#a good woman never resents what shes meant to want more than anything

[quillkiller]

not me pulling out laura mulveys essay about visual pleasure and narrative cinema in the gc and going on about how women are always passive and men are always active in the narrative structure. we’re talking about lily evans btw! imagine having more of a buzzkill friend than me

[heartpascal]

can we get more father figure joel? You know when Ellie killed the David, and then Joel comforted her? Maybe that but instead of Ellie it’s the reader, thank you <3

i am good

▹ joel miller x platonic!f!reader

▹ — summary: joel finally sees the darkness in himself reflected in you.

▹ — a/n: ok first request i hope it’s ok!! i know its kinda similar to the game but erm. its reader and joel this time!! and reader is much much less ok with the whole. murder thing but its ok bc joel is there to fix it &lt;3 yes he is your dad no you don’t get a choice he has decided it

▹ — warnings: allusions to sexual assault (nothing happens but the intention was there), vivid descriptions of murder, reader is misled and attacked, similar to the game with ellie (so kinda spoilers?), joel is ready to kill for you (and does), lots of blood, tears, father figure joel, lots of angst and upset, vomiting

masterlist

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Getting air into your lungs was proving to be one of the hardest things you’d had to do for a long time, which, considering the journey you’d been on, was shocking. The act of simply breathing should have come easily to you, but it didn’t. It couldn’t. Not as you saw the reflection of your own bloodied face in the knife that was held up, a clear threat polluting the air.

You knew you had probably been lucky to even make it as far as you had — born into a world full of death and chaos and infection, you were bound to meet your gruesome end some day, but you didn’t want to die.

For the first time in a long time, your chest ached for the breath you couldn’t seem to provide, the want, the need to live almost suffocating you on its own. You had someone now, someone who cared whether you survived or not, who felt like you deserved even a glimpse at a happy ending, even if he didn’t like to state those things out loud.

Resentment was growing in your stomach, filling you with the need to be sick. Why did you always have to listen to the words Joel didn’t say, rather than the ones he did say? If you had just listened, conserved your trust for those who actually earned it, you wouldn’t be in this situation.

When your hunting escapades had led you into a small horde of infected, you had just blindly put your faith in the aging couple who came to your aid, not thinking of what they might want for their troubles. You’d never had to escape without Joel’s help before, and you quickly discovered you weren’t all that good at it.

The two of them had dragged you back to their nearby settlement which they shared with a couple dozen others, all whilst you were kicking and screaming, trying to get away, your resolve fading each time they hit you to near unconsciousness. When they passed by a young man stood beside an older lady, you had called out to them, “Please, help me, please.”

“Gotta get something in return for the gear we wasted saving her ass,” the man had snickered to the two of them as glanced at the couple, just nodding at his words before turning back to their conversation.

You’d been knocked out when they approached a large community house, just getting a glimpse of the carpeted floor before the woman had struck her gun against the side of your head.

You had woken up in the middle of a chilled room, your arms straining with effort as you pushed yourself to sit up, seeing the woman holding a knife towards you. You couldn’t be sure how long it had been since they’d taken you, not with the way your stomach clenched with pain. The whole reason you’d been out there was to solve that, but you were sure that it had gotten worse.

“Listen, please,” your scratchy voice came out, much quieter than you had meant for it to be, “I—I can get you replacements for everything you used, but you gotta let me go.”

“We don’t gotta do anything, girl.” The lady snickered, as if even you saying such a thing was amusing. It made you feel small, powerless.

She got up, hearing her name being called, Cheryl, you noted, and sneered at you. Her skin was dull, and she looked vaguely ill, but that didn’t change anything about her threatening demeanour. At least one thing you’d taken from travelling with Joel was never underestimate your opponent, no matter how small, or ill, or kind they may appear to be.

Her hand grazed your face as she strode past, “Yeah,” she said quietly, like she was complimenting you, “You’ll do nicely. We’ll both enjoy you.”

You managed to avoid throwing up until she left the room, hearing a lock click into place. All that came up was bile, the clench of your stomach just becoming sharper afterwards. Your muscles felt weak, likely beginning to waste away with you having been inactive for a little while and injured, less energy wasted on muscle cells and more going into fighting off the infections that were likely trying to poison your blood.

Scanning the room, like Joel would’ve advised you to, you found nothing of much use to you. An old rickety chair, perhaps, but that would only help you if you could lift it, and you weren’t convinced you had the strength left within you, but you’d be damned if you didn’t at least try.

Something deep in your chest nagged at you, the longing for Joel, probably. He had saved you on countless occasions, and you could only hope that it had been long enough that he had finally gotten worried. It seemed likely, he really did worry a lot for a man who wasn’t meant to care, but then there was the factor of him finding you, managing to take down all the people in the settlement that might fight to protect each other and—

You took a deep breath, finally feeling your lungs expand and take in some oxygen, and pulled yourself from the ground, keeping the bile that threatened to rise down as the nausea hit you.

The chair was lighter than you expected it to be, the insides of the wooden frame likely rotten away, and you managed to pull it towards the door, waiting beside it with shallow breaths. When the lock finally began to click open, you raised the lightweight chair as high as you could, and smacked it down against the person who entered the room. Splinters flew from it as it impacted, and you heard the clatter of metal as a tray they carried hit the ground with them.

Food, maybe, to keep you alive for… whatever it was that they had planned for you, you reasoned, but didn’t look to check. Instead, you grabbed a mostly-intact leg of the chair that caused splinters to dig into your palm, and stepped over the body of the man who had taken you, exiting quickly.

Footsteps hurried you, and you ducked behind a booth as they approached the room you were being kept in. There were lanterns lit all around the room, giving it a warm look that greatly contrasted the cold air and feel it had.

“Shit!” Cheryl cursed, and you saw her bend down to check on the man from over the top of your booth. A radio crackled though the air, before, “Lewis is down, the girl’s out. Anybody got eyes?”

Your fingers shook and you gripped on to the booth to stop them, hearing the distorted reply of whoever was on the other end of the radio, “She ain’t got out, yet, she’s gotta be in there with you. You need backup?”

“No,” Cheryl replied, her cold voice sending shivers down your back, “I’ve got her.”

The drag of Lewis’ clothes against the floor made you peak your head up, seeing her drag him into the room, before she exited and locked him inside. You ducked back down, heart hammering. You couldn’t escape from them in an open forest — how would you get out of a locked down building?

“Come on out, kid. It’s okay, you just gotta start behaving yourself.” She called, her slow footsteps failing to mask the sound of her unsheathing her knife. It wasn’t okay, it was very far from okay, you would argue, and you could feel that crushing fear of death pushing down on your shoulders, your chest constricting once again.

You tried to reassure yourself — you had faced countless amounts of infected and come out on the other side, what was one woman with very bad intentions? But it didn’t make you feel better, not when it was another human, who could feel exactly what you felt.

Her footsteps approached, and you leaped from where you were in the booth, trying to run as far away from her as fast as you could, but she caught up to you with surprising ease, your muscles clearly weaker than initially thought, and she grasped the back of your shirt, pulling you to a stop as you fell to the ground.

“Get the fuck off of me!” You cried out as she knelt down, one knee beside you and another pressing against your stomach, knife approaching your throat as soon as she settled you firmly against the carpet. It was red.

“You could’ve made this real easy for all of us,” she muttered your name, and you froze, having forgotten the way you’d yelled it out to them in the midst of the battle. “Be a good girl, now.”

You heard gunfire outside, and when her face glanced toward the guarded front door, you twisted underneath her, pushing yourself away to find enough room to kick the knee against the floor out from under her. She fell, her chin hitting the ground with a satisfying crack, and when she cried out, anger overcame you.

“You were gonna hurt me,” You said aloud, almost as if it was a realisation, rather than just fact. Your eyes hardened, gaze going red as you snatched the knife from her weakened grip. She reached out to try and snatch it back, but only got the drops of your blood that fell from the blade as you held onto it, twisting it until you finally held the handle. “Why— why were you going to hurt me?”

Her response didn’t filter through your ears, and the rage at how easily she and Lewis were going to do it pulsed, making your vision go blurry. When she sat up, tumbling forward to take you down again, you swiped her own knife until you felt the drag of something resisting it, and then you pulled harder, feeling something warm gushing down your hand.

Cheryl’s breath stuttered slightly, her hands rising to her chest as she groaned in pain. You looked down to your hands, where they were coated in a red that was darker than the carpet below them, and you were so lost that you didn’t notice her hand coming below yours, hitting it so hard that the knife went flying to the other end of the carpet.

Like a reflex, your fists came down on her face, feeling the shift of bones beneath your knuckles as they shattered upon contact. You didn’t stop, too wrapped up in the fact that you didn’t want to die, that she was going to hurt you, to kill you when she was done, she was going to tear you apart and throw away the pieces, she was going to take away what little humanity had left, she—

Arms pulled you away from the body beneath you, arms much stronger than your own, and you screamed, yelled out with your broken voice, “I’ll kill you, I’ll fucking kill you, get off of me! I’ll kill you!”

The person shushed you, only holding tighter as you thrashed, turning away from Cheryl where she… wasn’t breathing. You stopped, tense muscles in your body going slack and burning as you stared at her, at her body, lifeless and covered in blood.

“Kid, it’s okay, it’s okay, I’ve got you.” said the person holding you— said Joel. Your hands dropped from where you had scratched his forearm, his arm covered in blood — though whether it was his, or Cheryl’s, or yours, you didn’t know.

He loosened his grip on you, eyebrows creased in concern as your entire body slipped when he moved his arms away, as if you couldn’t even hold yourself up.

“No… she— it wasn’t, I didn’t—” you trailed off, unsure of what to say, the words dead on your tongue, because you didn’t what? Didn't mean to kill her?

Joel followed your blank eyes to the body he’d pulled you from, and he turned your head towards him quickly, eyes hard. “No.” He said, and at your somewhat confused expression, he continued, “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Joel, I—”

“No,” he repeated, and pulled your head towards him, keeping you looking away from Cheryl as a gunshot rang through the room, echoing in your ears so loudly you couldn’t hear Joel at first, as he held up the smoking gun for you to see, “—killed her, see? I killed her.”

“They were going… they wanted to—” You choked on the words, feeling that bile come creeping back up your throat, and you lurched away from Joel as it came out, feeling him pull your hair back from your face.

Something in his eyes settled, however, at the choice of word you’d used — they. So this body wasn’t the only one in here? His question was answered by a bang at a door on the other side, the way your entire body flinched at the sound.

The door splintered, and a battered man came tumbling out, hurrying over to where he could see people crowded. His face went red, and he began to shout, “You fucking bitch—!”

Joel shot one between the eyes, and the man crumpled before he could get anything else out. He turned back to you, to where you were hunched in on yourself. He shoved his gun back in its rightful place, and held your cheeks between his hands, gunpowder residue transferring to your skin.

“Do you hear me?” His muted voice said, and you looked up to his face with a confused shake of your head, “It was you or them, and the only answer is you.”

“But, Joel,” you were interrupted, and he wiped the underneath of your eye of a tear that you hadn’t even known had fallen.

“No. You listen to me, remember?” Joel affirmed, and you nodded, the tears falling more now that you’d acknowledged them, your hands shaking as you tried to look past Joel, but he just pulled your face back to him. “I’ve got you, kid. Keep your eyes on me.”

You turned your face into his neck as you all but threw yourself into his arms, and they wrapped around you like they’d been waiting to do so. You missed his pained expression at the words, and the way heartache burrowed in his chest as he stood the two of you up, his knees clicking.

He swept you up, as if you were the smallest and lightest thing he’d carried in years, and he carried you away, your eyes staying glued to him as the two of you left behind the carnage he’d caused in looking for you.

[coppoladelrey]

Viserys resented Alicent

I was rewatching episode 3 Second of his name and something actually drew my attention.

It was Aegon's second birthday, which is a huge deal because that meant that he was healthy and was less likely to die, basically meaning that he was safe.

We knew that Rhaenyra was annoyed or even jealous of her two-year-old half-brother, so it was a good choice of the writers to showcase that specifically. Aegon could be considered the heir now, he was "out of the woods" one can say. Which was displayed over and over mainly by the Lannisters, the Lords were expecting Viserys to acknowledge Aegon as his heir because he finally had a male heir.

No one was willing to talk about it because death was still very likely when it came to babies in the Middle Ages, the Realm was basically holding their breath because Aegon was the first male in the Targaryen family since Daemon.

Now when it comes to Alicent and Aemma, there is a clear difference: Alicent could give Viserys what Aemma couldn't, a healthy son. Make no mistake, Viserys is not the "girl dad" that many people want to paint him as he's a man, a King and he wanted a son, this is why he butchered Aemma to get one.

We can see that Viserys was more than proud about having Aegon, he was showing him off, showering Aegon with affection in front of the whole realm. He was finally a man, finally a King in his mind and in the mind of the realm, and for the first time, he had the upper hand on his brother, which I'm assuming didn't happen often, if ever.

We can see that Viserys was in doubt to have Rhaenyra as his heir, he said so himself. But with everyone pestering him, he made up his mind that absolutely nothing would change his mind for the rest of his life.

Viserys started to see that Alicent and Aegon as not his family, only Rhaenyra and Daemon were. The answer usually is, Rhaenyra comes from the woman he loved and I do not believe that for a second, Viserys never loved Aemma. He allowed her to die without knowing what was going on and made the decision for her to get what he wanted.

But Aemma is dead now, he blames himself as he should. The fact that his first wife was dead, meant that she was going to be held on this pedestal for the rest of his life, Aemma never did anything wrong in Viserys' eyes.

Now we need to understand that in the Middle Ages, women were blamed for men not having a son. Viserys would be no different, no matter how the show tried to paint him in a good light.

He saw the girl who gave him a son and was pregnant with the next, and Alicent was healthy enough to travel for god knows how long at the end of her pregnancy. So Viserys asked himself, why couldn't Aemma do that? Why couldn't Aemma give me a son on our first try? That would get Viserys to resent Aemma, she failed her duty as she said to him in episode 1.

Viserys couldn't have that, Aemma's "failure" would smear the perfect image he carefully made in his mind. Then he focused this rage towards Alicent, the woman who did nothing but her duty.

Viserys started to rationalise that Alicent wasn't family or the children coming from him through her. All of his rage and hurt were being directed towards Alicent and her children and he started to overcompensate with Rhaenyra by allowing her to do whatever she wanted with no consequences.

In what he believed was love, he doomed his favoured child and his House simply because he couldn't reconcile the fact that he killed his first wife for what his second wife gave him. Alicent and her children paid the price for what Viserys did, which is the theme of the Dance, the decisions of one horrible person doomed his family and the realm.

[muddyorbsblr]

winter warmers collection: all wrapped up

See all the Winter Warmers pieces here! See my full list of works here!

Summary: After getting in hot water with Fury about his shenanigans that revolve around candy cane, you give Loki some advice on how to seduce someone if he really wants to go down the red and white striped road. Even if it hurt you to do so.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: 18+ | unrequited love-themed angst; smut (minors and pearl clutchers i better not see you here if you know what's good for you); p in v; oral (f receiving)

Things to be aware of: besties to lovers; some fluff peppered in there to keep it interesting

"A Team, I swear on God, Allah, and whoever else is up there in that great big blue sky that if I catch wind of one more infraction from Laufeyson, I will forbid him from exiting this floor without at least one member of the team chaperoning him to make sure that this shit will not happen again. Do I make myself clear?"

You all looked up at Fury, who was standing at the top of the stairs whereas the rest of you parked yourselves into the seats strewn about in the common room. He exuded irritation and authority in his all black getup topped with a leather trench coat, looking down at each member of the team as if you were rambunctious toddlers who had a food fight in the dining room around the fine china rather than fully grown adults rightfully confused why once again he was giving a lecture on how to handle Loki.

"Director Fury, with all due respect, what exactly did Loki do this time?" you queried, not daring to look a the raven haired god by the island currently engaged in a hushed conversation with his brother Thor. You suspected it had something to do with his notorious flirting ways with the employees of SHIELD anyways.

"Let's start with the most frequent complaints I've been hearing," the director began while descending the stairs. "He's been dressing up in a red and white striped skin-tight neoprene jumpsuit and asking employees if they wanna--Hold on, you two!" He pointed at Parker and Bishop who were sitting closer to the door, Kate carrying Stark's little girl in her lap. "Out of the room. You're too young to hear this. Take Morgan with you."

"Well shit," the little Stark uttered, making everyone turn their heads toward Tony as the three children made their way out of the common room.

"What can I say she takes after her father," Stark proudly said with an exaggerated shrug. "Continue, matey."

"I resent that," Fury shot back. "As I was saying, neoprene red and white suit, approaching employees and asking if they would like to lick his candy cane." As soon as the words flew out of Fury's mouth, Sam and Bucky broke out into fits of laughter, asking Loki if he could lend them some of his shamelessness.

You did your best to ignore the irrational white hot needles of jealously spearing through your heart at the unsurprising knowledge that yes, this meeting was about the god once again sexually propositioning anything and anyone with two legs. Of course he would constantly try with every single person he could come across. Of course he was never satisfied with whoever he brought to bed that weekend; hell, with the mental tally you kept, you found that a woman was lucky if she was even brought back for a second time.

It wasn't even like this behavior took you by surprise. Thor had once regaled you with stories of how virile his brother had been in the parties they had back in Asgard. How many princes, princesses, debutantes, and dignitaries he had corrupted in his chambers.

The blond Asgardian meant well, of course, only trying to get you all to see his brother as something more than the possessed version of himself that the initial 6 members fought back in 2012. His ridiculous stories even paved the way for you to be able to strike a conversation with the god of mischief when he did arrive on Earth, eventually giving you both the opportunity to be quite good friends.

And yet it still stung whenever you had to reconcile with the reality that that was your ceiling; that was all you'd ever be. The friend he could conspire with to play pranks on the rest of the team, the one he could drag along to try out restaurants that you just knew he was going to bring a date to as soon as you gave your thumbs up. The cuddle buddy at movie nights with the team where he'd get so bored he ended up asleep with his head resting on your shoulder.

You had all those parts of him that he never shared with any of those other people. That should be enough. That was enough.

Except for the days when you'd get constantly reminded that it meant you didn't have all of him. You simply got the rest of him when those people who shared his bed had concluded with getting the best of him. And today, with Fury holding over the threat of undergoing a two-day seminar on sexual harassment over the heads of every member of the team? Today was definitely one of those days.

"Director Fury, let me be the one to sincerely apologize for my brother's infractions. I assure you that we will not allow for this to happen again," Thor announced, walking over to Fury and clapping a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm holding you to this," he addressed the god, before turning his gaze to roam over everyone in the room. "All of you." And then he walked out of the room, shaking his head as his leather trench coat trailed behind him almost like a cape.

"Mischief, you idiot," you grumbled, storming up and out of your seat and marching toward the stairs. "Why did you have to do that in public?" You ignored the amused smirk on his face at how you chose to cap off your question. "I mean if you really wanted to seduce someone the red and white neoprene was not the way to go. You wanna seduce a chick? Show up in her bed with nothing but red ribbon wrapped around you like you're the goddamn present, and if you really insist on the candy cane thing then spiral the ribbon along the length of your--Wait hold the fuck up why am I enabling this??"

"Doll face, please keep enabling this," Bucky joked from his seat, earning glares from everyone in the room. "What? I mean I figured if I wanna up my game with beautiful women I should consult the most beautiful woman I know," he explained, motioning toward you. The honesty in his words brought a smile to your face without much effort. Why couldn't you just get over your stupid infatuation with your friend and go for someone who was actually outspoken in wanting to be with you?

"Alright," you relented with an exaggerated sigh. "Just for you, Sergeant." He leaned forward to make a show of him listening intently to your next words. "Find a way to sneak in music. If she's into the campiness of the holiday, then use one of those sexy sounding Christmas songs. And for fuck's sake, ready a drink or a snack or something. You both will be exhausted and she'll appreciate that you actually bothered to think about aftercare."

"And what about the ones who just wanna hump 'em and dump 'em like your bestie Mischief here?" Sam's words simultaneously caused Loki to let out a low grumbling sound in the veteran's direction, as well as unleashed a fit of cackles from you.

"Truly, darling?" Loki deadpanned, the slightest lilt in his voice toward the end.

"I mean you do have that reputation, Mischief," you said through your giggles. "But honestly, Sam? Do it anyway. Choose violence and ruin her for everyone else but you."

Your words broke the room out into raucous applause as you made a show of curtsying and blowing kisses to the other members of the team. "Now see here, if you actually took the time to listen to her, Jack Frost, then maybe Fury wouldn't have threatened us with a two-day seminar," Tony remarked, immediately returning your sour mood.

"Literally nobody here needs a two-day seminar on what constitutes as sexual harassment," you seethed, leaning against the nearby wall. "We know that when the pipi's shown without consent that counts. We know that if someone puts their hands on us or makes inappropriate comments when we've shown no tangible signs of attraction and interest, that that absolutely counts." You glared at the raven haired Asgardian who was currently approaching you slowly. "Loki if I have to sit through two days of people spelling out the exceedingly obvious to me because you couldn't keep it in your pants, I swear on you, Thor, and every other deity there is out there that I will cut someone--"

You words were cut off as the god tugged on your wrist and pulled you into his arms, his free hand cradling the back of your head. "I know. I know, darling, I'm sorry. I didn't realize it would hold consequences for you as well. It will not happen again."

"Agent Y/L/N, you should be out celebrating with your friends. At least your team. They're all already upstairs getting ready to exchange gifts. The paperwork can wait for the new year, I guarantee you everybody will be too drunk off their ass to even file them correctly. You'd be doing them a favor handing them in late."

You looked at Fury with an amused disbelief in your eyes. "Never thought you'd be a bad influence on us, Boss," you answered him with a chuckle. "I'm almost done anyway. I'll just…conveniently forget to turn it in until the first week of January."

"Atta girl. Oh, and before I forget, good job with Laufeyson."

Your brows knitted together in confusion. "Boss, I--I haven't worked with Loki on any missions for the last few months…"

"I'm talking about his behavior. I haven't heard any new complaints about him being a sleaze to anyone ever since that last time that I called you all in. Asked his brother about it and he just said that I 'have Y/N to thank for that'. So whatever you did, good work."

"You might not be saying that once you find out that all I did was tell him that if I ended up wasting away two perfectly good days parking my ass in a sexual harassment seminar that I would stab someone." Your words made him bellow in a fit of hearty laughs. "So really, whatever it is, it wasn't me. Wish I could tell you who to thank, though."

"Whatever you say, Y/L/N." Fury shrugged as he walked away from your desk. "Happy Holidays and all that."

"Happy Holidays," you mumbled as you finished up the last of the paperwork, putting the forms aside so that you could work on the tags for your presents to the team. You'd just begun to start on Wanda's gift when you saw movement coming toward your desk from the corner of your  eye. The silhouette was more than enough for you to surmise who it was.

"Darling, you should come upstairs." You kept at your gift tags as Loki kept approaching you, only stopping when he was in front of your desk. "I can only guard your plate for so long until my brother makes a play for it."

His jab at Thor had you chuckling quietly to yourself before you took a deep breath and returned to the lettering for Wanda's tag. "I'll be up in about twenty minutes, Mischief. Thanks." You looked up and the sight before you had you using all your strength not to make it known that your heart had dropped and shattered to the ground.

He was holding two rolls of red ribbon. One about two inches thick, the other less than half an inch thick. You were immediately brought back to your conversation with him a few weeks ago, about what he would do if he really wanted to seduce someone. He followed your gaze to the items in his hand and gave you a sheepish smile. "Let it be known I always listen to perfectly sound advice, dear Y/N," he said with a playful wink as he walked away from your desk. "I'll see you upstairs."

"Good luck," you blurted out, forcing a contrived smile onto your face as he turned around to look at you. "Whoever she is, I'm sure she'll love it." He simply  answered you with a devastatingly brilliant smile as he walked into the elevator; you waited until the doors closed before you allowed the tears to start welling in your eyes, not bothering to even wipe them away as they rolled down your cheeks.

Half an hour later you were heading up to the little party that Stark threw together for the team, your presents for each of them placed under the tree and you dressed up in an A-line tea-length dress with spaghetti straps set in a deep green rather than the more traditional and predictable poinsettia red.

"Lady Y/N!" You turned around to see Thor already halfway through a glass of whatever liquor his massive mug held. "Quite the choice of attire for tonight. I'm positive my brother would be more than flattered." He motioned toward your dress, the knowledge that you were currently wearing Loki's colors only now making itself known to you and quickly sinking into a feeling of utter mortification. "Ohh! And it is quite fortunate that I found you so early in the night; my brother told me that if I were to see you, I am to tell you that  he will not be attending this party as he is preparing a present…?"

"Yeah, I know about the present, Thunder." His eyes lit up in a strange mixture of excitement and fear. "He passed by my desk earlier and he was holding rolls of ribbon. He's the present. He's off to seduce some Midgardian girl. Lucky bitch." You finished your sentence with a huff, tilting your head toward the ceiling and willing yourself not to start tearing up in front of Thor; he wasn't nearly drunk enough to forget this yet.

"Oh no…" he signed, lightly placing a hand on your shoulder. "My friend, surely by now you know--"

"You know what? I'm over it," you blurted out, throwing your hands up in surrender. "He can do whatever he wants, he's a big boy he can take care of himself." You placed your hand over his. "Happy Holidays, Thunder."

A few minutes of picking at the food on your plate decided your course of action for the night. And none of it involved staying with the team as they merrily exchanged their presents and got so drunk off their asses that they'd be unable to take care of themselves in the morning. You declared yourself the designated caretaker to the children and the team tomorrow and began the journey back to your apartment.

"Babes!" You turned around to find Natasha and Wanda arm in arm, drinks in hand. "You're leaving already?" You nodded at them. "Nooooo but you just got here and you look hot and we haven't even exchanged presents yet."

"I'm not in the partying mood, Babes," you answered with a sad smile. "I'll only be a downer. You all go open presents without me I'll probably just bully Thor into gathering mine for me so I can open them in my apartment tomorrow or something."

"Really? Not Loki?" Wanda queried, slurring her words and swaying slightly in Nat's hold.

The bitterness seeped into your heart again as you answered, "He's not here tonight. Too busy getting busy. Probably with someone from Operations or where the fuck ever."

"But I thought--"

"Wan, it's fine," Nat cut off the sorceress. "Y/N, Babes, you don't have to stay if you're not feeling up to it. We'll see you in the morning." They both approached you and wrapped you into a stumbling embrace. "Besides, at least one person in the unholy trinity should be sober in the morning to take care of the others' hungover asses."

"Carbo load," you told them simply. "There's a tray of pasta in the catering table, I checked. And if that's not enough, I'll see about making you two some grilled cheeses after the party wraps up."

"You're the best," Wanda sighed, resting her head on your shoulder. "Merry ho ho."

You couldn't help but let out a laugh as you pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Merry ho ho, Wanda." Nat helped pull her off of you so that could continue heading up to your apartment. Once you were only a few more meters away from home, your phone rang. A look at the Caller ID had your heart pumping erratically. Loki.

"Just in case no one's told you yet, darling," he spoke once you answered the call. "You look resplendent. Absolutely regal."

You scoffed into the phone, rolling your eyes at his words. "You're not even here, Mischief. I could be wearing a potato sack for all you know."

"And even then my words would still ring true."

Dammit, why did he have to make it so hard to not love him?Life would be so much easier if those words didn't hit me right in the heart. You sighed at his usual brand of what you lovingly referred to as "friendzone flirting". "So that was fast," you commented, your poor attempt at steering the conversation toward him and far away from you.

"What was?"

"Your seduction," you said as plainly as you could manage. "I know what that ribbon was for, Mischief. Don't even think about placing that back in the gift wrapping stock when you're done with it."

"Not quite," he answered you with a light laugh. "See, it hasn't begun yet."

You could feel what little food you had at the party start to come up at his implication. So he was calling you before he fucked his latest conquest because what? Why? Because he was bored waiting for her to put on her lingerie that he was gonna snap of anyways?

"Where are you, Y/N?" he asked with an even voice, as if he were almost cooing.

"Walking back to my apartment.  Actually scratch that. I'm right at the door," you answered as you unlocked the front door. When you were finally inside, you were taken aback at the sight of a golden drinks trolley by the entry table, containing two mugs, a jar of what you assumed was powdered sugar, a box that said Harry & David Hot Cocoa Bombs, and little containers of marshmallows, candy canes, and a little cinnamon shaker. "What the--"

"I used my key to your apartment to place my present for you." Something in his tone made it obvious to you that he was nervous about this.

"You got me a hot cocoa bar? That's--Damn, Mischief, I don't know what to say--"

"That's not quite the present, darling," he cut you off. "That's for after."

"After?" You walked toward your bedroom, ready to just kick off your heels and soak in the tub until you felt your unwarranted heartache melt away. "After what?"

Something from his end made you stop in your tracks. You could hear a woman's voice from his end, which was expected. What wasn't expected what that the voice…was yours.

"Loki, where are you?" you asked shakily, your heart beginning to pound in your chest as your brain tried to reconcile what you thought was happening. You pressed your ear to your door, dreading both the answer and what you would hear from your bedroom.

"Laying in bed, darling." Your free hand clutched at your chest as you heard his voice both from the phone pressed to your ear and from the door. He was there. "Truthfully my plans for tonight were not to seduce another nameless faceless Midgardian whose face I would end up enchanting in order for them to resemble the visage of the one I truly wish to share my bed."

"Really now?" you breathed out, your mind running a mile at minute at his words. At what they implied. "And what exactly were your plans for tonight, Mischief?"

"To lay out my heart to the woman who owns it, as well as my body if she'll have me. See, she and everyone around us have this image of me that I am a philanderer, and I fear that even if I tell her the truth of my whorish ways that she would simply choose to not believe me. I would understand. After all, it would not be so easy to believe that in my mind I have only ever been with her, that as I mentioned earlier I enchant the faces of those I lay with so that my eyes see her face looking up at me instead of an insignificant stranger's. That I love her beyond comprehension and seeing the obvious pain in her eyes the last few weeks as she looked upon me have felt like someone had taken my own daggers to my heart and twisted the blade. I knew I had to make right the wrongs I hadn't even been aware I'd done."

"Loki--"

"Open the door, darling. Please." You could hear his voice wavering as he said the words. "Let me see you."

You took a deep breath as you clutched your door handle, bracing yourself for whatever sight may greet you. Though you already knew what you would see: His godly form bared and wrapped in a festive red ribbon. Like a present.

Your present.

The image of him performing the over the top gesture in your imagination, however, was nothing compared to seeing said gesture with your own eyes. He truly was one of those exceptions wherein reality surpassed fantasy.

You steeled your expression into one of feigned indifference, one that he absolutely saw right through but you did it regardless, as your eyes roamed his sculpted physique, the red ribbon wrapped intricately around his torso that would come off in a dramatic flourish with one tug at the bow settled on the center of his chest. And attached to the thicker ribbon wrapped around him was the thinner ribbon leading to--

Goddamn he really did it. Candy cane dick.

"You look so divine it would put all the goddesses in Olympus and Asgard alike to shame," he spoke softly. You instinctively looked away to prevent yourself from any rash decisions when his eyes roamed over your body and you saw the candy cane twitch.

"And you look ridiculous," you choked out, your voice not even holding a shred of conviction. A lie so bad you may as well have worn a neon red sign saying This bitch lying.

He held out his hand towards you, beckoning you to him. "Come here and unwrap your present then, my love."

Your knees buckled at his words. "Your love," you echoed, though your tone was so laced with doubt that it sounded more like a question than anything else. When you reached your bed and placed your hand in his he sat up on the bed and pulled your hand toward him, placing a kiss on your knuckles.

"Yes," he answered you with a soft smile, his eyes looking up at you with such veneration it stole whatever breath you had left in your lungs. He placed his hands on either side of your body as he pulled you close enough so that he could press several kisses to your clothed stomach. "It's you, darling. Since the moment your eyes met mine."

His hands traveled down to the sides of your thighs, guiding you to rest your knees on either side of him on the bed, straddling his hips. Once your faces were level, you could see so clearly the emotions swimming in his eyes as he leaned forward to press a soft kiss to your cheek, so gently it was almost as if he were afraid you'd break.

"Then why all those--"

"I valued your company too much that I dared not risk it simply because I desired your body," he explained in hushed tones, as if he was confessing to you, as if they were words of contrition. "You were too precious for me to lose to my own lust. And so whenever I felt the urge to shatter our friendship, I would find another to unleash those desires upon. It mattered not who. Even when I would deceive my own eyes I knew it would never be enough, and--"

"And in the process of finding another after another with the intention of preserving our friendship, you instead shattered me," you cut him off, your bottom lip quivering and your heart breaking with the effort you were exerting to not sob and yell your words out. "Every. Single. Time." He pulled away to look into your eyes, already brimming with unshed tears threatening to escape. Your next words barely came out a whisper. "I can't. I refuse to be another notch in your bedpost."

"You won't be," he pleaded, brushing the tips of his fingers lightly across your cheek. "I love you, Y/N. You are all I would ever desire. All I have ever desired since the moment we met."

You placed your hands on his shoulders, bracing yourself both physically and emotionally for the next words you were about to let out. "I love you, Loki." The smile on his face was so blindingly brilliant and rife with relief as he leaned in with the clear intent of pressing his lips to yours; however, you pushed back against his shoulders, earning you a confused look from the god. "If we do this, the sleeping around stops. Okay? Because I won't share you—"

He silenced you by pulling you towards him, your chests flush against each other, claiming your lips in a kiss that oozed of yearning and ages of repressed love. The moment you opened your mouth to him and your tongues met, you both sighed into each other's mouths in audible contentment. "I am yours, my love," he panted as he pulled away. "All of me. I do not intend to be shared, just as I have no intentions of sharing you if you would be mine."

His. That sounded like a dream. A beautiful fantasy too blissful to be true. "Yours…" You tested the word on your tongue as if it was such a foreign concept. "I'd like that," you said softly as you ran your hands along his shoulders, traveling down to his chest and the bow situated in its center, a loving smile stretching across his face as you did so. "So…if I tug on this it all comes falling off?" 

He placed his hand over yours, placing a tender kiss on your neck before whispering against your skin, "We need not go further if you're not ready to be intimate with me yet. We could stay doing exactly what we were just moments ago for the rest of  and I would be content. Because it's you. I am finally with you." He traced his lips along your jaw and up back to your mouth, claiming it once again in a soft kiss. "Only when you are ready, tell me. Or tug on the end of the bow and—"

"Yeah you can save the speech, Mischief. I'm ready," you cut him off, pulling at the end of the bow and watching the ribbon unravel with a dramatic flourish down to the bed. "I love you, and I want you to make me yours." His smile turned mischievous as he pulled the entirety of the ribbon off and away from him, his hands then returning to your thighs, skimming under the hem of your dress. "You're not pretending anymore," you cooed.

"And yet a fraction of this reality with you is worlds better than any illusion I'd ever conjured." His words sounded so reverent that they alone sent a rush of arousal pooling between your legs, worsening the state of your already drenched panties. His hands inched up slowly, hiking up the bottom of your dress along the way. He looked at you with an uncharacteristically timidity in his eyes, as if he was asking for permission. "May I?"

His hesitation unleashed something you could only describe as desperate in you. Desperate for more of his touch. His kisses. That lust he'd mentioned earlier that he didn't want to risk losing you to. You wanted him to lose himself to that desire now. Craved it, even. Your words from weeks ago echoed in your mind, a wicked grin playing at the corners of your mouth as they came to the forefront of your thoughts.

You wanted to ruin him. For everyone else but you. And vice versa.

As if he hadn't already ruined you the moment you walked in and spotted him all wrapped up like the best Christmas present you'd ever receive for the rest of your days.

You ran your hands down the length of his arms, hooking them under the bunched up hem of your dress and pulling the garment over your head, haphazardly throwing it down to the floor, joining the ribbon. His eyes lit up as his gaze roamed all the newly exposed skin to him, immediately leaning forward and pressing his lips to the skin above your heart and proceeding to trace the outline of your bra with his lips. "No more pretending," he breathed out, the slightly cool air of his exhalation chilling your heated skin by the slightest.

"No more pretending," you echoed with a satisfied grin pulling at your mouth. You brought your hands to his shoulders once more, urging him to look at you. Once he did you pressed a fevered kiss to his lips before groaning against him, "But I want you to fuck me as if you were."

Loki pulled your hips flush against his, both of you letting out an obscene moan as your drenched clothed core made contact with his hardened member. "No," he growled, reaching behind you to undo your bra, the undergarment falling unceremoniously to the ground and joining your dress. "Perhaps another night, my darling." He maneuvered your bodies until you were laying down on the bed, him hovering over you and looking up at you through his lashes. "This is not something that deserves to be over in minutes."

"Minutes?" you huffed in utter shock and disbelief. "What happened, they tap out?"

"Frustration on my part," he answered you simply, beginning to trail kisses across your collarbone and down your chest. "Because despite my greatest efforts my mind could not be deceived. They weren't you. None of them were you." He went on a path down your body, briefly taking each of your nipples into his mouth and laving his tongue over the stiffened peak, down your stomach, and stopping at your mound. "I can tell you now, my love, that this will not last for mere minutes. I intend to take my time with you."

As soon as he said those words, you let out a sharp gasp as he so effortlessly snapped apart the sides of your panties and pulled the fabric off of your body, proceeding to place your thighs on his shoulders and lift you off the bed. Just enough that your shoulders and upper back were still laying flat, but also enough that it would take great effort for you to find the leverage to squirm away from him if you wanted to.

You twisted your body in his hold so much that he seemingly casually laid his forearm across your lower stomach as he continued to subject you to wave after wave of relentless pleasure, steadily ramping you up to an orgasm that threatened to leave you boneless. "Oh my darling," he groaned against your skin, the vibrations from his voice sending a delicious thrill throughout your entire body. "I could devour you for hours."

The whimper that escaped your mouth felt so uncharacteristic for you. Then again everything about tonight felt unfamiliar to some degree. "Loki," you whined, prompting him to close his lips around your clit and flick his tongue mercilessly against the overly sensitive bundle of nerves, and letting out a scandalous moan against the desperately over-sensitized nub that send you over the edge. You screamed his name as your back arched off the bed, the haze of your climax making you only vaguely aware of how he held you still as you rode out your release on his tongue.

He set your legs back down on the bed and you were thankful for the reprieve, allowing you a few moments to catch your breath; however, the rest was short lived, as he gripped your hips and pulled you toward him until your ass sat atop his thighs, and he placed a hand under your back to prop you up and face him, pulling you in for a kiss so deliciously carnal as your tongues tangled together and you could taste yourself on him.

"I love you," he panted once he pulled away, bringing his hand down between you and lining his cock up at your entrance. He wrapped his other arm around you and held you close, pressing his lips softly along your neck and shoulder as you eased yourself onto him inch by inch, biting your lip as you felt the mixture of pain and pleasure as your walls stretched to accommodate him.

He moaned against your neck once you'd fully sheathed him inside of you, the backs of your thighs resting deliciously on the tops of his. You laid your hand on his chest as the other wrapped around the back of his neck, doing your best to move and set a pace for you both but even the slightest shift sent rippling shocks of pleasure all over your body that all you could do was rest your head against his shoulder and desperately whimper his name time and time again.

Those whimpers quickly became moans as he held your hips firmly and began to guide your body up and down along his length, capturing your lips in a desperate, nearly harsh kiss that proved effective in muffling the tell-tale screams of pleasure being elicited from both of you.

What started as a tender, sensual pace quickly turned frenzied as you both began to chase each other's pleasure, your hips finally moving of their own accord and allowing his hands to roam your body, his lips doing much of the same. When your paces grew staggered he moved you to lie back on the bed, your back once again flat against the mattress, and he hooked your legs around his waist as he drove into you mercilessly.

"Please," you cried out, feeling the coil tightening in your lower stomach once again. "I don't think--"

"Oh you can, my love," he countered you as he pressed his lips to your shoulder in a sloppy open mouthed kiss, your brain fogging once more as you felt him flicking his tongue against your skin, and his hand moving between you to start rubbing tight circles on the swollen bud. "Come with me," he coaxed as he proceeded to kiss along the shell of your ear, your moans echoing around your bedroom as his thrusts became slower, but harder.

Your legs shook with how hard your climax hit you, not even thinking you could manage it since you'd never done it before, but it truly didn't take you by surprise that Loki had managed to do just that as he somehow hit every sweet spot inside of you with every move. He reached his own peak as your walls clenched around him, his hips jerking against yours as he finally reached his release inside of you.

"You know, if I'm gonna be honest, I would've thought that you would've gone for the gold ribbon," you told Loki as you two were sat at the little kitchen island in your apartment, both of you nursing your own mug of hot cocoa as the god held your calf in his free hand, his thumb gently stroking your skin. "I know we had some in the stock room last I checked."

"Well, my darling, you would be correct. But when I arrived at the stock room earlier today someone else had already taken the gold. That was when I knew I had to hasten my steps, make it here before…" he trailed off.

"Before what?" you asked with a chuckle.

He took a deep breath before placing his mug down and reaching over to take yours from your hand, setting it down as well, before he pulled you back onto his lap and captured your lips in a kiss that felt both possessive and desperate all at once. "This does mean that you are mine now, dear Y/N. Yes?" he asked when he pulled away, shock flooding your system when you saw the vulnerability in his eyes as he said the words.

"Of course," you breathed out, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. "You're stuck with me now, Mischief."

"I would have it no other way, my love." He wrapped his arms around you, one of his hands reaching up to weave his fingers through your hair. "Y/N before I made it to your apartment, I'd heard that one of the men on our team was trying to find a way into your apartment to follow the advice you'd given us weeks ago as well."

That reveal had taken you aback, your eyes widening as your brain tried to process the new information. "I'll be honest, Loki. If I walked in here and found someone else ribbon-clad in my bed I would've kicked them out. Walk of shame style. Tonight wouldn't have ended the way it did if it wasn't you."

Those words made him pull you in for another kiss, sighing into your mouth as he pulled you even closer to him, your bodies completely flush against each other.

"I'm glad you got the red, though," you said, a wicked smile pulling at the corners of your mouth as he looked at you with confusion rife in his icy stare. "I liked the candy cane look on you." You struggled to move away from him as he trapped you in his arms, proceeding to tickle your sides and render you into a giggling mess.

"My beautiful little menace," he chuckled as his onslaught ceased, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "Do you not even wish to know who it was that would have walked in shame out of your apartment had you found him instead?"

"You know what…I kinda am…mostly because I want to picture their walk of shame in gold ribbon. Who was it?"

You broke out into another fit of laughter, your body shaking uncontrollably as he held you against him as soon as he uttered the name. "Barnes."

A/N: Omg I'm so happy to finally finish this story and finish off the idea that's been running around my brain since Monday 😂 "Candy Cane Dick" story is finally done. SAS, if you know you know 😏

Everything tag list: @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @imalovernotahater @mygfloki @lucylaufeyson3 @thomase1 @springdandelixn @fictive-sl0th @mochie85 @laliceee @xorpsbane @gigglingtigger @silverfire475 @cabingrlandrandomcrap @vickie5446 @salempoe @lokixryss @sinsandguilt @lokidbadguy @alexakeyloveloki @glitterylokislut @arch-venus25 @freefrommars @littlemortals @cakesandtom @girl-of-multi-fandoms @mischief2sarawr @thedistractedagglomeration @five-miles-over @goblingirlsarah @peaches1958 @huntress-artemiss @lilibet261 @iobsessoverfictionalmen @holymultiplefandomsbatman @lovingchoices14 @avoliax @devilsadvocactus @purplegrrl27 @lokiprompts @sititran @imherefortomhiddleston @ladyjames78 @stupidthoughtsinwriting @kikster606 @evelyn-kingsley @kats72 @ronnieissupermegafoxyawesomehot @creationsbyme @coldnique

[princess-of-the-corner]

Given wat Gabe did to her in canon, I tend to go the opposite with Chloe finding out. It more being a "I knew you were fucking evil!" and so she's either terrified or just overwhelmingly enraged or both depending on the scenario.

Then again I also tend to have her be a bit more mixed on Emilie too.

Basically, given the prospect of Adrien not being able to go to school has her breaking down into a wreck even though they barely interacted. I feel her desire for him to be there has to be rooted more in concern for him than anything.

As a result, while she might not consciously realize Adrien's family situation is abusive (In the same way Adrien is just kind of surprised at how cruel Audrey is but not really put out by it) she does realize its not good for him and so Emilie never stepping up when she was the one more inclined to hear Adrien means Chloe has... Complex feelings about her.

Basically, Chloe: "Emilie was a kind woman who Adrien adored and I found pleasant but distant. However she was also weak, and that weakness meant she never did enough for Adrien. I resent her for that, but only a little, because really, what else could one expect from the weaker half in a relationship? It'd be like expecting Sabrina to hold me to task, against their nature."

She'd definitely still be willing to help bring her bac on Adrien's behalf and also out of a little bit of desperation. "If I help bring Emilie back there's no way Adrien would ever stop being my friend and leave me like everyone else I love leaves me." But I tend to think her relationship with Gabriel would be a combo of irritation and nervousness that can escalate to anger and dread.

But that's me.

I don't mean that 'she's not scared of him' in the way that she thinks he's a good person.

But in that she now knows it's Gabriel. Adrien's shitty loser dad.

Hawkmoth is an unknown. She doesn't know his abilities, his limits, his morals. She doesn't know how he thinks and why he does things the way he does them.

Gabriel? She's been dealing with him for years. And while these actions are a step up in his game, it's still Gabriel. She knows the way he thinks. She knows how to play him to get what she wants from him. She knows how to plan for him to double cross her. Worst case scenario, she knows where to find him to knock him upside the head with a frying pan.

[sisterspooky1013]

Gaslight, Chapter 19/48

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

Morristown, NJ

The revelation that she was never meant to be a mother is one that it took her decades to come to. Once she did, a lot of things about her life that have always puzzled her suddenly made sense.

That’s not to say that she didn’t love her children. In fact, that’s what made the revelation so hard to come by. She’s always loved them, from the moment they took their first breaths. It wasn’t the children themselves that were the issue; it was the mothering.

Fox was the sweetest baby. His cherubic little face made her heart ache when the nurses placed him in her arms at the hospital. She was told again and again by friends and neighbors that Fox was such a good baby, so curious and easy to care for. He hardly ever fussed compared to most of their children. This left her wondering why she felt such vehement resentment towards him for needing her so much when he wailed for milk at 2:00 am.

Women are meant to be mothers. That’s what she’d always been told. She expected it to come to her naturally, as easily as walking and talking. But that wasn’t the case, and she felt defective and ashamed. She hoped that things would be different the second time. Then Samantha came along and made her aware just how easy of a baby Fox really was.

It was constant. Someone was always needing her, crying for her, tugging on the hem of her dress. Bill was never home, and when he was, he may as well have been an apparition for how much help offered. When Fox started school it got a little better, and when Samantha joined him she at least had school hours to herself. She’d start to think that maybe she missed them, and then they’d walk in the door squabbling and something thick and sour would rise in her throat. Hatred. Not towards the children themselves—she was intelligent enough to understand that they were simply behaving as typical children do. But the mothering. The mothering made her want to swallow a whole bottle of valium with her nightly glass of wine.

And then there was Carl, always lurking around somewhere in the background. Sometimes he ignored her, and other times he showered her with gifts and attention, cornered her in the pantry and promised her the world. They could run away together, make a new life in Guam or Puerto Rico. She strongly considered it, especially when Fox was out of diapers and it seemed likely that Bill would be able to find some kind young woman to marry him and be a proper mother to Fox. But then she realized she was pregnant with Samantha, and Carl told her that he wanted to be around to see the children grow up. He wasn’t even their father and he was still more interested in being a part of their life than she was.

Shortly before Samantha disappeared, he asked her a bizarre hypothetical question regarding which of the children she would give up, if she had to choose. She balked, but he pressed her, and finally she said Samantha. Not because she loved Samantha less than Fox, but because mathematically, there were fewer years until Fox left home and she could be free again. By the time she realized that the question wasn’t hypothetical at all, it was too late. The heavy guilt she wore draped over her shoulders like a shawl didn’t allow her to enjoy having only one—highly self sufficient—child to look after. It didn’t allow her to feel relieved when Fox moved across the Atlantic ocean to attend college. It didn’t allow her to feel anything, really, ever again.

Many years later, when Samantha was long since gone and Fox was away at Oxford, she met a young woman at the Country Club who was vibrant and self-assured. They got to talking, and it came to light that the woman was well into her forties, though she looked and acted more like she was twenty-five.

“How old are your children?” she’d asked the woman, wondering how someone could find such joy in life amidst all the mothering.

“Oh, I don’t have children,” the woman corrected her, seemingly unoffended.

“I’m sorry. Were you not able to?” she asked, feeling a pang of jealousy.

“I could have, as far as I know,” the woman said plainly. “I just never wanted any. Kids are great, but I’ve just never had any desire to have my own. My husband feels the same way, so we’re well matched in that regard.”

She almost felt silly that she’d never come to the same conclusion herself. She knew that she wasn’t a great mother, but until that moment she’d always chalked it up to a personal defect. At that moment, she understood that she wasn’t meant to be a mother at all; she never should have had children in the first place. But it just wasn’t an option you considered in her time. Young women grew up and became wives and mothers. Regardless of whether they wanted to. Regardless of whether they were any good at it.

But by then it was too late. Fox and Samantha were gone, literally and figuratively. She hoped that as two adults, she and Fox might find their own way to relate to one another, to cultivate a relationship that was not predicated on her having birthed and raised him. But she found that his wounds were too deep and too raw, and her guilt over having inflicted them still too heavy. She was proud of him, so very proud of who he became in light of how little she and Bill did for him aside from providing food and shelter. But even that motherly pride was not something she felt entitled to. Fox became the man he is despite her, not because of her.

The Paget’s Carcinoma diagnosis felt like poetic justice, in a way. Her breasts, which were designed to feed and nurture babies, would ultimately be the end of her. The grisly, painful end. She knew that she could call up Carl, enlist the help of his mysterious doctors and unorthodox treatments, but why? Why keep on living this way? Fox would never forgive her for how she failed him, nor would she forgive herself. She made her decision, and she felt at peace with it. Her hand was on the phone, ready to call Fox and say her final goodbye, when it started ringing and she found Carl on the other end.

He presented it as a second chance. A way to right all their wrongs. He couldn’t bring Samantha back, but he could give her a dignified death, and make her loss less traumatizing for Fox than what really happened. He could re-write history, make her the kind of mother who baked cookies for Fox’s friends on Friday afternoons and cheered for him on the sidelines of his basketball games. And she and Carl could finally be together, Bill nothing but a footnote in the deleted scenes. It would be like everything had gone the way it was supposed to, and Fox would truly be happy. That was the selling point that finally won her over: a chance to give Fox the mother he deserved, and the life that came along with it.

It was like a game for Carl to construct the optimal childhood. Did they take Fox and Samantha to Disneyland before she died, or did they just take Fox by himself afterward? Why not both?! Carl coached his Little League team, Teena was the chair of the PTA. Samantha died peacefully in her bed with her family by her side. They carried on, made new memories, flew to Oxford for Fox’s graduation. Fox met Diana at the Academy and they were married on the Vineyard. It all felt so incredibly perfect.

But seeing Fox’s face when Diana brought him by for dinner, calling him by the name of Carl’s other, forgotten son, made her nauseous. The placid, comfortable looks on Carl and Diana’s faces baffled her. How were they so unbothered? She’s not sure this was the right thing to do. She’s not sure that Fox is really any better off now than he was before. She’s not sure she is.

Her reverie is interrupted by the ringing of the telephone.

“Spender residence, Teena speaking,” she says roughly, her throat thick with emotion.

“Hey Mom, it’s me.”

Her shoulders slump with the weight of the guilt.

“Hello, Jeffrey, how are you?”

“I’m okay. I wanted to ask you about something, and it’s going to sound really strange, but I need you to hear me out,” he says, his tone severe.

Her heart pushes up into her throat. He knows something.

“Okay, I’ll do my best,” she tells him, half hoping he’ll give her an opening to just come out with it.

“Was I…when I was born, was there another baby? Was I a twin?” he asks, and her fear is replaced with confusion.

“What? No, of course not.”

“Mom,” he says, his tone pleading. “Is there any way there was another baby? Were you given any medication that might impact your memory, like that…what was it that they used to give women in labor so they wouldn’t remember the pain?”

“Twilight sleep,” she answers flatly.

“Yes, twilight sleep. Were you given anything like that?” Fox—Jeff—her son, replies.

“No, Jeff,” she says tightly. “I was alert and I remember my entire labor with you, and your birth. There was only one. Why are you asking me this?”

Clearly something has tipped him off, and she’d feel safer if she knew what. There is a pause long enough that she almost asks if he’s still on the line.

“Can I share this with you in confidence? You won’t tell Dad…or Diana?” he asks.

It’s painful, all that she’s done to him and is still doing now. But this moment in which her son is trusting her with sensitive information, where his inclination in a time of difficulty was to reach out to her—his mother—is such a balm on her heart that she feels tears flood her eyes.

“Of course, Jeff,” she assures him. “You have my word.”

“Twice in the past week, someone has mistaken me for another man. A man who goes by ‘Mulder.’ Does that mean anything to you?”

I, Elizabeth Ann Kuipers, take you, William Richard Mulder, to be my lawfully wedded husband.

We proudly introduce our son, Fox William Mulder, born October 13th 1961 at Martha’s Vineyard Hospital.

“No, Jeff, I can’t say that it does,” she lies. Why do lies always come more easily than the truth?

Fox sighs, and she pictures him running his hand over his head and across the back of his neck like he’s done since he was a child. Since Samantha was taken. Since his life turned down a darkened path.

“Okay,” he huffs, disappointed. “Sorry to bother you, Mom. How are things going? How’s Dad?”

“Dad is fine,” she says, thinking of Bill, cold in the ground. As much as he saw and was party to in his time on Earth, she’s glad he did not live to see this. “We were just going to watch some television.”

“I won’t keep you,” he says. “Thanks for talking with me, Mom. I love you.”

Her chest becomes so unbelievably tight that she cannot form words, just an insufficient, “Mmhmm.”

The line goes dead, and she replaces the phone back on the receiver.

“Who was that, dear?”

She looks up to see Carl in the doorway, that unsettling smile on his mouth. She liked him better when he didn’t try to replicate normal human emotions. When he just told her sweet lies, fucked her over the sink in her powder room in Chilmark, and let her believe that life could be anything but miserable.

“No one. Telemarketer,” she answers. Lying doesn’t always feel bad. Sometimes, it feels very, very good.

She was never meant to be a mother, but maybe she can be a friend to her son. Maybe she can slip him a key to the exit, even if she’s the one who locked the door in the first place.

Tagging @today-in-fic

[quirklessidiot]

Can you tell more about nocuos? That last ep got me in on a sukuna brain rot and i love how you wrote him there

I got questions like did they do it😏 did sukuna still love her etc

hi! Nocuos!sukuna is actually my favorite one shot series. Hshsjsjs thank u for reading and giving it some love!

when y/n is old during the first part (where he visits her for the last time), he is filled with conflict and leans more onto resentment than love but its because y/n is sukuna’s humanity. He can’t kill her because deep down, he can’t do it (y/n was basically his savior, the one who game him a name, the one who gave him a life, a potential. She basically made him and has been through it all with him. She basically has loved him through those various stages. Despite the number of fights they had, he could never bear to gravely hurt her because it would feel like killing himself and at that time, he wasnt ready because it was still fresh. in the third part where u see her worrying over him a lot and wondering if he’d come back and he states, “im not going anywhere”. He genuinely meant that, he’s basically holding onto the thin thread thats tied to her)

she is the last of good within sukuna, u can say that when she passed due to old age, he was filled with grief and relief as well because the last thing tying him to humanity was gone.(u also have to take note that y/n did not bear any heirs or anyone to pass the name to despite people telling her to do it because she did not want to marry anyone that wasn’t sukuna so sukuna is basically the last remaining member of the clan by name… but by blood, their jujutsu technique was lost in history and well sukuna is relieved because i don’t think he’d have the heart to actually face her heirs.) ive always noted how in jujutsu clans they all have a certain physical look to them (like the zen’in’s for example), so he’d feel haunted because if he’d ever run into them, it would be like staring at a remnant of a time with the woman who loved him through it all. when u read the part of them meeting when she was old and gray, he states that they were friends and y/n only holds resentment to that statement and becomes very bitter because they both know that it was anything but that, y/n saw him as her true pair and he thought the same but him saying that out loud is basically a spit to the face because she genuinely still loves him despite what he did so for him to downplay it😮‍💨

And yes, they were each others firsts! Y/n’s father actually approved of him to be y/n’s husband because he knew he was genuine about his daughter and wouldn’t try to stage a coup to take over the clan. Their clan was pretty ahead of their time lololo

[calenhads]

bite the hand (1k, sabina/lachlan)

Sabina is sick with it, all the hatred in her heart. 

It simmers under her lungs, the ruddy glow of coals on a midnight fire, the trembling ashes of the Undying Hearth. It is quiet now; not sated, but no longer clamoring for her attention with all the fervor of a yipping dog at her heel. A small mercy granted only because she is too exhausted to feel anything at all beyond the time-worn cloth of her trousers under her hands. Sodden strands of hair stick to her forehead, teased by a cool breeze gentle as a lover’s kiss. Her face is flushed, she knows, because of the way Lachlan keeps stealing sidelong glances at her.

Though present, worry is not the only emotion to cross his night-dark eyes. She almost wants to scold him, scandalized. A spark lights among the ashes, glimmering and notably not exhausted. 

“Again,” she says instead, pushing herself to her full height. Not quite taller than him. Bile rises in her throat at the movement, and is swallowed back down. Sabina draws, rapier light in one hand and dagger lighter in the other. Lachlan’s face twists into an expression she does not recognize, and speaks in a voice that she does.

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. When did you even sleep last, Sa-“

“Again, damn you.”

Sabina hurtles towards her dearest friend, her lover if the world was kinder, with no small amount of tremulous energy. Lachlan raises his sword to meet her in a parry effortless enough to set that little spark into a flame. 

She gasps against the heat of it, and is surprised that her breath does not turn to steam in the cool air. Something within her bares its teeth, snapping at any errant hands. Come to stroke or to strike, they are bitten all the same. Arms straining, Lachlan shoves her back and away a handful of stumbling steps. 

“Sab, come on,” he pleads with wide eyes. His offhand is help up, palm facing her, placating. She has never resented anything more in her life. 

“I’m not done,” she snarls, more beast than woman. 

She lunges again, mad with grief and fury and denial as Lachlan diverts her flashing blades with his own. What a picture she must make, teeth bared and eye-whites flashing, stern brows furrowed even as her body trembles. A rabid animal in desperate need of the knife.

“You are,” he disagrees with the pleasant air of someone speaking to a particularly petulant child. “You really are.”

He’s not even trying anymore, not really. With each ragged breath her blows become sloppier, her responses slower. Lachlan is hardly sweating, only a single bead rolling down his impeccable brow. She likes that brow, normally. When it’s not condescending at her with only the tiniest of wrinkles to betray his pity. It always seemed heroic to her. Now it makes her want to claw and bite and scream until it is ruined. Until they are both ruined in their entirety. 

Sabina wants to take him to the grave. She wants to take him to bed. Are they not one and the same, in the end? She is surely making one of each for herself to lay in at the end of all this. Lachlan is merely providing the shovel. 

And perhaps company.

Something in her expression must change, because Lachlan’s guard drops and his expression softens. His brows untwist from the knot they tangled themselves in out of sheer worry. A mistake.

Barely registering the dull thud of her weapons against the sea-damp dirt, Sabina lurches forward with arms outstretched, and Lachlan steps forward to meet her. To catch her, if she’s interested in being honest with herself.

She’s sure she meant to kiss him, or bite him, or hit him, or any manner of things that are not the embrace she falls into instead. His arms, strong and covered only by the thin cotton of his undershirt, are warm around her. Unbearably warm, warring with the flame licking at her heart. Perhaps it is not rage that pulls at her, but longing. Or perhaps she is merely exhausted beyond all hope of understanding.

Either way, the beast quietens as she is restrained, as her body finally goes limp. She buries her face into his neck, breathing damp against his skin. 

“You’re burning up,” he whispers into her hair as one firm hand rises to cup the nape of her neck. “I was serious about the sleep thing. You’ve been up how long now?”

Sabina makes incoherent noises against his throat just to feel him shiver. 

He hums a question in response, a paper-thin attempt to stay focused that she can see right through. Above, she is certain his eyes have grown darker still.

“Too long,” she says, more clearly this time. Twenty-six hours and fourty-three minutes, she does not say. Her real answer would invoke even more misplaced, eyebrow-knotting concern than she wants to deal with at the moment. Not that she hasn’t ever been awake longer… but Lachlan would not like that argument either. Felix certainly hadn’t, at the time.

It’s no easy task to withdraw from his arms, but Sabina manages after a steadying breath. He still smells of woodsmoke from the fire, of the plain soap that her not-so-royal coffers can hardly afford. Sabina has no intentions of finding out what she smells like.

Upright again, she pats him once, abruptly, on the left side of his chest with a — weak, tired, wan — beatific smile. 

“I suppose it’s time for me to retire,” she says with a yawn, stretching her heavy arms above her head as if it will quell her rising nausea. “Join me if you will.”

Lachlan laughs, shaking his head in what can only be disbelief. Not rejection, not yet. Sabina’s eyes dart towards his.

“As your nursemaid, maybe. You’ll pass out the second you get horizontal. Maybe wake up in a state of feverish delirium hours from now,” comes his answer, along with a broad hand on her shoulder. Softer, he murmurs, “Go to sleep. I’ll send in Felix to watch over you.”

Unbothered, Sabina nods and the world wavers at the edges as she does. The moment has passed, and done so long ago. She retrieves her abandoned weapons from the soil, and goes to bed.

[horizon-verizon]

You said: '...their grand theme of "women-good-men-bad" plot (as in violence vs nonviolence).'

Not the same anon but I've been thinking a lot this week on that line of thinking.

On my first viewing I liked the show in general even if I didn't agree with several things but the more and more I thought about it the worse it became and now I feel that the show is MORE sexist and misogynistic than the original material.

It took me a while to realize that not only are women not allowed to gain any kind of power or have active decisions, but they purposely exchanged and eliminated things to create the dichotomy of man=violent and woman=pacifist.

Alicent is not only no longer the mastermind behind the entire movement but she is not even included in the plans, her only moments of power are when she exercises it in the meanest way and it really doesn't have much impact.

She actually just wants her children to be saved! She never wanted to govern! And she thinks Rhaenyra could be a good ruler (until 5 minutes pass and she changes her mind).

Her gloating line about Visenya dying and wishing Rhaenyra died in childbirth? Eliminated and even with all the anti-bastard prejudices that left her I doubt they would let her tell Rhaenyra that the death of their children doesn't matter as much because they were bastard blood.

Rhaenyra cries for a damn page instead of being allowed to be upset that the usurpation led to her having Visenya early. Revenge? Oh no, there is a prophecy and I must think about it. She also doesn't want power or rule, not even because it is a position that her father assured her was hers and she feels entitled to have it. Show!Rhaenyra has moments where she seems ready to quit or the weight of responsibility would crush her.

Rhaenys who fought to be recognized, campaigned for her son and then made sure it was ride or die with Rhaenyra? Well, she's allergic to any kind of female friendship, she's resentful of what she could never have forever, but she'll abandon ir in a heartbeat because her only ambition is to support her (biological) family in la la la, nothing happens here Land.

I don't see this Rhaenys dying believing it's for the best and will be defiant to the end and I certainly don't see her stopping Joff (who I don't think he likes that scene either) goes on a suicide mission.

Baela is the only one who remains more or less the same and yet she looked askance because... She and Rhaena miraculously appear.

On the other hand: Otto who was fired by Aegon for not being bloodthirsty enough? Yeah, I don't see that happening.

Daemon? A psychopath who will jump at the opportunity to kill in a heartbeat, even his wife who was too far away to commit the crime. Redeeming traits? Nope, there isn't. We also have child neglect and domestic violence, good change no?

Corlys is supposed to be the one to advocate for pardons later, here he doesn't see the big picture but instead becomes blinded by his own greed and goes to war because he is unable to talk to his wife.

They are not nuanced characters, they are tell me that the ambition is bad and we must not allow it to contaminate women and men are inherently violent.

Anon talks about this post.

I realized why I really couldn't totally like any of the characters beyond their looks (and only sometimes not even then, I'd say 25% of the looks in season 1 were good) when I read this one reblog by @rhaenyragendereuphoria HERE. They mentioned Robin Morgan and the terfness of the idea of women being the peacekeeping managers of male natural violence and it clicked for me. Goes to show how we can't exclude transphobia against trans women when talking about gender studies, violence, and anything to do with cis women bc as we realize that gender itself is a social creation and not dependent on genitals alone, the better we understand how the traits assigned to women (all but in different ways) are meant to be twisted according to the masculinized male's interests of control and domination. Homophobia also can't be totally discussed or fought against without understanding that it is about rejecting the "feminine" or anything coded as "of women". Such things require a sense of fixedness of gender and sexuality for masculinized male control.

This post by xenonwitch showing what others wrote about the male gaze can also help you out to understand how the HotD writers are writing in the male gaze--yes, even Sara Hess one of the women.

The show just feels too shallow BECAUSE they seek to reduce the idea and sense that this conflict is in feminist interest AND they do not invest or follow through with many proposed themes or potential motifs that they brought bc they don't really understand what they have to change nor its consequential implications in-world for the sake of bothsideism and checking boxes.

Plus, if you look carefully, even the most active persons in canon lose their activeness for the sake of the "theory of accident"--as Seth Abramson kinda calls it--where a major or critical character does not intentionally cause harm or prepare for the worst and the point is that we are supposed to see how they react to things happening to them.

Instead of making critical plot points happen through willful action! the "nuance" and intrigue of say, Aemond's killing Luke, is that he didn't mean to kill him, but it also wasn't an accident but also he was so mad about his eye and followed him for more than 5 mins in anger on a giant dragon in his big age of 19 versus a 14-year-old. Aemond has all the control until the very last minute when Vhagar goes ham and munches on Arrax and Luke; Alicent has no real control and "accidentally" takes Viserys' words the wrong way instead of her just ordering the castle shut down for the green council and actively trying to bring them to her side, being the spearhead of that anti-black function. Rather, it vacuums out all real stakes because the people feel like paper to write on.

The show makes a lot of their characters not have to make them confront some risks, build the right tension, or cross certain boundaries--example Alicent, doesn't have to confront her own long fears about her kids dying and the question of a woman ruling because she heard Viserys say that Aegon should rule. In other words, no accountability.

Finally, the characters also seem stupid as to how: Alicent thinks a page is going to stave off any threat of violence from Rhaenyra or herself, and Rhaenyra for reasons goes along with it!--she has been harassing Rhaenyra for years, and said page is of Nymeria (the woman who made her destiny and conquered regions...while Alicent is usurping Rhaenyra); when she accepts Rhaenyra's apology at the feast after the stain of her slicing her and almost causes the blacks/Luke to lose Driftmark but wouldn't listen to her before in episode 4 about not sleeping with Dameon AND again, sh's been trying to get Rhaenyra and her sons killed for 10 years from the belief that Rhaenyra would cause her oen kids deaths indirectly or directly!, basically just bc she now feels Rhaenyra respected her status as Queen and Viserys presented himself as a victim of their infighting...that he is actually largely responsible for...so she isn't protective of her kids and does have an severe inferirority complex or her main motivation is social power over protecting her kids, but the show would ahve us think that she hated Rhaenyra bc she was trying to prptect her kids.....her problems--as she saw it--remained the same after Rhaenyra's apology, wtf?!; Rhaenyra suddenly does not want to act at all against the greens, even give up -> based on violence and the prophecy, but said prophecy is actually all the more reason to stamp out the green usurpation bc her father couldn't have given Aegon that information and if he did he would have told her his plans long before he died...so why is she thinking of just giving it up if she were responsible?!!!!

no repercussions for Laenor's beau getting his face smashed in under the king's roof during a wedding feast (makes more sense during a journey, not a feast) --> lack of empathy towards Joffrey there, he couldn't die doing something considered honorable in his society, no he has to die like a dog [wanted to complain]

Because of this nonsense that one has to unpack while whatever episode is playing, I couldn't enjoy the characters and dialogue apart from the most superficial things. Apart from some scandalous behvior and Rhaenyra being savvy (episode 4 & daemyra in episode 5). Rooting and intrigued by the fashion of the wedding. I'm not even excited for Rhaenyra's maybe-bloodthirsty reaction to her son's death bc I know they will somehow ruin it, esp since they are only putting in 8 episodes for this coming season. They already didn't do enough for the first!

They also have a chance and when asked to explain take it to the most discriminatory level that turns you off if you have a modicum of respect for people. An example of this if claiming the Velaeryons being black is useful to make it "more obvious" that Rhaenyra's first sons were not Laenor's as if that means we should look at Rhaenyra's situation as being just her fault, that she should have just rolled over and "done her duty" when in fact the circumstances were almost set up against her...why? BC she is a woman! And why are we making the Velaryon's blackness or PoCness just a tool for denigrating another character instead of something for themselves?!

[naoa-ao3]

Try A Little Tenderness

Wanda and Natasha might not be the most ordinary couple in the world. Maybe they aren't even a real couple and maybe Wanda is just imagining all of this. . .

That's very possible but when Natasha looks at her, Wanda can't help but feel her heart speed up and when the other woman trains her it's all she can do to keep her mind on the task at hand.

She doesn't take it for granted. She knows that if anything were different she could very well end up in a cell somewhere, buried and forgotten by the world.

She doesn't have anyone left to look or care for her now and the rest of the team seems uncertain of what to do with her. Steve is nice. She actually prefers Captain America over some of the others but even he doesn't seem to know what all to do and say around her.

She's tainted in their eyes.

Hydra and Sokovia. . . They don't understand and they probably never will but then she's starting to feel like perhaps she hadn't totally understood herself.

Only Natasha seems to come at her with an open mind. She doesn't delude herself, the woman knows she dangerous but just the same, she's offered to train her and she spends time with her.

That means something, right?

One night when there's more of them in the compound than usual and more than is probably good for the peace she laughs a little too freely and feels a little too comfortable.

She sees Stark's eyes fall on her and she goes silent.

She hadn't meant to laugh.

Dr. Banner had gotten one good on Steve and she'd let herself get caught up in the surprise.

Stark's eyes remind her that she doesn't really have a place on the team and maybe she's reading too much into it but they linger on her, making her worry just the same.

She looks away but the spark is gone. She feels small and out of place. Confused by the table and the people sitting at it.

She hasn't totally made peace in her heart with him.

Even after he's looked away she feels disconnected and downtrodden. Her whole life now is what these people allow.

Some part of her still resents them.

Only Natasha seems to understand anything and she suddenly feels her hand on her knee under the table.

It helps and the others don't notice but the hand stays.

It's warm and firm and the woman it's attached to isn't looking at her but she can feel her thoughts and she knows she's in them.

She closes her eyes and feels better slightly.

She isn't alone and Natasha is so steady and firm next to her.

There's something special between them. . . Something maybe Wanda is imagining but the hand on her knee stays and her heart slowly returns to normal.

Stark is laughing and so maybe she did imagine it all.

He's laughing with Dr. Banner and no one seems to have noticed her sudden anxiety and the rushing in her ears.

After dinner, when the dishes have been argued over and cleaned she sneaks off to her room, embarrassed by her own emotions and how young she still feels sometimes.

She doesn't even have the television on when a small knock sounds on the other side of the door.

She blinks, heart speeding back up for a second and waits.

When there's nothing else she knows it's up to her.

"Come in?" She says, voice small and uncertain.

It's Natasha and the door opens to reveal her red hair and calm expression.

She almost always looks calm.

"Are you okay?" There isn't a lot of pretense and Wanda quickly nods, knees folded under her on the bed as Natasha crosses to sit next to her.

"You didn't look it at dinner." The other woman says and it's in her voice and mellow movements that Wanda suddenly wants to take comfort.

Natasha who really has no reason to look at her at all and who does.

"I. . ." But it feels weak and small to admit that she was simply irrational and scared. She's been here long enough to have adapted. . . To know the ropes. "I don't know what came over me." She says instead.

Natasha nods and suddenly there's a hand twisting itself into her hand, fingers lacing together and she can feel the strength of the other woman. She can feel her warmth and the power of human contact.

It breaths so much into Wanda that she doesn't have words for it. Not in English or Sokovian.

"I should be at home here." She whispers, admitting that she knows she's failing to adjust. She fears that. Maybe if she never does they'll all give up on her. Send her away. . . Lock her away in some awful place. . .

Natasha however touches her face, brushes her hair back and for a second she can remember having a mother. Just for a second she remembers someone brushing her hair and the sound of bombs falling on someone else's house.

She leans into the touch.

"Perhaps people don't ever completely adjust." Natasha says. "There are days this world still feels strange to me. Still feels fake. . ."

Natasha keeps a lot of herself to herself. Wanda's heard names like the Red Room and the Widow Program whispered but whatever Natasha carries inside herself she hasn't shared much more than that.

Maybe she can't.

Wanda thinks she could understand that.

Still, when she looks at her she can hardly believe this woman of such great strength and person feels the same way she does. It's as scary as it is affirming.

She digests the other woman's words and leans against her as Natasha kisses the side of her head.

It makes her smile and so she turns and kisses her on the mouth, half in her lap now and smiling again.

Natasha smiles too and guides them to lay down, guides her into her arms and kisses her mouth and cheeks and face all over.

Wanda doesn't have anyone left to look or care for her but she has this. . . This quiet, small thing where someone does want her and she isn't alone and the someone seems to know all the things she never says.

She smiles into red hair and feels at home just a little.

Warm and very nearly loved.

[andorerso]

home we’ll go

Cassian Andor only comes back to Ferrix for two things: to get Maarva and Bee, and to say goodbye to the people he cares about. Neither goes the way he expects it to.

AU for episode 7: what if Jyn had grown up on Ferrix?

Cassian has it all figured out.

This time, finally.

He knows what he’s doing, knows what he wants, knows how to get it. No more stumbling around in the dark, drifting through life aimlessly, going where the tide takes him. This money, the credits he’d earned — it’s his chance at something better. They won’t have to live in fear anymore. He won’t have to walk past Rix Road and think of Clem hanging there. Maarva won’t have to save on the heating, shivering in her thin coat. Bee won’t have to make do with his old and outdated components that leave him with so little power reserves and make him freeze up for data lag.

There’ll be no more debts and cons and thefts and favors from friends that ultimately leave him alienated from everyone. He has enough credits to pay back all the people he’s borrowed from. Perhaps that’s the only thing he can do for them; give them their money and the courtesy of his absence. Perhaps someday they will remember him as the man who kept his word after all and gave them what they were owed.

Whatever they will think of him, it’s of no consequence to him anymore. He only came back to collect the people he needed. Pay off his debts, make his goodbyes and apologies, then be on his merry way with the only family he has left.

And if Maarva doesn’t seem as excited as he’d hoped, he chalks it up to the fact that she’s a tired old woman who needs her rest. He should go see Bix anyway.

And Jyn.

He should say goodbye.

“We’ll pull out first thing in the morning,” he tells her and ignores the way her nod seems reluctant. She only calls after him when he’s at the door, hand on the control panel.

“She’s at the ship. Been spending time there recently, I hear.”

Cassian’s heart squeezes, but he doesn’t turn back.

She doesn’t have to specify who.

xxx

The things Bix says to him weigh on his mind as he makes his way to the ship he’d slept in more than he’d ever slept at home.

He hadn’t expected Bix to welcome him with open arms, but it was a blow in the face to realize how damaged their relationship has become.

People blame you. You scam, you borrow, you lie, you disappear…

Well, there it is then. That’s his legacy here on Ferrix. Nothing but trouble.

Why should I care? he asks himself, but the bitter resentment is hard to brush aside. That’s all they ever saw me as anyway.

Ferrix hadn’t been cruel to him exactly, but when push came to shove, they would rather blame him than Timm. Easier to hate the outsider than someone who’d always been one of their own, he supposes. All the more reasons for him to get off this planet and never look back. Finally close this chapter of his life for good, do something new. Anything he wants.

If not for the fact that leaving meant losing the one person in the galaxy who knows him to the bone.

Every story, every mistake, every little secret. All the bad parts of him that he never hid from anyone, and all the good parts that he didn’t always show. She’s been privy to them all.

The thought of leaving that behind cuts him in half.

And when he finally reaches the ship and walks inside, greeted with the sight of her lying in the bunk he so often slept in, he knows he’ll never find that in anyone again.

Jyn’s self-preservation instincts are just as good as his, and the noise of his entrance startles her awake. Half-conscious, she shoots up, one hand reaching for the lamp beside her, the other for her hidden knife in her boot. She brandishes it in his direction without checking to see who had interrupted her sleep, but her eyes widen when their gazes meet.

Her hand drops. Her mouth falls open.

He half expects her to greet him with anger.

Instead, he only has time to mutter a quiet “hey” before she rushes at him and wraps her arms around his shoulders.

“Cassian,” she gasps into his ear, and it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. He lets his body loosen, lets his hands settle on her back. His eyes close, his breathing evens out.

He’s home.

“You’re back,” she mutters after a second, her voice high with relief. Unfortunately, the words seem to snap her back to reality. She pulls back to look at him, and Cassian barely has time to mourn the loss of her warmth because her eyes are wide with worry and she’s shaking her head. “You can’t be here.”

His stomach drops. He can’t listen to this speech again. Not from her.

“People are really angry —”

“I’ve heard,” he interrupts her, not even bothering to hide the bitterness in his voice. There’s no point with her. He finally drops his hand from her back, and Jyn steps away, her eyes sad as she gazes at him. “I’m the social pariah. What’s new?”

“Fuck them. If Timm wasn’t already dead, I’d kill him myself.”

And he doesn’t doubt she would. Maybe not literally — but Jyn would have made him miserable, that he knows. She’s fiercely loyal and almost aggressively protective. Cassian considers himself privileged to be counted among those she’d go to battle for.

“But if the imps catch you…”

His gaze falls to the floor, a grimace on his face. He feels like a hand has wrapped around his heart, squeezing until he’s out of breath and panting from the pain. This is going to be difficult to say without looking into her eyes.

“Don’t worry, I’m not staying. I just came to get Maarva and Bee, then we’re gone. I got some money, it’s enough to get us out of here and go somewhere far away. They won’t find me.”

“How did you manage that?” she asks. He doesn’t know if it’s incredulity or suspicion he hears in her voice.

But it’s not really a question he can answer, and he isn’t going to lie to her so he just shakes his head. “It’s safer if you don’t know.”

She doesn’t answer. When the silence stretches on, he can’t resist glancing up to see what she’s thinking, but the uncertainty and sorrow painted across her face is still a blow. He thinks she already knows where this is going.

“Will you come back?”

Another person wouldn’t have heard the waver in her voice. Cassian does. He swallows.

This isn’t the first time he had to leave. Youth centers and missing sisters and dead corpos — there was always something or another. His life has been an endless loop of goodbyes.

But he’d always come back. He always knew he would.

“Not this time.”

And it tears at him, the knowledge that this might be the last time they speak, but he can’t ask her to come with them. He won’t.

Jyn seems to know this too. Her gaze drops to her feet, but he catches the flash of pain that shoots across her face. She looks small, standing in front of him, arms wrapped around herself, eyes on the floor.

After a moment, she speaks. “What about Bix?”

What about me?

Cassian struggles to find the words, to calm his heart and steady his voice. “She has a life here. Family, friends. I’m not gonna ask her to leave that all behind for me.” He falters, wondering if he should go on. “She wouldn’t come anyway.”

Jyn looks up, something heavy shining in her eyes. It’s a rare thing, but he realizes he can’t tell what she’s thinking. Does she hate him for this, does she understand?

If anyone would, it’d be her.

He can’t stay. But he can’t ask her to come.

“So this is goodbye?”

He gives a small nod. His voice is quiet and gentle when he speaks, “Afraid so. I’m going to miss you, Jyn Erso.”

A noise leaves her lips; half a laugh, half a sob. He’s one of the few lucky ones who knows her true last name, and the realization that he’ll never get to say it again and watch her eyes soften is almost too much for him. It’s a secret he’ll tuck away close to his heart and take to the grave. A name he’ll remember when all else had been forgotten.

“I’m going to miss you too, Kassa.”

He can’t bear to touch her again, or he’ll crumble. If he doesn’t go now, he never will. He turns around, heart aching, ignoring every last part of him that screams to stay. He should be getting back to Maarva, they should be leaving soon. Before the sun comes up, before the time grappler rings his anvil to announce the start of a new day.

He stops only at the entrance of the ship, rapping his knuckles against the broken door as he turns back one last time to meet her eyes.

“Anything I leave behind is yours to keep. Just don’t hold onto my memory too tight. Be safe, Jyn. You’re gonna change this galaxy one day.”

He turns away before she could respond because he’s a coward.

He doesn’t want to see her cry.

xxx

He’s alone again.

Somehow, it always ends like this.

He really thought this was it, the chance at a quiet life he’s been seeking all his life. Go somewhere warm and easy, start again. But Maarva had rejected him, had stubbornly insisted on staying, and if she was staying, so was Bee. And if they were staying…

Cassian would never be free of this cycle. Look for Kerri, come back for Maarva, come back for Bee, come back for Jyn, look for Kerri, run from the law, look for Kerri, come back for Maarva…

How is it fair? That she’d take him from his sister, his people, his home, the only place he’d ever known, then refuse to even stick with him? Isn’t he owed her loyalty at least? Shouldn’t a mother choose her son?

He’s here, living and breathing and real, and she’s choosing an idea over him.

He tries to shake it off, but it eats at him the whole ride. He’s leaving Ferrix with nothing but his credits and the clothes on his back. Neither will keep him company or chase away the stifling loneliness he already feels settling around him.

Everything he’s been through, only to end up back where he started. Richer, perhaps, but no less alone.

What a joke his life has become.

The ship he bought from the doctor is waiting in the Wastelands, as close to the city as he dared to park it, but apparently not hidden well enough. Cassian stops dead in his tracks when he arrives, shock overpowering any other emotion he’s feeling.

“How did you…”

Jyn shrugs, leaning against her speeder, hands in her pockets. “I know you.” She kicks herself off the bike, looks around, and gives him a questioning look when she realizes he’s alone. “Maarva and Bee?”

Cassian’s gaze drops. “They’re not coming.”

She doesn’t answer right away, but he feels her gaze burning into him, assessing. He doesn’t really have to say anything else for her to understand. She heard his tone, heard his bitterness. Knows Maarva and their complicated history almost as well as he knows it. Enough to put the pieces together.

“Well, we don’t need them anyway.”

He looks up at her then, his heart hammering. He sees the bag at her feet. The determination written plain across her face. But he doesn’t dare hope.

“What are you…”

“You were not going to ask me to come with you.”

“I told you I can’t.”

She snorts, shaking her head at him in fondness. “The one time you’re selfless.”

She didn’t mean it as a jab, but his lips pull into a frown. He was trying to be, yes. He has no illusions about himself. But Jyn deserves better than his usual brand of selfishness.

How could he ask her to leave behind everything she’s ever known? The home she found after losing her first one?

“Your shop —”

“Fuck the shop.”

“Brasso —”

“He’ll be fine,” she cuts him off again and takes a step closer. She sounds so confident, and he’s more than eager to believe her. But what would he do if she changed her mind a year from now — or worse. Began to resent him for it?

“It’s a big choice to make,” he points out. Has she really no doubts?

“Are you trying to talk me out of it?”

“No, no, it’s just that…”

Maarva hadn’t chosen him. Why would Jyn?

The unspoken question sits on his lips, and she knows him too much to miss it. Without hesitation, she snatches his hand and squeezes it, never breaking eye contact. She looks certain. As certain as he’s ever seen her. The same look of determination on her face that she gets when suggesting some terrible idea that’d get them both in trouble.

“I want to come. If you’ll take me. Let’s go see the galaxy.”

Giving him a choice, as she always would.

He’s never been able to say no.

He smiles, a waver in his voice as he tells her, “Welcome home.”

[hawkefaery]

Kolis - A villain or just a name?

I am back rumbling and giving my unnecessary opinion on irrelevant topics.

I wrote this on the Facebook JLA group but it got rejected so it never saw the light (I don't know why lmao) but I remember more or less what I wanted to say and I still have those thoughts so I will share it here but adding a few new thought.

One of the keys writing that is known by majority of people, independently if they are in fact writers or not, is that a writer must show instead of tell. The readers must be shown what the characters have to go through and the characters must be shown pain, love, suffering, etc. Both characters and readers have to “live” the experience for any type of writing to be good.

We all (You and I!! <3) already know who Kolis is, but short and sweet he is the big very bad guy. It was already stated in the prequel of Blood and Ash, Flesh and Fire that Kolis is a strong enemy. He made the main characters go through hell and his name would even anger the gods themselves. But, what is Kolis in Blood and Ash universe? He is a name. Agree or disagree with me, but Kolis is someone the characters were warned about, they still do not know how far he would go, what he is capable of doing, or why they should be ready for him. Poppy, Cas, and the others have not "experienced themselves" how much of a villain Kolis could be.

Isbeth, The Blood Queen

Believe it or not, Isbeth is extremely important in this conversation. Why? Isbeth was a great villain. She was complex and had a background, she was completely unhinged that woman was capable of anything not give a fuck who she had to step on wherever were innocent people, her daughters, or even gods and primals she gave a shit and all because of the love she fell for a piece of shit (Malec) and the hate and resentment she had for Eloana, Atlantia and Nyktos. Isbeth was a nightmare to the characters in Blood and Ash. They were kidnaped, to torture (or beth), they had their entire families killed or the person that meant the most to them killed, they were kept away from the world and hidden away, or turned into a dead-alive thing, they had their people living in fear and hiding for centuries, etc etc. Isbeth? was an amazing villain, she served that role amazingly.

But why do I say that Isbeth is extremely important when it comes to talk about Kolis' role in Blood and Ash? Because Isbeth is the standar. Kolis is the final villan, the last step between the “good” characters and peace. Kolis was a threat to Primals, to Gods, to Drakens, etc, he manipulated, murdered, tortured, kidnapped, lied, etc, Kolis basically bend the world and everyone in it to his will and no one could stop him. When he comes into the Blood and Ash universe he can NOT cause less damage than Isbeth. The reader and the characters have to be given reasons to why say “oh fuck”, Kolis has to having the readers believing that Isbeth was not that bad, that we were not ready, otherwise, what is the point in even having him on the Flood and Ash serie?

Kolis can't just be a name thrown around without any real impact or significance in the story. He needs to be portrayed as a true villain who is capable of causing even more damage than Isbeth did.

Author note: Flesh and Fire might take place in the same universe but both are literally centuries apart and have whole different characters. I really hope Jen will not be lazy in this one and make Kolis the enemy of Blood and Ash too, to explore him and to also creat struggle for the other characters.

I personally believe and also hope that Kolis will be the one to blame for the death of a beloved character. THAT would be struggle for the other characters, that will be something Isbeth have not done, and that will be great to show how far Kolis will go as character, it shows that we should fear for the rest of the characters because kolis is a threat and that is a great villain. The inly question left to answer is who?

(I might make a post about who is most likely to die or something similar lmao I will probably do it)

Feel free to share your own theories with me <3

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

she's in love with somebody else (tonight I can see the truth)

Eddie Roundtree x Camila Dunne fic. Crossposted on ao3.

See, the thing that Eddie Roundtree learned, and learned early on, was that just because a man donated the sperm to birth you, didn't make him your dad. You had to earn that title. You had to show up, and support your kid, and make them feel loved. Not abandoned.

And Eddie doesn't give a shit about what Billy's said over the years: he didn't show up. He failed Camila and Julia. He failed to be a father just as he failed to be a husband just as he failed to be a good band leader.

Because fuck it, it didn't matter that Billy did most of the writing and all of the singing. It didn't matter that all of the girls loved him. It didn't matter that Camila loved him.

Because every time Billy got high or cheated on Camila (the bastard) or got uncomfortably intimate with Daisy, Camila took him back, and that was Camila's choice. That was her prerogative. That was the thing that Eddie had always loved about her: she knew what she wanted and she knew she was going to get it, hell or high water. She wanted Billy. She wanted a family. And she wanted a husband that loved her back. That last one was always the hardest (always the one that Billy failed her at the most), but she got it, eventually.

The only thing she didn't get was a good father for Julia.

Eddie's not Julia's father. He knows that. He would never pretend to be that. He's more than happy that Julia grew up calling him Uncle Eddie, that she always ran to him to show off her drawings and schoolwork, that she always had a smile or a conspiratorial roll of the eye to give him as she got older.

But those first few months (and so many times afterward, when Billy let music overtake the things that made his life full)? Eddie was there. He played with Julia. He held her before Billy did. (He loved her before Billy did.)

Julia deserved to have someone who loved her. She had the best mom she could ask for. But she didn't get a father. And Eddie made it his mission, in between dealing with Billy's bullshit and playing gigs and rolling his eyes at the drama in the radio station, to be there for Julia. To make sure that little girl never grew up feeling abandoned or unloved.

Even if that meant having to spend time with the woman he loved- completely, wholly, desperately- who he knew would never love him back. Because that was the rub of the whole thing, wasn't it? That he loved Camila for the very reasons she would never consider him anything more than a friend- her devotion to her family, her stubborn pursuit of her dreams, her love of a man who never looked at her like he looked at drugs or Daisy Jones.

Eddie's resentment towards Billy Dunne did not appear out of nowhere. It grew, and it festered, and eventually it blew. It blew so hard that a band fell apart. (Sure, there were other reasons the band was always doomed to fall apart at the seams, but Eddie knows that even if the rest of the band would have stayed, Eddie would have had to eventually leave.)

Eddie refused to talk to Billy for years and years after the Chicago show, but he didn't stop showing up at the house. He didn't stop spending time with Julia and Camila. He didn't stop showing up.

Because the band might have gotten divorced, but Julia didn't deserve to feel the ramifications of the split. She didn't deserve to be abandoned just because Eddie hated her father like he'd never hated anyone before.

Eddie was there when Julia turned ten with a set of colored pencils for her art kit. He was there when she was hitting teenage rebellion and swearing at her parents and he took her out to the bowling alley and explained that her parents (gritting his teeth on the word parents, of course) were trying their best, before cheekily explaining that it might be more productive for her to take out her anger on the pins than graffitiing the walls of her school. He was there when she graduated high school, whistling and cheering as loud as Camila as Julia walked across the stage. He was always ready to pause work and come to help her sort through her problems.

(He was always ready to make sure that Julia knew she was cherished.)

He was there for Julia when decades later, she came to him and told him that she wanted to write about what went down with the band.

And he was there when Julia came to him and asked if he was willing to sit down with her father and finally talk.

It took more effort than anything that Eddie had ever done. It took a Herculean strength that he hadn't possessed until that moment and never would again.

But Eddie would never deny his...child (daughter, he'd thought of her for years, but could never say out loud) anything. So he meets Billy Dunne at the diner an hour between their places. Billy's eyes are red and wet- a startling thing to see, since he'd finally gone sober. "I don't know if Camila's told you yet," Billy says, "But she has cancer. It's Stage 4. She's only got a few months left."

The oxygen is punched from Eddie's lungs. "What?" he croaks, because it's been decades, forty plus years, and he's dated other girls, had other relationships, but Camila is the only woman he's ever truly loved.

Billy nods. "And she says that she wants everyone she loves by her side in her final days."

The implication in Billy's words is clear, but Eddie's just petty enough to make him say it aloud. "And that includes me?"

Billy nods. His lips thin, but his words hold no resentment as he says: "That includes you, Roundtree." His fingers twist the napkin on the table. "You know, since Julia started asking all those questions about the band, I've been thinking."

Eddie smirks, trying to cover up the hollow expanding in his chest at the knowledge that soon, Camila Dunne, in all her brilliance, is going to be leaving this world. "Didn't know you were capable of that."

Billy rolls his eyes, and it's Julia rolling her eyes, it's Camila rolling hers. Once, when Warren was high, he told Eddie that he'd heard that the longer you spend with someone, the more you begin to resemble them. Their mannerisms become yours. Their face reflects yours. "Fuck off, Roundtree. What I meant is that I was thinking about you and her. And she's been thinking about you and her."

Some strange contradiction of emotions is banging about in Eddie's chest, some tangled sense of hope and dread. "Me and her?"

"Camila and I have been talking about second chances. About things we should have realized long ago. And I will never, ever regret spending my years loving her-" And at this, Billy's voice gets fierce, love dripping from his tone, and Eddie might hate him for everything he's ever put his family through, but there is something about the love in his voice that feels honest and striking and sincere. "-And she loves me, but we've talked, and she thinks that we should both get one final shot at something else. Not at substituting out the family, not ruining anything, but adding to it. Naming things that have always been there." He locks eyes with Eddie, staring him dead on. "And you, Roundtree? You've always been there. Even when I failed." He clears his throat, looks down. "Especially when I failed."

Eddie has never needed Billy to validate him any way. Not when it came to this. Not when it came to being a good father. But hearing it from Billy's smarmy mouth? Some petty part of Eddie enjoys it. "And Camila didn't want to call me and tell me?"

"First off, I think she wants to see you in person. You haven't visited in almost a year. But also? I think she might have been a bit unsure. Of if you would reciprocate a...second chance at something more."

"I never thought I'd hear Billy Dunne offering something like that."

Billy snorts. "Over the years I've learned that being selfish only ever hurts the people around you." Eddie can't help a snort- not at the sentiment, but at hearing it from Billy's mouth. Billy has the decency to flash him a chagrined smile. "I know, I clearly hadn't learned it back in the band days."

"You can say that again, Dunne," Eddie says, and offers up his glass of Diet Coke to clink against Billy's Coke Zero. They're both rolling in far less caffeine than they once did, far more careful about their older bodies than they ever were on tour. Maybe old age can prompt maturity. Maybe Billy Dunne can change.

And maybe Eddie Roundtree can have a second chance, after all these years.

---

Eddie opens the door to Camila's hospital room. Julia jumps from her seat by Camila's side and greets him with a hug, which Eddie returns with enthusiasm even as he sees Camila in her hospital bed. She's looking a little worse for the wear, a little frail after what Billy said was her most recent round of chemo, but there is still a loving smile on her lips and life in her eyes as she watches the two of them hug.

"Treat her well, Uncle Eddie," Julia says as she pulls away from the hug with a fond pat to his cheek before exiting the room, presumably to give them space.

"Hey, Cam," Eddie says, voice soft, "Hear we have something to talk about."

Camila gestures him forward, as commanding as always, and he follows, sitting in Julia's vacated seat by her side. She takes his hand in hers, and despite the sallow edge to her cheeks, her smile is lighting up his world just like it did when he first met her. "Yes, cariño," she says, fondness in her tone, "Let's talk."

https://archiveofourown.org/works/45498667

[aparticularbandit]

Agatha and Stephen Go on a Trip: Chapter Four

Summary: At Wanda's request, Agatha questions Stephen about too-long absent members of their family. When she recasts an old spell, they end up going on a journey that neither of them really wanted.

Sequel to Finding Family.

Chapter Rating: T. Fic Rating: T.

AO3

previous chapter

Some of the best stories start with once upon a time.

This is not one of those stories.

~

America tumbles through one of her star-shaped portals directly into the New York Sanctum, nearly scuffing her already bruised and knocked up knees, before coming to a stop on the far too slick floor.  She turns behind her, a “C’mon!” on the tip of her tongue, but Wendy hovers through the portal as easy as anything, hovers through backwards with her hands up in front of her, crafting the scarlet shield meant to protect them both – and, more importantly, to protect their favorite universe from any intruders who might want to follow through the newly punched portal before America closes it.

“Good, good, you made it, good,” America says all at once, rambling, as she forces her portal closed.  It is only then, when Wendy collapses backward with a huff, knees crumpling beneath her, that she notices the blue stone dangling around Wendy’s neck.  Her eyes widen, brows shooting up.  “Wendy,” she says, gentle as anything, trying not to let her frustration get the best of her, “please tell me you didn’t—”

“Didn’t what?” Wendy echoes, forest green eyes widening near to matching America’s.  She takes a deep breath in and relaxes, the folds of her scarlet captain’s coat encircling her landing like the spread of a skirt.  Then she stretches her legs out, dark denim sliced through in spots, and reaches a hand out to begin stitching the rips back together.  “It’s just a pretty stone, Starlight.”

America grits her teeth together.  “It is not, and you know better than that—”

“Girls, girls!” A voice that shouldn’t be booming booms down towards them, echoing off of the sanctum’s cold stone and tile interior.  Stephen strides down the stairway near the middle of the entryway – a stairway that would be epic, if America hadn’t seen it thousands of times by now.  His voice causes her to turn from her girlfriend to him, and she crosses her arms, already on the defensive, as he continues, “Where’s the fire?  You’re both safe.”

America resents that.  He’d wanted her safe after their first adventure together, too, and she’d thought he was like an older brother or someone who cared, but then he’d disappeared for over a year while she reached out to the woman who had tried so hard to destroy her.  Stephen should have been her mentor, not Wanda.

Not that she’s mad or anything.  If she hadn’t started her journey with Wanda, she would never have met Wendy.

But she’s not particularly happy about it either.

“She took that Stone with her—”

Two things happen all at once.  Wendy’s hand goes immediately to the blue stone dangling about her neck and tucks it beneath her peasant shirt, but Stephen’s eyes are just as quick.  He catches sight of the stone before she moves to hide it and immediately makes sigils to tug it back out, tug it to him, until Wendy’s eyes narrow.  She waves a hand, and the sigils fade just as quickly.  The stone bounces against her chest.

“If I remember correctly, Mr. Strange—”

“Doctor—”

“My power exceeds yours.”  Wendy’s eyes narrow.  “Maybe next time you want to take something from me, you should ask.”

“Wendy.”  America reaches over and places a hand over her girlfriend’s.  “He was only trying to—”

“Don’t say help,” Wendy snaps, and her eyes flare that bright scarlet they do whenever she is at her most frustrated, her most angry.  She takes a deep breath, stills herself, and the scarlet flare fades.  “You mentioned a Stone, and he tried to take it—”

Stephen makes his way to the end of the staircase and crosses the floor towards them.  “If you’d seen what I’ve seen of those sorts of Stones, you would try to take it, too.”

“If you’d seen what I’ve seen of them,” Wendy counters, mimicking Stephen’s words as she does, “you wouldn’t let anyone else take it, either.”  Her eyes remain narrow, even without the scarlet flare within them.  She stands as he approaches, and although she’s shorter than him, even with the boots adding that extra inch, she glares up at him with the fire of a thousand melting suns.  “Don’t do it again.”

Stephen break eye contact first, gaze flicking over to America.  “Do I want to know?”

America shakes her head.  “No.”  She reaches over and takes one of Wendy’s hands in her own, gives it a little squeeze.  “What is it that book you love says?”

“Don’t,” Wendy says again, softer this time.  She glances down to meet America’s eyes and holds them with her own smoldering forest green gaze.  But she squeezes America’s hand back, as gently as she can, which is enough of an acceptance as anything else.

America nods toward the Stone dangling around Wendy’s neck.  “Why do you even need that thing?  You’ve got me.”  She grins and tilts her head back with bravado, waggling her eyebrows.  “I’m the only space traveler you’ll ever need.”

You shouldn’t have to go with me, Wendy murmurs directly into her mind.  Every time I wake up from a nightmare and want to go fix something.  You shouldn’t have to go.  That isn’t fair to you.

I like going.  America searches her eyes, brows furrowing.  I don’t want you to go alone.  What if you get stuck?  What if someone steals that stone from you?  What if….  She takes Wendy’s other hand in her own and interlaces their fingers again.  What if I can’t find you?

Wendy chuckles, and her gaze drops as a flush scarlets her cheeks.  You’ll always find me, my little Starlight—

“Third person,” Stephen interjects as he slowly slots himself behind the space between them. “Right here.  Not privy to whatever mindspeak you’re having.”  He crosses his arms.  “Still curious about that stone—”

“It’s not yours,” Wendy interrupts, not even turning to look at him.  “It’s not yours, and it’s not Starlight’s.  It’s mine.”  Her tone grows firm.  “And I’m not sharing.”

~

Stephen wakes to a yelling match.  He can’t make out distinct words, since they echo around the chamber and layer over themselves, but he can make out voices.  Somehow, he isn’t surprised by who he hears.  He rubs his face with his hand and goes to play the adult in the situation.

(This should always have been his job.  It frustrates him that job had somehow been handed off to someone else in his absence.  Even if it had ended mostly well.)

The closer Stephen gets, the easier it is to make out words – names, mostly – and he groans.  He starts down the stairs into the atrium, drags his hand down his face again, and pushes it through his hair as he shifts his clothes into something else entirely.  Something more appropriate for walking down into a fight between his visitors.

“You’re supposed to take me with you!” America shouts at Wendy, who stands, unflinching.  “You could get lost—”

“I’m fine.”  Wendy’s voice is calmer, softer.  “I’ve been fine.  We’re here, aren’t we?  I got us back—”

“You shouldn’t have been using that thing in the first place—”

“Girls, girls.”  Stephen yawns, covering his mouth with his hand.  Sweatpants are still comfy, as are the hoodie, but he’s still tired.  He glances outside the nearest window.  There are stars.  He yawns again.  “You should be asleep—”

America reaches over, tears the stone from where it dangles around Wendy’s neck, and holds it out, away from her.  “Next time, ask me—”

Wendy glares at her as though she isn’t listening to what she has to say.  Her hands spread out on either side of her, and scarlet magic begins to thread through the fingers of her right hand.  “I’m not sure that’s a wise decision—”

“Alright, adult’s gonna step in.  Again.”  Stephen takes the stone from America.  It’s warm in his hand, and his eyes light up with the color of it briefly before he closes his fingers over it.  He clears his throat.  “Obviously when two children are fighting over a toy—”

“Give it back.”  Wendy’s hand glows with power, a light that grows even darker in her eyes.  “I need it—”

“For what?” America interrupts.  “What do you need it for?  What can it do for you that I’m not already doing, Wendy?”

Wendy’s gaze never leaves Stephen’s hand, where the stone still glows gently.  “I need to go back.”

“Go back where?” Stephen asks, brow furrowing with confusion.  He notes how America’s face falls, how her gaze drops, and he turns to her.  “Go back where?”

America doesn’t answer him.  Instead, she punches a hole into another universe – one at random, perhaps – and walks into it.  Wendy glares at him, but instead of fighting him over the stone or even reality warping it back around her neck, she turns and runs through the portal, chasing after America.  She doesn’t say anything, which likely means she’s trying to speak directly into America’s mind.  The portal closes shortly behind them.

Which leaves Stephen.  Alone.  With an Infinity Stone.

Stephen unfolds his hand and stares at the blue gem held easily in his palm.  It shines with an incandescent light, but if he peers closer, there are worlds hidden in its whirls and spirals.  Suddenly, he doesn’t feel tired anymore.  Who knows when he’ll get another opportunity like this, after all?

~

“And that’s how I got it,” Stephen finishes.  “They ran off into another universe and left it with me.”

Agatha raises an eyebrow.  “That doesn’t explain how they got back here, hon.  You cast a spell using that stone of yours to send them here, and you didn’t know where you were sending them, and you didn’t know why.”  Her eyes narrow.  “You used Wendy as a test subject.  You used America as a test subject—”

“Because I knew that if something went wrong, America would bring them right back,” Stephen snaps at her.

“And if things went right?” Agatha asks, forcing her voice to remain calm, even though it makes her feel like her mother, chiding a younger child when their anger explodes out of them.  (She’d learned to never allow her mother to see her anger; it only got her punished in the end.  The thought makes her back ache.  It doesn’t matter that Wanda healed her scars.  It still aches with the memory.)  “What was supposed to happen if things went right, wonder boy?  They were just supposed to stay there?”

Stephen shakes his head.  “No.  They were supposed to complete their mission and then return.”

“And what mission was that?”  James trains her eagle eyes on Stephen, voice like a blade cutting through his words.  Her bright blue eyes only grow harder as she looks at him.  “You said Wendy told America she wanted to go back.  That must have meant here.”

Stephen holds her gaze as though he has any ground to stand on.  “They did not tell me.  Wendy only said there was something she needed to do while they were here.  America didn’t seem happy about it, but she didn’t try to stop her.  To stop me.”  His face grows firm.  “That means she agreed.”

“It means she didn’t fight Wendy, hon.  That’s not agreeing.”  Agatha rolls her eyes.  She pulls on the threads of magic in this universe, and they recoil against her touch again, unfamiliar with her.  Still, gently, they curl around her littlest finger, a thin tendril of violet hooked beneath her nail.  “Can you think of anything else?  Anything else they might have said?”

“No,” Stephen murmurs.  “Nothing at all.”

Just the echo of something rippling in his mind when he cast the spell, an echo that he’s not sure he truly heard.  No magic should let him into someone else’s mind by accident.  And while perhaps Wendy might have allowed him to hear their conversation, he can’t think of any reason why she should.  Not intentionally.

So while Stephen remembers hearing America ask, Do you really think they’ll want to see you again? and remembers Wendy answering, No.  I don’t think they will, he doesn’t mention it.  Because he didn’t hear it.

And he doesn’t believe it was really there at all.

[bxsotted]

Pleasant Beginnings | Patrick Melrose x F!Reader

pairing : Patrick Melrose x F!reader

synopsis : Patrick's interest is piqued as reader joins in on his spiteful rant

words : 603

themes : first encounter; a little twist on the party scene in Some Hope

warnings : allusion to Patrick's addiction - very mild though ~Masterlist~

💖 Reblogs and feedback to support my work 💖

A/N : The first Patrick Melrose x reader I made - after watching the series he became my muse for the longest time and I still can't seem to get him out of my heart.

“There’s an air of palpable stupidity that comes off that man, like opening the door to a sauna.”

Patrick took a long drag off his cigarette, his eyes scanning the backyard full of guests. His words brought [Y/N] back to reality, a cigarette on her own fingers. Her eyes had been fixed on one of the guests, Sonny, observing the little panicked conversation that he was having with his mistress, Cindy.  Her gaze moved and followed Patrick’s deep voice, his baritone timbre almost too irresistible to ignore.

She raised her eyebrow, intrigued and watched as Patrick continued talking.

“My God, look at them all.” he spat in disdain, “I remember these people from my childhood. Hard and dull.”

“Well they’re the last Marxists.”

“Hm?”

Caught off guard not expecting an answer, Patrick looked at the woman that stood beside him. If he were to be honest he was mostly just talking to himself - hadn’t truly acknowledged the presence of the [H/C] haired girl.

His mind was just naturally wandering off, his mouth moving almost on its own as he tried to keep himself busy. The only other diversion to his anxiousness and temptation being the small roll of tobacco that he held between his lips. Yet she was able to captivate his curiosity with ease. Something that was rare for Patrick.

[Y/N] shrugged and began, almost absentmindedly. “The last people to believe class is a total explanation.” As distant as she wanted to appear, the resentment in her voice was more than evident. Her lips curled into a bitter smirk, the words rolling off her tongue, soaked in apathy. 

Patrick often found the act of being lucid so… dreary.

Sober life was a constant struggle and more often than not he’d find himself spiraling down - seemingly losing his grasp on whatever sanity he thought he had. 

Sober meant he’d lose himself in reality - and by attending this party; he didn’t want to lose himself in a sea of shame. It was the last thing he needed. 

He grabbed his cigarette between his fingers and extended his free hand to her.

“I’m Patrick—“

“—Melrose, correct?” [Y/N] interrupted, her head tilted to the side as she took his hand “I’ve heard about you.”

Patrick chuckled, slightly nervous as he shook her hand. He tried to disguise his uneasiness with a smile, hoping he’d be able to fake and amp up his charm. “Only good things, I’d hope?” 

“Not at all.” There was no hesitation in her words, no second guessing. No apologetic look in her face or anything that signaled that she regretted her statement. 

Her honesty stung, it was sharp and unashamed. It stuck to his skin and burned through his pores, her eyes never once faltering, locked in his. You could tell immediately she had a way with words - a silver tongue. For as hurtful as her words might be, they were still delivered with an almost mystical grace.

She grinned, and only then did he realize he had been standing there, holding her hand still. He blinked, unsure of what to do, only to feel her hand give his a soft squeeze.

There was a glint of delight behind her eyes as she spoke up again. It was obvious that her interest had somehow been piqued by him.

“Nonetheless, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Patrick. I’m [F/N], [F/N] [L/N].”

Inevitable. That’s the best way that he could describe the smile that spread across his lips. His eyes looked down for a split second before he turned to [Y/N] to reply.

“The pleasure’s mine.”

[meredith511]

I'm so tired of the whitewashed show!Alicent ongoing on the show but it was quite interesting takes on her in episode 8 and unlike her teen era, I could see where it was coming.

She found out that poor servant girl got r*ped by her son who was supposed to be their future king in her plan and Alicent sort of threatened her that she wouldn't survive if she spoke the truth. Maybe what she said was really meant for the girl, but looking by the looks on Dyana's face when Alicent handed her the bag of the money, she was clearly not okay with that and Alicent knew it. Then, when Alicent confronted Aegon, he said outloud he never wanted this, he couldn't be the son she wanted. With all this, Alicent seemed to question on every decision she had ever made. She, too, was the one who didn't want to do as her father ordered but obeyed to do it, which led her to the unhappy life and now her children got the same fate. She also always held high of the honor, the duty and her moral values. I always see her hypocrite as she is but now I think she also felt the same, no honor and no decency left on her and her son.

And on the whole supper, it showed what could have been if she had taken the offer Rhaenyra suggested. Her daughter happy and may not need to call out her ass husband's ass behavior and the family spent the happy and good night without the unnecessary tention. But it never would be, because of their long planned scheme.

And then, Viserys said a true king was on the way and she knew it is not, never would be her son. The true king who would unite the kingdom to fight the dark and cold? That could never be her son and she knew it, and that was the final blow to her. She was already so deep in pain which her son and her past self caused and now her husband and father of her children said his favourite daughter and the heir, and the woman she resented and envied for so long shall be the Queen of greatness unlike her awful son?

She didn't misunderstand anything. She made her mind up, more than ever, I believe. She may have some doubts but now it's settled. no matter what and no matter how awful her son is, it didn't matter to her. Her final chance to prevent the war was gone by her own choice. It was not her father nor anybody manipulating her. She did that on her own.

I always think they should have set her up with the Oldtown girl origin instead of the childhood friend thing. How she was raised, her faith and her view of the world. It would give more depth on her characterization and her development, imo.