzzles his water, listening to Isobel pound away at her keyboard already deep in research mode. ‘Might get me moved up to the number two slot.’

They spend fifteen minutes strategizing. It’s what they do most nights. Isobel critiquing the numbers based on intuition and her own database of knowledge concerning the human psyche, while he runs statistical analyses and probabilities in his head faster than humanly possible. Michael suggests more than once that she’d make a great scout and that maybe when he retires they can go into business together. He’s told her this a million times, but she only laughs him off and reminds him that she already has a job.

‘A worthless job that doesn’t pay you what you deserve.’ He reaches for the tv remote on his nightstand but can’t find it. Not that it matters. He switches the television on with his mind and nods his head through the channels, stopping on an old western and muting the volume.

‘Philanthropy is not worthless, Michael!’ She sighs loudly to punctuate her exasperation. ‘And my salary is not the point - the point is helping people. Besides, I have all of Noah’s money and can negotiate more pay any time I choose.’

That he believes. ‘How’d your date go last night?’ Asking Isobel about her date absolutely means she’ll push him to share something just as personal. But it was her first official date with a woman and he genuinely wants to know how it went. No matter the price he’ll pay.

‘Really, really, really well.’ He can hear the grin in her voice and it makes him smile. ‘She’s a cardiologist and very good with her hands. Valenti makes a pretty superb matchmaker. Maybe I’ll ship him your way because you could certainly use the help.’

Michael rolls his eyes and fakes a groan. ‘You can keep Valenti. Don’t you think it’s weird to have your ex setting you up on dates? Do you really think he’s the best judge of character?’

‘Kyle knows me better than most. He was my first relationship after Noah and he put up with a lot. I trust him implicitly with my heart and yours. Plus, I was the one who broke up with him.’

‘My heart is fine, thanks.’ He lies smoothly and knows exactly how she’s going to respond.

‘I can’t stand the thought of you all the way across the country in that foreign place with no one to go home to at night.’

He snorts. ‘It’s called Georgia, Iz. And I’m not home enough for a relationship to work right now.’

‘Half the guys on your team - on any team! - are married. So that’s a pisspoor excuse. You keep pushing everyone away. Don’t forget who you’re talking to. I know you, Michael. As soon as you start to feel something, the doors slam shut and you become another stereotypical lonewolf cowboy.’ Her voice is loud now, vehement and self-righteous. They’ve reenacted this scene so many times it feels very paint by number at this point. ‘I hardly ever hear a smile in your voice anymore.’

She’s right and she knows it. He used to love dating, meeting new people. First kisses and first fucks. Last kisses and farewell fucks. He lived for those moments and now he hardly ever looks anyone in the eye. ‘We have this conversation at least once a month. And nothing has changed. It’s too hard right now, Iz. I’m too known to ever really be known. Not the way I would want to be. Not in any way that I would trust.’

There’s no use arguing so they move on to easier topics. Max and LIz’s ongoing romance, details of Isobel’s date, Maria’s remodel of the Pony thanks to a very generous anonymous donation. Every word out of her mouth squeezes his heart a little bit tighter until it’s too much and he says goodnight.

Flipping onto his side, he reaches his arm out to the other side of the bed, running his hand over the cold, unwrinkled sheet. His eyes land on the empty pillow no head ever touches and tries to imagine a face looking back at him. A face that might smile suggestively or quietly murmur goodnight. But he’s unable to conjure anything beyond a blank, shapeless outline. It makes him feel pathetic so he yanks the pillow underneath his own head and forces his eyes shut, trying in vain to quiet his mind. Despite his best efforts, sleep takes its sweet time finding him.

The next morning he’s exhausted but gets to the field early. He’d woken up to a cryptic message from Isobel. There’s a surprise waiting for you after the game! Stick around this time, Michael. Don’t make me get on a plane. He’s sure that can’t mean anything good, but he attempts to put it out of his mind for now.

The ballpark is already bustling with activity. Michael heads into the clubhouse to change. He stops and asks Stan, their hitting coach, for some extra work before the rest of the team arrives. He’s worried about how he’s been shifting his wrists recently and wants someone else’s opinion. The adjustments he’d made last night seem to be working, but he’s worried about straining a muscle or tweaking the wrong tendon. Two of his teammates are already on the IL with wrist pain. He doesn’t want to be next, especially with the postseason race and his run at MVP on the line.

Michael finds Danny Marks asleep in one of the clubhouse’s leather chairs. He swats him on the head on the way to his locker, laughing at Danny’s loud yelp. ‘Fuck, man, you’re always asleep. How did you manage to stay awake on the mound long enough to put together two Cy Young seasons?’

‘Talent, Guerin. Talent. You should try it sometime. Maybe then you’ll win MVP.’ Danny yawns and stretches his arms over his head. Michael glares at him. ‘Don’t worry. You’re still the favorite. Our very own diamond darling. No one else is getting their own personal concert any time soon.’

‘What?’ He sits on the chair at his locker, blinking at Danny in confusion. ‘Personal concert?’ Isobel’s strange text message flashes through his head again while he inwardly groans.

‘Oh, yeah.’ Danny grins and crosses his ankles on the table in front of him, brashly enjoying the way Michael squirms. ‘Alex Manes is traveling down from Nashville just for you - baseball’s most beloved first baseman.’ He throws a toy football at Michael’s head, chuckling when it bounces off his curls. ‘He’s not bad looking, you know.’

‘Stop.’ Danny is Michael’s best friend on the team and the only one he feels comfortable enough to have this conversation with. ‘Whose idea was this? Did Isobel do something? Or was this you?’

Michael doesn’t want this. Not at all. And he can’t exactly explain why. Music is personal to him - profoundly personal. Always has been since he was nothing but an unloved kid trapped in various violent foster homes. It was music that had kept him warm at night and music that had loved him best. The only escape available to him during most of his darkest hours.

Over the years, there have been many artists he’s considered favorites. Most of them old country crooners or folk song heroes. Much like Alex Manes. But with Alex, it’s something more. Something he has a hard time vocalizing. They are both from New Mexico. Both spent a chunk of their formative years in Roswell. Michael has read or watched multiple interviews with Alex where he’s alluded heavily to an abusive father. His lyrics certainly do the same. Lots of kids grow up that way - Michael knows he’s not alone in that particular fate - but the way Alex puts that pain to music settles something inside his chest that has never been settled before.

So the thought of meeting Alex worries Michael. They say don’t meet your heroes for a reason. In his head, Alex represents a sense of safety, a sense of home. What happens when they meet and that’s taken from him? Because maybe Alex is a liar. Or maybe he’s a dick. Either possibility is very real. He’s also a vet, and Michael hates, hates, hates the military. And he doesn’t want to hate Alex. Doesn’t want to lose his music. Cannot emotionally afford to lose his music if he’s being honest.

‘Isobel apparently knows someone who knows someone who knows someone. I just didn’t try and stop her. Or Lena.’ Danny’s wife is Isobel’s favorite human. It’s the worst thing that’s happened to Michael since meeting Danny. The two of them have done nothing but make his life one unasked for surprise after another. ‘Besides, even if you hate it, the team could really use some fun before heading into the postseason. Some good old-fashioned team bonding, my friend. And this time, you don’t get to run away. The guys need to see their captain smile every once in a while.’

Michael sighs and changes into his warmups. Danny’s phone rings and he grins one last time at Michael before disappearing for some privacy. Michael decides to push Alex Manes to the back of his mind and concentrate on the game ahead of him. Stan is waiting, anyway. So he’ll focus on his wrists for now and worry about everything else later. The one thing he does do, however, is pull out his phone and send Isobel a very pointed text.

You should have gotten my permission first.

Isobel’s text response is nothing but the angel halo emoji. Michael wishes his telekinesis was strong enough to travel across state lines because he’d like to throw her phone into the wall. Since that option is not available to him, he sends Max a text instead.

Your sister is a menace.

He pockets his phone, not bothering to wait on an answer. Max tends to be too busy these days. Not that that’s anything new really. Unless your name is Liz Ortecho or Isobel Evans, he doesn’t have much time for you.

The morning stretches by as gametime approaches. Batting practice goes well and Michael works with Stan on keeping his wrists from turning too much when he swings. His teammates have all found out about the concert by the time the first pitch is thrown and none of them will let him forget it. Each time his walk-up music begins to play, Danny leads a small group of particularly bad vocalists in a sing-a-long. All of them belting out the lyrics at the top of their lungs. Michael tries to keep the stupid grin off his face and almost suceeds.

He won’t admit it, but he actually begins to get excited. Doesn’t even mind when Max only ends up responding with a snarky text.

Try living less than five miles from her.

He’d give anything to live five miles from Isobel. Michael loves his teammates. He really does. Atlanta has one of the best team dynamics in baseball. Maybe the best. They support each other, love one another, and when they say family, they mean it. Team dinners and family outings are normal even during the off season. Michael doesn’t avoid spending time with them because he dislikes anyone - although there have been various tiffs in the past but nothing long lasting. He avoids them because he loves them enough to let his mouth loosen too much, all his secrets threatening to tumble out with no regard for his safety or the safety of his siblings.

He knows this because it has happened on more than one occasion. Years ago during his rookie years when living hard and drinker harder were his nightly norm. On any given night you’d find him at the bar, four fingers deep into a bottle of bourbon, mouthing off about moving things with his mind. It wasn’t the booze talking; it was his loneliness. The throbbing homesick ache in his chest that only Max and Isobel could smooth away. Once he knew his teammates were shitfaced, he’d let some little comment slip about his abilities. Half of them never paid any attention to the things he said and the other half merely laughed at him.

He’d told Isobel one night about the things he said and she’d yelled at him solidly for an hour. The next day he’d gotten a nasty phone call from Max and has kept his mouth shut ever since that conversation.

Keeping their secret is important. Michael understands that, but the lying exhausts him. He loves Danny and hates that the most important part of himself Danny and Lena can never know. He loves his other teammates, and he doesn’t want to hide this huge part of himself from them forever. The lying has always made him feel unclean - distant and deceptive. Back in Roswell, it had been easier. He hadn’t had many friends and the people closest to him shared the same secret. But now, the people he sees every single day aren’t allowed to know the real him. It breaks his heart in a way he could never have anticipated, making him feel truly alien.

Michael and Isobel had jumped through enormous hoops to keep his DNA secret from team doctors and drug testers. It’s the only reason he’d ever agreed to her mind influence.

A major league baseball player cannot have telekinetic superpowers, alien or not. The cheating accusations would be immediate and relentless - his career over and his name shamed forever. Regardless of the fact that he would never dream of cheating to advance his career. Besides, he’s self-aware enough - or perhaps cocky enough - to understand that his level of talent doesn’t require any telekinetic assistance. Michael Guerin is just that fucking good.

During his last at bat in the eighth inning, Alex Manes’ face flashes on the digital scoreboard high above centerfield advertising the aftergame concert. Michael concentrates on keeping his wrists tight and imagines that Alex is somewhere in the stadium watching him. He swings at the first pitch - a fastball left too high over the plate - and knows he’s gotten every piece of it by the cracking sound his bat makes. He starts a slow run to first base and watches the ball sail over the leftfield wall. With his signature two claps, he rounds first and enjoys the cheering crowd chanting his name. Stepping on the bag at home plate, his eyes glance back up at the scoreboard, but Alex’s face has disappeared. And suddenly his nerves have returned tenfold at the realization that soon he’ll be face to face with a man he has no idea how to talk to - what to say or even if he’ll get a chance to say anything at all.

Despite the cheers and happy butt slaps from his teammates, the pit in Michael’s stomach stretches wide. In the clubhouse, he checks his phone again and one last final message from Isobel lights up his screen.

He wants to meet you first.

#malex #malex fic #three strikes - the tentative cheesy baseball title #send me home - the real title

[lovethestars1966]

STEREK FBI/FALSELY ACCUSED FIC

Chapter three is up from unforgettable!! The one where the Sheriff arrests and charges Derek with multiple murders.  Also I have a competition going on the person who can guess the murderer first!! First and second prize. It’s to pay for some ART by a very talented Tumblr artist who we all know and love. Just a bit of fun. Give it a go if you're interested and who knows. Maybe you’ll be the winner. Can’t hurt.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31853854/chapters/79642657#workskin

Excerpt: (Big one today...)

“So you guys work with Stiles?” Isaac asked conversationally as he led Allison and Jackson along the track to where the body had been discovered.

“For a few years now,” Allison answered, assuming she would be the only helpful person for Isaac today. Jackson was forthcoming but anything he had to say seemed less than useful. “You knew him from school?” She asked.

“Yeah, but if you’re from Beacon Hills you pretty much know everyone from school.”

Jackson speaks up, “was he just as annoying back then?”

“Probably more.” Isaac laughs genuinely and it causes Allison to giggle alongside him. “Didn’t stop me from being madly in love with him though.” he admits sadly.

Allison isn’t afraid to admit she stumbled then. Freezing right alongside Jackson at the sudden bombshell Isaac had just dropped. Isaac himself didn’t notice he was walking alone for a few moments but when he did he looked back to find them both standing there gobsmacked.

“Guess Stiles doesn’t talk about me much huh?” he asked just a little bit embarrassed. Allison made a small choking noise while Jackson threw his hands skyward in disbelief.

“Seriously, how did that little weasel get two guys to fall in love with him?” He asked but Isaac skilfully ignored him in favour of Allison.

“Did he know?” She queried.

“Whole town knew.” the deputy answered, shrugging his shoulders and continuing towards their intended destination, “Although I would hope Stiles knew anyway since we dated.”

Allison had just started walking again.

“What the fuck is happening?” Jackson whispered, mostly to himself.

“Wait,” Allison threw a hand out to stop Isaac once more. “I thought Derek was the first and only person Stiles ever dated.” Isaac nodded and hurried them along once more.

“Well yes and no,” He relented to her enquiring eyebrow, “Derek was certainly the first person he dated and I assume he thinks he’ll be Stiles last. Stiles and myself dated for a few months when he and Derek broke up.”

“Stiles and Derek never broke up.” The conflicted agent to Isaac’s right argued which caused the young cop himself to huff quietly with laughter.

“Guess Stiles doesn’t talk about anything from his past much.” he states, “I gotta tell you, that does make me feel a bit better.”

“I’m starting to feel like none of us really know Stiles.” Allison muttered.

“Yeah, well I just learnt two people have actually seen Stiles naked and enjoyed it so now I’m questioning everything I know.” Jackson countered inciting another round of laughter from Isaac.

“Now that I can’t claim,” he admitted, “me and Stiles never had sex, though not from a lack of trying on my part.”

“Surprisingly that didn’t help.” Jackson grumbled and then wheezed out an annoyed breath after having a hand thrown across his chest. “Problem?”

“Not at all, we've just arrived.”

It was like flicking a switch. Allison and Jackson went from confused, and a little sickened in Jackson case, to professional in the blink of an eye. From the corner of her eye she saw Isaac looking mildly impressed.

“You got the file?” Jackson asked Allison who was already nose deep in said paperwork.

“Looks like she was found underneath that tree over there,” she pointed towards a large imposing trunk, and after a quick inspection they discovered specks of remaining blood confirming the assumption.

“wide space,” Jackson noted out loud, “no clear trails, lots of obstacles.”

“What does that mean?” Isaac asked genuinely interested.

“Means whoever did it has to be an experienced hiker.” Allison answered as Jackson wondered off a little. “Probably have an intimate knowledge of the area.”

“A local?”

“Not necessarily, could be anyone who travels here often enough to learn the terrain. Although statistically speaking a local is more likely.” She mumbled examining a photograph.

“Any tire tracks?” Jackson yelled, still out of view, startling the young deputy.

“None that our technicians could find.” He answered anyway as the male agent came stumbling back into the clearing.

“How wide were your search parameters?” he questioned further.

“Had a team of about six go about two miles in all directions.”

“Only two miles?” Allison asked shocked at the same time Jackson screwed up his face.

“Only six people?”

“We’re a small town,” Isaac huffed a little offended, “that’s actually a lot for us,”

Allison had the moral conscience to at least look sheepish while Jackson merely shook his head in judgement.

“Two miles is still pretty far to drag a body.” Isaac moved on smoothly. “At least it is for any normal  human being.”

“Well you’re not wrong there, Kolchak.” Jackson retorted unforgivingly. “Maybe she was flown here on a magic carpet.” Isaac was becoming increasingly more put out the longer Jackson was allowed to talk and showed so in the narrowing of his eyes.  Allison was going to have to watch that. Her best friends fiancé had a way of pissing people off that was unmatched by others.

“Obscure references to seventies si-fi-crime shows aside,” the deputy forged on, “the point still remains, this guy must be ripped… if it is a guy? Do we know that?” He directed the last part towards her.

“I highly doubt it’s a woman.” She responded, and Isaac looked extremely grateful. “the facts don't add up.”

“Meaning?”

“Statistics show that ninety two percent of all female serial killers know their victims personally. While it is extremely likely, almost definite even, that the unsub in this case knew at least one or two of their victims, considering the fact that they were spread across three states and share extremely similar aesthetics, knowing all thirteen on a personal level is virtually impossible.” Allison explained calmly only for Jackson to tag on the end.

“Pair that with the fact that most female motives are to do with money, and that we just ruled out magic carpet to the dumpsite, seems a bit ridiculous to suggest women doesn't it?” he asked with no small amount of mockery.

“Boy are you going to be sorry if it does turn out to be a woman.” Isaac replied shaking his head in judgment. Jackson’s only response was to roll his eyes.

“Okay,” Allison spoke up completely ignoring the boys little competition, “So if he didn’t drive here, and he didn’t carry her here then how did she get here?” she pondered aloud. Jackson furrowed his own forehead in concentration.

“Maybe she was killed here?” Isaac offered only to receive a scoff from his favourite agent.

“She died from blood loss Deputy,” Allison stepped in before Jackson could mock, “There was nowhere near enough blood near here for it to have been the kill site.”

“I know how she died, I saw her,” Isaac began then paused, looking like he regretted his short tone. He tired again. “Look Doc Deaton told us she had ligature marks around her ankles.”

“she was hung upside down.” Allison confirmed.

“Yeah but I watched this documentary on like war zones and militant extremist and stuff. It said that sometimes they have to take their victims to remote places to, you know, ‘question them’. Often  they do it by cutting them and letting them bleed to death slowly hung upside down. To avoid attracting animals with the sent of blood they like, dig a hole, or place them over a bucket or something.”

By the time Isaac had finished he looked a little embarrassed, at his suggestion, but obviously couldn’t bring himself to tame the smirk he sent Jacksons way. Jackson however was just looking back with a seemingly bewildered look on his face.

“You are an idiot.” he stated and Isaac deflated a little. “You think this guy just so happened to watch the same documentary you did? You realise the chances of this are like five million to o-“

“Shut up Jackson!” Allison interrupted suddenly.

“What?”

“Shush, I think Isaac might be right,” she waved off his distress distractedly and Isaacs smile grew back tenfold. “Think about it. This guy is meticulous, methodical, dedicated. All things that can be easily explained with a military background.” She grinned back at the young officer before heading over to the tree and squatting down. She pulled out a glove from her pocket and began fitting it over her hand while continuing her thoughts aloud.

“What if he served overseas. He could have learnt everything he needed from the locals and simply applied it to some of his victims.”

She placed her covered hand to the ground where the body had been discovered and started to dig.

“Now considering he would’ve had to walk her here, tie her to the tree, kill her, get her down, and get the hell out of dodge, I doubt he had time to bring several buckets along with him and then carry them all the way back to wherever he came from without dropping any. No he is way to organised for that. However digging a hole would only require a small shovel. Military grade ones can be attached to a belt, which leaves only his faith that the local sheriffs department would never think to dig…”

Suddenly she stopped pulling up the dirt when she was almost elbow deep. The two boys froze in anticipation as she slowly lifted her gloved hand into view. There was dirt, soft and wet from the damp ground as well as small bits of leaf and bark but in-between all of soil, saturating the no longer white glove was deep red blood.

“To bad he didn’t know we would have a deputy as quick as you hey Isaac,” she spoke smugly looking over to him with an approving nod.

Isaac totally preened.

Jackson merely growled at being proven wrong.

“‘Pretend inferiority and encourage his arrogance’.” Isaac quotes smugly. She wasn’t sure is he was talking about Jackson or the unsub. Probably both. Either way it sounded familiar.

Allison scrunches her nose up. “What is that? Shakespeare?” She asks curiously. Isaac goes to answer but is cut off by Jackson.

“Call a CSI team already,” he spat before turning around and muttering, “If this backwater town even has one.”

#Sterek #Team Sterek #sterek fanfiction #sterek fic rec #stiles stilinski #derek hale #Stiles/Derek #derek and scott are brothers

[bubbyleh]

like real people do

It's not often that Dr. Bubby finds himself at a loss for knowledge.

As the perfect scientist, he has basically all the information he would ever need inside of Black Mesa. He knew the purpose of every lab, all the equations they used, a complete layout of the Black Mesa facility... It had all been programmed into his mind sometime during his development, though files from that time were something Bubby was explicitly denied access to.

So, for the first few years of his life, Bubby was incredibly well-versed in all things Black Mesa. As time went on, he picked up things about the outside world. At first it was small things, like a song or a location. But completely by chance, a scientist turned the corner from the break room too fast and ran directly into Bubby, spilling his soda all over him.

"What the hell!?" Bubby had fumed, staring down as his drenched shirt. "Watch where you're going!"

"Oh, goodness! I do apologize for that!" the other scientist stammered. "Let me go get you some napkins!"

Looking up, Bubby was struck by the man before him. He was nowhere near as tall as Bubby (who was?), but there was obvious muscle under his lab coat, and those eyes... they looked so kind. Though he didn't realize it at the time, Bubby would look back and realize the thing he felt was attraction.

He was back in the break room before Bubby could react, but true to his word, he did bring napkins with him on his return.

That was how Bubby met Dr. Coomer.

Coomer had offered to front the quarter Bubby would need for the washing machine in the Black Mesa dorms, which Bubby took as an opportunity to have all of his clothes laundered at no cost to himself. Coomer had laughed at this, and Bubby couldn't explain the surging feeling in his chest when he did. He also couldn't explain why he kept talking to Coomer, regaling him with stories that made him seem intelligent! Bubby sat on one of the unused washing machines, which Coomer was leaning onto. They only realized the passing time when the machine beeped, signalling that Bubby’s clothes were clean.

At that point, Bubby's heart had dropped. He shoved his clothes into a dryer, started it, and left with only a flimsy excuse.

They weren't happy about that one. But Coomer and Bubby kept finding excuses to skip out on work to hang with each other, so eventually they were made lab partners.

Coomer would never hesitate to share information about the surface with Bubby. During their early mornings, while they drank their coffee, Coomer would recite verbatim (as best Bubby could tell) the happenings in his favorite movies and television shows. He liked following along to the dramas Coomer would tell him about, to the point where he could hold his own in a discussion without ever having seen an episode.

It was, after all, its own form of knowledge. And like all knowledge, Bubby reveled in it.

Which is why, fifty-some odd years later, Bubby is completely out of his depth.

Bubby’s been out—free, he’s been free—for a week. Sure, he wasn’t expecting his first experience in the real world to be at Chuck E. Cheese’s, but he wasn’t complaining. Because there was something so normal about eating subpar pizza at your friend’s birthday party, Bubby was fine enough that it wasn’t “special” in any way.

But sitting across from Dr. Coomer, Bubby realized something.

They’d been together for the better part of four decades, and they had never even been on a real date before.

Which Bubby thinks is justified, all things considered! It’s not like he was allowed to leave Black Mesa property, and underground research facilities aren’t exactly known for their nice eateries. What were they supposed to do, just ask the administration if their super secret lab-grown power man could leave for a night only because he wanted to have dinner somewhere?! That would just be asking for the tube.

It’s not like they didn’t make do, though! There had been quite a few occasions where, during a late night, Coomer had snuck down a bottle of wine for the two of them to share. Bubby would push down the stinging shame he felt every time, because Coomer deserved someone he could go out with. But for some unimaginable reason, he had chosen Bubby.

So, a week after their escape from Black Mesa, Bubby does research. He finds as much media as he can about dates, mostly coming back with romcoms. He read articles and blogs online about how to have the perfect first date. A lot of these guidelines seem to make assumptions about how well people on dates knew each other. But, well, if it’s what you’re supposed to do…

It takes about two days of doing nothing but binging romcoms, but eventually Bubby decides that his notes are satisfactory. He’s managed to narrow down what he calls the Expected Questions, or, the questions that are apparently required on a date. And Coomer has to know about them, because, hello? He’s been through this all before. The man’s been married before, Jesus.

And then there’s Bubby. He’s gonna mess this all up, isn’t he?

The thought of that almost makes him snap his note-taking pencil.

Around hour forty-three, Coomer pops his head into the room Bubby has tentatively claimed as his study (he’s not used to being able to claim rooms, let alone ones as frivolous as a study). He looks worried.

“Bubby, dear,” Coomer says, his tone wavering a little. “I’m all for the advancement of scientific research, or whatever it is you’re doing.” Right. Coomer can’t know what’s going on in here. “But, perhaps you would like to come down and eat? It’s almost time for lunch.”

Oh. Lunch. And food in general. That thing people need to eat in order to live. Bubby hasn’t eaten since around hour thirty-one, when he snuck some yogurt from their kitchen. Yeah, he could eat.

“Uh, okay. Sure,” Bubby stands, trying to ignore the dizzy feeling. He’s not used to having so much free time, apparently, since he’s forgetting to eat.

Which, hey, another thing. It seems a little stupid, but Bubby thinks their whole relationship is going in the wrong order. Like, they haven’t even been on an actual first date yet, but they’re already living together? But in another sense, they’ve been together for thirty-six years, and they’re only now moving in with each other? In all the romcoms Bubby just watched, there wasn’t anything remotely close to that.

So maybe they’re doomed already?

It’s something Bubby thinks about while he eats the wonderful grilled cheese that Coomer prepared for him. Seeing the way that Coomer looks at him, though, smiling brighter than the sun felt the first time Bubby ever stepped foot outside… Well, Bubby can’t help but want to try anyway.

♡♡♡♡♡

It takes three more days for Bubby to work up the courage to actually ask Coomer to go out. Which is the dumbest thing ever, but hey! This is a big deal for him!

They’re spread out on the couch watching Rocky II, which was Coomer’s suggestion. Bubby is honestly sick of watching movies, but he’s not about to admit to what he was getting up to during his over forty-hour research binge. Besides, he gets to lay down in Coomer’s lap, which is nice.

This is another example of their relationship being completely out of order, but Bubby chooses not to think about it.

“You know what I was thinking?” Bubby asks during a lull in the action.

Coomer gives him a wry smile. “When aren’t you thinking, professor? I swear, that head of yours must go a mile a minute.”

“Doctor,” Bubby corrects automatically. “But really.”

“Okay then, Professor Bubby,” Coomer chuckles to himself. “What were you thinking?”

“I don’t know who Professor Bubby is, but Doctor Bubby was thinking we should go out to dinner sometime. Like somewhere fancy.”

Coomer hums. “You know, I was thinking the same thing. I've always wished we could go someplace nice together.”

"Well, they do say great minds think alike," Bubby smirks.

"But fools rarely differ," Coomer presses a kiss to Bubby's forehead. "You make me feel like a lovesick fool, did you know that?"

Oh!

"You old sap!" Bubby laughs at Coomer. But he pulls him down to kiss him anyway.

♡♡♡♡♡

Coomer catches Bubby staring at himself in the mirror just before they head out. It's the suit, really. It made sense to buy, after all, going to an upscale restaurant kind of requires one. But actually wearing it, is…

It's jarring. It's like everything he never thought he'd be.

"Are you alright, Bubby?" Coomer asks him. "You know I don't care if you dress nice tonight. You could wear one of your turtlenecks if you'd like."

Bubby shakes his head. "Harold, I absolutely love this suit."

♡♡♡♡♡

Bubby does certain things to prepare for their date. Nothing too drastic, no. He's not going to have, like, Tommy or someone feed him lines from an earpiece or anything like that. No, all Bubby does is script out everything he's going to say for the entire date. God, it's such a simple and ordinary thing to do! Okay!?

So they sit across from one another, at a candlelit table next to a window. It's romantic, more romantic than anything they ever did at Black Mesa. Which isn't saying much, but truly, Bubby can't complain.

"This is a fine establishment, Harold," Bubby notes, keeping on script. "How did you find this place?"

"Well, you see, my dear Bubby," Coomer starts but god, the word "dear" alone is making Bubby want to burn the whole restaurant down as a symbol for his love. "I used the internet! It’s quite a useful tool, don't you think?"

Ah, a question! Luckily, Bubby has accounted for just this situation, and the tactic is not something he’s unfamiliar with. “I’ve found it to be helpful, yes.”

The good old agree card. Works every time.

But! Bubby needs to get back on track. This is a very important date, and Bubby can’t just let himself forget that! Time for the most basic of lines.

“So, Harold,” Bubby finds himself saying after they’ve ordered. “How was your day?”

Nice. Good. Perfect. Amazingly spectacular.

Coomer laughs. “We were both home all day, Bubby. You tell me!”

Right shit damn it a garbage fire.

“Fuck,” Bubby says before he can stop himself. And when he realizes that he let that slip, he lets his head fall into his hands and groans. “I’m fucking this all up, aren’t I?”

“Er, Bubby dear, are you alright?” Bubby feels Coomer grab onto one of his arms. “Is… is this too much for you? Drat, I knew we should have worked up to this. We could go home, if you’d like.”

Bubby’s head shoots up. “No!” he says, forcing the word out as fast as he can. He takes a deep breath, then grabs Coomer’s hand. “No, I’m fine. I want to be here.”

“Then what is it?” Coomer asks, and damn it, he’s not supposed to be worried! Nobody is supposed to be worried for Bubby, not like this! He’s used to the medical kind of worry, where the other party’s concern was more for their career than Bubby himself, always talking about him like he couldn’t hear, ignoring his presence except for when they needed him. But Coomer…

Coomer was never like that. Even when he found out about the tube, and the prototypes, and the medical evals and everything… Coomer still loved him. Which meant the world to Bubby, who, for his whole life, thought himself unlovable. And when Coomer looked at him, he didn’t see something immoral that shouldn’t exist, or something that needs to succeed, lest it be cast out like the others, he just saw Bubby.

Bubby loves him. And he thinks he can afford to be a little less than a genius around Coomer.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Bubby admits, and damn it, why is the world suddenly blurry? He’s wearing his glasses and-

Oh.

Bubby realizes that he’s crying.

“Sorry, fuck,” Bubby chokes back a sob. Coomer squeezes his hand. He’s talking through his other hand, which is covering his entire lower face. “I’m not… Shit, I didn’t think it would go like this. I don’t know how to do a… date. I wasn’t supposed to do stuff like that, so they never programmed it into my head but… I just want to do normal person things like go on dates with you.”

“Normal?” Coomer remarks, and Bubby can see he’s trying very hard not to laugh.

“Oh no, go ahead,” Bubby still manages to be snarky even while he’s breaking down. “Please make fun of me while I’m crying and being emotionally honest. It really helps.”

“Sorry, sorry!” Coomer at least has the decency to look apologetic. He reaches to hold Bubby’s other hand as well, which he is so graciously allowed. “It’s just… did you think I would be with you if I wanted normal?”

Bubby is taken aback.

Huh.

“I… suppose you’re right,” Bubby admits, and he can feel the worst of his feelings going away. It feels a little empty now, without it. “I do still want to try this date, though.”

The look Coomer gives Bubby is so wholesome and accepting that Bubby believes for a moment that he’s died and this is the face of an angel. It’s so powerful that he actually manages to forget, if heaven and hell are real, then he definitely isn’t going to heaven.

Coomer is happy to immediately launch into explanation mode. “Well, first things first, for a date, you should begin by talking.”

Bubby can’t help but smile at the man he loves. “Talking,” he repeats.

“Yes,” Coomer nods at him. “Tell me, Bubby. What do you want to talk about tonight?”

♡♡♡♡♡

It’s in the parking lot after their meal that Bubby comes to his conclusion about dating.

“I don’t see what the big deal about that was!” he rants as he and Coomer get into the car. “We could have done that at home! All the movies and stuff hyped it up.”

Coomer, thankfully, ignores his comment about movies. “Well maybe next time, we can just make some good food at home.”

Bubby rolls his eyes. “And who is going to make all that food? I don’t remember you being a chef, Harold.”

Coomer just beams at him. “We’ll order some takeout! What do you think? Perhaps next time we will order some Chinese food!”

This is the man he’s in love with, and Bubby smiles to himself. Chinese food sounds nice.

#hlvrai #half life vr but the ai is self aware #dr coomer #dr bubby #hlvrai boomer #my writing #like real people do