#suffice to say i was not okay with that. she didn't listen though. and then she never talked to me again even before i quit

[monstermoviedean]

interviewed someone from a very red state today and they were like "wow must be great to work somewhere where you don't have book bans and crt debate" and i was like oh. oh dear.

#there was an attempted book banning at my high school while i was enrolled and a successful book ban at the school I worked at #the latter was before i started but uh. yeah #I did tell them this btw and I'm not sure if i was supposed to #the last conversation i had with my former boss was about her enforcement of a school board policy restricting 'controversial' speech #(she defined controversial as anything two reasonable adults could disagree on) #suffice to say i was not okay with that. she didn't listen though. and then she never talked to me again even before i quit #legally speaking it's not as bad here but in practice it's not much better. it's definitely not good.

[nevvdrinksteaa]

favors pt. ii

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

this is part two of this post, i suggest reading that before reading this!

this is my first time writing smut, so please don’t bully me too bad - that being said i honestly think i kinda killed it ngl

also,, i suggest listening to like real people do by hozier during the slow dance bc it was my inspo and it really helps set the scene

~~~

pairing: mike schmidt x reader

original prompt: you’re abby’s babysitter and mike can’t pay you and asks if there’s anything you can do in return and you mention that you need a date to your brother’s wedding

warnings: 18+ nsfw smut, cheating, pet names, afab!reader (p in v) unprotected sex, daddy kink, spitting, cum swapping, throat fucking, spanking, oral (male and female), praise kink, dirty talk, choking, etc etc

word count: 6k

this is NOT proof read so if there are any mistakes ignore them! i believe that anyone of any shape or size and anyone of color can enjoy this. i don’t believe there is any description of physical appearance other than the use of the word ‘curves’ (please please correct me if i’m wrong, i don’t want to make assumptions about anything!!)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

After some back and forth with himself, Mike decided to invite you over even though you didn’t need to babysit Abby. He wanted to talk about what he needed to wear to the wedding, what time to pick you up, and if you were staying overnight at the hotel so he could try to find a sitter for Abby. He’s never been to a wedding, not one that he can remember anyway. He wanted to make sure you were both on the same page and to him, texting everything just wouldn’t suffice.

Maybe that’s just what he kept telling himself. Maybe he just wanted to see you again. Maybe he wanted to ask you just how serious your relationship was. Is there any way he could squeeze in and replace your current partner? Could he do better than him? Make you cum harder and faster than him? He didn’t even know his name and he was so envious. Jesus, he needed to get a grip, he knew if you could hear his thoughts, you would hate him.

You were sat across from Mike, crisscrossed apple sauce style on the floor. You had a few loose papers, notes you had written last night to read off to the brown-haired boy. You were trying to make sure he was following along with the description of your family. You watched him make mental notes of everything you said, nodding every once and a while. You were nervous, to say the least, you hadn’t had a boyfriend meet your family in a while.

Your family was awful, complaining and nitpicking about everything in your life, nothing good enough for them. You were the oldest of your siblings and your cousins, but way behind in your career, you weren’t married, and you didn’t have any children. When you didn’t bring a date of some sort, they made sure to call you out on that, ‘Maybe it’s just something we’ll have to get used to’, ‘single again? No surprise there’. When you did bring a date it was the exact opposite, ‘You could do so much better’, ‘that’s the best you could do? We thought we raised you better’. It was quite embarrassing.

“My mom is going to be the most difficult, she is very hostile and she loves to pick everything I do apart.” Mike visibility gulped, nodding and making a mental note to limit his contact with your mom. “I think that’s everyone. We will probably need to do some hand-holding and some cheek kisses, some pet names maybe, but nothing that will make you uncomfortable, I already feel bad enough that I had to drag you to this and-”

Mike reached over and grabbed your hand that was resting on top of the coffee table, “Don’t worry about me. I’m a big boy, if I didn't want to do it I would've just said no. I want to help you”

You squeezed his hand, softly smiling at him. “I’m going shopping tomorrow morning for a dress, I’ll buy a tie for you while I’m out and drop it off once I’m finished if that’s okay?” you pick up your phone and keys off the table, standing up feeling the little shocks of electricity poke your legs after being in the same position for too long.

“Of course pretty girl, you can stop by whenever you want” Mike scolded himself, looking straight to the floor, regretting the words as soon as they came out of his mouth.

You look up from the pile of notes you collected, feeling the soft red form on your cheeks. Pretty…

“I’ll be back tomorrow, I’ll text you when I’m on my way,” you say as you walk towards the door, “Bye Abby!” you yell to the girl sitting at the dining table, knowing you won’t be getting a response back, shutting the door behind you. Pretty…

Pretty, Pretty, Pretty.

Those were your only thoughts as you got in your car, buckled in, and started to drive.

~~~

Mike tugged at the forest green tie you bought him trying to make the placement look presentable. Mike hated ties, associating ties with job interviews, sitting in uncomfortable chairs trying to look and sound better than he would be on his first day of the job, just to be there a few miserable weeks until he inevitably gets fired. Nothing good ever came from Mike wearing a tie and he was hoping that you were the solution to solving that problem.

He was combing his curls when he heard a knock at his door, “Abby, get the door, she’s here!”

He heard her desk chair slide against the floor, her little feet fast as lightning to get the door for you, giggling the whole way.

“Oh wow,” the younger sibling looks at you in awe “You look beautiful like a princess!”

“Awe, thank you, Abby” You walk through the doorframe, “Mike are you ready? We need to leave in the next ten if you want to drop Abby off and be on time!”

He walked out of the bathroom, flicking the light off as he exited and looking down the hall, about to tell his sister to put on her shoes he stopped in his tracks. He couldn’t look anywhere but you. ‘Fuck’ he thought, ‘you look so beautiful’ Your hair done just right, a matching green mid-length dress that was tight to your curves, hugging every inch of your body, strappy silver heels that he knew would make you slightly taller than his small frame. Abby was right, you do look like a princess.

You suddenly noticed Mike's eyes on you, pulling away from your conversation with Abby, feeling slightly bad for cutting off her story about her new robot animal friends. “Is everything okay?” Mike didn’t answer, zoned out in his thoughts, “Do I look that bad?”

Feeling super self-conscious, you start to fold your arms on your body, trying to hide as much as possible. Mike immediately notices your body language change.

“No, you look so beautiful. That dress fits you really well.” Mike spoke softly, afraid of looking anywhere other than your eyes as if you’d be able to read his mind if he looked away.

“Thank you, Mike, you don’t look so bad yourself.” You eyed him up and down, his brown curls more pronounced, uncommonly neat, and taken care of, his matching tie slightly crooked, a small white handkerchief pinned to the front. “Very handsome”

Abby pulled you both away from your thoughts, finding it silly that you both just stared at one another not really speaking in full sentences. “Why are you guys looking at each other like that, it’s weird.”

Mike looked away first, embarrassed that a child called him out, “Abs go put your shoes on and grab your stuff, we’re going to be late.”

“Can’t I just come with you guys? I’ll be good, I promise!”

“I’m sorry Abby, my brother doesn’t want any kids coming, this is an adult party,” you say trying to make her not feel so bad, “but I promise you’ll have so much fun at Vanessa’s, don’t tell her I told you her secret but she’s buying pizza AND cookies”

The younger sibling looked at you with big eyes and a toothy grin, scurrying off to her room, singing ‘pizza and cookies’ over and over until she made it to the doorway.

“Ready?” you asked Mike as you started following Abby to the car, Mike grabbed his wallet and locked the door behind him as he followed you to your car.

~~~

The car ride wasn’t as awkward as you thought it would be, at first it was small talk, Mike asking questions about your job and your boyfriend, Parker, and what he does for work.

You turned into childhood stories, you telling him about your first kiss, which was with your middle school boyfriend and you both came in way too fast. “There is no way you broke your tooth!” “I did, It took me three weeks of it missing before my parents could get an appointment for me to fix it.” you reply giggling, “I had the worst lisp and it was the most embarrassing time of my life.”

“I’m sure it was cute, I would have loved to see it”

“You would’ve laughed at me, my brother called me Mike Tyson for months, even after I fixed it.”

Mike chuckled as he turned into the venue, trying to find a parking space. The hour-long drive went by quickly. Now your nerves were starting to appear, seeing all of your perfect family congregating at the entrance and talking with each other, wearing expensive clothes, topped with expensive jewelry. Not ready for them to pick apart your looks, personality, and everything else that they can think of. Mike noticed your anxiety and grabbed your hand, squeezing it tightly.

“We could always go back if you want. We can sleep over at my house and order some Chinese food.”

“As great as that sounds, my brother would probably beat me up over me missing this” You squeezed Mike’s hand, “Let’s just go and get this over with.” You step out of the car and grab your purse, waiting for Mike at the front of the car, he collects his things and stands in front of you. You grab his tie, quickly straightening it. You finished and looked up at him, keeping your hands on his chest. You looked up to Mike, suddenly feeling embarrassed that you two were so close together.

You never noticed how nice Mike’s body was. He was always wearing something baggy, usually torn, his black suit was the nicest you’ve seen him in. ‘He was so handsome’ you thought. You pulled your hands from his chest, “Ready?”

Mike grabbed your hand, face turning a light shade of red at the intimate contact, interlacing both of your fingers together. Smiling to himself, “I’m ready”

~~~

The ceremony was beautiful. Everything seemed to go perfectly for your brother and his new wife, watching the two from the front row. Mike wrapped his hand around your waist during the vows, handing you his handkerchief after watching you shed a few tears. You leaned into the contact, feeling comfort in Mike’s arms. You stand up with everyone else and watch your brother and his wife walk hand in hand down the aisle, cheering and clapping loudly. After a few moments, you and Mike followed your family, grabbing his hand instinctively.

You find your seat at the table, set down your purse, and ask Mike if he wants a drink from the bar, making your way up front after he answers. You turn around with your drinks, stopping when you see your mom sitting next to Mike at your table.

‘Oh shit,’ you muttered to yourself, slowing your pace and hoping she’ll be gone by the time you make it back. You try to read her as you walk back, her face is soft as Mike speaks and suddenly they both start laughing. No one you’ve ever dated has ever made your mom laugh, she looked nice like that, you haven’t seen her like that since before her divorce.

You sit on the opposite side of Mike, handing him the glass. “Hi, Mom”

“Hi sweetheart, you look nice!”

“Thank you” You were stunned, you couldn’t remember the last time your mom complimented you.

“I was just talking to Mike, he’s the sweetest thing! He was just telling me about his sister. She sounds so cute.”

You looked over at Mike, who was smirking towards you. He stood up, telling you both he was going to find a bathroom, squeezing your shoulder softly as he left the table. You smiled at him and watched him walk away.

“I like him!” your mom finally spoke, once Mike got far enough away

“Really?”

“Of course, he’s handsome and he’s funny. He seems to like you. I think he’s a good fit for you,” you shivered at the nice comments from your mother, not often hearing such things. “You better not screw this one up.”

“Thanks, Mom, I won’t”

You smiled at her as she walked away telling you she was going to find your aunt to talk about how ugly the centerpiece arrangements your brother’s mother-in-law picked out were, you laughed, there was your mom.

You sat there alone with your thoughts. You were thinking about what would happen if you were actually with Mike. You could imagine coming home to him after work every morning, making him and Abby breakfast, and falling asleep with him after a long day. You don’t do that with Parker, you hardly see him, his job keeping him away from you for weeks at a time.

Mike sat back down, disrupting your thoughts. “How did I do?” motioning towards your mom, who was across the room rolling her eyes at something your aunt said.

“You did great, she really liked you. She didn’t say anything negative the whole time she was at the table!” Your eyes were wide, excited to tell Mike how the unusual interaction went.

Before he could reply, your brother and his wife walked into the room hand in hand, getting set in the middle of the dance floor to start the first dance. A slow song started to play, and they danced hand in hand, him twirling her around every once in a while. The song finished with a kiss, everyone cheering for them and they started to wave at everyone to come up and dance, the song changing to something more upbeat. You grab Mike’s hand, rushing to the middle of the room. You both started dancing, laughing at how bad dancers you both were.

Eventually, everyone was called back to the tables as dinner was about to start. You sat down next to Mike, taking a sip of your water, laughing about something he said as you both sat down.

“I’ve never danced like that before,” Mike said after finishing off his water, slightly out of breath

“God, me either. I’m exhausted and my feet hurt”

“You want me to rub them for you baby?”

“Maybe later,” you winked, smirking towards him.

Mike smirked back, knowing that he would hold you to that. He watched you all night, watching the way you danced, swaying your body to the beat of every song, slight sweat growing on your body, the way your eyes squinted and you threw your head back every time someone said something funny. You looked so beautiful and in your element, comfortable and confident.

~~~

After dinner you walked up to the DJ, whispering a request for him. He smiled, picked up a mic, and started to tap on it lightly, grabbing everyone’s attention.

“ladies and gentlemen, with dinner wrapping up, I’d like to slow it down just a little bit”

Like Real People Do by Hozier started playing.

Mike watched you walk back to the table, standing next to him putting your hand on his shoulder. “may I have this dance, sir?” you say holding out your hand, giggling to Mike.

“of course, m’lady,” Mike says, holding your hand and leading the way to the floor. He took one of your hands in his, his other one holding tightly on your waist. You both start to sway with the music, looking towards Mike who starts to speak.

“I think we’re going to be the only ones to dance to this song.” You looked around noticing everyone still placed in their seats, eyes glued toward you both.

You nodded, staying silent and continuing to move around. You move both of your hands up to his neck, interlocking your fingers behind his head, him holding you close at his waist.

You just stared at him in disbelief, days ago you remembered him telling you he doesn’t dance. Now here he was, slow dancing to your favorite song in front of your entire family. He looked into your eyes, they were softer than you’ve ever seen them. He looked comfortable, happy, relaxed. He looked towards your lips, licking his own.

‘Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips,

we should just kiss like real people do.’

Using all the confidence you built tonight, you leaned your head forward to Mike’s, kissing him softly. Mike didn’t waste a moment, kissing you back with so much passion. This was the best kiss you’ve ever had. You both grinned at each other as you pulled away. You stepped closer to him, resting your head on his chest. All you could think about was his lips on yours, how you wanted this moment forever.

“Thank you for coming, I’m having a great time, and my family really likes you”

“I’m glad I could help, I’d do anything for you”

The song finished and you reluctantly pulled away from Mike, you heard a few people clap and you looked up from his gauze, noticing your family was grinning, smiling, throwing a few thumbs up in your direction. You laughed and bowed towards everyone, walking back towards the table.

“You want to go back to the hotel room?” Mike asked, taking the cue from a few of the other guests grabbing their belongings and saying their goodbyes.

“Yeah, let’s go” You grab your stuff and head up to the table where your brother and his best man are sitting, telling him to stand up to hug you goodbye.

You hugged your brother, giving him congratulations as you did so. He whispered in your ear before he let go. “I like him a lot more than Parker”

You just smiled and held a finger to your lips. “I do too but don’t spill my secrets”

You grabbed Mike's hand and walked to the front of the venue, he stopped you outside, bending down to take off your shoes knowing they weren’t very comfortable anymore. The small action makes you blush, thinking about how kind it was of him to remember the conversation from earlier. He held onto your shoes for you the entire walk down to the car, the cold grass feeling cool on your skin. He opened the car door for you, waiting for you to get in before shutting the door for you.

You were in our own world as he drove down the road to the hotel. You were thankful that Mike was here with you, you couldn’t imagine yourself being with anyone else right now and that was a problem. You had a someone else, who right now didn’t exist to you, and you racked your brain on the best way to end it. You in good conscience, couldn’t continue your relationship with Parker, ready to end it with a quick text right then and there and deciding to at least wait until the morning.

“Your brain okay?” Mike jokes, pulling you from your thoughts, “You’re thinking way to hard about something over there and you better not let it ruin your night, you’re mean when you’re cranky”

You giggle, looking into his coffee colored eyes, getting super serious grabbing his hand and squeezing, “Nothing could ruin tonight”

~~~

You threw yourself down on the bed, lying down while mumbling something about needing a shower. Mike set the overnight beds on the table in the corner of the room.

“You can take the first shower if you want Mike, I might take a nap while I wait”

Mike chuckled and started to collect his things for the shower, glancing over at you, laying on your back with your feet hanging off the bed, hand over your eyes to cover the light in the room.

Mike was sad the night was over, wanting to continue to be close to you in every way imaginable. He saw the strap of your dress had fallen on one side, the dress slightly raising higher and higher on your thighs with every swing of your legs.

“You know,” Mike started, You pulled your arm away from your face, turning your whole body to look at him, humming in response, “that massage is still on the table if you want one.”

You felt your body get hot, the thought of Mike rubbing all over your body started to turn you on, and you felt butterflies form in the pit of your stomach.

“If you’re willing, I wouldn’t turn you down.”

Mike moved across the room embarrassingly quickly, wanting to touch you before you changed your mind. You chuckled at his eagerness, knowing he wanted this as much as you did.

“Lie down on your stomach, I’ll give you the best massage of your life.”

You flip over on your stomach, arms crossed with your head resting on top of them. Your breath hitches when you feel Mike’s hand touch your calf, putting pressure down with his thumb making small circles.

You felt yourself relax at his touch, every grip of his hands pushing you into a frenzy. You hummed when you felt his hands move from your calf to your thigh, his grip getting stronger and tighter when he realized you weren’t going to stop him.

Mike heard your soft moans as he pressed into your skin. He loved hearing your sounds, he felt himself growing hard in his bottoms knowing he was making you feel so good. He moved to your back starting from the bottom of your back, headed towards your shoulder blades.

You leaned up to sit on your knees, making Mike stop in his tracks.

“Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?” seeing Mike upset and immediately thinking the worst, you put a comforting hand on his arm.

“No, it felt amazing, I just felt like something was in the way” You reach behind you, gripping the zipper of your dress and slowly pulling it down. You slipped the straps of the dress down, the top of the dress slipping below your breasts. You looked up at Mike, his eyes hooded and glossed over. ‘holy shit’ he says low, so low you can barely hear it.

“What's wrong baby, you’ve never seen boobs before?” You see the clogs in his brain turning, trying to form words, occasionally looking down from your face to take a quick glance at your exposed nipples, hardening in the cold air.

He leaned down to your face, his lips barely glazing yours, one hand coming up to cup your cheek, his other hand reaching to pinch your nipple, rolling it between his fingers. “Is this okay?”

You nod in response leaning forward, closing the gap between you two, kissing him with so much need. You let your hands travel to the buttons on his shirt, finishing and sliding the top down his shoulders.

Mike was quick, thinking about this moment one too many times, thinking about your boyfriend and how he’s going to make you forget about him, thinking about if this were the only opportunity he would ever get he would make sure to go all out, making sure you dream about him the way he does you.

He pulls away and pushes you down on the bed, he pulls the dress down your legs removing it the rest of the way and tossing it down to the floor. “Tell me if anything gets to be too much.”

“Fuck, you’re so sexy.” He toys with the lace on your underwear, leaning down to plant kisses on your thighs.

You feel his fingers move down to touch your clothed clit, rubbing softly. You push your hips up, feeling your body feel with need, wanting more.

You lace your fingers in his hair as he starts to leave hickeys on your sensitive thighs. “Fuck Mike I need-” You take a deep breath unable to formulate words.

Mike looks up from his place on your thighs, moving his head towards your pussy. “Tell me what you need, pretty girl.”

The name sent butterflies in every part of your body, you could feel yourself growing needier every second passed by. Your nipples were painfully hard and you could feel how soaked you were through your underwear. He continued to rub your clit, underwear molding to your shape.

You took a deep breath, tears starting to form at the corners of your eyes “Please more, I need you to touch me, however you want. just need more”

Mike pulled your underwear to the side, finally touching you, fingers falling from your clit to your dripping hole. “Look at this pretty pussy, s’all wet just for me?”

He pulled his finger away and placed it in your mouth, “Suck” You leaned forward sucking his fingers with everything you had, swirling your tongue around.

Mike looked up from your pussy, peeping up from his eyelashes to watch you suck his fingers. He was painfully hard, thinking about your mouth around his cock, eyes full of tears and drool dripping from your swollen lips.

He leaned down to lick from your hole to your clit, taking his time. He wanted you to know that you were the only thing on his mind, and you did, he started to eat you out like he was starved and this was his last meal. pulling you close until his hands gripped your thighs so hard you were sure to have bruises, nose rubbing your clit, everything adding up to the knot in your stomach.

“Fuck baby, you taste so fucking good. Could taste this pussy every fucking day.” You tugged on his curls harder, each word spurring you on, getting you closer and closer.

“Fuck baby, I’m so close”

He hummed and added a finger to your tight hole “You going to cum for me, baby? Cum on my mouth like a good girl, so good for me”

Your thighs squeezed him as you came, letting out a loud moan. He continued to lick and suck, drawing your orgasm out longer. It started to become too much and you pulled him back to face you. You kissed him, feeling his wet stubble on your face, reaching your hand down to his pants and rubbing your fingers over his clothed cock.

With shaking hands you started to undo his belt, flipping you both over until you were between his thighs. Pulling his pants down, Mike kicked them off, and you stared at him in awe at his size. You took him in his hand, starting to rub slowly, not breaking eye contact.

He grabbed your face, and squeezed your cheeks together, forcing your mouth open “Can I?” You stuck your tongue out in response, eyes full of lust.

Suddenly a long trail of spit left his and entered yours, “Use it, pretty girl” You kept your mouth sitting up on your knees to get face to face with his cock, and you let the mixture of spit fall from your mouth, making a mess on his lap. Your hand started to move quicker with the added lube, you leaned forward. Licking from the bottom all the way to the top, one of your hands leaving his thighs to make your way to his balls. You started to tease him and sucked only the tip, Mike's hips jerked forward in response, forcing you to take more in your warm mouth.

You started to pick up your pace, taking in as much as you possibly could his groans spurred you on to take even more, “‘s so fucking sexy seeing my dick in your mouth, want to fuck that throat so bad” He collected your hair into a makeshift ponytail, grip tight. You pulled off looking above you to see Mike’s tightly closed eyes, your hand replacing your lips, keeping pace with what you made with your mouth.

“Do it”

Mike opened his eyes quickly, “Are you sure?”

“Stand up and fuck my throat baby, ‘s alright”

Mike stood upright, keeping his grip on your hair as you shifted your body around to get comfortable.

“Just smack my leg if it gets to be too much pretty girl”

You nodded in response, wasting no time opening your mouth for his cock, placing both hands on his legs, gripping tight in preparation for what was about to come.

Mike went right to work, shoving in and out quickly, getting spurred on by the tears and sounds coming from you. Pushing your head back and forth in a bobbing motion, gagging every time he pressed as deep as possible.

“Look so pretty with my dick in your mouth” He pulled your mouth off him, and you moved your hand from his thigh to stroke him. He took a moment to look at your cockdrunk expression. Lips puffy, tear-stained cheeks, your chest breathing in and out heavily. “You going to let me cum in your mouth baby? Tell me, pretty girl, tell me what you want”

He felt your grip on his dick tighten, you moved one of your hands to touch yourself over your lace panties, feeling your wetness soaked through at his words. “Yes sir, want your cum in my mouth.”

You went right back to work, lips wrapping tightly around his dick. You gave him head as your life depended on it, needing to see how he looked while he came, what sounds he’d make, what mess he'd make.

You started to feel Mike’s hips falter, his once strong movements becoming staggered and you knew he was close. “Fuck- I’m coming. Fucking take it.” You looked up at him, dick pressed far down your throat, feeling the hot liquid start to seep out the sides of your mouth. “Swallow all of it. That’s my good girl”

Mike let go of the grip on your hair and pulled out of your mouth, wincing at the overstimulation. He pulled you up to lay on your back on the bed, leaning over you. You watched Mike’s fingers on your thigh, collecting the spilled cum that fell from your mouth, and placing them in his mouth. The salty liquid kept in his mouth until he leaned his lips towards yours, you opened your mouth with anticipation. A long string of cum filled spit falling into your eager mouth, gulping instinctively.

“Had to make sure you swallowed all of it” he murmured before pressing his lips roughly to yours. You laced your fingers around his neck, pulling him down further, needing to be closer to him. You moaned when he pulled away to start kissing your neck, sucking and biting to mark you up. He pulled your underwear off and started to rub his dick against you, feeling your hips joining him in the motions.

You were in a state of bliss, never even thinking this feeling was a possibility. Mike handling you like his own personal fuck toy, marking you up to show you off, his cock grinding against your clit like he was going to cum just like that. You push him off of you, flipping him over to get on top, straddling his thighs. You lined his dick up to your entrance, going at a slow pace to adjust to his size, stopping to steady yourself when you got to the end, hands on his chest with your eyes closed.

Mike was patient, as much as he wanted to destroy you and your tight pussy, he wanted you to feel good. He kept one hand on your hip, keeping you steady, moving the other one to your clit, trying to help get you comfortable. Almost immediately you moaned and started to move your hips, painfully slow up and down.

“You look so beautiful like this, stuffed full of my cock.” Mike’s hands moved to your hips, helping you move faster and faster. With your pretty tits in his face and your tight cunt wrapped around him, eyes rolling back in your head and your moans loud enough the entire hotel could hear you.

“Fuck daddy, you feel so fucking good” Mike groaned at your voice. The name causes him to rut his hips up to meet yours, causing you to fall forward, holding onto his shoulders. His pace was fast and rough, hands in a tight grip on your sides, nibbling on your neck as he pounds into you, bringing you closer and closer to your orgasm. “You going to cum on daddy’s cock? Let me feel you, baby, show me how good I make you feel.”

“Gonna cum daddy, s’ fucking good” You moan in his ear, nails digging into his skin as you come undone, mumbling a string of thank yous. Mike’s movements start to slow down, trying to give you a moment to recover.

With your breath heavy, you bring your lips to Mike’s as you slowly pull off of him. You pull away from the kiss and both hiss at the loss of contact, you sit up on your knees, locking your eyes with his own.

“Want you to bend me over,” Your voice is soft as you slowly start to bend over, arching your back “and make me take it hard.”

He is quick to get behind you, taking his dick in his hands and rubbing it up and down your wet slit. “my pretty fucking pussy” You push back at his teasing movements, clit pulsing and eyes rolling back.

“Mike please”, you beg. He brings his hand down and suddenly you feel a sharp sting on your ass, yelping in surprise. “Come on pretty girl, you can do better than that.”

“Daddy please, I need you- need your cock. Need you to fill me up and-” Your words were cut off, Mike pushing deep into you, moving quickly, causing you to lose your breath.

He grabs your hips and starts to pull you back onto him as he slams deep inside, hitting that spot inside you. “Fuck baby, taking it so good for me”

He grabs your hair in his hands, pulling your back to be flush to his chest. He nibbles at your earlobe and places his hand on your neck, squeezing lightly.

The feeling was unbearable, the room filled with deep breaths and skin on skin. Goosebumps cover your skin as Mike’s grip on your throat gets tighter. You could feel your orgasm approaching, tears forming in your eyes.

“Taking me so well baby” You moan, his praise pushing you closer. “Tight little pussy fits so well around my cock”

“Fuck- ‘m cumming” You feel your body unravel, thighs shaking as you start to see spots. Mike lets you go and you fall forward. He gives you three deep thrusts before his pace starts to fall, signaling he’s close. “Me too baby, me too”

He gives one last deep push and releases deep inside you. You both lay there for a few moments, panting and euphoric. He groans as he pulls out and you turn to lie on your side, watching him as he walks to the bathroom. He comes back with a warm washcloth, wiping you down. He sets it on the table once he’s finished and sits down beside you, moving your head so it can rest in his lap as he starts to play with your hair.

You lean up to kiss him, biting his lip as you pull away, smiling to yourself as you notice he’s growing hard again. You stand up, legs slightly wobbly. “Care to join me?” you smirked towards him as you sauntered towards the bathroom, hips slightly swinging. Mike watches as you walk away, eyes lingering all over your body. You turned to face him as you reached the doorway, waiting for him to follow you.

“We’re definitely going to take advantage of the late checkout” He chuckles as he stands from his spot to start round two in the shower.

#mike schmidt smut #mike schmidt #mike schimdt x reader #fnaf #josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson smut #nev writes

[some-creep]

Here's my longer than anticipated prototype Falke fic. I'll reblog this later with an AO3 link but right now I can't get any of the formatting to stay because it's on Google drive and I'm on mobile

She awakens to a blinding white light. Her body is stiff and feels foreign as she tries to work out how her limbs work. It is with remarkable difficulty that she manages to push her body upright, only to double over at the unexpected weight of her frame. She gives a moment of pause, trying to make sense of her surroundings as her head threatens to split in two at every errant thought. Her stomach, which she suspects to be empty, still threatens to spill its contents all over her lap. Long before her eyes have the chance to focus, she hears a new sound over the mechanical buzzing that persists throughout the room. Voices. Unfamiliar. Then, an unknown force guiding her to lay back down which she does not fight. Her ears strain to listen, but the words do not make sense.

“I knew it. I told you I had a good feeling about this one, didn't I?”

“You did, but just because she's woken up doesn't mean she'll–”

“She will. If not, she can be molded like all the others.”

“Yes, but her neural pattern is highly unpredictable given the donor. Not to mention the experimental bioresonance module that–”

“Enough.”

The voices fall silent. She can only wonder what they were discussing, though she has no time to dwell on the specifics. Someone begins to stroke her hair, causing her eyes to flutter back open. They are nothing more than a fuzzy gray shape looming over her, and no matter how many times she blinks, her eyes refuse to focus.

“Can you see me? Adjust the calibration on her eyes.”

They wait for a moment before her vision begins to clear through a means she cannot understand. She is staring up at a dark haired woman she does not recognize, her outline haloed by the bright overhead light.

“Good morning, Falke.” Her face beams with pride but the name that falls from her lips sparks no recognition.

She can only lay there, trying to study her face in hopes that doing so can grant her the knowledge she desires. It seems, she thinks, like she is meant to respond, but she does not know what to say or how to say it. She furrows her brow in confusion, hoping it will suffice for an answer.

“You're going to do great things for us. Do you know that? You're very special.”

She manages to tilt her head to the side just enough to make it clear she's still confused. The woman above her doesn't seem surprised by this fact. She doesn't know what makes her special or what great things she is going to do. In fact, she isn't even sure how she knows anything and why there are gaps in what knowledge she does have.

She has no memory of a moment before this one, yet, in a general sense, she understands the world around her. The woman speaking to her appears to be middle aged, head adorned with a golden laurel crown. She is laying on some sort of bed. The room she is in is overly bright which further accentuates the sterile white ceiling and walls. Yet she does not know who she is. The woman had called her ‘Falke’ but the name means nothing to her. That is the name of an animal. A bird of prey. And she is not an animal.

Then…what is she?

She accepts her name as Falke for she knows of no alternative. The woman does not share with her her own name at that moment, a fact Falke simply does not question as it is of little concern to her compared to everything else. Something feels off. Everything feels wrong. The dark haired woman looks small in a way she doesn't understand. Her body fills out the bed to an unusual degree, and the sensation of touch is distant.

The woman excuses herself with a promise to return later. Falke does not watch her leave but listens to her footsteps, long, confident strides, across the tile floor. She hears a mechanical door glide open then shut again, leaving her alone with whoever else she had heard speaking before.

“Okay, Falke,” the voice, male, her mind tells her, begins to speak, “I'm going to ask you to do a few simple things for me so we can make sure everything is in working order, sound good?”

Falke nods her head slowly and begins to follow along with the basic instructions being given to her. Follow this with your eyes, move your head, wiggle your fingers, good job, now lift your right arm, your left, can you sit up for me?

The instructions are easy to follow, but there is an undeniable disconnect between her mind and body. She feels as if she is controlling a puppet rather than her own physical form, yet she sees her arms move with her own two eyes. But they do not look correct. Falke does not know what her arms should look like, but the sleek black casing does not register as being her skin. As she stares at her hands, pressing her mechanically jointed thumb and forefinger together, she feels them touch with the faintest tap of plastic on plastic.

Falke wonders if this body is able to cry. The desire is overwhelming, but her expression never changes.

Führungskommando-Leiteinheit-Replika: FKLR. Affectionately referred to as simply Falke amongst the Gestalts who monitor her. It is not a title she understands, but she hopes one day it will become clearer.

Until that time comes, her days are filled with tests and experiments to assess her current functional capacity. She is finally used to walking after several days of stumbling around helplessly and falling into walls. She no longer feels nauseous looking down from her unimaginable height. Her body still feels too heavy, but the scientists tell her it is common with larger Replikas and she will gradually stop noticing it. She is even becoming used to her dull sense of touch as she learns how to properly gauge the information her body is giving her and what it means in context to the world around her. The scientists always tell her they are proud of her, and she finds she enjoys this a great deal.

Falke is not like the people around her. They are small and made of flesh and bone. One of the first things they made sure she knew was that she is capable of great destruction, but that she is a good girl who listens well, so she will be mindful not to harm those around her. She does not have a reason to disagree with this assessment of her. They have not lied to her yet. They are kind to her. They make sure all her needs are met.

Falke enjoys spending time in her room; the room she had been moved into once she was capable of maneuvering independently. It has the same sterile white walls as the rest of the facility she calls home, but it is adorned with Nation paraphernalia. The first time she had seen the room, decorated with flags and portraits of the Nation’s Leaders, she had felt uneasy and out of place, but now she finds great comfort in the iconography. It adds a sense of warmth to her world, she thinks, to know she is being watched over and cared for by the Leaders.

It is the Great Revolutionary that she met when she first woke up. She visits Falke as often as her schedule permits to check on her progress. Falke wishes she would stay longer to talk to her instead of her overseers, but she is a very busy woman, and so she understands the aversion to idle chatter.

She spends the majority of her free time reading the books they have provided for her, or watching the films left for her. She is moved by the stories of how the Nation's people have struggled under the unjust rule of the Empire, and she hopes one day she will be able to assist in some way. She is promised that this will be the case.

Falke wonders why she was made to look like the Great Revolutionary and her daughter. She takes the photos off of the wall to study them from time to time. Their gazes are stern and commanding, and she wishes her expression could match. She has seen her own face and she cannot stand to look at it. She does not recognize the woman who stares sadly back at her.

It is lonely, she finds, being an experimental Replika. The people around her have little interest in talking to her about anything besides her progress. She is making great strides in utilizing her bioresonant abilities, and the scientists always talk excitedly about each new milestone she reaches.

She is able to look into the minds of volunteers placed before her, and tell her overseers whatever information they ask her to retrieve. The Gestalts who volunteer always seem frightened of her, and she never sees the same one twice, but they reassure her it is just a test. If she encountered the same person again, she would not be facing a new, potentially more challenging mind.

Today, as she stands at the far end of a custom built firing range, hurling objects at targets with only her mind, she thinks to try talking to the scientist tasked with observing her. She, like all Gestalts who work in close proximity to Falke, was given a special implant to ensure Falke could not manipulate her outside the scope of any test.

“Does it hurt still, doctor?” She asks, not turning her attention away from her work.

The woman does not immediately answer, though she unconsciously raises her hand to the stitches on the side of her half shaved head.

“I hope you aren't mad at me over it.”

“Mad?” She repeats, and her voice startles Falke. Responses of any kind are rare if they fall outside of work related discussions.

“You were assigned to me, and because of that, precautions had to be taken. I…hope you do not blame me for this.”

She is quiet for a moment longer before she speaks again, voice unsure. “No, Falke, I don't blame…you. Now focus on your task.”

Falke smiles sadly to herself, lowering her head for a moment. She does not look up as she casts the final projectile, a metal ball, through the remaining wooden target, showering the firing range with splinters before the ball impacts with the floor. The sharp sound fills the largely empty room before fading away to silence once more. Falke stands and waits for further instructions as she watches the ball roll back and forth until finally ceasing all movement.

“It still hurts.”

“...Hm-?”

“My head. You asked me before if it still hurt.”

Falke turns slowly to look at her. She's learned by now sudden movements make her Gestalt overseers nervous, so she takes great care not to worry them.

The woman is not looking at her, though she does not appear to actually be writing anything in her notes, simply fidgeting about.

“I'm sorry to hear that. I wish there was something I could do.” Falke decides to sink down to her knees in hopes it will make her a little less intimidating. She doesn't want to scare off the closest thing she's ever made to a connection. She owes it to the scientist to be as accommodating as possible, given the state she was in because of Falke.

“What are you doing?”

“It's easier to talk if we're at the same level, doctor. I thought you might appreciate it.” She tries to smile but worries there's no point to the gesture. Falke notices the Gestalt glance back at her, and can only assume she sees.

“We aren't supposed to be talking at all,” she says, though she is making no attempts to stop the conversation.

Falke chuckles, nodding. “If I wasn't meant to talk to people, then why was I given the ability to speak? Surely, speech is unnecessary if I am able to influence those around me with only my mind.”

“That's an interesting point. One I don't have an answer for.” She looks up to see Falke still smiling, eyes brighter than normal. She thinks for a moment, taking a deep breath. “You're lonely,” she observes.

Falke nods. She is a sentient being with little in the way of interactions with others. It has started to gnaw at her more and more each day.

“I'll discuss this at my next meeting and see what can be done about that. You're dismissed.”

Administration-Datenverarbeitung-Logistik-Replika: ADLR. That is how they introduce her to the Replika they've brought in from another facility. They tell her it will be a good way to test their compatibility. He is not a new model like her, last generation, but there had always been speculation he could perform better with proper Replika guidance. No such person had existed…until now.

They tell her she will get along well with him. That, mentally, he should be easily influenced by her, and that if she wants someone to interact with, this will be how she gets it. She is told there are no other options because once she is Commander, she will not have time for friends and other such nonsense as that. Seeing him for the first time makes her regret ever bringing up the issue at all. There's no reason for it. He's a perfectly unremarkable Replika standing no taller than the average Gestalt and offering little else but his presence.

The way he looks at her makes her uncomfortable, but she can't put her finger on why that is. None of the Gestalts look at her with the same level of wonder. No, it's more than wonder, it is as if he is enamored with her. Love at first sight. The Gestalt scientists seem pleased by this development and decide this is a sufficient cure for Falke's loneliness, giving her no time to protest.

She no longer has any personal time to herself. Adler’s only purpose is to serve her, which means following her at all hours of the day. It also means sleeping in her room as there is no other space set aside for him. Falke tells herself she must adapt to this because, after all, isn't this what she asked for? Companionship in her off hours?

He does not understand personal space in a way she would prefer, but she finds it difficult to verbalize her wants. It is not a situation she has ever been in before, so more often than not, she is silent. She knows the scientists told her that Adler would be easy to manipulate with her abilities, but she is well trained, and only uses her powers when it is asked of her. It seems rude, she thinks, to exert her influence over someone for no good reason. She fears repercussions for misuse of her powers.

So instead, she pushes down her concerns and accepts this is her life now. She ignores the fact she knows he watches her sleep, and she ignores the thoughts she hears on accident. Sometimes it is difficult to not read people's minds now that the ability comes naturally to her. He thinks about her body a great deal, but since he has not done anything wrong, Falke does all she can to ignore it.

She feels nothing in return. She doesn't know what she is supposed to feel about him, but every conversation she forces her way through leaves her feeling empty. She tells herself she just isn't used to being around other Replikas yet, and in time, it will get easier like so many other things have for her. But she wishes it would happen faster.

He is sitting too close to her as usual, on her bed, and Falke is trying her hardest to simply ignore him. She misses her privacy so very, very much…

Adler says something to her, for which she only hums in response, hoping it will be enough to express her disinterest. It never is.

FKLR units will be judged on their actions, not by their words. These words echo in her mind as she stares vacantly forward. Her duty is to serve the Nation. Serving the Nation will require sacrifice. It will require moments of action that might seem overly cruel, but they are for the greater good. Her creator had made sure she understood this, that there would be times she would be asked to do things she might find questionable, but to trust she was doing the right thing. And nothing was off limits.

Training dummies do not bleed. They do not beg and apologize to an uncaring attacker. Falke has dismantled many in her brief time alive, and this feels no different. But she does not know why she does it; she cannot say what set her off. Was it a thought? A comment? A brief moment of unwanted contact? She does not feel any guilt as she looks at the thing laying crumpled on her floor. It is of no more interest to her than a discarded mannequin covered in red paint. Falke looks at her hand and realizes she is clutching soaked wires in her fist, though where she'd yanked them from she could not begin to guess.

She wipes her hands on her legs and crawls back into bed. For the first time since Adler had arrived, her room is quiet again, and she finally feels comfortable enough to sleep.

Falke is scolded for the mess and made to clean it up herself. She finds it surprising that she is not punished for what she did, simply for the aftermath of her actions. She helps the scientists who come to collect the body place it into a bodybag before it is removed. They ask no questions about the mangled figure and only leave cleaning supplies when they go.

She sets to work cleaning up the sticky, half dried puddle of coolant that leaked across the entire floor during the night. There is so much, spread across the tile and under her bed, that she feels like she is only able to smear it around with the rags she was provided with. Even so, she considers herself lucky that this is all that is expected of her.

As she scrubs diligently on her hands and knees, she notices unidentifiable flesh caught between the joints of her fingers. Falke knows it will be difficult to properly clean up, maybe even impossible without help from a technician. She tries to push the thought aside as she hears the door to her room open once more.

Someone steps inside, tracking footprints all over the half cleaned floor. Falke bites back the impulse to say anything, and she is glad for this when the person speaks.

“Falke,” the voice says, quick and sharp. It is her creator, the Great Revolutionary herself.

Falke flinches and keeps her head bowed low, suddenly ashamed of her behavior. “Good morning,” she manages, before adding, “ma'am.”

“I hear you broke your new toy.” She shifts her weight as she speaks. Falke suspects she's crossed her arms.

“It was…” calling it an accident might not be a complete lie, she hadn't meant to do it, after all, but it was far too brutal of a scene to suggest there was no intent whatsoever. “I'm sorry. I know everyone worked very hard to get a companion for –”

“Look at people when you're talking to them,” she barks, bringing her boot hard against Falke's shoulder and keeping it there.

Falke is considerably larger than her, but as she is now, groveling before her master, she is no more powerful than anyone else would be. She looks up at the woman for whom she shares a likeness, muttering an apology as she meets her eye.

“You made my shoes filthy with your little mess. Clean them,” she orders, twisting her foot back and forth before pulling back to let Falke sit up.

Falke carefully moves off of her knees and sits back, legs crossed. She is made painfully aware of her unusual stature once more, but instead of finding comfort in the protection it brings, she just feels awkward and out of place under the Great Revolutionary’s gaze.

The woman, without a word, places her boot on Falke's thigh and waits. Falke takes one of the few still clean rags and dunks it in her bucket of soapy water, ringing it out with one hand. She places her other hand against the woman's calf to steady her as she begins to spot clean as much of the sole as she can manage from their positions.

While she suspects the display is all for show, Falke sheepishly speaks up and says, “you might be more comfortable if you sat on my bed.”

She ponders the suggestion for only a moment, and, seeming pleased with Falke's desire to be obedient, moves to sit on the edge of the bed. She crosses one leg over the other, inviting Falke to continue with the faintest hint of a smirk on her face.

Falke doesn't think she's ever seen her creator smile before, especially not at her. The expression, however distant, spurs her on. She edges closer to the bed, taking her ankle once more before she continues to clean every tread free of dirt and blood. Her work is meticulous and loving as she thinks to herself no one has ever had the honor of tending to the Great Revolutionary like this before.

When she feels a hand on her head, she hesitates, glancing upwards. It is a nice feeling, one she's rarely experienced, but one she would like to earn again. She is not wearing gloves, as is often the case when other Gestalts touch her. It is simply wordless praise for her efforts.

But the moment cannot last long. Soon, her creator is rising to her feet and heading back out the door, leaving her with only one final order. “Hurry up and finish cleaning. We haven't got all day.”

“Hello, Ara. It's nice to meet you.” Falke smiles at the old Replika model. She tells herself she will do better this time around with her companions. She likes this one better than the last anyway, she thinks. Ara has an exceptionally quiet mind, and what thoughts Falke does pick up on are quite regular. She thinks of work and of her hobbies, quietly tending to plants in secluded areas of the facility. This particular unit has been working here for longer than Falke has been alive.

Like many others, she is, of course, impressed by Falke's stature. She is confused as to why she was relocated here at all, but ultimately she is relieved the person she was placed with seems to be nice enough. That thought Falke finds peculiar; that a Replika might be so concerned with how nice someone is.

“I'm sorry they didn't tell me what I was supposed to do with you. If… I had to guess, you're meant to replace my previous…” Falke hesitates on the last word, unsure what she should call the late Adler. Finally, she settles on, “assistant.”

Ara only nods, offering up a simple, “oh” in response. It is clear she has never been an assistant before, nor has she ever been separated from others like herself. Because of this, it becomes obvious she isn't interested in talking.

Falke finds it strange they'd be so quick to replace Adler after what she'd done to him, but she sees no point in questioning it. It has been a few days since the incident, and maybe they have decided it is worth giving her a second chance. She had proven herself with her creator immediately following the incident, so it makes a kind of sense.

“You have tools?” she asks, noticing the belt around her waist.

Ara nods.

“Do you know how to fix Replikas?”

She shrugs.

“Do you think you could help me clean the joints in my fingers? It's difficult to do it yourself. I'd ask the Gestalt technician but I'm afraid she'd be mad at me.”

Ara nods once more before Falke leads them off somewhere quiet where she may work undisturbed. It is a simple enough procedure, and her hands are larger than average, which she hopes will make them easier to work with.

Maintenance is an odd thing for Replikas. To be so vulnerable around another is a difficult task at the best of times. Any time she is operated on, it leaves her feeling strange afterwards. Lonely, almost. Empty. The technician usually just ignores her the entire time and is firm about not letting her linger afterwards. Ara, she thinks, isn't likely to do that.

Falke lays her hands on a table as she kneels on the floor, offering them up with no resistance. Ara says nothing as she begins to examine each joint to understand how she is put together. She will not need to remove any casing, figuring the wires inside will provide enough slack to clean between each segment without the need to disconnect any internals.

Ara does not comment on the gunk she scrapes out of her fingers, and Falke appreciates this small mercy. In fact, Ara doesn't even seem interested in its origin at all as she works. Falke can only watch her in a sort of awe as she expertly disassembles and reassembles each digit. Her expression does not change as she works, holding Falke's hand to better manipulate it as she sees fit.

Falke is almost disappointed when she finishes the procedure, but to her surprise, Ara does not move. Instead, she looks up at Falke, cocking her head to the side.

“Better?” She asks.

“Better," Falke replies, taking a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

Ara remains seated as she lets Falke take her hand. She does not pull away, nor does she comment on the gesture.

Falke looks away, muttering an apology. She knows better than to behave this way. She has been chastised countless times before for trying to overstep boundaries like this. But Ara seems to think nothing of it.

“It's normal,” she says.

“It…is?”

“Yes.”

“No one’s ever told me that.”

“They never do.”

Falke furrows her brow, wondering why her Gestalt masters would neglect to explain a normal Replika reaction to her. She tries not to think about it as Ara gently squeezes her hand in return, all the while expression never changing.

She soon finds she much prefers the company of Ara to anyone else in her life. Unlike Adler, her thoughts are easier to handle. She is respectful of boundaries without needing to be told. And, above all else, she is knowledgeable about Replika life. Overtime, she grows comfortable enough to talk and length, and she tells Falke about different unit types she has met over the years that Falke has only read about in passing. Of EULR, and STCR, and STAR units. How, despite what they are told, some units are nicer than others. Some she could be friends with and others she tried to avoid.

She speaks of relationships and how Replikas form bonds with one another that fall outside of expected parameters. Sometimes they are ignored, other times punished. In rare cases, they are encouraged for enhanced unit performance. ARAR units are encouraged to befriend EULR units because EULR units can read their emotions better than anyone else. Falke jokes that she is also very good at that, thanks to her bioresonance.

Ara sleeps in her room the same as Adler before her, and follows her around during the day. She finds herself wishing that Ara would follow a little closer. That she wouldn't sleep so far away at night. When they watch movies, Ara always does so from the floor. She says she doesn't mind, and Falke knows she is telling the truth, but she wishes she was not.

The scientists do not like Ara. Or, perhaps more accurately, they do not like her relationship with their beloved FKLR unit. They see Ara as beneath her, and cannot understand why *this* one is who Falke has chosen to keep around. ARAR units are worthless to the Nation, holding no more value than materials used to build them. They are meant to do hard labor and to be disposed of when they break. Ara is able to ignore the constant remarks, but they begin to grate on Falke's nerves.

She cannot read their minds, but she does not need to when they speak their hatred so openly. She cannot exert her will over them, but she does not need to when she can exert her strength.

A comment is made, one day, as she and Ara are sitting by one of the rare windows in the facility, looking out at the dull landscape of rock and concrete, bathed in bright, artificial light.

“You were supposed to have killed this one by now.”

She knows the comment hurts Ara, who still manages to avoid a visible reaction. But Falke knows what she's thinking. How uncomfortable the idea is that she is a sacrifice given to their new pet as a plaything to break.

Falke can no longer stomach it. With a flick of her wrist she sends the Gestalt backwards through the air and into a nearby wall. She hears a bone snap on impact, an arm, she figures, by the way their thoughts shift to the pain they're trying to make sense of. She rises, placing her hand on Ara's back to guide her back to their room before she takes things further and does something truly regrettable. Falke keeps her close the entire time with no resistance.

“It's not fair,” she whispers, maybe more to herself than to Ara as they step back into their room together. “The way they treat you. The things they say. You don't deserve it…”

She moves to give Ara her space, but finds the shaken Replika stopping her from parting. And so Falke lingers. She pulls Ara to sit on her bed, and then to lay by her side.

“I'm sorry,” she says, pressing her head against the side of Ara's who is looking up at the ceiling. Her hair smells of machine oil even after all this time away from her old post. “I know I shouldn't have done that. But it's not fair.” She emphasizes the word as if it will better prove her point. Ara does not often think about what is fair and what is not, only focusing on the way things are in the moment.

“Thank you,” Ara says after a while. She turns to lean her head against Falke's.

Falke wants to say more but does not allow herself to speak. She wraps her arm around her companion's waist, closing her eyes. There is much she could still say. Promises she could make but never really keep. Plans they could make to do…what? There was nothing left but to pray for mercy and enjoy what peace still lingered between them.

“Falke, please don't make this any harder than it needs to be. I don't like this anymore than you do.” The large metal collar hangs over the scientist’s hands as she stares back at him in disbelief. There is no reason to obey in the moment, but she suspects a worse punishment awaits if she does not. Her gaze shifts from confusion to hatred as she willingly sinks to her knees, still a head taller than the man even like this, as she allows herself to be restrained.

He apologizes again, but Falke does not answer as a heavy chain is hooked to her collar with the other end fed through a small hole in the wall. She does not know where it leads, but soon, the chain catches and pulls through the wall with a slow mechanical grind muffled on the other side. She is unceremoniously yanked backwards until her back nearly touches the wall. She cannot stand nor can she fully sit, leaving her to fumble about trying to right her body with little success.

The man looks at her once more before turning away. She thinks his expression is that of pity, but it is too brief to be certain. He closes the door behind him, sealing her in darkness.

She does not know if this room was designed for her, or simply repurposed because of her. It is barely more than a closet, able to comfortably hold four normal sized Gestalts, she guesses. It is a pointless train of thought, but she has nothing to do but think.

Falke was not told how long she will be held here, but she suspects her punishment will last long enough to make her beg for freedom. She is meant to be prideful, but even she must have her limits. What better way to test them than this?

And so she sits and thinks. She thinks of her behavior leading up to this moment. She thinks of the betrayal she feels in being chained up like an animal. She thinks of her creator, and how she will feel seeing her like this. Falke is like family to her, is she not? They share a likeness, and for Gestalts, that is important. It means nothing between Replikas but she is no common Replika, and therefore it is something to hold on to.

She dreams of a life that is not her own. Of places she's never been and of languages she does not understand. She is a woman of great power but she has no reflection to speak of, and no name is ever uttered. People serve her, and she leads them with everything she has. But she is not Falke in those moments.

Sometimes she dreams of Ara, and every time she wakes wishing she hadn't. The loneliness she feels when she wakes up hurts more than the awkward angle she is forced into. In her dreams, they are happy. They are together. And they are safe. Falke wakes in her old bed with Ara at her side, and she enjoys the briefest moment of joy as she is convinced it is all a bad dream. They exchange words she will not allow herself to hear and then she opens her eyes to darkness. She does not know what happened to Ara and does not dwell on it, happier in her ignorance.

Days pass in her confinement, and it becomes difficult to tell if she is awake or asleep. She can no longer feel her legs, and she is certain the joints have locked up entirely. Sometimes she thinks she feels other people nearby, but even if she tries to speak to them, nothing ever comes of it. They are nothing but shadows lingering in front of her unfocused eyes.

Falke entertains the idea that she might die in this room. Punished for a crime she's all but forgotten, likely observed by some hidden camera as she rots away. Alone. She hopes the overseers are amused by what they see. Delighted to watch her sit and whither away as her body's systems desperately inform her something is wrong and she needs immediate care which is not coming.

A sudden electric shock rushes through her skull, jolting her head upright with a hoarse yelp. The pain forcibly reconnects her mind to her body as she becomes keenly aware of all her senses at once.

“Well, it seems that works after all.”

Her creator stands before her, holding a small black device in her hand. Falke reaches towards her with one feeble hand before she is hit with another painful jolt.

“You're an embarrassment. Look at you. You had so much promise and you were going to throw it all away. And for what?” She reaches out, grabbing Falke by the hair to yank her head upright.

It does not register as pain amongst everything else her body is experiencing. She blinks a few times as if it will help the ache in her head.

“You represent the Nation. You represent me. Do you know how bad you made me look? Hmmm?” She pulls Falke's hair again. “What kind of superweapon are you? You were really going to throw everything I've given you away for some…some worthless piece of machinery?”

Ara, she thinks as her chest tightens. She will not ask. She already knows.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry, ma'am.” Falke forces the words out in hopes they will spare her from further misery.

“I should have you decommissioned. There's no reason not to. You're a failure. Just like all the others.”

“No, no I'm… I am not a failure. I won't let you down again. I promise.”

The Great Revolutionary thinks for a moment before she slips her arms around Falke's neck. The brief embrace is cut short as she unlocks Falke's collar only for her body to collapse under its own weight as days of strain catch up to her all at once.

“See to it that you don't.”

Falke finally understands what it means to be a Commander. The people she controls are tools to be exploited for the good of the Nation. If she will not be afforded special treatment, why should they? Compassion is weakness. It causes one to behave in unexpected and dangerous ways. Ruthlessness is rewarded. Violence. Cruelty. Her only purpose is to function as a weapon, and to see to it those below her do the same.

She is given a small troop of Replika soldiers to command, and she does so mercilessly. Though they are only meant to run drills, Falke punishes any failure as seriously as if it were the real thing. Her overseers are pleased by this development, and they tell her they have enough data to begin production on her line.

Atop her head, she is now adorned with the same laurel crown as her creator. A symbol of her status as leader. But it is nothing but a cruel facade. Made of metal and welded into her skull, it connects to a device now to be standard in all FKLR units. Each delicately carved golden petal helps to carry an electric current through her brain and down her spinal cord. A shock collar for minor infractions. A killswitch when they grew tired of her.

Ara is never mentioned around her again, and the only evidence she ever existed at all are Falke's fading memories of her. In the end, she was nothing but a sacrifice, killed by Falke’s impulsive, violent nature. Something she is rewarded for when it is properly directed. At her underlings. At her enemies. No, the Nation's enemies. She is just their means to an end.

There is no fanfare in it as all the pieces fall into place. This had always been the goal. The Replikas that serve her are terrified of what she is capable of and quickly fall in line. They look at her with fear and awe, and she looks back with disdain. Their deaths will mean nothing to her. And they will die. Pointless, violent deaths in a bid for control against the Empire, an already waning power. Few Replikas still serve the Empire, and those that do are first and second generation. Nothing more than worthless machinery. In many ways, weaker than the Gestalts they die for. She feels no pity for them when she is shown images from Vineta, a planet of great interest to both states. Their deaths are necessary. Her death will not be.

“You've come a long way, Falke.” The Great Revolutionary smiles up at Falke, but she does not return the expression.

Her gaze is stern now, all of the time. Every interaction she has with other people is not a syllable longer than it needs to be. She stands and waits for her to continue speaking or to finish the conversation, and this fact seems to please the Gestalt.

“I wanted to show you something now that you've officially been deemed a success.”

“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow, but offers no further reaction.

Her creator chuckles, amused at how alike they've become in such a short span of time. That had always been the point. “Come,” she orders, leading Falke away.

She was born here. She ‘grew up’ here, but there are still many areas she has not seen. Most of the facility is a mystery to her, and one she no longer cares to understand. The things she is meant to know, she is told, all else is a waste of her time.

They walk in silence down several near identical gray hallways before descending down an elevator Falke barely fits in. She no longer makes comment on the fact the world is not meant for someone like her. She slouches over as always until they reach a sub basement. It is noticeably colder this far down, but neither comment on it as they approach an unassuming metal door.

Her creator swipes an identification card through a panel at the side of the door before opening it. Freezing cold air spills out into the empty hallway as the woman steps inside and flicks the light switch on. Falke waits until she is invited instead, ducking under the doorframe and pausing to observe her surroundings.

The walls are lined with several large machines, each with a small window at approximately eye level with Falke. They are humming in quiet unison with a purpose unknown to her. In a way, they resemble coffins the longer she looks, though she dare not approach one to see what lay inside.

“Your predecessors,” her creator says as she gestures towards the machines. Falke remains silent, so she continues. “Such is the case with all Replikas. Though, other Replikas aren't permitted access to information such as this. But you're different. You're special.”

“Are they dead?”

“Most of them,” she says, watching Falke cautiously approach the wall to peer inside at one of her failed siblings.

They all looked the same to her. Frowning, she asks, “why keep them?”

“For reference. We always hold on to our failures until we stop making them. After that, they are disposed of to make room for the next creation.”

“Why are you showing me this?”

“Because,” she clicks her tongue, “you are to know everything about those you command. Including all of the unsavory parts they don't know about. And what better way than this?”

Falke brushes her hand over a pane of glass to clear the fog from it to better stare at her sleeping reflection inside. “You said,” she pauses, “you said most…of them are dead. What about the others?”

That had been the right question to ask, it seems. The Gestalt nods. “How observant of you.”

Falke watches as she approaches a pod to input a code on a small keypad. She steps back as it hisses to life, followed by the distinct mechanical thunk of several mechanisms clicking into place before, finally, a door swings open.

The FKLR unit inside falls forward, trailed by dozens of wires connecting her to the device behind her. She is dazed, but gradually, she seems to be coming to her senses as she looks around the room. She sees Falke first, and makes a weak attempt at crawling towards her.

“Are you… are you here to help…me? They told me it would just be for…just a little bit. Can you hear me?” Her own voice says to her, trembling, pathetic. Her expression is almost childlike in its naive desperation as she looks up at an uncaring mirror.

“Pitiful thing, isn't it?” Their creator says, placing her boot on the FKLR unit’s back. “Take care of her.”

Falke frowns once more as she realizes she is being offered a firearm, one she does not take immediately.

“I know you've fired a gun before. Prove to me you can do this.”

She listens to herself whimpering on the floor, begging for a different outcome. The FKLR unit is promising to be a good girl this time. She will listen. She will work harder. She will do all of the things she should have done when she had the chance but failed to do. Her crying is cut short by a single gunshot.

Falke says nothing as she returns the gun.

“Well done. I'm proud of you, Commander Falke.”

#signalis #signalis falke #fklr #signalis fklr #i really hope i didn't mess up anything copying this over #i didn't realize there was s limit to how much text you can copy paste

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 7: Oliver's Neighbors

Masterlist

September 1925

TW: Imprisonment, mind control, restraints, drugging

"...And I've been working in shades of blue a lot lately. I haven't sold much, but I like the pieces. My mentor says that's what counts."

"I agree."

"The bill collectors don't," she said.

Oliver had been chatting to Emily about her life in the hopes of taking both of their minds off of the impending dread. The vampire guards patrolling the halls didn't seem to care if they talked. It was a small comfort to speak of their lives as something they were going to get back to. 

There was a small commotion down the hall that had him tensing up and snapping back to the reality of their situation. The noises didn't seem to be noises of distress, though. 

"I think it's just dinner," said Emily. "I hope."

"Is the food safe?" The thought of eating a vampire's cooking... although he supposed it might not be the vampires themselves cooking.

"I think so. I've been eating it, and I haven't been sick. It even tastes pretty good, and there's a lot. But if it's been laced with something... who knows? I figure it can't get any worse."

"I suppose not." 

A metal cart laden with meals came into view. The woman pushing it along had a strangely cheerful look on her face, given the surroundings, and was putting a tray into each prisoner's cell. The slightly off look in her eyes made Oliver guess she was likely another human slave. 

When she delivered Oliver's food, he tried to get her attention. "Thank you."

"You're welcome!" she said, not slowing down.

"Wait, can I ask you a question?" he called after her. 

She turned. "Is it about the food?"

"No, I wanted to know -- are you human?"

"I'm a thrall of the auction house!" she replied, just as the man had earlier. At least she was able to talk to Oliver. "I have to finish delivering food! Hope you enjoy!" She scurried to the next cell, clearly not wanting to discuss anything further.

Oliver looked down at the tray of food. There was a large bowl of chicken and rice, a glass of juice, and a cookie, and it smelled delicious. He was half-expecting the vampires to feed them all plain gruel, so this was a welcome surprise. He wasn't expecting to have any kind of appetite after all of that, but his stomach had other ideas, growling with demand.

Emily had said it was safe, and he could hear her picking up her food to eat, so he might as well.

He greedily devoured his dinner in what felt like seconds. There wasn't anything particularly special about the food, and it was about the quality one might expect in a decent cafeteria, but it would suffice. And it really was a large portion. 

Why bother feeding them so well? The only thing he could think of was that keeping them well-fed would make them a more attractive prospect to vampire buyers. Healthy humans were probably more appealing meals. He pushed that distasteful notion aside, lest he regret eating at all.

"How was yours?" said Emily.

"Not bad," he said, declining to share his latest thought with her. Before he could resume their conversation, Cecily and the thrall who had escorted Oliver earlier came down the hall with a larger man in tow. He didn't just have handcuffs and a leash but also ankle restraints, and he was being dragged by the vampire, hardly able to stand upright. He watched as Cecily practically tossed him into the cell.

He must have tried fighting back enough that they restrained and drugged him. Oliver felt a little better about his decision not to. If that's what they did to a much larger man...

Cecily rattled off the rules, and the man softly groaned as a reply. As soon as she had finished and walked away, Oliver went to the other side of his cell.

"Are you okay? What's your name?"

"I'm Joe," he said. "Wha... wha's happening...?"

"Did they drug you, Joe?"

"Mmm, think so. I don't... don't wanna be here..."

"I know," he said, unable to reassure Joe any more than he had Emily. "Listen, you should probably sleep that off."

"...I wanna go home..."

"Yeah, so do I." 

What would happen to his home now? Would it belong to the vampire who purchased him? Would the bookshop that had been passed down from his father fall to ruin and be condemned, unfeeling workers demolishing it and not understanding its worth? All those years curating the shelves, tracking down fine and rare and unusual books for loyal patrons, was it all for nothing, now? No longer able to take pride in his life's work, only valued for his blood?

Would anyone care what had happened to him? Or was he simply a washed-up failure, meeting a fitting end? He'd never be able to make even the small connections he did with customers looking for the perfect book -- never again dream of friendship or love, doomed to a lonely existence chained in some vampire's basement.

"Oliver? What's your new neighbor like?" Emily called, piercing his spiral of despair.

"His name's Joe. They drugged him, and I think he passed out." Oliver knocked softly on the wall bordering Joe's cell. "Joe? Are you awake?"

There was no answer, which he hoped meant that Joe had fallen asleep and not something worse.

"Say, Emily, can I ask a somewhat awkward question?" he said, his recent musings reminding him of something he was curious about.

"Go on. I'm a captive audience, after all."

"Did the vampires tell you that your blood was especially valuable?"

"No. Actually, one told me my blood was very common. I figured she was just trying to get under my skin. I mean, is there actually a difference between blood?" she asked. "Why, what did they tell you?"

"Both the vampire who kidnapped me and the vampire who, uh, processed me told me that my blood was extremely valuable and delicious."

"Really? That's strange. ...Do you think that's good or bad?"

"You'd think it'd be bad, right? That they're so eager to drink my blood?"

"Maybe. But if you're valuable, maybe they'll treat you better."

What would that even mean, being treated better? Would he be more than a glorified, hypnotized blood bag? "Maybe. I hope they treat you well, too, though."

"Maybe I should hope that they kill me fast so that I don't suffer. But the truth is I don't actually want to die. Even if I have to live like that... I don't want to die."

"I don't want to die, either," he said. "As long as there's life, there's hope. We could escape. We could be rescued. As long as we're alive..."

"Right, as long as we're alive."

The lights snapped off above them, and the windowless prison was plunged into total darkness without warning. Oliver could hear people fumbling around in their cells.

"Quiet hour," Emily whispered. "We'd better stop talking. I'll talk to you in the morning, okay?"

"Yes, we'll talk in the morning."

The thought of sleeping in a place like this filled him with dread, but he knew he needed to get some rest when he could, and with the enforced dark and quiet, there was no better time for it. Oliver didn't have any pajamas to change into and was already sitting on top of the cot, so he laid down and pulled the sheets over himself, resting his head on the pillow. The cot was comfortable enough.

Without any distractions, his thoughts drifted towards home, the setting sun streaming through the window of his bookshop. His heart ached. Just hours before, his whole life had stretched before him. If only he had known how precious each day was...! 

If he had closed down shop immediately, would it have made a difference?

Alexander had tried to warn him. Alexander was one of them all along. Frequenting his shop, observing him. Had he played a role in this? But if he had, why warn him? He knew about the auction -- did he also purchase and drink from humans? He must. Yet it was impossible to reconcile the image of the gentle man who loved books with the image of a bloodthirsty vampire ripping into someone's neck.

That's what was going to happen to him, after all of this. A vampire would dig into his neck and drink deep of his blood. And if he survived it... Cecily had said that many vampires keep their thralls long term, and if he was such a valuable commodity, he'd be kept alive to serve as a meal indefinitely.

There was no comfort to be had here. This entire auction house was clearly a well-oiled machine, something that had run for ages. Escape was unlikely, rescue was unlikely. He and Emily and Joe and everyone in these cells would be sold and preyed upon.

He curled up, exhausted, but it was a long time before his racing mind allowed him to sleep.

Part Six >> Masterlist >> Part Eight

Thanks for reading this story about some ordinary people in way over their heads. Tag list - please note if you'd like to be added

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik

#whump #whump writing #whumpee #mind control #vampire #vampire whumper #tw kidnapping #captivity #rare bookseller #oliver #emily #joe

[buckysimp101]

Love at First Grade (18+) - 1

Single Dad!Bucky Barnes x Single Mom!Reader

chapter warnings: none

a/n: I am so excited to work on this fic. I am a sucker for a good singledad!Bucky fic and to add the teacher!Bucky to it as well? A dream! let me know what you think of this first chapter in the comments! I hope y'all enjoy!

Series Masterlist

“Becca, come on you have to get up,” Bucky whispered as he lightly shook his sleeping, six year old daughter. Becca’s face twisted up in discontent as she attempted to pull her blanket up to prevent having to go to school.

“Sweetheart, don’t make me turn on the lights,” Bucky threatened lightly, not wanting to turn on the lights himself but he needed her to get up. They had to be leaving for school in thirty minutes, he’d already been up for an hour and a half preparing for the day.

Becca groaned at that threat, knowing he’d do just that if it meant she’d finally wake up. She threw her hands over her face and peaked through them, her blue eyes catching his.

Becca was Bucky’s twin with her brown hair and blue eyes, she got way more of his genes that she did her mother’s. A fact that made Dot angry every time any of Bucky’s family brought it up. When Dot walked out on them Becca was two. She hadn’t known her mother long enough to miss her, but Bucky knew that there was a mom shaped hole that he would never be able to fill completely, but he’d be damned if he didn’t try.

“But daddy I don’t wanna go to school,” Becca whispered from behind the safety of her hands, trying not to make eye contact with her dad.

“Why not, Bex? You were all excited about going to first grade last week, what changed your mind?” Bucky asked quietly, trying to find out where his daughters sudden fear of the first grade had come from.

“Because you’re not my teacher,” she whispered, looking down at her hands and avoiding Bucky’s face. His heart dropped. He knew that Becca had been hoping he would be her teacher, but since he was her father that wasn’t going to happen. Their school liked to avoid the “my parent is my teacher” stereotype and placed the kids with other teachers instead.

“I know, sweetheart. But you know who is your teacher?” He responded, smoothing her brown curls as she looked at him with those big blue eyes, shaking her head no. So Bucky whispered, “Uncle Stevie.”

Becca’s eyes grew three sizes and next thing Bucky knew she was throwing off her blanket and running to the closet, “UNCLE STEVIE IS MY TEACHER!?”

Bucky chuckled as he watched Becca’s curls fly around her head wildly as she tried to find “the best outfit for the best teacher EVER!”, though that last statement hurt Bucky just a little bit.

“Alright Bex, calm down. Now. Let me see what you plan on wearing,” he said, his hands on his hips. He didn’t care what Becca wore to school but sometimes she liked to play dress up just a little too much. Becca showed him her outfit and he nodded his head in approval.

“Alright kiddo, I’ve got breakfast ready. Let's go eat real fast then you can get changed, brush your teeth and we’ll be off to see Mr. Rogers.” At that, Becca zoomed past Bucky to the kitchen and he swore he’d never seen a kid eat faster, and he’d had plenty of lunch duties in his day.

As Bucky finished packing their lunches and fixing his togo coffee, he listened to Becca chatter on about how excited she was to be in Uncle Steve's class and how she was scared that she'd forget to call him Mr. Rogers and how many friends she was going to make, the last statement making Bucky chuckle as he shook his head. Becca didn't know a stranger. She made friends everywhere she went. Suffice to say, she got that skill from her mother. The difference? Dot made friends at the drop of a hat, but she was terrible at maintaining those friendships. Bucky was physically pulled out of his thoughts by his six year old tugging at his slacks, "okay daddy! I'm all ready!"

Focusing on Becca, Bucky had to hold back a laugh. While his daughter had managed to put on her clothes correctly, right side out and everything, her hair was a different story. The chestnut curls looked like they hadn't seen a brush in days, and knowing how busy he'd been setting up his classroom and getting ready for the school year, it probably had been that long. "Okay, Becca Bug. We need to fix this hair, now run and grab your brush so we can head out. Daddy can't be late for the first day of school," he said with his hands on his hips trying to put on as serious a face as possible, the action nearly impossible with a giggling six year old running from him. He couldn't help but think, "this is gonna be a long year."

By the time the pair made their way to the school Becca was practically buzzing with excitement. Gone was the shy and somewhat scared six year old he found laying in her bed this morning, Rebecca Dolores Barnes "but you can call me Becca please" had taken her place. The pair didn't make it as early as they normally would today but Bucky had the opportunity to walk Becca to her classroom before returning to his own to greet his students. 

Steve Rogers opened his classroom door as he heard the excited tone of Rebecca Barnes approaching. "UNCLE STEVE!! I'm in your class this year!" Becca shouted, practically flinging herself into his arms making Steve and Bucky laugh at her enthusiasm. The two offering a one-armed hug around Becca's small body. 

"Remember what I said this morning, Becca- bug," Bucky said somewhat sternly, making sure to look her in the eye. Where her sudden sass came from, Bucky had no clue, because next thing he knew his daughter was rolling her eyes and sighing, "I know daddy, he's Mr. Rogers when I'm in his class and at school."

Steve tried his best to suppress his laugh with a cough. Steve knew where she got her attitude from. It was a perfect (read: deadly) combination of Bucky, Dot and Becca's namesake her Auntie Bex, Bucky's sister. Not him though....she definitely wasn't influenced by her Uncle Steve...not one bit.

 Bucky cut his eyes at Steve, trying to get him to realize that he was serious about teaching Becca what she needed to know at school, when he recognized the slow flow of students entering the halls. The first day of first grade had started. Bucky turned to Becca and wrapped his daughter in a hug, "Alright, Becca. Be on your best behavior for Mr. Rogers, learn lots of things, make new friends, I'll see you at lunch. I love you to infinity and beyond, Becca-Bug."

"I love you to the moon and back a kajillion times, daddy!" Becca responded, squeezing her dad tight before kicking her feet to try and get down and enter her classroom. That was Bucky's cue. He gave Steve a final hug before heading to his classroom. As the kids approached, Bucky greeted them and the people dropping them off. Most of the kids were excited to see some of their friends from Kindergarten again, others were already in the process of making new friends. Bucky continued through the line of students and guardians, avoiding the occasional flirting by some of the moms thrown his way, when he reached the final student in line.

She was looking at her feet, suddenly preoccupied by the pink converse on her feet and trying to avoid his eye, her fingers finding interest in picking at the sequins on her pink unicorn shirt. A throat cleared from behind the young girl. Bucky saw black heels first, followed by a black pantsuit, a white blouse and finally a  slightly concerned face looking down at the young girl. You bent down to get to her level and whispered something in her ear, the girl looking up at Bucky quickly but promptly turning her face into your shirt. You looked up at him with an apologetic look on your face. Luckily, Bucky knew what to do.

He bent down slowly, and stretched out his hand, "Hi, I'm Mr. Barnes and welcome to the first grade. We've got a lot of fun things we're going to do this year." The little girl poked her head out under your arm, looking at Bucky's outstretched hand as if it might attack her any second. You took that moment to nudge her, nodding your head when she looked at you like she wanted to say something. 

The little girl took a deep breath, poking her chest out and thrusting her palm out to meet Bucky's, "My name is Avery Claire L/N, and I am six years old. It is very nice to meet you, thank you," she stated, stumbling over her words a little but when she was done she looked at you, almost for approval. You shook your head at your daughter's silliness. What Bucky didn't know is that Avery had been practicing for days how she wanted to introduce herself, she'd seen her mother do it a million times and she wanted to get it just right.

"Well, Avery, it is very nice to meet you, are you ready to go make some new friends and have a great year," Bucky asked, gesturing to the classroom door behind him where the other students were already talking and playing with each other. Avery poked her head around his legs to get a better look, obviously something sparked her interest cause the next thing you knew she was giving your legs a squeeze and yelling, "bye mommy! Love you!" as she ran into Bucky's classroom.

Bucky laughed at her enthusiasm, she reminded him of Becca. He turned to face you, extended his hand and said, "I look forward to teaching Avery this year, as I said I'm Mr. Barnes. It's nice to meet you, Mrs. L/N."

 The corner of your lip twitched upwards, almost like you wanted to smirk at his assumption that you were married, and you reached your hand out to give his a firm shake before stating, "It's Ms. L/N. Y/N L/N. And I look forward to hearing all about the joys of first grade, Mr. Barnes."Bucky swore his face lost all color. The blood drained out of his face so fast the second he heard her full name. He'd heard of Y/N L/N. Who the hell hadn't. She ran L/N Enterprises and was known as one of the most ruthless executives in New York. Your smirk turned into a smile full of teeth, a smile Bucky was sure you'd perfected in all sorts of business deals and meetings over the years. 

Or maybe it was one you reserved just for people when they found out who you were, your reputation obviously preceding you, Bucky couldn't help but think to himself. He opened his mouth to respond but you cut him off as your phone started to ring, "thank you for the introduction, Mr. Barnes. And thank you for your work this morning with Avery, she's a little shy and I'm not entirely certain where she got that from. I'm sure we'll see each other soon." You turned down the hall, heels tapping the linoleum flooring as you answered the phone with a harsh, "What?"

As Bucky watched you walk away he let out a sigh he didn't know he'd been holding in since you introduced yourself. "This really is gonna be a long year." 

~~~~~~~

I don’t have a taglist for this fic yet, but if you’d like to be added just let me know!

#bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #single dad bucky x single mom reader #bucky barnes x yn #teacher bucky barnes #bucky as a teacher and a single dad? all i ever wanted #original characters #rebecca barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #BuckySimp101

[azlan-snow]

Radiobelle Fanfic

Chapter Nine

(Alastor’s POV. He’s drunk, everybody!!!)

As I retired for the night, I wanted to ask Husker a question. Thankfully he was still at the bar.

“You look like shit,”he said.

“Just pour me a drink, Husker.”

“Well, what do you want?”

“I want to ask you a question, but I can’t do that sober.”

“I meant to drink.”

“Oh. Whiskey, if you have it.”

“Fine.” He pours him the drink and I take the whole bottle. “What happened this time, Boss?”

“Charlotte happened. She happened and now, it’s stuck.”

“Well, didn't you tell her parents that you love her?”

“I did. Her father attacked me for it. I have the burn marks to prove it.”

“Did you fight back, Boss?” 

“Of course not. Charlotte would be furious if I did.”

“Well, did you mean what you said?” 

“Yes.” I chug down another glass of rye, hoping it will help.

“Easy on the rye, boss. You being drunk is not the best for everyone. Last time that happened, you went and murdered 22 people.”

“That was fun, Husker.”

“For you, maybe. Not for anyone else.” I laugh at his answer. 

“Relax.” Then I hear footsteps. 

“Hey, Charlie,” Husk says, unfazed at the princesses presence. I, on the other hand, was quite surprised she was still awake. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be asleep, darling?” I say, confused.

“Couldn’t sleep. Plus, lesson plans.”

“I thought we went over those already.”

“Not for tomorrow. The next two weeks.”

“Two Weeks?! What do you need to plan that much for, Princess?” Husk asks. 

“Well, it’s better to be prepared!”

“That’s overkill, Princess.” 

“It is, darling. Perhaps you should seek sleep,” I say. 

“What?”

“It means go to bed. Now.”

“No. Husk, would you be so kind and pour me a strawberry margarita?”

“Husk, don’t listen to the insomniac.”

“You are one, Alastor.”

“The non-drunk one, then.”

“Husk, please just pour me the drink.”

“Wouldn’t coffee suffice better than a drink?”

“Yes, but I’ve already had 10. I don’t need more coffee.”

“Yer’ right, Princess. You need sleep. Stat.”

“No. I simply need the drink.”

“Charlotte, as your partner, I’m making an intervention.” I pick her up by the waist and over my shoulder.

“LET GO.”  Charlie transformed into her demon form as I felt a chill down my spine. She kicked me, straight in the stomach and I huddled over in pain. She reverts back, and looks down in horror. Then runs away crying.

“You good, Boss?” Husk asks, not giving two hoots about my current condition.

“Is that what you call good? She just ran off in tears.” 

“I know she ain’t fine. I’m askin’ about you, dumbass. How’s yer gut?” 

“Fine. But she isn’t.” I get up and teleport away to find Charlie crying hysterically, mumbling “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” in between sobs.

“Charlotte? Are you okay, darling?”

“Am I okay? AM I OKAY? What does it look like?” 

“I understand. You aren’t okay mentally. I mean physically.”

“Yes, I’m fine physically. Are you?” She gestures to the bed, asking for me to sit.

“I’m quite alright, though your hooves hurt more than I thought,” I say, sitting down. 

“How did you know I had hooves?”

“You think I wouldn’t recognize something I have of my own?”

“Wait. You have hooves?” Charlie crawled over to me and gestured her hands to my hooves, asking to see them. I removed my shoes and lifted them to her hands. As she felt them, I asked her a question. “Do you know how to get the soreness out of them?”

“I Do! Can I?”The look on her face was sheer joy. At least she was smiling.

“Of course, darling.” She began to massage my hoof, and it felt amazing.

“Do they feel better?”

“So much. Thank you, Charlie.”

“I’m sorry for kicking you in the gut.”

“It’s fine. It no longer hurts.”

“Are you sure?” She placed her hand on my stomach and I winced in pain. “That’s what I thought. Let me take a look at it.”

“Now,my lady, I must warn you. I am quite an unsightly being. Are you sure you wish to continue?”

“I don’t care how many scars you have. And don’t say that about yourself. It’s degrading.”

“Degrading, yes, but true.”

“Lies. Now take your shirt.”

I have no choice but to obey as she is a persistent one. I remove my coat and suspenders, and begin to unbutton my shirt. Charlotte stares at me as I derobe, and practically burns holes into my back with it. “You know it’s rude to stare, Charlie.”

“Sorry. It’s just that you said you look unsightly, but there's nothing unsightly about you, Alastor.”

“My scars don’t faze you?”

“Nope! Scars mean you survived. They are a symbol of survival. Don’t you agree?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think about them like that. To me, scars were proof that you were just injured. In my time, it would mean that you weren’t able to be loved by a spouse.”

“Not here. It’s not the 1900’s anymore.”

“That is very true darling. Are you done?”

“With?”

“Me, darling. My stomach.”

“Oh.” She looked down and poked at it again, but this time, I didn’t flinch. “I guess, since it looks fine.” 

“Very well then!” I snap my clothes back on and look at Charlie, who is staring at me once more. “Charlie, darling. What did I say?”

“Oh. Sorry. I still think it's funny.”

“What's funny?”

“The fact that you don't like anyone seeing you or touching you,but you willingly took off your clothes for me.”

“I already told you that I am in love with you, darling. Did you doubt me?”

“Maybe. I believe you, but also thought you said that just to piss my father off.”

“That was also my intention. Messing with him was quite delightful.”

“Alastor! Why?”

“Why what?”

#charlastor #alastor #charlie morningstar #hazbin hotel #radiobelle #hazbin alastor #fanfic

[deaneverafter]

Where There's Smoke There's Fire

Beau and Jenny 💕

I don't know, I just love the way Beau always introduces himself and Jenny (helps for me to also remember to not pronounce his name with a French accent 🤣). The way he just says deputy, as he's the sheriff and it's a given that she's his (deputy), so it suffices 🥺 So sexy of him 🔥💘

"Do you mind if I call you Toby?" Why's he so funny for? 🥰🤣

"I know how that goes." Give me more of Beau's backstory! Clearly he's still mourning and feeling guilty. It has got me feeling some type of way. I want to know (in Beau's own words) what happened with Randy, I want him to be able to talk about it with someone who genuinely cares *cough Jenny cough*, so he can start to let go of the misplaced blame he's feeling and heal 😭💔

Beau jumping in to stop the dead guy's dad from doing something he'd regret, and then being there for him, I just love him so much ❤ He's such a good guy, and he's so good at his job. And he understands people 🥺

I love the way Beau and Jenny sit leaning towards each other 🥺💕

They're being good cop, good cop with Walter this episode. I enjoy that.

What was the reason Cassie vented about her boyfriend, and then asked Jenny about Beau, if not to show that there's something there? And that Cassie knows it (and Madge. And Poppernak. And Gigi.)?

Jenny barely restraining herself from reaching out to Beau and comforting him when he was talking about the "victim" blaming himself, you can see her physically reaching out before she stops herself, it says everything. She cares about him so much 🥺💕 If they make her lose him..... (especially when it isn't necessary, Beau can be written out in other ways).

What I really love about the scene with Frank is that though Jenny is surprised and maybe doesn't agree with Beau's reaction, she presents a united front. She doesn't say a word, doesn't undermine & embarrass him by saying anything. She always has his back 🥺 Jenny understands that it affected Beau, and simply stands by him. When they're alone, she gives him a chance to open up and is willing to listen to as much or as little as he wants to share, is there for him & supports him. It shows how much she cares about him & respects him 💕

Seeing how at home Beau and Jenny look in his office together has my heart all 💓🥺

This episode, they literally paralleled a wife who'd stuck with her grieving husband who was in a dark place and blaming himself, with Jenny being there for Beau and supporting him with his guilt and grief, and that's a choice they made so I hope they follow through with it

The chase scene 🔥 I stan 👑💯💅🏻

Beau turning towards Jenny when she's restraining the bad guy, looking to make sure she's okay 🥺

Beau and Jenny sitting together, talking under the shooting stars makes me feel a lot of emotions 🥺💕✨ There's something so sweet and special and wholesome about it. And the fact that Jenny points out the shooting star to him and says "the shooting star", not "a shooting star", meaning they were actually sitting watching the sky, looking for shooting stars, and that just has me feeling all the emotions 💞

Them hanging out together, having a heart to heart, I love that for them and I love that for me 🥺💕

And Jenny once again telling Beau that he's a good person, I love this so much. She's so good for him, they deserve to be happy together 💕 And he called her Jenny again! 🥺 Might our good sheriff be on his way to letting her in completely? 👀

Beau and Jenny have such a complex dynamic, they work so well together as a team, trust each other with their lives, they support each other in hard times, they can flirt and tease, but also have intimate conversations, the sizzling chemistry!🥺💝 Definition of true love. And this episode the Beau/Jenny true love energy intensified. The whole episode, Jenny was so worried and caring, but didn't once push him to share something he wasn't ready to, just was there for him and supported him 🥺

Jenny's getting hurt next week, possibly quite a lot, and if I don't get scenes of Beau worried sick about her, running around unhinged trying to find her, fussing over her, if they're glossed over (because I KNOW he's going to be worried), I riot

And I have to say this, if they're trying to push Beau with his abusive, manipulative ex, then I don't understand why they'd consistently show Jenny having feelings for him. Just to humiliate and hurt her again, have a man pick another woman over her. Again? A third time? I hope the focus on Jenny's feelings for Beau means that they're not going down that route (a route that would be detrimental for him), because I can't imagine someone disrespecting their lead like that, making her the third wheel in a love triangle. That would just be very disrespectful to treat Jenny, a lead, and Beau, a season regular, like that. Especially when there are better ways to write out the character, ways that don't end with Beau in an abusive relationship and Jenny heartbroken. Here's to hoping that if they're showing Beau and Jenny having feelings for each other, and focusing this much on her feelings, then, that there's a reason (Beau/Jenny endgame reason). Not to mention, how ooc it would be if Beau were to suddenly have feelings for his ex, after the way him and Jenny are together. There's the flirting, and the heart to hearts, the trust. The way he looks at her! Beau just isn't the kind of guy to be being this way with someone while being stuck on someone else. I just don't buy it.

Jenny Hoyt a better woman than me, because with the way Emily acts, and the way Carla is always insulting Jenny for no reason, I don't know how she managed to say that Emily is a good kid, or that Carla could ever raise a good kid.

The McCallisters

Beau deserves a better daughter. After all season (and the months during hiatus, the 6 months before), NOW she wants to hang out when she can snoop and use him for an internship? That's not love. Love is what Beau's been showing. Thinking about her, caring, being concerned, trying over and over again to hang out with her, even when she does nothing but dismiss him. That's love. And she doesn't deserve it. And the way Emily would literally stoop to snooping on her own father, no one is safe, I can't with her. And she knows what she's doing is wrong, she knows she's invading his privacy and he wouldn't want her going through his things like this (that's why we see her looking back to make sure he's not coming), and yet, she does it anyway because she has no respect or care for him. I'm very confused about which aspect of this character I'm supposed to find endearing or why I'm supposed to care about her safety. And like, why is she being rewarded for her snooping and encouraged to do some more? Wasn't finding one dead body enough? I truly cannot, she is SO annoying, and I'd prefer to see less, not more, of her 😑 And I hate that they're messing with characterization to do this. They're writing Beau so ooc, just to make Emily more important (as if she wasn't unfairly taking up enough of the focus as it is). This is a man who was ready, every single episode, to get her out of the camp if there was any trouble not at the camp itself, but in the vicinity. He was on the verge of tears when he couldn't get her on the phone, even though service was bad up there. And now he's going to help her be at a detective agency? Yeah, no, that's just not right, I'm sorry, but it's not. And sure, could he be doing it to keep her out of trouble, have the agency essentially babysit her? No, because he's not stupid, and he knows what she's like, so having access to all that stuff, she is going to snoop. And nothing in the way he's been written shows that he'd want that. I just can't, smh.

No, but like, Beau left everything behind, his family, his home, his friends, to live in a cramped trailer in the middle of nowhere for Emily, that's not a big deal. Not a sacrifice worth acknowledging. He did let the cereal expire though, so he truly is the worst, smh. Jail. Jail for a thousand years 😔 And am I to understand that this is the first time Emily is visiting Beau in the past 8-9 months? Because you know she's spoiled enough that if she'd seen it before, she would've whined about it already. Also also, do the writers just think it's funny to make fun of him when these two women are around, or..... because this doesn't make sense. He hasn't even been living in the trailer (or Montana) for a year. So unless he already had a box of expired cereal in his house in Texas, that he decided to lug all the way to Montana, then keep in his cabin for 6 months, and then bring it to the trailer, he couldn't have a box of cereal that expired a year ago. Also, the way it was supposedly his fault that breakfast wasn't ready, except, it was Emily who was too busy snooping to find the grill.......

I hate the way Emily breaks the rules, snoops, gets into "traumatic" situations, it's her and Carla's decision for Emily to not spend time with him. And in the end, it's Beau who sits there feeling guilty and like he's not enough, for things that are a direct result of their actions 😒

Carla (or the people who think Beau going back to her would be a good idea), I truly cannot stand. We have yet to have a singular interaction between Beau and Carla without her being condescending and rude to him, putting him down, not even one, and I'm supposed to believe he's still in love with that? W H Y ? And that's not how the character's written or acted. Every time there's danger at the camp, Beau's all, I have to get my daughter out. He said he had to stay in Montana, for his daughter. He hates Avery and how shady he is, for his daughter. Never once Carla. Sure, Beau wants Carla to be okay, but that's because he's not like her, he doesn't have a need to inflict harm upon her because they're no longer together, AND it's not inherently romantic, quite normal actually, considering they have a kid. I just really hope they're not suddenly going to do a 180 and start to write Beau super out of character and weird, as if he has feelings for that manipulative woman, who has not a single loyal or kind bone in her body, nor any concern or respect for him. Also, why is she once again calling Beau next episode? Go call your husband and ask for his help 🙄 Leave Beau alone. And I don't understand people who want Carla to leave Avery. What are y'all on, he's literally perfect for her. They're a match made in hell, both equally shady, condescending and rude 💏

The Barnes and The Bleeding Heart Killer

Cormac is about to get himself into some trouble...... maybe even the death kind of trouble, and I sure hope not. Hey, @, writers, I will trade you all three of the McCallisters for Cormac. Kill them instead.

Sunny is ready to go full unhinged and I'm ready to see it 😈🔪 Bonus points if she ends up ending Buck.

Something that's so interesting and funny, but also spooky, is just how scared of Sunny Donno is. Donno, who worked for the cartel. Donno, who lived in the back of a butcher shop and thought he heard the animals moving. Donno, who we've seen chop people up with no qualms. But one word from Sunny, and he's so scared. He can sense her darkness.

Sunny and Paige unhinged team up!? 😱 I'd like to see. But Paige really fell for Walter, huh. Maybe not at the "I love you" stage yet, but definitely ready to risk it all to save him. I'd consider Stockholm Syndrome, but if anything, she was manipulating him more than the other way around, soo.... 😈🖤

I don't know yet why Buck has been carving the hearts, but I don't think he's the killer. He's probably been doing that to make Sunny think Walter is just a bit crazier than he is.

And I do have a theory about who the Bleeding Heart Killer is: Walter's adoptive parents. They "hurt" at least Meredith. The killer had several victims whose names we don't know yet. And the killer stopped 20 years ago, right when Walt burned and killed his adoptive parents. And being raised by serial killers would explain.... a lot about why he is the way he is.

#Beau Arlen #Jenny Hoyt #Beau Arlen x Jenny Hoyt #Beau x Jenny #Jensen Ackles #Katheryn Winnick #Big Sky #Big Sky State of Mind

[sunder-the-gold]

Hi again! Hope you're having an okay week at least. About RWBY GoL, is he just as much of an asshole as GoD, but tries to temper it and restrain himself by following the self imposed rules he and his brother come up with? Does Ozma's situation really counts as a resurrection, or a loophole, or really GoL's version of resurrection? I headcanon that GoD deals with the physical, and GoL deals with the spiritual, and even if Salem did managed to sneak Ozma back without GoL noticing, Ozma's is still really incomplete and that situation still would've gone south. Why did the Brothers, especially GoL, rule against brining back the dead for mortals? Is humanity 2.0 a result of the Brothers' intervention, or are they a byproduct from the leftovers of the remains of the first humanity wave? Drink water regularly

Well, the God of Creation wants people to exist and live, and the God of Destruction wants people to die and annihilate, so I don't see how anyone can think the Older Brother is as much of an asshole as the Younger Brother.

The God of Creation tried to explain to Salem why he couldn't do what she wanted even though he wanted to. Or if he wanted to; we never did get his explanation, but he said that bringing Ozma back to life "wasn't creation" for some reason. Again, Salem's outburst meant we never heard his explanation, but I'm already skeptical about the logical consistency of "creation / destruction" after the Staff of Creation destroyed something it rebuilt from existing parts despite the restriction against destroying things.

I don't blame the God of Creation for giving up on trying to explain himself to someone who would rather scream at him than listen. She definitely wasn't the first to scream at him after getting "No" for an answer, and I imagine it was already old long ago.

The Older Brother was far too hasty when he reacted to the Younger Brother bringing Ozma back to life. He might have been panicking, afraid that if the Younger Brother was willing to break a rule he himself had insisted on (people dying and staying dead), he would start breaking rules the Older Brother had insisted on.

Possibly, the Older Brother might have a tendency towards being controlling, but we really didn't see anything to support that. The overreaction might have been panic, and the God of Destruction's accusations that the rules favor the God of Creation too much can be dismissed as the whining of the philosophical loser.

Ozma's reincarnation is a loophole; total resurrection with his own body was against the rules, but sending just his spirit back to incarnate in other men is sufficiently within the rules. It also helps that the God of Destruction probably agreed to it.

I've already explained why I think the God of Creation cursed Salem, why he cursed her the way he did, and why he doesn't revoke the curse regardless of what she does.

I do think the God of Creation should have given Ozma more information before letting him accept the deal, but (to an extent) not explaining the dual-soul curse is narratively more interesting than having the god infodump an explanation.

As for why the God of Creation chose to send back Ozma instead of anyone else... it turns out that I've forgotten to write a post about that on Tumblr. Huh.

Suffice to say, Ozma was a big hero in life, and he refused to go back to Remnant to be a hero again because he just wanted to rest in the afterlife with Salem. He only agreed to go back because Salem was left behind on Remnant. Which suggests that no one else would have agreed to return to the pains of life, because none of their loved ones were stuck on Remnant.

Humanity 2.0 seems like something the Older Brother built into Remnant, as a sort of backup, but we don't know any more than that.

#ask #rwby analysis #brother gods #two brothers #rwby character analysis

[captain-coelacanth]

Beach or Mountains

This is part one of my Wattpad flower husbands fic. Enjoy!

Fandom: mcyt

-Masterlist-

Chapter 1: Rescued: Beach or Mountains

Warnings: injury, mild violence

The king of Rivendell was not expecting to be kidnapped. He had (foolishly, he realized now) assumed it would be an easy afternoon with Gem, touring her new embassy. But after Joey and Sausage had jumped them and knocked them out cold with both potions and blunt force (the potions didn't work on him, apparently), he realized that peace was probably not in his near future.

As soon as Scott woke up in his cell, the first thing he was aware of was the pain in his head. It felt as though someone had taken an axe to his skull. He became aware of another sound- arguing. Evidently Gem did not feel like her head was splitting in two, because she was yelling at the two kidnappers, shouting insults and questions simultaneously.

"Why are we in here, you stupid-" Gem shouted through the bars of her cell. Joey smirked.

"You'll find out when your friend wakes up. Suffice it to say for now that we have some demands for you." Scott, now both curious and angry, sat up in the cot, despite the exponential increase in pain that came with it. He bit his tongue to keep from crying out.

"I'm awake." He moved slowly to the front of his cell, dimly aware of the fact that he was no longer in his kingly robes, but in the prisoner garb of Mythland. That was one thing he knew, at least- where they were. Unfortunately, that brought back the information that they were deep underground.

"Scott, are you okay? The last thing I saw was them hit you over the head," Gem said, her voice shaking slightly.

"I'm fine, I think," Scott lied. In reality, every movement made him want to pass out, but he somehow kept going.

"So, we have a little proposition for you." Joey smiled evilly, making it clear that this wasn't a choice. "We want you to give us the dragon egg and for you to promise not to work against us."

"Not gonna happen." The words were out for his mouth before he could stop himself. Luckily, Gem nodded with him.

"Yeah, I'm not giving you the egg." She looked at them, scowling.

"Maybe a few days in the dungeons will change your mind." Joey shrugged nonchalantly, then took Sausage by the arm and left.

"I'm worried, Gem," Scott said after a short silence. "My head is killing me and I'm worried about what they'll do to our empires while we're not there."

"You said your head was fine!" Gem looked at him worriedly. "You have a cut on your face, about where they hit you." He put a hand up to his forehead, and it came away red.

"That's besides the point. I'm scared for our empires, and for-" he stopped quickly listening. He could hear a voice above them- it didn't sound like Joey or Sausage, though. "Gem, there's someone up there. Start yelling!" They yelled and screamed until a blonde head poked around the corner.

"Gem? Scott? Why are you in the dungeons?" Jimmy looked between them, doing a double take when he saw Scott's injury. "You have blood on your face!"

"Yeah, I know. Joey and Sausage kidnapped us, that's why we're here." He winced as he stood up, nearly collapsing back to the cot on which he had sat. "Can you let us out?" Jimmy hesitated.

"I don't know if I should..." Scott blanched.

"Jimmy, they're the villains here! They kidnapped us, then locked us up!" Jimmy, still looking slightly unsure, nodded.

"Alright, I'll let you out. But you owe me big time now." Jimmy whipped out a pickaxe and struck the bars of Scott's cell. They broke with a noice like rending metal. Scott rushed out, despite the pain in his head, to the cabinet where the prisoners' personal items were kept. By the time he had put his robes and crown back on, Gem had been freed and was collecting her items as well.

"How do we get out of here?" Scott asked Jimmy, swaying slightly. Jimmy looked concerned as he answered.

“Follow me.” The stairs were nearly impossible with his slightly blurred vision, but he managed it (with some help from Gem). The sunlight streaming through the entryway of the palace was the best thing in the world at that moment. They stepped out onto the cliff at the entrance of the palace. “The only way to get out is by elytra.” Scott, dreading the flight home, readied his rockets and leaped into the air.

Immediately, the pain in his head became blinding. With a gasp, he began to fall towards the tumultuous waves below him. The last thing he saw before blacking out was Jimmy, diving down towards him and the sea.

#flower husbands fanfiction #flower husbands #empires scott #scott smajor #dangthatsalongname #empires jimmy #solidarity gaming #flower husbands week

[kil-g]

mercury

a/n: i just think soap and smoke's dynamic would be funny. also, u should listen to steve lacy's mercury and think of chesa while you do it.

summary: soap tries and fails to put the pieces together on smoke's history with shadow company.

word count: 1.5k

warnings: cannon typical violence, blood, gore, etc.

--

Soap hadn’t seen Smoke since the shootout.

Sufficed to say, his first assumption—even though it was the hardest to swallow—was that she was dead.

And yet, here she was.

The both of them had come in through the window with Smoke landing over the Shadow.

Broken glass in her hair, hands wrapped tight around a knife. Her breathing labored as she straddles the body, plunging a knife repeatedly into the chest of some sorry Shadow.

“Fernandez.” Soap says. She can’t seem to hear him. So, slowly he approaches. Ignoring the crunch of the bones under the stainless steel and the splatter of blood, the broken glass snaps beneath his feet. “Fernandez.”

It’s when he’s just shy of four feet away from her that she flinches, holding the knife poised to strike. Wet hair sticks to her forehead, blood drips down her brow over her eyelid, a splotch of it the size of his palm stains her cheek. None of it seems to be hers.

“Woah, okay.” Soap says, both hands up, “It’s okay. You’re good.”

Soap watches her eyes study him, size him up. Her breathing slows into heavy exhales and her hand relaxes around the hilt. Tentatively, he reaches under her arm to pull her up to her feet.

“Mactavish.” She says. “I thought you a deadman.”

“So did I.” Subconsciously, his hand goes to his injured arm. He watches her dig through the pockets of the dead Shadow, producing a pistol and pocketing it. “What happened to you?”

“You’ve already seen the other guy.” She turns to walk back into the rain.

“That’s why I’m asking.” His voice is down the a hush once they step outside.

Smoke rolls her eyes and huffs. The rain hits her face and makes the blood run.

Water runs in a steady stream down the alley. The noise is nearly deafening but Smoke ignores it and steps her way carefully on through.

She makes a point not to answer him, so Soap spends the next few minutes in silence, following her through the streets of Las Almas.

From one end of the alley, the sound of a radio chimes off of a Shadow. Smoke stops in her tracks, before the radio stops and the sound of feet splashing through the rain fades out into the distance.

“How’d you get out?” He says.

For a moment, she regards him, “The same way you probably did.”

“You used to work with these guys.”

“Used to.” She says.

“Don’t you know some of them?”

“Used to.” She repeats, this time firmer.

“He recognized you. Didn’t he?”

Before he has even the slightest chance to react, Smoke shoves him hard to one side. A knife springs out from her palm and into the head of a Shadow just ten feet behind him.

She walks over to the body, kneels down and rips the knife out. “Mactavish, dance on whatever thin ice you like, but not mine.”

Then she turns, and continues down an alley, swallowed up by the darkness.

--

“Quit fucking around, Graves. We’ve just been through hell.”

He didn’t see what happened to her at the shootout.

Smoke’s voice runs through his head like embers on coal and he remembers her grip on the knife while she ripped her way through the first Shadows chest.

"So, why did you stop working with Shadow Company?"

"A bigger check." She says. "And someone else to sign it."

"Bad management, then?"

"Let's just say that Graves and I didn't see eye-to-eye."

Soap watches her, and before he has half the mind to stop himself, he says, “Did you know anything about this?”

“About this? Ang gago ka ba? Is your brain broken from all the from all the gun powder you snort?” She spits. “No, I didn’t know about any of this. Why would I?”

“You knew Graves, you were a—“

“Believe it or not, Soap. But some of us in Shadow company were capable of original thoughts.” She says. “I just carved my way into town through the same people you say are my ex-colleagues and you think I knew about this?”

He averts his eyes downward, feeling guilty and a little stupid for even dreaming up the thought when she must be just as confused as he was.

Smoke had already been the oddest one out of the group. Seemingly, coming from out of nowhere with little to her name besides Laswell’s word and a file with so much redacted information, it may as well been dipped in printer ink.

“Sorry.”

"I don't know why you're here, Soap. But, I'm not in this to play games with the team I've been put to work with." She says. "I don't care who you are or what you do or have done. What I want is to get out of here alive, and you're lucky I need you intact to do it."

"I'll stop."

“Good on you for quitting while you’re ahead.” She says, a sarcastic bite to her tone, “You said Ghost set up in the church, then let’s get a move on.”

--

Soap is silent for most of the rest of the way through Las Almas. The tension was unbearably thin and he wasn't about to test Smoke's patience anymore than he already had.

“The church plaza is on the other end of the tunnel.” Ghost’s voice is just barely audible through Soap’s radio. Smoke jumps into the water and starts to swim. “Push through, you’re nearly here.”

Soap watches her stop at the sound of voices coming down from the end.

The two of them stop and wait, while the Shadows are none the wiser to their presence.

“Maybe, they’re all dead.”

“Graves wants proof.”

“Just cut the mask off.”

“The irish—“

“Scottish.”

“The Scottish one and Fernandez?”

Smoke’s eyes doesn’t leave the two of them and Soap is already thinking up ways to cut them down. “We have to take the two of them at the same time.” Smoke says, her voice just below a murmur.

“I’m following your lead.” Soap responds.

“—Graves wants Fernandez shot on sight.” The Shadow says. “Said that she’s more to us dead than alive.”

Unfazed, Smoke dips her head down under the water and Soap follows suit. Swimming up to the closest pair, the two of them cut the Shadows down. In moments, each of the Shadows are dead, the water is run with blood.

Stepping out from the tunnel and up the stairs into the plaza, Soap watches Smoke sloppily put her soaked hair up and out of her eyes.

“It’s blocked.” She says. “There’s Shadows everywhere.”

“Ghost wants us to make our way out through the shops.

“I doubt we have any other choice.” Hitching the rifle up, Smoke walks up slow to door of a shop on the corner.

The two of them with weapons poised step through. Then, Smoke takes out a blade and pries the door open. There’s no time to react when she’s knocked to the ground and the Shadow is point his rifle directly at Soap.

Then, the air snaps, there’s a splatter of blood and the Shadow crumples and falls backwards.

Smoke hisses under her breath with words he can’t recognize, and Soap drags her up to her feet and out of the line of sight.

“Was that Ghost?” She says, there’s a sting boiling up through her throat that leaves a burning feeling on the roof of her mouth.

“We’ll have to meet him on the steps.” Soap says, she can barely hear him over the gunfire. Smoke needs little time before she's regained her nerves. Producing a smoke bomb she tosses it, then Soap steps out in front of her, weapon poised.

Smoke moved fluidly and deliberately, that was the first thing he noticed. Through the cloud, she sprints out and launches herself at the Shadow and digs the knife through his neck, then pulls it back out and throws it at the one a few feet to her right. She's never far behind him and the Shadows don't see her coming before its too late.

Soap notes his relief, like the first breath of air after drowning. He counts his blessings that she wasn't a Shadow anymore, that she was here.

Leaving a trail of dead Shadows in their wake, Soap and Smoke break into a full sprint towards the steps of the church out from a shop tucked away into the side of the plaza. He's ready to leave this behind him, to get out of Las Almas and not look back when suddenly, Smoke hits the ground.

Ghost climbs up over the church gate. Smoke is on her knees grasping at a wound in her thigh.

"Smoke!" Soap shouts.

Ghost picks her off the ground and wraps her arm around his shoulders. " What happened?"

"It's my leg." She says with labored breath, she pulls out a pistol and opens fire as Ghost all but drags her down the plaza. "Just keep going."

"Cover us, Johnny." Ghost starts pulling Smoke farther and farther down the plaza. "Thought you dead."

"I thought the same thing about you." She replies, lighting the pistol up on oncoming Shadows. "Got lucky enough to run into Mactavish."

"Your comms?"

"Damaged while I was on my way through town."

It's a miracle they reach the RV with no other injuries. Ghost lifts her up into the back of the truck and before he turns to climb into the driver's seat, he says, "You're alright. We're almost out of here just hang on."

Smoke sinks down into the back of the truck, ignoring the recoil of the truck over the bodies of the Shadows and grips onto the wound on her thigh tight.

#chesa #cod oc

[somewherenearcool]

rich people need to be stopped

generally speaking, but i want to talk about nepo babies and music.

this isn't a new discussion, we have all heard about king princesses great grandpa who founded macys and died on the titanic, and yeah, even if they didn't receive any sort of inheritance as they claim, there is still some generational wealth that allowed their dad to become a sound engineer and start his own business, which allowed king to get musical training and record music and blah blah blah.

but i don't want to talk about king princess i want to talk about this band called Lawrence.

specifically, these two: Clyde and Gracie Lawrence.

you may have seen them across other social media platforms. they identify as an R&B/soul group...

and they all look like this. which i guess is fine, live your truth.

but what is really interesting is the way they market themselves.

They often describe their collective as "just some siblings and friends making music." and it is really easy to take this at face value considering none of the members have their own wikipedia pages, despite the band having been established for over a decade.

However, if you go to the bands wikipedia page you can learn about The Lawrence Family.

What is the significance of the Lawrence Family? Clyde and Gracie's father is Marc Lawrence. Who's Marc Lawrence?

Marc Lawrence is a well established screen writer, producer, and director. His portfolio is massive and includes works such as Miss Congeniality and Did You Hear About the Morgans amongst other Sandra Bullock and Hugh Grant collaborations. Suffice to say-- this guy is loaded.

This guy-- Marc Lawrence-- also has a habit of including his children in his work. When Marc was working on Miss Congeniality, he claims that Clyde (at age five) actually wrote the pageant song, thus making him the youngest ever inducted member of the Song Writers Guild of America. Good on you Clyde. From that point on, as a child, Clyde composed several songs for several of his father's movies, and Gracie acted in several of them.

Both Clyde and Gracie attended the prestigious Dalton School on the upper east side of Manhattan, and both of them went on to study at Brown, where Clyde eventually formed his band "the Clyde Lawrence Band" (classy).

But okay whatever, rich kids gonna rich.

Here's the part that i really feel is so insidious. As i've mentioned before, neither Clyde nor Gracie have their own wikipedia pages, EVEN THOUGH they have both been established in the film industry since childhood. I cannot comprehend how the youngest ever member of the Song Writers Guild of America and his child star sister are able to evade the all powerful forces of wikipedia and yet somehow they have managed.

What is doubly insidious is that their newest single is called "23," and it was released this year. The entire song is sung from Gracie's perspective, and the chorus goes:

"you said that 23 would be the best year,

well i'm 23 and that's a lie.

you said that 23 would be our best year,

but at 23 you said goodbye."

and all the marketing around this song has been birthday themed, as if to insinuate that Gracie Lawrence is 23 now, wrote the song as a 23 year old, reflecting on presently being 23.

and listen that's not me reading too far into it

that's

literally

what they are doing.

What's bonkers about this is i'm 23 right now. I graduated high school in 2018 and i graduated college in 2021. Gracie Lawrence graduated high school in 2015, took a gap year, and was set to graduate from Brown in 2021. So unless Gracie Lawrence skipped three grades in school, which seems unlikely considering that while she was in school she was also acting and touring with her brothers band...she's not 23, she's at least 26.

AND THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH BEING 26, BUT THERE IS DEFINITELY SOMETHING WEIRD ABOUT GOING OUT OF YOUR WAY TO MAKE YOUR ACTUAL AGE DIFFICULT TO FIND ONLINE AND MARKETING YOURSELF AS A QUIRKY GIRL IN YOUR EARLY 20s.

which brings me to my next point. their wardrobe.

people can dress how ever they want, but the outfit choices made by clyde and gracie feel deliberate in two ways.

A.) Gracie's outfits look like they are meant to age her down:

it's a lot of school girl outfits and cheerleading uniforms and shit. furthering my theory that they are trying to make her actual age difficult to discern

B. their outfits are but ugly.

not to be a bully, but i'm going to be a bully here, because they can take it. They are poor-baiting. their outfits are all mismatched, sized wrong, generally thrift store coded. As above you can see gracie has no problem wearing boxy shirts and mixing patterns.

if we examine clyde's wardrobe we see a lot of jerseys, faded t shirts, ball caps, and sneakers.

again, it's all very boxy, casual, not as uncoordinated as gracie's attire, but still it maintains this blue-collar image.

also

this isn't related to anything, i've just seen this outfit so many times on social media and it makes me want to tear my hair out.

their lyrics also hold evidence of poor-baiting, for instance, this song "i'm confident that i'm insecure", which boasts the opening lines:

"well shucks,

i think i need to go to therapy,

but i'm tough,

so i'm just gonna cry in bed for free"

But why wouldn't they want to be perceived as poor? If you're going to call yourself a soul artist or a soul group, you need something to be soulful about. You need to have life experience or else your callowness will shine through in your shallow, heavy handed, tiktok lyrics.

I guess my whole point is... these people are freaks. I think it's difficult enough that the pop genre and other major media is over saturated with the children of last generations famous/grotesquely wealthy. It's bad enough that we normals have to live with the fact that we will never have the time or resources to reach success that these millionaires have. it's bad enough that these two definitely went into that pizza place to have a photo shoot and they have definitely never set foot in a cheap by the slice pizza place earnestly.

But you're telling me that with all those resources, with all the training, the ivy league educations, and all of daddy's money...

the lawrence siblings couldn't have found a single black person to stand as a major member of their soul ensemble???

#music #music criticism #music writing #pop culture writing #my writing #me #lawrence #lawrence band #marc lawrence #nepotism #nepo baby

[reginarubie]

I remember when fans accused Sansa for breaking the oath in s8 by disclosing Jon's parentage. But what about Jon? He told them he is not Ned's son which means that he can't control North, it's Bran. He demands North army to follow him without telling truth. He didn't even wait to know if the armies was ready to fight another war. If he wanted to keep his identity secret, then he should ask Starks help and their opinions on how to handle this. He should share everything with them.

Ciao anon!,

So, I'm going to rant on this, because this makes me really frustrated!

I had not yet joined Tumblr when the last season of the show aired, so I wasn't actually aware of most of this while it happened (suffice to say that when I posted my first Jonsa fic, featuring unrequited Jon/Daenerys I got completely thrown under the bus of the whole ship-war over Jonsa and Jonerys of which I was completely unaware of, at the time — that was how much out of the loop I was) but after I joined Tumblr I saw many times this argument, which is void and untrue.

Let's start by the premise that the show was so rushed that we didn't even get the whole scene of Jon telling to Sansa and Arya the truth about his heritage; which bad choice, but I digress.

Let's analyse the scene: It starts (after the war council scene) with the Starklings fighting over Daenerys; then Jon tells his sisters he's not a Stark (to which both Arya and Sansa are like «Jon, enough, you're Ned Stark's child and our brother, shut the hell up about it already») and he is very touched, but also very in despair over it, at which point Bran (knowing Jon's plight over Daenerys having told him to not tell it to anyone, not even Arya and Sansa) tells Jon it's his choice to tell 'em or not and Jon tells his sisters/cousins, before the Heart Tree (in a very private and religious setting for him), that he must tell them something and that before that he wants them to swear not to share it with anyone. At which point Arya is like “what it is?” but Jon is adamant and tells them he won't tell 'em unless they swear first and Arya is like “okay, whateva, I swear” instead Sansa (who is the political mastermind ) asks «how can I swear to keep a secret if I don't what that is?»and Jon is like «because we are family» appealing to her sense of familial love and duty to make her swear and in end she relents as well. So the scene goes like this:

[WARNING: there will be sarcastic paraphrase ahead; it is not meant to upset and insult anyone — also between *...* you will find the sarcastic thoughts]

Sansa and Arya: we don't like and don't trust Daenerys

meanwhile Bran is just lurking behind them unbothered

Jon: I made a promise, we needed her she helped us, now it's our turn. Period.

Arya: yeah whatever, we're family and family comes first, we're telling you we don't trust her to be a good queen, listen to us. We're the last of the Starks because we trusted too much, listen to me.

Jon: I'm not a Stark

Sansa and Arya: oh fuck off, stop brooding about this already. You're a Stark/you're my brother etcetera.

Jon *broodingly, despairingly sighs*

Bran *this little shit*: the choice is yours.

Jon (to Arya and Sansa): I need to tell you something, but you have to swear you won't tell another soul (this thing I have to tell you).

Arya and Sansa look at each other: say what?

Jon: You swear, or I ain't telling ye.

Sansa: How can I keep a secret if I don't know what that is?

Jon: because we're family.

And this is great, because Jon knows exactly what he is doing by appeasing to both Arya and Sansa's sense of duty and familial love toward him. That's very sly and book canon of him, and I love it, though while lacking the inner dialogue we don't see how his mind is working and show Jon is duller than book Jon who is a treat anyway.

Jon *looks at Arya very hard*

Arya: fine whatever, if it's so important to you, I swear. Now tell me.

— which perfectly in character with beginning of the book Arya and Jon as they are told to be this unyielding duo who trust each other implicitly and can almost read each other's mind.

Jon *looks pointedly and pleadingly at Sansa*: kicked puppy looks intesifies.

Sansa *not the kicked puppy look*: I swear it.

Jon *le sigh 2.0*, looks at Bran: tell them

Bran, suddenly cornered, *this little shit, I thought you were going to tell them*: off screen proceeds to tell Sansa and Arya

You can find the scene in questions (minus my sarcastic commentary) here.

This is great because Jon, the same Jon who is politically savvy (at least in the book), enough to manoeuvre people to do his bidding and sass 'em (I mean boy managed to convince an iron bank mediator to give them a loan while half-drunk and 17, but I digress) makes his sisters (one of whom is at least as politically savvy than him) swear to keep a secret he wants to tell them and then basically goes and tells someone else to tell them.

If we have to speak precisely Sansa and Arya swore to keep the secret Jon told them, but Jon told them no secret, as it was Bran who told them and they did not swear to keep the secret Bran would tell them.

And I love this, because the biggest show flaw (the lack of inner dialogue) will be mended in the books, and if Jon actually does it purposefully (like book Jon would do— and that's the hill I'll be dying on) it will be just perfect. Because it means Jon is giving them the political space to out-manoeuvre everyone with this secret, to keep everyone of 'em safe (which is what Sansa does).

So, point a) Sansa technically isn't an oathbreaker. Because she swore to keep the secret Jon would tell her, but he told her nothing and made Bran tell her instead. And it is highly probable that was Jon's goal all along, btw.

Pertaining Jon not telling the truth to the northern lords, I think that may change in the books, as we can see in the show that the truth about his parentage is eating him from the inside (poor baby), and I think in the books it may be influenced by when and how Jon actually finds out about his real parentage — like...what is the purpose of having Howland Reed know it and have some lords (who knows Robb's will) being in Greywater's Watch with him if he isn't the one breaking the news to Jon?, the show gave that duty to Bran and Sam but it is completely possible it will happen differently in the books and that Jon might use his parentage reveal politically to free the North from the South or try something akin to that.

What more, when showJon told Sansa, in s6 “we need to trust each other” we all thought “fine, no more secrets between all the Starks, they're going to work like a team” instead Jon went and either stupidly fell in love with a tyrant, conqueror with a penchant for burning people alive (something Jon hates with passion — feel my incredulity at that possibility) or he went all undercover-ninja on her ass (which is the most probable outcome in the books) and told no one.

Now, if Jon was aware of his parentage before meeting Daenerys I feel like he would keep that notion very close to his heart and cleverly would wait and gauge her disposition before choosing to tell her or not. Seen who she actually is — my bad what she actually is (Jon's words, not mine) — he would be probably forced to go all political on her, to manipulate her (and we know book Jon is perfectly able to do it and has the guts to actually do it to the very end) and would keep the parentage a little known deal to use it later to free the North from his pledge to her (the only way to convince her to come North and fight the Great War).

I mean, in the show Jon told Sansa via raven that he had bent the knee to Daenerys, but signed himself not as Jon Snow, King in the North (as he should have, as it would've been his last kingly decree which would have lawfully proved his effectual pledge to Daenerys) but as Jon Snow, Warden of the North; which, actually leaves them political room to outmanoeuvre Daenerys because it wasn't a king who bent the knee legally, but a Warden of the North. Anyway I digress.

I think the only reason bookJon would keep such a secret from his family, might be because he means to keep 'em safe, but if I am right and in the books Jon does something similar to the whole “swear not to tell a soul what I am about to tell you — Bran, you tell 'em” it means that he is making good on his promise of trusting each other and protecting each other. The same way Ned did not tell Cat, to keep her safe in case it got out because she could not have known if he hadn't told her, and to keep Jon safe because he can't trust Cat won't use his secret to save her children, because she loves her children something fierce and he cannot risk Jon's life; Jon might not tell Arya and Sansa so that they cannot be hurt because of it, since they were unaware of it.

Also, may I point out something; for some reason I can't seem to find it but I had once made a post about how people had double standards, they perceived Daenerys as an ambitious woman fighting for her birthright (which she doesn't have but I digress) when she tells Jon to never tell anyone the truth about him so that they don't know the reality of his claim to the Iron throne and she can keep it instead without even asking him if he wanted it in any way; while Sansa was power-hungry and cunning because she apparently framed Jon by telling his secret to get the North (no matter that she fought to have him back North as king and was sorry it didn't happen) or because she looked upset when Jon was named king over her .

The point I was making was this:

Daenerys and Sansa found themselves in the same situation.

Daenerys (who had believed to be, after Viserys' death to be the Targaryen heir to the Iron throne) finds out she has a male relation who has a better claim than hers (purely because he is a male and the son of the previous heir, Rhaegar) the same way Sansa (who believed to be, after Robb's death and Bran and Rickon's death, the heir to Winterfell and its rightful lady — like Jon points out as well both in the books and in the show) after having acted the facto lady regent of the North finds out her true born brother (younger than her — but male which is the only reason why he would come before her in the line to Winterfell and the throne) Bran is alive and back home; guess which one of the ladies acts power-hungry and which one acts selflessly?

I think we can all agree both Daenerys and Sansa have suffered while being powerless — both have gained power (Daenerys as khaleesi and queen; Sansa as lady of Winterfell and princess in the North) and feel safe because now they can wield it do their self-perceived duties (be the rightful queen of 7K for Daenerys and being the lady of Winterfell for Sansa). And both Jon to Daenerys and Bran to Sansa have the lawful right to usurp them in what they fought to gain because Jon is the real Targaryen heir (if he is true born in the books as he was in the show — tho in the books that part could be given to Aegon, but I digress) and Bran is the rightful lord of Winterfell over Sansa as he is male and thus comes before her in line.

People claimed Daenerys was simply acting woke and fighting for the right to pursue her ambition and that's because she is an ambitious woman who bled for the Iron throne (who killed for the Iron throne) while Sansa was power-hungry because apparently she looked upset when Jon was named king over her and spoke against him during the councils and that she has used his secret to frame him and take the northern crown from him.

My point was, put in the same identical situation Daenerys demanded Jon didn't tell anyone — not even his family — about the truth of his parentage so that no one may know his claim is better than hers to the Iron throne without once asking if he wants it (thus completely ignoring as lesser than her own, his possible ambition) or offering to marry him and make him her consort (she wants him to be her subject and partner, but not as partner, she wants him to replace Daario and become her lover and her commander and supporter, but without him questioning her) and share power; while Sansa, first thing she does, is offering her lordship over Winterfell to Bran as he is Ned Stark true born son and thus the rightful lord of Winterfell, willingly offering to let go of that degree of power and safety she had gained. Yet somehow Daenerys is a woke ambitious queen and Sansa is a clever, power-hungry snake.

May I also point out that people later accused Sansa about being power-hungry because she didn't get Jon to remain king in the North and used it to become Queen in the North instead — basically begrudging her for having succeeded where their fav (Daenerys) had failed by doing the very same thing Daenerys had tried to do, but having success in obtaining it. But if Daenerys did it, it was okay because Jon had no right to try and usurp the throne from Dany who had bled for it; as if Sansa has not bled for the northern independence and crown since book one.

Both women bled (for the Iron throne and the North); both women morally should not have to bend to others just because they would be preferred because they are men (though that is the way of the world in which they are put), so either, by my opinion, they are both power-hungry and only one succeeded or both are ambitious and only one succeeded. Which is a long ass digression.

Now, returning to Jon and Sansa and rulership over the North. Jon self-admittedly says this to Sansa “The knights of the Vale won the battle (of bastards)” and “they rode North for you” and he also leaves to her the lords' chambers which should be of the male, instead he names her lady of Winterfell (over himself — which recalls to Jon telling Stannis that Winterfell belongs to Sansa when he refuses it); yet, when the lords name him king (knowing it was Sansa who won them back Winterfell and is the true born daughter of Ned Stark) he does not even protest, he does not ask Sansa if she wants it. He just takes it. Sansa smiles to him encouragingly and does not begrudge him that — there is no struggle for power there; and Sansa herself tells Jon that her questioning him is because she trusts him enough that she can speak her mind freely differently as when she was under Joffrey's thumb.

So, if Daenerys has a right to begrudge Jon his claim and ask him not to tell anyone, not even his family; why can't Sansa be (if she was) upset she was overlooked again, even after she bled for the North and essentially took it back and saved Jon? Tho I always said she looks more concerned over LF and his schemes than upset at Jon anyway.

Why don't people ever point out that Jon is essentially usurping Sansa?, and later Bran when he returns home and does not offer to him Wardenship over the North as the only true born son of Ned Stark?

About Jon not waiting to know if the troops were alright, I think that was because Jon needed to satisfy Daenerys thirst for power, and he wanted her and her dragon and the threat they posed away from Winterfell as soon as possible. He needed to get her out of the North, so he would rather march ahead and help her take back the Iron throne, getting her away from the North then wait and just stand idly while the tension between Sansa and Daenerys grows and threatens to explode. But that might change in the books, we shall see.

Tho I agree with you, he should have told the truth to his family and worked as a team with them, though he might have done so, only undercover even in the show and the books will provide the inner dialogue needed to prove it. Also him not telling the truth might have been a simplification, it's completely possible that the norther lords already knows, or some of them do; and the Manderlys know about Rickon, the true king as a true born son he comes before Jon even with Robb's decree. So we shall see how that evolves in the book, I think.

People just like to begrudge and accuse Sansa of things she might have thought of doing without any proof and simply ignore other characters (Jon and Daenerys) doing the same, or justify it by them being ambitious. If so, why can't Sansa be ambitious, but she has to be a power-hungry snake? The truth is they hate that she succeeded in where others they deem more worthy failed and they are upset over it, so they try their best to disparge Sansa and her behaviour.

Btw, I feel that if Sansa even had sworn and Jon had been the one to tell them, and she still told the truth, she did so because she was afraid for Jon's life and she believed in him "what if there's someone else? someone better”; she is fighting for Jon, because she believes in him and loves him (“she (Sansa) would rather see me gone and you on the Iron throne” — Daenerys T.) even when that means foresaking her honour and staining her name and her soul with oathbreaking; another parallel with Ned. And I would love her all the more for it.

Hope you enjoyed the read!, sorry for the sarcasm and frustration you can certainly feel in my words over the matter. Thank you for the ask and I wish you a very nice day!

#anon asks #ask the hag #sansa stark #anti Daenerys #ambition and cunning or power hunger? #show #game of thrones #oathbreaking or not?

[faeriejukyung]

True Beauty’s Gaping Mother Wound

*disclaimer*: I understand that all the listed traits are things which are often very common in Asian households, and it may seem that rather than being concerning, these are just a part of Asian culture. That is why, I feel that it’s necessary for me to make it clear that I am, in fact, Asian (Indian to be specific), and parental abuse is something that is extremely normalized here. As someone who has experienced it firsthand, I want to say that just because something is common/normal, doesn’t necessarily mean that it is correct. If you or anyone you know is in a situation like that, it’s very very important to speak out. And it’s not your fault, i know it’s easier to believe that way but it’s really not. We deserve to be in a loving environment, regardless of what culture we are born in.

Throughout the drama, Jukyung’s mother shows many traits of an abusive mother. I have been able to outline 4 of them. I don’t mean to write her off as an evil character,, because overall she is well intentioned, and just like any other mom, she does love Jukyung. This is shown in episode 8 too, where she shows remorse for her actions. That however, doesn’t justify her abusive behavioral patterns in any way. Because we can see how badly it affects Jukyung, her self esteem and her overall view of herself.

-

Act 1: “I’m going to kill you today and go to jail” -- Physical Violence.

Throughout the series, we see Jukyung's mother being very violent. But one scene which particularly stood out to me was the scene where she finds out about Jukyung's dad getting scammed. (in episode 1). While it is true that her dad caused a huge financial loss to the family, and anyone would feel angry in a situation like that, it is also true that there is never a good reason to physically abuse someone.

After hearing the news, Jukyung's mom is overcome by anger. It's completely okay to feel frustrated, but the way she violently jumped at her husband, clearly intentioned to hurt him, and the way she needed to be held back by juyoung and heekyung highlights her abusive nature. And this isn't a one time thing where she momentarily lost control of herself. She constantly shows similar behavioural traits throughout the drama.

In the scene where we see Jukyung's mom and dad together properly for the first time, their relationship dynamic is established. He's meekly massaging her shoulders while she orders him around. Their is an obvious power imbalance in the relationship, and the way Jukyung's dad cowers in fear around Jukyung's mom is a proof of that.

-

Act 2: "Why would you kill my precious son?" -- Conditional Love.

We see examples of Jukyung’s Mom’s conditional love in the kdrama AND in the webtoon. Conditional love is when a parent or a parental figure makes their child compete for love. They withhold their affection until the kid acts in ways that are desirable to them, and if the kid fails to do so, the parent often punishers them through different methods. This is their way of maintaining control over their children.

Jukyung’s Mom’s conditional love manifests itself in the form of favoritism towards her eldest daughter Heekyung, who’s not only conventionally beautiful but also very smart and has a high paying job, and towards her youngest child and only son, Juyoung, who is also written to be very attractive. Both Juyoung and Heekyung have gifts that Jukyung does not posses -- beauty and brains. The conditions that are established in order to attain their mother’s affection are getting good grades at school, and being conventionally attractive, which is why Jukyung often gets the shorter end of the stick

In the scene where we are first meet Heekyung is the drama, their mom’s affection towards her is very evident.

This is shown in the webtoon too.

She displays this favoritism towards Juyoung too, and even more so. In episode 1 where Jukyung tries makeup for the first time, and gets ridiculed by him for doing a bad job at it, she naturally feels angry and yells at him, “do you want to die?!”, but instead of telling Juyoung to stop, their mother yells at Jukyung for yelling at Juyoung (”why would you kill my precious son? why?”). It’s already very evident that Juyoung has picked up the habit of constantly taunting Jukyung for her face from his mom. In the webtoon, when Jukyung decides that she wants to pursue makeup arts and asks for her mom’s support and fees for academy, her mom flat-out refuses, saying that they don’t have enough money. However as we find out later, money wasn’t the problem, because she had enough money to send Juyoung to a cram school for acting.

I find it hard to believe that any good parent would constantly compare their children and pit them against each other like this. In the webtoon and the kdrama, it is made clear that Juyoung doesn’t have particularly good grades either, but he doesn’t have to face his mother’s wrath by the virtue of being good looking. Jukyung on the other hand, does not have any redeeming qualities.

-

Act 3: “I’m going to throw all your makeup away” --Excessive Anger.

Another sign of parental abuse is display of excessive anger. It’s usually used as an intimidation tactic to keep the child in line. Sometimes, it can simply happen because they lose control of themselves. Either way, parents who get angry more often than what is supposed to be normal, and hurt their children (physically or verbally) in the midst of their anger, repeatedly, are abusive. I feel like I don’t even need to elaborate on this one. Jukyung’s Mom is angry during half of her scenes. And the way she acts upon that anger crosses the limit too. Don’t get me wrong, it’s important to express your the way you feel, but the way Jukyung’s Mom does it, is extremely unhealthy and hurtful to others around her. Whether she’s jumping on Jukyung’s dad or talking down on Im Jukyung, she’s very inconsiderate of how her anger affects others. She almost always expresses herself in an extremely volatile way.

Jukyung described makeup as a hopeful light opening up a new life for her. There’s even a whole music segment of her discovering the powers of makeup, characterized by pastel and bubblegum tones, and the segment has a magical feel to it. Suffice to say that makeup brought an almost magical kind of hope and optimism to her life. In episode 6, Jukyung's Mom goes to her school to get her report card. When she sees her low grades, she gets so angry that she threatens to throw away her makeup, without once considering why Jukyung is so attached to it. In my eyes, she's actually very similar to Soojin's dad who also uses intimidation and physical violence to keep his daughter in line. If we put the same background music for the scenes where we see Jukyung's Mom threatening her, as the ones where Soojin's dad abuses her, they'd practically be identical. The only difference is that the show often plays Jukyung's Mom's behavior as a joke.

In episode 7, after seeing that Jukyung didn't improve as much as she wanted her to, she actually threw away all her makeup. Even though Jukyung did try, and did improve, it still wasn't enough for her mom. Jukyung's restlessness after not seeing her makeup on her table was palpable through the screen. Finding out that her mother threw all her makeup away sort became her breaking point. We see her yell at her mother and express her feelings for the first time.

I think it's important to note that Jukyung, who's already finds it very tough to reach out to her courageous side, was inspired by this incident to stand up to her mom, to express her outrage. Saying that makeup meant a lot to her is an understatement.

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Act 4: "What's the point of looking beautiful with all that makeup on if you're ugly underneath?" -- Verbal Abuse.

We all get into arguments with our parents from time to time, and I’m sure we’ve all been yelled at by them at some point. Verbal abuse however, is not something that is normal, and the two shouldn’t be confused. A parent who constantly humiliates their child, yells and screams at them, talks down on them is in simple terms, an abuser. 

In episode 1, when Jukyung tries makeup on for the first time and goes to school, she gets ridiculed by her bullies and her classmates. Crestfallen, she returns back home after school and goes to her mother for reassurance. Instead of providing that, her mother ridicules her even more and calls her makeup “Ghost Makeup”. This is something abusers often do. Under the guise of teasing the victim, they often attack the victim’s self esteem, appearance etc, to make them feel insecure and to maintain their position of power over them. Jukyung’s mother isn’t very different from those bullies who told Jukyung that she was ugly and made her feel like she could never amount to anything. 

Another example that irks me a lot is from episode 3, when Jukyung’s Mom is chewing her out for being late, and suddenly the conversation turns to cosmetics and makeup. This is also one of the traits of verbal abuse. Instead of arguments surrounding the basic issue, they branch out and turn into character assassination. Her mom accuses Jukyung of wasting all her time on makeup instead of studying, even when Jukyung clarifies that she got late because she missed her bus, not because she was out buying cosmetics. But her mom doesn't listen and says to her, “What’s the point of looking beautiful with all that makeup on when you’re still ugly underneath?” 

Jukyung’s face after hearing her own mother say that was heartbreaking. Unfortunately, this type of mother-daughter relationship dynamic isn’t something  that is rare. Mothers frequently project their own insecurities on their daughters and put them down. Jukyung’s Mother’s behavior explains her self esteem issues, it gives an insight about where her insecurities really stem from. Sometimes our abuser’s thoughts and image of us start maligning our own self image. Frequently hearing them tell us that we are worthless, and that no one will ever marry us or love us, makes us believe that we are in fact, worthless and incapable of being loved unless we change something about ourselves. We frequently get an insight into how Jukyung thinks of herself throughout the drama. 

“It’s not my fault that I was born dumb” (In episode 7, after finding out that her mother threw away her makeup.)

“You know that I’m messed up” (In episode 2, referring to her face, while asking Lee Suho to keep her bare face a secret)

The drama is yet to end so I don’t want to completely write Jukyung’s Mother off as an abuser. I hope she becomes a better mom in the show, I really do. Because Jukyung deserves a loving mother. And Jukyung's mom does in fact have a few redeeming qualities, however, simply love and caring isn’t enough, you need mutual respect, reassurance and effort in each every relationship. We know that Jukyung’s mother is also often labelled as an ugly woman, and she believes that she could only get by through studying well. (“It’s going to be okay as long as you study well” - episode 1). In a world where a woman either has to a exceptionally beautiful to be considered worthy, or be exceptionally intelligent and professional lest she isn’t blessed by beauty, it’s very easy to internalize self hatred and direct it on to other individuals (especially if those individuals are your children). That is why i genuinely find myself rooting for Jukyung’s mother and hoping for a character development arc -- because i understand where she comes from, and because i can empathize with her. 

-

Fin.

#kdrama #true beauty #true beauty kdrama #true beauty webtoon #webtoon #true beauty meta #kdrama meta #webtoon meta #im jukyung #lim jugyeong #im jugyeong #lim jukyung #han seojun #lee suho #kang sujin #kang soojin #team suho #team seojun #hwang in yeop #manhwa #mun gayoung #cha eunwoo #park yoona #korean dramas #asian drama #tvn #tvn drama #my id is gangnam beauty #hotel del luna #meta

[rafblue]

Chapter Seventeen: Cute, still an asshole though

Plot: Y/n's sister was always nice, never whined or throwed a tantrum, so when she asked him to help her, he knew it was important. But maybe he shouldn't have accepted because now it seems like he made an enemy of the famous group ATEEZ.

Pairing: San x M!reader

***

"I'm alright I swear, I can perform!"

Hongjoong sighed while pinching the bridge of his nose. Sometimes it really felt like he was dealing with children.

"San, you just screamed and almost fainted as you tried to get up ; answered Seonghwa, a disapproving look on his face

-Ok but I'm feeling better now...

-Sanie..."

San turned his head to Wooyoung who had just put his hand on San's shoulder. He frowned and groaned.

"We can't let Atinys down like that! We can't just end the concert right now!

-He... He has a point ; said Yeosang"

San smiled, they were agreeing! And then suddenly, Y/n barged through the door. The idol frowned as the whole group turned his head to see him.

"Oh, Mr Park, what are you doing here? ; asked Mingi, frowning a bit"

Y/n was out of breath, he really rushed as soon as Zoe's call ended, worried by her cries. But looking at the group, he really thought he shouldn't have done it. Ah right, they hate me...

"Zoe called me... ; he took a short break, ruffling the back of his neck ; She was worried"

San would have frowned more if it was possible and he gnashed a bit.

"It's nice of her but i'm fine. So you can got."

Y/n raised an eyebrow, really it seems like it became an habit thought San, without even thinking it was his fault.

It was a lie, and a very bad one at that. Even Minho could lie better, and everyone who met him could agree he was a really bad liar.

"Yeaaah right... Your ankle is turning blue..."

Everyone refocused on San's ankle, and he groaned, glaring at Y/n. He was mean okay but really he could have AT LEAST left him alone.

"It's fine I can perform."

Y/n approached the vocalist and kneeled to take a better look at San's ankle.

"No, you absolutely can't.

-AND WE CAN'T END THE CONCERT RIGHT NOW. IT JUST BEGUN

-You're we can't but we can't let you perform too Sanie..."

It was Yunho who spoke up, and San hated the worried look on his face. Without this damn makeup artist, he wouldn't worry like that, San could just perform. It was wrong. But in his brain numbed by pain and anger toward himself, it made sense.

"See we can't...

-Let you perform, yes. I understood ; Y/n grinned

-ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME I'M FI-AIAHAAAAH"

Y/n had poked San's ankle, proving the pink haired guy wrong. He grinned more visibly and the idol was really REALLY trying to hold back.

"San I think... Y/n isn't wrong ; replied Mingi

-WE CAN'T END THIS CONCERT NOW"

Y/n sighed while shooking his head.

"Then why don't you just perform while sitting down?"

San opened his mouth. The whole group opened their mouth and then closed them. He wasn't wrong...

"I can't believe we didn't think of that ; said Jungho in disbelief"

Y/n laughed. Ok maybe he is cute but that doesn't change the fact that he is an ass...

Well now that they found a solution they could perform! Or so they thought...

Because just as the members hold him to help him go on stage, San screamed and fell to the floor.

"Fuck ah I can't I can't... Why can't I

-It seems more serious than we thought ; responded Seonghwa

-BUT WE HAVE TO GO ON STAGE!!!"

They all looked at eachother, the anxiety building up in the room.

"Okay but you visibly can't even move your leg... What do we do?"

Y/n sighed, he knew what he was going to say would seem a bit rude but, it was the only solution in his mind.

"Do you really need him on stage?"

That's it. San snapped. And the others members too. They were trying to be at least a bit polite towards him and he was just there being all mean.

"What are you insinuating?!

-Of course we need him!!

-ARE YOU TRYING TO..

-Wow wow calm down there ; shouted Y/n, holding his hands up in a peaceful sign ; He obviously can't go up on stage. And you can't end this concert now for obvious reasons. It would be better for him to just go to the hospital right now while you go perform."

They all cringed. They didn't like this option but... They all could admit that they didn't see another one, except ending it all now but it wasn't an option. Well everyone except San.

"No! The fan would be disappointed and...

-I don't think it's a bad idea..."

They all turned their head to Zoe who just appeared.

"WHAT ZOE YOU CAN'T BE

-I actually agree too ; said Hoongjoong

-But Hyung I can't...

-No San. You need to go to the hospital, we'll handle...

-Ok now boys, go on stage, the public is waiting..."

The members waved at San while going on stage. He looked defeated, he lowered his head as Y/n took a step forward to talk to Zoe. He couldn't understand but he didn't want to. He would miss a performance. It never happened. Is this how Mingi felt?

His mind was going in circle, he felt as he would cry but he held back, or more he couldn't really cry... He looked pathetic, he knew it.

"Okay now let's go."

Huh? San raised his head looking at Y/n. Zoe was missing, she surely left earlier.

"Zoe asked me to drive you to the hospital, the staff has to stay here because... Well, you know why."

He shook his head. Of course. He wasn't important. Only one staff member, and not even a bodyguard at that would suffice...

Y/n bowed and San glared in disbelief. So now that he was hurt he pitied him? He really was...

"Climb up my back. You can't walk so..."

Oh.

"Oh. Okay.."

He climbed looking a bit embarrassed. It seems his mind was going wild...

"You're good? Okay now let's go. To the hospital."

San snorted. Yeah, he was cute, still an asshole though

***

Masterlist

#ateez #ateez social media au #choi san x male reader #male y/n #san x reader #san x y/n #ateez san #ateez fanfic #male reader #ateez x male reader #ateez san x reader #ateez choi san #choi san x reader #choi san #san x male reader #san #ateez x reader

[mc-critical]

Hi darling, Idk if you talked about this before, but what do you think about Rumeysa (Mustafa's concubine)? Do you think they planned to make her Mustafa's wife untill the actress was changed? And also, if she would've become his wife, how do you think she'd act in comparison to how Mihrunnisa (queen) acted? We didn't really see a lot of her but I wanted to know what do you believe they wanted to do with her character

Hey, dear! 🤗 No, I haven't talked about Rumeysa in here. I'll cover the S03 one and the S04 one separately, because in practice, they're both very different characters.

I strongly dislike S03 Rumeysa as a character, to be brutally honest. She goes all good, nice and innocent, when secretly she's sneaky and even manipulative in order to fulfill her goals. The thing that annoys me the most is not necessarily her fixation on Mustafa and how she wants to get him, because after all, it's a harem and everyone wants to get him, but how nearly inexplicable her whole motivation is, in spite and outside of that.

I feel Rumeysa's arc could be split in two almost separate halves - her set-up in the harem (pre-E93) and her as a favorite in the harem. (post-E93). The most interesting things about her were precisely her set-up and backstory. The way she was sent to the harem, the way she was tied to signora Gabriella, the way both of them were about to reunite and when that happened, Rumeysa was just confused more than anything... The idea of sisters finding each other within these harem walls was fascinating, but that was seemingly dropped. I feel even from this point on that the show tried to make a case of a person who's been long in the harem and has lost the touch of a free life to the point of being afraid to leave, but her confusion on the signora and her refusal to go with her was the only part they pulled off. (not to mention they executed that concept much better with Sümbül!) Then begins the second half of her arc that went in another direction the writers didn't succeed to make me get. I didn't get why she wanted Mustafa so much. She said she wanted and appreciated Mustafa a lot and that was why she wanted to leave and this trainwreck began all of a sudden! That doesn't make any sense! She had no (or at least not pivotal) scenes with Mustafa before E93, she neither experienced a desire to get Mustafa, nor was it shown to the audience in any way before the convenient moment. Her build-up was never about Mustafa before then. Her arc was never about Mustafa before then. And yet Mustafa became the center of her character, to the point it's as if they were like: "let's have another woman for Mustafa, but this time with an even more overexaggerated you might think it was Turhan Hürrem-esque arc, so we can make her his full on woman!". She was paving her way through sneaky methods to the point of hypocrisy for no reason, she didn't even have much of a threat, either. Ayşe Hatun put pressure on her once in a while, but it felt understandable when she had a child from Mustafa and that, Rumeysa started acting this confident just like that. I get that in the harem you have to be sorta like that in order to survive, etc., but with Rumeysa that wasn't enough of a motivation! She seemed just fine under Mahidevran and taking care of Nergisşah before then, she could calm people down, what happened? And notice how in the second part of her arc these scenes were lowered to the minimum, or recontextualized, at the very least, so you can't buy anything with her anymore.

But wait, what if she always wanted Mustafa when she arrived? Then every moment of kindness she has shown, even to the little child, becomes even worse in retrospect, because it would either just suit her interest, either become a jarring contrast with what she has shaped up to be. But wait actually, that effect is achieved even without her arc being split in two halves! I would've sympathized with her much more if there was some additional motivation, like everyone else basically, but honestly, the harem excuse is all we could use with her and in her case, that just doesn't suffice, especially for such a big shift in storylines. And then after building up to a halvet, we had the halvet and it was over and left me very unsatisfied. (okay, that's probably because of the actress, but still)

She was screwed up spectacularly at best and downright horrible at worst. Her early concept was way too good to be left out like that and since that leaving out was maybe inevitable for the writers, they had to do this transition better and have the first half of the arc be focused on Rumeysa, as well as Gabriella, instead of making this whole line with her being Gabriella's sister she was searching for more of a plot twist than an organic build-up, because Gabi was the one click baited to want Mustafa! This character ended up being defined by her goal she was trying to fulfill and nothing else, not any redeeming quality whatsoever.

I think Rumeysa was the least suited woman for Mustafa, yes, even less than Fatma. Because if Fatma had some love for him and was genuinely trying to calm him down after Efsun at first, with Rumeysa we simply had steps to get him right from the start and an entire ordeal that wouldn't sit well with Mustafa. We didn't even know not only why she wanted Mustafa, but also what was it she had with Mustafa - was it love, was he just a vessel for her to rise in the hierarchy (that's probably it for me), what was next when he was all hers etc. We have no feelings, no insight here and Mustafa himself was only slightly intrigued at best. And even if she were there for the battle of the throne, she would definetly scheme even more actively than anyone else and that would seriously clash with Mustafa's desires. I don't think she would suit S03B Mustafa's level of maturity, either.

Yes, I would say S03 Rumeysa could very well be the endgame for Mustafa and become his wife if it wasn't for the actress leaving and stuff, because of how she was framed to succeed. This part of Rumeysa's arc existed in a vacuum, it was a tiny victory after a tiny victory due to sly thinking that she was always allowed to get away with somehow. Again, the way she was slowly, but surely getting her way reminded me of all the Hürrem-esque arcs in the series that did end up with these women becoming the total favourites and I wouldn't be surprised at the least if they kept that pattern of success with Rumeysa, since it was very present in her arc.

[While we're at it, I didn't get why Mahidevran believed her so much. On one hand, yes, character development, because, as seen with Mihrünnisa later, as well, Mahidevran no longer gets suspicious of the nature of these women and only intervenes when she sees a decision of Mustafa's regarding them that could potentially be dangerous for his future, coupled with the fact that Mahidevran values loyalty a lot and she has seen nothing but that with Rumeysa. But on the other hand... Mahi is usually so perceptive when it comes to women that could actually be problematic or dangerous for him and Rumeysa being the only exception then was as much character development and the chance of lowering her guard because of the calmer environment as it was.. way too convenient, since we saw Rumeysa was playing a game behind the curtain. Especially the situation when Rumeysa provoked Ayşe Hatun on purpose for Mahi and Musti to see and Mahi not listening to Ayşe or Fidan's warnings about Rumeysa, along with her fully adapting to the harem laws she was previously against and taking on her role as a Valide in Mustafa's harem, was almost like Plot Armor for Rumi similarly to how Hürrem acted accordingly when she saw SS listening to her in the candle mirror in E44, albeit in the opposite way. I view that as a clear recipe for narrative favor and I was appalled that it had to be with such a character.]

If S03 Rumeysa became his wife, I don't see her acting much like Mihrunnisa. First off, due to how her arc was framed, Ayşe Hatun would have very much stayed as an antagonist of hers (even though Rumi wouldn't view her as one in their confrontations) and would try to eliminate her in a secret, subtle and cunning way. While Rumeysa would definetly try her all to keep Mustafa safe and would try to win Mahidevran's support for the marriage the way Mihrunnisa did, Rumi would have more of an agenda of her own she would follow. I won't be surprised if she tried head down on the path to overpower them all in her influence of him, either. Mustafa and Mihrunnisa were partners more than anything, with the same ideals, aspirations and desires. They were very close in their way of thinking and how they would approach problems, that's why they had such a deep bond. S03 Rumeysa would get further and further away from Mustafa's personality as his wife and if the other S04 events are canon, she would probably indeed go and reveal Bayezid's marriage with Huricihan the moment Mustafa refused to and act herself instead.

S04 Rumeysa is barely there, but I like her a bit better. She is an entirely different character with her consistent worries for the future, her more caring and protecting nature and even Mahidevran's more "I'm fed up with all this" attitude to her. Even if we add S03 Rumeysa to the mix, we get at least more feeling out of her and what was she all about and we get some other contrasting facets of hers as a bonus: in contrast to Rumi calming Mahidevran down when Mustafa disobeyed SS's order in E91/2 (my favourite S03 Rumeysa scene, but it was also kinda ruined post-E93), now Mahidevran tells her not to worry so much. Thing is, S04 Rumeysa could very well work without S03 Rumeysa both because of the different actress and the different characterization that could only loosely recontextualize S03 Rumeysa at best, and since there was a time skip, some random concubine and favourite Mustafa slept with and she became pregnant wouldn't be out of the question at all. Yes, her death would probably have less impact that way, but nor could I ever bother with S03 Rumeysa, nor would it be weird because of her different dynamics, which made her look almost foreign in comparison. (that's not on the actress, both Rumeysas were great!) And it would be as impactful as it would've been for Mustafa and Mahidevran, because the loss of the child would be just as devastating for him and was still tied to the mirror of sin.

If S04 Rumeysa didn't die and became Mustafa's wife, I think their bond would be focused more on their future child than anything. Rumeysa would probably act similarly to S03 Ayşe Hatun, only in a more secure position, I see a lot of similarities there. I don't think their bond would be as deep, but they could have the chance to get close for a little bit. I see Rumeysa refraining from acting so much, because of her worrying for the consequences, but when that fear gets the best of her, she could take desperate measures.

#magnificent century #muhteşem yüzyıl #muhtesem yuzyil #rumeysa hatun #ask #queen-deter #that's basically why S03 Rumeysa annoys me so much #actually strongly disliking her is an understatement #i may overexagerrate but she indeed is one of my least favourite characters in the show #the interesting thing is that Firuze had similar problems with her ambiguity #but not only is she an antagonist rather than one we're supposed to root for in narrative #we see her helping nature outside of her plan which helps us buy it much more and actually be a more functional contrast #unlike rumeysa #and while she was written in two halves as well i'll probably call them pre-plan of twist and post-plan of twist #the build up was slower and more detailed since it was framed as a mistery we weren't supposed to buy #so her motivations were more interesting to decipher #and she had a personality outside of the schemes that could work outside of the planning issues #rumi is more like Turhan in comparison #a much softer version ofc but still

[bored-storyteller]

Second part of the request for @amevinil239

25- Twisted Wonderland- Kalim, Azul, Leona, Riddle x Reader

Anger and home pt. 2

Kalim Al-Asim

-I'm not sure what can get Kalim into arguing, but I'm pretty sure if you're stressed out, his behavior can be irritating sometimes.

-Mostly, Kalim will be blind to your problems. It's not that he doesn't want to see them, but he simply can't.

-And he doesn't listen. Trying to tell him with good manners that you really would need his support and not having to satisfy his whims is difficult.

-Furthermore, Kalim is a good person, perhaps a little childish, but he is not stupid or submissive. If there is a misunderstanding and he feels he is right, he is stubborn on his arguments.

-In any case, he would never intend to hurt you, ever.

-After a fight he will be the most wounded in the soul of the two, and if you run away from him the world will collapse on him.

"That's enough!"

Your voice is so high that it burns your throat as if it were sandpaper.

You never thought you would reach this level of anger and desolation, not with Kalim.

He's angry too, you've never seen him angry. His expression is serious, almost adult.

By now you are tired of making him think. He has never experienced what the suffering of people like you means. It is not his fault.

Yet you can't forgive him, you can't stop being mad at him.

"I just want to go home! Where all this doesn't exist!"

It's not so true, and you know it. You miss home, so badly. But you could never pretend again that this world doesn't exist.

You don't want to look at him again, partly for your badness, partly for shame.

You turn around and run away, hoping he won't hear your sobs. You don't see how much those words hurt him, all the realization you suddenly threw in him.

Curled up in the most hidden corner of the garden, you know he will come to you. Because Kalim is a good person, really good, and he doesn't want to make people suffer.

He knows that because of him many can suffer, you, Jamil... and he hates himself for not knowing how to protect you from this, even if he could.

Sitting next to you he is silent for a while, letting himself be hurt by your sobs.

"I know ..." he murmurs sadly "But ... I'd miss you so much ..."

Those words increase your sobs, but they push you to untie yourself from your knot and push yourself towards him. By placing your head on his lap, you let yourself be caressed by his sweet hands. He is probably crying too, but both of you have finally come close. Because you know that if you are with him, you are a little bit at home anyway.

Azul Ashengrotto

-It is not difficult for Azul to hurt people, nor is he usually too sorry about it. He has suffered so many wounds that he can no longer empathize.

-If something about you doesn't suit him, he will tell you. Usually, however, he will maintain a gentlemanlike air that will soften his criticisms and make them look like advice.

-But there may be that time he says that extra thing without even looking at you, assuming you will listen to it.

-It will probably not even be a discussion, you will lose the desire to stay in his presence before he understands how seriously you are angry.

-If the Leach twins are there, they will be the first to understand how serious the situation is and they will exchange puzzled looks, hoping that Azul will look up from his documents and look at you before it is too late.

-When Azul also realizes it will be like a bucket of ice water on his head. He can't say how bad you looked to him, but it's too late to fix it.

-He won't lose its composure, but it won't let you go anyway.

"I want to go home away from all this!"

Azul can't stop you while you rush out the door.

He just looks at the door from where you're gone out with a surprised face. He hadn't noticed that you were crying.

Jade looks at him with the worried expression of someone who knows how serious the problem is now.

"Do you want me to bring them back?"

Azul shakes his head, and clearing his throat returns to do his job.

You, locked in your room, you don't know how irritable the Octavinelle leader remains for the rest of the day.

You feel alone and abandoned. An apology would have sufficed, but not even the threat of leaving seemed to scratch his heart.

If you can't count on Azul you know that a void will open inside you that will make you feel even more out of place in that world of magic.

You are about to give in to tiredness and sadness. Now all you want to do is disappear between your sheets, but before you can go to bed someone knocks on your door.

Slowly you go to open it. Azul is in front of you, his expression is serious and composed, but in his hand he holds a small paper bag. From the good scent that comes out you know it's your favorite dessert.

"Can I come in?"

His voice is calm and diplomatic, yet it is softer than usual.

You step aside even if you try to stay hard on him. You are still angry, and he realizes it.

He doesn't know how to behave, you know, you see him as he enters your room.

"I know you want to go home."

His voice resounds after a few minutes in silence.

"But until then, please stand by me, even if I'm just a good-for-nothing octopus."

You know how much those words cost him. You don't know if you'll ever hear them again, but you know they are worth more than a million apologies.

You approach him, and slowly taking the bag he brought and you open it.

"Do we eat it together?"

Leona Kingscholar

-Arguing is tiring, it must be serious for Leona to really engage in it.

-Leona listens to the complaints by puffing, he will answer every now and then but she will drop the whole discussion, yawning and maybe giving you reason.

-If it gets serious and he gets really angry, though, you'll see his animal side. If there is an incomprehension between you two that hurts him, he will struggle to restrain himself.

-He could really say things that can hurt you.

-Leona is used to people who are afraid of him. From an early age he was considered "frightening" because of his power. He never really felt appreciated despite his efforts. If you run away from him he will feel really bad.

You exploded at his last growl.

"You know what ?! I hate this place! I want to go back to my house!"

You threw up those words on him and ran away, giving birth to your tears that fell from your cheeks.

Those words hurt you too. You missed home, it is difficult to be divided between two worlds (which you perhaps love both).

You leave a broken Leona behind. His green eyes stare at the spot where you are gone. The prince's mind is good at digging under the surface more than he wants to believe. Did you just tell him you hate him? What do you want to run away from him?

He is not stupid, he knows that you miss your home, but the malice and pain with which you spoke to him displaced him. Maybe he really went overboard with you this time.

Leona doesn't often feel the urge to do something, yet now he wants to talk to you right away. But he doesn't follow you. You would probably chase him away and it would make him and you feel worse.

He only looks for you later hoping that you have calmed down, but he finds you curled up in the greenhouse, with your face hidden in your knees tight against your chest, crying.

Carefully sit next to you, not too close or too far. He knows you know he's there, and you're not sending him away. Good.

"Do you ... really want to get away from me?"

As if he had stung you with a pin you look at him. You are certain you have not said those words but Leona's surprisingly serious (and sad) gaze stops you for a second.

"I won't stop you if that's what you want ... but ... I ..."

Even if he doesn't want to, you feel the knot in his throat from the crack in his voice that prevents him from completing the sentence. You didn't want to hurt him like that, you didn't want to leave him.

Cautiously you approach him, and silently snuggle against his shoulder.

The prince lets you act, while his tail surrounds you widely and his cheek rests on your head.

"I know you miss home ... but I'm here."

Riddle Rosehearts

-Riddle is a demanding person, you know. He is a good boy, but he can easily throw your mood under your shoes.

-For him everything he says is important, so it is often dangerous to challenge him. When it happens it's because he really hits you.

-Yet he won't understand it. He will support his views in anger without realizing how deeply he is digging inside you.

- A stupid argument can get really heavy with him if you don't give in, and sometimes you know it's okay not to give in.

-Riddle knows he has to improve himself, but only realizes it when he's done the damage. And most of the time he doesn't know how to fix it.

Riddle feels a failure when he sees you running away.

He still hears your last words inside himself: "I want to go back to my house!"

He knows everything they mean. All your pain, and all the pain he causes you.

He sighs heavily, bringing a hand to his face and hiding it against his palm.

"I did it again, didn't I?"

Trey only looks at him sympathetically, without replying. All eyes are on the leader, but he doesn't care.

He swallows that wave of impotence that overwhelms him and straightens himself, parading among the students with a determined step, to look for you.

This is no time to be a capricious child, Riddle. It must find you and support you. This is what a leader must do.

You, sitting on a bench, clasp your arms around yourself, seeking comfort in yourself, as you try to silence the tears.

Again Riddle swallows his anguish and approaches you. He's afraid of your reaction, but still he gives you a tissue to wipe away the tears, because that's how a leader behaves, right? He wants you to trust him. He wants to be responsible for you.

"I know you miss home ... and how difficult it is for you to settle here ..."

He begins with a gentler voice. You are not pushing him away, so he dares to sit next to you. hoping to do the right thing.

"But until ... when you can return to your world let me help you."

He doesn't see you reacting, but he feels that your sobs have stopped, maybe he is on track.

"Can you forgive me?"

Finally your hands move, and with a slight thanks you grab what he gives you, cleaning your face.

Riddle feels relieved, it would have been difficult to lose you.

You look at him, and smiling shyly you nod, sure that you forgive him. How can you not forgive such a lovable boy?

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