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matchamabs · 3 years

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I know you didn’t ask for it but- BOTW MONSTERS: RANKED BY HOW HOT THEY ARE,,,,

i do fuck all in the days lemme tell ya

ill admit i havent done EVERY enemy but like. i do enjoy making these posts so who knows, i might actually rank everything sooner or later 🤷‍♀️

,,,,, and if u want a specific ranking of botw/aoc stuff lmk 👀

ahh the ol reliable. the classic bokoblin. he is just a little lad! unfortunately they’re genuinely kind of ugly??? and the idk the singular horn in the middle aint a good look. i see cute comics abt these guys being domestic and thats adorable but also giving them so much leeway bc they’re really Not that cute. not sure what the loincloth is hiding and im not sure i wanna know anyway. 3/10 really kind of. not good.

slightly bigger loincloth only means slightly bigger things to hide :( i rlly hate these guys noses and whatever the fuck toenails they have why do they have toenails?????? s’bad. the thing is tho they have the proportions of a potentially attractive gerudo which is probably what takes the edge off the general vibes of... u know... being an abomination. its also only JUST occured to me as im writing that these guys r just evolved bokoblins so. glow up i guess. 6/10 what that tongue do

ok bypassing whatever the fuck rule 34 has done to these guys, i actually dig them. i find the huge fat ones way cuter than the lil bug eyed ones. in their case theres rlly no, like... hotness about them. its just cute. i think they’re cute. any monster that is cute and also doubles up as a bed gets my vote 7/10 get urself a fella as flexible as these guys

u know what, im gonna say it, these guys r actually kinda hot. proportions arent super bad, the face aint bad and generally they have good vibes. aside from, u know, when they’re tryna shank u. id say one of the most bearable monsters to have to look at. 8/10 im not a scalie

??????????? idk what to say. u could tie these little shits to like swingball poles and beat them with rackets thatd b good. aside from that these guys have like no redeeming qualities. they’re a pain in the ass and not in a good way. 3/10 cute but like. is it worth it?

i mean,,,,,,,, someones probably into it. i dont like these guys for a lot of reason and surprisingly the thing that gets me is the fucking hair why does it have that hair its like he-man just went straight over the top with an electric razor its not a good look!!! stop trying to make it work! it wont! and again with the loincloth??? im not into it. the only thing i like abt these guys is the lil waistcoats. they have some amount of decency (but the implications it makes are Not Good). uh. 2/10. barely.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

,,,,,9/10. but if you see a lynel up close like that chances are you died about half a minute ago

again. ??? i dont rlly like. i mean. im digging the top heavy proportions? its got the same body type as kass so like. 4/10. bit plain around the features but what can u do. i dont understand how but the igneo taluses are like. sexier

UGHGHHH I FUCKING HATE THESE THINGS okay okay okay like these motherfuckers lure u in by being quite cute and dancin around and then u get a look at their faces and its like fucking JESUS and its even WORSE when you see under their cloak and they have no necks????? and like????? they do that gay little fucking dance that pisses me off???? they’re wearing hoods that give the ILLUSION that they have necks and im im fumin ok i HATE it i hate it i have been betrayed and i will NEVER FORGET ABOUT IT UGHGHGHG I HATE THESE CUNTS -10000000000000000000000000000000000/10 die

hhhhh i just dont like em. theyre too annoying to be cute now. and whats gonna happen if i squeeze one? is like. water gonna come out? r they just gonna deflate? 4/10 tentacles are not hyrules forte it seems ://

trust kohga to send the twinks out on the front line. seriously. they’re not bad tho? kinda small and underwhelming :((( tho i give extra points for the good crazy laugh we love a good manic cackle 6/10 they dont really count as monsters but ah well where else am i gonna put em

now THATS what im talkin about babeyyyyy we love the muscles,,,,, the posture,,, the stride,,, we love it when u fuck up stealth and a torrential downpour of these motherfuckers come down to beat ur ass,,,,, 9/10 its raining men 😎

u know. u dont rlly like. get a good view of these guys when ur balls deep in a battle with them, but the more i get like closer looks at them the more i go ???? like idk. everything about them looks backwards and wrong. but as far as backwards and wrong goes its not a bad look and the boss theme is a banger so 4/10 maybe dont jump on my ass every time i step one foot onto the desert :/

i just. i dont dig it. idk why. aside from the fact they’re a monumental pain in my ass, and now everytime i hear a beep even slightly resembling a guardian i shit my pants, but. idk??? as far as robots go its not like. terrible. they’re like the milfs of robots. the milves, if u will. a rilf. except i wouldnt. so its more like riwlf. but even that leaves too much up to interpretation so im just gonna call em a cunt and go. 4/10 leg game strong

here we are,,, the big boys,,,, waterblight isnt too bad i will admit, but the spear hand is both annoying and mildly inconvenient. its got a rlly big chest but rlly thin arms?? also not sure how i feel abt the strap on beard but oh well its not like ganons got taste. 5/10 kind of average for a blight i think

a hefty motherfucker. a chunk of a lad. big large. the fact this is like one of the easiest blights makes it more forgiveable to me but like whatever its got going on with the 80s hair needs 2 be sorted out. i like its moves but it doesnt hang upside down like waterblight :((( 5/10 calm down kate bush

ok who doesnt like gun arms. and a gun back. this things like fuckin megatron. the whole face plate thing doesnt look bad either. honestly its kind of a look? but its dickheadery in aoc makes me wanna set shit on fire so :// 6/10 hot but will not leave u alone 😔

ok this one is by FAR the sexiest of all the blights. i just cant explain it. i like guys with bad posture. i had an easy time beating it but apparently its given other people a lot of grief and that makes it 10x more sexy to me lmaooo. also it can clone itself which is like. thats a win. 8/10 ganon spilt all the sexy juice into this one

ok i didnt realise how many arms this motherfucker has and the whole hairline behind the ears thing is not a great look. especially w the beard. in fact the longer i look at it the less sexy it becomes tbh. 3/10 they tried to make arachnophobia sexy and it didnt work

10/10 i will be taking questions in my inbox but i wont be taking constructive criticism and you cant make me

#botw #breath of the wild #aoc #age of calamity #calamity ganon #ganon #loz #legend of zelda #hyrule warriors age of calamity #hyrule warriors aoc #windblight #thunderblight #waterblight #fireblight #yiga #i ran out of ppl to rank and then i went wait--#;)

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destielhasmedead · 3 years

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this is the first part to a story i started - thoughts?

It had been two hours in the Impala for Cas to suddenly crack, he cleared his throat,

“Uh, Sam.”

“Yeah?” Sam turned around to see the angel. Cas made a head-nodding motion towards Dean and pointed to his ears.

“What y’all playing charades now? What is it Cas?” Dean laughed and took his eyes off the road for a minute to look at the two passengers,

“What…..”

“Dude, we’ve been listening to the same song for the past hour, and the same album for the past two, even Metallica isn’t that good,” Sam said.

“You watch your mouth Sammy, I'm the one driving here!”

“Dean, I do too thoroughly enjoy the melody, but perhaps we could hear something else?” Cas piped in from the backseat nervously. Dean moved his attention to the rearview mirror, took a good look at Castiel, then back to his brother, and with a deep sigh begrudgingly agreed. Sam grabbed something from his feet,

“An aux cord? You have to be kidding me”.

“Dean, unlike you I enjoy living in the 21st century. You should try it, upgrade from your cassette tapes.” Sam scoffed, but let out a soft chuckle.

“Fine let’s see what garbage you listen to.” Said Dean annoyed and skeptical. Cas moved eagerly towards the space between the two front seats to get a good look at all the commotion. Sam plugged the wire into his cell and proceeded to scroll through till he found the playlist he was looking for.

Sam had always been a soft rock, jazz, and even pop kind of guy. Though, he was sure to always have a playlist that wouldn’t get him kicked out onto the side of the road. Soon, Lodi by Creedence Clearwater Revival came on through the speakers. Dean's face fell flat but remained silent. They were on their way to the beach, so Sam knew he had some leeway and extra room to play with, and Dean was fully aware of the opportunities Sam had. It had been years, decades even since they had a proper visit to the beach. The only times they’ve been there was on a case. Sure, when the boys were younger John had let them stay a couple of days afterward from time to time, but even then it was stress-filled and tense.

A few songs in, Cas reached, sitting up higher, and pointed out the sign that read of the hotel they had booked. Cas had all the windows of the Impala opened, his hair flopped about as the salty air flowed around him. The hotel was located on a quiet street, just a short walk from the shore. It was nicer than the places they typically stayed at.

Sam helped his brother find a parking spot, and closed the doors almost simultaneously. Sam stayed back for a minute grabbing their bags, while Dean and Cas ventured inside. It was quaint, a typical beach hotel. Whiffs of sunblock, the squeaking of damp flip flops, bright lights, and inspirational signs filled their senses.

“Hi, we have three rooms booked.” Dean leaned on the counter and put down a credit card that wasn’t his.

“I see only two on the reservation list..” the clerk said clicking on his computer. Dean looked at Cas nervously, searching for a response to give to the man. Sam strolled in with their bags.

“What’s going on?” Sam butted in on the conversation.

“You only booked two rooms,” Dean said, glaring at his brother. Sam shrugged and turned back to the desk for answers.

“I’m sorry there’s nothing I can do, there aren’t any extra rooms”

“We could stay somewhere else..” Sam started to say but was interrupted.

“No! The reviews said this joint has great water pressure in the shower and I’m not giving that up!” Dean exclaimed passionately. Suddenly Cas cleared his throat,

“Well, I could um share a room with Dean. I don’t sleep anyway.” Cas’s face grew flushed and he shifted his weight on his feet.

“Ok, that works for me. I’m sick of sharing with you anyway, you snore real loudly.” Sam commented about Dean. Though Dean didn’t respond. His eyes had glazed over, staring at the wall deep in thought. He felt his heart in his throat as if he had been chasing a vamp. He gulped it down and felt a soft palm on his shoulder that pulled him away from his thoughts.

“Are you ok?” Cas looked him in the eyes.

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine just thinking” Dean gave him a smile, and Cas’s head straightened once again out of its tilt. Both of the men were visibly flustered from the string of events that just occurred. Sam cleared his throat,

“Ok, wanna find our rooms and get some rest, I for one would appreciate getting more than four hours of sleep for once in my life.” The guys nodded, now aware of the time. Dean bunched up his sleeves till they reached his elbows, and looked at his watch. It was eleven pm, which in hindsight made sense since they had arrived when the sky was darkening.

They started towards the elevator and to the 4th floor. Dean had been iffy about not getting their usual spot in the corner on the base level. But Sam just poked fun at him saying,

“Dude quit overreacting, we aren’t on a hunt, and we’ve saved the world like 12 times. We can survive two nights in a room that doesn’t look at a parking lot.” But Dean had just rolled his eyes. Soon, he found himself following Cas into their room, and Sam walked down the other end of the hallway to his.

“Have fun you two!” Sam teased. The new roommates' faces reddened. Cas swiped the key card over the black square and pushed the door open.

“You have to be kidding me,” Dean said under his breath, yet still audible for Cas to hear. He tossed his duffel bag a few feet away from him and rubbed his hands through his hair until his nails dug into his neck. Before them, they saw a couch, a TV, other typical Hotel amenities (bathroom, mini-fridge), and one queen-sized bed. But, looking back on it, the man at the front desk hadn’t said there would be a second bed in that room.

“Dean, I don’t sleep much anyway, you have the bed and I can hang out on the couch.”

“You sure Cas?”, Cas nodded. Dean felt his eyes getting heavy, he tugged at his duffel and got out his Men Of Letters robe, Led Zeppelin T-Shirt, and his hotdog pajama pants. Meanwhile, Cas had found the TV remote and started channel surfing. He paused it on a show called Lucifer, which he had found very amusing. Dean walked back in to find Cas hunched over in front of the screen pointing at the different characters and saying how inaccurate they are.

“You having fun over there?” Dean said through a smirk as he drew the blanket toward him.

“Though it’s ridiculous, it’s also very comical!” Cas nodded to himself with a smile, maintaining his focus.

“Alright, well you two have fun, just turn the volume down a bit so I can sleep? We’ll come up with a plan for tomorrow in the morning.” Dean kindly shook his head.

“Alright goodnight, Dean.”

“Night, Buddy.”

--------

chapt 2 (not completed?)

It’s 9 am and Dean awakes to Castiel pulling the curtains open, letting the effulgent sunlight bounce around the room, filling Dean’s face with the brightness. He cups his hands by his eyebrows, grabbing at the covers while doing so. Once Dean’s eyes stopped ping-ponging and the static washed over, he grumbled “good mornin.'' and tossed around the clothes in his bag till he found what he called his “summer flannel” and shorts. Cas moved out from by the windows and shuffled over to Dean’s ill-made bed and began to meticulously tidy it up.

“Alright, you ready? Sam’s meeting us downstairs for bacon. Well, he’ll probably have some fancy-schmancy healthy smoothie, but I’m having bacon.” Cas turned towards the bathroom doorway where Dean was still a few feet away from, nodded to Dean in agreement, and walked towards their room’s door.

“Wow wow wow there champ, you’re wearing that?” Dean held out his hand in a stop motion, running over to block the door from him.

“Y- Yes?” Cas replied, unsure of the question.

“Okay, I know it’s your outfit and stuff, but it's the beach! it’s hot outside!”

“But, you’re wearing your summer flannel, and this is all I have.” Cas gestured to Dean’s extra layer and then proceeded to look down at his overcoat.

“Well, that’s different.” Dean said, slightly defensive, and followed up with “We’ll ask Sam downstairs, but I for one am starving”. Dean swiveled, now facing the door holding onto the round silver knob, letting Cas walk through first.

Once the two arrive in the food court, they find Sam already set up with, as his brother had predicted, a bottled smoothie and eggs.

“Hey! Bacon’s over there, Dean.” Sam’s head tilted in the direction of the food. There were lifted metal container-looking platters lined up each with lids to keep what was inside warm. Excitedly, he grabbed a plate and piled on his food.

Castiel joined Sam at the circular table.

“So, how was last night?” Sam asked, showing genuine curiosity.

“It was fine. I did what Dean refers to as channel surfing, and I read all of the brochures on the table.”

“Oh yeah? Find anything interesting?”

“Not particularly, I saw a couple of different restaurants, there is an ice cream place down the street though.” Yes, Cas didn’t need to eat, but recently Rowena cast a spell for him so that he could at least taste it without feeling every single molecule. He hadn’t gotten around to trying Ice Cream yet though, he was still getting used to the sensations.

“What’d I miss? Oh, Sam! Cas refuses to change his clothes. The son of a bitch wouldn’t listen to me.” He had put emphasis on the word “refuses” to get his point across. Cas rolled his eyes at him, recalling the interaction and being fully aware that there hadn’t been anything he would refer to as a refusal.

“Cas only ever wears that trench coat though. And you on the other hand,” Sam turned to Dean,

“Are wearing your summer flannel which by the way does not exist.” Sam lightly laughed as Dean bites dramatically into his bacon.

“Well, this is a vacation, remember? So, if I even see your asses walking to the beach without wearing bathing suits, or at least not long sleeves, I swear I will shoot you.” He waved his fork in the air as he spoke. The men in question, who had been sitting next to each other, locked eyes. The two, without talking seemed to come to the consensus that Sam would in fact shoot them in the leg. Sam himself had been wearing dark purple swim trunks and a T-shirt. Having spent part of the night reading about the town, Cas mentioned a nearby store for him and Dean to walk down to.

#original writing #deancas fic #mine #spn #work in progress so please don't hate me #deancas #destiel

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astrovian · 3 years

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the official ranking of RA photoshoot outfits (pt. 1)

as @dykethorin said when I first proposed doing this particular ranking, “Some real Decisions™️ were made” with these shoots y’all

all photoshoot outfits (for part one) under the cut

the official ranking of Daniel Miller outfits here

the official ranking of Adam Price outfits here

the official ranking of Claude Becker outfits here

guys, I’m crying with laughter

hey quick question: what the fuck was this photoshoot??? (and also I need current RA in these poses)

it’s real nice to see a fun, loosey-goosey RA (before he established himself in the broody-character archetype) but there are so many questionable fashion choices here

when I started this list I had two options:

1) allow some leeway to the older photoshoots because, let’s be real, the early 2000s were an atrocious time for fashion that a lot of us would most rather forget we participated in

2) judge them by today’s standards, which is harsh but some of these outfits deserve it

naturally, I chose option #2

It’s so hard to even pick where to start. the too-loose pants? the ill-fitting suit jacket? The untucked dress shirt that is for some god-forsaken reason undone in two separate directions??

I have chosen one thing that sums the outfit up as a whole: what monster decided to put the shirt collar over the suit jacket????

the jazz hands scream “hey I’m a FUN guy” but the suit screams “I’m the yo-pro asshole at the office who is so unreliable you’re pretty sure some nepotism must surely have had an influence during the hiring process”

I originally said ‘I guess we should be glad there’s no surfer necklace’ but then I had the horrifying realisation that it’s a 50/50 shot as to whether that would improve this outfit or make it worse. and you know when there’s even slimmest chance a surfer necklace could improve an outfit somehow that it’s time to take a good hard look at yourself

1/10 just because this photoshoot made me genuinely laugh out loud

wait I’m sorry, what-

how on god’s green earth is this the same photoshoot (?) as guys, I’m crying with laughter????

the great thing about these lists is that you are getting my genuine reactions as I progress down the images. I had no idea this was the same photoshoot (?) until approximately 10 seconds after writing guys, I’m crying with laughter

this perfectly encapsulates the duality of man – one moment it’s all goofy jazz hands and the next it’s a hunk-of-the-week moment

this man and guys, I’m crying with laughter are the equivalent of looking at pictures of yourself in high school vs. in your 20s/30s/at your prime. the whiplash is insane

and why is he in front of barred windows?? it appears they were afraid of what would happen if this hunk escaped into the general population

I still can’t believe they kept the collar over the suit jacket though

I’m so conflicted guys, the urge to numerically rank this terrible outfit is strong but uh… as per usual shirtless ones aren’t fair/10

revenge of the killer surfer necklace

do you ever look back at a specific moment in time and are so thankful that someone took one tiny action? one small thing they did in the heat of the moment that probably seemed innocuous at the time but had far-reaching consequences? for example, it might something as simple as deciding to take a umbrella on a bright sunny day only for it to be extremely useful on the way home when the weather turns

this is how I feel about the person who decided RA could leave that top button closed for this shoot

if you squint, you can see the surfer necklace under that top button. and thank god you have to squint

this is such an early 2000s look though. that shirt by itself is fine and would actually look killer with a properly fitted suit nowadays. it’s the shirt dress and loose denim look with makes no sense to me

2/10 for a pretty uninspiring early 2000s outfit

revenge of the uh…

from the same shoot as revenge of the killer surfer necklace this loses .1 of a mark for adding a jacket, while pretty innocuous, to an already busy outfit

1.9/10

were we really that afraid of legs?

why were we, as a society, so obsessed with loose, ill-fitting pants? why were we so desperate to conceal legs from the general population? what secrets were we trying to hide? I understand the comfort factor on the hand, but on the other did anyone actually have eyes

the sneakers/suit combo I can definitely live with. but those pants (that I’m convinced must be pyjama pants in another life) turns it all into a sloppy, blurry mess

2.7/10

is it a bird? is it a plane? no, it’s… a floating RA?

what is it about photoshoots in the early 2000s where they just make no damn sense. it’s my opinion that the theme/concept of a shoot should not overshadow the subject, and that’s the correct opinion (as well as being the exact opposite as to what’s happening here)

maybe there was a hint or reason as to why floating wizard RA exists in the article that this shoot presumably came with, but I don’t get it. clearly I’m far too literal of a person and need to embrace my inner artist

looks pretty, still weird

moving on the entire point of this post, the outfit, I uh,… oh god

I’m pretty sure this the same (and similar, if not) outfit RA wore in the North & South behind-the-scenes, and how we as a society went from John Thornton’s stiff collar and top hat to this is amazing

maybe we were so obsessed with period dramas back then because it was a nice alternative to indulge our eyes in when we had to face the harsh, cold reality of modern fashion at the time

anyway – trust me, while I am all for a man in a necklace, let’s pray surfer necklaces never come back 2.9/10

I genuinely was looking up “pinstriped jacket jokes” because I couldn’t think of anything off the top of my head but then I realised I don’t need a joke here because pinstriped jackets are a joke all by themselves

I feel like there may be a situation where pinstriped suit jackets might grow on me, but this is not that situation

also I don’t really know where I stand on the belt, but I certainly think I’m leaning towards the ‘why’ part of the scale. if you’re gonna make a belt that prominent in a photoshoot, at least make it a fun belt

3/10

I’m noticing a trend in these photoshoots and it’s these horrific backgrounds

I will admit that the non-patterned suit jacket is going with the jeans a lot better here. but now that my attention isn’t focused on that, all I can see are the dress shoes. WHY DID YOU PUT DRESS SHOES WITH STRAIGHT-LEGGED JEANS???

please someone I am begging you, can we as a society get to tapered jeans already

3.3/10

did RA genuinely ever get put into any clothes that actually fitted him properly at this point in time?

look, I know I’ve been picking on the bootcut jeans & loose attire that plagued us in the early 2000s (or 2006, to be specific to this photoshoot). what can I say, it’s the low-hanging fruit. or loose-hanging, as the case may be

I do appreciate that rich brown leather jacket and that smile. but that’s where it stops. someone take dress shirts and dress shoes away from bootcut denim PLEASE

3.5/10

this is the bad-boy from your hometown in every rom-com ever

as with well this in an interesting development that I can’t say I disapprove of below, the lower rating is simply because from what we can see, it’s just a plain shirt. however, that dipped v-neck? mm-mmm

look at that smirk. this man knows what he’s doing to us, dammit.

why do you persist in hurting us this way 4/10

well this in an interesting development that I can’t say I disapprove of

god bless the person who said we need this shirt wet and clinging and only half-soaked

I’m so sad that I have to give this such a low ranking because uh… we’ve established I have a weakness for those biceps

this does also get bonus points for the creativity of “only this portion of your shirt needs to be wet for your close-up” but at the end of the day it is a solitary grey t-shirt even if it is floating in an attractive sea of muscles

4.5/10

the photographer really said ‘who gives a crap about the clothes’, huh?

an interesting shirt! but as much as I love RA’s face, we should be able to see more of the shirt (and the outfit) because uh… it’s hard to make a judgement call on a photoshoot outfit without that

also, it’s just so hard to concentrate on some of these with RA staring into my soul like that

*sigh* 4.6/10

hello sir, are you as kinky as your shirt?

this is one of the few occasions on which I will give the bootleg baggy jeans a pass. interesting choice to go shoeless for all outfits in this shoot – but the way the shirt is all crumpled is annoying me an incessant amount. I am begging you, someone pass this stylist an ironing board PLEASE

4.7/10 for a crinkle-cut RA

all that’s missing is the beer cans

I’m not sure of the short sleeves here. I think with the shirt open as well my brain doesn’t know where to look

HOWEVER, this is an RA from the early 2000s that I can get behind – largely because he’s not drowning in his denim

the nice, plain belt which matches with the shirt? excellent

interesting choice to go with the bare feet – this entire look (and the quality of that concrete floor) screams ‘we’re chilling at a summer party in your parent’s basement in the early 2000s’ if not for one thing – that couch is way too nice looking. am I being too pedantic about this? no. If you’re gonna go for the whole basement party look, you need a couch that’s falling apart and has at least one questionable stain on it

that being said, I would hang out in this man’s basement

it’s a shirtless one so once again, I cannot give a numerical answer/10

I’m not sure if this man is dangerous or is just an idiot

they may have been wanting RA to embrace his inner Daniel Miller here but that is NOT a jacket that should have its collar popped or if it is, it definitely should not be popped that much. just turn the intensity of that pop down by… at least 35%

this look is telling me to embrace my inner lacy, ruffled collar that men in England used to wear around the 1500 - 1600s. I hate it and refute it with every part of my soul

this is what happens when you embrace your inner Daniel a little bit too much 5.6/10

the return of the leg monster

not much to say about this except once again we are terrified to put RA’s legs into well-fitted pants. what secrets are hiding underneath those voluminous billows? will we ever know?

5.8/10

the one that crushed my hopes and dreams and then spat on my corpse

so I admit it, I got really excited because I thought that this was a leopard print shirt and I was like “this is something I did NOT know that I needed until right now”, even if I would argue that it could have been nice in a little bit of a brighter colour. no matter, I thought it was a nice subtle addition to this plain suit and was just very excited at the prospect of RA rocking leopard print even though I almost always hate leopard print in single every form it comes in

and then. upon zooming. a disappointing paisley. sorry, paisley lovers. I hate it

I would also argue here that the pocket square would have been nice in a plain, bright colour rather than another patterned item thrown into the mix. come on stylists, stop letting me down with your pocket squares

also if there is a point where a suit can be too shiny, I think we’ve found it. I could wax floors with that fabric and I’d rather be thinking about RA’s talent & good looks rather than imagining him being used as a human mop

the hand porn is uh… strong with this one 6/10

the hand porn one

the ring is a nice subtle touch but I can’t decide where I stand on this tie. for me, the checks are just a *wee* tad too small. so small that it I’m scared it will turn into one of those optical illusions with a number in it if I stare at it the tie for too long

the pocket square could also have not tried so hard to blend in with the rest of the suit jacket. give me some colour, baby!

Richard really needs to put his hand down so I can actually concentrate on the clothes 6.5/10

I’m just dotty for this one (I’m so sorry y’all)

so suave. so shiny. I wanna stroke that fabric so bad, it looks so soft

the dots bring a nice yet understated touch to a monotone outfit and GOOD LORD those thighs

they just had to pose him like this to torture us, I’m convinced. also they call him a “commanding gentleman” in the subtitle which is really just unnecessary to verbalise when he’s sitting like this

Someone put me in a rom-com with this man 7.2/10

the modern magician (at least he ain’t floating this time)

I know that the hat should be the focus of this shoot but I can’t get over those shoes

tangentially related, I have never understood why they make men’s dress shoes so excessively long and pointed. these certainly aren’t a good example of this but uh… I don’t understand why men’s dress shoes are clown shoes

I think part of what’s throwing me off is the sockless look. normally I can handle (and even love) it with some shoes but there’s something about the hem of those jeans and those shoes that turn them into slippers when worn sockless

I love the two-tone scarf but what really excites me is the plaid shirt that we can barely see. I’m eternally sad that they had RA hid it in this pose. and also, come one. you could’ve at least gotten a chair with an actual back to it. that can’t be good for his back at all

the one bonus of this outfit is the hat because when do we ever get RA in hats?? and hats that aren’t baseball caps?? a nice, rare touch. but also one which hides most of that face so…

can we talk about the fact that my gut tells me those jean cuffs have been deliberately turned up at the front and all I want in life is to reach into this image and flip them down 7.5/10

*pterodactyl noises*

holy macaroni. that demin shirt. and this shirt’s even a nice lighter denim colour??? and the v-neck?? SIR

I know he’s worn some faux-denim shirts in the last few years (see: Uncle Vanya rehearsal pics) but as outerwear? knocked it out of the park in this one

also I know this is a shirt not a jacket, but this shirt made me think about how I never realised how much I needed RA in jean jackets until today

It could be argued that a nice crew neck cut would work slightly better than the v-neck but that’s really a personal choice

a lovely respite for my weary eyes 7.7/10

a truly, truly blessed image. the sort of image that would bring you endless good luck

I know I’ve given a lot of pants crap on this list but these. these are the ones. these are doing the lord’s work for sure. and god bless the person who decided to shoot from this particular side angle.

and then the shirt?? I’m honestly afraid it may rip if he moves. I could leave or take the tie though. it’s not adding a whole lot to this outfit and I would much rather that shirt be uh… open at the top for a glimpse of uh… well. you know.

this RA outfit laughs in the face of all those early 2000s RA outfits 8.1/10

me running to open my phone every time an RA-related notification pops up

my only sadness is that this shoot was in black & white. we need more action-shot RA shoots!

also the subtle plaid?? *chef’s kiss*

well, I said ‘my only sadness’ but is it also me or are both ends of that tie strangely square? that is throwing me off from an otherwise spectacular photoshoot outfit, I won’t lie

8.5/10 for a man of action

this is what we all like to think we look on the way to work. hate to break it to ya - we don’t

god, that wind-ruffled hair. the rustic look provided by both the suit material & the photo editing. that stare over the top of that coffee mug. the casual ‘I just picked up the paper on my way out this morning’

words fail me

would it be weird if I said I would pay money to be able to run my hands through anyone’s hair that looks as soft and wind-swept as that 8.9/10

the comfiest RA

I love. love. love this outfit, especially the sweater. the pant colour goes extremely well with this one and I’m so glad they didn’t just stick him in jeans. the is the softest, comfiest RA and I love it. this is an RA who you can simultaneously share a beer and takeaway with at home, cuddling up on the sofa while you watch a film, as well as an RA who will take you out to eat fancy pasta at an upscale restaurant.

the choice of sitting on a stool is also great. my only real gripe here is the watch (and even that’s a minor one, really). the watch isn’t THAT bad, but it’s chunky face reminds me slightly of the watches boys in my class would wear in middle school. the watch could be a *wee wee tad* slicker, but really, I’m nitpicking here (and this is the only time I will admit to it)

the more I look at it, the more this becomes one of my fav RA pics. the slight smile. the relaxed pose. the hint of hand porn

weirdly, for some reason this picture gives me the exact same comfy and ‘just chilling out’ feeling as when I hear the song “Kiss Me” by Sixpence None the Richer 9.5/10

#richard armitage #yes this is a multi-part one because uh... there's a lot of photoshoots guys #also yes most of the early 2000s ones ended up at the bottom and I refuse to apologise for that

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thegreenwolf · 4 years

Photo

(This post was originally posted on my blog at https://thegreenwolf.com/its-okay-to-not-hustle/)

There’s this meme going around Facebook right now, saying “If you don’t come out of this quarantine with a new skill, your side hustle started, or more knowledge, you never lacked time. You lacked discipline.” Thankfully multiple people have already skewered it, but it continues to be shared around by the sort of person who is trying to one-up everyone else, or who’s just plain clueless–or, for that matter, just trying to guilt you into buying whatever they’re selling.

Now, there’s not a damned thing wrong with self-promotion. That’s how indie artists, authors, and other self-employed folks get the word out. You have to be able to talk good talk in order to get people’s attention. But leading with this meme? Guilting people for not leaping from sudden unemployment straight into the thick of the ever-shifting gig economy? That ain’t gonna fly, Brocephus.

You Have Good Reasons to Slack

Excuse me while I dust off my counseling psych degree a sec, here. *ahem* We are in a very sensitive, turbulent time right now. We’re in the middle of a pandemic, the likes of which hasn’t been seen in a century in the Western world. We are in a hugely traumatizing situation here. Not just for the financial losses, but the fact that COVID-19 has killed thousands of people and left many more with permanent lung damage. We still haven’t gotten a handle yet on exactly how contagious this thing is, how long you’re contagious for, or whether you’re immune once you’ve had it, assuming you survive. We don’t have adequate testing, emergency rooms estimate that for every positive test there are 10-20 people out there infected and untested, and everyone with a cough is suddenly Schroedinger’s COVID case. Governments worldwide are slow to react in spite of the rising death toll. People have had friends and family die horribly from this thing in a short period of time. Even people who didn’t already have issues with anxiety, depression and other mental illnesses are feeling stressed, strained and scared–and, yes, traumatized. This image is guilt-tripping people who are actively being traumatized.

So we’re already starting with a populace that is dealing with this collective trauma, as well as whatever personal trauma each individual is experiencing. Not always easy to seize the day when you’re going through that. And I can think of a few other reasons that might further complicate this whole “Just get a side gig!” thing:

–They’re a parent who suddenly has all their kids at home, all the time, demanding time and attention and food, AND they still have to work eight hours a day from home, or maybe even more if their S.O. is unemployed/sick/etc. By the way, if someone trots out Isaac Newton or William Shakespeare or some other historical guy who managed to do epic things during a pandemic, remember that they usually had wives or servants to do all the laundry and cooking and cleaning and (if applicable) childcare for them.

–They’re disabled or chronically ill, and don’t have the ability/energy/etc. to just go and make something happen, just like that. Imagine if you just randomly got the fatigue from a really bad flu, and you never knew whether it was going to last a day or a month. And if you tried exerting yourself when you were feeling better, chances are you’d slip back into fatigue-land. That’s what a lot of my chronically ill/etc. friends have to deal with, to say nothing of issues with accessibility of resources for starting a side gig.

–They don’t have any money for the supplies needed to start a side hustle, or the supplies have been hoarded by hobbyists preparing for a Pandemic Staycation.

–They don’t have the skills for something that just requires what they already have (like, for example, writing on a laptop you already happen to own). Often these skills are things that can’t be perfected in a few weeks at home, but may take years to develop before they’re really marketable–like, for example, the skill to make a decent living on side hustles.

–They have anxiety, depression or other mental health conditions that make it hard to function even in the best of times, but even moreso in this…well…mess. Even people who were mentally healthy before are going to be developing diagnosable anxiety and depression disorders before all’s said and done. And speaking from personal experience, those of us who look successful on the outside can still be internally hamstrung by these conditions at times.

–Plus there’s the fact that we’re not supposed to, you know, leave our homes, which narrows down the field of potential side gigs by a lot.

Even doing something less financially-wrought like learning a new skill or subject takes time, energy, and sometimes money, any or all of which may be scarce for the reasons above and more.

Comparison is the Thief of Joy

I am saying all of this as someone who is arguably an expert on the side gig. I have spent the past eight and a half years 100% self-employed (and a lot longer doing it part-time) as an author and artist, able to cover all my bills and expenses, and for a time I was the primary breadwinner of a multi-person household. I have like ten different things I was doing for a living before this all hit, a pretty diverse set of streams of income, even if most of them just up and evaporated in the past few weeks. And while I’m definitely a hell of a lot leaner now than I was a month ago, I still have my head above water for the moment. So I think I know side gigs.

I’m one of the lucky ones. I’m overall healthy. I have a dog who is a lot less demanding of my time than kids would be. I have my own space where I can focus more or less without interruption. More importantly, I have the skills, the knowhow, the drive and the personality to go out and seek new opportunities. And I’m used to fluctuations in income, though admittedly this one’s unprecedented. Don’t gauge yourself by where I am now. I’ve spent twenty-two years building up my art business, my first book came out in 2006, and I’ve had a series of really good opportunities come my way that I had the privilege to be able to make the most of. I am not your measuring stick, so don’t say “Well, if she can do it why can’t I? I must suck!”

If you’re feeling crappy because you aren’t hopping to it and carpeing the diem and getting everything done, here’s what I have to say to you: Look, you just had your world turned upside-down. Job loss, scarce commodities, sudden lack of outside childcare, restricted movement and inability to be around much of your support system, and did I mention a pandemic is happening, too? Any single one of those things would be difficult for just about anyone to deal with, never mind all at once. And I don’t even know what all else has already been going on in your life–unstable or unsafe living situation, other health issues, breakups and other losses, interpersonal conflicts. You know, normal life stuff.

You’re Not Lazy, or Screwing Up, or (Gods Forbid) Undisciplined

It is totally okay if all you’re doing right now is surviving. It’s okay if you feel like you’re drowning, overwhelmed by all that’s happening both on a global level and more personally. It’s okay if all you can manage right now is to get out of bed and stumble through each day a moment at a time, struggling with a tidal wave of emotions. It’s okay if you’re just trying to keep your kids busy, dealing with a crowded home every single day, or trying to keep COVID-19 at bay. It’s okay if, instead of firing up DuoLingo or opening an Etsy shop, you spend your evenings vegging to Netflix or reading a book or playing hours and hours of Animal Crossing.

Not every moment in your life has to be about being productive even in the best of circumstances, and that goes exponentially so right now. Be patient with yourself, and be kind. You may be one of those folks who literally has to spend all their time scrabbling to try to cover the bills or get some leeway from bill collectors, and you have to dedicate your waking time hunting for resources just to try to get through this week. Believe me, I feel for you, I have a lot of friends in that situation right now, and I hope all of you can find some relief and assistance.

May I suggest something? If you have the energy for something more than the bare essentials of getting by, put that energy toward self-care, whatever you can manage under the circumstances. You can use it to recuperate, to rebuild your emotional and physical resilience. That way if things get rough again in the future, you have more internal reserves to build on. If your usual methods don’t work or aren’t accessible due to lockdown, ask others what they’re doing to keep themselves grounded in this trying time.

Just because you have more time doesn’t mean you don’t have to throw yourself right into something productive! Don’t feel pressured to just go-go-go the moment you have a little freedom to move. If you do decide you want to try a side gig, or a new skill, or learn all about some specialized topic of interest, go for it! If you have the energy and attention and opportunity to pursue something new, it can be a great coping skill during this traumatic time. Just don’t pressure yourself; keep it fun.

One last thing: I want you to save the image I have at the top of this post. And then if you see someone post that meme, saying “Come on, you lazy bums, get up and make that side gig happen! Learn new stuff! Do all the things! No excuses!” you pull out this version, and you look at the edits, you remember that it’s okay to be where you are, and you get back to doing things at your own pace no matter what someone else says. (I find visualizing stapling a printout of the edited version to the offender’s forehead to also be therapeutic, but that may just be me.)

Hang in there, okay? It’s going to be a rough time, but you’re not alone, and what you’re feeling right now is shared by so many people. So just let yourself be where you are in this moment, and we’ll see what hope tomorrow brings. And remember that whatever you’re capable of in this moment: it’s enough.

Did you enjoy this post? Please consider supporting my work on Patreon, buying my books here on my website, buying my art and books on Etsy, or tipping me at Ko-fi!

#COVID-19 #mental health #executive dysfunction #anxiety #depression #mine

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sherrybaby14 · 5 years

Text

Fever

Summary: You are sick. Steve’s your boyfriend and wants to help your fever break.

Warnings: Smut, flu-like-illness, I am going to label this Non Con (PLEASE DO NOT READ IF THIS OFFENDS YOU)

Pairing: Steve x Reader

A/N: I have been sick for a week (not like I haven’t been bitching about it non stop) So this is super self indulgent.

Words: 2500

It started with a tickle in the back of your throat. You tried to ignore it, but an hour later you found yourself coughing. Maybe it was allergies. Time ticked away at your desk, you started to get cold. Too cold. You touched your forehead. The temperatures didn’t match.

You were sick. There was no more denying it. Your boss and coworkers would understand, they weren’t the ones you were concerned about.

There was a reason illness was contagious. It kept people away and away they should stay. You winced thinking about the last time you were sick. Steve was giddy to take care of you. At first you thought it was sweet, counted yourself lucky your boyfriend’s enhancements included an immune system. But you had been wrong. So wrong.

With a shaky hand you pulled out your cellphone and typed a quick text:

I have to work late. Sorry. Can’t hang out tonight. I’ll call you tomorrow.

Before you could even put the thing away the typing bubble appeared.

Why are you texting? You know I like phone calls.

You didn’t get a chance to type back before his name appeared on your screen. You took a deep breath and let out a coughing fit. Keep it together. You planted a fake smile on your face and answered.

“Sorry baby. We’re just swamped.” You tapped at the keys on your computer. “If my boss catches me on the phone he’s going to freak out.”

“What’s wrong?” Steve’s voice was stern. “Your boss never cares. Is he giving you a hard time? Do I need to come down there?”

“Steve we’ve talked about this. You can’t always be my hero. I can handle some stuff on my own.” The tickle and urge to cough came back, you tried to bite it down.

“And we have talked about you quitting that dumb job and letting me take care of you.” Steve’s words were biting. “Really, you’re not even happy there. You could write or paint or work on whatever…”

You tried to cover the phone, but the cough exploded right in the middle of Steve’s chase your passions speech. You pressed your eyes shut and hoped he didn’t hear. Once you calmed down you realized another spat was coming.

“We’ll talk about this tommorrow. I have to go. Bye. I love you.” You hit end and then started coughing into your sleeve, letting it all out.

“You look like shit.” Your boss was in front of your desk. “Go home. Take tomorrow off too, the next day even. Don’t come back until you’re at one hundred percent.”

You glared at your boss with an open mouth and dizzy head. Why did he have to be so understanding? Why couldn’t he demand you back the next day?

But he was right. You nodded and grabbed your purse, shutting down your computer.

“Feel better.” He waved as you left the office.

The entire time all you could think was fuck, fuck fuck.

When you got to your apartment the fever and aches had set in. The cough strangely enough had disappeared, or at least your other ailments hurt enough that you weren’t paying attention.

Maybe a train ride to your parents was worth it. You could hide out there for the week. Your mom could take care of you like a normal person. Lots of sleep and binge watching. Chugging seven-up and a random glass of Hawaiian Punch. Even a hot toddy or two to help you sleep.

Yes. Steve would never try anything around your parents. It was a safe space for you to recover like a normal person. That was the ticket.

The idea was so promising you crawled into your bed thinking about it, a smile on your face. The perfect solution, and you would be able to rest. Rest. Maybe closing your eyes for a bit wouldn’t hurt. You would need your strength for the train ride of course. You pulled the comforter over yourself, promising you would close your eyes for five minutes tops.

The bed dipped behind you. You let out a groan and hugged the pillow tighter. You were equal parts too hot and too cold. It felt like your head wasn’t even part of your body.

A hand touched your shoulder and you winced.

“Shhh.” The comforter was flipped away.

“Wha?” You started to turn.

“You fell asleep in your work clothes.” Steve guided you into a sitting position.

“Please.” You felt a sob coming. “I can’t. Not like last time.”

“Shhh.” Steve put your arms in the air and lifted off your shirt. “None of that. Hush. Let me take care of you.”

“Everything hurts. Please. I don’t know if I’m hot or I’m cold.” Your lip quivered.

“I know Baby.” He put your arms down and then went for your pants, pushing you back into the mattress with his other hand. “Don’t worry about lying to me right now. We will deal with that when you feel better. And I plan on making it my goal to nurse you back to health.”

“Steve, not like last time.” Your tears were so hot they burned your eyes. “I can’t.”

“Hush. Save your strength.” He picked up your hips and pushed your pants down.

A shoe hit the ground with a thud.

“You didn’t even take off your shoes?” Steve shook his head. “You really need my help.”

You squinted your eyes shut, unsure if you wanted to help the tears fall or fight them off. Fighting didn’t seem to be in your wheelhouse at the moment as Steve tossed your pants on the floor, leaving you in your bra and panties.

“I need rest.” Maybe logic would work, but your head was swimming so much it may have not made any sense to him. “Just sleep.”

“Oh sweetie.” Steve’s hands went underneath you and he I clipped your bra. “You have no clue what you need. That’s obvious. You’re so lucky I am here to take care of you.”

You clenched your thighs, not wanting the reaction your body was already producing.

“No.” You tried to wiggle away as he slipped off your bra, but once the garment left Steve pinned your shoulder to the bed. “I’m too sick. Please. I’m so cold.”

“That’s the fever talking.” Steve’s other hand slid down your body to your panties. He hooked his fingers under them and dragged them off. “Don’t worry. We will break that nasty thing together.”

“Everything hurts.” You put your hands to his chest and realized he didn’t have a shirt on, was probably already naked and you let out a sob. “I can’t. You can’t. Please, just be normal.”

“Normal?” Steve parted your thighs. “If you weren’t so sick I would think you wanted a kinkier time tonight. Lying to me? Now insults?”

He positioned himself on top of you. You brought you hands to your face, equal parts mad at yourself for disappointing him and not stopping him.

Steve’s lips met your stomach and you shivered. He kept moving until he arrived at your pussy. His tongue ran up your slit and you cringed at how wet you already were.

The realization snapped you back to reality and you sat up, trying to shove his shoulder as the room span.

“NO!” You slapped your thighs to his head. “NOT NOW!”

Anger flashed in his blue eyes as he reached up and grabbed your wrist.

“This is the best medicine.” His voice carried a warning that matched his features. “You’re lucky I can take care of you this way. Now LAY DOWN!”

Your shoulders started to shake as you fell backwards. Were you right? Was he right? Everything was so fuzzy. Your brain couldn’t even began to process before his mouth covered your entire sex.

Your hands went to the bed and you started to fist the sheets, now bending your knees and lifting your feet from the bed to give him easier access. Steve sucked down hard, pulling you into his mouth as his tongue slid inside you. Fuck. You were already so wet. This almost seemed unnecessary.

This was wrong. A chill ran over your fever addled brain and there was an ache in your thigh and back from the position. Your feet hit the bed and you began to pant. There had to be a way to stop this. To stop him.

“I’m going to puke.” You bit your lip.

Steve sucked hard before his mouth vanished, leaving your clit pulsing and pussy empty.

“Lying again?” He shifted to his knees. “There are no signs of that sort of distress. You need my help. Stop fighting.”

“I’m sorry.” You turned your head in shame. Then a wave of heat covered your body. Why were you feeling guilty? You said no! He should respect that.

The bed shifted to your left. You looked up at Steve as he put a hand on your cheek cradling your face.

“I’m giving you some leeway because of your sickness.” He turned you to your side and wrapped an arm around your middle before placing a kiss on your temple. “And I appreciate the apology. There’s my girl.”

He held you tight to his chest. Spooning. Maybe he heard you. Maybe he really was just concerned about you wearing your work clothes. You let out a sigh of relief as you snuggled back into him.

Then his hand came forward and he lifted your leg onto his thigh. You grabbed the pillow and dove your face into it, biting as you felt him line up. Shaking your head from side to side in protest.

“We need to break that fever.” He began to slide into you, easier than you wanted to admit. “Get you to work up a sweat and beat those germs away.”

The position made you feel his cock make it’s descent. Your fever rattled brain couldn’t focus on anything, but he felt so giant. If the rest of your body wasn’t already sore this would have broken you.

“Please…stop.” You spoke into the pillow, unsure if he even heard you.

“Oh baby.” He kissed the top of your head. “I know, it’s hard to take your medicine, but I promise we will break this fever and then you will feel so much better.”

He bottomed out and you winced into the pillow, feeling all of him.

One of Steve’s hands was on your hip and the other on your shoulder. He began rocking you into him as he pulled out and slid back in.

“You’re so hot. We need to cool you off.” He kept kissing you. “Let your body take what it needs. Shut off that beautiful brain. Give it a rest.”

Rest. That was all you wanted. Not this.

“You take me so well. See your body knows what it needs.” His hand left your hip and snaked down to your clit. “We’ll raise that temperature until it crashes. I know just what you need. Let me take care of you.”

You whined into the pillow and realized it sounded like a moan. Was it a moan?

“There’s my good girl.” Steve rubbed your bundle of nerves harder and pulled you tighter as he picked up the pace. “Taking the treatment. Doctor’s orders.”

The tears were flowing freely now, but you weren’t sure if you were rocking against him or letting him take control. Either way you were starting to give up.

Then you noticed another reaction: the tightening in your belly. You leaned forward, hoping it would satiate it.

“That’s it sweetie.” Steve moved even faster. “The best cure there is. Take it. You always do so well.”

You screamed into the pillow, not understanding how your orgasm was forming anymore than why you were now humping against him, desperate for it, no longer concerned with the aches in your body or fever in your head.

He was right. This was what you needed. You sobbed, not even bothering to think about the reason behind your tears as you let everything go, fell forward into the pool.

“I’m here to take care of you.” He grunted. “Let me take care of you.”

“Ahh!” You let go of the pillow as you cried, the waves of pleasure melding with the illness.

Your body shook as the chills, fever, aches, and ecstasy melted into one.

No thoughts came to mind as you passed out. Still feeling equally hot and cold and confused.

When you came back to you were on your stomach, Steve’s warm body behind you, still pumping in and out.

“Why?” You croaked out with a horse ness.

“Shhh.” His fingers were on your clit, playing it into life. “We’re getting close to breaking. Just enjoy.”

Everything was so hot. You wanted to buck him off of you, your legs shaking as you were covered in sweat. But then you noticed the tingling in your pussy.

A scream left your lips as you bit into the mattress. Your body shaking as an orgasm ripped through you. What number was it? Did you know? Did you care?

Exhausted wasn’t even in your vocabulary as you collapsed into the bed.

“There we go.” Steve pushed into you hard with a grunt. “You broke.”

Sweat seeped out of your pores as Steve’s cum coated your insides.

The heat vanished from your form as you popped your eyes open and gasped. The swimming of your head slipping away.

Steve kissed the top of your head and rolled off of you. You were spent, unable to move.

His hand appeared in front of your face with some pills and a water.

“We have to keep you hydrated.” He put them in your mouth and brought the water to your lips.

You took them down and let your head drop. Sleepiness covered your body, but before you could slip away his hands were on your calves, massaging deep.

“I’m going to work on these sore muscles.” He pushed hard into your leg. “Then we’ll get you a nice warm bath. But don’t worry, I’m here for the long haul. If that fever comes back, we’ll take care of it again.”

You moaned. Hating it that you already felt better.

#steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #steve rogers fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfic

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mostlycompetentwriter · 4 years

Text

Side Effects- Part 2

M/F Pairing: Y/N X Stray Kids (Multiple Pairings)

Word Count: 4K

Genre: Yandere Stray Kids AU, Vampire AU, Fantasy AU

Warnings: graphic depictions of blood, violence, mentions of smut, and language...Oh, and 3racha are kinda rude...

Summary: Sometimes, we can’t escape the past.

“You look beautiful today, Y/N.”

I blushed, of course, from Mark’s tender compliment. “Thank you,” I managed sheepishly, watching as my boss offered me a cheeky smile before entering his office.

Ever since I left the Miroh Coven, I had been working a part-time position as the Secretary to a wealthy CEO. I didn’t mind my job, enjoying the menial tasks I was usually instructed to obey. It was quite mind-numbing, a worthy distraction when I first started working here hollowing the horrors I had endured from the Miroh Coven. The pay was excellent and I was able to help my roommate afford rent while reliably buying myself luxuries like a new mattress or a fresh wardrobe since my old clothes reminded me too much of the past.

The hours were also minimal, and I often found myself sitting down at my desk only to look up at the clock and realize my day had already concluded. Subsequently, I was able to leave the office on time every day to join the steady stream of afternoon traffic. Afterward, I might stop by a restaurant to pick up something for dinner, or occasionally drive through the downtown marketplace because I enjoyed shopping for fresh produce. It was all quite nice and I enjoyed settling into my new life with a deep sigh of relief.

It had almost been nine months since I last saw any of the boys and other than the unfortunate encounter with Chan’s necklace, I was sure that I would never have to experience anything so unattractive ever again. I was slowly regaining my confidence, joining my roommate several times when she wanted to see a movie or shop at one of the outdoor malls. Everything was starting to work out for me, which meant that I was also starting to comfortably take more risks.

“Please have fun tonight,” my roommate said, practically dragging me along with her as we entered one of her favorite clubs. After much convincing, I had finally given in and allowed my roommate to take me out late at night for drinks and dancing. “This is a nice place,” she said, leading me to the bar. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

I nodded my head, looking around the relaxed atmosphere. It was certainly a much tamer club than what I was used to visiting, and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. Of course, the influence of alcohol had a way of making a person far more willing to lower their defenses. “One glass,” I said, accepting the fruity beverage from the bartender before my roommate and I found a table near the edge of the dancefloor.

“So many handsome faces,” my roommate remarked. “Interested in anyone?”

I scoffed at her question because I seriously doubted that I would willingly jump into a new relationship anytime soon. “Really?”

“Just wondering,” my roommate shrugged, drinking down the remainder of her scotch. “Wanna dance?”

I waved her off, deciding that I was okay with enjoying my drink at our table. My roommate let out a giggle, locking eyes with a suave businessman who looked ready to devour her whole. “I’ll check on you soon,” she promised and I quickly lost her in the mass of bodies occupying the dance floor.

I rolled my eyes because I knew better than to expect my roommate’s return. Instead, I sipped at my drink while admiring the friendly atmosphere of the bar, neon colors dazzling in my peripheral vision. It reminded me of my younger college days when I was swept away by the illusion of freedom which independent adulthood offered, attending every frat party I could find.

I grinned at the memories, feeling way too old to try anything like that ever again. It was fun once, being so irresponsible, but now it was time to start paying bills and scratch my head when I attempted to do my taxes. Freedom was addicting, and I could see why so many younger people were enamored with the idea of moving away from home and conquering the world.

Wistfully, I must digress because I often lose myself in my thoughts, and I can’t afford a break in concentration. Instead, I sipped tentatively at my drink, watching the moving sea of bodies. I was entirely focused, which allowed me to raise my guard at the approach of an unfamiliar figure.

“Excuse me? Do you have the time?”

I shrugged loosely because it was an innocent request from someone who clearly wasn’t looking for anything ill-intended. On instinct, I reached into my bag to grab my phone. “It’s almost midnight,” I said, thinking that our interaction would be short-lived.

Instead, the man was insistent, a cold hand digging harshly against my shoulder. “Don’t you know that it’s dangerous to stay up so late, sweetheart?”

The accent had been disguised, but now I recognized it thick and heavy in my ear. I couldn’t even remember to scream before his hand was enclosed over my mouth, teeth nipping at my jaw. Another body slipped into my roommate’s chair, brows raised as he reached for her discarded glass. “Is there room for some company, Y/N?” Jisung asked, blonde hair hanging low in his eyes.

I shook my head desperately, fresh tears clouding my vision. “Where are your manners, sweetheart?” Chan asked with a harsh tone and I was suddenly jerked to the side, a strong hand holding my chin into place.

“What a coincidence, Y/N,” Changbin growled. “We have unfinished business in this little town of yours.”

“You’re coming with us,” Chan said, ignoring the way I fought against him as he practically forced me out of my chair. “Look at me,” he snarled, eyes trained on mine as I started to drift out of consciousness.

I was slowly starting to realize that the implications of being a sire went far beyond just simply turning someone immortal. For example, I knew how cruel Changbin could be, turning violent on a whim, especially if you disobeyed him. He was the one who liked to punish me when he thought I was being bad, dragging out all sorts of special toys to use against my body. Paddles and lashes, whips and spikes, everything Changbin needed was lined perfectly along the walls of the special room he had decorated for himself whenever he wanted to play with someone. He was a sadist in every sense of the word, enjoying the sensation of watching someone suffer for his own pleasure. When he had first brought me into the room, I had immediately protested, close to tears when Changbin had cooed at me and insisted that I would never be forced to do anything outside of my comfort zone. He spoke with a wicked tongue, dark eyes revealing the truth if I had been so willing to look for it, but I eventually allowed him to have his way with me. Tears streaming freely down the side of my face while Changbin’s tongue traced the salty rivulets with a groan.

But Changbin wasn’t the only one with a fiery temper and desire for pain and suffering. His fledgling vampires, Felix and Hyunjin, had decisively taken on his more brutal aspects. Felix lost control whenever I said something to offend him, growling out insults while I tried to avoid his hands. Hyunjin had special permission to use Changbin’s secret room to explore his own masochism, and I had accidentally wandered into one of his sessions at the beginning of our arrangement before things had turned sexual between us. I remember the look of existential terror on the girl’s face that I had foolishly misplaced as pleasure, crying out not in ecstasy but in pain.

On the other hand, Jisung was the manipulative and cunning brother who thought out everything instead of living on a whim according to his pleasures. It was this same trait that I discovered in Minho who also shared Jisung’s tendency to plan out his movements. The only difference between them was that Minho was silent in his execution while Jisung was loud in letting everyone know that he had gotten his way.

Finally, there was Bang Chan, the legal leader of the Miroh Coven. Chan was the last of the brothers to attempt a siring bond because he had never found the right person. I would never know for sure why Seungmin and Jeongin were “the right people,” but Chan doted on them in every sense of the word. He treasured them like they were his possessions, buying them expensive clothes and allowing them leeway when their bloodlust tended to get the best of them. It was up to the sire to teach their fledglings how to properly drink blood from a source, but Chan had decided not to blink an eye when Seungmin or Jeongin accidentally took things a step too far.

Just like Chan, Seungmin and Jeongin were also extremely possessive, especially when they considered something to belong exclusively to them. I can only wish that I had noticed sooner, the way the three of them liked to leave their marks on me in various ways, whether it be through a harsh bite or buying me something nice and insisting that I wear it at all times. Seungmin and Jeongin were also dangerous because there had been times when I felt like I was on death’s door, feeling them drink my blood like they would never stop.

Sadly, I thought I had escaped all of that, so imagine the utter sense of dread crippling my entire body when I woke up to see Chan, Changbin, and Jisung standing over me as they watched me slowly awaken. Chan was the first to react, sitting down on the edge of the bed as he appraised me. “Sweetheart,” he said and a shiver ran down my spine. “Don’t you know how worried we were when you ran away from us like that?”

My lower lip trembled and I bit down on it hard. “I couldn’t stay.”

“Why not?” Chan asked, looking every bit as patient as I remembered.

“You hurt people,” I whispered. “And you hurt me too.”

“Hurt you?” Chan huffed, a look of annoyance masking his features. “We protected you and cared for you, sweetheart.”

“You belong to us,” Jisung said, gaze cold as he watched me from afar.

I sniffled, slowly losing my last shred of pride as I tried not to cry in front of these horrible vampires. His words reminded me of the night I left, rushing out into the streets with blood covering my body. “I don’t have to work for you anymore,” I said.

Changbin growled. “The arrangement meant more than that, Y/N.”

“We love you,” Chan said, reaching for my hands and I didn’t have the strength to fight him. “Remember? We can be together forever.”

I was crying now, triggered by the all-too-familiar words spoken 9 months ago when I entered the Miroh Mansion for the final time.

Jeongin was still young enough to celebrate his birthday, and the rest of the Clan had decided that nothing was too good for their precious youngest member. I remember going shopping with Chan, buying party decorations without any consideration for how much it would cost them. Earlier that week, Jisung and I had visited the bakery to order Jeongin a custom-made birthday cake, including a cheesy message at the bottom to commemorate the occasion. Everyone was in good spirits and I had finally stopped thinking about the bodies in their basement, believing Jisung when he told me that they had been donated to the Miroh Clan to use as a source of fresh blood. “It sometimes happens,” Jisung said. “Whenever there’s an accident and nobody claims the bodies, they send them here for us to use.”

It was an extremely unreasonable explanation but I refused to believe anything else in an attempt to protect myself from the truth. I was determined to move past it, forcing myself to smile at Jisung’s cheesy jokes or Chan’s attempts to make me laugh. I must have been a good actor because they stopped hovering around me at every possible opportunity, watching me like they were waiting for me to bolt out the door and never return.

“Y/N!” Jeongin had said, jumping into my bed to wake me up that morning. “Guess what?” he giggled, adorable face mere inches from my own.

“Hmmm?” I wondered, smirking as he practically beamed with excitement.

“It’s my birthday,” Jeongin said. “I’m supposed to be 40-years-old today!”

“Congratulations,” I snickered, deciding that it wasn’t the most ridiculous thing I had ever heard.

“Will you come play with me and Felix?” Jeongin asked. “We can do whatever we want until Chan gets home.”

That’s another thing I had noticed about the fledglings. They never really liked to talk about anyone except for their sired master. In fact, if I didn’t know any better, I would think that Jeongin had no idea that Jisung and Changbin even existed. “Okay,” I said. “Let me take a shower first.”

Jeongin allowed me to get ready in peace and quiet, and I enjoyed the feeling of the water scalding my skin as I stood under the faucet for far longer than normal. Afterward, I pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, finding Felix, Jeongin, and Seungmin in Minho’s room, arguing over who would join teams. I yawned when I entered, wary of the way Minho was watching me from his bed, legs stretched out in front of him as his eyes followed me all the way to where Felix was holding out my controller.

I spent the remainder of the afternoon with the younger boys, ignoring Minho completely as I let Jeongin win several times even though I was much better at Street Fighter. “Finally,” Jeongin exclaimed, racing for the door before I could question him.

“Chan’s home,” Minho informed me, holding out a hand which I reluctantly accepted, trying not to react when Minho leaned in to press his lips against my delicate pulse point.

Downstairs, all of the vampires were busy setting up Jeongin’s party. Streamers hung from the overhead banisters and balloons floated mindlessly through the room as Chan hugged Jeongin tightly against his chest. “Were you a good boy today?” he asked the youngest who nodded enthusiastically in response.

“Y/N,” Jisung called my name. “Help me in the kitchen.”

I obeyed immediately, finding Jisung situating candles on top of the cake we had purchased earlier that week. I was struck by the normalcy of the situation, standing next to Jisung as he instructed me to start boiling a pot of water. Apparently, despite their delicate diets, on special occasions, the Vampires could enjoy human food and Jeongin’s favorite was being prepared for him.

It was chaotic in the Mansion as everyone attended to their various responsibilities, amusing little Jeongin who flitted from person to person. Although, more often than not, Jeongin stuck close to Chan’s side, talking to his sire about all the nuances of his day. Chan listened patiently, nodding along as he finished the elaborate ribbon around one of Jeongin’s birthday presents. “Is everyone ready?”

We all stood together in the kitchen, singing for Jeongin who was vibrating from head to toe. He blew out the candles and beamed at the accompanying applause. “Happy birthday, Jeongin,” I said, allowing him to pull me into an impossibly strong grip.

Meanwhile, the other vampires slowly congregated into the living room where Jeongin’s presents were waiting for him. “Y/N,” Chan said, holding me back as Jeongin raced out of the kitchen. “Help me carry these drinks.”

I wrinkled my nose because they were obviously filled with blood. Nonetheless, I obeyed diligently, accepting one of the trays before following Chan into the crowded foyer. “Channie!” Jeongin said, holding up a delicate pocket watch. “It’s so nice!”

Chan smiled warmly at Jeongin, ruffling his hair playfully as he started handing out the glasses. Changbin grabbed me by the hips as I passed in front of him, pulling me into his lap as he took a sip from his glass. “It’s not as good as yours,” he teased, lips scarlet from the liquid.

I chose not to respond to his comment, trying to relax against his body. “Y/N,” Chan said before handing me a glass. I studied it cautiously while I gingerly took the glass from him.

“What is it?”

“Just some wine,” Chan shrugged indifferently and I nodded before trying a sip of the beverage. Almost immediately, I winced at the taste and Changbin chuckled at my obvious aversion.

“It was very expensive,” he lightly chastised me and I tried not to notice the smell as I forced more of the wine down my throat.

Meanwhile, Jeongin continued to open more of his gifts, expressing his gratitude towards each of his older members as he tried on various pieces of clothing and jewelry. When he finally got to my present, he shot me a mischievous smirk. “Y/N...”

“Open it,” I encouraged him.

Jeongin needed no further encouragement, ripping through the wrapping paper before discovering the portable gaming system tucked neatly in the box it once came in. “For you to practice,” I said, pleased at his grateful expression. It was an older system that once belonged to my brother, but I didn’t have a need for it, and Jeongin talked relentlessly about how cool it would be to play the older versions of the games he loved.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely.

I was warmed by his genuine reaction, feeling nothing but affection for the boy. “You’re welcome.”

“What a good girl,” Changbin said, tipping my glass back against my lips. “You shouldn’t waste it.”

I narrowed my eyes, wondering why he really cared about how expensive the wine cost. After all, these were the same men who brought new things into the house every day after flashing their shiny credit cards at whichever cashier had the privilege of accomodating their requests. Still, I knew better than to upset Changbin, especially on poor Jeongin’s birthday, so I downed the rest of the nasty drink before placing the glass down on the side table. “Shall we watch a movie?” Jisung asked, eyes glinting rather maniacally as he studied my discarded drink.

“Please!” Jeongin chirped. “Something scary.”

I hated the idea of watching a horror movie, but I couldn’t protest when everyone else was in total agreement for once. Instead, I followed the rest of the boys into the main living room, resisting a sigh when Chan drug me down next to him on the sectional. “Whatever you want, Jeongin,” Jisung said, tossing the younger the remote control.

“Dracula!” Jeongin declared, an amusing pick perhaps if these Vampires were less violent.

But my opinion held no weight and the film began while Felix turned off the lights. Bathed in darkness, I resisted the urge to curl in tighter against Chan as I tried not to think about the film playing on-screen. Everyone else was comfortable, settled in their usual pairs which meant Minho was sitting between Jisung’s legs while Felix and Hyunjin flanked Changbin on either side. Seungmin and Jeongin sat close to me and Chan as they watched the television with wide, eager eyes.

I tried to turn off my mind, focusing on a distant spot beyond the edge of the screen. It worked for a while, keeping my mind occupied away from the movie playing in the background. In fact, I might have managed to survive the rest of the evening had it not been for Chan whose lips were suddenly brushing along the length of my neck.

I immediately flinched away. “What are you doing?” I whispered, unrelenting when his hand wrapped around the back of my head to force me into place.

“I’m hungry,” he smirked against my exposed skin, teeth sharp against my delicate flesh.

“Why now?” I said, looking over at the others because there was no way they couldn’t hear the two of us.

“Just one bite,” Chan said and I rolled my eyes but bared my neck for him, hoping he would be fast about the unexpected ordeal. He was quick to adjust me on his lap, fixing our positions to his liking. Chan’s teeth penetrated my skin gently and I could feel his mouth latch on tightly as he started to drink from me. I tried not to react, glancing away at the other members who were still watching the movie. With the exception of Changbin, who was looking at me with a dangerous smirk that immediately alerted me to the fact that something was terribly wrong.

As the seconds ticked away, I realized that Chan had no intention of stopping and my instincts kicked in as the storm of anxiety registered throughout my slowly weakening body. I jerked away from Chan who must have been caught off-guard, blood spraying into the air around us as the wound had not been properly closed. But my decision proved to be a necessary distraction because Jeongin and Seungmin both immediately reacted to the intense smell, teeth bared as they sought the source of the blood coating the furniture and my clothes. I managed to dodge Jeongin as he lept at me first, colliding into Chan to send them both falling back into the floor.

With my hand pressed against my neck, I started for the front door, aware of Changbin closing in behind me. But the older boy was unprepared for Seungmin’s attack whose instincts probably insisted that someone was trying to steal his fresh supply of blood. Changbin let out a grunt as he wrestled with a feral Seungmin, receiving help from Felix and Hyunjin who were trying to protect their sire. Through the haze clouding my eyes, I could see Jisung holding back Minho whose sharpened incisors were cutting deeply into the thin skin of his lips. “You belong to us!” Jisung snarled.

“We can be together forever,” Chan said, still distracted by a wild Jeongin whose dark eyes were starting to look very unfamiliar. It was only then that I realized I had been tricked. They had been trying to turn me without my permission. The expensive wine Changbin insisted I drink must have been someone’s blood because when a human died with vampire blood in their system...

I forced those thoughts away, deciding it was far more important to focus on escaping, and the feral vampires provided the perfect distraction. I managed to make it out onto the street, finding my car parked at the sidewalk. I started the ignition, blasting cold air through the vents to keep me conscious as I pulled out onto the main road. Blood was still pouring steadily from my wound when I stopped next to the Emergency room entrance, ignoring a nearby policeman who was clearly displeased that I was blocking the road before I finally succumbed to the darkness with a grateful sigh.

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 4 years

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Kissing Dead Pearls (Part 2)

Rain beats against the side of the lighthouse, it comes down in sheets as Zuko yanks her inside. “Zuko, no!” She calls, her voice is oddly desperate and she can’t say why it is so. “I need to go back out there.”

Zuko flinches. “For what?” He asks. She can see the concern etched on his face. She pries herself from his grasp.

“I--” She starts. “There’s someone out there.”

“Since when do you care?” He asks, “even if you do care, what do you think you can do for them?”

He is right, she knows he is, every logical part of her knows it. The ship is too distant for her to do anything but reach an arm out and roar with the wind only to have her words swept away by the storm and pulled out to sea. But the feeling, that nagging desire, isn’t of logic. It is something far less rational, something rooted wholly in instinct and yearning.

“This is about Sokka isn’t it?” He persists, he is gripping her shoulders again, trying to keep her from leaving the house again. She tries to shake his grip off. “You’ve got to stop this! He’s gone, Azula.”

“It’s not about him.” She says as the wind howls against the window and rattles the door in its frame. But it is about him, deep down she knows. Why else would it matter?

“You’re going to get yourself killed.” His eyes widened. “That’s what this is, isn’t it? You’re trying to…”

“No!” She argues quickly. “I’m not. I don’t want to die, because he isn’t dead. Even if he was, I wouldn’t…”

“Then why are you doing this?” He gestures to the door.

“Because I saw a ship, it was…”

“There’s no one out there!” He shouts

“There is! There was...” She insists with an almost frantic gesture to the window. The wind throws the door open, her already sopping hair whips in her face and clings to her cheeks and forehead.

“Shit!” Zuko shouts before throwing himself at the door. “Help me with this.” He huffs.

With haste, Azula adds her weight. Even with the two of them leaning as heavily as they can against the door, it still threatens to bang open. “Zuzu,” she says through gritted teeth. “I told you that we needed to get a new door.”

“With what money?” He replies, voice just as strained. “Last I checked dad, spent that fund on his drinking habit.”

Azula frowns. It had been her job to keep him from doing that. Her job, because he is more inclined to listen to her than Zuko. At her own failure her body slackens. It is just enough leeway for the wind to burst the door open.

A dull ache is the last thing she registers as her body is thrown to the floor. Zuko toppled over her. She isn’t awake long enough to tell if he is also out cold. Hurricane waters rush to wet the entry room.

She wonders if dad would have wanted this. If he would change things if he’d known just how much pressure he has put upon them. If he’d known that he would be drunk in a sailor’s bar while his daughter lie sprawled on the floor with her forehead bloodied, storm kicking up a merciless howl just outside.

.oOo.

Lightning illuminates the interior of the Deep Dubloon Saloon, it is the only light to be had now that the storm has raged enough to throw power out. It’s winds shake the entire foundation of the building, not that it has a sturdy structure to begin with.

Ozai sits with a wooden tankard in his hand. He hasn’t seen a storm like this since the one that stole his wife from him. He stares unseeingly into the nearly empty mug. He almost laughs aloud, it is a storm like this that has him sitting upon the bar stool he inhabits. And it would seem that the ocean seeks to remind him of exactly why he is there.

“Help me with these, will ye?” Requests Khozen. His long silver hair is tangled by rain water and harsh wind. He pants as he chucks another sandbag outside and curses the weathermen for their short sight and lack of warning.

Ozai has known Khozen for many years. The man had been a pirate of sorts, he still has a parrot on his shoulder, though the creature is now safely secured away from the storm in a cage behind the bar. Next to it is a tank housing his iguana.

Ozai downs the rest of his drink and makes his way towards Khozen’s emergency supply of sandbags. He sees no point in it, the sandbags can only do so much for a building that is as ill prepared and rickety as the Deep Dubloon.

If Zuko and Azula could see the state of the bar… He knows that they have been wishing on stars for it to be blown to splinters. From the looks of it, they will have their wish.

“This be a mighty storm.” Khozen grumbles. “I’d hate to be at sea now.” His eyes go wide as he recalls that his ship is probably being thrashed mercilessly against the docks, sails ripping, boards splintering, perhaps a bolt of lightning has set it aflame. “The mightiest I’ve seen in…”

“Nearly a decade.” Ozai finishes as he hoists a sandbag atop the one he’d just laid down. “You’re lucky that your bar isn’t as close to the harbor as some of them.” He is lucky that his favorite bar is that much safer.

Rain pelts him mercilessly as he carries out his task. His eyes journey down the road and closer to the ocean. The lighthouse is a glow, but he can barely see its beacon through such a thick curtain of rainfall and mist. He has the decency to consider, for the first time, that he should be there. He wonders how his children are faring against the storm. His stomach lolls like those waves at the though that a storm could claim two more that he holds dear.

“C’mon yee big ass, we don’t got time fer starin’ at the sea, not when she’s a brewin’.”

A brewin’ is only scratching the surface. Palm trees bend nearly to the floor, shutters slam against windows or tear off entirely, water rushes to fill streets ready to was cars away, and lawn decor, umbrellas, and lawn chairs sail through the air as though they weigh nothing at all. He can hear from the inside, the buzzing drone of the battery powered weather radio.

He can do nothing now, an attempt to reach the siblings would be certain death. Were he any manner of good father, he would have done it anyhow. But he had been a poor husband and he is a worse father.

He picks up another sandbag and tosses it onto the pile.

.oOo.

Azula’s head throbs. There is a wetness on her face, a wetness all over. Her hair and clothes are soaked through and through. She jerks at the sound of a loud bang. She pulls herself up. The door is slamming in and out in the hands of a wind that is emitting a high pitched scream. Thunder roars, a battle cry, a warning that it is going to seal lives away again, just as it had all those years ago. Once again she and her family are on the frontlines.

She jolts again; Zuzu! At first she doesn’t think that he is moving. That he isn’t going to. She calls out to him but her words are lost beneath the unceasing torrent of raindrops, wind gusts, and thunder.

It doesn’t matter to terribly because he stirs and sits himself up, eyeing her with a measure of horror before coming to her side. They both shudder. “You almost went out there.” He mentions, nearly too quiet to be heard.

One door to the head and a nap later she fully processes the weight of what she’d almost done and she shudders all over again. “Sorry.” She mumbles. She isn’t sure to whom the apology is for, herself or Zuko.

He pulls her into a tight hug. He hasn’t hugged her in years. He holds her firmly and strokes her hair. Lightning briefly halos their silhouettes as the rain floods in.

“We have to do something about that door, Zuzu.” She comments. It highlights her point by slamming back against the wall, the bang echos with a roll of thunder.

“How?” He frowns.

Azula stands and looks about the room. She points to the sofa. “We’ll just rearrange the furniture.”

“Father isn’t going to like that.”

“Father should be here if he cares that much.” She shrugs. “Besides, we can move it, knock it over, and blame it on the storm.” She pauses. “We’ll probably have it back in place by the time he gets home.”

“You’re right.” Zuko agrees.

As she moves towards the sofa, she steals a glance out the window, at the furious ocean. Ribbons of lightning decorate the sky in faster intervals and rain slides off roofs, pushed by the wind, they fall heavier on the ground gathering in large puddles on sand and on the docs. In a particularly powerful finger of lightning, she sees it again, the ship. She can barely make it out before it plunges back into the water until only its sails are seen.

The power surges back on, flickering softly before plunging back into darkness. Azula backs away from the window and tries to put it out of her mind. Though images of Sokka’s smile play back in her mind as she heaves furniture. Interspersed between them are flashes of his face, but waterlogged by the ocean, barnacles and kelps clinging to it while fish work between eye sockets. Azula doubles her attention on securing the lighthouse.

For their efforts they have a sofa, a bookshelf, and a small table to hold the door shut as the hurricane batters the tabby walls of the lighthouse. Feeling entirely drained, Azula drops herself onto the remaining available sofa. Zuko is close behind. They sit in silence listening to the ruthless onslaught of rain and the roaring crash of the waves against the cliffside. She finds herself grateful that their lighthouse is perched upon a cliff high enough that the water can't reach them. Still, in the back of her mind, she fears that a particularly powerful strand of lighting may blast their seemingly sturdy perch into the restless tides below. She doesn’t know much about the tides, but she does know that they won’t hesitate to bash her bloody against the rocks as they tear her apart.

She thinks of the ship, overtaken and at their mercy. She clutches the sunstone starfish pendant that hangs upon her neck. She hasn’t taken it off since he’d given it to her.

“I doesn’t look like there’s too much damage.” Azula notes. The lighthouse is designed to withstand. The townsfolk are quite fond of reminding everyone that, “when the ocean takes the town, Sea Candle Lighthouse will remain.” She supposes that she should be glad that her home is allegedly secure.

“Yeah, we can worry about the flooding after the storm.” Zuko agrees.

She lays her head back and observes the spiraling staircase that lead to the uppermost part of the lighthouse. Sometimes she and Zuzu grab sleeping bags and sleep there were they can stare at the stars and the ocean. Tonight they will remain on the couch, content to ignore the storm as much as they can. Though night won’t fall for another six hours at least.

“Is your head okay?” Zuko asks.

Azula touches the knot on her head. “Yeah, I think so. Your’s?”

“I didn’t hit my head. But my elbows are bruised.”

She lights up a few candles and thinks of the stormy days when their mother had read them stories. Those days had been so brief.

“I hope father is enjoying his drinks.” Zuko scowls.

She understands his resentment and hatred. But Azula can’t bring herself to share it; frankly she feels pity for the man. Perhaps even empathy--Sokka was supposed to have returned months ago. He has been declared dead by law. Lost at sea. She doesn’t believe it, not quite. They haven’t searched long enough to say so, they haven’t found wreckage. But people at school look at her the same way the fishermen and dock workers looked at Ozai after Ursa’s death.

“Let’s talk about something else, Zuzu.”

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Sokka #Sokkla #Zuko #Ozai #Fanfiction

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dvp95 · 5 years

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quiet on widow’s peak (6)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up tags: paranormal investigator, mystery, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, trans character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 2.9k (this chapter), 19.7k (total) summary: Phil’s got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

Hope my friends and I didn't make things weird for you yesterday. We're heading to the city around noon if you're still up for helping us with the boring part.

noon?? fucking alright i guess i gotta put pants on

lmao yeah, sorry. My parents woke us up at EIGHT like that's a normal time to be awake????

desgostang

What?

ill send u the link later and also no i didnt feel weird yesterday you guys are nice

That's good! And hey I wanted to ask. You were kind of put on the spot with introducing yourself, would you rather we called you Dan or Winnie? I just wanna make sure we aren't making you uncomfortable at all lmao

no its all fine you can call me dan idc and actually its best if you do call me dan when youre in my work lmao

Are you totally sure?

why would i lie abt this. dont be an idiot it isnt a good look on you

haha okay. I’ll see you around noon.

“Christopher is a nice boy,” Phil’s mum is telling him as she helps him with their fancy new coffeemaker. There are so many buttons and Phil is so, so tired. “And Sophie is lovely, such a soft-spoken thing. Why haven’t we met them before, dear?”

“Dunno,” Phil says instead of the truth, which is that he’d had no idea how he was supposed to introduce them. “You have now, though.”

His mum laughs and reaches up to pat his cheek. “True enough. I’m so happy that you’ve got good people around you, Philip. I’ve gotten quite worried about you down there by yourself, you know.”

“I’m not by myself,” says Phil. “I live with, like, thirty people.”

“Bunch of strangers, I’ll bet,” she says, because she knows him. “Aside from those three.”

The thing is, she’s not wrong. Phil’s obviously exaggerating about the number of people under the roof of the creaky Brighton house, but the truth is that he can’t keep track half the time. A lot of the rooms get sublet out randomly, or a significant other will start spending so much time around the place that they might as well pay rent, and Phil really isn’t good with new people. He gets along fine with Holly and Dave, but they’ve been there as long as he has and the closest they’ve ever come to a heart-to-heart was comparing anxiety meds over burned pancakes.

Chris and Sophie were there when Phil moved in, and they’d taken one look at him and decided to just keep shoving into his space until he liked having them there, like they were on a mission to adopt PJ’s sad, ghost-obsessed friend from the internet.

“You might be right,” Phil says, feeling a smile tug at his lips for the first time all morning. He’s already had a coffee - and a half, when PJ declared that not even Kath could make coffee taste good and shoved the rest of his Phil’s way - but he still doesn’t feel fully awake. “I’m only really friends with Chris and Soph because of PJ.”

“PJ is a good friend to you, isn’t he?” his mum hums. That slightly pointed tone doesn’t get to Phil the way it usually does, because he knows that she’s just trying to understand him.

It doesn’t escape Phil’s notice that he’s looking into a mirror whenever he sees his parents watching him carefully, waiting for him to tell them something he hasn’t explicitly said, because he’s been doing the exact same thing to his housemates for nearly two years.

Maybe he’ll tell his parents when he’s got someone serious or even, like, semi-serious. Longer than two dates would be a record at this point. But right now he already feels like he’s been one misstep away from disappointing them, and he doesn’t want to take the gamble that his sexuality will be that misstep.

He’s not up for this conversation, though, isn’t sure he’ll ever be, so he just says, “Yeah, he is.”

Dan is late. They’re so late, actually, that Phil’s wheel of worst case scenarios has been spinning silently and getting faster and faster the more caffeine he chugs. They roll in with flushed cheeks and a jacket that looks too thin, apologies on their shiny lips that Phil doesn’t even hear for a couple of seconds because he’s too busy staring at them.

“No worries,” Sophie says, interrupting their rambling before they lose another half hour to it. “You want something? I’m getting a refill.”

“No, no, let me,” says Dan. They shrug off their jacket and hang it on one of the empty chairs. Phil and his friends have co-opted the largest table in the place so they can spread out with their laptops and notebooks, and it doesn’t escape Phil’s notice that Dan has decided to sit next to him when they’ve got a couple of options. “I get free drinks if Gabe’s in a good mood. Anyone else need a refill?”

“Me,” Chris says, not looking up from his screen. “Not Phil. He’s cut off.”

“Hey,” Phil protests weakly. His heart rate really has picked up since they sat down, so he knows Chris has a point.

Dan grins, their soft cheeks giving way to the dimples that Phil is very quickly growing obsessed with. He just wants to make Dan smile and laugh constantly, to hear them cackle and see all the lines in their round face deepen with happiness.

Right. Phil watched a horror movie with PJ instead of unpacking this fluttering start of a crush last night, and now he’s just got to deal with it for the rest of the day.

As if it’s a compulsion, Dan clears the empty mugs from their table before heading up to the counter. Phil focuses on the EMF readings so he doesn’t get caught up on Dan holding four mugs by the handles with total ease.

PJ has got headphones on and his eyes closed, so he might not even have noticed that Dan is there. He’s been going through Sophie’s footage and his own audio recordings to try and find some anomalies while Chris looks for the weird visual stuff - they’re a great team at that, and it makes Phil feel like he’s not doing enough. Sure, he could find those things on his own, but not as quickly as they can when it’s a team effort, and they’re on a bit of a tight schedule here. Well, his housemates are. They’ve got actual jobs to get back to once the weekend is over.

Allegedly, Sophie is doing research on sigils, but it looks to Phil like she’s just doodling. Not that he really blames her if she is. He’s barely been paying attention to the chart he’s making of spikes in electromagnetism because he’s been so busy watching the door for Dan.

And Dan looks… good. They’re wearing chunky boots and a shirt that falls to their thighs - a dress, maybe, but it looks like a regular black t-shirt that got extended at the hem - with tight white jeans. The only colour on them is the plaid shirt around their waist and the shiny red product on their lips to match it. Phil watches them lean against the counter and grin at the older barista, and he’s so distracted by looking at their profile that he startles when a foot connects with his under the table.

“Stop staring,” Sophie says, quiet and smiling. “He’s going to notice.”

Phil considers correcting her, but then he remembers that he probably doesn’t have to. Dan had said any pronouns, that they didn’t care how they were referred to, so it would definitely be weirder to act like he knows better than Sophie.

He knows he won’t be able to use masculine terms for Dan. Not because they aren’t true, because he’s pretty sure they’re no less accurate than neutral or feminine would be, but because thinking of Dan as a maculine person is only going to allow Phil’s brain to fall into the familiar traps of gender in ways he doesn’t want to allow.

Gay monkey brain doesn’t need any more leeway in finding Dan attractive, that’s for damn sure.

“So, what are we doing?” Dan asks, interrupting Phil’s thoughts, and, wow, four mugs is a lot more impressive when they’re full of hot liquid. Phil marvels at Dan’s ability not to trip and spill it all as they dole out the coffee and teas.

“I’m doing the boring part,” says Phil. He turns his screen so Dan can see the Excel spreadsheet and laughs at the face they make. “Yeah. It's not glamorous, but it's the easiest way to find patterns in the EMF readings. Honestly, most of my job is just staring at things and finding patterns in them. Like, uh, what's that guy? With the butterfly splotches?"

"Worcestershire," Chris suggests.

"Rorschach," Dan corrects him, lips twitching like they aren't sure if they're allowed to laugh in Chris' face or not.

“That’s exactly what I said,” says Chris.

“You know EMF meters don’t have anything to do with ghosts, right?” Dan asks, ignoring Chris completely and leaning a bit closer to Phil to get a better look at his laptop. “I mean, none of this has anything to do with ghosts, really, but you’re more or less just measuring electricity.”

Phil is aware of that. He wonders if Dan thinks he just stumbles into haunted houses with equipment he hasn’t researched and waits to be spooked. He’s too distracted by how close Dan is and how good they smell to work up to proper offense, though. “Yeah,” he says simply. “But don’t you think it’s weird that the place still has electricity to begin with? Who’s paying for that?”

“A Wilkins, I’d imagine.”

“But why? If they’ve forgotten about the property or abandoned it on purpose, surely they wouldn’t still pay the bills.”

“Maybe they don’t handle their own finances,” Dan suggests. “How rich were these assholes?”

“I honestly don’t know,” says Phil. He taps his fingers in an erratic pattern on the edge of his laptop, trying to spark something in his mind.

It’s almost disappointing when Dan pulls away to dig out their own sleek Macbook out of their messenger bag, but Phil is also glad for it. He can think a lot easier when the warm scent of spice and mint isn’t clogging his brain.

Dan slots into the work as easily as if a space was left for them. They’ve got dozens of tabs open already and they start to go through them, cross-referencing magic things with Sophie in quiet tones and digging deeper into the Wilkins family than Phil ever would have thought to. Every so often they tap Phil on the arm and drag him into whatever rabbithole they’ve fallen down, chatting animatedly.

Phil knows, objectively, that Dan is a fan of his and that Dan is weird about research. It’s another thing entirely to watch it happen in real time, to see Dan pull up local census PDFs from the eighties and explain why chaos magic is bullshit in the same breath.

An hour or so goes by like that, all of them working on their own things with minimal words exchanged by everybody but Dan, and then Chris shouts loud enough to make the barista jump. Nobody else is in the coffee shop right now, which is lucky, because Dan’s got a hand over their chest and Sophie has slopped tea down her front. PJ, with his headphones on, simply cracks an eye open.

“What the fuck was that about?” Phil asks, putting his own palm against his chest to feel his heart race. Dan raises their eyebrows and looks at Phil, seemingly distracted from the startling, wordless exclamation.

They don’t get a chance to say whatever they’re thinking, though, because Chris is turning his laptop to the rest of the table and grinning wide like the Cheshire Cat. “I found something.”

Everybody gathers round, PJ getting up to lean over the back of Phil’s chair and Sophie getting so far into Dan’s personal space that Phil is certain they’re uncomfortable with it, and then Chris presses play upside down. It’s part of Sophie’s footage, Phil standing in the dim foyer and looking frustrated. Even without sound, Phil can tell that this is when he was arguing with Sophie about going upstairs. He squints, but he can’t see whatever it is that’s got Chris being so loud.

“What am I looking at?” PJ asks when the short clip ends, and Dan hums an agreement. Chris makes a frustrated noise like they’re being obtuse on purpose and rewinds to the beginning.

"There," Chris says, excited like he hasn't been since they got to Manchester. He taps his finger against the laptop screen. "D'you see it? D'you see the shadow?"

Now that Chris has pointed it out, Phil does see something. He moves his own laptop and notebook out of the way to pull Chris’ closer with a frown. Chris lets him do that, bouncing in his seat a little bit.

“That’s straight up a person,” Phil says slowly, tracing the outline of the shadow with the mouse. It’s behind him, in the entry to the kitchen, and it looks tall. Quite a bit taller than Phil, anyway, if he’s remembering that doorframe correctly. He decides to measure it next time they go so he isn’t going off memory. “I knew we weren’t alone in there. Like. I’m not crazy, that’s a human being.”

“That’s what I thought,” says Chris. “But press play.”

So Phil presses play. He watches the shadow stay perfectly still in the kitchen doorway until, suddenly, it’s not there anymore. He blinks, rewinds, and watches it disappear again.

Phil’s caffeinated brain is firing on all cylinders now. He grins and shoves his sleeves up to his elbows before he starts fiddling with the clip. The lighting gets played with until the shadow is more obvious and then he slows it down to 0.25 times speed to see if the shadow really just vanishes.

He presses play again. This time, with a very slow-motion Phil talking in the foreground, he sees the shadow move. It runs sideways, further into the house.

“What the fuck?” Dan breathes.

“We are not going back there without some serious protection,” PJ says, even firmer on the topic now.

“What, like sigils?” Dan asks, their pretty eyes wide even as they scoff. “You’d be better off with a fucking, like, baseball bat, mate. That doesn’t look like something that wants to be your friend.”

“I’ve got a crowbar in PJ’s trunk,” Phil says, absent-minded as he plays with the clip some more.

“Excuse me? When did you put that in my car?”

“Couple months ago.”

“Huh. How have I not noticed?”

“You’re not the most observant person I’ve ever met,” says Phil. He looks up at Chris, who’s got the same exhilarated look that Phil is sure he’s mirroring. They don’t get evidence like this very often, something so clearly there that it’s even got a skeptic’s mind racing. Phil exports the edited clip and then the original, putting them both into the Cloud and emailing them to himself. “Was this the only time you saw it?”

Chris nods, accepting his laptop back when Phil is done with it. “I’ll look through everything again, now that I know what I’m looking for and all, but I think that’s it.”

“Okay, cool.” Phil looks around at his friends and Dan, beaming. “Something weird is happening. I love it when something weird is happening.”

“I hate it when something weird is happening,” PJ says, which is a blatant lie.

“Well, we can’t go snooping around until it’s darker out, anyhow,” Sophie reminds them.

“Wait, we’re snooping?” Dan asks, their voice going up an entire octave in disbelief. “Like… you just saw that someone is there and probably not happy about people sneaking around, right? Don’t you have enough for a video already?”

“We’re spending the night,” says Phil. “It’s what we do.”

“It’s what you do,” PJ corrects him.

“Okay, yeah, you guys don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

“No, I’m coming,” says PJ.

As if she can’t hear them bickering, Sophie turns to Dan with a sweet smile, her eyes twinkling with the same excitement in Chris’. They love this, just like Phil does. “What about you, Dan?” she asks. “Are you going to have a ghost sleepover with us?”

“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” Dan says, their eyes still glued to the back of Chris’ laptop like they can see the shadow through it.

“Guess you don’t have anything to be afraid of, then,” says Chris.

“Uh, axe murderers, maybe?”

“We know what we’re doing, Dan,” Phil reassures them. He reaches a hand out to pat at their arm, feeling a bit awkward about it. “But you don’t have to come with us if you’re scared.”

That makes Dan’s gaze shift. Suddenly, those brown eyes are staring right into Phil’s soul, defiant and beautiful and impossible to look away from.

“Who said I was fucking scared?”

#phanfic #phanfiction #dnp fic #words words words #quiet on widow's peak #this chapter is a little short thanks to me prioritizing my mental health BUT i am still happy with it #so i hope you like it too #even if you might think the plot is slow!

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wilsonsnest · 5 years

Text

winter, Sweetheart - VIII - Finale

Here we come to the end. Writing this has been a hell of a journey, but its been a project I’ve been truly passionate about. Thanks to all the people who have been following along, I hope you enjoyed.

Other plans for this series: posting on AO3 after some chapter clean-up and formatting, maybe some one-shots, and i tentatively have a loose sequel idea called good things. which is pretty much what it means because this journey has been hell on wheels.

warnings: hurt/comfort, trauma, bad medical practices

Bucky knows that Steve is perturbed by his seeming lack of interest in talking about the history between them. During the mission to retrieve the Falcon’s files, Steve made every attempt to coax information about his time with Hydra out of him. Bucky shuts him down at every turn, and he’s too concerned about Sweetheart’s well-being to really care. He can tell it hurts Steve, his earnest blue eyes dimming with every prolonged silence or sharp word Bucky throws his way.

Objectively, he realizes the cruelty in his actions towards Steve. Theres a place in the back of his mind, where the jumbled remains of what Hydra tried to erase is clawing to get out. But he ignores it in favor of the mission. He can’t blame Steve for wanting to monopolize Bucky’s time, but he also isn’t in a place to cater to it either. He’s still getting used to the whole ‘expressing emotions’ bit that comes with being a human with your own free will.

He feels so off-kilter, like he wants to crawl out of his skin. It’s been a long time since he’s had to truly think for himself. Hydra had never succeeded in completely erasing his emotions, their neuroscience had never quite gotten that far. But they made up for it in their ability to instill the fear of failure in him so that hiding his emotions became a necessity. Now, suddenly and almost anti-climatically he was free from that and he had no idea what he should be doing about it. At over 90 years old, he suddenly feels like how he must have as a teenager. Emotions swinging from one extreme to the other, little things send him into a panic or threaten to shut him down entirely. His ability to multitask feels practically non-existent unless he has a task to focus on.

Right now, Sam’s well-being is his task and Steve will just have to forgive him if thats what he prioritizes.

Finding the files is easy enough, and Steve is able to send them over to Stark instantly. Bucky keeps it together enough to help Steve burn the Hydra facility to the ground. He has to take a long walk after that, and Steve is kind enough to follow him at 100 yards behind.

Steve is tentative when he asks Bucky to go to Avenger’s Tower with him, and seems surprised when Bucky answers affirmative immediately. But Bucky isn’t going to pass up a chance to get access to Sweetheart and make sure he’s being treated well.

Steve warns him that Stark, Dr. Banner and Riley Thompson will be at the tower as well. All of them have been working to help Sa-Sweetheart in his recovery. Strangely enough, it’s Riley that puts Bucky on edge. Riley is the one who knows Sam. Riley is the one who shot him anyway. Maybe his distrust isn’t so unearned after all.

Steve tells him that the surgery was a success, Sweetheart is doing much better than before. Bucky is only slightly relieved, he won’t believe it until he sees it with his own two eyes. He could barely trust the Hydra techs who had put Sam’s wings together, so forgive him if he doesn’t trust these people who hadn’t the slightest clue what they were dealing with.

Of course it’s Riley who greets them at the door, and immediately Bucky is on edge. He slinks in behind Steve, fists clenched and immediately scanning for easy exit points. It doesn’t escape him that this could be a trap. The government isn’t likely to be happy that the world’s mightiest heroes are playing nice with two ex-Hydra assets.

The tower isn’t anything like Bucky expects it to be. It’s not at all like a military base, or even an office or state building. It’s lavish, but in a comfortable and homey way that makes his skin prickle uncomfortably. He thinks of the easier missions, where all he had was a scope, a silencer and his target in sight, eating dinner in their living room unaware their life was moments from ending. He’s done it so many times, the victims all blend together.

He fears where they’ve stuck Sweetheart. Half-expecting it to be a cage or some other containment unit where they can stare at him like he’s a lab experiment. Bucky’s glowers at the thought, and he hopes Steve understands that the slightest sign of mistreatment will see him breaking Sam out of here and killing anyone who gets in his way.

When they do reach the elevator, he’s surprised to see them go up. Each floor is labeled, a few are general like Gym, Lab, Other Lab, Conference Room. But then there are names, Tony, Steve, Natasha, Bruce, Thor, Clint and to Bucky’s annoyance, Riley. They go past those floors though, until they stop and the Elevator doors open onto a cozy looking apartment. The carpet is a soft, calming blue and the walls are creamy-tan, purposely not white. The room’s lighting is comfortably dim to accommodate sensitive eyesight. Theres a couch, a coffee table and a television and two doors that must lead to other rooms.

Riley and Steve step out and Bucky follows more slowly. He doesn’t think he’s been in a room with a carpet without killing someone is the last 70 years. They don’t have to wait long before one of the doors opens and Sam steps out, alert and slightly wary. He looks at them all as if he’s analyzing a threat, and it reminds Bucky of when Sam would come out of cryo.

“Winter?” Sweetheart’s voice sounds only vaguely awed as he takes a step into the room. He’s barefoot, wearing gray lounge pants, a long-sleeved blue shirt and over-ear headphones around his neck

Bucky swallows thickly, he can’t help but stare. Sweetheart looks good, safe and comfortable. He’s even got stubble growing, and some part of Bucky’ brain distantly tells him now would be an appropriate time to cry. He doesn’t, but he drinks in the sight of his partner and lavishes in how bright and well he looks. His palm feels oddly sweaty though, in a way it never has before when they’ve faced one another after a long time.

This is completely different from the Falcon waking up from cryo.

Sweetheart stares at him for a moment longer before walking toward him, his pace measured and precise. Steve and Riley move out of the way, apparently aware that Sam isn’t about to stop for them. He stops half a foot in front of Bucky, and he looks….uncertain.

Bucky’s flesh hand lifts for a second, and then he realizes he’s reaching out and he stops, unsure. Sweetheart’s face betrays nothing except that a vague wariness in his brown eyes. It’s reminiscent of the careful blank stare Sweetheart would have whenever he came out of cryo. For a moment, Bucky wonders if Stark and Dr. Banner had to wipe him again to fix whatever the damage was.

But he sees something, Sweetheart shifts from one foot to another, a nervous tick he would have never expressed in Hydra’s presence. While the rest of his face betrays nothing, his eyes are clear with recognition.

Oh.

That’s right, they’ve never done this in front of people before. Bucky reminds himself that Steve and Riley aren’t Hydra, and even if they don’t approve, Bucky is fairly certain he can take them. He does’t consider things much further than that before reaching out and pulling Sam to him, arms wrapping around him tightly in a way that he never allowed himself before. All the morsels of affection he had given Sam had always been in dark corners, hidden from prying eyes that might see it as a weakness. But now they no longer have a reason to hide.

No one was going to take Sam away and wipe him because Bucky wanted to hold him.

He finds himself burying his face into Sam’s neck, breathing in his scent. Sam’s fingers grip almost painfully into his back, but Bucky could care less. They hold each other too tight, and it feels good, it feels grounded. They don’t let go for a long time, they just stand there and exist with one another.

Somehow they had made it.

Eventually, shakily, Bucky pushes Sam away, not far only enough so that he can see his face. The color is back in his face, he looks rested, well-fed and seeing the hairs on his chin make Bucky’s stomach flip in a good way. Sam is smiling and for a moment Bucky thinks he actually could cry. They’ve been taking good care of him here, and Bucky feels like he owes Steve a little more leeway now. Later.

He grips Sam’s shoulder gently and tries to turn him, he needs to see his wings and make sure they really are alright. But before he can, Sam stops him, refusing to move and Bucky looks at him confused. It may be the first time Sam’s ever refused a check-up from him.

Sam is gentle though, and places a hand on Bucky’s metal arm. Theres the smallest crease between his brows. “I’m fine,Winter. I do need to look at your arm though.”

Bucky blinks slowly, surprised. He hasn’t thought twice about his arm since Sweetheart became ill. It’s been working fine. Theres a bit of a stick in the rotation and his wrist and shoulder and the plates between his elbow and upper arm aren’t as tight as usual. But he’s used to overcompensating for shoddy Hydra craftsmanship when Sweetheart isn’t around.

“You’re movements are 15% slower than usual,” Sam mumbled slowly, eyes analyzing damage just from visual cues. “And it’s hanging about 5 centimeters lower than it should be.” He frowns and then looks up, brown eyes wide and imploring. “Let me help you, Winter?”

Bucky’s heart feels tight in his chest. This doesn’t have to be Sam’s job anymore. Theres no Hydra to constantly asses his usefulness in the field, and if he wanted to he could just tell Bucky to take it to Stark to fix. But Sam wants to help him, asked him even. Bucky can’t even begin to explain how relieved he feels.

His spine stiffens as he hears someone clear their throat behind him. He had gotten so distracted he nearly forgot that Riley and Steve were still in the room. Watching every single move they made.

It makes the hairs on the back of Bucky’s neck stand up and he carefully pulls his arm from Sweetheart’s grasp. He turns to face the two of them, carefully angling himself between the two of them and Sweetheart. Right, this could still be a set-up, a trap. And he was so desperately happy to see Sam that he let his guard down before it was safe.

“What do you want for this?” He asks coldly. He and Sweetheart may still be considered weapons, the people they had been long dead to the rest of the world. An asset can still be an asset, just in different hands.

“Want for…?” Steve questions, sounding legitimately confused. His face is so honest and open it almost hurts to look at him. “Bucky, we just want to help the both of you.”

“And then what?” Bucky’s tone dips impatiently. He feels Sweetheart touch his arm gently with the tips of his fingers, calming.

“I..don’t know?” It seems to dawn on Steve that he hadn’t even thought beyond that. “Whatever you want, I guess? You could do anything. You can raise chickens for all I care. As long as you’re safe.”

“Sam’s got a whole family that’ll be happy as hell to see him.” Riley speaks up, voice wavering with emotion. “I haven’t told them, yet. But Sammy, you’ve got a bunch of people who’re gonna be so happy to see you.”

Bucky hears Sweetheart let out a small uncertain noise behind him and he stiffens immediately. He hadn’t even considered the fact that Sam would have family on the outside world. Bucky’s eyes narrow on Riley, the other man’s green eyes are bright and watery, focused on Sam. It sets Bucky’s teeth on edge. He’s soft and plays unassuming, but he’s too smart to be harmless. He knows things about Sam that Bucky doesn’t and Bucky doesn’t like that.

Silence falls between all four of them, before Steve is the one to heave a sigh and hold up his hands in surrender.

“We don’t need to figure this out now.” He says placatingly. “Why don’t we give you some privacy. We’ll let you know when dinner is ready.”

Bucky snorts at the cute way Steve says that they’ll be checking on them again tonight. Riley looks like he wants to protest, but Steve goes to him and puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. He leads the shorter man to the elevator without a word.

Then its just the two of them in the room. Bucky turns around to face Sam again. He looks, conflicted, brown eyes seemingly desperately drink in Bucky’s face. His mouth on the edge of smiling or frowning, and maybe he’ll be the one to cry first.

Bucky sighs and gently cups Sweetheart’s face in both his palms, thumbs running over his warm cheeks. Bucky is sure he’s always thought Sweetheart looked lovely, but he’s finally in a place where its safe enough to let himself acknowledge it. He leans in close and touches his forehead to Sweetheart’s. He feels like he could stay like this forever.

“You’re okay? Really?” Bucky needs to be sure. He needs to know that he’s done the right thing. That they’ve faced hell and somehow come out on the other side.

“I am. Really.” Sam answers honestly, and he smiles, small and warm and just for Bucky. “Thanks.”

Bucky hums an answer, not quite trusting himself to say anything yet. He put everything into keeping Sam alive, it still doesn’t feel quite real yet. He feels Sam move, and lets out a the slightest whimper, surprising himself. Sam lets out a soothing sound and doesn’t move way, but carefully brings a hand up to rest over Bucky’s metal one, pressing him close.

“You’ve done so much, Winter. We can rest.” Sam looks into his eyes. “Let me help you.”

Bucky nods, the slightest bit and he can see the smile reach Sam’s brown eyes, lighting them up like he’s just given him a great gift. “Yes.” He sighs, content and closes his eyes. “Yes.”

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

And thats a wrap! I truly hope you enjoyed aaaand I’ll be posting the ao3 link here when I get it up. There may be a surprise or two in store one I get it finished ;)

#sambucky #winterfalcon #sam wilson #bucky barnes #riley thompson #steve rogers #mcu fanfic #wintersweetheart #alls well that ends well #spoilers i guess?

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anonthenullifier · 6 years

Text

Alone for the Holidays

Summary: Vision discovers the holidays are very different when half the team is on the run.

Word count: 4k

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17069387

Wishing everyone a peaceful holiday season.

Vision always finds hovering above the stairs is preferable to physically stepping, a preference that is amplified in this moment as it allows him to focus on balancing the stack of boxes in his arms. If he were to step down it is possible that the weight distribution would shift ever so slightly as to unbalance his carefully arranged load leading to an unpleasant outcome. Hovering efficiently removes such nuisances.

“You know you can take more than two trips, right?”

Sage advice that Vision typically follows, but each descent into the storage room tonight has led to an increased weight in his chest, one he desired to stymie by reducing the number of trips. Which is why he is unable to see his companion from behind the wall of boxes in his arms. “I did not wish to unnecessarily draw out the process.”

Though he cannot see him, the tone of Rhodes’ “Fair enough,” conveys an image of the man’s characteristic nod and shrug he utilizes whenever readily accepting someone’s reasoning. “Come on over and learn the system.”

“Of course.” Vision slowly squats as he places the last of the boxes on the ground next to Rhodes’ wheelchair and then stands to attention as he awaits further instructions.

“Alright, so this one,” Rhodes points towards a pile on the coffee table of opened and partially sorted boxes, several stray pieces of tinsel clinging to the tape residue on the flaps, “is for the tree. This one,” a new pile that looks almost identical to the other one minus the tinsel is on the chair Vision uses when playing chess, “is for the halls and common area.”

There is a third stack, located on the couch, where all of the tape has been cut and the flaps delicately folded shut again. “And these?”

“Those need to go back in storage.”

Vision feels foolish after asking as the answer would have been apparent had he simply stopped and applied logic before speaking. “Oh yes, I recall now.” Given their former teammates are still internationally wanted fugitives, it was determined that any object or decoration traced to the rogue Avengers should be kept in storage. Invoking the old adage of out of sight, out of mind. Yet Vision is not certain hiding it will truly remove all thoughts of their friends. Or at least, it has not done so for him, the compound’s silent rooms an ever present reminder of the schism.

“We should probably just get this over with.” He suspects Rhodes feels similarly, though they have not spoken about it. It is a hunch predicated on the knowledge that both of them have put off decorating the compound until it was unavoidable. “Want to take the tree or the boxes?”

Neither is particularly enticing or meaningful since this is only his second holiday season and he still lacks the traditions so deeply embedded in his teammates, so Vision chooses what he believes Rhodes would prefer. “I can sort the rest of the boxes and then aid you.”

“Sounds good.” A pang of guilt stabs Vision’s chest as he watches Rhodes’ onerous ascent from his wheelchair, the exoskeleton Stark crafted for him still in beta testing and prone to giving out unexpectedly. It is amazing to Vision how unperturbed Rhodes is most of the time and how, besides their first conversation post Leipzig, he has never lashed out at Vision for what happened (unlike Tony, who has done so on a handful of occasions). It doesn’t mean Vision allows himself leeway in accepting responsibility for what occurred, but it does help him breathe easier knowing there is no ill will between himself and Rhodes. “I’ll need your help towards the top, I’m not climbing that ladder.”

“Understood.” The year before, when everyone was present, including Tony in an askew Santa hat and a drink in his hand as he directed everyone’s decorating, there was music streaming from the surround sound and a fake fire crackling on the television. Wanda stayed with Vision in the kitchen, stirring the hot chocolate and spiked cider, commiserating with him about how odd all of the traditions were to outsiders such as themselves. Now it is silent minus the clink of ornaments and rustle of tinsel as Rhodes works on the tree.

Vision isn’t sure if this paradoxically weighty hollowness overtaking his limbs is normal, a topic he will need to investigate more tonight once Rhodes has retired, the past several nights introducing him to the possibility of seasonal affective disorder, though he has yet to have Helen test his melatonin levels. Vision tries to shrug the feeling away, or at least ignore it for the time being. So he begins his task, slowly forming a rhythm of running the box cutter through the tape, opening the box, and then sorting it to the appropriate pile. The process is fairly quick, his impeccable memory about where all the decorations went the year before means he doesn’t need to investigate beyond the top item in the box. That is until he glances at the contents of the second to last box. The glittery and cheerful golds, reds, and greens of the other decorations have been replaced by shiny whites and blues. Something in his chest seizes and he can’t stop his fingers tracing the dreidels printed on the crinkly paper of the string lights. The year before, long after all the holiday parties were thrown and gifts given, Wanda had confided in him that she didn’t actually celebrate Christmas. Vision, for a reason he had not been able to fully understand back then, felt a deep desire to honor her heritage and had gone to a local store to buy an assortment of, what he hoped, were acceptable decorations for Wanda. She had hugged him tightly and made him promise he’d help her hang them the next year. Only now it is a year later and he is folding the box shut and stacking it with the other off-limit decorations, somewhat concerned at the faint tremor of his hands as does so .

“Can you help me out?”

The request draws his mind back to the present, hands smoothing out his sweater as he turns towards Rhodes, “Gladly.” Vision studies the pattern and placement of the string lights on the bottom of the tree as he takes the dangling, sparkling bulbs from Rhodes and flies carefully around the tree to finish. Rhodes passes the rest of the decorations, occasionally directing Vision (in a much more subdued fashion than Stark did the year before) on the placement of the garland and ornaments.

Vision lands next to Rhodes once the star is affixed to the top of the tree. “It’s um,” the man next to him studies the large evergreen, one that could easily be placed on the cover of a magazine and will soon be on the covers of all newspapers and news sites, “a bit impersonal.”

“It is.”

Amongst the boxes in the pile going back to the basement is the vast array of personalized, garish ornaments the team traditionally gifts each other. Tony had insisted they put up the ones for the three of them, but Rhodes and Vision agreed it would only draw more attention to the missing members. What is left is a gorgeous albeit meaningless tree. “You doing okay, with all of this?”

The question is quiet, almost remorseful - whether because it is out of obligation or because he is worried about stepping on Vision’s toes is difficult to discern. “I believe so,” which is not entirely true, but is what Vision believes is socially the most acceptable answer.

“You’re still welcome to come to my sister’s, she won’t mind.”

It’s an offer Vision truly appreciates despite having no interest in accepting. “I believe it is mandated in the Accords that at least one Avenger must always be on the premises.”

This line of reasoning has not stopped Rhodes from pestering him, and it likely still won’t, but Vision can’t muster a better acceptable explanation for his refusal. “I doubt anyone would know if it was empty for a few days.” The truth is that no one realizes when the compound is empty because Vision is the only one who is consistently there to notice. “I just,” Rhodes sighs, hands waving in an attempt to convince Vision to change his mind, “I hate to think of you alone for the holidays.”

“I appreciate your concern,” Vision offers a brief, friendly smile that hopefully conveys his genuineness, “but I will be fine.”

Rhodes inhales deeply, seemingly contemplating if he continues to push on the matter, but then his chest deflates soundlessly as he accepts Vision’s decision. “Okay.” A shrug sends away the last of the concern from his voice, replacing it expertly with a more lighthearted topic, “Please tell me you remembered to order the backup sweaters for tomorrow.”

The sweaters Tony ordered for the annual Avenger Christmas card are...questionable at best, caricatures of their faces with Santa hats on with The Accordions embroidered underneath. “Yes, I have them in my quarters.”

“Thank God.” There are still half a dozen boxes of decorations left for the hallways and windows, yet Rhodes rubs his hands together the way he usually does when a task is complete. “I think we can finish the rest tomorrow, I’m kind of tired.”

Vision wonders if it is the same tiredness he has been feeling since the fallout of the Avengers. “I believe we only need the tree for the picture.”

Rhodes nods, eyes glistening from the glow of the trees, “Alright.” This is how each evening ends between them, at least when Rhodes is at the compound, very little interaction, awkward silence, and then one of them (typically Rhodes) extricates himself from the situation. “Goodnight, Vision.”

“Goodnight, Rhodes.”

Alone, standing in front of the tree, Vision searches for anything similar to his first Christmas: the awe that filled him each night when he would hover in front of the tree while the others slept, the confusion he experienced at each new tradition he was introduced to, and the warmth that bloomed from the sheer joy of the people around him. Unfortunately, he comes up empty handed.

Deciding that brooding is not the most productive use of his time, Vision glides to the couch, rearranging the closed boxes based on size and weight into a well-balanced, easily movable stack. Once it meets his specifications, Vision transfers the boxes back into the storage room, strategically placing each one on the shelves to take up the least amount of space, a real-life game of Tetris minus the disappearing lines. He would have lost the game, however, as the last box should have been placed third, its size and shape more parsimonious for the position than the one he put in its place, yet he failed to do so. Instead he slowly re-opens the box, sifting through the decorations as a gloom seeps deep into his vibranium cells. Had so many things been done differently, words been exchanged, or perhaps words been kept silent; some emotions kept in check while other, more useful, emotions were followed; actions withheld or even actions completed (he still cannot bear to think of the multitudinous options he failed to consider at Leipzig to stop the fight earlier), then this box might not be shoved into the darkness of the basement.

Vision closes the box, careful not to tear any of the delicate papers inside, and slides it onto the shelf. At this point he should retire to his quarters, or at least move to a more suitable location in the compound. He doesn’t move, however, eyes remaining on the brown wall of the boxes as his mind works.

There is a knock at the door. Wanda ignores it, certain it’s the guy from two doors down coming back drunk, yet again. Another knock and she rolls over, tugging the sheet up higher, body strongly disliking the stark temperature difference between day and night in the desert. A third knock and a painfully polite “Wanda?” jolts her out of bed, her powers flickering in the darkness as she pulls her sweatshirt towards her with one hand and closes the curtains over the window with the other. She steps in front of the door, hand poised over the knob as she sends a tendril of scarlet to confirm she wasn’t dreaming. She wasn’t. Wanda yanks the door open with a, “Vizh, what the hell are you doing here?”

“I-” this is not her normal response to seeing him, but this is also not a planned rendezvous, something they both agreed should be avoided in case other factors, like their teammates being around, would create a perilous situation. Vision seems shocked at her ire, his human disguise faltering around the eyes as she watches his irises spin. “I um wanted to bring you this,” he holds out a box to her, as if that should be answer enough.

The hallway is empty, thankfully, but there is no guarantee it will remain that way. “Just, come in.” Wanda steps aside to allow him to enter the tiny space, which is about half the size of her room at the compound, if she wants to be generous in her estimation. With the door shut and the lights on, she is torn between her desire to hug him, always elated to see his face, or scold him for misusing her coordinates given his demeanor doesn’t suggest there is any real emergency. “Vision, what’s going on?”

A quick assessment of potential sight-lines to the outside precedes the disguise dissolving into his crimson and silver visage, a sight she misses daily. Vision turns towards her, lips pursed and eyes incapable of settling on any one object. “Rhodes and I were decorating the tree for the Christmas photo tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

She is waiting for him to tell her the compound burned down or the tree somehow crushed Tony (she can hope). “It was,” a long, timid pause breaks up his sentence, a realization dawning on his face that is soon followed by a frown and flick of his eyes to her, “I feel quite foolish now.” Which confirms there is no emergency.

“Vizh,” a squeeze of his forearm draws his eyes to her, his embarrassment bursting in the air around them, “I won’t judge you, you know that.”

He sends her a sheepish, appreciative smile, “I know.” Another long pause and three breaths is what he needs to continue. “It was very disheartening to partake of such an activity without you and the rest of the team.”

A hairline fracture forms in her heart at the sorrow swirling in his eyes. “It’s always hard to celebrate without everyone you care about.” The hollowness and confusion she senses in Vision’s mind is one she knows intimately. The holiday season has long been something she tries to avoid, as best she can, wrought with reminders of all that’s been lost, of times when she didn’t have to stare at the empty seats at the table or feel the absence of the pressure of arms wrapped around her or hands gripping her own as they prayed. After their parents died, she and Pietro found one way to cope was to adopt their own traditions, taking only small pieces of their parents with them. It worked, for a time, until they just stopped celebrating other than occasionally eating Hanukkah gelt and lighting a candle in remembrance on particularly difficult nights. Last year, her first without her brother, almost destroyed her, even with her vain attempts at sidestepping it by simply not acknowledging her roots, because if the holiday doesn’t exist then it can’t haunt her. Unfortunately that’s not how it works, all the parties and the shows, the cheesy movies on television and the songs on the radio, the cards plastered to the fridge of happy, smiling families, all serve as reminders of how very much alone she is. It all leaves a bitter taste in her mouth - one she hopes doesn’t develop for Vision, his own experiences still so new to be sullied already.

“It’s not foolish Vizh,” she grips his arms and waits until his gaze meets her own, her voice developing a firmness that he won't dare to counter with any of his logic, “at all.” She wants to reassure him more, explain how she can’t make it through the season without at least three breakdowns in the privacy of her room, but the tears are already building in her eyes and she knows she won’t make it through the explanation, especially with the way he is looking at her, head cocked in empathetic concern. Wanda directs the conversation down another avenue. “So what’s that?”

“Oh, right,” they both stare at the box in his hands, “I did not want to renege on my promise.”

Wanda’s eyebrows lift as she grabs the box, inviting him to sit on the bed with her as she pries open the container, the sight of the overly commercialized, slightly tacky decorations he bought the year before shattering the dam of her tears which fall in time with her shallow, disbelieving laughter, “Vizh, you’re ridiculous-”

“I apologize for-”

“No, no no,” she puts the box on the ground and grabs his hands, hoping to convince him she’s not upset, “I mean it in the best way possible.” More laughter comes unbidden from her mouth, her reaction confusing to herself but she imagines it is even more confounding to the man next to her, how she can be crying and laughing all at once. “You flew all the way to Marrakech to give me this at three in the morning.”

Vision’s mouth quirks up into an uneasy smile as his eyes search for more information from her face, “I admit it was not the most well-thought out plan but it felt enormously important to do so.”

“What are you hoping to do with this stuff?”

He contemplates her question, his flimsy plan falling apart at the seams the longer he studies it, and she knows if he could blush that his cheeks would be turning beet red right now. His explanation comes out in a quiet, stuttery mess. “I, um, thought we could possibly, if you are amenable and interested, um, decorate your room.”

“Natasha is going to be here in four hours.”

This seems to confuse him even more, his brow knitting around the Mindstone as if her comment is in a foreign language that he is unable to translate using the internet. “Yes and I have to be back to the compound in the morning for pictures. I do not think it will take more than that.”

One the the main rules of being a fugitive is to travel light and keep only the smallest of personal mementos to reduce the risk of someone inadvertently learning too much about you. It means that Wanda knows she can’t keep the decorations, if they were to be discovered, there’d likely be questions which could lead down a dangerous road. There is no reason to tempt fate and risk losing her contact with Vision. At the same time, however, she’s unexpectedly excited at the prospect of decorating. “I suppose we could put it up and enjoy it for just a little bit.” The smile on his face is mesmerizing, his cerulean irises twisting joyously at her decision. “But you have to take it all back with you, understood?”

“Understood.”

Eagerly Wanda stands from the bed, holding her hand out to help Vision up, knowing full well he doesn’t need the aid, but he obliges, gripping her hand as he stands. “Okay, let’s see what we have.” It’s a small box and it takes them longer to decide where to put the Star of David garland and dreidel lanterns than it does to actually hang them. As Wanda fixes the angle of the lights, Vision places a cardboard cut-out menorah on the coffee table before stepping back to admire their work.

“It is not as much as I remember buying.”

Wanda rolls her eyes at the regret lacing his words, curling her fingers around his wrist and pulling him backwards until he sits with her on the bed. “Good thing this place is so small then.” They’ve grown closer in the months of clandestine contact, but not close enough to still the flutter in her stomach as she lifts his arm so she can snuggle into his side, a rush of victory to her chest when he hugs her to him. “Thank you for this.”

“You are most welcome.”

A snap of her wrist turns the overhead lights off, allowing her to more thoroughly enjoy the soft and pleasant glow emitted from the lanterns and the way it reflects off the vibranium on Vision’s face. “Are you feeling better?”

He nods, “I am, though it is always lonely whenever I leave you.”

An irrefutable statement. “I miss you too.”

Wanda smiles as he draws her closer, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, an action that encourages him to lay his cheek on her head. Several minutes pass in companionable silence, only the synchronization of their easy breathing disturbing the quiet. She contemplates staying like this, cozy in his embrace, but she also, given his motivation for breaking protocol, feels a need to probe just a bit more. “Vizh?” His hmm? buzzes happily against her head. “Is anyone going to be around the compound for Christmas?”

“No,” which is what she suspected. “Rhodes has invited me to join him at his sister’s house.”

The way he says it brings to mind a shrug, the intonation of the words dismissing the concept before it is even fully formed. “Why don’t you want to go?” Wanda knows the answer, has turned down multiple offers in her lifetime to join random (or not so random sometimes) families in their celebrations.

Vision inhales deeply, her own body rising and falling with his steadied breath. “I worry that I would merely be intruding. Given their ages and closeness, I imagine there are numerous deeply ingrained, unspoken traditions and normative expectations."

”You don’t want to feel like a stranger or risk unintentionally ruining anything.”

”Precisely.”

What social etiquette dictates is she argue against this reasoning, because she knows Rhodes and his sister would likely understand, have already accepted this possibility with the invitation. But Wanda has been that stranger, has seen Vision be that stranger for a large part of his existence. “Then don’t go. Or,” she does have one good memory of crashing someone’s holiday, last year the Bartons invited her out a couple days earlier than the rest of the team. It had the same strangeness, but it faded quickly due to how welcoming and understanding they all were of her situation, “maybe just go for a couple hours and see if you enjoy it?”

Vision’s nod shakes her head, his fingers cinching into the fabric of her sweatshirt as he considers the amended proposition. When he speaks it is quiet, a bit nervous, but filled with a renewed hopefulness. “That is a fair suggestion but I was actually wondering, even though we have a planned excursion in early February, if you might possibly be available to meet before the New Year -," the more flustered he gets the higher her smile climbs, "I, um, given that Rhodes and Tony will be gone from Christmas until the New Years Eve party, no one will notice my absence.”

The plan for Wanda is to travel with Natasha to Belarus where they are being joined by Steve and Sam for a rare week together. Technically it should be deemed too risky to even consider his offer, but technicalities are never her main concern. Wanda wraps her arm around his waist and squeezes him closer, an eager smile gracing her lips, one she isn’t sure he can see in the dim lights. “I’m sure I can sneak away for a day or two.”

“Fantastic.”

Life has taken a lot from Wanda, sometimes through her own decisions, sometimes due to outside forces she can’t control. After Pietro she had accepted that, even surrounded by teammates, she would always feel alone for the holidays. Somehow, however, the thought of spending time with Vision partially fills the hollowness of that fate, and maybe, if they can manage to keep going in this direction for years to come, neither of them will have to be alone again. “It is.”

#scarlet vision #wanda maximoff #vision #mcu #james rhodes #fanfic #mine #ao3

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raendown · 5 years

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Commission for @godaime-obito that I very much hope is fluffy enough!

Pairing: TobiramaKagami Rated: T+ Word count: 2057 Summary: The war is over and Tobirama has long passed the Hokage's hat to Kagami. After all they've gone through there are still some things they never talk about - but Kagami thinks it's time they should.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the blog header!

Hang Your Hat On The Village Gates

“Why did you choose me?”

Tobirama turned away from where he’d been using the fading afternoon sunlight to illuminate the document he was trying to read. Lowering the letter in his hands, grateful for the chance to stop squinting at terrible handwriting, he quirked an eyebrow at the man sitting behind the Hokage’s desk.

“Choose you for what?” he asked, mind still trapped in the endless paperwork they had been wading through for the past few hours.

“To succeed you,” Kagami answered softly. “Why did you choose me to be the third Hokage? This was always Hiruzen’s dream, you know.” His fingers vaguely indicated the room at large.

“Was it?”

“Mn. For a while there, just after I said yes, I thought he might never forgive me for it. He was never angry at you but I think he’ll always feel a bit like I took his dream away from him by accepting.” He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal that one of his best friends could let jealousy stand between them in that way.

Tobirama stepped back from the window and settled his weight against the edge of the secondary desk that someone had dragged for him in to sit in the shadows across from the Hokage’s desk, contemplating his answer. “I never knew that. I thought you all knew that I had intended you to be my successor; I’ve been training you for the position since I took it myself.”

“Honestly? Wait…was that why you always made me help you with your paperwork?”

“Made you?” Tobirama scoffed and set the letter down. “If I recall correctly you used to volunteer.”

Kagami opened his mouth, closed it, then sank further down in his massive chair and turned his chin to huff in the opposite direction. “Don’t pretend you’re any better. You didn’t exactly stay in the seat long – I mean, you not exactly old – and here you are, still doing the paperwork. What was the point of giving me the hat if you were just going to keep coming in to work anyway?”

He was forced to wait again while Tobirama directed his gaze out the massive windows overlooking their village, brow furrowed, weighing each word that came to mind and wondering if now might finally be the time to give voice to things he had kept to himself for much too long. Eventually he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. When he opened them again Kagami was watching him curiously, the same warm light in his eyes that had always been there, the same fond tilt to his smile that had kept hope alive in his poor socially awkward heart.

“I never wanted this, you know,” he began. “This village was my brother’s dream and when the illness left him unable to watch over it he asked me to stand in his place. I gave almost my whole life to following after Hashirama’s shadow. Who was I to say no then?”

“You could have. He would have understood.”

“No. It was not in me to deny him. He put everything of himself in to this dream and the least I could do was put the best of myself in to it when he asked. So I took the hat. I did what I could to make life better for the people here, to ensure that the peace he had worked for would stay and the citizens might prosper, then I passed the job on to someone who I trusted, someone…” Tobirama paused, his expression shuttering in the way that meant he was struggling for the words to express himself.

Kagami stood from the chair that more often than not engulfed his smaller frame and made his way over to stand next to Tobirama, silent and patient. He was rewarded when the words began again, soft, heartfelt, things the man before him could only ever be with the few people he held closest to his heart.

“I never considered Hiruzen. A man will always be weak to his most important people but Hiruzen gives forgives too easily, gives leeway too quickly. I would not trust him to stand up against his advisors no matter that I would trust him to watch my back on the field. But you…you listen to advice, you consider that advice, and you pick the path that seems best. Once you have chosen what is right I have never seen you swayed from your course.” Tobirama turned to grace his companion with a rare gentle smile. “I gave you the hat because you embody all that I could not be for this village, all that I should have been for my brother. I admire you. I always have.”

“You admire me? You know that you’re…you, right?”

Amused, Tobirama was glad to break away from the serious direction his thoughts had taken. “Indeed, I do know that I am me. Is there something wrong with finding admirable qualities in another?”

“No. It’s just…I don’t know. Shut up.”

“If you don’t want me to talk then don’t ask me questions.” Now he was holding in laughter. Kagami huffed.

“Alright, answer me this one–”

“Possibly.”

“Let me get the stupid question out first!” Kagami narrowed his eyes at Tobirama until he lifted his brows innocently and held up both hands in mock surrender. “Good. So. Tell me this, then. If you were so eager to give up the job then why are you still here doing it?”

He was amazing to see Tobirama, of all people, duck his head with embarrassment. When he looked back up there was something distinctly bashful about the light in his eyes, a look Kagami was sure no one had ever seen on him before. It was much cuter than he was expecting. More surprising was the hand that reached across the short space between them, pausing just when he thought the older man meant to stroke his cheek, and then rerouted upwards to trace the edges of the Hokage’s hat atop his head.

“I know firsthand that quite often the only people a Hokage has time for are the assistants that work with him during the day.”

Kagami frowned, chewing that over carefully to make sure he hadn’t misinterpreted. “You gave up the job, put me under the hat, and then kept coming in to work anyway because…you wanted to spend time with me?”

“When the work day is done you have precious little time to yourself. I would not think to intrude upon the few moment you have to relax. You are, however, my dearest friend. Is it so surprising that I”–Tobirama paused to clear his throat uncomfortably–“missed your presence just a little?”

“Just a little?” Kagami parroted, hiding his flushed cheeks behind a teasing grin.

“Yes. Only a little.”

“Ah, come on, you can say a lot. I am pretty awesome.”

Tobirama huffed once in a quiet laugh and held his gaze. “I would have to agree.”

Flustered as he was, Kagami almost looked away and missed it when Tobirama stood from where he had been leaning against the shadowed desk and turned so they were facing each other. His eyes widened comically when this time the man really did raise a hand and cup the side of his face, thumb stroking his cheek ever so gently.

It felt like it had been forever since they started this dance, coming so close to crossing certain lines only for one of them to shy away. Whether it was because of poor timing, interruptions, fear of the very thing they both so clearly wanted changing what they already had, it didn’t matter why. By now it had been years and yet Kagami couldn’t say he regretted a single moment. If they had continued on like this until they were both wrinkled and lowered in to their graves he still would not have regretted it. Whatever it was between them would keep him coming back forever even if all they did was brush hands sometimes and never speak of it directly.

Yet here was Tobirama breaking all the rules, sliding his hand around to play with the curls at the base of Kagami’s neck.

“What I should have said, I suppose, was that I chose you as my successor because I trusted you to do what is necessary. If I betrayed the village I trusted you to be the one to strike me down – reluctantly, of course, but you would do it to protect the people because it was necessary and right.”

“Oh for–” Kagami broke off chuckling. Had he really expected the man to say something romantic? “I guess you gave this job to the wrong man then.”

“Did I?”

“Yes. Anyone else and I could do that but you? Never. You could raze the whole world and I would find a way to follow.” He offered a smile, thrilled when the hand on his neck slid up to weave in to his hair and pull him closer.

Tobirama returned him smile and bent his head until they were but a breath apart. “Would you like to know why, exactly, I am about to kiss you?”

“I – please. Yes,” Kagami breathed. He shuddered as the fingers in his hair tightened, heart thundering in his chest and adrenaline pumping through his veins. It would have been nice to stay cool and suave now that it seemed the moment he had dreamed of a hundred times and more was finally here; instead he felt like he might vibrate out of his skin at any moment and yet he could hardly bring himself to breathe for fear of interrupting.

“Because I know you’re lying.”

Knowing that they would both strike the other down in the name of the village was definitely one of those things that could only be romantic between shinobi. But damn if Kagami couldn’t deny that it meant the world to him that he embodied the values Tobirama held in such high honor.

Thoughts of what should and shouldn’t be considered romantic were pushed from his mind a second later when Tobirama pulled him in and he instinctively rose up on his toes to meet the other in a first kiss that had been too long coming. Soft and unhurried, they took their time sinking in to it, Kagami slowly gliding his hands up the solid planes of Tobirama’s chest before winding them around the man’s shoulders and holding tightly, pressing their bodies together from shoulder the hip. His shiver rattled them both when the hand Tobirama slid over his hip squeezed gently.

Parting was a distasteful concept, so much so that they must have stood there doing nothing but trading slow, deep kisses for almost fifteen minutes – quite a long time to do nothing but kiss. By the time they managed to pull themselves out of the moment Kagami found that he had been lifted on to the edge of the desk for that one extra inch of height, his legs wrapped around the other man’s with mild possessiveness.

“You looked better in the hat,” was all he could think to say. Tobirama’s startled laugh was an unexpected music.

“Did I?” With a smile bigger than most people would have seen him wearing, Tobirama swept the hat off of Kagami’s head and set it aside. “Well in that vein, I think you would look better across the table from me at dinner tomorrow.”

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

“I am.”

Kagami reminded himself that breathing was fun and necessary. “Tell me when and where and I promise to show up fifteen minutes early, worry that I’m late, and probably wear something backwards by accident because you make me nervous.” He hoped the playful grin hid how serious he was about all that.

From the spark of amusement still twinkling away in Tobirama’s eyes he guessed he hadn’t hid anything very well but that was okay. Tomorrow he had a date with the man he’d been loving quietly for years now. His lips still tingled a little from the most fantastic kiss he had ever experienced. And his heart was full to know that he had earned his place; in the village, in the Hokage’s seat, in Tobirama’s arms, he was exactly where he belonged.

#rae writes #commission #tobikaga #tobirama #kagami #fanfiction

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littlebitoffanfic · 6 years

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Aint Such A Bad Guy

Fandom: IT Character: Belch – Reginald Huggins Relationship: Belch/reader Request: I LOVE YOU! WILL YOU PLEASE WRITE MORE FOR BELCH??? Idk, him and the reader both have detention and he offers to driver her home but they end up on a date or something? I know you’ll do great! Leaning back in your chair, you signed loudly. This was completely unfair. You should be stuck in detention because of some jackass who couldn’t drive. The door to the room opened and in walked Reginald Huggins, also known as Belch. You thought you had been the only on in detention today, but when the teacher told him to take a seat, you knew it was going to be the two of you. You honestly didn’t know him well enough to have a proper opinion of him. You stayed out of the bad books of most of the people at school so you never really needed to deal with him or the rest of the bowers gang. Belch took a seat in the same row as you but three chairs away. You saw the surprised expression on his face when his eyes fell on you, but just assumed it was for the same reason you were surprised to see him. the teacher rose to his feet and said he had to go get something from his office at that neither of you were to leave. He walked out the door, leaving it open as he did so. Signing, you leaned back in your chair and looked out the window. It was raining heavily in Derry today. You had already got drenched running to school tomorrow, and now you were going to get drenched running home. You lived just outside of town, which was the main reason you had a car. No busses went by your house and your parents were often away for work so you were pretty independent. “What you in for?” A voice pulled you from your self pity, making you jump. “huh?” You turned to him, not fully catching what he had said. “Why do you have detention?” he clarified, thinking you hadn’t understood his question. “Oh, I was late.” You tell him, wondering why he was making small talk with you. Maybe it was because his friends weren’t here. “don’t you have a car? Did yah sleep in or something?” he frowned. “No, I was in an accident on my way this morning. I had to abandon my car just outside of derry and run in this morning. I was soaked when I got it. I explained everything to Mr Robertson but he said I still had detention.” You growled the last bit, annoyed that you hadn’t been given a little leeway considering you had never been late before. “That’s shit.” Belch agreed. “Why didn’t you just go home?” “I was half way between both. And my parents are away so I would have still had to walk back in.” You shrugged. “Still, if you were in an accident. How bad?” He asked. You couldn’t help but smile. He seemed genuinely concerned for you. “I wasn’t harmed. Some guy lost control in the rain and skidded. He scraped the side of my car and as I tried to avoid him, my tire blew. He drove away and I didn’t get his licence plate. I don’t really know how to change a tire in the pouring rain.” You leaned forward on the desk, dreading trying to get home. “I can give you a lift.” He offered, making you shoot up and stare at him. This was risky. You didn’t know if you could trust him at all, let alone in a car. But his friends were always in with him and he hadn’t killed them yet. Plus they were always hanging out the window and doing stupid shit without anything happening to them. But you knew he adored his car and spent every penny he had on it. You saw him lean back in his chair, as if he wanted the floor to swallow him. And, unless you were mistaken, there was a slight blush on his cheeks. “That would be great.” You smiled, surprised he was being so nice to you but deciding to give him a chance. The teacher came back just a moment later with papers to grade and the two of you fell back into silence. But this time, it was more conformable than before. Eventually, he told you both to go home and you gathered your things. Belch waited for you at the door and you both walked through the deserted corridors and out into the rain. You used your coat to cover your hair while Belch had on a hoodie so he pulled the hood up. It was obvious which one was his car because there was only a handful of cars in the lot. You followed him and waited at the passenger side till he unlocked the room and you both hurried in. “Where abouts to do you live?” belch asked as he started the engine. “Its hard to explain, ill give you directions.” You tell him and he starts driving. “Tell me when we’re near your car and I’ll pull over.” He changes the gear a little early and the car judders a little. If you didn’t know any better, you could have sworn he was nervous. Maybe it was the first time he had had a girl in his car. As he turned a corner, you saw a group of kids walked dangerously close to a puddle. “Don’t even think about it.” You look at him out the corner of your eyes and saw a smirk form on his lips. You let out a laugh, knowing he knew exactly what you were thinking and confirming it had been his plan. But he did avoid the puddle, to his credit. From that moment on, things loosened up between you two. He started joking with you and you laughed with him. He was actually incredibly funny and at one point, he had to guess the way because you were laughing too hard to talk. Soon you were leaving derry and on the way to your house. “Oh, its just up here.” You pointed out your car, which was sitting in a layby and Belch pulled in in front of it. The two of you get out the car and walk over to yours, the rain not as bad here because of the trees sheltering the two of you apart from the odd drops. Belch hissed when he saw the scratch on your car and he squatted down at the passenger side tire which was blown. “You got a spare?” He asked. “yeah, it came with the car, but I looked at it and it doesn’t look in good condition.” You opened your car and went to the boot. Opening it and pulling out the bottom, you showed him the tire. “Yeah, that looks in bad condition.” He agrees, leaning in to inspect it a little more. “I think ive got a tire that’ll fit your car at mine. Plus I know how to fix up those scratches.” Belch walked back to the scratches, his fingers running over them to check the depth. You stood for a moment, debating in your mind. But your pause was not unnoticed. “Look, I aint-“ He signed, walking over to you, looking defeated but you interrupted him. “Im sorry. Its just it took me so long to save up and get my car. I don’t know you that well.” You hated yourself as you looked at him. “I know. I aint that bad a guy.” He tried to defend himself, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking embarrassed. “I know.” You smile, seeing him perk up a little. You walked over to him, examining the damage as you did so. “My parents are away till Saturday and I cant get into school without my car. Do you think its possible to have the tire on before tomorrow or is that too soon?” “Nah, I can get it done tonight. I’ll drop you off and get the tire.” Belch couldn’t help but smile at you. Not many people gave him a chance. “Great. Here.” You held out the keys for your car to him. Belch stared at your keys before taking them like they were a lifeline. “Do you need me to come back out and help?” “no, its fine, I’ll not be back out for another hour.” He waved you off and walked back to his car. You followed him, smiling. -------------------time skip -------------------- You leaned against the bumper of your car, resting the bag on top the car. You didn’t want to put it on the floor because it was pretty muddy. The umbrella was resting on your shoulder as you saw the trans-am coming up the path. Smiling, you pushed yourself off your car as Belch pulled in in front of you. “You didn’t have to walk back.” He smiled as he got out his car. “I felt guilty. So I brought an umbrella so you don’t get wet and also some food in case you were hungry.” You took the bag over and rested on his bumper, opening it to show a good selection of pickings. You raised the umbrella higher to accommodate his height as you followed him to his boot and he got out a tire. It was almost identical to your original ones so no one could really tell unless they were inspecting them. He rolled it over to your car and used the repair kit in the back of your car to change the tire. You stood over him with the umbrella the whole time, protecting him from the rain as the two of you talked. It was so strange because the two of you got on like a house on fire, and yet you never noticed how much you had in common until now. “I’ll need a couple of days to get the right stuff to fix the scratches.” Belch dusted his hands as he got to his feet but it was little use, so he wiped it on his jeans. “Thank you so much. Here.” You dug into your pocket and pulled out some money. You knew how much tires cost and also wanted to give him something for the labour. “Let me know how much the starch stuff is.” “No.” he shook his head, turned, and walked out from under the umbrella. “Wait!” you laughed and ran after him, thrusting the money out again. “Just take it.” “I already told you. No.” he smiled at the way out laughed, but refused to take the money. “Take it.” “No.” “Fine, I’ll put it in your car.” You said with triumph and moved past him towards his car. Arms wrapped around your waist and you were pulled into the air, playfully. “Hey!” You laughed, the umbrella dropping to the ground as he lifted you off the ground and away from his car. “Im not taking your money, [y/n].” He was so close to you now, his mouth only inches away from your ear. But you played along. “Why not?” you giggle as he set you nearer your car. You turn around the second your feet touch the ground and before Belch had retracted his hands. There was a moment of silence as you stared at each other. Was it possible to fall in love with someone in an evening? You didn’t know. You did know that you had had a crush on belch when you were younger. A massive crush. But you pushed it to the back of your mind with thoughts it would never happen. You thought you were over it. But you weren’t. “Cause I aint such a bad guy.” He breathes, his eyes darting to your lips and back to your eyes. Droplets of rain ran down both your faces, but burning cheeks stopped them from being noticed. “I know.” You breathed and leaned up, pressing your lips to his. belch moved his hands from your waist to wrapped right around you, engulfing you. Your hands rested on his broad shoulders, gently moving them up and down as you enjoyed the kiss. Sure, you had been kissed a couple of times before. But not like this. Maybe it was the rain and how it made everything just that much more romantic, or maybe it was the way he kissed you back, like it was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He let out a mixture of a growl and a moan into the kiss which made you knees weak. Part of you wondered if he felt the same way. Had he only noticed you recently? Even just today? No, you knew that much. You had heard the teasing when you walked by, his friends saying he was in love with you. But that’s just what guys do, right? It just happened to be you. But maybe there was something more in the teasing? You felt the money in your hand which was now pressed against his shirt. Smirking, you got an idea and ever so gently slid your hand down and to his breast pocket before slipping the money in there before he had a chance to notice. In that moment, the heavens completely opened and the downpour made you jump, pulling back from his lips. Looking up at the sky, you couldn’t help but laugh to yourself. He seemed to understand the silent joke and chuckled along with you. “Wanna go for a drive?” He asks, nodding to his car. “Absolutely.” You giggle. “Let me grab my bag.” Running over to your car, you saw him walk over and pick up the umbrella, collapse it and put it in his car. As you grabbed your bag, you heard footsteps behind you so you closed and locked the door. But before you could say anything, you were being lifted up and carried to his car. “Why?” You laughed, loving how easily he picked you up. “if youre gonna insist on giving me that money, im taking you dinner and a movie.” He smirks as he opens the door and places you in the passenger seat. You took the moment to kiss him quickly before he left to walk around the car and to the drivers side. “Oh so it some sort of date?” You giggled, batting your eyelashes at him which dripped with water. He smiled. “Could call it that. Theres towels in the back seat.” He reaches back and pulls one forward to toss it at you playfully. “At least you’ll have something to brag about.” You giggled as you used it to try dry your hair a little. “Eh?” “Getting a girl all wet with one kiss.” You giggled as you winked at him. Belch had just been about to pull off, and your comment made him miss the bite of the car and it staled with a violent jerk forward. You let out laughter at his flustered face before crawling over to him and kiss him to calm him down. His hands instantly went for your wet hair, seeming to enjoy the feeling of it running through his fingertips. “Thank you. For everything.” You breath against his lips as he looked in your eyes. You wanted him to know you were genuinely thankful for everything and you weren’t just kissing him because you fixed your car. “Told yah. I aint a bad guy.” He smiled as you leaned back into your seat, pulling on the seatbelt as you smiled at him. “I know.”

#it #reginald belch huggins #Reginald belch huggins x reader #Reginald belch huggins/reader #belch huggins #belch huggins x reader #belch huggins/reader

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p-redux · 7 years

Photo

Follow Up To My Earlier PSA

Okay, I’m back to calmly and hopefully rationally address what @contemplatingoutlander aka CO wrote about me in the screencap above, which she posted on her blog today. Hey, I was wordy back in the day, then I got tired, and stopped writing, but this one is going to be long. I can see the eyerolls from here, but hey, I’m perfectly okay with that. :-) But I hope people take the time to read it.

1. CO, I’m not sure why you’re writing about me at all, when I, Purv, have NOT attacked you or written about you. Paul called you out, NOT ME. Why are you bringing me into this when there is not one shred of evidence showing I had anything to do with what Paul wrote about you? It’s not my fault he mentioned me in his post as someone to follow. He did that, not me. I had NOTHING to do with it.

CO, you think I’m in cahoots with Paul or telling him negative things about you. I don’t need to tell Paul anything negative about you because HE has had his OWN negative interactions with you. His impressions and opinions of you are based on how YOU have shown yourself to him, not anything I have said. There’s nothing I need to add. Also, Paul’s DM’s on Twitter are open. Anyone can contact him. I blocked you because I want to move on, the last thing I would be doing is involving myself in drama related to you.

2. You said “Like most of the fandom, except for NSTs, sadly I don’t trust Purv anymore,” Um, why am I not trustworthy? Literally everything I said sources had told me about Sam and Cait not dating, Cait dating Tony, Sam dating Cody, Abbie and Mackenzie, literally everything I said came TRUE. I have SHOWN I’ve been telling the TRUTH. I understand you’re hurt, but your attack on me is misplaced. And it’s not fair--something you pride yourself on.

ALL I have done is block you because I don’t want to have you in my Tumblr experience. That doesn’t mean I wish you ill will or am plotting against you behind your back...quite the opposite, it means I don’t want to think about you. Interacting with you was causing me too much stress, so I decided to invest in self-care and set that limit for myself. Once I blocked you, I didn’t give you a second thought...I wasn’t in some back room, conjuring up ways to get rid of you with Paul. I wasn’t thinking about you at all. I know that’s hard to believe but it is the absolute truth.

And ALittleBitMass is NOT my partner in crime. She’s hardly on and we’ve only talked a couple of times. I know you were convinced she was me, and have told people that based on the fact that she came down hard on you and knew things about NST and the fandom that you deemed only an “insider” would know. Well, I explained to you that the reason Mass knows stuff is because she is friends with someone who used to be in my inner circle, and THAT person shared info with her. I have no problem being straight with you publicly or privately and you know I never have, so why would I need a sock account to do it? I wouldn’t. I tell you what I think and feel right to your face. Right here. Again, if you have a beef with Mass or Paul, direct it to them, please don’t involve me.

3. As for me repeatedly telling you that I think you’re too soft on shippers sometimes and that you have on occasion appeared to be a shipper sympathizer, yes that’s true. I have said those things and I still believe that. But the only reason I think those things is because ES will never change, not the hard core tinhatters, and they have shown they are very manipulative, and I felt that sometimes you were naive and fell for their deceit and machinations, and gave them leeway they then used against NST. HOWEVER, I never said you should leave...I said that you were in too deep with this fandom stuff, and took it too seriously and maybe because you are a sensitive person (not a bad thing) you’re not cut out for fighting ES because that necessitates someone with a very thick skin and someone who doesn’t take things personally. I suggested many times that you take a break, but for your own mental well being and to decrease your own stress level because you were my friend, and I cared about you, NOT because I wanted to get rid of you. I never said you should leave altogether and never come back. I DON’T WANT TO GET RID OF YOU. Let me repeat, that, I don’t want to get rid of you, CO. First of all, how would that even be possible? I have no control over what you or anyone else does, I can only control my own actions. So, how the heck would I “get rid of” you? It’s a notion that actually makes me laugh, like I have some magic wand that I can wave or something. :-) But I DON’T WANT TO GET RID OF YOU, so that’s a moot point.

4. I used to be controlling like you and cared what people said, did and who they followed. I used to also take this way too seriously...but when my dad got sick and especially after his death, something changed in me...I gained some much needed perspective and realized that all this fandom stuff is nonsense and not important and that’s when I was able to let go and not care what people did, said or who they followed. I literally could give a rat’s ass about any of that now. And it’s SO much better this way. I have PEACE. So, when you come at me with such emotions and so convinced that I’m trying to get rid of you or somehow am plotting against you, it makes me shake my head because nothing could be further from the truth. I DON’T CARE...stay, go, take a break, come back, what you or anyone here does does not matter to me. I have no control over it. It does not affect my life or my fandom experience in any way, shape or form. Like I said before, there is room for both of us. I just don’t want to interact with you, because you treat me badly. You do your thing, and I’ll do mine. That’s all. And I don’t care if everyone who follows me also follows you. I have NO beef with anyone but you. I’m cool with everyone else.

5. I didn’t want to do this publicly, but you opened the door, so I’m walking through it. Why do I have a beef with you? Because I finally got tired of you repeatedly coming into my DM’s telling me what to do, and making me feel badly about being me. You constantly came into my DM’s to tell me to delete part of a post, delete a post altogether, to not say this or that, or use this word or that word, you questioned my motives, accused me of being accounts I’m not, and when I didn’t do what you deemed to be correct, you flipped and turned into another person, yelling and cussing at me. Also, I heard from several NST and then you yourself admitted it to me that when I first came back to Tumblr you went around DMing people telling them not to follow me. My God, instructing people who didn’t even know me, not to follow me--how is that being a nice person? How am I supposed to trust YOU after that? But I did, and I kept following you and supporting you and reblogging you for months. Then one day, the light bulb went on, and I realized I didn’t need the stress and maybe I could survive in NST Tumblr land without CO. I thought we made a good team in debunking ES crap and thought I needed to follow you, but then I realized the good didn’t outweigh the bad. And frankly, I have been much more at peace and with no stress on Tumblr since I blocked you.

So, in summary: CO, I am not plotting against you. I am not in cahoots with Paul, Mass or anyone else. I don’t want you gone. All I want is PEACE and no drama in my fandom experience when I’m hanging out on here with other NST. I have decided that the way to facilitate that is to not see your posts, so I’ve blocked you. That’s it. That’s not a sin. That doesn’t mean I hate you or wish you harm...all it means is I’m taking care of ME and setting limits for myself. I think that’s a good thing...and I shouldn’t be faulted for it. I wish you well, CO. Now, please, please can we move on.

PS. I don’t need anyone to respond to this, I don’t want people taking “sides,” I just wanted things CLEAR--that’s my thing, I hate miscommunication and misunderstandings and I like things DIRECT. So, the ONLY purpose for me writing this is to put MY TRUTH out there. That’s it. Much love to all the NST’s!

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viviantimmet · 4 years

Text

Frozen II AU/rewrite thing

Frozen I doesn't happen. Anna waits until after the celebration to ask for Elsa's blessing or something. Elsa still says no, Anna still makes it personal, but with less people around Elsa's freak out isn't as bad. Anna and Hans discover her ice powers, and Anna tries to persuade Elsa to open up some, but Elsa's not having it. She abruptly steers the conversation back on track and tells Anna that Hans ought to at least court her properly before they marry.

Elsa has heard the call all her life, only ever getting louder as her powers grow. She struggles with ruling as it becomes more and more difficult to keep her powers in check. At least she has some leeway in the private parts of the castle, now that Anna knows. Anna keeps working to bring her out of her shell, and it works to some extent. The two become close. But Hans keeps reminding her of the danger she could be, undoing much of Anna's work. Elsa still hides the extent of her troubles, and keeps the call secret.

Hans may have cruelty within him, but he is good at ruling, and good to the people. He will be good to Anna too, as long as she isn't an obstacle to the throne. But Anna cares about him way more than he cares about her, and it’s really not healthy.

After one too many accidents, Elsa learns to pull her ice into herself, but doing so over and over worsens her condition. She feels cold for the first time, like she's freezing from the inside out. She tries letting some out in her room, but it's never enough. She begins delegating tasks to Anna and Hans (who at this point has proved trustworthy enough), so that she can rest.

The call is strongest when she's curled up on the floor of her room, feeling as if she might freeze solid right then. She thinks if she had not been so cold, she might run into the night to follow it. Which of course becomes her rationalization for continuing to do this to herself.

At some point, she starts spending time in the library. She tells herself she is searching for a way to be rid of her powers, but she often finds herself looking for something else. She starts to take notes. The call might come from Ahtohallan, a magical river far to the North. It is of ice, like her powers (“like you are” says the call), and its name echoes in her head, which seems like a sign.

She discovers an old map, perhaps magically preserved, which shows the original extent of Arendelle’s lands. To her, it shows towns and landmarks she has never heard of, all of which would be under the North Sea if they existed. She has a brief flash of insight, that Arendelle’s small size makes no sense at all, but she can’t quite think why.

The temperature of the castle drops, and ice forms wherever Elsa walks, and on the pages of her notes and anything else she touches, even through her gloves, but she can't be bothered to clear it away.

It is like before her coronation again. She is rarely seen, and rumors abound. She is deathly ill, she has gone mad, she is cursed, the people whisper. She might agree with them if she heard. But she can hardly hear it anymore, when Anna pleads with her, or Hans repeats his warnings, over the call and the name Ahtohallan, ringing in her ears.

Hans and Anna are married now, and Elsa wonders when that happened.

One very cold and painful night, when Elsa's tears are ice, and there is frost in her mouth and throat, the call speaks. “Perhaps Ahtohallan is too far away, but it’s less than a day’s ride to the edge of the North Sea”

Anna is overjoyed when Elsa tells her she wishes to go on a trip. She calls for horses to be prepared, and Elsa allows her, and even a few guardsmen, to come along without complaint. Hans stays behind to take care of the kingdom. They ride to a place Anna finds familiar, though she has never been before.

The edge of the North Sea is shrouded in fog as and spray. Elsa knows Atohallan is further North, but how can a river exist in a sea? This is a question that never occurred to her before. The waves seem hungry and dark, but they shrink away at Elsa’s approach, and when she attempts to step in the water, the sea splits around her feet. The call is as loud as it is on a bad night, and even though she knows that as she goes, the sea will close behind her, trapping her below, she continues forward.

Somehow, Anna knows too. She tackles Elsa and tries to drag her back. Elsa is colder than ice, even through her clothes, it burns Anna’s hands. The water falls inward, soaking the sisters, and the guards rush over. Snow and cold form and hang in the air around them, spiraling out, glazing the sand and stone, turning the sea to slush.

Elsa doesn’t resist when the guards try to help her remount, but the horses refuse to carry her. Anna insists on staying with Elsa while half of the guards go in search of a sleigh or wagon to borrow.

(The sleigh they use is Kristoff’s and he and Anna become friends. Eventually, he will help her realize that Hans doesn’t care.)

At this point, Elsa knows its only a matter of time. That moment by the sea, as they waited for a sled to carry her home, she felt warmer than she had in months. She can tell how much colder the climate in Arendelle is now, from everyone else, but she’s so much warmer. She can’t bear to return to the unbearable cold of hiding her powers, even if letting go will likely plunge Arendelle into eternal winter. So she has to go somewhere where she won’t hurt anyone. She has to follow the call.

It’s quieter now. Just a persistent awareness in the back of her head of what she needs to do. She’s fully functional as she makes preparations. She makes jokes and small talk with Hans and Anna, and even appears to the public a few times.

She sneaks out one night, on foot, because the horses still won’t let her touch them, and that’s that.

#uber-angsty as promised #this is prolly it tho #i have more ideas #but that doesn't guarantee anything #we'll see #frozen ii #frozen #tw self harm #tw sucidal thoughts #i mean #i feel the metaphor is pretty strong at least

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