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thegreatestofheck · 4 years

Text

Not So Unrequited ⚜ JJ Maybank ⚜

request - (from Anon) JJ and the reader arguing about anything and he’s like I Love you and she’s begging him not to say it because she doesn’t think she can be loved. warnings - swearing (lots and lots your welcome), steaminess, synopsis - in the middle of an argument with your best friend, he says something to you that you had never wanted to hear.

(thank you for this, anon, I love it! I hope this is what you wanted, I made it a lil steamy because- well, I have no excuse. Threw a little bit of body positivity in there because everyone is beautiful, and you all deserve to know that.)

“God, you’re such an idiot,” Kie sighed, pressing an ice pack against JJ’s cheek. “She’s gonna be pissed.”

JJ rolled his eyes, letting Kie baby him because it made the both of them feel a little bit better. He opened his mouth to say something when the door to the Chateau opened.

He had expected it to fly open with a flurry followed by the hurricane that was y/n. But when it creaked slowly, barely opening enough for you to slide inside, both Kie and JJ froze. JJ flicked his gaze away from Kie and met yours.

A chill ran down his spine at the look in your eye. Silent as you were, everything that you weren’t saying was storming behind your eyes. Your dead calm was more terrifying than your raging storm.

You walked into the dark Chateau and leaned yourself up against the wall, crossing your arms. Tension shrouded the room. Kie felt like she had stepped in the middle of a show down, her movements on JJ’s bruised knuckles short and awkward. JJ knew he was about to get his ass handed to him in a verbal beat down and he wasn’t really in the mood for it right now.

And you, you were pissed off. Beyond pissed off.

Kie stood slowly, setting her cleaning supplies off to the side. She glanced quickly over at you, but your gaze was fixed solely on the blond boy currently nursing a bruised cheekbone. With a sigh, Kie put a hand on JJ’s shoulder.

“Good luck,” she whispered before making a quick break for the door. JJ grunted in response.

The tension in the room increased ten times when Kie left. JJ refused to meet your gaze again, still holding the ice pack to his face.

“Why are the lights off?” you asked, breaking through the silence.

“Hurts my head,” JJ mumbled. You resisted the urge to sigh dramatically.

“Cause you have a concussion. That’s what you get for getting in a 3-on-1 fight.”

JJ tightened his jaw and slouched farther in his seat, dropping his hands into his lap. You finally let out that sigh you had been fighting back. Pushing yourself off of the wall, you crossed the room and lowered yourself to the floor in front of JJ’s feet. He watched you carefully with wide, curious eyes, just waiting for you to explode.

But you didn’t.

You lifted your hand slowly and took the ice pack from his hand and gently pressed it back against his swollen face. His breath hitched in his throat from the sudden cold. At least, that’s what he told himself.

Being so close to you made him freeze, his heart squeezing painfully in his chest. It made him want to throw up. He wondered why people liked falling in love if this was how it felt. Or maybe this was only what an unrequited love felt like.

“You are a fucking idiot for taking those guys on like that,” you said, your voice quiet but shaking.

“They were dicks,” JJ replied. He looked away from you as you cradled the ice pack in your hand.

“You can’t fight every dick in the world, Jay.”

“But I can fight every dick who treats you like shit.”

You’re calmness started to quake, threatening to become something far more wild.

“I don’t need you to defend me,” you told him, setting your jaw to keep your anger at bay. He had been trying to help, after all. JJ scoffed and slouched even farther. You pulled the ice pack away and scowled. “What, you think I need you to fight my own battles?”

“You can but you don’t,” JJ snapped. “You let them harass you and call you names. You let them get away with it.”

“I don’t let anyone do anything. I just don’t justify their taunting with a response. They’re not worth my time.” Your eyes narrowed at JJ. It had always been this way. Someone said anything bad about you and he would throw himself into a fight instantly, even if you were unphased. You just wondered why in the hell he thought that meant he should take it into his own hands. “If they’re not worth my time they’re sure as hell not worth you getting all bloodied up for.”

“God, you do this every time.” JJ pushed himself up out of the chair and stepped past you. You glowered at him as he paced toward the other side of the room. Rising from you ground, you couldn’t bite back your irritated response.

“Every time you do something stupid? Yeah, I’m sorry for caring about your sorry ass. Newsflash, jerk face, but I don’t like seeing you get beat up. It’s not fun, for any of us.”

JJ ran his hands through his hair, but he didn’t say anything, which only fueled your fire even more. You crossed your arms and your glower turned into a full glare.

“Why do you insist on fighting every goddamn prick who has to run their mouth?” You continued. “What’s so important that you have to throw yourself into every fight? Why can’t you just leave it be?”

He still didn’t respond, but he turned his back on you as his face went red.

“Huh? Are you listening to me? Jay, why-”

“Because I love you, goddammit!” JJ whirled around to face you, his eyes wide, his hair a mess, his breathing ragged. You stiffened, the anger in your chest vanishing like a painful mist.

“What?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, the shock evident in your face. JJ’s face fell in desperation, dropping his hands back to his side.

“I love you.” He said it again, much more desperate, but with no less emotion. JJ almost smiled. He took one short step toward you and you took one back, your eyes dropping to the ground. JJ’s smile fell.

“Well, stop it,” was all you could find to say, your voice still quiet.

“What?” You hated to hear the heartbreak in his voice, but it was better that you break his heart now than ten years down the road.

“Just, stop!” Your hands trembled at your sides.

“Stop what? Stop loving you? I tried that already and it didn’t work.” You crossed your arms over your stomach and turned your face away from him. “Say something, please. Anything.”

“I don’t even know what love is, JJ. How could you possibly know?” You asked, still not looking at him. He shrugged his shoulders, throwing his hands up in the air.

“All I know is that every time I’m around you, I want to be holding you and my stomach gets all tied up in knots. That I miss you whenever you’re no around. That whenever I see you with another guy, I want to tear his fucking throat out. That it fucking breaks my heart when you cry. That I would burn down the entire world before I let anyone hurt you.”

You finally looked up, your heart beating wildly in your chest. This wasn’t supposed to be happening, not now, not ever. You were supposed to just be friends. It was better that way.

“What happens when those feelings go away, huh?” You asked, nose burning and eyes brimming with tears. “I say I love you back and we start dating and we get married and have kids and then what happens when you don’t have those feelings anymore and you wake up some day and you don’t love me anymore, what fucking then, JJ?”

You sounded angrier than you felt. You felt terrified, like an animal trapped in a cage, the walls closing in tighter and tighter around you, suffocating you.

“We’re not your parents, y/n.”

“Yeah, I’m sure they said the same exact thing when they were our age.” Bitterness laced your every word. Sure, maybe you had been talking about your own parents, but he didn’t have to actually mention them. It just made the sting all the more real.

Your dad had up and left when you were 12, leaving you with a mother whose heart was broken beyond repair and a 4 year old sister to take care of. You hadn’t believed in love from that day on. And JJ knew this, so why was he throwing it on you now? Why was he putting you through this when he knew damn well what it meant to you?

“You can’t,” you said, giving your head a shake and praying that the tears wouldn’t fall. “You can’t. Not me.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m fucked up, JJ.”

“Everybody’s fucked up.”

“I’m especially fucked up.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it!” There was real anger in his voice, but not anger directed at you. He was angry that the world was so messed up that it had convinced you that you didn’t deserve to be loved.

And it shook you to the core.

“I’ve kept my damn mouth shut about this for so long, y/n.” His voice broke painfully. He looked exhausted. You wanted to cross the room and pull him into your arms and wipe the tears from his eyes because if he wasn’t saying the words he was saying now, that’s what you would have done. “Didn’t even tell the Pogues. I kept it to myself because I knew what it meant to you but you’ve gotta know because I can’t do this anymore.”

“What about all those....all those girls from the parties?” You crossed your arms as your mouth ran dry, grasping for straws. JJ scowled, looking more hurt than ever.

“They were nothing.”

“Those girls aren’t nothing, JJ. They’re people.”

“I meant they were nothing to me. They were just...distractions.”

“From me?” You said the words like a breath, your stomach twisting as you did so. Because the more JJ spoke about what he was feeling, the more you recognized them as a mirror of your own.

“Yeah. From you.” You felt yourself fall still again, but it wasn’t that frozen stillness from fear. It was a calm that washed over you and you didn’t know why. “Because every time I saw you sneaking off with one of those guys I just-”

JJ’s words fell off as you took one small step toward him. As soon as that first step was taken, you couldn’t stop yourself from crossing the room until you were standing right in front of him, chest to chest.

He looked down at his, his lips parted. Your eyes flitted from his down toward his mouth before venturing back up to meet his stare once again.

“Maybe....” You paused, glancing down again. “Maybe we aren’t our parents.”

JJ’s eyes were fixated on your lips, a breath caught in his throat. He wasn’t going to make the first move, you knew that, yet you weren’t sure you had the strength to break what was left of your walls. You wanted him to do it for you, but he wouldn’t want to push you any farther than he already had.

Your stomach was already tangled into knots even before you stood on your toes. JJ’s eyes were closed even before you pressed your lips to his. Those knots detangled into butterflies and exploded throughout your bones.

The kiss was a ghost of a thing. At least, it was at first. Because once the dam was breached, the water all came rushing out with a startling force.

Your hands left your sides and found their place tangled in his hair, pulling him down closer to you. He hesitated, his hands flexing at his sides as the desire raged within him.

“Are you sure about this?” He whispered, his eyes opening just a tad. You gave yourself one chance to breathe and second guess yourself. “Because once I have you, there’s no chance in hell I’m letting you go.”

You pulled one of your hands out of his hair and rested it against his cheek, brushing your thumb over his lower lip. You chewed on the inside of your cheek before giving a short nod of your head.

“This is what I want,” you told him. “I just want you.”

That was all the permission that JJ needed. All of his hesitation was gone, vanished into thin air. Tucking his hand behind your neck, he put his lips right back onto yours with a fire that was just waiting to burst forth.

You thought you had been control when you broke the dam, but JJ took no time in proving you wrong. With one hand on the back of your neck and the other on your hip, he pushed you back toward the wall.

What little breath remained in your lungs was sucked away as your back hit the wall. Months of tension and deep rooted desire hit a boiling point as your lips found a rhythm with his. Your fingers left his hair to tug him closer by the collar of his shirt. Any space between you was too much. You needed his skin against yours, you needed to take his heat for your own. You needed him and you were no longer afraid to admit it, at least to yourself.

JJ pinned you to the wall, his hips pressed up against yours. His hand shifted from behind your neck to the front, hanging loosely around the base of your neck just to keep you steady. His other hand found it’s way under the loose fabric of your shirt, kneading at your skin with his palm.

You let out your first ungodly sound of the night, muffled only by JJ’s lips. You felt him smile so you pulled back.

“Careful,” you murmured, eyes still closed. But JJ’s grin persisted even as he pressed butterfly kisses against your cheek, trailing past your jaw and finding rest against your neck.

“Shit,” you breathed as his tongue grazed across your skin, his teeth pulling gently here and there. He started to work his hand farther up your shirt and you had to pressed your hands against the wall to keep yourself from falling.

“All those other boys didn’t make you feel like this, did they?” JJ whispered against your skin. His breath was warm and sent ripples down your spine. You popped one eye open to glower at him.

“Fuck you,” you breathed as he smiled against you. His hand at the base of your throat tightened ever so slightly and your glower deepened.

“Was that a no?”

“I don’t play that way, Maybank,” you ground out through your teeth.

“Then how do you play?”

You pushed him away from you and for a moment a look of hurt crossed his face. But when you grabbed hold of the bottom of your shirt, never breaking eye contact as you pulled it off and discarded it on the floor, a grin replaced that fear. You reached out for him, pulling him back in.

Both of his hands went for your shoulders before tracing the curve of your body all the way down to the waistband of your shorts. You nipped at his lower lip, tugging gently, you hands holding his head just where you wanted.

“Damn, y/n.” There was that damn smirk still. You wondered what it would take to wipe it off his face. His hands worked at the zipper of your shorts, tugging on the hem before you even realized he had them unbuttoned.

“You really don’t waste any time, do you?” You asked him. Instead of responding, he pressed a kiss against your neck. Part of you wished he would stay there again. But then he kissed your collarbone and then he was lowering him self slowly, pressing his lips to the skin beneath your breasts, then just below your bra.

You were pretty sure no boy had ever done anything like this before. You weren’t ever one to take your time with them because, after all, they were just a poor replacement for who you really wanted. But the attention that JJ gave your body as he continued his trail of kisses down your stomach was enough to make your eyes roll toward the back of your head.

He was on his knees in front of you, tantalizing, as he pulled your shorts down as slowly as he could. He kissed your thighs once they were exposed as he pulled the shorts the rest of the way down. You were going to simply step out of them when he put on hand on your calf and the other just under your knee.

“What are you doing?” You asked with an almost nervous laugh. JJ looked up at you as he started to lift your leg. A smile pulled at his lips.

“I’ve been waiting a long time to have you,” he mused. “And I’m not wasting a second of it.

He rested your foot against his shoulder and gave the side of your knee the smallest, most butterfly inducing kiss. You heaved out a breath and leaned your head back against the wall as JJ continued to kiss your inner thigh. His hands kept you steady. You had never felt more grounded. Your toes curled, fingers tensing.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, as if it was just a spoken thought. You lifted your head and looked down at him.

“What?”

He looked back up at you a look somewhere between concern and amusement.

“You’re beautiful.”

You moved your leg off of his shoulder and joined him on your knees. For a reason you didn’t know, your eyes swam with tears. His smile was gone but there was something far deeper in his eyes that a smile couldn’t properly communicate in that moment.

You took his hands in yours and pressed his bruised knuckles to your lips. When you met his eyes again, you gave a small shake of your head, the tears threatening to overflow.

“No one’s ever said that to me before,” you whispered, trying to offer some kind of explanation for your strange actions. JJ looked taken aback.

“Bullshit.”

“No, JJ, I’m serious. You’re the first person-” Your voice broke.

“Is that why you didn’t believe me when I told you I loved you?” Your head fell and the tears you had been feeling started to fall from your eyes. He hooked his finger underneath your chin and moved your face to look back at his. “Hey, you’re beautiful, alright? And I’ll say it a million times until you believe me.”

You nodded, sniffling as you tried to hide your embarrassing tears from him. He leaned forward and kissed both of you cheeks. You let out a small laugh as he pulled away.

“Sorry to ruin the mood,” you said, still holding one of his hands. That look returned to JJ’s eyes, the hungry one, as he looked down at the clothes you were left in, or lack thereof.

“Nothing’s ruined,” he said. “I’m still getting you in that bed.”

You wiped away what was left of your tears and felt a smile of your own pull at your lips.

“What are you waiting for then?”

***

Pope grumbled angrily as he climbed into the van, Kie sliding into the front seat.

“I don’t see why they had to kick us out,” he said, plopping down into one of the seats.

“I don’t think we were really kicked out, per say,” said John B up front with a slight smirk. “You were the last one in there, Kie, what happened exactly? One minute they’re screaming at each other and the next....”

Kie shrugged, keeping her eyes fixed on the road as she started the car.

“Guess they just reached their breaking point.”

“I think that bed is going to reach it’s breaking point,” Pope huffed. “I mean, couldn’t they wait until they were alone to start going at each other?”

Kie rolled her eyes and John B just laughed.

“Give it until the morning. I’m sure they’ll pretend like it never happened,” John B said with a sigh.

“Are you kidding?” Kie looked at him with an eyebrow raised. “Those two have been waiting to tear each other’s clothes off for months.”

“Really?” Pope and John B both said at the same time. Kie laughed and looked back to the road.

“You boys are so clueless.”

“Damn,” Pope breathed. “And they didn’t tell us?”

“He’s afraid of commitment and she’s got abandonment issues, of course they waited this long.”

“Kie, when did you become a goddamn genius?”

“Ha ha, you’re so funny.”

The van rattled down the road, the three friends laughing together.

***

JJ’s arms curled around your stomach, his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck. He slept softly, breathing gently through his nose. Every now and again, he would mumble something, his lips grazing against your exposed skin.

But you were wide awake. You ran your fingers aimlessly up and down his arms, relishing in the feeling of his skin still against yours.

He hadn’t stopped telling you you were beautiful since he first said it. Every chance he got, the words would pass his lips. He probably said it more times than anything else, other than “shit” and “fuck”, which you loved to hear almost just as much. Almost.

When he flopped down next to you, sweaty, breathless, and still grinning like an idiot, he wrapped his arms around you and said it one last time, whispering it into your ear before he fell asleep.

And you believed him every time.

If he had been any other boy, this was the time when you would have scurried out of bed, collected your clothes, and made a break for it. But you stayed. There was no where you would rather be than here, cradled in the arms of the boy who loved you. The boy that you loved.

You moved slowly, carefully, turning until you faced him. JJ groaned quietly, shifting his head against the pillow, but he didn’t wake. You felt yourself smile again at the sight of him. That stupid grin was finally gone from his face. Now you found that you were missing it.

“I love you, too,” you whispered, your voice quieter than the breeze that blew the curtain of the window above you. You tucked your head under his chin and he pulled you in tighter. A smile graced your lips.

Even if he didn’t hear you, it was good to say aloud. Maybe now you could say it when he was awake. Maybe someday. Maybe not today, but someday. That thought was enough to sing you to sleep.

JJ opened a single eye and looked down at you, unable to keep his smile at bay any longer. You had fallen asleep quickly, but he didn’t care. You didn’t need to know he heard you. He would deal with that in the morning. For now, he just let you sleep.

#jj maybank #jj imagine #jj obx #jj outer banks #jj maybank smut #is it really smut?#idk probably not #but its the closest i'm ever gonna get to #so enjoy it while it lasts i guess #outer banks #obx #outer banks imagine #obx imagine #request #outer banks request #anon

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tiggymalvern · 4 years

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Hi. Ok do you know why Will imagines himself killing Molly (and even Alana in one scene) while taking the Red Dragon case? This never happened before with other cases, like in other seasons he slipped into killers mindsets but he never looked at people and imagined killing them. Seems like a plot point to make Will give up on his family, I wish his return to Hannibal was more organic and not just because other people were poisoned to him :/

I’m sorry it took me a while to get to answering this, Anon, I had a very busy week.

Season three wasn’t actually the first time we see Will imagining himself killing someone he cares about. Back in just episode three, he dreams of slitting Abigail’s throat, when earlier he’s been to visit her in the hospital trying to reassure her. Then he visits her house with her because she wants to go and needs to have people with her. Alana and Hannibal seem like entirely adequate emotional chaperones for that visit. There’s no need for Will to be there too, but he still goes, because he wants to help Abigail.

At that point, Will is showing the first signs of his encephalitis, waking covered in sweat, and we could perhaps attribute his imagining killing Abigail to a simple nightmare, if it wasn’t a thing that recurs again later, as you say, long after his encephalitis is cured.

So I think the question more realisitcally becomes, ‘Why does Will Graham sometimes imagine himself killing people he cares about?’ There’s never going to be a definitive answer for that, all we can do is speculate, so here I go, speculating away! I’m going to leave Hannibal out of my speculations, because Will does imagine himself killing Hannibal during the honey trap phase of season two, when we know he’s already falling in love with him, but at the same time he still hates Hannibal for framing him and having him dumped in a mental institution. The internal conflict there thoroughly muddies the waters, so I’m going to stick with Will’s visions of killing people like Abigail and Molly, people he only wants to protect.

I would say from the start that stress seems to be a triggering factor for it. Will imagines killing Abigail not long after the first time he kills someone, in the form of her father. We know from what Jack says that Will has been actively trying to avoid killing people, that he left the police because he didn’t want to use his gun. He’s long suspected that killing a person would unleash something within him, and now he’s done it. When Abigail says that she’s worried about nightmares, Will replies, ‘I’m worried about nightmares too.’ The thing that Will had been trying to avoid for at least a decade has finally happened, and he’s scared of where it will lead him. And sure enough, he’s dreaming of murder.

In the Red Dragon arc, the thing that Will has been trying to avoid for three years is Hannibal. He’s put that life behind him - he moved away, stayed out of law enforcement, married a lovely woman, and worked so hard at being ‘normal’. And then the thing he’s been avoiding happens - Hannibal is back in his world. Will tells Molly he’ll be different if he goes; once again he’s scared of where he’s headed. So there’s an obvious parallel there - Will imagines killing Abigail, and later Molly, when he’s having to face up to a reality that he’s been trying to ignore.

On the most basic level, Will imagines killing people because he wants to kill people. He’s known that about himself for a long time, which is why he was so determined never to do it. After he kills Hobbs, it’s not just a theory any more, he knows he likes it, and then the temptation to do it again becomes so much worse.

But in the real world, Will only wants to kill bad people. He wants to kill the murderers, the people who threaten and harm the innocent. He wants to be a protector and an avenger. He would never harm Molly, or Abigail. And I think the fact that he imagines himself doing that is a sign of his internal conflict.

Will Graham is scared of what he wants. He doesn’t want to enjoy killing people, even bad people. He was lecturing in a classroom to avoid any risk of violent situations, because he’s worried about the slippery slope. If he kills one person, he’ll want to kill more (he isn’t wrong about that). And I think that decent, moral part of Will is terrified of how far he might eventually go. If he starts off killing bad people, might he eventually end up killing less bad people? What if his urge to kill keeps increasing and he becomes one of the bad people who hurts innocents? I think it’s all part of his struggle with accepting the reality of who he is.

So any time Will Graham knows himself to be starting down the path of the killer - after he shoots Hobbs, when he goes back to investigating murders and discussing them with Hannibal - his mind shows him the worst case scenario, the thing he fears most in the world. The potential monster inside himself. And in Molly’s case, there’s the added guilt that Will knows he’s placing her in danger, because of Hannibal, a guilt that manifests in her imagined death at Will’s hands.

And so I come to the last part of your ask: I wish his return to Hannibal was more organic and not just because other people were poisoned to him

This takes us back to what is really the over-arching theme of Hannibal. It's clear that Will would never have chosen Hannibal as the love of his life. Will doesn't want to love Hannibal, any more than he wants to love killing people. But the facts don't change because they're inconvenient for Will's moral compass.

The world has effectively been poisoned for Will his whole life. He speaks to Hannibal of his isolated childhood, the boy who never fit in. He lives his adult life alone, surrounded by dogs, with acquaintances, not friends, because everyone around him considers him somewhat odd. His potential 'normal' romantic partner, Alana, has been avoiding being alone with him. With time, he learns to 'pass' as normal better, to the point where he can marry Molly and appear to be a typical family man. But that's what it is - an appearance. Will isn't fulfilled in that life. He wants to be, but he's not.

Hannibal is right for Will because neither of them fit in the 'normal' world, and the way they don't fit is the same. Hannibal isn't a show about Will accepting that he loves Hannibal - it's a show about Will accepting that he is who he is. And when he accepts the things he doesn't like about himself, only then can he accept that he loves someone who shares those traits.

Hannibal isn't the consolation prize for Will, because nobody else will have him any more. Hannibal has always been the only person who can understand him, and Will has known that for years. He just has to stop hating them both for it before he can decide to live with it.

(And it was all written by a gay man, and it's an obvious metaphor for growing up ostracised for being gay, and hating yourself for being gay, and having to accept and embrace gayness before you can accept loving another man, but that can go off on a very long tangent!)

#Anonymous #hannibal #meta #will graham #hannigram

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genshinconfessions · 3 years

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Am I disappointed with the rewards? Yes. But it's only because this is the first anniversary of an IP of theirs that grew very, very popular very quickly, and I'm more-so disappointed in the fact that they really don't seem to be doing anything fun in-game for it. I'd rather get a cool event or anything that relates to the world at large (not necessarily the main story/Archon quests, but world building the little things!) in celebration. I'm a somewhat low spender and I do think that how MHY hands out rewards is very poor. So I can see why people are upset, but I am hoping they'll surprise us with some really neat things on the actual anniversary itself that no one knows about.

Moreover, a lot of people seem to be *REALLY* upset over the "community event" rewards, even though these are by far NOT the ONLY community events that MHY has released, and that these are pretty standard rewards for what are essentially raffles, going by what they've done in the past with them. I think the community events are not very fun for low reward (but I'm also not an artist) so I don't usually pay attention to them regardless, even now. Even ones that were simple like the Windblume one, I didn't pay attention to, simply because it was not worth the effort of even taking a photo.

But people are acting like THESE ARE THE ANNIVERSARY REWARDS and it's making me mad to no end. No matter how many times I and others have tried to explain to a few people, they just think these are the rewards themselves, then get upset and stop replying when I point out that these are not the only community events and ask them "Why now? Why are you mad about the community event rewards now and not the dozens of prior times?" and I think that's what's really making me mad.

I think the way Genshin fandom handles a lot of criticism is very "black and white". Either MHY is doing a fantastic job or they are dogshit and no one should play their games. I've talked about it before regarding other things here but I really am starting to see that the Genshin fandom selectively reads, and even when it does read some things, they misinterpret it, but then get wildly mad and abrasive when you try to correct them.

I really am glad to only interact with my few friends about Genshin because I do not think I could just talk to anyone about it.

- Suspicious Zhongli

sus zhongli anon you have a talent of putting my incoherent thoughts into actual words HAHAHA

i agree with the majority of what you said. i still urge ppl to focus less on the rewards and more on how each update brings us smth really cool already, but honestly, as a f2p, i do want primos too 😅

and i know this has come up a bunch of times but you're totally right that the the current announced rewards are only COMMUNITY EVENT rewards. the haters keep brainwashing me into forgetting that smh. and you're right that ppl were never this vocal about them before, even though they were always like this, which is very very dumb because... what's the point in only screaming about them now, when this is the, idk, 10th community event they've done lol or smth.

the genshin fandom, i think, tends toward the younger side, and children do tend to have a black and white view on the world. that's explainable, and they will eventually grow out of it (i hope), but along the same line, it's the older kids and especially the adults that continue to think in b&w that worry me. not only are they responsible for a lot of this mihoyo hate, they're also influencing younger kids who might not know any better to continue to think in b&w, but the world cannot be viewed fully in two simple colors.

but idk if there's a way around that other than putting a generally more-rounded worldview out there and hope that it changes at least one person's mind :")

- katheryne from liyue

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin confessions #genshin headcanons #mihoyo

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actress4him · 3 years

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ahhh I'm so excited for the whump bingo series! can you do pidge in either 'caught in a snare' or in 'clawing at own throat'? ^^

This one...fought with me. I knew right away what kind of trap I wanted to use once I saw it online, but I had a hard time figuring out what scenario exactly to use that made sense and wouldn’t be too long or too short. But here it is, I finished it, and I hope it’s to your liking, Anon!

@badthingshappenbingo

Prompt: Caught in a Snare

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Warnings: near drowning, death mention

“I hate the outdoors.”

“Yeah,” Lance replies drily. “You mentioned that. A few times.”

Growling, Pidge kicks at a piece of rotting wood in her path. “It’s getting more and more true by the minute.”

The trek continues in silence for a minute, though she hardly notices the lack of conversation for all the rustling and tweeting and whatever other disgusting natural noises are going on around them and all of the furious thoughts pouring through her head. That is, until Lance decides to speak up again and say,

“You know you’re supposed to be like, the Guardian of Nature, right?”

“Shut up, Lance, I literally never asked for that title!” she hisses, narrowing her eyes at him briefly before returning her gaze to the path. Her luck, she’d end up tripping over something. “I mean don’t get me wrong, I love Green, but I’m much more into the curiosity and technology part, not the nature part.”

Silence again. “For what it’s worth,” he offers after a minute, “I’m not enjoying the situation, either.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’d be concerned if you were.” After all, when the two of them had agreed to come here to look for some rare fruit Allura and Coran wanted to trade with another potential Coalition planet, having all of their electronic devices - including Green - fail them so that they had to hike through the freakin’ jungle was not exactly part of the plan.

Her head and ribs still hurt from the rough landing. Nothing broken, thankfully, but she’s pretty sure she’s got some nice looking bruises. So, sue her if she’s a little grumpy. She feels she has the right.

And what jungle is cold, anyway? Not cold enough that she needs to keep her helmet sealed, but much colder than a jungle should be.

Space is so weird.

“Hey, I think I hear water over there.” Lance points somewhere to their right, through the endless trees. “If it’s a river or a creek we should try following it.”

Sighing, Pidge nods. It’s a good idea, and she’s not sure she would have thought of it. Wilderness survival isn’t really her forte. “Yeah, okay. Maybe luck will be on our side for once today and we can get a drink, too. I’ve still got that tester thing Coran gave me to see if it’s safe.”

“A drink sounds amazing right about now.”

There is a river, a rather large one at that, and it doesn’t take them long to find it. The vibrant turquoise color is a little off-putting, as is the steep embankment, but Pidge is determined to test it anyway and try to get them that drink they’re both craving.

“Over here, I see a path down.” She heads out in front of Lance, picking her way through the underbrush to a spot where it’s slightly less overgrown. Likely either animals or locals have been using the spot to get their own drinks from the river.

“Don’t fall!” Lance calls good-naturedly from a few yards behind.

Pidge is just about to throw a snarky response over her shoulder when something latches onto her ankle and her feet are suddenly yanked out from underneath her. Her already sore body slams backwards onto the ground. Vaguely she can hear Lance cackling at her, but she doesn’t have time to focus on it.

There’s some kind of twine wrapped around her ankle, and there’s a boulder tumbling down the embankment next to her toward the water, and somehow the two are connected and she’s being dragged swiftly down the hill with them.

It all happens in a matter of seconds. She throws her hands out, grasping at plants and roots and anything else she can find, but all she ends up with is a fistful of purple leaves and a ripped glove.

Right before she reaches the water Lance’s laughter turns into yelling. Then the boulder hits the surface with a loud splash, and she follows right behind it. It’s like being plunged into an ice bath. Automatically her mouth opens to gasp from the cold, but she stops herself just short of actually inhaling.

The river is deeper than it looked from above. The rock is still sinking, and it’s still pulling her with it. Down, down, where the water becomes less turquoise and more murky grey. Pidge fights against it, tries to swim upward, back to the surface, but the rock is far heavier than she is. Even when she kicks on her jet pack, it just sputters and barely halts the downward progress. There’s no way she’s going to be able to tug the rock back up with her.

Looking down, she can just barely see the twine where it wraps around her ankle and disappears into the darkness. If she can’t swim back up with that attached, then obviously she’s going to have to get rid of it.

Her lungs are already starting to ache.

Releasing a few bubbles, she bends over and pulls at the twine, but it’s so tight it would be cutting into her ankle if not for her armor. She can’t get even a fingernail underneath it.

A muted splash echoes through the water, and she lets a little bit more air out when she looks up to see Lance diving swiftly toward her. His eyes are wide behind his sealed faceplate. Pidge gives a pointed tug on the twine, and he nods, swimming with practiced ease down to her feet. Grabbing it with both hands, he attempts to break it, then moves up to her foot and finds out the same thing she did, it’s too tight to slip off.

There’s not much air left in her lungs, and most of what’s there slips past her lips without her permission. Her chest is beginning to burn.

Lance is making weird motions at her with his hands, but she’s having a hard time focusing on them past the black dots dancing in front of her eyes. Those are...probably not a good sign.

Finally he swims back up next to her, patting her hip as he leans in close to her ear. “Bayard!” she barely makes out.

Oh. Yeah. She’s gonna blame the lack of oxygen for not thinking of that herself.

She can barely see anymore, but she summons her bayard to her hand and attempts to lean down toward her foot. At this point she’s gonna be lucky if she doesn’t slice her leg off accidentally. But then Lance’s hands are wrapping around hers, and he’s guiding her downwards. Just before the black spots completely take over and her body goes limp, she feels the tension on her ankle release.

The next thing she’s aware of is lying on her side in a patch of dirt, coughing violently and spitting out gross river water while something slaps her on the back. She only realizes that the something is probably Lance’s hand when he leans over into her face.

“Oh, thank goodness! I thought I was gonna have to do rescue breaths and put my lips on your lips and I just -”

“Lance, please.” She coughs again, and wonders briefly if maybe she swallowed some seaweed or a fish or something because it feels like there’s one stuck in her chest somewhere. “I’m trying...not to throw up right now. I don’t...don’t need that visual.”

“Yeah. Same.” He falls back onto his butt, staring at her with traces of fear still on his face. “I would have done it, though, to, you know...save you. That, uh...really scared me. I barely got it cut before you passed out and the bayard went back to neutral and then you were like, dead...well, not actually dead, obviously, but you looked dead and then you weren’t breathing and I -”

“Lance.” Another cough, and a shiver racks her body. “Thank you.”

He screeches to a halt, then relaxes into a smile. “You’re welcome. Sorry I, uh...kinda laughed at you. I thought you had fallen down right after I said ‘don’t fall down’, and...yeah.”

The shivers are getting worse now. “Technically I...did. Just...not my fault.”

Lance’s smile morphs into a frown. “We’ve gotta get you dried off and warmed up somehow.”

Finally gathering her energy, Pidge pushes herself up to sit, wrapping her arms around her body as if it’ll somehow help dispel the ice that has taken over. “N-not sure how that’s...gonna happen...in the middle of the...quizn-nacking jungle.”

Glancing back over his shoulder as if a solution will magically appear - and well, they are in space, stranger things have happened - Lance sighs and moves to stand up. “Maybe we should keep moving. That might help you warm up, and eventually we have to run into some civilization, right? Coran said there were sentient aliens on this planet.”

“Yeah, and s-somebody had to have set up th-that trap.” Moving is the last thing she wants to do right now. Her headache from before has multiplied exponentially in strength, and her ribs did not appreciate all the coughing she just did. She wants to curl back up on the ground and not move again for a century or two. But she allows Lance to throw her arm over his shoulder and pull her up to her feet, even if she groans dramatically in the process.

“Well, I think we should just keep following this river - not quite so closely this time - and see wh-”

This time he cuts off without an interruption from Pidge, and she looks up to see what he’s staring at. It’s aliens. A whole pack of them, bipedal and four-armed in multiple shades of green fur that almost blends in with the trees, and they’re armed with spears and axes.

They’re probably the ones that set the snare, and now they’ve come to see what they caught. Which, unfortunately, is them.

“Uh, hi guys,” Lance squeaks. “We’re, um. We’re the Paladins of Voltron. Any chance you’ve heard of us?”

This sets off an immediate wave of whispers through the group. The alien in front straightens from their defensive position and steps forward. “Voltron? The rumors are true, then? Voltron lives?”

Pidge can feel the tension leave Lance’s body. “Yes! Yes, Voltron has returned! We came here in one of the Voltron Lions to look for supplies, but something on your planet has interfered with our devices. We need help to contact our team and to find what we’re looking for.” He glances over at Pidge, whose teeth are clenched tightly to keep them from clacking together. “And she needs to get warm before she gets sick.”

The lead alien turns to have a whispered consultation with the others before nodding at Lance. “Very well. Follow us, and we will assist you.”

Another removes their heavy-looking cape and approaches carefully, draping it around Pidge’s shoulders. Immediately she melts into the warmth. “There will be a fire waiting for us in the village.”

“S-sounds great,” she manages.

Lance smiles, pulling her in a bit tighter. “Thank you.”

——————————

Instructions for requesting a square here!

#badthingshappenbingo #caught in a snare #prompt fill #voltron: legendary defender #voltron whump #pidge whump #voltron pidge #voltron lance #drowning tw #death mention tw #pidge gunderson #katie holt #vld pidge #vld #voltron fanfiction #voltron fic #vld fanfic

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plaidbooks · 4 years

Note

Hi babes - a request that’s kind of specific- (readerxcarisi) this would take place in season 19, episode 8 where Rollins and Carisi are at the shitty motel and they have that moment. So the idea would be that reader is also a detective, maybe newer or something tagging along with them two and reader knows Carisi has a thing for Rollins and reader was with him when they saw the guy leaving Amanda’s room. Reader is there for him after and he realizes maybe he was chasing the wrong girl??

New Girl

A/N: Hey Anon! I had to rewatch this to do some of the dialogue from it (I condensed the first scene so it’s not incredibly long.) but it’s a good idea to rewtach this ep before reading....unless you remember that Heather was the catfisher and stuff. Anyways, this is a little longer cause t’s slower paced. I like the idea of being there for someone without needing to ask. Also yes, I’m taking the chance to flex some sports knowledge, sorry not sorry. Hope you enjoy <3

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Words: 2727

Taglist: @the-baby-bookworm @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @stardust-fray @permanentlydizzy @infiniteoddball @ben-c-group-therapy @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867 @storiesofsvu @reading--mermaid @averyhotchner @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles

“They traced the IP address to West Virginia,” Sonny said to Olivia, as they both came into the precinct.

“Good, get a John Doe warrant and send it to the local precinct,” Liv replied.

“Done and done.”

Liv gave him a smirk. “Then fill up your gas tank. Fin, you’re riding shotgun.”

“Oh, hell no; I’m allergic to West Virginia,” Fin said, leaning back in his chair.

Liv sighed. “Okay, Rollins, you’re up.”

“Really?” she whined.

Liv glanced between the two, already looking tired of this crap. “Come on, someone’s gotta translate for him,” she joked, gesturing at Sonny, who rolled his eyes.

“I’ll go,” you perked up. You were still the new kid, so you were jumping at every opportunity to go out in the field. Plus, you had a massive crush on Sonny, and being stuck in a car with him seemed like a good chance to learn more about him.

Liv gave you a relieved smile. “Thank you; at least someone here wants to work. But I’d also like someone with experience; Rollins, you’re going too.”

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

The drive wasn’t awkward…at least, not for Sonny and Amanda. They’ve been partners for years now, chatting up a storm. You sat in the back seat, listening in on their stories, jumping in when appropriate, but otherwise fading into the leather behind you. This wasn’t what you had hoped for when you thought about going to West Virginia with Sonny, but at least you were getting some experience in the field…right?

The arrest was quick, painless. You actually found yourself feeling bad for Heather as you had her arrested in her mother’s home. But then you remembered what happened to Katie, and it solidified your resolve.

When Amanda suggested you three, and Chuck, the local officer, go to The Barrel—the local bar—for information, you’re first thought was that maybe alcohol would help you loosen up around Sonny. But after a few shots and a cocktail, all you saw was how he looked at Amanda, and you cursed yourself for not seeing it sooner. Why would he ever fall for someone like you when he could be with someone like her? And they were already so close; what was the point of trying?

Complaining about a headache, you excused yourself, telling them you’d see them in the morning.

“Want me to walk ya back to your room?” Sonny asked, looking concerned.

Your heart fluttered at the thought, but then you remembered the heart eyes he’d been giving Amanda all evening. “No, I’m fine. Thanks though.” You wandered back to the hotel across the parking lot, wiping the tears from your face, locking yourself in your room.

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

You were in the hotel lobby making yourself coffee when Sonny came in.

“Morning, [y/n],” he said, smiling at you. “Feeling better today?”

You melted at his smile, tears threatening to form again, but you pushed down your feelings. “Uh, yeah, much better. How’d you sleep? Hopefully you and Rollins weren’t up too late.”

“Nah, it was fine. We may have started a bar fight, though,” Sonny grinned at you, and you giggled, trying to picture him fighting anyone. He went about making two coffees and grabbing an assortment of free breakfast foods. He put everything on a tray and you followed him out, heading towards Amanda’s room as he called Liv to give her an update. But you both froze as a man came out of Amanda’s room, both of them chatting for a moment before he left. And Sonny’s face fell as he turned and went towards his SUV instead.

You gave Amanda’s closed door one last look before you went after Sonny. He stopped at his SUV, putting the tray on top so that he could fish his keys out of his pocket. He sniffled and it was only then you realized he was crying.

“Hey, you okay?” you asked tentatively. But you knew the answer—of course you did. Because you had felt your heart shatter last night.

“Fine,” he grunted, opening the driver’s door and sliding in. This was sure to be a fun ride back to New York. Grabbing the tray he had left on the roof of his SUV, you climbed in behind the passenger seat.

You sat in silence for a few awkward moments before you said softly, “I’m so sorry, Sonny. If you ever need to talk, I’m here for you.”

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

The ride back was worse, to say the least. The tension in the air was thick, not to mention, you sat in back with Heather, who seemed to be daydreaming about meeting The Monster. You found yourself watching Sonny, or at least, the half of his face that you could see. He was quiet, subdued; so unlike him, and you realized you hated it. You wanted him to be his laughing, jokey self. You tried asking him questions—and Amanda, so you weren’t too obvious—but he wasn’t all there, his mind somewhere far away. Eventually, you gave up. falling into the silence of the drive.

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

Liv mercifully gave the three of you the rest of the day off after delivering Heather to the precinct. You were just debating what to do for dinner when there was a knock at your door. Curious, you unlocked it, opening it to see Sonny shuffling on his feet on your doorstep.

“Son?” you asked in confusion.

He gave you a nervous smile. “Hey, can I come in?”

“Uh, yeah. ‘Course.” You moved out of the way, letting him enter your brownstone.

You both stood there awkwardly before he asked, “have you had dinner yet? If not, I can maybe whip something up? Or I can order takeout?”

“I haven’t yet, no.” Now thoroughly confused, you shrugged, playing along. “Did you have something in mind? I was thinking of ordering a pizza or something….”

“Pizza sounds great. Here, I’ll order. You like pepperoni, right?”

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

You both idly chatted while waiting for the pizza to arrive, the awkward tension still palpable. Sonny didn’t say why he came over and you didn’t ask. The delivery man showed up soon enough, and Sonny insisted that he pay, so you let him. You found some beers in your fridge, offering one to him, which he gratefully accepted. As you ate, you started talking more, just about where you were before transferring to Manhattan, why you decided to come here of all places. The tension in the air subsided, and slowly, Sonny started talking about himself; his family, his recent accomplishment at Fordham—you had started just after he had passed the bar exam, so you didn’t hear much about it—and how much he loved his job.

“So, now that you passed the bar, are you going to leave us for Barba?” you asked. Sonny cocked an eyebrow, a grin on his face. “Oh my god, that’s not what I meant, and you know it,” you giggled, your cheeks burning.

Sonny chuckled at the implication. “I—I don’t know yet. I really do love my job as a detective. But I always wanted to be a lawyer, ya know? And now I can be. But with Mike passing…it just doesn’t seem like the right time.” He took a sip of his beer. “Hey, maybe with you taking over, I’ll be able to. I’d feel less bad leaving the department behind; they won’t be as short-staffed.”

It hurt to think about Sonny leaving; you were just getting to know him. “I still got a long way to go, though. Liv wouldn’t even let me go with you to West Virginia alone. What was it she said? ‘I need someone experienced’ or some shit.” You rolled your eyes.

“Hey, I was in your shoes before, too. It’ll pass quicker than you can blink.” Sonny spun the bottle in his hands. “Besides, I almost wish it was just us, and that Rollins wasn’t…” he trailed off, his eyes staring at nothing.

You swallowed hard. “You like her, don’t you?”

“Hm? Nah…I mean, she’s my partner, yeah? I have her back, and I know she’s got mine…. We’re close and…yeah, I don’t know.” He looked everywhere but at you, a slight pink tint in his cheeks.

You nodded sympathetically. As much as you wanted him to like you, you just wanted him to be happy. And if she made him happy, then you’d have to live with that. “Being so close with someone for so long, it’s not shocking if feelings…developed. Have you talked to her about it at all?”

He shook his head. “Look, I appreciate you trying to help me with this, but can we stop talking about Rollins? Please?”

“Of course. Sorry…. I got ice cream, if you want some dessert?” you tried.

Sonny sat there for a moment, staring a hole into your floor. “You know what? I think I’m gonna get out of your hair.” He stood, stretching. “Thank you for letting me crash your night for a little bit.”

“You sure? You can stay as long as you need,” you replied, but he was already moving towards your front door, sliding his jacket on.

“Yeah, I’ve taken up enough of your time. See ya at work tomorrow.” And then he gave you that heart-melting smile before he was gone.

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

Whether Fin or Liv could feel the tension in the precinct the next day, you weren’t sure. But Sonny had gone back to his nontalking self, sitting at his desk, working through Heather’s posts. At some point, Amanda invited him to lunch, but he declined. They had a few clipped, whispered words that you didn’t hear, but after she left, Sonny looked upset again.

Standing, you went to the coffee maker, making two cups—one for yourself and one for Sonny. You came back, placing it on his desk, within hands reach. He glanced up at you, and you gave him a soft smile before moving back to your desk, diving in on something to help Barba with his case against Heather.

After another half an hour, Sonny got up, coming over to your desk. “Wanna go grab lunch?”

You looked from him to the mountain of posts and pictures you still had to go through, then back at him. “Please,” you groaned, grabbing your jacket and following him out.

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

For the next two weeks, you and Sonny would get lunch. Or, if it wasn’t possible to take lunch at the same time, you’d bring each other something, switching off each day. You both also seemed to know when the other ran out of coffee, placing a refill on one another’s desk just as you’d finish the last sip. Conversation started to flow easier between you two, and you found that you highly enjoyed just chatting with him. Every now and again, he’d come over to your place, and you’d just talk; mostly about work, sometimes about your families. You still had a crush on him, but you shoved it down, trying to not let it interfere with work, or with your new-found friendship. Though, you noticed with some glee that he no longer looked at Amanda with that sparkle in his eyes.

On Saturday night, Sonny showed up at your doorstep, a 12 pack in one hand, takeout in the other. “Are you not watching the hockey game tonight?” he asked, his Islanders sweater on proudly.

“I, uh, wasn’t planning on it?” you replied, confused. In all your talks, neither of you had mentioned sports, except that Sonny had played basketball as a kid.

“Pffttt. You are now,” he said, pushing into your place. You giggled, following him to your couch. Plopping down next to him, you grabbed a beer while he flipped through the stations until he found the game. He cheers’ed you, then you both took a sip, watching and yelling at the screen. It was hard not to get caught up in the excitement with him, even if you didn’t know all the rules, nor particularly cared about hockey. You just enjoyed spending time with him.

At some point during the first period, Sonny put his arm on the back of the couch, his legs spread. You never understood how someone so lanky could take up so much room, but it made you smile. He just looked so natural, so comfortable on your couch, and you loved it.

“Come on, Lehner! You gotta cover your 5-hole!” Sonny yelled at the screen, groaning as the Islanders let in a goal.

“Uh, explain that to me, please?” you asked, confused.

Sonny sat up, leaning his elbows on his knees, moving closer to you. “Okay, so, ya see how the goalie, Lehner, has his legs so spread? Well, when the Pens shoot, that’s where they aim, ‘cause it’s his weak-spot and they know it. He’s slow to get his glove there and it’s an easy goal.”

“So…the 5-hole is between the legs?” you guessed.

“Exactly; see? You’re a quick learner,” Sonny smiled at you as the game cut to commercial.

You grinned back. “Well, I have a good teacher.”

Sonny’s eyes lit up with an idea. He put his beer down, then turned to face you. “Here, stand.” You cocked an eyebrow at him but obeyed. “Put your arms out and spread your legs…not that far; be comfortable. Okay, so, right here,” –he put his hand to the left side of your face, above your arm— “is the 1-hole. The opposite side here, that’s the 2-hole. Then here,” –he went back to your left side, under your arm this time— “is the 3-hole, and—”

“The opposite is the 4, and between the legs is 5?” you finished.

That lopsided grin was back. “Exactly.” He looked at the screen as the commercials ended. “Ooh, game’s back, here.” Sonny’s hands went to your hips, sending electricity through you. He dragged you back onto the couch next to him, your leg touching his, and his arm around your shoulders. You couldn’t pay attention to the game as your whole body heated, a stupid grin on your face from the closeness. At some point, you relaxed against him, snuggling into his side. If it bothered him, he didn’t say anything. In fact, quite the opposite—when he wasn’t groaning or gesturing at the screen, he had his arm around you, holding you to him.

Once the game was over, Sonny helped you clean up. “Thanks for letting me crash your night again,” he said—the same thing he said every night when he showed up unannounced.

“Anytime,” you replied. “Are you sure you’re okay to drive?”

“Sober as a fox,” he smiled.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Is that even a saying?”

“It is now,” he declared, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Really though; I’m fine. Thank you for worrying.”

You walked him to the door, holding it open for him. Sonny stopped just outside your place, turning back around to look at you. “Text me when you get home, so I know you’re safe,” you said softly.

“Okay, I will…. I, uh, wanted to thank you. Not just for tonight, but for every night…and lunches, and coffees, and just—letting me be me for a little.” He gave you the sweetest smile, and you thought your chest was going to burst.

“Yeah, anytime, Sonny. I want you to feel…safe with me,” you replied.

“I do…I really do.”

You were leaning against your doorframe, and he had one hand on the wall next to it, leaning against it. Slowly, he leaned forward, his face getting closer to yours. Swallowing, and praying you weren’t misinterpreting, you leaned in, too, until your lips met in a soft, chaste kiss. Sonny’s mouth was gentle against yours, his lips smooth, and you stood up on your tiptoes, pressing yourself harder against him, afraid that he’d realize what was happening and that he’d pull away, disgusted. And though he did pull away, his eyes were still closed in bliss, a small smile on his face, one that slowly grew the longer you looked, making your own smile appear.

“You sure you don’t want to stay the night?” you asked, your voice hopeful.

Sonny looked deeply into your eyes, then to your lips, then back to your eyes. “Well, if you insist, maybe I can be persuaded to crash your night a little longer.”

#sonny carisi x reader #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfic #fanfic #my writing #thank you Karen for letting me know PScan is an Islander fan #cause I made Sonny a Bruins fan first #I may have forgotten that the Devil Ray's existed #Anonymous

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protecticarus · 4 years

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Hi! I just wanted to say that I love your fics, they’re absolutely amazing. Anyway... bit of an odd request but can I get an angsty fic where Dirk realizes he’s in love with Todd? (and proceeds to do nothing about it) The amount that I kin Dirk might be a little concerning, and the amount that I associate my best friend of four years with Todd (and they agree) might be a bit concerning. Especially since I just figured out... whoops, I’m in love with them! (and let me tell you it HURTS) I’m almost 100% sure feel the same they’re just not at an emotionally stable point for me to tell them. (you know, much like Todd) So I know it seems a bit silly and weird, but I think it might help me cope a bit to see Dirk in a similar situation, feel less alone

hi anon! i’m sorry you’re stuck in such a complicated situation. i hope it all works out in the end. i can definitely relate to dealing with things by reading about a similar experiences and relating to fictional characters a little too hard. just remember that what you’re feeling is valid and no pain is permanent. x

i hope this does the trick!

The tv screen flickered between a diverse selection of images, the sound cutting off well before a full phrase could be heard.

“I regret the day I taught you how to use the remote.” Todd told his friend from the kitchen.

“What on earth for?” Dirk absent-mindedly replied while switching the channel, yet again. He had already kicked off his shoes and was now comfortably lounging on Todd’s couch.

Todd rolled his eyes. “Definitely not because you switch the channel about 187 times a minute.” He replied.

Dirk scoffed. “Poppycock.”

“God, you’re so British.” Todd murmured. “Just pick a channel, Dirk.” He added, louder.

“Fine!” Dirk said and lifted his finger off the button. “There’s some sort of apocalypse film on, we can watch that?” He added after he registered the image of a large fire on the screen.

Todd poked his head out of the kitchen long enough to see the screen. “Hate to break it to you, Dirk, but that’s the news.” He said.

Dirk’s eyes widened. “Bloody hell!” He exclaimed.

“Yeah, the world’s going to shit. Pick something else.” Todd told him.

“You just told me to stop changing the ch-“

“Just pick something other than the news, Dirk, Jesus.” Todd interrupted.

Finally after a few more channel jumps, Dirk settled on a rerun episode of Friends.

Soon, Todd sat down next to him on the couch and handed him a cup. “Here.”

Dirk furrowed his brows. “What’s this?” He asked.

“Your tea.” Todd said, already focusing on the tv.

“You made me tea?” Dirk asked.

“Yeah, you usually drink tea at this time of day, right?” Todd replied, his eyes never leaving the screen.

“Y-Yes, I suppose I do.” Dirk replied. He had no idea that Todd had taken notice of his tea drinking habits. “What kind of tea is it?” Dirk asked.

Todd scoffed. “That one- you know, your favorite one.” He replied.

Dirk lifted the cup to his face and sniffed. It was indeed his favorite tea. “You know what my favorite tea is?”

Todd finally turned to look at him, with an amused expression on his face. “Yeah, of course. You drink it all the time.” He said and turned back towards the tv.

Dirk just turned to stare into his tea. “Thank you.” He said quietly.

“Sure.” Mumbled Todd, like it was no big deal.

But it was to Dirk.

The only time another person had made Dirk tea was when he ordered it from a barista in a coffee shop. And then he had to specifically instruct them to make it the way he liked it. But here was Todd, knowing this about Dirk, just by paying attention. By caring enough to take notice.

Dirk lifted the cup to his lips in an attempt to hide his growing smile. Todd had made him tea.

As Dirk took his first sip of the tea, he turned his eyes toward Todd, who was still watching the tv. The tea was a little weaker than Dirk himself made it and still a little too hot to really enjoy but... It was made by Todd. For Dirk.

Despite all his claims of being an asshole, Todd’s affection for those he cared about was clear as day in the little things he did. It was one of the reasons Dirk loved him.

Dirk spit some of his tea back into the cup, shocked by his own train of thought. Todd turned to look at him.

“Ew.” Said Todd. “Is it bad?” He asked.

“No! No, not at all.” Dirk hurried to reply. “Just hot.” He added.

“Oh, okay. Let it cool down.” Todd said and turned back toward the tv.

“Good idea.” Dirk said, his attention already far away from the conversation.

Obviously by ‘one of the reasons he loved Todd’ Dirk had meant ‘one of the things he loved about Todd.’ There was a clear distinction between the two. You can love things about a person without loving the person.

As soon he’d tried to tell himself this, Dirk knew the truth. He loved Todd. And not just that, oh no. He loved Amanda and Farah, sure. But he loved Todd. He was in love with Todd.

Dirk felt the sudden urge to list all the swear words he knew - which would be an extensive list - but he decided against it, as he didn’t feel like explaining this course of action to Todd.

Dirk felt dumb. How could he not have realized this before now? Clearly it was not a new development. He felt the exact same way about Todd that he had prior to this day. The same way he had felt about him for a while. Only now he knew what it was.

He would have liked to pretend he was mistaken, chalk it up to not having previous experience with being in love, but Dirk knew better. If you’d asked him a year ago what being in love felt like, he’d have shrugged his shoulders and replied with something along the lines of ‘I haven’t the slightest clue!�� and go on about his day.

But now? He knew exactly what that particular emotion was.

It was the warm tidal wave in his stomach whenever Todd laughed at something he said. It was the sudden burning in his cheeks when Todd touched him. It was the rib-cracking pain when Todd was hurt or in danger. It was the ineffable pull he felt coming from Todd, constantly begging for Dirk to come just a little bit closer.

Dirk had never given much thought to the popular idea that when you’re in love, you just know. It was incredibly cheesy. Yet, as it turns out, surprisingly accurate.

Dirk fought the urge to groan out loud. This had not been part of his plan. The plan was: befriend Todd, start a detective agency with Todd and work with Todd. That was it. Much like the little girl with the red cape from that morbid children’s story Todd had told him about, Dirk had strayed far from the assigned path.

In so many ways, Dirk was eccentric. He had never fit any ready-made mold, he had never fit any stereotype. And now here he was. In love with his best friend. What a cliché.

Dirk’s bitter musings were suddenly interrupted by a loud laugh coming from the man next to him. Dirk turned his attention to Todd, who seemed to be thoroughly amused by a woman with a turkey on her head dancing on the tv screen.

Todd’s laugh was like music to Dirk’s ears. His stupid, predictable ears.

Dirk too tried to focus on the screen rather than Todd’s side profile, only to witness the turkey-headed woman’s shock at her companion telling her he loved her by accident. It was clearly the first time she heard this confession and the man immediately tried to backtrack and deny ever having said those three words in the first place. Nevertheless, she seemed elated at this revelation. She kept repeating ‘you love me, you love me’ excitedly.

Dirk turned his attention back to the object of his affection. For a moment he imagined what Todd’s reaction would be to hearing those words from Dirk.

He’d like to imagine that Todd would react somewhat similarly to how the woman had on the show. Surprised, but overtly happy. Dirk’s eyes suddenly felt incredibly warm. He turned his gaze at the ceiling, hoping to will the tears not to leave his eyes.

He knew his feelings would not be greeted with overt happiness. A small part of him dared to believe that Todd wouldn’t be utterly disgusted by Dirk’s feelings for him. An even smaller part of him almost sort of entertained the idea that Todd might reciprocate. But Dirk also knew that even if those things would somehow be true, they would not change the outcome.

Todd was a mess. A mess Dirk loved dearly, but a mess nonetheless. Todd still believed himself to be an asshole, tightly wound in a web of self-hatred. Amanda was still giving him the silent treatment. He had yet to come clean with his parents about the lie he’d been living. He was still getting used to said lie actually becoming reality, one pararibulitis attack at a time. His apartment still showed signs of the Rowdies’ visit all those months ago, a fact that wouldn’t get taken care of until they started making more steady money at the agency. And then there was the agency. It was up and running, but still in its early stages, still finding its legs.

No matter how he might feel, Todd was in no place to hear that his best friend was in love with him. Dirk was one of the only stable pieces of the crooked Jenga tower that was Todd’s life. Dirk didn’t dare to think what would happen if he were to compromise that structural piece. It wouldn’t be fair to Todd. He needed a friend right now.

Dirk felt like in the span of about five minutes, everything he knew had been turned upside down, yet he ended up in the same place he started at. Turns out he was in love with Todd, but this would and could not affect his actions in any way.

Dirk felt a new flavor of sadness settle on his tongue. He loved Todd, but Todd could not know. Dirk loved him, but it could not be acknowledged outside of his own head.

Suddenly Dirk felt like he might burst with the way deep longing clawed at his chest.

But as he watched Todd, smiling and comfortable on the couch next to Dirk, he decided this was a good thing, not a bad one.

Dirk might have to prioritize being Todd’s friend over his less than platonic feelings for him, but he was more than willing to do that. For Todd.

Love, in all its forms, was a good thing. And Dirk had a lot of it. He might not be able to put it into words, but much like Todd himself, Dirk could let it bleed into the things he did. He could be there for Todd, and love him, without saying so. He could love Todd, even if he never said so.

After all, Todd deserved to be loved, even if he didn’t know it yet. But Dirk would make sure that he would know. Eventually.

“Dirk, drink your tea before it gets cold, I’m not getting up to make you a new one.” Todd said suddenly.

Dirk smiled and raised his cup to his lips again.

if you have any ideas for fics, send me prompts! my inbox is always open! xx

#protecticarus #dghda #fanfiction #dirk gently #todd brotzman #brotzly #dirk gently’s holistic detective agency #fanfic #angst #fluff #feelings realization #prompt fill #fan fic #fan fiction #fic prompt

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musette22 · 3 years

Note

hey, it's the anon that sent in the thing abt rpf being iffy. i understand your points, and i don't have a huge problem with it if it stays in fandom spaces. i think my issue just comes from my own stance that celebrities deserve to not have their private lives speculated or written abt, even if it is just a fantasy. but i don't think you're necessarily being immoral or wrong, and i know that the speculating and writing abt celebrities is so widespread now that it probably won't stop. i sometimes just feel bad for the people that might feel violated by it. and, for the record, i also rlly don't like the "self-shipping" with celebrities either, as it seems pretty invasive. also, someone replied to my ask that you answered saying that i probably just don't like that you ship two men rather than a man and a woman, and that is absolutely not true, i'm a lesbian lmao. anyways, i just thought it was worth it to clear a couple things up. i hope you have a good day!! <3

Hi, thanks for sending another messages and clarifying a few things, I appreciate it! I also appreciate your stance about the private lives of celebrities and I do understand where you're coming from. Just for the record; you explained your issue well in your first ask and there was nothing that made me think you had a problem with same sex shipping!

The way I see it, most celebrities more or less willingly renounce some of their privacy just by becoming a celebrity - I'd even say that's inherent in the concept of celebrity/fame. Off the top of my head, I can't think of anyone, at least not in the entertainment industry, who is famed merely for their art or profession, and has never talked about their personal life or thoughts publicly (whether in interviews, at fan meetings, in their songs, etc.). If you're famous, people will know certain things about you, unless you try really hard to keep your private life completely private, but even then idk if that could ever be achieved. Of course, no one is entitled to know anything about celebrities - it all depends on what and how much they want to share with the public. And if they want to share some things and keep other things private, that's their prerogative and we should respect their boundaries in that regard. I would never demand (or even ask) information about a celebrity's family, relationship status or sexual preferences, for instance, if they didn't volunteer that information themselves.

But I can't imagine celebrity culture without a certain amount of fascination with and/or lusting after said celebrities, whether by their fans or the general public. I don't think it's possible to separate the two completely. So I don't think it's wrong or weird to privately think/speculate about their private lives, as long as you observe certain hard boundaries, which I've explained in reply to your previous ask.

If I'm not mistaken, the self-shipping you mention sounds like reader insert fic? If so, I wasn't even necessarily talking about that tbh, I just meant like, when you're on a train and you start daydreaming about meeting your favourite celebrity and what they'd say to you and how they'd fall in love with you and how they might kiss you etc. etc. That's something I think a lot of people (not everyone, but a lot, especially people who are 'fans', with more than a casual interest in a celebrity) have done at some point in their lives. And I don't really see how that's different from putting it down on paper, as long as you make sure the celebs never get to see it, just as they'll never see the thoughts in your head.

Basically, what happens in both cases is we put words in their mouths and make them do things in our imagination - in a way, they're almost just as much characters as fictional characters are, because at the end of the day, we don't truly know these people, and we certainly can't control them. I don't know if you saw what someone else in the notes of the other ask said as well, about Sir Ian McKellan? @misspluckyplum said that "Ian McKellen was asked on his website what he thought about 'real person slash'. He remarked, and I'm paraphrasing here, that those who were writing RPS didn't know the real him, therefore weren't depicting the real him, so how could he begrudge creative expression that had nothing to do with him anyways?"

That's how I personally see it as well. I met Sebastian once, and it was acutely clear to me that he was a stranger. Sure, I know a lot about him, but that's not the same as knowing him personally. The things I know about him are what I use to write my stories, but what I inevitably end up with is a character of my own making with lots of personal projection, sprinkled with some real life facts and mannerisms of actual people bearing the same name as my characters. I do see how that could entail a risk of objectification/sexualization, but I personally fantasize just as much if not more about these guys shyly confessing their feelings, holding hands, and raising babies together as I do about them having sex. For me, it's really much more about creative expression, and an outlet for personal romantic feelings, thoughts and desires, than it is about me wanting to completely know or - god forbid - control Chris or Sebastian or have a say in their lives.

I know you also mentioned that you would be weirded out if you knew people were shipping you with a friend of yours, and I understand what you mean. Some people will think it's extremely strange and invasive and it would be especially strange and invasive if you're a non-famous person. But like I said, by far the majority of celebrities will be aware that they've signed off some of their privacy in becoming famous. A few of them clearly hate that (which I think should be respected as much as possible) and some may be more protective over their personal lives than others, but generally speaking, I think if you habitually agree to do photoshoots, interviews and public performances or events, you're used to, and to certain extent even okay with, people being fascinated by you and wanting you/wanting you do do things.

Moreover, I've also heard about quite a few celebs who have endorsed or encouraged RPF shipping because they think it's fun or flattering, so in the end I think it depends on the person whether they'd consider RPF shipping invasive or not. I personally would not mind at all if I were famous and people would write stories about me and my best friend falling in love if that brought them comfort or happiness for some reason, as long as I didn't have to read the stories and people would not harass either of us about it. But again, that's a personal stance, and of course we can't know who is or isn't okay with it, unless they tell us. If they do know and they hate it, and they tell their fans to stop, I would of course respect their wishes in a heartbeat. But until then, I think it's okay to operate on the assumption that "what they don't know can't hurt them", especially if it's coming from a place of love and respect.

Sorry this got so long, it's just something I have a lot of thoughts and feeling about! I hope you have a lovely day as well! <3

#evanstan #rpf #minnie answers #long post #shipping things

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hcywards · 4 years

Text

ocean — jj maybank

summary: y/n l/n couldn’t surf and her boyfriend decided to teach her

words: 1.7k+

t/w: kissing,, and i think that’s it sjsjjsjs

request:

this was a request from anon!

“omg could you do one where the reader is terrible at surfing and afraid of drowning and JJ teaches her?”

note: i am really serving you with jj content 😌 and the 8 drafts of him i have agree

Y/N stared down the board, her eyes wide but her expression stoic. She knew what would happen if they found out she was afraid of surfing. She’d be practically exiled from the group, not to mention dating JJ. God, what would he think? His own girlfriend was afraid of one of his favourite things to do. Her stomach churned just thinking about it, and tears threatened to come up to her eyes as she looked back to the grinning blonde.

“JJ, seriously,” she pleaded, “I don’t feel great. Can we just stay home?”

“Come on, Y/N,” he picked up her board, tucking it under one arm and giving her the smile she hated saying no to. “It’ll just be us.”

That wasn’t true — technically, her friends would be there as well, sitting on the dock or by the sand, however none were going to be in the water with them. But, still, that must’ve gotten a reaction out of her, as he was putting down the boards Y/N was so deathly scared of. He pulled her against his chest quickly, and she wrapped her arms around his back, pressing her face into his shoulder to hide her burning cheeks.

Y/N was not the liar of the relationship, that was for sure. She couldn’t lie whatsoever, and even if she could, her lies would never get past JJ.

She could make up excuses easily, however — she’d been doing that since birth. It was how she’d managed to last for so long without ever going surfing. “I’m on my period,” she’d say, or “I’ve got a stomach ache” or “I sprained my wrist” or “my board needs fixing”. Thankfully, the others never seemed to notice — after all, they did spend more time on the boat than surfing, and that, Y/N could handle. She didn’t have to actually get in if they were in the boat, and the boat provided a false sense of security. The surfboards, however, did not.

She managed to choke out “it’s hayfever”, praying to God he’d believe it when he pulled back a little. The way he arched an eyebrow told her otherwise, though, and she sighed. “I can’t surf, okay?”

“You’ve got to be joking,” he responded, grinning — he thought she was making it up.

She shook her head, wiping at the tears coming to her eyes. “I’m not. I can’t surf.”

“Alright,” he replied, and at the soft tone in his voice, Y/N frowned. This was not the reaction she was expecting. “Well I guess I’ll have to teach you.”

“No, JJ, uh,” Y/N swallowed thickly. “I’m— I’m afraid of the water, too.”

“What?” JJ laughed at that, and Y/N’s heart dropped. Here came the reaction she’d been anticipating. “Come on, Y/N, you can’t expect me to believe that. I mean, you live on an island. How can you be afraid of the water?”

“I just don’t go in,” Y/N responded, feeling breathless and lightheaded as her eyes moved from his to the surfboard and then back to his again. “I don’t— I don’t want to go surfing, JJ.”

He shook his head, frowning. “You have to have gone in with us at least once.”

“Never,” Y/N almost whispered.

“Why are you afraid of it?” he asked, voice curious.

Y/N let out a laugh at that, her voice light as she responded, “Why do you think, JJ? Because I don’t want to drown.” She felt far from the happy humour that she’d managed to force into her voice, and JJ could clearly see that, pulling her into his chest and holding her there tightly.

“You can swim, right?” he asked, and she nodded, laughing.

“Yes, I can swim, JJ,” she answered. “It’s just. . . I don’t like surfing. It scares me, okay?”

“Come on, I’m going to teach you, okay?” he pleaded, and Y/N sighed, looking up at his face.

His lower lip was pouted slightly, his blue eyes practically begging her to say yes. She groaned. “Fine. Just, don’t leave me? Please?”

He grinned at that. “Of course not. I’d have to be a pretty shitty boyfriend to do that.”

Y/N nodded, but his words only marginally helped with her fear as he picked up the boards again and began walking towards the sand in front of John B’s house. She followed slowly, and with each step it felt like her heart dropped further and further into the pit of her stomach, weighing her down like an anchor. She kept going, though — she’d promised, and she did need to learn at some point. She just wished she’d tried when she was younger.

The sand eventually turned into waves, and that was where Y/N stopped, looking out to her boyfriend already in at waist-height, looking at her with an encouraging smile. She groaned, stripping herself of her shorts covering her bikini bottoms, and he wolf-whistled, as he always did when she was in just a bikini, if only to get a smile out of her. Today, though, she couldn’t seem to muster one, just swallowing thickly as she began walking into the so-hated salt water.

Her eyes didn’t leave her feet, and she watched as they slowly got less and less visible in the murky water. Her throat constricted as they did, and she looked back up at her boyfriend again — he was still donning the supportive grin, holding onto the surfboards a few metres away as he waited.

She nodded, swallowing, and continued to walk. By the time she reached him, the soft waves met her mid torso, and she looked up at the blonde with the sun cascading down him in a manner she would’ve usually admired but now she couldn’t even notice, eyes wide and body heavy. She pressed her hands flat against the board and hiked herself up, steadying herself by grasping onto his tanned shoulders tightly.

He grinned up at her when she managed to steady herself, squinting slightly in the light but still managing to give her a proud smile. “See? It’s not so bad, is it?”

Y/N’s hands still rested on his shoulders and she took the time to glance around the deep blue water she was floating on before letting her gaze fall back onto JJ’s face. “J, I’ve hardly done anything.”

“You’ve done more than you’ve ever done before,” he responded, and Y/N rolled her eyes. “Is it alright if I get on my board?”

Y/N looked into his blue eyes that were the same colour as the thing she was so afraid of and swallowed, “Uh, yeah. Okay.”

JJ nodded, and got onto his board a few feet deeper in the water. “Okay, now paddle out a little further,” he called over his shoulder, and Y/N eyed the water warily before starting to paddle towards him.

He was sat on his surfboard while he waited, legs hanging down into the water in a way that Y/N would only do in her worst nightmares. As the wave he was aiming for approached them, he gave her a grin — she responded to it with the biggest smile she could muster, which was not a lot as she faced the wave that looked to her to be a death wish.

JJ was smiling at the approaching wave, though, positioning his board in a way that Y/N copied. He glanced back at her as the wave grew closer, yelling instructions over his shoulder that Y/N could only just hear over the sound of her frantically beating heart.

She copied his actions as best she could as the wave approached, standing up on shaky legs, only to have it come crashing down on her, knocking the air out of her lungs as she was pushed forwards and off of her board. She gasped as she resurfaced, wiping hair out of her face and checking her bikini was still tied on -- thankfully, it was, but she triple knotted it anyway, pulling herself back onto her board and sitting down as JJ paddled over to her.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear gingerly, the motion soothing. Y/N swallowed and nodded as she looked down at the water, disdain in her eyes, but she tried again anyway.

It felt like hours later when she finally stayed on her board for a wave, and she grinned as she came out of the other end, yelling out her excitement and looking over at JJ, who was paddling towards her. He brought his board up to hers, grinning proudly as they floated along side by side.

He pressed his lips to hers — softly, at first, but when her hands found their way into his wet hair to draw him closer, it became a lot more passion-fuelled, and his hands roamed from her cheeks to her waist, body pressing into hers. She was smiling into the kiss, tugging on his hair lightly when his tongue grazed her lip expertly — and then he took her lip between his sharp teeth, and she let out a moan that echoed around the beach. He smirked into the kiss, only encouraged by the groans that came from the direction of the Chateau.

She pushed him away, though, a blush staining her cheeks as she glanced over his shoulder and to her friends, scattered across the dock. He grinned at her, whispering: “Well done, babe. I’m proud of you. We can go back now, if you want.”

Y/N nodded, lips swollen as she mumbled, “Yeah, but can you kiss me again first?”

JJ smirked, and did just that.

taglist! there is a form in my description if you would like to be added! also if your name is in italics i couldn’t tag you, and if you could add yourself again that would be appreciated.

@thorsangel @dpaccione @ceruleanjj @thatsonobx @spilledtee @supremestarkey @babypogue @sadcupofcoffee @sacredto @poguemacking @outrbank @ilovejjmaybank @calumbroutledge @headedfortheopendoors @thelocalpogue @decap-quadrant @everydayimfangirling @raekenliar @jayjaymaebank

#jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #obx jj #jj maybank imagine #outer banks imagine #outer banks x reader #obx imagine #obx x reader #obx #outer banks #popcsheywards

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har-rison-s · 4 years

Text

your worth

request: Loki Smut please! Perhaps both Reader & Loki are in love with each other but in denial. Loki thinks he's a monster and a human could never love him til she proves him wrong.

A/N: Listen,,,, I live for this type of smut. I don't know why. Something about comforting someone or making them feel like they matter is... I love. God, I probs sound desperate. But honestly, I just want to love someone :> Anyway :D I love this request, if you can't already tell, and I hope you'll like it. I hope the anon who requested this is still following me! Truth is, I started writing this one back in July 2019 and got around to finish it two days ago and I've finally done it! it's been tough, that's for sure, I've had many writer's block moments. And I think this is actually my first ever Loki thing. It must be, yeah. Though I feel like I've wrote his character a million years already. I certainly did my best on this one. Smut is always a tad harder than fluff or angst for me and I wish to improve my skills at writing it. Happy reading! Love you all!

main masterlist

mcu masterlist

warnings: angst, smut, comfort.

“Oh, Steve! Star-crossed lovers, seven o'clock.” Tony speaks, seeing Y/N and Loki walking - unplanned - together into the kitchen. Loki rolls his eyes while Y/N does nothing, perhaps only glancing at Loki for a split second, in fear. She searches for any shared emotion between them, even if it may be discomfort. Anything they could share. Loki and her are both tired from Tony's and Sam's constant teasing. But, like the mentioned two, the rest of the team also see what's really going on between Y/N and Loki.

Now, Loki is in bigger denial than Y/N, because her feelings are showing more above the surface, easier to read. She’s recently realised it, hence she tries her best to conceal her feelings, her embarrassment, her truth, so no one could ‘crack her’. She would love to share these feelings with someone, scream them from the top of the Stark tower so that the whole world knows of it, and, most of all, to share them with Loki.

But Loki... He’s cold. He denies her supposed feelings, and his own when asked about it. He himself can't accept that someone like her, a beautiful girl inside out, a caring and loving one, could like, much less love, someone like him. Well, there's no one else like him, but... Loki's a monster. A villain in his eyes and those of others. He’s been cowardly and submissive his whole life, committed crimes in hopes of earning love, attention… Acceptance. He’s betrayed his dearest, and is known as a galaxy-wide criminal and villain. Who and how could ever feel such things as love or affection towards him?

“Your endless teasing is growing pathetic, tin-man.” Loki says to Tony, grabbing the coffee machine's handle to pour himself a cup of the terran liquid. A liquid he’s learned to love the taste of over these several months he’s spent in the tower. Tony snorts. To that Loki only shoots the man a look, though he wished he hadn’t.

“Tony, you should stop. It is starting to get old, this joke of yours.” Steve points out and turns over a page in the paper he's reading. Y/N makes quick work of taking sandwiches from the fridge. Mainly because she hates to be the topic of anyone's open discussion, but also because she can't bear hearing Loki denying his love for her. Truth be told, it hurts her very much.

Y/N only puts a dirty bowl in the dishwasher and walks out of the kitchen, leaving the others feeling quite empty with her leave. Loki's eyes sadden a bit upon it, though he erases that soon. He would have loved to be alone with her in the kitchen. Merely her presence soothes him, simply the breath that leaves her chest through her nose, her quiet touch of hand on counter and feet on floor. But not when these two are around. Her alone. It's far too many people for Y/N there, too many eyes and needless constant comments of the head of the team, hence she decided to come back later.

She could always enjoy Loki’s presence in their lonesome, but not with others present. Though when she does have the chance, she cannot enjoy it for her nerves and anxiousness, her insecurities.

“Not until something happens.” Tony states, his chin resting in his hand. “I believe—”

“Whatever theory you are about to voice, Stark, will prove you wrong.” Loki interrupts him, putting on a false smile and batting his eyelashes mockingly. Tony and Steve both look at the god drinking coffee. Loki’s gaze is unbreakable on the two.

“—that my teasing, as you call it, will do the exact trick that needs to be done in order for you to get over all this and just—tell each other everything!” Tony raises his hands in the air and looks at Steve. The captain shakes his head at Tony and looks back down at his paper, merely as tired of this as Loki and Y/N are. He’s thinking of leaving the kitchen soon, too.

“And what would you call 'everything'?” Asks Loki. The master of hiding anything that comes from his heart or his mind, hiding his true intentions. He's playing them both for fools. And himself. He knows what he feels, but he doesn't want to acknowledge it and is afraid to state his feelings.

“Oh, please,” Tony starts with an eye roll, “do I really have to tell you what you want to tell her? Honesty - is it not familiar in your realm?” A pause. “Your undying longing! You want each other, it's clear as day!”

“You don't know what you are talking about. Your human eyes see what you want them to—which is false—for what reason, I cannot guess,” Loki says, “no one could feel... longing for me. Or want me. That'd be...”

“Impossible?” Steve suggests. Loki gives him a look. “Surprises myself, this what I say, but that’s not true.” Loki now gives him a confused look.

“What could be so wrong with a regular girl liking you? Or being with one?” Tony questions. “You’re discriminating the human race, huh.”

“What's in it for you, regular man?” Loki asks, squinting his eyes at the two men. Tony laughs, but Loki ignores it and slams his empty coffee mug into the sink, leaving the kitchen afterwards in a surprisingly calm stride.

“Hey, horns! No dishes in the sink!” Tony calls after Loki, but he gets no response. Steve looks at his team-mate.

“Really think something as big as a god would care about a dirty, empty cup of coffee?” He asks and closes the newspaper he was trying to read. Tony once again is at fault for his failure.

“Worth a shot.”

“You're the worst match-maker I've met.” Steve admits and stands up from the kitchen table, leaving the room afterwards. Tony frowns, but doesn't doubt himself either way. He knows he's right. About the coffee cup and about Y/N's and Loki's probability of being a thing. It'll happen at some point.

“Wanna bet?” Stark calls out to the hallway Steve walked down, but he gets no response from the super soldier. Instead, another voice speaks.

“Bet on what?” Tony hears Y/N's sweet voice behind him, entering the now empty and lonesome kitchen. Unnoticed, she slipped in the room through another door, good for quiet entries, but far from her own room.

“Oh, you came back.” Tony states and Y/N eyes him across the table they're at. “Didn't like me and Steve sharing you two's company, huh?”

“Me and who's company?” She asks, confusion riddling her face as she makes herself sandwiches, again. The plate that adorned the previous ones now in the sink next to Loki’s cup. The mischief god has noticed her appetite and skill for handmade sandwiches, and the sight of her making another pair usually paints a warm smile on his lips.

“Just your one and only.” Tony says in a sickeningly sweet sing-song kind of voice, decoratively placing his palms under his chin.

Y/N scowls. “There's nothing between me and Loki and I doubt there ever will be.” She says and even chuckles at the end, when instead she wants to wallow in pity cause that's the probability that is bound to happen. No happy ending, no love from him, no affection, no reading books together, no gazing at the stars, nothing shared… None of that. Only loneliness and longing now left for her.

“So you do hope for something to happen?” Tony questions and Y/N gives him an angry look.

“Why would I? I'm not ready for relationships.” She replies carelessly with a simple lie that’d struck the god in question straight into the heart. Only she wanted to add, unless Loki would want one with me. But she didn't. She doesn't like him, she doesn't want him. It'd be silly if I did. “Did you talk about... anything with him?” She betrays herself with these words.

Tony nods, grinning to himself. He has cracked her. There are feelings involved. “He said that, and I'm using his words, someone longing for him, wanting him, is impossible. And a human feeling it is even more impossible.” He says. “Basically, he dodged a bunch of questions, but we all know what’s really going on.”

“Sure does sound like him.” Y/N agrees quietly. Silence falls between the two as Y/N slices salad with a knife. Tony sighs.

“Could you please do yourselves and us a favor and cut the damn sexual tension between you?”

“A what now?” Y/N echoes, scoffing, a shocked expression on her face. “Firstly, if I was to do something, it wouldn't be because of you. I do things for myself, thank you very much. I don't need a motivator.”

“And secondly?” Tony asks, looking strongly at Y/N. She realises after a moment she has nothing to add to her second point. Well, nothing that Tony should know from her. “You'll feel much better if you get everything sorted out.” Tony states and Y/N rolls her eyes.

“Enjoy your breakfast, Stark.” She says before walking out of the kitchen for the second time this morning. Tony stays in his pose for a few seconds, wondering if he has worked his plan out and if it will work out on its own.

The day goes by and Y/N has found herself suffering from anxiety throughout it. She doubts herself, she worries about, perhaps, showing too much of her true feelings outwardly. This love, this unreturned, one-sided love should not exist. She should never have had such affectionate feelings towards him. She’s lesser than him, and he sees her so, as anyone of his title and kind would. He is a god, a god thrice older than a thousand years, the same amount older than Y/N herself.

She is a simple human girl, she’s only gifted, that’s what could ever make her special in the eyes of someone his kind. She cannot compare to him, or his brother. She’s so little against the metaphorical and physical him, they simply… do not match. He knows this well and could never return the feelings because of this. She’s stupid to even hope for that.

But she knows little of what he thinks of her. She’d be delighted, to say the least, if she’d ever hear his thoughts aloud. He thinks of her heavenly, much more heavenly than himself and any other creature he’s seen. He thinks of her as sent from the Allfathers, a precious gift to all everyone she meets in her life. She’s truly all grace, love and beauty merged into one human being and Loki longs everyday to be bathed in it. He may only dream of it, though until a point.

Both of them spent the Saturday in their rooms, in their personal agonies. Many days like this have come and gone in their lives, days when Y/N is not on a mission, going out with the others, grocery shopping or doing anything otherwise productive. Y/N would be ready to write this Saturday down as the worst in her life until a certain minute struck past nine in the evening.

The team had gone out, an occasion Y/N was not ready to accompany them on tonight. Some type of celebration, maybe? Well, it always is, no matter the reason. So they left Y/N and some other usual sulkers to their own devices, one of them being Loki. Due to his surprisingly kind heart, tonight he decided on going to Y/N’s room, accompany her, if he may, all by her lonesome, and set his mind right by telling her how she feels.

He was pacing a bit before he headed the needed floor up the tower. Hands touching and mushing his own face times and times over, eyes bulging out of their sockets purely out of torturing anxiety. He moved his hair back, he tousled it back into messy locks, over and over. Having no peace in his mind or body.

Loki could fail miserably, doing what he’s intended to. He could give out his whole heart and soul to her, and she could laugh in his face. Crying would not be as bad as laughing, so he hopes crying is the worst to come of it. But it could not be the worst… The worst of all outcomes would be her inability to return the feelings. Gods, no… Loki hopes to all whose hands it’s in that she does not have this inability.

A knock comes softly to Y/N’s door. She raises her head from her book with curious eyes and raised eyebrows. She presses the button to open the sliding door, and to her most surprise, Loki almost falls through when the door opens. He is not used to this kind of technology, not yet. He leaves his door open, as in Asgard the bedrooms did not really have doors that can open and close. There were no doors at all.

Both their eyes meet and Y/N rises from her bed right to her feet, not letting the book go so her fingers would have something to nibble on out of stress. “Loki,” she says, her surprise very apparent in her voice still. The god simply stands in her doorway as the door closes automatically, dressed in… Oh, he looks gorgeous. Loki wears a green linen shirt, his signature colour, similar to those from medieval times, wide sleeves and strings instead of buttons. He does wear dress pants, though, which look like part of a formal suit two-piece, “good evening.”

“Good evening, my lady.” Loki greets back.

“What brings you here?” Y/N asks and tries to adjust her pyjama shorts, suddenly realising how undressed she is compared to Loki. Her stripy, loose button up and pyjama shorts are not her best look.

“Well, I—“ for a moment, Loki looks and acts like his regular self, seemingly about to burst out with a joke or a trick, his mannerisms tell her so. He glances at the corner of Y/N’s bed. “May I sit down?” He asks with innocent eyes. Y/N nods in response, gesturing for him to do so. He nods, sits down on her bed, his pose reserved and a bit stale. Y/N walks now to stand in front of him, but not too close. “I have come to tell you something.”

Y/N has rarely seen Loki this… gentle, this… fragile, sort of. He does not look like himself, but then again there looks to be revealed more a lot more of him than usual. Purely looking at his face, Y/N wants to whimper ‘i love you’, and she almost does. But thank god for self-control.

She crosses her arms over her chest out of habit. “I’m listening.” She says, a million positive and negative guesses going through her mind like a thousand volcanoes, making noise and chaos in there, most of all—permitting her to think clearly.

“I beg you to take this—what I will say—kindly.” Loki says, a saddened expression on his face. “It scares me and tears me apart to say, but I must for my own and your sake.” He starts and takes a deep breath. Here comes ‘i can’t stand you’, ‘i hate you’, ‘i don’t like your company’. Y/N furrows her eyebrows and tries to shut those thoughts out. “I find you, Y/N, very attractive, beautiful, really, the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met. And not only physically.” Her breath catches in her throat. “You are grace, beauty and wisdom in one body. You are… You are an angel sent from the Gods above to this Earth…”

Seeing the look on Y/N’s face, the look of surprise and confusion and eyes on the brink of crying, Loki’s doubts on himself begin to take over.

“I should not have those feelings for you, it is wrong for me to think of you this way, to,” he gulps, “to want to cherish you day and night, to give you as much love as you give away and deserve in return, and much more; to lay you gently to sleep and give every goodnight to you, as well as see you every morning that I wake. It is wrong.” Loki shakes his head and looks at you, clearly ashamed to have exposed his heart and yearnings like this, to someone, and ashamed of their truth.

Tears do gather in Y/N’s eyes and she unconsciously drops her book before rushing to stand before the god, carefully cradling his face between her hands. “Why do you think it’s wrong?” She whispers, scared, but searching his eyes for the answer. Loki’s pleasantly taken aback by her action.

“Because… look at me. You know well who I am.” Loki starts explaining after looking into Y/N’s eyes. “You know what I’ve done, the people I’ve hurt, the way I am, I’m—I’m—I’m a monster.” Loki finishes and guiltily eyes the girl cradling his cold cheeks. She closes her eyes, tears squeezing past her lids, and shakes her head.

“You are no monster.” She whispers even quieter than before. She opens her eyes to press a kiss to Loki’s forehead, which freezes him. She’s in agony, because her greatest love is thinking of himself so low. Loki’s ready to disagree with her, but she speaks before him. “You are not.” She shakes her head again, looking into Loki’s eyes, begging him to listen and believe her, feeling it’s hard to do so. He’s been hurt and he’s been mislead, there’s no wonder he wouldn’t believe every person he speaks with. But with her, it might be different.

Y/N puts her forehead against Loki’s. “You long for love, and appreciation, and I can relate to that deeply.” She tells him. “But I can also give you that what you desire.” She says and draws back to look into Loki’s eyes once again. He’s unsure, shown by his face, but willing at the same time.

Loki locks his hand around her wrist, but gently. “Are you certain?”

“Do not ask me if I’m certain. I have waited, it seems, my whole life, to give it all to you. And you only.” Y/N assures him. Her finger runs along the side of his face slowly, admiring the milky skin adorning his body. “Can I show you?”

“I’d love nothing less.” Loki says, agreeing to give himself to her freely. So she takes him, pushing Loki down on the soft covers and mattress of her bed and balancing herself on top of him. Her knees are on each side of his hips, pressing into the mattress as Y/N straightens her back above him.

Loki wants to keep this exact moment in his memory. She, with tears in her eyes, but with her beautiful hair falling around her face and shoulders, starts unbuttoning her striped shirt. Her face the most beautiful face, as always, and her eyes boring into him. Her crotch pressing into his lower stomach. Loki dares to moves his hands to her thighs, exploring the skin and flesh on her upper legs. Only groping them makes him more hungry and yearning for her.

Y/N doesn’t unbutton her shirt fully, she’s too impatient out of want to know how his lips feel, how he kisses, how his lips would move against hers. So she moves down to Loki, his face showing complete submission to her. Her hand caresses the edge of his hair at his forehead, then her fingers swipe against his cheek. These touches are already almos orgasmic to Loki, he leans into her touch like a kitten who hasn’t known home for long, and he mewls at her feather caresses.

Finally, her hand moves to the back of his neck, the fingertips just trace into the roots of his hair, she’s cradling his head. Their lips almost touch, and Loki can already feel them on his, just a few inches, and he’ll fall in love with her even more than he has already. The fatal kiss, he might call it.

He leans up out of impatience, but she already presses down, and they meet each other halfway. Whatever Y/N had thought would be kissing him like, what it actually feels like is a hundred, thousand, million times better. It is far better than she has felt in her life.

Loki’s mind goes numb. He never thought he could get this much satisfaction and pleasure from a mortal being. He never thought his expectations would be out-done. He thinks he’ll never feel anything that could out-do this in his long life. Now this kiss captures everything that they feel for each other intensely. All the love and lust, yearning and hunger, longing and reaching. All of it, in one kiss. How is that even possible?

Love must be magic.

Instinctively, Loki’s hands grasp Y/N’s thighs harder, pulling her closer to him. But her rolling back into place creates a grind against the god’s slender body, which makes Loki moan and all the more impatient. He longs to feel every inch of her against him, around him, on him, it doesn’t matter. He just needs to feel her.

Y/N presses another kiss on Loki’s lips, and another, and another. When she doesn’t, her mouth open in a gasp, Loki chases her lips and connects them both again. Her hands move to untie the front of Loki’s shirt, but when that is not enough, she untucks the shirt from his pants and slides her hands under the green shirt. Her hands feel warm against his chest, and his skin to her feels a little colder than her own chest.

The skin is smooth and a little slithery, Y/N cannot guess why. Does he use some special shower gel? Or was he born with skin like that?

Loki’s fingers cautiously wander around her hips and waist, wanting to explore every inch of her body, to know it, to know it best of anyone. But Y/N feels impatient, teased by his touch, and she grabs his hands in her own, straightening up again.

She moves his hands under her shirt now, both their actions mirrored, similar as they are both equally curious about the other. “You are not wrong to love me the way you do.” She assures him. “Touch me as you please, I have longed for your complete touch for the longest time.”

Loki would have cried out that he loves her more than anything, but he’s much too turned on to do so. She is sitting right above his growing-by-the-second arousal, causing them both teased pleasure and more arousal. Y/N lets his hands go, lets them wander on their own, feeling afterwards Loki’s touch on her waist, her back, her stomach. While she herself opens the top of his trousers and shrugs them down his legs carelessly, not interested in whether they are or are not completely off. She can only think about him.

His hands grip her back, pulling her down onto him. His next move is to get her pyjama shorts off, and he does so in a hurry. Once the garment is off, Loki grips the back of her head, Y/N’s hair bunching up and twisting under his fingers. Their lips interlock in an intense kiss, so intense, so full of emotion, that both involved shed tears. And the tears wet the other’s cheeks and lips, and they can taste the salt of the drops in each kiss they share.

Y/N thinks Loki’s fingers might dig holes into her back from the way he’s holding her. She pulls away from his lips and locks eyes with Loki again. “Make love to me.” She requests in a hushed whisper. Loki’s eyebrows raise for just a second, but he gets right on it, or rather, on her.

Loki gently lays her down on her own bed and kisses her neck, her collarbones, his hands already back to her waist. Y/N lets her hands lay by her head, sighs leaving her lips in pleasure, her chest moving up and down in semi-hiccups. Loki’s hair tickles her chest as do his lips, but he decides he cannot watch her from above for any longer.

“I am at your mercy.” He tells her, returning them both to the position they were in previously. Loki’s head now resting against the headboard, looking at her from below again. He loves this much more. Y/N manages a smile, resting both her hands on Loki’s heaving, growing-hot chest.

“I love you.” She whispers to him, and doing so, she tears up. Loki smiles at her, though a bit sadly, and makes her giggle as well. She takes the back of Loki’s neck again and pulls it towards herself, their foreheads once again pressed together. They pant, they cry and they laugh. It might sound insane, but they don’t much care.

“I love you.” Loki responds, his eyes looking so sincerely and strongly into hers. Y/N looks over what she sees of Loki an she smiles wide again, disbelief adorning her eyes. She cannot phatom the place and situation she’s in, she cannot phatom the person she’s with most of all. She whispers her love to him over and over, panting breaths interrupting her words, as well as her own kisses on Loki’s lips and cheeks. She pulls him closer to herself, whether it be possible or not, by the back of his neck, gripping his muscles under her delicate touch.

Loki gives her kisses back, very heated kisses, that each leave her running after fresh breath. Neither of them can wait no longer, and so Loki helps her get her underwear off and Y/N takes his length to line up with her entrance. Her face twists and she draws in a gasp of very high pitch when the tip is teasing her walls, Loki can’t deny his own sensitivity to the feeling. She feels so warm, she feels so silky, and she’ll be around him—

She takes over and pushes him whole inside of her, immediately awakening sounds and feelings in them both they didn’t know they could muster. Both of them freeze, mouths agape and eyes shut tight, their hands interlocked so tightly they might break each other’s bones.

“Gods, darling…” Loki sighs, speaking finally. She might have thought he went dead for the moment he tried to comprehend he’s really feeling this, he’s really buried himself inside of her, he’s really having this moment with her. Not any other guy or man, him, Loki.

Y/N shudders. With this first thrust already she can feel him near her spot. His size is incredible, and he’s quite thick. Though a little stretching and stinging at that, there’s pleasure much more than any pain. “C-Can I move?” She asks, opening her eyes to look on Loki. He nods, massaging her hand with his thumb over, readying them both for what’s to come.

She moves upwards, though lazily, and moans at the feeling of him reeling against her walls. She sinks down as deep as she can and lifts herself up again, now pressing their intertwined hands against Loki’s bare chest for support. He lets go of her hands and instead returns them to her waist. Going up and down on him, his hands were extra support. Because, honestly, she’s in such a trance from the feeling that she can barely make herself move.

Her hands move to his shoulders for even more support and her chest leans towards his, as much rythmically as her hip movements do. Soon enough he thrusts his hips to meet hers, and from then on their movements increase in speed. There is not enough air in the world for them to catch, there is never enough sound for them to show their satisfaction through. Mostly, there is not enough of each other they can get.

Loki pulls her down to himself merely to kiss her, feeling himself nearing the edge. His hand grips her face just right and Y/N clenches around him. It makes Loki accidentally bite down on her lip. She gasps and, oh, oh—she’s coming. She’s coming, and her nails dig into the flesh of his shoulders. She is certain she now knows what drugs feel like. But this is certainly better than any drug. Because it’s love, and it’s passion, and it’s wonderful…

“Tell me you’re close,” she begs Loki, mid-orgasm.

“I am,” he confirms, “I love you.” He tells her again, reminding her and himself. He reminds himself because, for the first time in his life, his love and yearning to give his love, has been fulfilled. And returned. And he’s got to keep that in mind. Loki’s eyes look begging, almost praying to her, praying for her love.

He looks into her eyes when they both come, surprisingly in unison, but their eye contact is scarce mostly, her eyes are shut tight. She sings tunes of ecstasy, still barely moving on his length, as best she can. Loki fills her ears with growls and moans he’s finally not afraid to let out.

When she looks at him and nods ever so subtly, he understands with it that she’s done and he can pull out. So he does, slowly, making her mewl out of sensitivity. She feels a little sore, but it’s an ache she excuses because of who has made her so. She looks at him.

He helps her steady herself on top of him, her nakedness sitting on his stomach. They both do their best at getting their breath back, and as Y/N regains herself, she nears her face down to Loki’s. Their eyes lock. Loki puts his hands on both her cheeks. They share a gentle kiss and lay silently for a few moments, simply looking at each other and marveling in the wonder of one another.

“I never expected someone as delicate and gentle,” Loki admits in a soft whisper, “to love me.” His hand softly moves to caress her hair. She tilts her head.

“But you’re so…” she whispers herself, then unable to finish her thought and sentence, “you are so…” she struggles still. Loki smiles, even daring to chuckle. She looks at him, more disrupted by his laugh, but a small smile playing on her lips anyway, “you are so everything.” She finally says. “Everything I could ever want.”

“What about what you need?” Loki asks, his hand reaching for hers. She laughs, shaking her head.

“I don’t care about what I need as long as I know that my wants are equal to my needs.” She assures. Loki frowns.

“You needn’t throw yourself away for me, love.”

Y/N leans closer to him. “I have already done that.” She says and gives his cheek a kiss. “I’ll do that and more for you. And not just because you’re handsome, and not just because of you.” She starts to say and Loki raises his eyebrows, curious. “I knew at some point you’d be the one I love, and I’ve waited my whole life for someone I could love, someone I could give everything to.” She leans back up. “And I feel I’ve been made to love, you know, to love another or many. I guess you came along at the right moment. And even while I doubted you ever returning these feelings, even when I was convinced you didn’t feel the same, convinced you hated me. Loving you was enough for me.”

She looks back at him from looking around the whole time and finds Loki with tears in his eyes. “Sorry.” She says. “That just… came out.”

“Do not be sorry.” Loki shakes his head. “That was very beautiful, I think, because it’s the truth and it’s from you. Your heart’s ways are beautiful.” Y/N blushes at his words. Loki’s head then hangs a bit lower. “I was never sure I could be some who you could love. I’m me, and I may call myself a big chaos. I am not easy to love, so you’ve done a great job.”

“Why do you think so?” Y/N asks, now moving to lay in between Loki’s legs, her chin on his chest. Loki raises his eyebrows. “That you’re hard to love.”

“I have done terrible things, my darling… And I’ve lied. A lot.” Loki nods for effect. “And well, I’m the God of Mischief.” They both laugh. Of course he had to mention that, his arrogance does spring out. “So I doubt anyone could trust me.”

“Don’t tell me you’re no good for me.”

“Took my words, sweet girl.”

“Loki, I love you.” Y/N looks strongly into his eyes. “And we are good for each other.” She says in an angelic voice. “I know you disagree, but I can learn from you.”

“What exactly, darling, lying? Tricks?” Loki suggests with a sly grin.

Y/N laughs. “No.” She says then. “You’ll see.” Y/N rests the side of her face against Loki’s chest, also listening to his heartbeat. She wraps her arms around his torso and Loki’s hands go to hold her arms, almost protectively. Almost as if she’d disappear if he doesn’t hold onto her. “How much time will it take for you to realise your worth?”

____

Bonus material!

Before falling asleep the night before, Loki and Y/N agreed to making sandwhiches together, more so, Y/N teaching him how to actually make those. He complimented her skill and liking for sandwhiches, Y/N had blushed. So here they were, in their pajamas and in the Stark Tower’s kitchen, cutting lettice and ham and cheese all sorts that Loki’d wish to see in a sandwhich. Some combinations seemed strange to Y/N, but she trusted his taste and decided she wouldn’t try those exact ones.

“No, no, stop!” She scolds in a shushed whisper, with a smile playing on her lips. “Those are too narrow. Salad needs to be big, you know, with volume. Great size!” She decoratively growls at the last two words.

“Like myself.” Loki says and chuckles.

“Yes, mister, thank you for reminding me verbally. This time.” Y/N replies and returns to cutting cheese.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve heard him laugh not-maliciously.” Tony Stark declares in a whisper and takes more nuts from his snack bag. Steve Rogers takes some from the same bag before receiving a slap from Tony for it.

“Never thought the out-come would be like this.” Steve admits. Both their eyes are hazy while watching Y/N and the god work around in the kitchen. They’re standing in the hallway right where the shadow starts from the kitchen light so the lovers wouldn’t notice them. They won’t be there for a long time, anyway.

“Who are we watching?” Bucky Barnes asks when he comes up behind them with Natasha, and both grown men squeal in terror from the surprise, Tony dropping his snack bag. Bucky and Natasha burst into uncontrollable laughter while trying to pull the two team leaders further into the hallway to not get noticed. Well, with screams like little girls, that’s a little late.

Loki and Y/N look over their shoulders, spooked from the sound they heard but upon not hearing or seeing anything that could explain it—the former russian assassins did a great job of getting Steve and Tony away—they look at each other and shrug. Then they simply continue their culinary workshop in each other’s company.

A/N: I really wanna hold Loki like that :/

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Breakable Heaven (pt. IV) - p.l. dubois

part I part II part III

Oh my gosh, I seriously can’t believe this little series has come to an end. I’m so so happy with how it’s turned out, and want to thank anyone who’s stuck with Laurel and Pierre-Luc throughout this month. It’s one of my favorite things I’ve ever done, and it’s yours to enjoy now. Please please let me know what you think of this part, what you think about the series - getting anon comments is amazing, my inbox is always open, and I LOVE reading tags. Reblog if you like what I’m putting out, it helps me know that!

Warning: Smut (It’s light, but it’s there, so no one under 18 please!)

Part IV (7.8k)

September 23 (thurs)

Laurel was running through the Toronto airport, her carry-on bag bouncing on the tile behind her as she frantically searched for her gate. Thank God Air Canada domestic flew from the international terminal; her layover was only an hour and ten minutes and even more time had been shaved off by a departure delay in Montréal. She had forgotten that flights from Toronto cleared U.S. Customs in Canada, and if she hadn’t been able to skip the line and slap her American passport on a kiosk reader she would have almost certainly missed her connection.

No matter how many times Laurel had tried to insist on an economy ticket when she and Pierre were booking flights for her visits, he refused to cave. “They don’t include a checked bag in economy, but they do if you fly business,” he had said, shrugging, with a small smile on his face. “Baggage fees alone would make it pretty much a wash.” Laurel doubted that, and she doubted that she’d need a checked bag for a four-day trip, but her husband had made it clear that he wasn’t budging.

So needless to say, she was more than a little bit out of breath as she finally arrived at Gate F66, which was conveniently almost as far away from her arrival gate as humanly possible while still being in the same terminal. She handed her boarding pass and passport to the gate agent, smiling apologetically as she hurried down the jetbridge. It was barely past noon, but there was nothing in the world Laurel wanted more than to sleep. Maintaining a full-time schedule at the hospital while also trying to organize a trip to Columbus that lasted more than two days meant she had to switch shifts. Normally, that wouldn’t be an issue; that week, however, the only open slot was the 12-hour overnight shift on Wednesday. Which meant that she’d been awake for some twenty hours straight, but almost all of that had been on her feet at work, or walking from the parking lot to the check-in counter in Montréal, or running through the halls of Pearson Airport in Toronto. She took her seat, half-listened to the safety briefing, and passed out as soon as her head hit the headrest.

Much to her chagrin, the flight itself was only just over an hour, and she was really only able to get in a generous nap before their descent into Ohio. Sitting in the second row, she exited the plane in record time, flicking her phone off of airplane mode and waiting for a text from Pierre-Luc. At least she didn’t have to go through TSA again. He wrote back in record time, letting her know he’d be in his car at the curb right outside the terminal. She waited at baggage claim, grabbing her forest green suitcase; the same one she had when she’d moved to Toronto for university, fresh-faced and 18 and so, so unaware of what the world had in store for her. If only she could see herself now. Laurel ran her thumb along the side handle for a moment, pulling at a loose thread, before hefting it onto the floor and turning towards the sliding exit doors.

As promised, Pierre was waiting right outside the door, flashing her a bright smile and throwing the driver’s side door open as soon as he saw her. “Welcome to Columbus, babe!” he exclaimed, wrapping Laurel into a deep hug and kissing her on the cheek.

She laughed as the trunk popped open, each of them grabbing a suitcase. “It’s a little bit funny, don’t you think? That I’ve lived in the Midwest for almost my whole life and the first time I go to Ohio it’s because I’m living in Canada?”

“Maybe just a little bit,” Pierre said, holding his thumb and pointer finger about an inch apart. “I’m really happy you were able to come, though, Laurel. I got used to having you around.” His face was softer now, looking over at Laurel with an expression that wasn’t quite placable but seemed like it was somehow communicating so much in a single glance.

“Me too,” Laurel replied. The ride to Pierre’s Columbus apartment took just over ten minutes, and Laurel was in the door, petting the dogs, before the clock struck 3:00.

Pierre approached her from behind, his hands on her shoulders as he leaned around to kiss her on the cheek. “You want to take a nap?” he asked. “We’ve got that thing with the team at 7, and I know you’re probably running on fumes right now.”

Laurel nodded, giving him a weary smile, dropping her bag on the floor of the master bedroom with an all-too-satisfying thump. “Nap sounds good.”

---

The nap was good, so good, and Laurel woke up at half past 6 feeling like she’d just had the best sleep of her life. She yawned, rubbing her eyes, and looked around the room to see Pierre with his back towards her, buttoning up his shirt. He turned around, catching her eye, and grinned. “You like the view?” he asked, gesturing to his half-naked torso.

Laurel rolled her eyes, pulling the sheets up to poorly conceal her embarrassment at being caught. “And if I do?”

She heard a loud laugh, peeking her head out from under. “I’d say my wife has every right to appreciate it.” He walked around the bed while fastening the last few buttons, holding his hand out for Laurel to take. “I let you sleep as long as I could, but we’re going to have to get going in fifteen minutes or so. I was told that ‘we’ve waited this long to meet her, the least you could do is get your damn wife to the party in time,’” he said, adding air quotes for emphasis.

Laurel nodded, tossing back the covers and walking over to her suitcase, intending to rifle through the stacks of clothes to find something for the night’s festivities. Instead, she was greeted by an empty bag. She wheeled around to look at Pierre, who was sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck as he stared at her suitcase. “I unpacked your stuff,” he said, nodding over towards the spare dresser. “It’s in there. I’m sorry if that seems weird and I won’t do it again if you feel like that was pushing your boundaries, but I know for me when I’m on roadies I like to unpack, even if it’s just one night. Makes it feel more like home.”

Laurel was too overcome with how sweet the gesture was, small as it may have been, to realize that that meant he had touched four days worth of bras and underwear. It shouldn’t have bothered him anyways, and if he hadn’t said anything about it, it clearly hadn’t. So instead, she pulled him into a warm hug, standing on her tiptoes to bury her face in the crook of his neck. “Thank you, P. One less thing I have to do.”

“You do still have to actually get dressed, though,” he added, giving her sleepwear an appreciative once-over. “Unless you’re planning on wearing that.”

She let out a giggle. “As much as I love wearing a massive Cloquet High Lumberjacks t-shirt and no pants, somehow I don’t think that’s the move,” she said, ambling over towards the dresser. She found the tops on the first try, pulling out a wine-colored wrap shirt and grabbing the same pair of light-wash jeans she had worn on the plane. Pierre moved to duck out of the room, presumably to give her privacy to change. Laurel made a split-second decision to call after him. “You don’t have to leave.” Pierre stopped in his tracks.

Laurel slipped the shirt on, tying it in the front, and fastened her jeans. Mascara on and booties zippered, and she was good to go. “So what is this thing, anyways?” she asked Pierre as they drove to Foligno’s house.

Pierre tilted his head. “Little bit of this, little bit of that. Half the typical beginning-of-the-year preseason party, half the wedding reception we never had. They were very insistent on bringing gifts, so be prepared.”

“Will do,” she said, laughing. “And by they, you mean…”

“Some of the guys, but mostly the wives and girlfriends. Their parties are the stuff of legends, so you can imagine how excited everyone was when I told them we never had a proper reception.”

“But they don’t know why we didn’t have a proper party,” Laurel reminded him.

“About that…” Pierre started, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

Laurel froze, her thumb hovering over her phone screen, halfway through composing a text to Kristen. “Pierre,” she swallowed, her voice deadly soft, “did you tell someone?”

---

It was the Saturday before, and the team had gone out to celebrate the end of the first week of training camp. Sunday was an off day, so Saturday night found all the over-21s — and anyone who could get a good enough fake — at a bar in the city. Pierre had just crossed the line into tipsy, and as his captain was about to find out, tipsy Pierre was an oversharer. It was common enough for families to be a topic of discussion on nights out or in the locker room; that wasn’t the issue. The issue was that, as the old adage goes, drunk words are sober thoughts. And, if he was being honest, Pierre was still harboring some guilt from having to hide the truth of his and Laurel’s marriage from everyone, Nick included. Pierre hated that he couldn’t tell Nick the truth. He was his captain and his friend, and he felt the least he owed to him was not to lie.

“It’s just so weird being away from Laurel, away from Montréal, for this long,” Pierre sighed.

“Sure,” Nick said sympathetically, “but you said you’d been friends for a few years, so you’ve had feelings for her for a while, no? It’s obviously not ideal, but you’ve been away from her for longer.”

Pierre turned towards Nick, some of his beer — his fourth of the night — spilling out of the cup. “Can I tell you a secret?”

Nick rolled his eyes, thinking he was going to be hearing some dumb high school confession, that he had asked out a senior girl when he was a freshman, or filled his QMJHL captain’s gloves with shaving cream or something. He didn’t expect what he heard next.

“We got married so she could stay in the country, for her permanent residency. I never met her before June.”

Nick sucked in a breath. “You’re not fucking with me, are you?”

“Nope.”

“You realize how much trouble you guys could get into if they figure out, right?” he asked.

Pierre nodded, looking down at his clasped hands nervously. “We both do. But you’re not going to tell anyone, right?”

“No, of course not,” Nick said. “I trust you, and I know you and Laurel were just doing what you thought was the best and most logical thing given the circumstances.” Pierre let out a somber nod. “But,” he continued, “I feel like this whole...situation just leaves open the opportunity for things to get really messy really quickly.”

“Messy how?” Pierre asked.

Nick shifted uncomfortably in his chair, looking at a spot just beyond Pierre’s head. He didn’t want to, not really, but it was his job as Pierre’s captain — more importantly as his friend — to make him consider every angle. “Someone catching feelings, one of you falling for the other, or God forbid, someone else. There’s already so much at stake in a ‘normal’ marriage, but yours just has added complications.” Pierre felt a twinge in his heart. He didn’t want to admit it, he really didn’t want to admit it, but Nick was right. “Do you love her?” Nick asked softly.

Pierre sunk back into his chair. “I don’t know. She means a lot to me, more than I ever thought she would, but I don’t know. Plus, I have no clue how she feels about me, and I wouldn’t want to say something like that only to have her pull away.”

“Did you guys talk about that?” he asked.

“About what?” Pierre responded.

“About what would happen if one of you caught feelings. Because I’m assuming it was supposed to, is supposed to, be a strictly platonic thing.”

Pierre shrugged. “Not really. We didn’t like make a pact or anything, if that’s what you’re asking. We really didn’t talk much about it at all,” he said, finishing his beer. “I mean, obviously we agreed that we wouldn’t be seeing anyone else, dating or hooking up or anything like that. It was just too risky. But no, we never really addressed how we’d deal with it if one of us ended up...falling for each other. I guess it was just supposed to be a ‘we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it’ type of thing.”

“And have you come to it?” Nick asked.

“I don’t know.”

---

Pierre finished the story, hazarding a glance over to Laurel, who was wringing her hands as she looked out the windshield. “I’m not mad at you,” she said finally. “If Nick said he wouldn’t tell, I trust you when you say he won’t. One of us was bound to let it slip eventually.”

He turned his eyes back towards the road, still feeling a pang of regret. She was almost being too good to him. “We’ll be okay,” he said, saying it just as much to himself as he did to her.

Laurel gave him a small smile as they pulled into the Foligno’s house, parking on the stone-paved driveway. “We will be.”

Janelle opened the door practically the second after they knocked, greeting Pierre and Laurel with warm hugs. “Laurel, it’s so wonderful to finally meet you,” she said, squeezing her hand. “We know how hard it is to find the time off and make the trip down, and everyone’s excited to see you.” She led them through the entryway to the living room, where Laurel was passed around to some twenty-odd players and their partners, where she introduced herself over and over again as “Pierre’s wife, yes the nurse from Minnesota who none of you knew existed.”

Dinner was a barbeque outside, Nick, Pierre, and some of the others manning the three grills as Laurel helped set up the drinks table. He held her hand under the table as they ate, his thumb gently rubbing across her thigh every so often in reassurance. “You good?” he murmured in his ear as Laurel sipped a beer, half-listening to some story Korpi was telling about a near-miss incident with a water ski back in Finland during the summer.

Laurel nodded, squeezing his fingers. “I’m good.”

Plates were cleared, dishes were washed, and everyone was herded into Nick and Janelle’s enormous family room, where a small mountain of wrapped boxes and bags sat in the far corner. “I don’t know if you know this,” Janelle said conspiratorially as Laurel sat down, “but NHLers make more than a little money.”

She laughed. “So I’ve been told.”

“Which means that, clueless though they may be, you’re going to be getting some very nice presents.”

And very nice presents they were. A wine club membership, a set of dutch ovens from Seth — “It was my mom’s suggestion” — Jones, an espresso machine from Boone, a set of matching, personalized dog bowls for Phil, Georgia, and Piper. Laurel honestly wasn’t sure how it was all going to fit in the car, let alone how she was going to manage to stay under the baggage limit on her way back to Canada, but the thought and kindness that went into each gift was what really made it special.

“From me and the other girls,” Janelle said, passing Laurel a bag.

“Oh, this is too much,” Laurel said. “You already got the knives and the mixer, I don’t need anything else.”

Cam’s wife, Natalie, shrugged. “Would it help if we made it, didn’t buy it?”

Laurel’s brow furrowed in confusion, her fingers moving to undo the ribbon that tied the handles together, taking out the tissue paper. “Oh!” she gasped quietly as she pulled out a denim jacket, a Blue Jackets logo ironed onto the back, Dubois embroidered where a name bar would be. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“You’re still a part of the family,” Natalie said, smiling. “Even if you’re not here all the time. We want you to feel as included as anyone else.”

Laurel folded up the jacket carefully, tucking it back in the bag as Josh walked up to Pierre, holding out a small box, clearly wrapped by himself. “Well now I just feel silly.”

Pierre shook his head, smiling at his friend. “Don’t, Josh. I’m sure we’ll love it.” He thumbed open the folds on the wrapping paper, setting it aside before pulling off the top of the box. He fell silent.

Laurel peeked over, trying to catch a glimpse of the box’s contents. “What is it, P?”

Instead of answering, Pierre just held the box upside-down. Condoms of all colors and sizes rained down onto the hardwood floor as Pierre stared at Josh, clearly trying very hard not to laugh. The side of his mouth twitched. “Interesting choice of gift, you don’t think?” he asked.

Josh shrugged helplessly, his cheeks red. “It’s practical?”

November 28 (sun)

Laurel caught every Blue Jackets game she could on the TV, even the ones in early November when Pierre was out for a few games with a mild concussion. She was his wife, but she was also a nurse, and made sure to get daily updates on his condition, restraining herself from FaceTiming him to help limit his amount of daily screen time. But he had been back for a few weeks, making second star of the night with a goal and an assist, so naturally he was pulled away for a few postgame interviews.

Laurel watched the screen, trying not to get distracted by the sweat drenching his Underarmour. Reporters, the good ones at least, were usually considerate with steering clear of asking personal questions, but sometimes an injury, or the birth of a child, or, as luck would have it, a wedding, begged an answer. “So, Pierre, I think a lot of us were surprised to see you announce on Instagram that you had gotten married this summer. Congratulations, by the way,” the journalist from the Dispatch said.

“Thanks,” Pierre replied, smiling.

“And I hope I speak for everyone here when saying that we entirely respect you and your wife’s decision to keep things quiet and announce it in a much more subdued fashion than usual. Players often speak a lot about how integral support from family and friends is, and just how important it is to have that kind of a support system in place.” Pierre could see where the question was going. “Obviously you’ve got the boys down here, but it doesn’t look like your wife Laurel is based in Columbus like you are. Is there a reason for that, and do you think that’s affected your game?”

Pierre sucked in a breath; it was a fair question, and a reasonable assumption to make, but that didn’t mean he liked answering it any more. But it was almost suspicious how quickly he had an answer. “Uh, yeah, it’s been interesting for us to have to navigate. You’re right, Laurel’s back in Montréal, she spends most of her time at our place in the city. She’s a nurse in the intensive care unit of CHU Saint-Justine, so she does pediatrics there. She loves what she does, and she’s so good at it, and it just wouldn’t be right of me to ever ask or expect her to leave on my account. I know we’ve got a great hospital at Nationwide Children’s, but she loves where she is. We both do. So yeah, it’s rough being away sometimes, but luckily she’s able to move shifts around and make it down twice a month or so when we’re not on the road. But we keep in contact daily, obviously, and I’m able to lean on the guys, especially the other married ones, on how to deal with the stress of being away for so long. But it’s rough. I miss my wife,” Pierre finished.

Laurel clicked the remote, turning the TV off, her hand scratching behind Piper’s ears, and tried not to replay his words in her mind as she crawled into bed and fell asleep.

December 18 (sat)

Laurel stumbled through the door of Pierre’s Columbus apartment, laughing breathlessly as she tried to lock the deadbolt. “You need some help there, L?” Pierre asked, raising one eyebrow.

“I’m good,” Laurel said, taking two more tries before it would actually lock. The eggnog from the Christmas party was starting to take its toll; Pierre had agreed to be the pair’s designated driver for the night, so she had had maybe a glass too many. The night had genuinely been so much fun, Laurel had initially been worried at how well she might fit in with the group in a more casual situation. As much as she loved being able to hang out with the team and the other WAGs when she was in Ohio — and she did — she couldn’t help but be nervous that she didn’t have the same level of camaraderie that could help turn a night from good to great. Laurel couldn’t have been happier to be wrong. She was embraced from the moment she walked in the door, a glass of wine pushed into her hand and her Secret Santa gift deposited on the entryway table.

Laurel used to always roll her eyes at the idea that “time flies when you’re having fun,” but that couldn’t have been more true for the party. It seemed like only minutes had passed, but suddenly it was almost midnight, and the couples with kids had to head home to relieve the babysitters, and Laurel and Pierre were headed home.

“Let’s get some water in you, no?” Pierre murmured, walking to the kitchen and opening the cupboard.

“Thanks,” Laurel said softly as she took the glass from him, kicking off her shoes and tucking her feet under her on the couch.

Pierre perched on the arm, absentmindedly playing with his watch. But while a tipsy Pierre was an oversharer, a tipsy Laurel was always emotional in one fashion or another. “How’d you like the party?”

“It was great,” Laurel said. “I’m not sure why Alexandre thought I’d be into a Blue Jackets scarf, but I guess it’s the thought that counts?” She pulled the offending object out of her bag, running her fingers through the fringe on the edge. “Seeing how amazing so many of those couples are, Janelle and Nick especially, it was awesome…” She trailed off. “But it was hard.”

His brow furrowed. Why would it be hard? “How so?”

“I always thought that, when I got married, it would be once and that was it.” She screwed her eyes shut. “And that’s not to mean I’m not grateful for what you’ve done, it’s so incredible and goes so far beyond just plain kindness. I just thought it would be a forever thing.”

Pierre’s heart dropped. Of course she’d feel like that. If marriage was something she wanted to take that seriously, how could she not feel like she was cheapening its meaning by treating it as nothing more than an arrangement of convenience? It wasn’t even like he felt any differently; hockey was obviously still his first priority most of the time, but he’d always seen himself as someone who wanted to settle down and have a family one day. He guessed that he just hadn’t let himself think about it. “Laurel,” he said quietly, reaching out to her. But she wasn’t done.

“It’s just,” Laurel sighed, one hand tugging on her hair, tears threatening to escape her eyes, “knowing this is all temporary. Knowing that in a couple of y-years, when I g-get my citizenship and we get d-divorced, this is all going to end,” she said, hiccuping through her words. “I won’t be able to come to your Christmas parties and fly down for games and sit up in the WAG box with my friends and that jacket and a jersey with your name on it. I won’t be able to do any of that any more because it wasn’t real, it wasn’t ever real, and that fucking kills me inside, P.” Laurel sat on the corner of the couch, a spot as precarious as the words tumbling out of her mouth.

“Why?” Pierre asked, even though if he was honest, he’d stake his career on the belief that he already knew the answer. “Why would it hurt so bad?” His voice was so quiet that if Laurel hadn’t been sitting two feet away, she wouldn’t have heard.

“Because I’m fucking in love with you,” she whispered. “And that’s the single most terrifying sentence I’ve ever said in my life.” Even though Pierre somehow knew that’s what she was going to say all along, it didn’t stop her words from stealing the breath out of his lungs. Laurel looked up at him through her tears, her eyes beginning to redden. “Say something, please, P.”

Pierre knelt in front of her, his thumb resting gently on her cheek, wiping away her tears. “God, Laur, how could I not be in love with you?” She blinked rapidly at him, trying to process the words that were coming out of his mouth. “I wasn’t lying when I said you were one of the most incredible people I’ve ever met. You’re so caring, not just for me, but for everyone in your life. You’d give a stranger the shirt off of your back. You’re probably the smartest person I know, way smarter than me.” A giggle escaped Laurel’s mouth. “The dedication you show to everything in your life is amazing. At your job, you treat every patient like they were your own sibling or your own child. You make the trip down to Columbus once a month, twice a month. That’s not easy, all the flight time and having to leave Piper and switching shifts around so we can see each other. You’re gorgeous, not just on the outside — though you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen — but the light in your eyes when you talk about a new book you read, or how happy you look when you let me taste a new recipe you’re trying, or how passionate you get when you see something wrong and know there’s something you need to do to change it. So what if we’re doing things a little backwards? First comes marriage, then comes love.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “I fell in love with you awhile ago. I think it just took me a second to realize it.”

January 26 (wed)

Laurel thought the distance and space between them would be easier now that she knew how he felt, now that they both knew how they felt. She couldn’t have been more wrong. So the All-Star break, and the Blue Jackets’ bye week, couldn’t have come at a better time. Pierre had made plans for the break a few months earlier, but after everything that happened over Christmas, it didn’t seem right to ditch Laurel for a boy’s trip with Alexandre and Seth. So Hilton Head was traded in for Saint Lucia, and his teammates were traded in for his wife. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Laurel was using three of her paid vacation days and Pierre was able to make the schedule work just right to get five nights in the Carribean. “A belated honeymoon, if you will,” he had said, cracking a grin over FaceTime as they booked the flights. The flight from Columbus was much less straightforward than hers from Montréal, but by a chance airline scheduling his first layover was in Toronto. Laurel met him at the gate, hauling her own green suitcase behind her as he flung his arms around her, kissing her with everything he had in him. They may have missed the not-so-subtle fans taking pictures that later circulated around Twitter that may or may not have led to some grade A chirping in the team’s group chat. But Pierre didn’t care. He cared that for a few days, he could forget about the stress of hockey and trying to make a playoff run and all the rumors floating around and just be with his wife. And, Pierre thought as they walked through the airport door into the Carribean sun, there really wasn’t anything else he wanted.

They hailed a taxi, the twenty minute drive to their resort rushing by in a blur of palm trees and seas so blue Laurel thought she could fall into them just by looking. Pierre jogged into the main office to check them in, coming back with their key cards before the taxi continued on its way, dropping them off in front of their villa. Laurel spun slowly as they got out of the car, smiling up at the sky as Pierre pressed a few bills into the taxi driver’s hand with a nod of thanks. “You okay there?” he asked with a grin.

“It’s so warm,” Laurel said in wonderment. Even in January, the weather in Saint Lucia hovered in the mid-70s, a far cry from the twenties and teens of a Montréal winter. Laurel was no stranger to the cold — Cloquet had seen temperatures pushing thirty below when Laurel was in high school — but the idea that she could be somewhere and wear shorts while it was snowing in her hometown was a concept so novel she hadn’t quite grasped it yet.

He nodded, looking at Laurel with a gaze so soft she thought her heart would maybe burst. “We’re in the Caribbean, L. It’s warm all the time.”

She rolled her eyes, bending over to get her suitcase, but not before Pierre snatched it up himself, holding the key card between two fingers. “Are you going to just stand there, or do you want to check out our honeymoon suite?” Laurel’s words dripped with suggestiveness, her sandal-clad feet dragging their way up the path to the villa with tantalizing languor.

“Coming.”

Even after the six months of their marriage, and even after everything that happened over the holidays, they hadn’t had sex. They’d gotten close a few times, both on her trip in December and in ones since, but never managed to go all the way. First Laurel needed a new birth control prescription — the last thing she would do would be have sex without being extra safe about it — and then she was too tired after a night out, and another time Pierre had scored a hat trick and they had partied way too hard to even think about sex. So needless to say, it had been a while for Laurel since she’d gotten release by any hands other than her own, and even longer for Pierre. And it certainly wasn’t because she didn’t want to. Laurel was well aware that her husband was hot as fuck, and she’d be lying if some of her lonelier nights weren’t filled with thoughts of exactly what she wanted him to do to her. But it felt different than any of her other relationships. Obviously, it felt different, she hadn’t been married to Oliver or Ryan or Carter. And that didn’t mean she wasn’t invested in those, but just that the stakes were so much higher and she had fallen so much harder for Pierre than she ever thought imaginable. She didn’t want to have sex with him until she was sure. Sure that it was going somewhere, sure that it would last, sure that he loved her in the same way that made her heart ache every time he dropped her off at Columbus International Airport.

---

By the time they had unpacked, eaten, and gotten a few rum punches in their system, it was well past 7 and the sun had long since set. Laurel peeked out the door onto their balcony, nodding at the private plunge pool. “We’ve got quite the setup here.”

She walked over to the dresser, grabbing a swimsuit out and crossing over to the bathroom, her hand hovering over the knob. “Just something to think about.” Pierre put his swim trunks on in record time. Laurel padded out of the bathroom, the top straps of her bikini dangling, the swell of her breasts peeking above the cups. “Do me up?” she asked.

Pierre’s fingers brushed the baby hairs at the base of her neck as he tied the straps of her white-hot bikini. “Sure you don’t want to go out to the beach?”

Their villa came with a stretch of beachfront, and it seemed like such a shame to let it go to waste. Laurel shook her head, a smile playing on the edge of her lips. “We’ve got a couple of days to enjoy the beach. I’d like to stay somewhere a little more...secluded.” She bit her lip as she opened the door to the balcony, dipping her toes in the pool and sighing at the warmth of the water. Laurel looked back at Pierre, one eyebrow raised. “You coming?” Pierre couldn’t follow fast enough.

They stayed in the water for a while, lazily kissing and staring at the stars and sipping drinks that had lost their potency hours ago, but neither of them really cared much. Sometime during the night, Laurel had made her way onto Pierre’s lap, where she reached over to the balcony, lofting herself out of the pool and wrapping a scarf around her body. “Getting a little cold,” she said, bending down and giving him a soft kisss. She walked into the room, drying herself off; he followed. Laurel threw the towel over a chair in the corner of the room, walking over towards Pierre, stopping when their noses were almost touching.

Laurel’s wrap fell from her shoulders, pooling on the wood floor. Pierre’s hand skated up her arm to rest on her cheek. He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. She stood on her tiptoes as her left hand tangled in his hair, her right pressed against the back of his neck. She whimpered into his mouth; it took everything in Pierre’s power to keep the blood from rushing south. The kiss got more frantic, tongue and teeth clashing against each other as he walked her back to the bed. The back of her knees bumped up against the edge.

Pierre pulled away slightly, letting out a moan as he saw Laurel’s face. Her lips were puffy from kissing, her chest heaving with the force of her breath, and her wild hair had long since been taken out of its ponytail. In other words, Pierre was convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that Laurel, in that moment, was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. “You sure you want to do this?” Pierre murmured. He wanted to. God, he wanted to. But he’d never do anything without making sure that she was absolutely comfortable. Laurel nodded, biting her lip. “I need to hear you say it, babe,” Pierre said, taking a step forward, their noses almost touching.

“I want you to ruin me.”

Pierre audibly groaned, capturing her lips in his before throwing her back on the bed, his hand moving to her back to undo the tie of her bikini top as his lips trailed down her neck. He threw the top off to one side, paying exactly zero attention to where it landed, as his hands slid up her waist to cup her breasts, his thumbs ghosting over her sensitive nipples. Laurel’s breath hitched in her throat. “You like that, baby?”

“Mhm,” Laurel whimpered, unable to form a complete sentence.

He smirked, lowering his mouth to her chest, flicking his tongue over her right nipple as his hand pinched her left. The air was filled with breathless sighs from them both until Pierre’s hands left her breasts. Laurel whined in protest until she felt his fingers toying with her bikini bottoms, his head lifting just enough so that his eyes could meet hers. “This okay?”

It was all Laurel could do to choke out a single word. “Please.”

Pierre pulled them down her legs, kissing down, down to her hips, down to her inner thighs, down to everywhere except for where she needed him. “You need something, Laurel?” Pierre asked, his voice dripping with sex.

Laurel groaned, not wanting to give in but also knowing that Pierre could stay where he was for hours if it meant teasing her. “Your mouth.”

“As you wish.” And then his tongue was on her, and in her, and she couldn’t help but let out a moan. And Pierre was loving every second of it. He stayed down there for a while, long enough to finish her twice.

Laurel pushed on his shoulder, trying to get him to turn on his back so she could return the favor. Pierre shook his head as he shucked his shorts off, pulling her head down to kiss her roughly. “I’m going to cum right here if I don’t get inside you in the next two minutes, babe.” He reached over to the nightstand, grabbing a condom. “Guess I’ll have to thank Josh for these when we get back home.”

She raised one eyebrow, clearly unamused. “If you do that, I can promise you I’ll never put your dick in my mouth. Not now, not ever.”

Pierre held his hands up in surrender, the foil packet shining between two fingers. “Alright, alright. I won’t.” He paused just before bringing the wrapper up to his teeth. “You want this?”

Laurel nodded frantically as he rolled the condom down his length. He looked so hard it was painful. “So bad.” He leaned down to kiss her, propped up on one arm as he pushed into her, hair falling into his face as he closed his eyes. He was too blissed out to be able to focus on anything other than how good she felt around him, how tight and warm and how well she fit, like Laurel Elizabeth Klerken was made for him and him alone.

“More,” Laurel cried softly, and that was all it took for Pierre to grab one of her legs, throwing it around his hips as he increased his pace, head dropping to her neck as he nipped at her pulse points. It didn’t take long for Pierre to reach his high, Laurel right behind him. He pressed a sweet kiss to her forehead before getting up from the bed, going into the bathroom to tie off the condom and grab a washcloth. He cleaned up between her legs as Laurel lay there, trying to steady her breathing, absolutely spent from the night’s three orgasms. “Why didn’t we do that earlier?” Laurel murmured.

Pierre laughed, throwing the cloth in the laundry basket and tilting down to press a kiss to the crown of her head. “I don’t know. But it was worth it.”

February 20 (mon)

Laurel had learned early on in her relationship with Pierre that she couldn’t put much stock into what was said on Twitter. Or Instagram, or any social media for that matter. So much was speculation: about draft picks, about trade rumors, about Pierre-Luc Dubois’ secret wife, that it just wasn’t useful or healthy for her so spend much time looking around. She still had her accounts, but Instagram was the only one she went on with any regularity nowadays. And she rarely checked her phone during the work day anyways; unless it was an unusually slow day — which was never a good sign in the medical world — the only time she was even able to spare a glance was during her lunch break or when she’d run to the bathroom. So when her phone buzzed with a text from Pierre as she sat at the nurses’ station, her brow furrowed as she unlocked the screen.

Are you free right now? I need to call you.

Laurel bit her lip, nerves threatening to boil over. He knew her schedule, he knew she was at work. What could be so important that it couldn’t wait? Are you okay? Did something happen?

He typed a response as soon as her text showed as delivered. I’m not hurt, it’s not bad, really, I just need to tell you something and I don’t want to have to do it over text.

Laurel checked her watch. 11:18. It was early for a lunch break, but as long as she wasn’t needed, she could take her half hour any time between 11 and 1. She caught the eye of her charge nurse. “Claudette? I’m taking my lunch if that’s alright with you.” Claudette nodded, and Laurel quickly made her way to the locker room to grab her leftover pasta, texting Pierre on the way. Headed to the changing room now. Are you going to tell me what this is about?

Her phone rang a minute later, when she had just closed the door. She tapped the green button. “You’re going to have to tell me what’s going on here, P, because I’m kind of freaking out,” Laurel said, laughing nervously. “You don’t tell a girl what to expect, she starts assuming the worst.”

Pierre let out a heavy breath. She could imagine him running a hand through his hair on the other end. “I know, and I’m sorry if I worried you. I just needed to tell you before it breaks.”

“Before what breaks, Pierre?” Laurel’s anxiety was coming to a head.

“I’m coming home.”

Laurel screwed her eyes shut, even more confused than she was before. “Yeah, Pierre, I know you’re playing here next week. Why would that be news?”

“When’s the trade deadline, Laurel?”

“Last Monday in February, but I don’t see what that has…” She pulled the phone away from her ear, looking down at the screen, eyes locking on the date. “You got traded?”

She could imagine him sitting down on the edge of his couch, one hand dangling off the side, Georgia trying to jump up and goad him into giving her a pet or two. “They’re breaking it right before the noon deadline, but you deserved to know before everyone else did. You needed to know.”

Laurel leaned up against her locker, hand over her mouth. “You’re coming to Montréal?” She had seen it mentioned offhand on a few Twitter accounts she followed the handful of times she had logged on in the past week, but nobody thought it would actually happen. Even the concept of trading him seemed so far-fetched with the type of season he was having in Columbus. He was sitting near 30 goals and 40 assists, with one of the best plus-minus scores on the team. It just didn’t make sense.

“As of twenty minutes ago, I’m officially a Montréal Canadien,” Pierre answered.

“Oh God,” Laurel said, sympathy lacing her voice. She couldn’t let herself be excited, wouldn’t let herself be excited, until she knew exactly how Pierre felt about it. He had just been uprooted from the team that drafted him, where he’d played for four seasons and made friends and where everyone saw him as the future of the franchise.

Pierre let out a single laugh. “They let me know what the deal was, apparently Montréal really wanted me. First round pick next year, a second-year defenseman, some prospect from Laval.”

Laurel settled on the bench, tucking the phone under her chin. “Of course they really wanted you, P. You’re an incredible player, you’d be an asset to any team and you’re going to do great things in Montréal.” She paused. “But how are you feeling about the move? I know it’s not what you were expecting. Or what anyone was expecting, really.”

“It’s weird,” Pierre said after a moment. “Obviously yeah, I won’t lie, it’s a shock. But almost every player, even the really good ones, get traded at one point or another. Gretzky was traded to L.A.”

“Are you comparing yourself to Gretzky?” Laurel asked playfully.

“No,” Pierre chuckled. “But just trying to remind myself that it was almost inevitable. I’m allowed to be sad about it — and I am, it’s going to fucking suck leaving the boys — but I’m not as torn up as I thought I’d be if this ever happened.” He felt more than a little bad about it, but his first thought when his agent called and broke the news wasn’t sadness, it wasn’t despair at having to leave the team he had been brought up in and the men he considered his brothers. It was relief. Relief that he could be closer to his family, relief that he’d be back with Laurel, relief that he was going home. “And hey,” he said, catching Laurel’s attention. “You know what?”

Laurel rolled her eyes. “What?”

“I don’t even have to marry someone to move.”

---

Pierre’s flight got in late Tuesday night, just after Laurel’s shift at the hospital had ended. He had said he wouldn’t mind taking an Uber home so she didn’t have to rush over and stress about traffic, but Laurel didn’t care. She wanted to be at the airport to pick up her husband, even if it meant she’d still be in her scrubs doing it.

She saw him exiting the sliding doors of the international terminal before she even turned the corner, practically slamming her car into park as soon as she hit the curb. Pierre dropped his bags when her car door opened, paying no attention to the thump of the suitcases as they hit the ground or the wandering eyes of passersby. Airports hadn’t always been his favorite place. They meant leaving the people he loved, going away from what was warm and familiar and safe. They usually meant uncertainty. But that had changed, Pierre thought, as his wife jumped into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist as their lips met. Airports might just have become one of his favorite places. He pulled back from the kiss, their foreheads just barely touching. “Hi,” he said.

Laurel smiled, the kind of smile that lit up rooms and made crying babies giggle and that Pierre was pretty sure was his favorite thing he’d ever seen in the world. “Welcome home.”

#hockey imagine #pierre luc dubois #hockey smut #hockey imagines #hockey writing #hockey #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #nhl smut #nhl writing #nhl #Pierre-Luc Dubois #pierre-luc dubois imagine #columbus blue jackets

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fytheuntamed · 4 years

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I used to see WWX as sunshine incarnated and how it hurt me when I realized that it's mostly just fake and he's really not. I thought he was such a genuine person and when I realized that he hides so much of himself that he's not very genuine at all my heart broke a little and I needed to share my feelings. I still love him though, but it was a huge shock to me that everything I initially fell in love with was actually wrong. I hope this little ramble wasn't a bother.

Hello, anon! First off, you’re not bothering me at all; even if I can’t reply to all of them, I read and appreciate every ask I get. I’m sorry to hear you’re feeling a bit disillusioned with WWX; I know some would say he’s just a fictional character, but I think all of us here can attest to the power fictional characters have in impacting the lives of real people. Your ask made me think a lot about who WWX is, so I hope you don’t mind me sharing my own thoughts on the matter! Just a few disclaimers before I get into it: all analysis is based off of drama!WWX, as that is the adaption I know best, so keep this in mind as you read because I know his characterization varies a bit from adaption to adaption. WWX also happens to be my favorite character from the show, so this could will get long :’) I’m also going to continue on with the assumption that you’ve seen the show in its entirety!

I think one of the most important things to understand about people, fictional or real, is that we, like ogres, have layers. This is just what happens when you exist in a world where different settings with different people bring out different sides of us as dictated by societal norms. Does this make someone fake? I would say no, mainly because I think there’s a difference between acting “fake” and being fake. Anytime I speak on the phone with a stranger I automatically assume my “telephone voice,” which sounds quite different from my talking-with-friends-and-family-voice. I don’t leave such phone calls thinking to myself, “wow, I’m such a fake,” because I know that when speaking with strangers, being more polite than I would be around close friends and family is respectful. I think what it comes down to for me is, regardless of how I am presenting myself, am I staying true to my beliefs and values? This is why I think WWX is in fact very genuine, and I would also argue that it is his genuine nature (once revealed) that attracts LWJ to WWX.

Returning to the idea of people having layers, we must recognize that people are not static; we are constantly reacting to our settings and thus our moods fluctuate accordingly. WWX is sunshine incarnate, but he is also someone who has suffered a great deal over the course of his life. To expect him to smile no matter what is a cruel burden to impose on him, and I believe it is a burden he feels in canon. Because both Jiang Fengmian and Madam Yu impress upon WWX that he must keep Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng safe, that they are the priority, WWX feels compelled to smile and put on a strong facade so that he doesn’t crumble and fall apart, thus “failing” his adoptive parents and siblings. So while these smiles may simply be masks to hide his pain, thus not “real” smiles, they do not make WWX himself fake, but rather (imo) reinforce his genuine nature because his motives are genuine, even if his smiles may not always be.

There are also times when he smiles and acts extremely cocky in front of others, only for this facade to immediately fall away the moment he is alone/out of the public eye. One of my favorite examples of this is in episode 26 when he questions Jin Zixun about the whereabouts of Wen Ning. The entire time he is there, he exudes a cocky disregard for formality and the established hierarchy, even going so far as to say, “If I, Wei Wuxian, want to kill someone, who can stop me? Who would dare to stop me?!” Once he has the information he needs and turns to leave, however, we immediately see the cockiness fall from his face to be replaced by one of...remorse? I’ll let you guys decide for yourselves.

[gif credit]

I think it is worth noting that his facade fades once he looks at LWJ, because LWJ is one of the few people at this point in time who WWX respects, and whose opinion of WWX still holds value to WWX. And so again we see that WWX’s outward behavior does not seem to align with his inner feelings. Look at the situation that WWX is in, though. He is just one man, albeit a powerful one, going against the biggest, most powerful clans. If he shows an ounce of weakness, they’ll eat him alive. And so in order to stay true to his beliefs, WWX puts on a show. In episode 25 we also see WWX put on a show of shooting many arrows simultaneously while blindfolded. @cal3ris made an excellent post on here stating that WWX was not just doing this to show off, but that he was ensuring the temporary safety of the Wen prisoners by pulling off such a feat so as to ensure no other cultivator would attempt the challenge after him. In situations such as this one, it works in WWX’s favor that the vast majority of the cultivation world believes him to be nothing but a showoff with a big mouth. And of course, there is a part of WWX that does enjoy being in the spotlight! Especially if someone he wants to impress is watching~

At the beginning of the Gusu days flashback (ep 3), we see WWX before everything goes to hell. He’s constantly smiling, goofing around, and is a genuine gremlin of a lad. This is real! He’s a teenager in the flush of his youth, he’s with his beloved siblings, he’s smart and talented, the list goes on and on. For people who don’t know WWX, he comes off as a shallow person with no real depth who thinks of nothing but goofing around all day. For those who know WWX intimately, like Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng (though he’s less vocal about it), they know this is not the case. The point is, WWX doesn’t care what people think about him. He doesn’t care because he knows who he is and what he stands for. This is a huge part of who WWX is as a person: “I don’t care if they slander me, as long as I have a clear conscience.” It is also one of the defining things that connect Wangxian to one another, which brings me to the point of LWJ being someone whom WWX hates to deceive, because he greatly values LWJ’s good opinion of him. We see how much it pains WWX to put distance between himself and LWJ, but we also see that WWX is willing to do so if he believes it is for the best. In episode 20, after being reunited with Jiang Cheng and LWJ, we see WWX purposefully push LWJ away with cold precision. Once more he plays his role with practiced ease, but we see his mask fall as he watches LWJ walk away.

WWX goes from this:

[gif credit]

to this as soon as LWJ isn’t looking at him:

[gif credit]

Having just returned from the Burial Mounds, WWX is very unstable, both physically and mentally. For the past months that he’s spent in the Burial Mounds, survival has been his priority. We see this instability and the signs of PTSD manifest quite a bit throughout the Sunshot episodes. In episode 20 Jiang Cheng hugs WWX, who honestly seems at a loss as to how to respond. In episode 20 we see LWJ step towards WWX, who immediately steps back. We also see WWX shrink away from Nie Huaisang’s touch. This is incredibly telling because WWX is someone who likes physical touch and proximity. He’s constantly putting his arms around Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang and constantly puts himself in LWJ’s personal space (much to LWJ’s initial chagrin). I believe WWX’s behavior post Burial Mounds comes from a desire to protect himself from those around him as well as those around him from himself. [apt gifset here] Nothing about this WWX is fake to me. He is acting differently here because he is different. Trauma does not define a person, but it does change a person. Post Burial Mounds WWX is a different person, but he has not lost what makes him him, which is his strong commitment to his beliefs and morals. For WWX during this time, I don’t believe he has the emotional strength to relive his trauma to those closest to him, so he settles for brushing them off with excuses and yes, fake smiles. This also ties into WWX’s habit of internalizing his own struggles so as not to burden those around him. Hopefully at this point a clear pattern has revealed itself: no matter how WWX presents himself on the outside, he never compromises his beliefs.

After being resurrected in Mo Xuanyu’s body, we see a WWX who is far more reminiscent of the carefree teenager back in Gusu. We see WWX slowly heal from the traumas of his past life and we see him begin to smile again, not because he needs to, but because he can’t help it. We might be tempted to look at this WWX and think, “ah, this is the real him,” but I think this does a disservice to the complexity of his character. The point is, it’s all WWX. The pranks, the smiles that crinkle the corners of his eyes, the creativity, the cockiness, the way his laughter bursts out of his body at times and at other times comes out like a sigh or an afterthought, the way he looks out for the juniors, and both his quiet and loud rage are all what makes him who he is. Certain aspects may be muted at times, but that’s to be expected. WWX is by no means perfect, but I would say he is painfully genuine. Just think, would LWJ feel so strongly about him if he weren’t?

As I feared, this got way too long and I probably rambled and repeated myself and got off track, but it’s fine…..

#the untamed #wwx #wei wuxian #wei ying #ask #anon #Anonymous #does this count as meta? pretty sure it's just me blabbing about how valid wwx is lmao #also DUDE why is tumblr putting the read more in the ask and not where i want it???

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chibimyumi · 4 years

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I hope you're doing well

I have questions if you don't mind

Who do like Axel von Fersen in Marie Antoinette or Axel von Fersen in 1789 les amants de la bastille and also do you like Marie Antoinette in Marie Antoinette or in 1789 les amants de la bastille

Thank you for answering my questions

Dear Anon,

I am doing well, thank you very much! I hope you too.

Hmmm, as a quick answer I would say I prefer both Marie and Fersen from ‘Toho MA’, but the full answer is slightly more complicated.

Firstly, it is almost unfair to compare them to each other because in MA they are the main characters, whereas in 1789 they are main-support or secondary-mains at best.

Secondly, MA has a far bigger focus on the characters because that is what drives the plot, while the opposite is true for 1789, which mainly sells a spectacle. I myself am more fan of subtle and deep story-telling rather than spectacular shows, so the MA versions of Marie and Fersen are more to my liking.

Thirdly, the quality of the characters also depends greatly on the cast. My first view of MA is the A-cast, and therefore my impression of the characters is that they are incredibly well written. After comparison with other casts however, I started to wonder whether it was just the A-cast being too good, and the musical itself being ‘fine’. (In short; I’m not fully sure how much I’d ‘clearly’ have preferred MA Marie and Fersen were it not for A-cast. Click here for a comparison between the two casts written by my friend @wildandwhirlingwords)

But, I shall go into more detail for both characters why MA’s version appeals more to me - someone who enjoys character writing most.

🌹Marie Antoinette🌹

M.A. 2018

In my opinion Marie Antoinette is better in MA because you see her journey and her motivations. We all know that the historical Queen screwed up majorly, but in MA we see why, and in what ways she indeed had very little other choice from her own perspective. She was a flawed foreign woman in a time and place where flawed foreign women were hated most.

In the beginning of the musical the King comes tell Marie that she’d have to live more economically. Marie is clearly not very enthusiastic to hear that, but she also never protests. She just asks ‘why’ and then accepts the answer - albeit broodingly. More importantly however: we need to keep in mind that despite being called Madam Deficit, the historical Marie Antoinette was actually quite economical at first because the Austrian court where she comes from was way less extravagant than the French. It was after her marriage into French royalty that she became more extravagant, because she was criticised for “not being a proper royal” by the French. According to the court, the 14 year old Marie was “a peasant unworthy of becoming Queen.” When you’re that young and criticised by your entire new life, you do everything in your power to make sure you can actually have a life; you adapt. So when Marie was then suddenly told to stop ‘adapting and be a proper Queen worthy of the French”, we can see why more is at stake than “Karen needs to deal with only 10 dresses a week.”

Something else that adds depth to her character as opposed to her 1789 counterpart is that as the story progresses, Marie actually grows. She becomes more mature and more serious, and you see in her how all the events have a clear toll on her. From her own perspective, she really was trying very hard, but anything she tried was inadequate to improve the situation. What she didn’t know is that no matter how hard she tried, the situation was already un-salvageable before she was even born. The populace AND the court had already decided to hate her for being an unintelligent foreign woman from an enemy state, after all. This is an insight most historians nowadays agree on.

In a later scene where Margrid confronts Marie, she asks the Queen: “what makes you think you are better than us?” Marie confirms nor denies, but replies: “I am merely Queen as I was appointed by God.” When she adds: “All I know is duties, you are free,” there is also a clear sense she genuinely doesn’t know why she was appointed by God, but as she is now, all she can do is her best. She is still ignorant, which was a genuine problem about her. She does not know the hardships of not being from the top rank, allowing her say something as insensitive as: “at least you’re free.” But again, despite her ignorance, her feelings are sincere. From all the unfair expectations she was made to live up to from age 14, you really do see why ‘a life without duties’ seemed so much more appealing to her.

1789 - The Lovers of the Bastille

Marie in 1789 is more of a side-character, and the musical itself just is not very character/story driven as MA is. 1789 has the tendency to take the tropiest of tropes and stay on surface level with the characters. Ouki Kaname is an incredibly good actress and she tries her best; but she cannot do more than the script gives her to work with.

In this musical Marie is not portrayed in a very relatable or sympathetic light. She is extravagant because she has escapist fantasies, but we don’t really see what she’s escaping from. The sympathy from the audience is supposed to be drawn from the tragedy that she’s married to the King but is in love with Fersen. Oh, and she has a son but he’s mortally ill. Meanwhile however, you don’t see how her life is so bad she needs to escape... and you also don’t see Marie really being worried about her son than an occasional: “Oh Ill again? Sucks I guess. Gotta cry my eyes out on my lover’s lap, AHHH FERSEN 💗” It was not until her son had already died that Marie woke up, but the lack of portrayal of Marie’s perspective and the pacing really makes one legitimately wonder whether the child did not just die of Marie’s neglect. And about the forbidden love ...we’ve seen enough love triangles with star-crossed-lovers... I don’t know about you guys, but I am numbbbbb to this “problem”.

When Marie receives message from Olympe that she finally gets to meet her lover after a long separation at the Palais Royal, one of the first things she says is: “is that not the place where revolutionaries and prostitutes are gathered?” This immediately sets up an empathy-barrier between her and the common people. This Marie clearly views herself too good for people who do anything to get by; why would you care about her then? Because Marie’s story is not fleshed out you don’t see parts that can make you go: “oh, the revolutionaries really hate her for reasons beyond her control, she is in danger.” Or “she was raised by a puritan society, making her hate on sex-workers; that’s part of her character flaw.” Instead it’s just this Diva being quite judgemental.

Ouki was trying very hard to make the focus about her own safety, but with the script being what it is... she’s still a mostly unsympathetic character who is a martyr of forbidden love.

There is one scene where we see her take on a much more mature and responsible role. That was the first time I personally felt like Marie from 1789 is an actual human being with feelings and personal difficulties. But in great part this is Ouki’s acting... (the other cast didn’t do much for me). What is also important is that Marie was ‘humbled�� because her son died. Marie did not have much of a personal growth, and then she changes to a more sympathetic person because of an external factor just... feels less earned.

In the finale Marie appears again in her execution clothes, and the way Ouki appeared really felt like a punch in the gut. She sings “as a recompense for our griefs, people have learnt forgiveness.” However, the story skimped over the characters so much I was left to wonder: “who learned to forgive whom?” Do you think the people forgave you? Or was there somebody you hated but now learned to forgive? What was your grudge? Do you understand the angry mob’s grudge?

The finale of the musical treats like after the heroic sacrifice of the protagonist (Ronan) the oppressive monarchy was replaced by a good democracy, and a Reign of Terror will DEFINITELY not happen under Robespierre or something. But if you’ve had a BIT of European history you just know it’s a blatant lie. So the finale just feels too simplistic, and this simplistic feeling was in part presented by Marie’s very empty, lip-service-y line.

⚔️Hans Axel von Fersen⚔️

M.A. 2018

Fersen is a bit harder to compare which version is better, because honestly, depending on who plays Fersen in MA, Fersen is either the most generic Hollywood sweeping-lover-hero, or a diamond mine to excavate. In the same post linked above by my friend, she explains in detail the differences between TashiroFersen and FurukawaFersen. K-musical fans, don’t @ me, but from what I can tell, the Korean Fersens are also very... typical.

In this post I have discussed Furukawa’s Fersen in great detail, so I shall skip over these for this post. But to summarise, when portrayed by Furukawa at least, Fersen in MA is very nuanced and restrained. Even if we do not fully credit Furukawa however, then at the very least the script allows enough space and material for an actor to flesh him out so phenomenally well (I think Tashiro and some other actors just.... really missed out on the potential).

Fersen in MA incredibly memorable because the main atmosphere of the imminent doom awaiting everyone is carried by him in a way nobody else does. The moment Fersen enters you feel the tension that the musical wishes to tell. Fersen has seen revolutions, he’s seen the power of anger; he knows shit is going to hit the fan because he’s familiar with this trajectory.

Fersen has excellent self control because he knows how a lack thereof would hurt Marie’s reputation and escalate the growing chaos. You can see very clearly how Fersen does want the intimacy, but to him duty and the grander picture has priority. In all the small actions from Fersen you see how he is a savvy intellectual through and through. (More about reservation later).

In contrast to 1789, we also get to see so much more of Fersen in MA because he is the narrator and a main character. Throughout the musical he’s been trying to de-escalate the chaos and even though his plans were actually well thought-out, the problems were just simply too big for any one person to solve. When Fersen mourns Marie there is a clear sense that he is not really surprised, just really upset that things had to come so far. Instead of singing something accusatory to the angry and hungry people, he sings: “fate, why did you give her everything, only to show her hell in the end?” Fersen truly understands why the people were duly angry, but that not taking away his sorrow of losing Marie who he knows is a better person than people make her out to be.

Also in great contrast to 1789, the finale of MA is rather grim. It does not suggest hope or that all problems will eventually disappear. The story for these people have ended, but the problems and the world will continue to our days, and days far beyond ours. It gives a feeling that the world of MA is so extensive that we - the audience - are part of it. In the finale when we see Fersen again, he also stays in tune with this feeling. “How can the problems of the world be solved, what is true justice? We remain clueless” he sings, and the way he looks into the unknown distance is almost a reminder to us that nobody has reason to stop worrying and fight for justice.

1789 - the Lovers of the Bastille

Now if we were to compare MA’s Furu Fersen to 1789′s Fersen, we see a stark contrast between the two. Where Furusen was incredibly reserved and hyper aware of everything, 1789′s Fersen is just the over-romantic lover who had been pining for his love. For a moment Marie realises she probably should not be cheating on her husband and backs away. Fersen however, is the one to make further advances, actively pulling her back to his side.

When he embraces Marie you see how he is just dreaming and indulging, something Furusen would never do. Furusen might hug Marie, but not without sh*tting 50 colours. 1789′s Fersen is the sweeping Romeo that most of history makes him to be, and little more. But again, Fersen plays but a very small role in 1789, so it is also unfair to compare him to MA’s Fersen.

Regardless of whatever nuance might or might not be there however, it is also just quite hard to like this Fersen because he is ‘just another privileged aristocrat who is just needy’. When making out with Marie in Palais Royale they find out that Ronan fell asleep there drunk. Ronan simply complained that Marie was too loud and woke him, and Fersen immediately shuts him up, and then draws his sword at him for ‘speaking rudely’.

First of all Fersen and Marie, if you’re gonna do a clandestine meeting, you CHECK your surroundings. Second of all, FERSEN Ò.Ó, this peasant is untrained and weaponless; you can’t just unleash your high-ranking martial arts at him with a shiny sword. This is EXACTLY the reason the revolution happened; the people were sick of the suppression of the powerless by the powerful. UGHUM. It truly is mind-blowing to consider how 1789 Fersen and MA Fersen are both...Fersens.

This Fersen is not very involved with the revolution from either side. He just proposes to help Marie and the King escape once, but got dismissed immediately. The following time we see him it is in the finale.

There he stands, a knight in shiny armour singing a really hopeful phrase to a relatively upbeat and hopeful music: “do not rely on force, but seek for hope and courage.” Here again unlike with MA’s Fersen, you don’t really feel like this Fersen has experienced anything. It was like he was an employed special guard, told by his boss there’s nothing he needed to do, his boss is dead, and oh wellll, moving on!

Conclusion

Because Marie and Fersen in MA are main characters whose stories are fleshed out, it really is very unfair to compare them to their 1789′s counterparts in a race of ‘who is better’. In the end of the day, 1789′s aim is to sell a spectacle, and it realllly is a phenomenal piece if you’re there for the spectacle. The choreography, songs, stage, everything is masterpiece-level. So if you’re there for the spectacle you get exactly what you went there for. The story and characters however... not so much. If one is more drawn to a direct, glittery spectacle with hands-down-amazing-songs however, they’d probably find Marie and Fersen from 1789 more enjoyable. If you’re into first and impressive impressions, the MA counterparts might demand a BIT too much attention and patience to get into.

Introduction and character analysis Fersen ‘MA’ 2018

Comparative commentary on MA Cast M and Cast A

#Marie Antoinette #Hans Axel von Fersen #Fersen #MA #1789 #comparative commentary #TOHO #musical #1789 les amants de la bastille

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ailec-12 · 4 years

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Prompt: AU, bored and exploring Malfoy Manor at a social function, young Sirius Black finds an old diary belonging to T.M. Riddle.

Thanks so much for this prompt, Anon! To be honest, at first I had no idea what to do with it, but it would seem Tom’s diary possessed me as well, because once I started, I couldn’t stop. I’ve enjoyed writing teen Sirius a lot, so I hope you’ll also like it.

Shout-out to @mariagvogel for making this one shot better with her comments. It can also be read on AO3.

Sirius hated them all —every fucking member of his family. Nothing could really top his hatred for his mother, who insisted on dragging him to those pure-blood parties no matter how much her eldest son embarrassed her. He was wandering around, sneering at the portraits that lined up the walls of the Malfoy mansion.

Those events were always supremely boring, but Sirius had never felt so utterly alone. Regulus was socialising with their cousins like the good Black son he was. Yet, the only cousin that really mattered, Andromeda, was not present and no one talked about her. Her face still decorated the Black family tapestry, but Sirius did not think it would last long. It was a very odd feeling. When Andromeda talked about cutting ties with her family, they used to laugh about going out in style. He had not seen his cousin in months, though, and, if she had concocted any plans with her Muggle-born boyfriend, she had not breathed a single word about it to Sirius.

The dark corridor he was crossing at the moment threatened to be as dull as the guests downstairs. At least he had managed to slip unnoticed from the party. He could not have shown his distaste as freely there. A somewhat distant crack startled him out of his thoughts. He froze on the spot. That must be Dobby. Although Sirius could not say he liked the house-elf —who was always too overexcited—, he pitied anyone who had to live under the thumb of a prat like Lucius Malfoy. Dobby was also far nicer than Kreacher. Even so, if he saw Sirius snooping around, he would be forced to tell his masters. Sirius would rather avoid angering his mother so soon when there was still a long evening ahead of them.

Thinking on his feet, he walked quickly to the end of the corridor, where a door hid the stairs to the attic. Andromeda and Cissy had discovered that one dragging a very young Sirius with them. He could no longer remember the exact reason, but they had been hiding. It felt like a very far memory.

Sirius closed the door carefully behind him and waited until he heard the second crack that meant Dobby had left. The party seemed not to exist in the absolute stillness of the stairs and Sirius let out a long-suffering sigh. Glancing up, he decided to head for the attic. It was a good hiding place if nothing else.

The room looked dirtier and more abandoned than Sirius remembered. It actually reminded him of their attic at home, full of useless and forgotten pure-blood memorabilia. He stepped around the worn-out furniture, dodging the odd-shaped items scattered in some parts. He could not help thinking that, if the rest of his friends were with him, poking around Malfoy’s stuff would have sounded much more exciting. Alone, however, Sirius did not truly feel like exploring.

Looking round in order to find at least something to distract him from the fact that there was no one to share his findings with, his eyes fell on a small bookcase. The dust made his eyes itch when he got closer and most books did not even have a title on the spine. He gazed at them blankly for a moment longer, trying to decide whether picking them up was worth the effort. His interest was suddenly piqued when he saw a small rectangular item wrapped in fading brown fabric. That time, he took it with no hesitation, revealing a black leather book. It was rather thin and the year on the cover —1942— let him know it was not a recently purchased item. As he opened it, he was disappointed to find there was nothing on the blank pages except for a name on top of the first one: T. M. Riddle.

Sirius let it fall, huffing. An empty diary whose owner did not even have the right surname for the house. He did not really care if it had been someone who had married into the family or if some Malfoy had stolen it. Somehow, Sirius was not able to picture someone staying for a sleepover and leaving their diary behind.

Bored, he sat down on the floor, near the diary. He could already see the others’ faces when he returned downstairs having ruined his new, shiny robes. The mere thought brought a smirk to his face and lifted his spirits lightly. He picked the diary back up. Perhaps no one would ever see it, but Sirius wanted to leave his mark in case someone else found the old thing.

He searched through the drawers and found a couple of broken quills, but no ink. He cursed out loud, remembering the Muggle drawing kit that Moony had gifted him last Christmas. He would carry a pen everywhere if he was not certain his mother would enjoy burning it while Sirius was still carrying it.

Nevertheless, he found a small piece of charcoal and did not hesitate to open the diary at the first page. In big capital letters, just under the name, he wrote, FUCK PURE-BLOODS —SB. He had to admit it looked lamer than it had sounded in his head, so he was trying to come up with another epithet when the words faded away. Blinking, he stared down at the yellowish pages. If it was a means of communication like the two-way mirror he used with Prongs, he might be screwed.

The diary answered right away.

Interesting choice of words to write on someone else’s diary. And who might you be?

Sirius looked at the words for a few seconds. It had been quite a prompt answer for an object that had seemed abandoned just a moment ago.

I’m not telling you my name, he decided to write at last. He was not that much of an idiot.

As you wish. Mine is Tom.

Again, the reply was quick. Sirius bit his lip, rolling the charcoal between his fingers.

Are you friends with the Malfoys?

I might be, came Tom’s enigmatic answer. They must not have taken great care of my diary if you have got your hands on it, though.

The calligraphy was elegant, although not as flowery as Sirius’s. For all his faults, the Malfoys were not as exclusive as the Blacks. Tom’s elusive comments sparked the boy’s imagination and he was already picturing Riddle as the offspring of a marriage between a Malfoy and someone of not such a high standing.

Focusing back on the pages, which had returned to their original state, he decided to try his luck.

Do you write to them often?

I can’t say I do.

Sirius could almost hear the playful tone behind those words.

What would you do if I took you with me?

Write to you, what else?

Sirius’s smirk grew bigger as he closed the diary and threw away the charcoal.

II.

In the end, getting away from the gathering had indeed been worth it. His parents had not been able to do much in public, since they knew sending him home would actually have been a reward. By the time they had got back, both of them had been too inebriated to punish him properly. Sirius had got away with just his hurt pride at having had to apologise to the Malfoys plus a quick stinging hex before being sent to bed. Still, his leg hurt like hell from the surprisingly well-aimed spell.

He was lying on his bed, groaning into his pillow and with absolutely no intention of sleeping. He would like to contact James through the mirror —he did not think anyone would hear him despite the absolute silence—, but he did not want to come across as needy. He could wait until tomorrow to whine and tell his friends all his woes.

Turning around, he sat up and examined his leg. He concluded it would be better not to risk asking Kreacher for a pain potion, since it would lead to his mother hearing about it. In a couple of hours, it would no longer sting. Making what felt like an enormous effort, he stood up and started disrobing. It was only then that he remembered Tom. Still half dressed, he hurried to get ink and quill and got comfortable in his bed. It was pretty late, so he told himself he might have to wait until the morning for an answer.

Are you there?

Of course.

Sirius smiled at the immediate reply.

I —don’t— regret to inform you that you are no longer with the Malfoys.

His grin grew bigger as he felt clever. He would keep talking to Tom if it was going to help him forget about his misery for a while.

You sound like more interesting company anyway. I take it that you had fun and the event is over?

Sirius scoffed loudly.

I don’t think a single one in that bloody bunch of old snobs know what having fun is like.

You may be right, but why would you want fun when you already have power?

Reading those words gave him chills and sobered him up. Perhaps it was because Tom’s phrasing urged him to agree at first. He frowned and put down the diary to physically distance himself from that feeling. Almost right away, though, he picked it up again.

Do you believe that blood supremacy crap?

He felt something akin to disappointment and had to rein in the impulse to throw a cruder accusation.

What I believe does not matter. It is a fact they have power, is it not?

Sirius liked that answer even less and he felt his frown deepen. He stared as the ink faded, considering what he should retort. Apparently, Tom found his words sooner.

You benefit from that power, don’t you, S?

An inexplicable, overwhelming anger rose in the boy’s throat and he was scribbling furiously before he was aware of it.

Fuck you. My name is Sirius.

He slammed the diary shut and threw it in his trunk.

III.

I’m a fucking tosser.

It was the first thing he wrote in two weeks and the black letters were blurry.

Do tell.

Tom’s response came at once as usual, but it felt oddly impersonal. It was just what Sirius needed, because the last thing he wanted was a friendly ear. He was determined to avoid thinking about the next letter he would have to write to Prongs.

I was going to spend half the summer at a friend’s, but I crossed my mother and ruined everything. I’m not going anywhere now.

A little splash smeared the ink before it disappeared completely. He wiped his eyes furiously while he waited for Tom to say something.

Oh, boo-hoo. Why would you act out if you needed her permission?

Didn’t plan on it, you twat. Just happened. You’d also scream at her if you’d met her, he added before a reply could come.

I think not. I’ve been told I’m a great actor.

Pretentious prick, Sirius shot back. He was feeling calmer, though, and not truly annoyed.

Tom offered no reaction to that, but Sirius did not want to finish their conversation so soon. It was a very welcome distraction from the pain and humiliation that usually followed an argument with his mother.

I don’t know how I’m to survive an entire summer locked up in this house.

Have you tried to escape?

I’m only 14. The Ministry will find me as soon as I try to do magic.

Of course, living as a Muggle is out of question.

Sirius frowned, not liking one bit the mockery he could feel behind the words.

It is when I have neither Muggle clothes nor Muggle money, he retorted.

And your friend? Wouldn’t he take you in?

James would, he was certain of it. However, that would require detailing exactly how bad things were at home. It was not worth it, Sirius told himself as he had a thousand times before. It was only three more years until he could do magic and then no one, not even his mother, could stop him —after all, his fourteenth birthday was just a few months away.

My family would not allow it, he wrote instead.

Are you important or something?

Again that derisive feeling. Sirius could not explain why he felt the other’s intentions so distinctly.

Or something, he agreed noncommittally. He was about to add something else when a knock on his door startled him.

Swallowing with difficulty, he reminded himself that only one person in their household would knock before entering. Not that his dear brother waited for an answer. Sirius had barely had time to close the diary when the door opened. At least, Regulus was not in the habit of barging in.

“What do you want?” Sirius snapped right away, feeling anger consuming everything within him once again.

Any tentativeness disappeared from his brother’s demeanour and his young face hardened. He closed the door after coming in, but did not step closer.

“Don’t take it out on me. I did nothing.”

“Yeah, I think that might be the problem. You never do anything. The perfect son,” snarled Sirius, in a well-rehearsed course of action.

“What d’you expect to get when you insult the whole family? Couldn’t you just go along with it for once and say what she wants to hear?”

Regulus was frustrated, but his controlled manner paled in comparison to the ire running through his older brother, who jumped off the chair, not caring about the noise.

“I’ll never stand by while she badmouths my friends,” he said, barely restraining from shouting. “But of course you don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about. You’d need to have some friends for that.”

The jab hit Regulus as hard as Sirius had intended and his pain was plainly visible on his face. He refused to regret having caused it.

“I just came to see if you were all right, you imbecile.”

Regulus practically spat the words before turning around and taking hold of the doorknob.

“Hurry up and move along, then. I’m fine.”

Regulus opened the door and stared back one last time. His mouth was a hard line and his eyes glistened. He looked too old for his age.

“You’re a liar.”

IV.

Have you ever been trapped with no option to escape?

It was the middle of the night of a perfectly ordinary day, but Sirius could not sleep. Luckily, it seemed that neither could Tom.

Most people have at one point or another, came the answer, swift and vague as ever.

His friends were taking too long to reply to his letters and Prongs had forgotten the two-way mirror at home when he had packed for his holidays. Talking to Tom felt just as good, though.

More letters appeared in the centre of the page while he was lost in thought.

What matters is your ability to break free when the time is right.

What is ailing you this time? I can tell you didn’t steal an enchanted diary to complain about your house-elf’s cooking.

Their correspondence was getting more familiar and Tom did not hesitate to cut his ramblings short. Sirius decided not to beat around the bush, either.

Do you come from a pure-blood family?

I have old blood running through my veins, yes.

Sirius had never felt so grateful for Tom’s pretentious nature. He had a feeling the other would understand.

They burnt my cousin Andromeda’s face off the family tapestry. She has married a Muggle-born, so they say she’s tarnished our blood.

And you fear to suffer the same fate?

I’d fear to stay in this house forever, but

He hesitated. Sometimes, he felt as if he were offering up too much information, although nothing he had said so far was truly a secret.

she is my favourite cousin.

The words faded away slowly, as if the diary were absorbing Sirius’s strong feelings behind them, too.

I think she’s forgotten me, he wrote in a rush, feeling extremely self-conscious.

That time, Tom seemed to take an eternity to answer.

Pure-bloods are good at holding power, but their short-sightedness will be the death of them.

The words took Sirius aback and he did not think about his next response.

I thought you fancied that blood crap.

I told you. What I may believe or feel is not important. Ignoring the talent of those who do not fit the ideal perfectly will hardly do us any favours.

Sirius blinked, uneasy at how reasonable Tom sounded. He needed to think, so he wrote goodbye and returned the diary to its safe place. After a while, he realised he could contact Andromeda once he was back at school.

VI.

Sirius skimmed through Prongs’s last letter. He still needed to get back to Moony and Wormtail as well. However, no matter how hard he tried, he could not shake off the feeling that his friends were far too predictable. James told him all about his brilliant family holidays, whereas Remus was as bored and lonely as Sirius. And he really could not bring himself to care about Peter’s latest crush.

On top of his apathy, he was worn out all the time. The bright side of it was that he was usually too tired to pick a fight with his parents. He spent most of his time locked in his bedroom, listening to Muggle music or just staring up at the dark ceiling —or writing to Tom. Sirius could not consider him a friend since the bloke had not revealed much information about himself. Yet, during their exchanges, Sirius did not feel quite so sad or angry, just sort of entertained.

There was only a week and a half until the beginning of the new school year. The rest of the Marauders would not be surprised if Sirius told them he had been too lazy to reply to their last batch of letters. Thus, he picked up the diary, willing to forget about the world for a while.

VII.

You didn’t write yesterday.

Sirius felt a pang of culpability upon seeing the message. In fact, he had felt guilty ever since school had started. Normally, he waited until his friends had gone to sleep to take out the diary and write on it, sheltered by his drawn drapes. At first, he had looked forward to that nightly encounter, even if it made him feel like he was lying to his friends. During the day, Moony and Prongs were set on finding out what was wrong with him. Nothing Sirius told them stopped their nagging. He could admit he was bloody irritable around everyone those days, but it did not truly warrant their insistence. At least with Tom he had not needed to worry about reining in his temper so as to avoid worried looks.

Nevertheless, eventually, even Moony had let the matter of his bad mood drop. It had led to a more relaxed atmosphere in their friend group and, for the first time since their return, the previous night Sirius had gone to bed knackered and happy and, especially not feeling like he needed to seek out someone else’s company. Frankly, he had not thought Tom would care, but now the guilt rose back up and it was not because he was hiding something from his friends.

I was busy.

It was a lame excuse, but Sirius told himself he did not need to explain his reasons to a perfect stranger.

Hanging out with Hagrid again?

Distaste dripped from the ink of every one of those words.

No, planning a prank for a greasy git. He won’t know what hit him. Sirius’s smirk vanished before it fully formed. He frowned, still thinking about Tom’s comment. What have you got against Hagrid, anyway? He is all right.

That is because you do not know what he is capable of.

Sirius rolled his eyes at the condescending reply. He had known Hagrid for over three years and, while the man had his quirks, he was one of the nicest people Sirius had ever met.

Another sentence appeared as the first one was absorbed by the page.

Want me to show you?

He read the question a few times, trying to understand what it could possibly mean. Tom had never implied they could send anything other than messages through the diary.

“Can’t you– What are you doing?”

It was barely a whisper, but he had already jumped when Moony drew the curtains back and so, he ended up spilling ink all over himself and the diary. His wand was knocked off as well, falling to the floor with its tip still lit up. Sirius barely spared a glance at his friend as he attempted to get away from the mess.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered.

“I’m so sorry,” Remus apologised right away. Turning around for a moment, he retrieved his own wand from his bedside table. “I’ll clean it up.”

With a circular movement, he managed to summon the ink and get it back into the bottle. The diary was intact, not a black trace on it, although Sirius suspected not all the ink had been collected by Moony’s magic.

“Thanks,” he grumbled, because his friend was looking at him with soft eyes full of uncertainty.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I just couldn’t sleep and saw the light from your wand.”

“It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep, either.” Sirius huffed, unable to stand the awkwardness any longer. “Sit down, for Merlin’s sake. Unlike others, I don’t bite.”

He received a brief, albeit quite powerful glare as expected, which in return brought a grin to his face as he closed the diary and put it in a drawer for the time being.

“Was that… a diary?”

Moony’s incredulity was obvious, so Sirius forced himself to let out a dismissive snort.

“Just brainstorming our next pranks. Prongs and I still have to take revenge on that Seventh Year Ravenclaw prick for laughing at us when Snivellus and Evans dumped us in the lake.”

“To be fair—”

“I don’t want to be fair, Moony. I want to laugh at Mr Brainy.”

Remus rolled his eyes, but a long yawn interrupted whatever he was going to add. Right on cue, Sirius also yawned.

“I think I’ll go back to bed now. You should try to get some sleep, too.”

“I will,” promised Sirius, smiling fondly at his always responsible friend.

He drew the drapes and snuggled up under the blankets, having forgotten all about Tom and Hagrid.

VIII.

Guess who is not going home for Christmas?

Sirius was feeling light as a feather and needed to share his enthusiasm.

Did you get your face burnt off the family tree as well?

Not yet, he replied, beaming in the semi-darkness. His penmanship was messier than usual, because his brain was going too fast for his hand to keep up. I’m going to spend the break with Prongs. His parents have invited me to go with them to ski. The entire hols! he added, trying to convey his utter delight, for he felt like exploding every time he thought about the letter he had just received.

My mother will be furious, he kept on, not waiting for an answer. She will have to explain her disgraceful heir has once again chosen blood traitors over the family.

You do realise that, by cutting ties with them, you are only making things harder for yourself, don’t you?

As if I cared. I’m not going to put up with their pompous arses one minute longer than I need to.

Well, perhaps there is something better that you can do at school if you stay.

“What?” Sirius almost yelled, turning it into a whisper at the last moment.

I’m not staying, he wrote quickly.

Why did Tom feel the need to sour his mood like that? He had said he was not upset by the lack of daily updates on Sirius’s part, but he may have lied.

You never let me show you that memory about Hagrid. I could show you things about Hogwarts, places no other person knows about but me.

Sirius felt his hair stand on end. No one should sound so alluring through a written message. Without another thought, he slammed the diary shut and pushed it off his lap. He was suddenly afraid of how much he had longed to accept Tom’s offer.

As if a veil had just been lifted, he realised the diary was an object taken from a family with close links to dark magic and even darker social circles. He had been tired all summer and his bad temper had persisted after getting away from his family. He had only started to feel better once he had stopped writing to Tom every day.

He nearly tossed the diary out of the window, but he stopped when he took it in his hands. Surely, he was overreacting. He had been talking to Tom for months and, even though the other gave him the creeps from time to time, he had felt no dark influences trying to control him. Prongs always said he was paranoid about everything that had to do with dark magic and he reluctantly had to admit his friend may be right.

Tom must be even lonelier than he was to keep him company after all that time, for Sirius would not describe his life as fascinating. He was happier than he had ever been at Hogwarts, certainly, but Tom had put up with his continuous complaints about his family the entire summer. Perhaps it was only fair that he felt ignored since school had begun, because Sirius had indeed been writing less and less frequently as days passed. He felt like a terrible friend —even if they were not such—, so he picked up the quill again, dipped it in the ink and wrote,

Why do you like talking with me?

I thought you were braver. I thought you’d dare uncover Hogwarts’ deepest secrets.

The ink faded away slowly as Sirius found himself unable to tear his gaze away. New words appeared before he could think of an answer.

Let me show you, insisted Tom. It all started when

Sirius slammed the diary shut for the second time that day, although on that occasion his decision was fuelled by blind rage. The urge to know was still there, whispering in his ear that he should continue reading, continue writing. However, another feeling flooded him and he distinguished the sting of something else besides his hurt pride. He was under no delusions that they were friends, but he had hoped —believed— that the other’s interest meant he shared his feeling of comfortable attachment. Sirius had enjoyed being able to say anything without fear of being judged or pitied, but right then, he only felt manipulated.

Truthfully, he had very much longed to know the answer when he had asked why. Instead, Tom had insisted on talking about his own damn secrets and mysteries. In fact, Tom had elegantly sidestepped every personal question and had always sounded more invested in reading about Sirius’s troubles than any good news he brought up.

The hurt cleared his thoughts in the most painful way possible. At that very moment, he could not care less whether he was indeed paranoid or losing his mind. He had itched to know whatever Tom had been about to tell, but curiosity had played no role in it. The pull had been far less innocent than that and, once he could recognise it, he realised it had been there for a while. However, he had never expected that darkness would feel so sweet and intoxicating —so inoffensive.

Damn, he truly was a bloody idiot.

IX.

Sirius had bravely fought the temptation to write on the diary again to curse its very existence and, so far, he had won. Still, he had buried the blasted thing at the bottom of his trunk and only taken it out on their last day before the holidays. He was currently waiting for his brother outside the Great Hall, while the students who had already finished their dinner passed by while animatedly chatting about their upcoming plans.

At last, he saw the familiar pale face and hurried towards the small group of Slytherins.

“Hey, Regulus!”

His brother glared at him, but murmured something to his companions and they promptly left towards the dungeons. Sirius could not help frowning at their backs —if the tables had been turned and it was him asking to be alone with a Slytherin, he would have expected a little resistance from his friends. Focusing his attention back on the younger boy, he saw the scowl was still very much present.

“What do you want?”

Sirius swallowed the urge to snap back, irked by Regulus’s defensiveness.

“I’m not going back home these hols, so I need you to make sure this gets back to the Malfoys.”

He handed out the diary, wrapped in the brown fabric, but his brother made no move to take it. Instead, he asked,

“You aren’t coming home?”

All of a sudden, Sirius felt his mouth dry at the vulnerability clearly present in the question.

“Um, I’m… I’m not.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s not that bad, though, is it? Mother will be in a foul mood when she finds out, sure, but I won’t be there to aggravate you all every day.”

His light tone was weak and did not get a reaction from Regulus beyond a renewed glower.

“So what, you want me to deliver one of your funny pranks to Malfoy now that he no longer attends Hogwarts?”

“Don’t be daft, I’d never let you take the blame and steal my spotlight.” Regulus refused to say anything and so, a tense silence ensued. Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius noticed they had drawn the attention of some students. He pushed the diary against his brother’s crossed arms. “It’s something I took from them at the beginning of the summer. I’m not interested in it anymore.”

Finally, Regulus took it and started to unwrap it. Sirius hurried to still his hands. Physical contact between the brothers had become rare nowadays, but neither seemed to realise.

“Nuh-uh. Everyone’s always going on and on about how you’re so much smarter than I am, so show a bit of brains. It’s one of those diaries you can’t stop writing on. Took me a bit to figure it out.”

It was not all the truth, but he did not know what the diary was exactly and hoped it was enough to deter Regulus from giving in to his own curiosity.

His brother was still looking back at him with plenty of mistrust in his clear eyes, but he would not keep an item like that —Sirius was sure of it.

“You can give it to Cousin Cissy,” he joked, breaking the silence once more. “I’m sure she’ll be delighted to have a reason to call on the Malfoys and insult the white sheep of the family at the same time.”

He wanted to add something else, either wish Regulus good luck or happy Christmas. In the end, the right words never came to him and his brother walked away after uttering a curt, ‘Goodbye, Sirius.’

It turned out that getting rid of that diary was the best decision he had made in a while. James’s parents had also invited Remus and Peter to their winter house for a week —carefully chosen by the boys so that Moony would not have to deal with any furry problems.

Not even Walburga’s Howler managed to shatter his happiness. It had arrived one morning, while they were all having breakfast. Sirius had prayed for the ground to open up and swallow him whole when he had seen Euphemia’s and Fleamont’s faces as they heard the usual string of slurs and threats —fortunately, Prongs was used to those Howlers by then. For a very long moment, Sirius had also feared what they would think of him after learning he was a thief.

In fact, he had barely dared look up when an ominous silence had returned to their table. However, it had soon been broken by a new string of voices, only that time there was a mix of indignation and reassurance and it was all in his favour. Sirius’s eyes had been suspiciously wet when his friend had clapped him on the back and he had had to talk the adults out of seeing Walburga Black before they went back to school.

Even if he did not manage to find an excuse to stay at Hogwarts during the next break, he would not have to face her in months. It was a very freeing, hopeful thought. He knew that his little stunt would bring other, more serious consequences eventually, but he was not very worried about whatever hell his mother had promised. Hell could not scare him when he already knew what it was like to live in it.

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