#but i can equally see him harming himself if it meant passing <-- speaks from experience

[todayisafridaynight]

ohoho you have opened the gates of hell... (you dont have to reply to this btw!! im just spouting hcs at you via ask to stay anonymous heehoo)

so i think aoki realized he was a guy when he was pretty young, was very insistant on it, and the dilf arakawa was fine with it ofc he just wanted his kid to be happy (sawashiro didnt really understand it at first but was never shitty about it.) he probably started hrt pretty young (clearly didnt learn much about syringe safety though). at some point ichiban finds out and hes supportive as hell but he also doesnt know that much so he is like a little over the top but its okay because he just wants to let his brother know people support him!! not that the bitchboy really appriciates it. aoki binds, probably for unhealthy long amounts of time despite his family's protests, and eventually gets top surgery when he goes to america for his other treatments. also as a trans daigo truther, i like to believe they bonded over that :)

im taking notes in my funny little spiral notebook and im ripping the page out and sticking it to my brain because this will surely be a surprise tool to help us later

[nothinggold13]

On Peter and Violence

I think there’s two popular fanon camps regarding Peter Pevensie’s relationship with violence, and though there are certainly plenty of others who, like me, would disagree with both of them, it is those two versions of Peter that I keep seeing pop up again and again.

The first is that of the powerful, raging, warrior king: the version of Peter that speaks more to his mythologized persona within the books than the Peter we actually witness and interact with inside the narrative. His temper is hot, and his sword is fast, and his legacy is soaked in blood. It’s this Peter that lends itself so readily to the (equally fanon) idea that Edmund is the more diplomatic of the two.

The second is that of the pacifist. This idea of Peter is opposed to violence, and only fights under great duress, or because he has been given no other choice; it’s the version of his character that people have snatched from a deleted scene in the “Prince Caspian” film in which he claims he is “thinking about a career in medicine,” and in doing so, distances himself from the war back home. (Although, I would also blame the PC film for the angry, impulsive version of Peter who dominates too much of the fandom; that movie’s interpretation of him is a tragedy.)

Now, of the two, I would prefer the second. It’s at least marginally truer to the boy who “didn’t feel very brave” but did his duty in “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe,” and I appreciate that. However, I also have a personal vendetta against the extreme version of this viewpoint which prioritizes Peter’s peaceful nature over his dutiful courage, and this is why I’m writing out what I believe are the nuances of his character that sometimes get overlooked in favour of idolizing either his strength or his softness.

There is a statement in my mind to describe him that I avoid using, because I know it requires more context than I usually want to give, but here and now, we’ll call it my thesis: Peter prefers problems he can hit.

I don’t think Peter is a violent character. Genuinely, I don’t. And so I imagine those two statements seem pretty contradictory, because how can he not be violent, if violence is also the ideal solution to his problems?

Well, here’s the thing: Peter’s growing up in a war. Heck, he’s growing up in two.

He’s thirteen in the first book, and World War II is breaking out above him, and, more than that, there is nothing he can do about it. What could he do? He’s a kid.

And then, suddenly, he’s in a new world. They tell him he’s meant to be there. They give him a sword, and he takes it silently. They tell him he will be king.

We see him in his fight with the wolf: “Peter did not feel very brave; indeed, he felt he was going to be sick. But that made no difference to what he had to do.” We are told there that violence is not something he takes to lightly; it is a matter of duty for him: to the country that stands behind him, and his sister who is in harm’s way.

He fights a battle. Years pass, and he fights more. He returns to the war he is powerless to fight against, and then finds himself King again, where he comes up with a plan to fight a duel which -- if everything had gone to plan -- would have put no one but himself at risk.

Yes, Peter is steeped in violence. C. S. Lewis tells us at the end of “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe,” that he is a “great warrior,” and when he is mentioned in “The Horse and His Boy,” it is said he’s off battling giants. He is High King, and as such, he has to be a soldier. He chooses to be a soldier. He consistently fights, especially so that others may not have to. He fights to protect. To shield. To provide freedom.

And then he goes back home, and is trapped under war again.

Depending on his birthday, Peter turns eighteen around the time of the end of World War II, meaning I have no reason to believe he ever fought within it; however, National Service continued after the war. And this is where I thought that Peter, ever being driven by duty, would sign up without question. It’s what would be expected of him. And, even more, it’s what he’s been doing for years for a country that isn’t his anymore; how could he not do the same for England?

(I put that in a fic. I had a scene where Peter, freshly eighteen, confessed to Susan he would still have to serve, and Susan said, “But not in the war, and I’m glad of that.” And then -- because it was what Peter did within canon time and time again -- I had him tell her, “But I hope you understand that I’d fight for you. For all of you. If my fighting had any chance of helping to keep you all safe, I would go.” ......And somebody told me that was out of character.)

I don’t mind if somebody really likes the idea of Peter becoming a doctor rather than a soldier. Truly, I understand the appeal. But I do have a problem when somebody tells me I’m wrong for believing Peter would continue to do what he had always canonically done after coming back to England.

Because Peter does have a relationship with violence. He doesn’t have a love for it, but he has been tangled in the necessity of it too many times not to follow through when it needs to be done.

And what happens when you raise a boy in war? What happens when you let him fight it? What happens when he learns the chain reaction: fight the battle, win the war, set them free? And then what happens when you put him into situations that can’t be solved with his hands? Give him enemies he can’t fight? Give him wars he can’t be a part of?

And that’s what I mean by “Peter prefers problems he can hit.”

Not that Peter rushes to violence when it isn’t called for, or that he craves war when he finds himself in peace, or anything else of that angry, vicious nature that some people have come to believe--- Gosh, I think Peter would far rather lay the sword down than ever have to pick it up again.

(But it’s what he does. Time after time.)

Peter is a big brother, ever looking after the others. Peter is the High King, ever doing what Narnia requires. Peter is the loyal servant, ever following Aslan’s instruction. Even if it scares him, it’s what he does.

So I don’t think he likes feeling helpless. I think he likes knowing what to do, and I think intangible problems drive him a little crazy, and I think a sword is a very physical thing that has served him well too many times.

Despite my very obvious complaints against “Prince Caspian’s” movie characterization here, I have to say that this is something I love about “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.” Peter’s older in the film than he is in the book. He’s closer to going to war himself. And what do we see him do? We see him distracted by passing soldiers-- not much older than himself. We see him reading on the train: “Biggles Goes To War.” We see him consumed by the war, even up to the point that he mimics WWII battle strategies against the Witch’s army.

This is the Peter I’m talking about: the one who feels sick at violence, and shakes and cries and hugs his sisters when its done, and yet...... does it. Every time.

I feel like there’s a dozen things I may be missing, but I think that’s the gist: Peter’s an unwilling soldier who doesn’t know how to put down his sword.

He’s a great warrior, but not an indiscriminate one. He’s a gentle spirit, but not a passive one. Violence made him, but he is so much more than his violent acts. He’s complex. He’s dutiful. He’s faithful. He’s capable. He fights because he has to, and as long as it’s asked of him, he will continue to do it.

So that’s where I stand. That’s why I may seem to show contradictory versions of Peter throughout my fics and edits and commentary; why I may say he’s not violent and then paint an image of him that ties him to violence anyway.

Whether you disagree is your prerogative. This is, by nature, a nuance-based take, and while I do think there’s wrong interpretations of Peter Pevensie out there, I also believe that there is a lot of room within that nuance for various interpretations to be equally right. This isn’t me making an end-all-and-be-all analysis that everyone else must follow to the letter.

This is just me explaining -- for myself or for anyone else who cares to listen -- what I believe, and how it affects the things I create. <3 So there’s my take on Peter’s complicated relationship with violence: the way it coats him, and yet, doesn’t define him: the way he’s so softhearted, and yet not himself without it.

“For never since we four were Kings and Queens in Narnia have we set our hands to any high matter, as battles, quests, feats of arms, acts of justice, and the like, and then given over; but always what we have taken in hand, the same we have achieved." ~Peter [The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe: Chapter XVII: The Hunting of the White Stag]

Disclaimer: none of this is anti-Aslan “look how he traumatized this poor boy” propaganda, and if that is your viewpoint, kindly do not interact with this post. :)

[dialovers-lover-xoxo]

Kanato's Relationship Alphabet

Under a cut because it's long

❌ TW: Brief mention of Kanato physically abusing the reader as punishment, multiple mentions of murder, mention of the relationship being abusive, mentions of love-making, verbal abuse and insults ❌

I'll be honest, these headcanons don't paint Kanato in the best light, but it's how I remember him in the games and I want to stay accurate to his personality

Alphabet Credit: @snk-warriors

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

A - Activities (What activities do you do as a couple with him?)

Tea parties. He'll dress you up like a doll and you'll have tea, hot chocolate, cakes, cookies. He also enjoys making clothes for you and having you try them on.

B - Beauty (What physical attribute do they admire about you?)

He really admires your face and neck

C - Comfort (How would they comfort you when you're upset or having a panic attack?)

He doesn't. At least, not in the beginning. He didn't understand what was going on and was really just annoyed at your antics. When your relationship progresses and he comes more attentive towards your needs he will probably stroke your hair and speak soothing words. And probably kill/destroy whoever or whatever triggered your panic attack.

D - Dreams (Do they picture a future with you? If so, what does that future look like?)

Yes, he often imagines you as his spouse, forever loyal and his. He imagines the future a lot. Be it an hour into the future or years into the future. It's a way to pass the time when you're not with him and a way to remind himself you will always be his.

E - Equal (Are they dominating/dominant in the relationship or passive?)

No matter how kind Kanato is to you or how much he loves you, he still won't see you as his equal. He still expects you to do whatever he wants you to do and he won't always reciprocate, thinking it's your duty to please him, not the other way around.

F - Fight (Do they forgive easily? How do they fight?)

Kanato gets mad easily but also calms down and forgives rather easily, as long as you apologize and agree to whatever he demands such as sweets or your blood. When he's angry, he flies into a destructive rage. He will destroy things, scream, guilt-trip you by crying and possibly cause you physical harm like biting you really hard or pulling your hair as punishment

G - Gratitude (How grateful are they in general? How do they show their gratitude?)

Kanato is not above saying "please" and "thank you" even when he's angry but there's more than that. Idk about gratitude but I think he'll subtly show his appreciation for you by allowing you to hold Teddy or offering you sweets

H - Honesty (Do they share everything with you? If they do keep something from you, why?)

Kanato doesn't see the point in hiding something from you. He sees no reason to so he won't.

I - Inspiration (Did they get inspired to change by you? How so?)

Kanato realized that your happiness meant more to him than a candy bar or a sip of blood. He can still be very selfish in the relationship but he's also gained kindness towards you. He wants to treat you well and be kind to you and have you stay with him.

J - Jealousy (Do they get jealous easily? How do they act when they're jealous?)

Kanato rivals, or hell, he might even surpass Ayato, when it comes to jealousy and possessiveness. He flies into a rage and accuses you of cheating or wanting to leave or not being happy with him. He might kill the person you were talking to just to "ensure you couldn't talk to them ever again"

K - Kiss (Are they a good kisser? What are their kisses like? What was the first kiss like?)

If you like tongue and lip biting, Kanato would be a very good kisser. He almost always uses tongue and bites your lip to taste blood. They're very slow but passionate and he holds you firmly in place. The first kiss he just sorta leaned forward and kissed you, then insulted you for getting flustered. Something like "Did you actually think that meant something? Fufu, you're so stupid."

L - Love Confession (What was their love confession like?)

It was him saying that he loves you and wants you by his side forever, followed by passionate love-making and biting. He was pretty forthright, not embarrassed or in denial about his feelings.

M - Marriage (Do they want to get married? How would they propose?)

Yes. He wouldn't exactly propose he'd more say "you're marrying me, Doll. You'll be mine forever."

N - Nicknames (What do they call you as a term of endearment? Where did the nickname come from?)

Cute things like "Doll" "Dollface" and "Dolly" because you are his little doll

O - On cloud 9 (What are they like in love? Can other people tell?)

To everyone else, even his own brothers, all they see is a horribly toxic and abusive relationship where you're submissive to him out of fear. Only you know that he actually loves you.

P - PDA (Are they shy or upfront about their relationship with you? Will they kiss in public?)

He is very upfront and will kiss you or make love to you whenever he pleases and he expects you to respond enthusiastically and want it too.

Q - Quirk (Something random about them that's beneficial in a relationship)

Though he can be unpredictable at times, because he's so similar to a child it's fairly easy to bribe him into being civil towards someone or something

R - Romance (How romantic are they?What is their idea of romance like?)

More intimate than romantic. He's not really one for a movie date or candlelit dinner. He will be very intimate and touchy. He'll hold your cheek as he tells you he loves you.

S - Support (Do they help you reach your goals? Do they believe in you?)

Nope. You shouldn't have goals other than to be with and make him happy. You want to be a teacher? That means you'll have to leave him and will be busy. He'll insult your intelligence and tell you you're incapable of being a teacher. You want to be an actress? You're far too ugly, they'll never hire someone with your face.

T - Thrill (Do they like trying new things in a relationship? Or do they prefer routine?)

He prefers routine. He'll try out a new candy shop or put Teddy in new clothes, but in the grand scheme of things he sticks to what he knows and doesn't like change.

U - Understanding (How well do they understand you?)

He's fairly perceptive so he can tell your feelings and thoughts just from your face but he's incapable of comprehending why you think your comfort or wants should be important in the relationship

V - Value (How important is your relationship to them?)

More important even than Teddy

W - Wild card (A random fluff headcanon)

He does genuinely compliment you fairly often, far more often than the other diaboys probably would

X - XOXO (Are they affectionate? Do they like to kiss and cuddle)

Yes, he's very affectionate. He loves to kiss and cuddle and stroke your hair.

Y - Yearning (How will they cope when they miss you?)

He doesn't cope. He flies into a murderous rage, literally incinerating everyone in sight

Z - Zeal (Are they willing to go to great lengths for your relationship?)

Yes. He will fight and go long distances for you and protect you with his life.

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

Thank you for reading, my loves!

Feedback and reblogs appreciated ❤️

Shu

Reiji

Ayato

[nevertheless-moving]

Suicidal Misunderstanding XIV

Part I - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  Part XI - - - - Part XII - - - - Part XIII

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

Plo Koon woke to find himself chained in a dark room.

Somewhere behind him he could hear steady dripping; it was uncertain if that was deliberate or not.

He strained to discern anything in the dim light, but the walls of his prison refused to form into anything recognizable.

Cautiously, the trapped Master cast his senses out, only to find them reflected back at odd angles. He decided to wait before attempting to push any further past what his captor wished him to see.

Time passed strangely, but sooner than expected there was the sound of a pressurized airlock opening and, distantly, a raging ocean.

The airlock cycled through its rotation and Obi-Wan Kenobi stepped out of the amorphous shadows looking...decidedly worse for the wear. 

Plo ached at the sight. His normally carefully maintained beard was a scraggly mess. His robes hung tattered and bloodied. Of particular concern was how dry he looked, skin cracked and bleeding for want of water. The figure standing before him with a dead-eyed glare resembled less an accomplished Jedi Master and more the wretched husk of one. 

“Who are you?”  Obi-Wan's shade hissed. The chains around the Kel Dooran tightened. 

Well, however he might view himself and others...at least he’s willing to fight to defend what remains? At the bare minimum he’s not acting intentionally self destructive...

“Good Morning, Obi-Wan. I am a Jedi Master and your friend. I have been attempting to reach you through your rather impressive shielding. I must say, you’ve done a remarkable job confining me in this mental construct, its been sometime since anyone has managed to get the best of me in this arena.”

Obi-Wan snorted. “Don’t try and flatter me, you barely fought back. You could easily have forced your way anywhere, but for some reason you let me corral you, presumably to try and gain my trust. Now answer my question. Your presence is very much light so I doubt you’re Sidious or...Vader. I could be wrong obviously, but i can’t see either of themselves putting this much effort into that sort of mask...just tell me who you are, and why you’re with them.”

“I am Master Plo Koon, a High Council Member, and I am not unknown to you” he elaborated without hesitation. “I am glad that you can identify that I am a light force user. Can you not sense familiarity within my force presence, even so far within your domain?”

Obi-Wan reared back and the dripping noise in the corner stopped.

“It’s a trick. We might be in my head but that doesn’t mean I’m surrendering any of my thoughts to you,” Obi-Wan snarled. “I felt Plo Koon’s death, he was one of the first...and even if he somehow survived he would never work with the Sith to invade my mind. Never.”

“Obi-Wan. Listen to me. Please. I am not dead. I am not working with the Sith. I was brought in to reach you because no other method was working. You are in the healing halls at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant.” Plo spoke calmly, but implacably, “We believe you have either experienced a uniquely detailed vision, or a run in with a dark-sider. Whatever has happened, I can feel the lingering impression of unsafety. But here and now, you are not in any immediate physical danger. There must be something I can do to convince you of your present physical location.”

“A uniquely detailed vision, huh? ha!” Obi-Wan replied, gesturing wildly. “Ha! You expect me to believe that what, the last four years of my life were a detailed prophecy? Why?”

“You...believe you have lived years beyond the rest of us. I take it the- what you remember has been dangerous enough to warrant maintaining abnormally tight control over your mental walls, precluding simply reaching out to ascertain the truth yourself.”

“Clearly my control wasn’t enough if you’re in here.” Obi-Wan muttered.

“I do apologize for the intrusion, but we’ve already used every other tool at our disposal to reach you. I repeat, is there anything that can be done to convince you that you are, from your perspective, ‘in the past’. You are a High Council member with a grandpadawan. It’s been two years since the start of the clone wars. You recently finished an extended clean up of the Mon Cala sector after your victory.”

Obi-Wan stared at him curiously. “If I set a test and you fail, will you agree to dispense with the pretenses?”

Plo-Koon hesitated. “Perhaps I’m making this deal in bad faith, as I am know I am Plo-Koon, and that everything I have said is the truth... but I swear that if you somehow prove that neither of those things are true and I am secretly working for a sith lord, I will...reveal that.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “Best I’m going to get, I suppose.”

The chains holding Plo-Koon loosened. Before he could respond, there was a hurtling rising sensation that he struggled not to fight against. After a disorienting moment, he found himself in his own body, feeling vaguely seasick. Obi-Wan blinked awake, apparently unfazed by the precautionary bonds holding him in place. Master Aerdo’s gaze flicked between them intensely. Plo-Koon held up a clawed hand to forestall any interruption while the two gained their bearings.

Obi-Wan spoke first:

“Cihynglo’s Fourth Meditation”

“...What?” Koon replied, honestly confused.

“Cihynglo was a renowned Kashykian Jedi, her mediations are, well i suppose were considered a quintessential example of High Republic cosmic poetry.”

“I’m familiar with Cihynglo- my master used to speak of her fondly.” Plo Koon said slowly. “Though I can’t say I’m familiar with her Fourth Mediation.”

“Hmm. Yes, well her poetry in the last few decades of her life got increasingly, well, esoteric. While most of her work was widely translated and distributed, she requested that those who wished to read her fourth Meditations do so in person, so as to experience without dilution the full calligraphy and artwork that accompanied her words. She only ever produced two copies. Any guesses where they were kept?”

Obi-Wan’s voice started out in the steady tones of a born lecturer, only to grow bitter towards the end.

“Is one in the temple?” Master Koon asked.

“Yes, one was held in the Master’s wing of the temple archives. The other was housed in a place of honor in The White Forest’s Great Tree of Knowledge. Considering both libraries were reduced to ash in the first month of the Empire, it is quite impossible, even for the Emperor, to find a copy.” 

His vague attempt at a smirk quickly fell flat. 

“I was privileged enough to be granted time to begin reading it once, but, alas, an emergency situation in the intergalactic war you created meant that I had to run off mid-sonnet. Bring me that book, let me hold it, read it, and I will believe that I somehow unlocked the secret of time-travel while overdosing on Spice.” 

Obi-Wan paused, catching his breath. “In the next fifteen minutes, please. Any more than that and you might try tracking down the few surviving Wookie scholars.” Koon flipped open his comm. “Master Nu, I have an urgent request.”

“Nu here, go on,” came the response.

“This may sound strange, but it is crucial that Cihynglo’s Fourth Meditation be brought to the healing halls, room seven. Within the next 15 minutes.”

“You do understand you’re talking about a physical book, not a flimsi-stack or a holocron. It’s not meant to leave a climate-controlled room.”

“I promise you, I would not ask if it weren’t life or death. Please Jocasta, I’ll explain later.”

“I’ll be there in 10. It had better be one durned good explanation.”

Obi-Wan looked bemused. ”You’re setting yourself up for failure.”

“I am glad you were able to come up with a test you found meaningful. Remember, you have friends here, regardless of whether you experienced subjective time travel or an incredibly detailed vision.”

They waited a little longer. Obi-Wan critically examined Master Aerdo.

“I’m a Senior Soul Healer” they offered at the non-verbal prompting.

“How interesting.” Obi-Wan remarked dryly.

They sat in awkward silence for another minute. 

They were all equally trained in suppressing fidgets, coughs, or other nervous tics, which made the wait that slightest bit more unbearable, each second nearly imperceptible from the one before.

Eventually the sound of heavy boots moving at speed approached.

Master Nu strode in, gently cradling a great burden. The book gleamed large and vital in the light of its stasis wrap. Her eyes widened at they took in Obi-Wan, still cuffed to the bed. 

“Cihynglo’s Fourth Meditation, as asked for. I trust you have an excellent explanation for how a book of poetry is a matter of life or death.”

“I’m hoping that it will convince our friend Master Kenobi that I am who I claim to be and we are where I claim we are.” Koon gently pulled the book from her grasp and reverently placed it on Obi-Wan’s lap. Obi-Wan stared at it uncomprehendingly.

“Obi-Wan, I’m going to uncuff you now. I trust that you will use your freedom to examine our ‘proof.’ We will physically intercede if you make any attempts at self harm.”

Master Nu gasped. “Then the temple rumors...I don’t understand.”

Obi Wan picked up the book as if he was afraid it might bite him. With an irritated snort, he opened brusquely to the middle, and began carelessly flipping ahead.

Master Nu started forward, offended, but Plo Koon held her back. “Please Master Nu, patience-”

Finally Obi-Wan seemed to reach the page he was looking for and stopped. “..And still the rain fell like blood of the womb” he murmured. “That...I tried to think of how the line ended but I...”

Everyone watched as the book shook in Obi-Wan's grasp. He turned the page, gasping slightly and murmuring as he read. “This is...a little gross, but oddly touching. I certainly would not have come up with it myself...but its so clearly...” They watched his react, eyes darting wildly and brow furrowing in confusion.

Several pages later he dropped the book abruptly.

“This is impossible,” he gasped.

Nu darted forward, carefully snatching it from his lap, "I am endeavoring to practice tolerance, but how is destroying an irreplaceable piece of literature supposed to help anyone?!” she snapped

“I admit I wondered that myself, but when I imagined what harm the Sith could do with some of the archive’s more practical works, I understood your decision to torch the collection” Obi-Wan responded dreamily. “I suppose the more beautific works would likely have been destroyed anyway...”

“Torch the archives? I would never.”

“But you did,” Obi-Wan insisted feverishly. “I found your message when we searching for survivors. There were so many bodies piled at the archive door that I was almost hopeful that they had managed to...but I suppose they held out just long enough for you to complete your task.”

Nu backed away slowly. “That sounds like quite the disturbing vision, Master Kenobi.”

“It wasn’t just a vision, it was my life. It-visions don’t last years!” he said, finally growing hysterical. “I remember everything! That gods-awful mission to Cato Nemodia! Getting takeout food with Anakin! The smell of burning flesh in the creche! Singing to Luke! The last year of the war! All of you! You crying after Dooku’s death,” he added gesturing wildly at the archivist. “It was so awkward! You were embarrassed! You told me that for some stupid reason you had ‘held out hope’ it was all an insane uncover mission, that he wasn’t really- Three years alone in the desert! I remember three years of living on fucking Tatooine, how could that possibly be a vision!”

“I...hadn’t told anyone that,” Nu whispered with a hint of alarm. She glanced at Plo Koon, daring him to comment. “I know its very much unlikely at this point, and by any measure, he’s taken things too far, but he’s gone on such long shadow missions in the past...” she looked away.

“Oh, Jocasta...” Plo sighed.

“Master Kenobi. I cannot explain how you came to have such detailed knowledge of the future,” Aerdo said, drawing focus back to the bewildered Obi-Wan, who had shifted into a defensive crouch on the bed. “But I do know one reasonably sure fire way to establish that this, us, is the present. Open yourself up to the force, please, just let yourself listen to what it has to say.

“I...want to, of course I want to believe- but the idea that I’m here- it’s, if you’re real than you can’t possibly understand, its too good to be true.” Obi-Wan responded brokenly.

“I know things have been clouded of late, but, if nothing else trust in the force to not lie to you.” Plo-Koon urged. “If you keep closing yourself off like this, how can you possibly learn if things are better than you think”

Obi-Wan collapsed from his crouch, knees folding underneath.

“If I am...even if I am in the past... Sideous might be watching...i didn’t- i don’t know the extent of his gaze- even if...” he trailed off.

“If it makes you feel safer, you are of course free to again raise your shields to whatever extent you feel necessary once you have verified your reality.” Aerdo replied smoothly.

Obi-Wan looked warily at the three Jedi in the room.“I...” he started, trying to articulate the swelling hope and fear only to find himself at a loss for words.

Aerdo shot him a reassuring smile, “If you don’t feel ready right now, that’s perfectly understandable. We’re very happy you’re willing to reach out as much as you have already. Would you like to pause this discussion for now so we can find you something to eat? I believe a simple broth is a customary first post-bacta meal, but if you have any special requests I’ll do what I can.”

Obi-Wan let out a deep breath, dropping his head into his hands. “I- I need to know, don’t I?” he mumbled. “Force help me...you win.” He took one last, searching look at the faces of his fellow Jedi before closing his eyes and surrendering himself to the force.

He opened a small hole in his mental barricades and tentatively allowed his thoughts to drip out. Tentatively, he trickled over the bank of Plo Koon’s being (expecting a frigid burn) only to find a warm and heartbreakingly familiar pool of tempered kindness. 

He ran, slightly faster now, over the other Jedi presences in the room. Having finished his course without encountering any dark undertow, he ebbed back. There was an indistinct impression of something heavy giving way.

Obi-Wan’s Shields Fell Like A Dam Beneath a Tidal Wave -

[thegeminisage]

my secret galaxy brain reading of spn s11 is better than yours

or: why season 11 is good actually. this is a long-ass meta, so it's going behind the cut

some disclaimers before we get going

absolutely all of this is accidental. nobody does this shit on purpose. this is ~my interpretation~ or whatever. i'm not actually trying to argue the writers meant to do this lol. what i'm saying is that this is the way to make season 11 make sense in your brain because it makes sense in mine and it's one of my FAVORITES. it could be one of your favorites too if you stop limiting yourself

there is heavy discussion of sexual violence in this meta so read safely etc also spoilers for all of s11 obviously

unless you watched the anime, i've seen more supernatural than you have, so i'm right >:)

for the uninitiated, the basic plot of season 11 is that eons and eons ago, before there was heaven or hell or earth or humans or angels, there was only god (chuck) and the darkness (amara). amara kept destroying what god made, so he and the archangels locked her away in a cage, which removing the mark of cain from dean's arm opened. amara escaped and dean was the first thing she saw, so she spends the season using some kind of thrall over him to make him feel drawn to her and unable to hurt her, and also looking for chuck so she can give him a little payback.

ALRIGHT HERE WE GO

season 11 & sexual violence

you don't need to look very far to find examples of sexualized violence and outright sexual violence on supernatural, but s11 is lousy with it. just to name a few examples:

amara's "thrall" on dean, which we will absolutely get into more later

crowley's jokes about altar boys and the tastes of catholic priests

ALLLLL the pedophile jokes made when crowley was raising baby amara

angels torturing cas and threatening to cut his genitals off, only to send in hannah (an angel who formerly had unrequited romantic/sexual feelings for him) to play good cop(/honeypot??) in hopes of making him talk

the return of lucifer, who possessed sam (spn has a history of equating possession and sexual violence) and is heavily implied to have raped sam in hell, and the MULTIPLE times he menaces sam throughout this season, including forcibly touching his soul

lucifer possessing castiel and using him to enact violence on the winchesters, his loved ones

i absolutely REFUSE to acknowledge the lucifer/crowley stuff but if you know you know

the episode with the kissing curse, using "love" as a means to deliver death

dean's possession in the soul eater episode

the "chitters" monsters involving mating, orgies, and forcible impregnation

you get the idea

i could write a whole essay on almost all of these but for this post we'll be sticking mostly to dean & amara

@marcusantonius pointed out while we were watching season 11 that what amara does to dean is basically speedrun his two major attachments - sam and castiel. she starts out as a baby, someone in need of protection, and quickly grows into an adult who attempts to romance/seduce him. the feelings dean has around amara aren't feelings FOR HER, they're feelings he has for SAM AND CAS that are being TRANSFERRED onto her through means of her power. (this is important for later.)

what amara does to dean is sexualized violence bordering on outright sexual assault. compelling him to feel drawn towards her and to protect her, frequently getting in his personal space and touching his face, and even kissing more than once when he is quite literally unable to resist (it's stated many times that he is unable to kill or even harm her, so he is completely helpless in the presence of someone who makes no secret of her intentions for him, sexual or otherwise). 

dean says many times that what he feels for amara is not love or desire or attraction. he can't put a name to it at all - not once in the entire series is he able to properly define this thrall she has over him, which leaves us the audience a little confused (amara asking "what IS happening between us?" in 11.06 as a teenager making sexual advances on a grown man does give me a good laugh, because it was written SO WEIRDLY)... BUT we know that it is definitely sexual in nature, and not at all something dean wants to be happening.

this is addressed kind of strangely in 11.13. the villain of the week is a witch moonlighting as a hairdresser, who puts a kissing curse on her clients. the curse must be passed along like a hot potato - if you kiss someone else, it's passed along to them. if they kiss someone else, it's passed along to them. but eventually, a monster called a qareen will show up in the form of "your deepest desire" and kill you, and work its way backwards to the original curse-ee. in the episode, dean kisses the vic (i'll point out this was also technically done w/o her consent, though it was a very businesslike kiss) to put the curse on himself and protect her. the qareen takes the form of amara, and she gives Dean this little speech:

Qareen!Amara: You're a mystery. I can see inside your heart. Feel the love you feel. Except it's cloaked in shame. When it comes to this, you can’t help yourself, so why fight it? Just give in.

then, at the end of the episode, after dean reveals who the qareen was for him, we get this conversation between sam and dean: 

Dean: You seriously think the sister of God is my deepest darkest desire? Sam: She isn't? Dean: No! She can’t be! Sam: Why not? Dean: Why? Because if she is that means that I'm… Sam: Means you're what? Complicit? Weak? Evil? Dean: For starters, yeah. Sam: Dean. Do you honestly think you ever had a choice in the matter? She's the sister of God, and for some reason she picked you and that sucks, but if you think I’m gonna blame you or judge you…I'm not.

the "shame" part of both of these is really what stuck out to me - the word itself isn't in the second passage, but dean's vibes are absolutely filled with shame. to me, this always read as being shame about the sexual violence and about the complicity/weakness that "allowed" that violence to happen. 

and as a reminder, sam is just a few episodes past the confrontation with his own rapist (he returns to the cage to speak with lucifer in 11.09 & 11.10, and canonically struggles with what happened there even after the confrontation ends). sam made a point earlier in this episode of making sure the victim of the curse knew it wasn't her fault her husband died, but the fault of the witch who cast the curse. sam is VERY emotionally intelligent, and i honestly believe that he was speaking as one survivor of sexual violence to another here. what he's telling dean is something victims often need to be reminded of: it's not your fault. you weren't complicit, or weak. you didn't have a choice. you don't deserve blame or judgment.

we've had bad guys make sexual threats at both dean and sam many times before this and a few more times after, but as far as i can recall, this is the only conversation in the entire series that even attempts to address the impact of that particular kind of violence on dean. it's short, and strangely written, but nonetheless: there it is.

season 11 & the dean in the closet

for the purposes of this post, i'm not going to go through the entire series and find examples to try and prove dean is bi and has feelings for cas. if you don't believe that then what are you doing here? we're skipping to the goods.

actually, i always got annoyed at people who read the fake-amara's speech in 11.13 (or any of the other times people spoke about dean's shame regarding amara) as being about dean's sexuality, because in my mind it was ABSOLUTELY about his being a victim of sexual violence, which was far more important to me, as it is discussed far less often.

BUT, knowing what we know now (that cas was always canonically in love with dean, and it's all but canon that dean really was bisexual), i'm willing to entertain another notion:

Sam: ...you're what? Complicit? Weak? Evil? Dean: For starters, yeah.

the "evil" bit never really sat right with me as part of the narrative of sexual violence, aside from touching on dean's general self-loathing, but it fits the narrative of being closeted MUCH better. dean, a self-hating homophobic bisexual, would probably use a similar word, if not something heavy as "evil," to describe the way he feels about other men. it's a malevolent feeling. (if you're like me and ascribe to the jackles headcanon that dean resorted to turning tricks to make food money when he was underage, we could also consider the extremely fucked up fact that almost every queer man dean's ever met is someone who hurt him.) 

dean is ashamed of who and what he is, and the way he feels about cas. living like that, that's violence. he lives violently day in and day out with that feeling. (and amara knows it. it's worth nothing that she uses cas to communicate with dean MULTIPLE times in this season, both by carving messages on his body and psychically, through his own connection to dean - and when dean "betrays" her to rescue casifer, she's horrified at whatever she sees in his head.)

equating sexual violence to the violence of being closeted

but what's amazing about this weird badly-written little 11.13 conversation (and indeed, the season-long plotline of dean and his shame) is that we don't HAVE to assign it to the purposes of being about sexual violence OR about being closeted. it can be and IS both. 

my favorite reading of this is that BEING IN THE CLOSET IS INHERENTLY A VIOLENT AND TRAUMATIC EXPERIENCE. many of the same feelings are involved: shame, guilt, self-loathing. sam's comforting words to dean - that he will not be blamed or judged - are equally applicable in both cases. dean is a victim of sexual violence, and he is also in the closet, and both of these experiences are traumatic ones, and they are intermingled with each other in a big way (again, if you're into dean-turned-tricks headcanon, they are intermingled INSEPERABLY - the sexual violence being one of the direct causes of dean not wanting to accept or address his own sexuality).

the bait-and-switch

the real galaxy brain moment of this whole thing begins at the end of 11.22 (an otherwise lackluster episode that played sam's lucifer trauma for laughs how dare they ugh god whatever that's off-topic but i HATE IT) when amara and chuck finally have the confrontation she's been fighting all season for. she is attacked by witches, demons, angels, and then stabbed by lucifer himself, before she's finally on her knees before chuck, and then we get this little exchange:

Chuck: I'm sorry. For this, for everything. Amara: An apology at last. What's sorry to me? I spent millions of years crammed into that cage alone and afraid...

maybe you already know where i'm going with this. a cage isn't so different from a closet when we're working with metaphors, right? 

amara talks about her grievances with chuck many times throughout season 11 - that he was spoiled, that he created the earth to stroke his ego, that he couldn't handle her as she was. and once he finally makes his appearance he tells it his own way - that he had no choice but to lock amara away, that she couldn't stand the things and people he made, that he did it to protect people. but something about THIS conversation in particular - even though it's not written into the dialogue - gives me a particular kind of vibe. 

there is something innately, unspeakably WRONG with amara. i don't mean unspeakable as in very bad, i mean unspeakable as in LITERALLY undefinable. it's just like dean being unable to put a name to the pull she has over him. no one talks directly at it or about it, they go in circles around it, but facts are facts: amara simply couldn't be allowed to exist as she was because there was just something innately wrong with her. and it's this conversation in particular, the first one they have together onscreen, that really slams that feeling home for me.

the entire time chuck and amara are talking, the camera repeatedly cuts to dean - he is so visibly upset that the first time i watched this, i was certain he was about to jump into the middle of things and put himself between the two of them. we're meant to believe that dean has trouble hearing this because he "cares" about amara, but i have a different take.

i think it's empathy. real, actual empathy - not the kind of feeling that amara had to force out.

stay with me here. eventually, after chuck tries to lock amara away again, she gets her second wind, attacks him, and leaves him for dead - and as he dies, the sun dies with him, and so too does all life on earth. 

in the following episode, the finale, amara finds her way to a park, where she takes in god's creation, visibly upset as she realizes that his flowers die at her touch (again, hammering home the point that there is something innately wrong with her that means she cannot live in this world), and eventually speaks with an old lady feeding the birds. 

Woman: Do you want to feed them? Amara: I shouldn't. Woman: I've been feeding these birds going on 20 years now. They're practically family. And I know that makes me sound like a crazy old bat, but...heck. My husband died a couple of years ago, and my son keeps slipping me these brochures for retirement communities - a.k.a. where they send old folks to die, but not to make a fuss about it. Amara: So you hate him. Woman: Well, a little bit. Sometimes. But you know family. Even when you hate them, you still love them.

this speech brings tears to amara's eyes. what's more, she spends this entire section with her hands in her lap. after a season of killing her way through humanity to get god's attention, she is afraid to touch these birds for fear of killing them. she feels empathy for them. she and dean are connected, after all - so as soon as he began to feel true, genuine empathy - so did she.

when dean shows up to kill amara (via a bomb made out of souls hidden in his chest), she immediately clocks his plan. she practically dares him to do it, and - he can't. he is, as always, helpless against her. 

what dean does instead is talk to her. more importantly, he listens to her. when she says her brother sent dean here to execute her, he tells her chuck actually didn't want this - that it was actually his very last resort. he asks her if this, the death of everything, is what she wanted, and she tells him all she really wanted was payback. again, dean EMPATHIZES:

Dean: Yeah, that's revenge. It'll get you out of bed in the morning, and when you get it, it feels great... for about five minutes. I've been there. Me and Sam, we have had our fair share of fights—more than our share. But no matter how bad it got, we always made it right because we're family. I need him. He needs me. And when everything goes to crap, that's all you've got—family. Now you might be a—an all-powerful being...but I think you're human where it counts. You simply need your brother. 

what's really neat about this section, and the scene before it where amara confronts her brother, is that they mark the first times dean felt any sort of genuine emotion for amara at all - one that she didn't force out of him or one that he felt for someone else that she just took for herself. dean genuinely EMPATHIZES with her - after everything she's done to him and his loved ones, and to the people on earth, dean sees the humanity in her. that's kind of his and sam's M.O., loving monsters into men - the number of non-human adversaries who eventually became allies because of the winchesters’ empathy or liking for them or even just their influence is staggering. cas, gabriel, meg, benny, crowley, rowena, metatron, to name a few off the top of my head - and now amara. 

and then we get THIS:

Dean: You don't want to be alone. Not really. I mean, hell. Maybe that's why you wanted me. But deep down, you didn't really want me... 'cause I'm not him.

(emphasis mine)

and here's my galaxy brain take: dean empathizes with amara - TRULY empathizes with her - because they're both queer (or queer-coded). 

I KNOW THIS SOUNDS NUTS BUT LISTEN. this weird creepy stalkery hetero "romance" was fake on both sides all along. dean and amara are the same. that unspeakable and innate wrongness lives in both of them. they're self-loathing and furious at god for his failures and callousness, outcasts in a world that isn't for them, a world that has HURT them simply on account of them being what they are. the violence done to amara was done to her BECAUSE of this unspeakable wrongness about her - her queerness, or her queer-codedness - and we already decided this was, for the purposes of this season, functionally the same violating and traumatic experience as sexual violence.

amara's been using dean to try and replace chuck this entire season. it's some weird comphet bullshit tied in with the fact that dean was the first part of chuck's creation she ever saw. it stands to reason then that she was trying to force dean to be with her and love her the way she wanted to force CHUCK to be with her. that's part of why she started life as a baby - as someone he'd protect as he did his own sibling. 

so in some weird, warped, very roundabout way, amara was enacting on dean the violence that chuck enacted on her - making him feel the same shame and weakness that chuck made HER feel when he locked her away eons ago. if amara unknowingly replaced chuck with dean, then she also unknowingly took part of her revenge on him. the only way she knew how to love someone was to force them to do it, because the only ways she had ever been loved until now involved violence - until dean and his moment of genuine empathy.

consider this final speech:

Dean: Maybe I can kill you. Or maybe I can't. Maybe if I pull this trigger, we all live happily ever after, or maybe we die bloody, or maybe it doesn't matter, because maybe there's a different way. So I'm gonna ask you again. Put aside the rage. Put aside the hate. And you tell me...what do you want?

dean is the only person in BILLIONS of years to ask her this! one queer to another! and it turns out that and all she wanted - the ONLY thing she needed - was to be understood and accepted by her family. immediately after this, amara summons chuck to their park, and the two of them talk it out in what is genuinely a very moving scene. amara - perhaps because of her connection with dean, perhaps because she's finally admitted to herself that she does still love her brother - sees the beauty in the world now, and feels love for it, and she doesn't want to destroy it anymore. 

and at the end, after she's made her peace with god, and the sun has been turned back on, amara says:

Amara: Dean, you gave me what I needed most. I want to do the same for you.

and what do we get at the end of this episode? mary winchester, risen from her grave. dean's family. and - SPOILERS FOR SEASON 12 - though at first mary rejects dean (and sam) as being the same children she remembers from 1983, after a long and rocky road, at the end of the season, they eventually come to a reconciliation where she sees them for who they truly are. it's never ABOUT being queer because this show uses the fucking hays code when it comes to dean's sexuality, but it's still about being queer!! 

dean gave amara what she needed - acceptance from her family - and she gave him that back in turn. all it took, the entire time, was one SHRED of empathy from one queer to another. all dean had to do was recognize her - REALLY recognize her - not as a replacement for sam or cas but as who she really was. and he saw himself in her, and the empathy that followed was genuine because it was the most natural thing in the world. in the end neither dean nor amara needed the "romance" they thought they did/were forced to want. they never did. they only needed acceptance and understanding.

supernatural is always about family and the power of love, and this season is no exception.

other great parts of season 11

if you're still not convinced, season 11 is full of other things that make it amazing:

GOD'S RETURN. after SIX YEARS he's back, this is canon, we finally get to hear what he has to say. they did more with him in a handful of episodes in this season than all of season 15

also, something else returns after six years. i'll give you a hint: it glows hot in god's presence. it was last seen being dropped into a motel trash can.

and of course the big one: lucifer and sam. what great callbacks to seasons 4-6 when lucifer and what he did to sam in hell was actually scary and mattered a lot! lucifer returns to being scary in this and i can't get enough of it.

this is also inseparable from sam's arc involving his faith - he begins praying again, having visions again, and is GUTTED when those prayers and visions lead him back to the place of his worst trauma. he gets to MEET GOD this season. it's fucking insane

the inherent melodrama of castiel, someone loved and trusted by the winchesters, being possessed by someone who they hate and who has hurt them. you get all of the sam drama with him accidentally trusting lucifer with his soul and his brother's life, and all the dean drama where he watches the devil run around in his boyfriend. also, misha collins does an uncanny impression of mark pellegrino. it's actually really creepy

somehow, they managed to make metatron, a deeply hated villain by all, ACTUALLY LIKEABLE. for TWO whole episodes. it was NUTS

this season starts off rowena's long arc with lucifer and her lucifer trauma that eventually becomes the catalyst of her bonding so profoundly with sam <3 best friends forever <333

sam and dean bond with a pair of canonically gay hunters who DON'T DIE

billie is introduced in this season and she's super hot and cool and awesome

eileen is also introduced in this season. her arc mirrors sam's so well, it's SO good. i never though i'd care about sam and a girl who wasn't jess, but i care about them SO MUCH it makes me insane. if you don't love eileen you're wrong!

anyway, watch season 11. it's weird but it's really fucking good. THANK YOU FOR COMING TO MY TED TALK

[spn masterpost]

[goodluckdetective]

Another clip from my “maybe I’ll make this publishable someday” Hades fic where Patroclus is the one tasked to tutor Zagreus instead of Achilles:

Patroclus finds Zagreus to be different from the portrait his father painted. He is disrespectful, true, but only to those who treat him as such first. He has a rash nature, but he is not without any wits, simply quick to assess a situation.

What is most surprising is how he treats Patroclus. There is a deference he shows to the shade that one would not expect from a God. It is like he sees Patroclus as an equal. It’s such a radically different experience from his slim interactions with Thetis. Patroclus is sure no mortals would believe him if he was able to share such tales.

The lad is curious. He asks questions about the world above every sparring lesson, a world Patroclus is surprised he is not allowed to go to. The surface fascinates him, and Patroclus indulges him with facts about a world the God will never see.

“Is the sun as bright as they say?” Yes. One cannot stare at it directly without it burning their eyes. Think of a ball of fire and how it stings when you get too close. That is the sun: wonderous and frightening.

“How large is an ocean?” So large one cannot see the other side of it. It appears endless, infinite, and men are caught with both awe and fear imagining it’s depths. Picture the River Styx if you could not see the other side of the shore in any direction.

“What is the best thing to eat on the surface?” Depends on who you ask, but I am particular of ripe fruit as it can be a rarity. Sometimes, you can pluck it straight from the plant it grew from and take a bite. One must be careful to grab the right kind, however: some plants are as deadly as they are beautiful.

One day, after working with using a shield, Zagreus lies on the ground, eyes closed. Gods do not get tired, but they do indulge in rest regardless. Patroclus sits on a bench near him, considering the next move for their lessons. He is considering going back to hand to hand combat, an area Zagreus excels at offensively but struggles with defensively. His fiery nature, much like his heels, can burn him when he thinks too fast. When Zagreus speaks, he catches Patrolcus by surprise.

“What was your life like? When you were alive?”

Patroclus looks up at him.“Pardon?”

Zagerus has one eye open now, the green one, the one trait clearly not from his father. “You were mortal once. You lived upon the surface. But you never tell me of your journeys on it, only of what is to be seen. All your stories of the world are absent of you.”

“I suppose they are.” Patroclus hadn’t meant to cut himself out of his own tales, but now that he thinks back on it, the Godling has a point. In his efforts to avoid painful memories, he has avoided sharing any memories that place him in the world he describes.

“I do not mean to pry,” Zagerus says, tone nervous. It is a tone Patroclus hears him using when speaking to his father. “I am merely-“

“Curious?” Patroclus makes sure to say it with a calm tone. It hurts to see the God so afraid to ask questions. He sees that Hades cares for the boy, that is true, but that care is hidden under so much scorn and secrecy that care might as well not exist.

Zagreus noticeably relaxes. He nods. “Curious.”

It is not a crime to ask questions, Patroclus thinks. And it is not a behavior Hades has told him to discourage. There is no harm in indulging him.

“I was a soldier,” Patroclus says, parsing his words carefully. “As a boy, I trained to be a warrior and when the Trojan war came upon us, I was called into the Greeks’ service.”

“So you were a hero?”

Patroclus chuckles. Now that is an assumption he never thought he would hear. “No, no, not remotely. I was but a shadow in comparison to the men I knew. Many days it felt like standing amongst giants.”

He’s not exaggerating. Patroclus is a tall man, but among those like Odyessus and Ajax he felt small. They didn’t treat him as such, but there was a weight to every word they said that made Patroclus think “this is what they will tell of in the epics.” Patroclus never felt such importance in his actions, content in being a man who was known, but not the focus of anyone’s story.

“Should your father decide to teach you tales of mortals, I will likely be only mentioned in passing, if at all.” Patroclus says. “But I kept up as best as I could until I met my end in Troy. “

“Where you died.”

Memories come back to Patroclus in flashes. Hector, standing over him, thinking him to be Achilles. The flash of shame that he had pushed forward too hard and he was now paying for his hubris. A moment of relief that this was to be his end instead of Achilles.

And right before the final blow, the horrible realization that despite his preparation for being the grieving soldier, it would be Achilles tending to his grave instead.

“Yes, where I died. Stabbed in the end, with a spear much like that one.” He points to the spear on the weapons rack.

“I’m sorry,” Zagerus says.

Patroclus shakes his head. “No need to apologize, my prince. All mortals must meet an end and mine could have been far worse than the one I got.” That is not a lie either. Patroclus saw men die of much worse there, on those bloody lands outside of Troy. Men whose bodies rotted from wounds gone rancid, men who took days lingering between life and death before they slipped away in agony. At least Patroclus’ demise was quick.

Zagerus appears to think about that for a moment.

“If I go to the surface, I’ll add you to a ballad,” he says. “For your merits.”

Patroclus is but a shade. He should no longer be able to cry, but yet, he is. He has shed enough tears over Achilles to know that. It is a struggle to tear up now, at such a statement.

“I told you,” he says, proud his voice remains stoic. “I am no hero.”

Zagreus gets up and shrugs. When he turns to Patroclus, there is a smile on his face that remains Patroclus of the younger soldiers in his company. The kind of smile that conveys respect not beholden by service. “Perhaps by the Muses standards, but you’re kind. And patient. To someone i've been told is a horrible student. I think that deserves at least a hymn, don’t you think?”

Achilles wrote hymns about Patroclus, this he knows, but he doubt they survived the man’s passing. Such ballads between lovers often stayed as such, unless one was a bard of renown. The idea of Zagreus’ cementing his legacy as one of a teacher is a different legacy, but one Patroclus finds himself proud of.

“Maybe so,” he says. “Maybe so.”

[wizkiddx]

...surprise part 3

{part1} {part 2}

I got there in the end!!!! sorry I felt like this dragged quite a lot but just quite happy to get it done ahah. Any feedback / advice would be greatly appreciated :)

TW: this is pretty heavy angst, miscarriages / thoughts of self harm / death pls don't read if this could strike a cord x 

Summary: Y/n has absolutely not a clue how to tell Tom and that only strains the both incredibly. 

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The drive home was deathly silent. Tom’s Audi seamlessly drove down the near-empty roads on a sleepy Sunday evening. The whole time Y/n sat with one leg curled up by her chest as she absently stared out of the passenger window. Honestly, though, she was not taking anything of the view in, all processing power in her brain was in overdrive. Souly focused on how the fuck she was going to tell Tom what she had done. She knew Tom kept glancing over at her, with the panicked hint to his eyes- no matter how comforting he was trying to appear. His grip on the steering wheel was every tightening, he felt as though right now that was the only control he had. Still with no idea what was going on - but this time his mum knew too. And his mum when she came to get him from the living was not calm either.

Something he always admired about his mum was how cool she was in a crisis. Even if Paddy likened her to the ’rage monster’ at times when she was pissed because he’d left the freezer door open, or something equally as stupid, when it came down to it, when there was a really serious issue… she was composed. Calm and collected. So when she came in and called Tom, taking him away from his brothers, he could tell something was wrong by the look in her eye. She was upset, that was clear to him, but there was something more. It wasn’t straight up panic (not like if Y/n had passed out or something) but it was… it was a quiet urgency.

It meant it was bad.

Without the need to ever consider it, Tom knew this wasn’t anything to do with Y/n being unfaithful. It hadn’t even crossed his mind. And that meant, something must've happened personally to Y/n - which maybe scared him even more. If it was a betrayal of him, that would principally hurt Tom himself - which would kill him, but he would deal with it. It was the fear of the unknown and the complete powerlessness in this situation that had Tom wishing the drive away so he’d finally understand.

The drive felt painstakingly long for Tom… yet far too short for Y/n to come up with a plan.

When the pair finally pulled into the driveway, they both didn’t even exchange glances before heading out the car and slamming the doors shut. The crunch of their shoes on the gravel path to the front door was deafeningly loud as Tom fished the keys out of his pocket - this time with a sense of dread that contrasted so strongly the excitement he’d felt less than 24 hours ago doing the exact same thing.

Tom held the door open for her, as she fiddled with the cuff of her sleeve; eyes still glued to the floor. He flicked on the light to illuminate the hall as she slipped off her shoes. He mirrored her action and then for the first time since his parents' house looked her in the eye. Just that action had him near spilling his guts about how worried he was about her, before Y/n beat him to it.

“I’m…I’m gonna take a shower.”

And it had him floored. How could she just ignore the bloody massive and luminous elephant in the room? He couldn’t even respond, his brain was so confused as to what the fuck was going on. So she just nodded smally and headed straight upstairs. Leaving him in a stupor by the doorway.

Meanwhile, Y/n was just about holding it together until she got behind the locked door of their ensuite. Then it broke. She broke.

She pulled the clothes that drowned her off frantically, scratching and grabbing until the garments ripped off her body and were thrown across the room in haste. In the mirror, the reflection of the person that stood there somewhat had her transfixed. Tilting her head to the side, Y/n took careful steps up toward it - her eyes transfixed on her exposed abdomen. She was hollow. So very empty and it had her hypnotised. How barely weeks ago she was growing a real human inside there - creating something that should’ve gone onto laugh and smile and grow and learn. And love.

Now she was empty.

The poor thing though had been so deprived by their own mother; so unwanted and hated. They had been starved of all love by the person who was supposed to love them the most. The person who was supposed to be half their world for the first few years at least.

It was her fault.

Y/n hated herself, heck she wanted to punish herself for what she’d done. And yet, there was something so pure about her stomach, about where that angel had been. She wanted to punch herself, to kick and hurt, to make her feel pain. Except for this little life force, or the remnants of them - had her respecting it. Instead, she gently rubbed her stomach, which was flat rather than full like it should’ve been, and yet it felt like a relief. At a snail's pace, she trailed the tips of her finger across her belly just drawing (what she thought were) random patterns - however to anyone else they would have noticed the silhouette of a small human.

She took her time int the shower, having the water close to blisteringly hot but not quite there - using it as an attempt to purge her body of the thoughts, of the guilt. Eventually, though she couldn’t drag out the bathroom routine any longer, she had to go and face him. In reality, Y/n was well aware of how unfair this was on Tom - he had been terrified on the way back here, she knew that. But the thought of admitting to him this truly abhorrent thing she’d done, selfishly she didn’t want to tell him tonight. Just one more night sharing a bed with him, one morning of seeing his puffy eyes and bed hair, one last time hearing his gruff morning voice. Before he found out the real her and before he left.

Thankfully, when she finally drew the courage to unlock the door and leave her sanctuary, their bedroom was empty and she took that opportunity. As fast as she possibly could, Y/n changed into an old nightshirt before huddling under the covers. Tom had been so careful with her feelings today, he might just leave her be. Delay the conversation till tomorrow. It was the dream.

And dreams don’t come true.

Tom walked in, she could hear the soft pad of his feet on the cream carpet as she tried to act fast asleep - regulating her breathing and relaxing every muscle she could. When in fact that the whole process was the opposite of relaxing, she was on such high alert, waiting for a sign of him leaving her alone for the evening. Quite expectedly though, it didn’t quite go down that way. She heard him sigh, felt him sit on his side of the bed as her body rippled with the dip on the bed, felt his eyes piercing her.

“Y/n…” the tone of his voice had her wincing internally, he was hurting. “Y/n please… just talk to me?” She was too scared to move. “ I know your awake Y/n we both know who’s the actor here” Y/n knew Tom was trying to lighten the mood, trying to make her feel a bit more comfortable but then he switched back to an underlying hint of desperation. “Please talk to me.” She didn’t have a choice, he wasn't going to let up - Y/n could tell. So she rolled over and opened her eyes facing him.

“I’m tired, Tom. Can we do this tomorrow?” His face completely morphed and she knew she fucked up. He wasn’t upset or worried or scared any more.

“I’m sorry but that is not fair.”

“Please just-“

“NO. ah” He sighed, as if disciplining himself for the instinctive angry tone. “Look- I-I’ve been going at your pace. I’ve been treading on eggshells all day. I didn’t want to push you but I’m bloody terrified! I mean you told my mum! And she’s worried so that means I’m even more stressed and-…. Just please Y/n. You know I’d never judge you I’m just worried because I care.”

And just like that, she didn’t have a choice. She was really hurting the man she loved.

As a result, Y/n pushed herself up into a sitting position, still hugging the duvet around her in a protective blanket as she looked into his glassy eyes. It tore her heart out.

“I’m really sorry” she pursed her lips blowing out an exhale, trying to collect all her thoughts, feelings and emotions together. “I’ve been trying to all day but-.. it’s just I’m finding this really hard to express in words.”

“I don’t mind if it takes all night, just I-I want to understand.” He was just too kind and she didn’t deserve it. So picking at the duvet while pulling her legs closer in protection she nodded.

“Okay, so-so I just take you through it chronologically? And-and then I can go to Y/f/n’s place so.”

“Why would you got to hers?” He asked, his eyebrows drawn tightly together in confusion. He knew you hadn’t been unfaithful - his mum most definitely wouldn’t have reacted in the way she did had Y/n betrayed Tom.

“Just… just listen first.” She didn’t want to answer that question, to speak it into existence. Him kicking her out, in a rage of fury and anger at how evil she could be. She thought he’d just reply and accept it, not feel the need to calm her.

“I could never ever hate you Y/n please, it’s a bit insulting to me that you think I would.”

His words had her a little shocked - she had definitely not expected that reaction. His offence.

“Umm okay just… just don’t promise till you hear.” He gave her a stern look, not enough to make her back down or change her mind from what she thought was inevitable. “So. So it was when you were away. You’d just gone to Atlanta I think and-and I woke up one morning and was sick and it was weird I don’t know… um so I took the day off but I was okay until the next morning and-and I was sick again. It was weird so I took the next day off because you know Elliot I work with? He’s-he's got some broken immune system or something so we really can’t go in if we are ill. But I was fine until the next morning again and-and then it kind of hit me. I hadn’t had a period in ages and-and yeah.”

“Your pregnant?” Tom asked, trying to wrap his head around the current situation and what she was saying.

“Was…” Her voice wavered and she paused a second “ I-I was. I was shocked you know? We…we weren’t ready.” Y/n shifted uncomfortably, pushing herself closer to the headboard. “You said you didn’t want kids now and I mean … we- we are barely adults ourself right? It-it was so stupid but I couldn’t tell you could I?… Phone you up and say by the way I’m pregnant with a kid you don’t want!...” She dared to look at him, only for a second, seeing the way he just stared at her as though transfixed. She couldn’t keep looking at him.

“So I was waiting till you would get back … er next week, well when you were supposed to be back anyway.” She scoffed lightly at that, how the whole entire situation had been completely flipped on its head. “I would have had the scan then. And-and I went and it so stupid because they were a blob but-shit. They were so beautiful.” She hadn’t even noticed, suddenly absorbed in what she was saying but Tom leant over to grab one of her hands because it was trembling so vigorously. It wasn’t that he wanted to comfort her, he needed to. Because really? When it mattered, he hadn’t and that was already eating away at him.

“And I stupidly…. So fucking stupidly… I thought what if? I got excited and in my head… I don’t fucking know I just thought that I-it, it might work. I really - really thought it could work.” She couldn’t feel it but Tom wormed his arm around her shoulder, squeezing her into his side. “But by that point, I’d already filled them with so much hate. I wanted them out for so long and…and then I just- well I got what I thought I wanted.”

For the first time since she started her speech, Y/n wasn’t absorbed in retelling the story. Noticing her position with Toms arms protectively wrapped around her, she dared to look up into his eyes. And they weren’t right. It was wrong. Because here he was still looking at her with these incredibly soft warm brown eyes, his thumb rubbing up and down on the back of her shoulder blade.

“Love, I’m so so sorry.”

She was bemused. What the hell was he doing? Was this just a double bluff, acting all soft before he was about to rip her heart out - even if it was what she deserved, that was exceptionally cruel?

“No Tom your not listening. I-I couldn’t keep your baby alive! I-I wished them away… I wanted them gone!” Now she was plainly hysterical, shouting and yelling at Tom as her hands shook.

It broke Tom’s heart. He knew this was his fault - at least a little. Clearly, she should never have been in a position to have to deal with this herself, that was obvious. And it made him guilty… but what hit harder? She had very clearly implied she was worried about his reaction, he should never have let her worry. Because Tom knew he loved Y/n unconditionally, at this point that should be a given - for all he cared there was nothing, within the limits of reason, she could do that would make him seriously reconsider his opinion of her. Even then, if his opinion were ever forced to change so dramatically... he still knew he wouldn’t be able to stop loving her. Loving isn't an option, it is not a choice. You helplessly surrender yourself to it. And yet she was apparently less sure of this fact.

“I’m so sorry you had to deal with this by yourself.” And he meant it. He truly meant it. However, Y/n was not having it at all - in her state, in her frame of mind, this was him just torturing her; acting it out only to break her heart. His words and her position wrapped protectively in his arms dawned on her. It had her leaping up from the bed, tears streaming down her face as she gestured wildly.

“Tom that’s not fair! Don’t you get it? I KILLED YOUR BABY! They were alive and then I wasn’t enough for them! IT’S MY FAULT!” To put it simply, she looked insane. Screaming, with tears streaming down her face, arms flailing about as she yelled at Tom, who was still sitting on the bed.

He’d never seen her like this- with so much anger. What was even more disturbing was the fact that it was targeted so inwardly at herself.

“This isn’t your-“

“BE ANGRY TOM. For fuck sake… I-“ She choked out a sob “I murdered your kid! RAGE AT ME SHOUT AT ME it’s-it’s what I deserve.” It was insane but the look in her eye was one that seemed to Tom as though she needed him to hate her. As if in some fucked up narrative that was how the story should end.

He was not having one bit of it, tearing his eyes away from her maniacally shaking frail frame and instead to the corner of the ceiling. There was no precedent, no guidebook on how to deal with this, no past experiences to rely on. Unlike if Y/n had had a shit day, Tom knew then to subtly keep her within reach, to silently be there so she could literally and figuratively lean on him when she was ready; unlike when she was angry at ignorant politicians, he knew not to argue but prompt her to explain more, give a more reasoned argument so anger became thought through intellect; unlike when her grandma had died, when she just needed his contact, she needed his thumb rubbing against her hip, needed to sleep listening to the rhythmical thumping of his heart. None of these were applicable - his touch seemed to make her worse; his words seemed to anger her more; his mere presence didn’t seem to be doing an awful lot of good.

And yet, he couldn’t leave her even if it seemed to be the most logical option. Because she was wild, not herself and not logical and he, for the first time, was terrified of the danger she could be to herself.

Y/n stared at him, wide-eyed, waiting for him to react. She saw his Adam's apple bob up and down - readying his voice to scream at her. She saw his brown eyes collect a sheen of tears of rage - ready to bore holes into her skull as he degraded her to what she was worth. Which was very little. Then, as if in slow motion, his sharp jawline tilted back level and his eyes met her. He was frozen as if a statue, ready to rage at her.

“I love you both. So much and equally.”

Tom was pretty sure he could imagine Y/n’s runaway train in her head slam on the breaks. Her eyebrow twitched a little, as she stood completely still trying to analyse his words. Because to her, it didn’t make sense. So he took this moment of (at least surface level) calm to smoothly and slowly stand up, actions much like mirroring how someone approaches a spooked cat on the streets. Movements slow and preplanned, trying not to set off the fight or flight response on the women in front of him.

“That little baby you made… I didn’t know he ever existed till minutes ago but…but I know for a fact I love them.” He was trying to both figure out and decode his own emotions while explaining them in a way Y/n would accept and understand.

“I love them because… they are made by the love of my life. And that’s incredible and indescribable and just… just part of you, an extension of everything you and me together are… They would never have been perfect right?” Tom softly asked, though realistically knowing he wouldn’t get a response from a still motionless Y/n - besides a single tear, which appeared to have a mind of its own, escaping over her bottom lash lid. Tom watched it roll down her cheek as he composed his next words. “No they wouldn’t, no ones perfect… neither me nor you. But they would’ve been safe and have been loved. They were loved, you-you loved them right, even if you didn’t think you did or when you were terrified?” This time Y/n nodded minutely and Tom mirrored this, taking a small step a little closer to her. “And I did love them while they were in your stomach because they were part of you and I always always love you…. So they were so full of love okay? There's no rhyme or reason to why what happened happened but it’s… it’s definitely not because they were starved of love okay?” Y/n still didn’t have appeared to have released a single breath since Tom stood up, so he made a calculated and risked assessed movement to reach his hand out to touch her upper arm. In reaction, she sucked in a sharp shaky breath and then expelled it just as quickly - just like Tom knew she would. He physically felt a pull in his chest seeing the torment in her glassy eyes, now barely a rulers length from her.

“This, it’s an awful… awful situation. It’s sad and heartbreaking but I really need you to know that it changes nothing about how I feel about you. I need you to really understand how much I love-and always will-love you, and how I love them too.” Another tear escaped the same eye and Tom reached up with his other hand so his thumb could brush it away before the glassy orb met her pronounced jawline. To be honest he was quite grateful for the moment as he felt his voice getting a bit sticky in the back of his throat. She still wasn’t ready to speak yet and he was okay with that.

“We’ll never forget them and we will always love them, but I want to do that with you, as we get older together. They tie us closer and I refuse to disrespect them and force ourselves apart….a-assuming you don’t want to either?” Still cupping her cheek with his left hand Tom felt as well as saw her nod, this time more emphatically, her eyes darting between focusing on his left and then right eye - as though she was just checking they were saying the same things as his mouth.

“I’m sorry I-“ Finally feeling the connection between her brain and voice box, Y/n stated to jiltedly speak but was interrupted as Tom tentatively feathered his lips on hers. “You can be sorry for scaring the crap out of me today, you can be sorry for shouting and you can be sorry for not telling me at all… I don’t think you should, but if you’re staying sorry that’s all you can be sorry for.” He was barely speaking, more like just moving his lips against hers, yet they knew and understood each other completely Y/n got everything. So she sighed and repeated.

“I am sorry.”

“I’m sorry too. I’m sorry for you not having the faith to know I’d be happy, that was my fault. I’m sorry for not being here and not noticing when you were struggling on the phone. I’m sorry I crept up on you last night. But I don’t think there’s anything else for either of us to apologise for.”

“Okay” Y/n then pressed her lips firmly and almost desperately against his, feeling his warmth wrap around her, as he literally wrapped his arm around her waist, from where it had been on her upper arm. And really she was very incredibly desperate since it was very very incredibly clear now with him pressed against her that he might’ve been all she needed this whole time. Tom went with it for a couple of moments, but then broke them both apart - it sounds odd but he sort of felt like he was taking advantage of her.

“Darling you’re grieving. We can tackle this together …. But your grieving so we need to look after you first. And, and we’ll remember them and face this. But we gotta look out for each other too and…”

“I’m ill aren’t I?” He was oh-so relieved that she could see it too.

“I’m not a doctor but I think so… think we need to get you eating properly.”Y/n nodded and Tom kissed her forehead, pulling her completely against his chest - only exacerbating and exaggerating his awareness of how boney she felt. It hadn’t gone unnoticed how she’d spent the whole of Sam’s dinner pushing the meat round on her fork - rearranging it numerous times- whilst picking at a few carrots. “We can do whatever you feel will help you this evening but you need to tell me what you want to eat.”

*

You agreed but you still felt incredibly nauseous, so managed to put off the whole snacking thing in lieu of cuddling up on the sofa with Tom. You were still incredibly confused, feeling slightly detached from reality if you were completely honest. And you knew Tom was a good actor, his career kind of speaks for himself yet, all the same, the sheer truth in his eyes, voice, heart. It had you feeling safe. He no longer felt a flight risk and although you still couldn’t understand why he was forgiving you so easily, you believed he was. In the softest voice, he kept just saying ‘your grieving’ when you tried to challenge his logic- admittedly proving difficult in your scattered and hazy mind.

So you found yourself lying almost completely on top of his right side, your head tucked underneath his chin, a fluffy blanket weighing down on your back to keep you nice and toasty. Silently Tom had trailed his fingertips tentatively, under the hem of your t-shirt, round over the top of your hip to his stomach. Initially, it had felt like the worst and most alien feeling in the world- but he told you to relax and you listened; he told you to take deep breaths and you listened; he told you he loved you and you listened.

It must’ve been incredibly boring for him, I mean the TV wasn’t on neither was the radio and you knew his phone was in a pocket you were currently lying on. He didn’t complain though, he just let you lie there. Just sort of being with him.

*

At some point Tom realised she’d drifted off, after a long time fighting exhaustion, as though she were worried about what Tom would do once she finally gave in to sleep. It wasn’t surprising though, considering her energy intake from food for today was limited to a couple of roasted carrot slices, Tom knew her falling asleep on his chest was inevitable. The time it took had also given him enough time to fully digest and process the whole day as well as for deciding what he needed to do. So once she appeared fully out of Tom dared to worm his hand between their bodies and, with a few muted grunts of effort, phish his phone out his back pocket.

‘Hi, I know this asking a lot but would you mind getting Sam to make that pasta bake Y/n likes and dropping it round? Just she’s asleep but I don’t want to leave her alone but could do with getting something in her?’

‘Sams already on it and it doesn’t take long. I’ll be at yours in about an hour, shall I just let myself in?’

Tom was so grateful for his family, and for how they’d taken Y/n in to. Although she’d never admit it, her tougher than average upbringing always had her feeling a bit isolated- she never had ‘her’ people. The people who completely accepted her for who she was and never judged her. But as soon as he’d introduced her to them, it was as if she'd always been there. He endlessly appreciated the talks Nikki and you had, the way his Dad would come over when she was home alone to help with the simple stuff like knowing what lightbulb to buy for the lamp that had blinked out.

She had a place in his family.

Quite impressively, Sam had managed to bake the dish and then Nikki had managed to drive round before barely three-quarters of an hour had passed. Y/n was still completely out, so when he heard his mum unlock the door with her spare key, he felt able to wiggle out from under her without disturbing at all. He met Nikki in the kitchen, leaning against the door frame as he watched his mother fly about the kitchen - preheating the oven on a low temp to keep it warm while pulling plates and cutlery out the drawers so it was easier for Y/n and Tom when you woke up.

“Thanks for all this” Tom announced his presence with a soft sigh as he padded further into the kitchen. Nikki instinctively threw her arms round her eldest’s shoulders, squeezing him tightly.

“You guys okay?” Tom replied with a rather uncertain hum, before recounting the evening to his mum in a low voice - as though Y/n could be disturbed from the other side of the house. Nikki was in two frame of minds at this point, clearly heartbroken for the pair; but also incredibly proud of her son because it appeared he’d reacted and said exactly the right things.

“And you?… it must’ve been a shock?” To be quite honest, Tom hadn't thought about his own emotions yet, he’d put himself on the back foot for the time being.

“I mean it’s just a bit surreal… I don’t know I didn’t really have anything to do with it but - I just know that it's made me so certain that one day we will... you know?” Nikki hugged her son again with a little nod.

“Well I won’t outstay my welcome but I do want you to give this to Y/n too.”’ With those words, she fished a square box out of her handbag - it was about the size of two matchboxes and Tom raised his brows in curiosity. “She’ll understand when she sees it.”

And with a brisk parting gesture, Nikki left, Tom tucking the box into his side pocket before getting the pasta ready.

////////

Waking you with a gentle rub on your upper arm, you mewled a groan and pushed your head hard into the sofa below you in an attempt to alleviate the tension that instantly rippled through your skull. With hazy eyes, you blinked heavily, slowly focusing on the pale yet soft skin of the boy crouched opposite you.

“Hey darling, nice nap?” Nodding gradually, you still tried to completely recollect and piece together everything that had happened today “… you need some grub before we head upstairs yeh?” Again you nodded in compliance because at this point, even having been asleep for the last however long, you really didn’t have the energy for any conflict or disagreement. With a little prompt and poke from Tom, you reluctantly sat up, grasping the plate he offered to you while still rubbing one of your eyes. Busying himself with running back to the kitchen and grabbing his own plate and drink, you had time to look at the food and notice what was served to you. Tom plopped himself next to you and turned his head with a small smile, meeting a bemused and slightly suspicious look from you.

“You didn’t cook this…?” Really it wasn’t a question. You knew for a fact Tom was not and would never be a good chef. No judgement though, since neither were you, meaning the pair of you heavily relied on the ingenious invention of uber eats most evenings. Tom chuckled at your perceptiveness and admitted defeat without even trying to feign it.

“Nah mum dropped it round. Though I think Sam cooked it so a joint effort.”

“-didnt have to-“ You hated feeling like a burden. You hated people worrying because you just felt bad. Not worth the attention and effort. And Tom hated you feeling like that - naturally then, he had the need to shut you down instantly.

“No, you’re right. But they did.”

The air was filled with the quiet clinks of ceramic against the silver or the cutlery as you forced mouthful after mouthful down your throat. He was trying to be subtle, and yet you could feel Tom’s concerned glance checking you were eating. Truthully, you really didn’t feel like eating at all (even if it was Sam’s gorgeous tomato and sausage pasta bake - an odd combination but it worked). However, what more crucial in that moment was not disappointing your incredibly sweet boyfriend.

After having consumed as much as you physically could - which Tom deemed suitable with a small nod- he took your plates away and came back to sit beside you. More and more silence.

“Are-are we okay?” Whispering quietly you felt Tom’s body seize up into a rigid state, his face whipping round to look at you. He chose to reply with actions first reaching up so that his hands cupped your cheeks, he turned your head and then slowly leaned into to press his lips softly against yours. Once retracted, he pressed his forehead onto yours.

“Of course. I bloody love you and we’re going to get through this together.” His eyes were almost intimidating, with the seriousness he placed in his gaze - just to make sure you knew he meant it.

What you had done to deserve this boy you’d never know. But you were so incredibly grateful for him.

It gave you the confidence to take the first move this time, pressing your lips against his, holding for a moment before arching away - a small yet real smile on your face.

“Oh… nearly forgot” He muttered, leaning forward and grabbing a black leather box that you’d failed to notice had been placed on the coffee table. For the second time this evening, you were caught off guard and bemused as to how he’d sourced this item within the time frame. “It’s from mum… she wouldn’t tell me what it is but said you’d understand.”

His words had you biting your lip, in a weird way eager to see, purely because you knew Nikki understood you. And understood what you were going through. With one last look to Tom, you reached out and grabbed the box, thumb running over the sleek leather exterior. Once your thumb reached the bottom you flicked the lid up, unveiling a simple silver chained bracelet. It had five dainty silver charms hanging off it, they looked a bit like leaves but were kind of too small to tell. Moreover, it looked a little worn and preloved but it didn’t stop your eyes from watering when you saw at the bottom another charm, not yet attached that looked newer and pristine.

5 charms already attached and 1 new one.

“Oh” Tom muttered, also clearly very much intrigued, hovering off you left shoulder to see properly. ”That’s mums bracelet. She never really takes it off… that’s nice I guess?” He was obviously confused and it had you chuckling wetly, at how oblivious he could be. You did love your dear idiot.

5 charms for her 5 pregnancies… and now one for yours. One to wear forever, to love, to keep close to your heart.

They were tears of happiness, you were certain of, however, Tom was not at all sure why your flood gates opened again and was worried.

“You-you don’t have to take- I mean if you don’t like it don’t worry-“

“I love it” You breathed, looking up at him with glassy eyes before hastily picking up the extra charm and with shaky fingers clasping it onto the chain next to it. Tom perked up, if still bemused, wrapping his arm around your shoulder with a gentle squeeze.

“I don’t know how you convinced her to take it off, I’ve been trying to buy her a new bracelet for years but she’s always stuck with this old thing.”

“Because it’s beautiful!” You yelped in argument, making him laugh at how suddenly you��d switched into a happy and overexcited mood. Though don’t get me wrong, he was loving it.

“You Holland women I will never understand.” He whispered into your ear whilst you looked back at the chain, fixing it round your wrist. His comment made you freeze up, as you felt his grip tightening on your waist as he realised exactly what he might have just let slip out. “No I er- I don’t mean… but-but one day maybe if-if you wanted.”

“I love you” You sighed, kissing him once again to save him the embarrassment of watching his cheeks flush and ears pink up.

“I’m serious though… one day because… because you’re my family and when it happens our family will grow too.”

He was right. And you would, one day,

But you would never forget the two little lives remembered on this bracelet.

tagging people that might be interested (sorry if u don't care ahah): @wayfaring----stranger @vanillanestor @333dolans @thevelvetseries @whitewolf51 

[wing-ed-thing]

Lab Assistant (Szayelaporro x Reader, Part II)

Synopsis: Szayelaporro takes on a complete Arrancar.

Word Count: 2,180

Tags/Warnings: Fem!Reader, Fake Science, Science Project to Lovers, Slow Burn (Arrancar are solitary and this one’s death aspect is Madness, let’s be real here), Slow Build @blankensee​

Notes: Okay but homeboi is TӦLL. Szayelaporro is 6′1, 6′1 y’all see this? Ooh boy is it getting hot in here? The Thing-Winged series bug has officially kicked in. 

You were the only Fracción that Szayelaporro allowed into his laboratory, but even as you sat on the exam table, you couldn’t help but think that perhaps you had done something wrong. You crossed your ankles and folded your hands in your lap. Szayelaporro sat at his desk, like usual, but penned down the types of notes that he would typically leave for you. A large piece of machinery reached out a mechanical arm to encompass the whole of your hollow mask. Szayelaporro had stood to observe you quite some time ago and you were left to wait, back straight and silent. A series of artificial jewels clung to you kanzashi mask, their glow casting a crimson color over the dimly lit laboratory.

He spoke your name. His soft voice cut through the air, reverberating off of the tall walls and high ceilings. Szayelaporro rose from his seat and turned to you. You could hear a faint bubbling coming from somewhere in the dimness.

“Yes, Master Szayelaporro?” Your voice could have easily blended in with the white noise of the laboratory. He stood in front of you, fiddling with the equipment above your head. His honey colored irises lazily migrated to the corners of his eyes in a disapproving glance downward. You stared forward.

“What is it that we did wrong today?” You pursed your lips but didn’t dare to move otherwise. A phantom hourglass hung over your head. Your response best be good and come quickly.

“I did not receive an order to attack Master Nnoitra. I did not believe it to be wise to.” Szayelaporro let a frown slip from his neutral expression. He continued to tinker with his device. You could feel the cool metal on your mask like dental tools on your teeth. Szayelaporro let out a hum.

“Passing the blame onto me, are you?” The claw of the machine buckled under his firm hands and caused a tugging against your outer layer of bone. You recoiled, a hand tightly gripping the table below you. You squeezed your eyes closed, in more discomfort than in any pain. Your head tilted to your far right as you leaned upwards, attempting to decrease the tension on your mask.

“No, Master Szayelaporro. I apologize for the lack of care that went into choosing my words.” The Octava Espada said nothing. You felt him continue to work the machine above you. You shifted again.

“Stop moving, I’ve almost got it.” And when the data machine finally released you, you restrained yourself from shooting up a hand to rub your head. Instead, you sat still, letting Szayelaporro’s cold hands caress your face as he inspected his work. You could sense another look of dissatisfaction.

“Have they been repaired?” He rolled the largest of your gems between the fingers of his other hand, watching it gleam as he poured in the slightest bit of reiatsu.

“For now,” Szayelaporro answered, “We’ll see how they hold up.” He gripped your chin, turning your head to meet his stare. His expression narrowed. “When I tell you to come to my side, you do as I say. When someone like Nnoitra tries to touch you, you defend yourself. These are my additional orders to you.” You nodded, your jewelry glinting a singular time.

As he turned back to his data, you slid down from the examination table. Your heels met each other. Once again, your hands rested folded in front of you.

“Shall I get back to work now?” Szayelaporro took a moment. He ignored your inquisition and continued to type in some sort of data or another into his recording instrument. He paused, and when you thought that he’d answer, he flipped through yet more papers. You stood a few feet behind him awaiting his answer, and when he finally turned you were met with a withering scowl.

“Must I really dismiss you?” He questioned rhetorically, swiftly passing by you with a few papers in hand. You did not move. “Go restock the canyon crystals and do eat something while you’re away.” You nodded to yourself and gave a quiet farewell to your master. He did not answer, per usual, and you let yourself out of the laboratory. Szayelaporro’s glare followed you. “This better work. I am sick of having disobedient Fracciónes.”

***

Hueco Mundo didn’t hold much beauty. All in all, the landscape was mostly vast, empty, and dead. Szayelaporro didn’t seem like he enjoyed fieldwork very much. You supposed that he would prefer experimenting rather than finding his own minor lab materials. You, on the other hand, preferred spending a bit of time away from the Palace and you were grateful that Szayelaporro trusted you to do even the mundane tasks. Truth be told, you excelled in gathering quality items for the lab. You had an eye for the best spots to pick from. You caught live specimens with an almost sixth sense and your speed remained nearly unmatched in the Octava Espada’s Palace. That factoid on it’s own didn’t feel very impressive to you, but you still took pride in it nonetheless.

You trudged across the sand, a field collection kit in your arms. The whole package easily encompassed the whole of your torso. Your feet sank down into the substrate. Surely by now, the grains had begun to gather in your boots. You stopped where you stood, letting the kit droop in your desperate grasp. You looked back at the Palace which still loomed over you. You had hardly made it anywhere. With a sigh, you turned back the direction you were originally headed. Szayelaporro didn’t like when you took too long.

“Can I help you with that?” As soon as you caught sight of the slender, eye patched face, your eyes went wide. You gripped the bulky kit in your arms, lips forming a thin, panicked line. You slowly turned away before immediately speeding off. A shout came from behind you causing you to trip. “I’m not here to hurt you!”

You yelled out for Szayelaporro. A cloud of sand exploded around you as you fell. A dark shadow appeared above you and you launched your equipment up in defense. Your pursuer caught the kit in his arms, his body forced back the slightest bit at the impact.

“Stay back!” You warned, scrambling up and unsheathing your zanpakutō. The fragments in your mask glowed a deep red. Tesla raised up your box in defense, his sword hanging by his hip.

“Master Nnoitra isn’t with me!” You blinked a few times, lowering your weapon slightly, but not by much. Tesla shifted his hands, maneuvering them forward to lay flatly on the sides of the container. He held it away from himself as he lowered his posture, a silent effort to show that he meant no harm. “You looked like you could use a hand. What is this all for?”

Your knuckles turned white around your trembling sword handle. Tesla remained low, calm and still. You took a step back, sheathing your zanpakutō. You tentatively approached, letting Tesla return your equipment to you. The box dropped like a weight in your arms.

“I’ve been sent to collect canyon crystals,” You answered, picking up your knee to readjust your grip before you turned on your heel to trudge away. Tesla frowned. He followed, strolling alongside you. Your back bent backwards a bit.

Wordlessly, Tesla accompanied you all the way to the canyon, about a few miles out from the Palace. He remained eerily silent, but in his defense, so did you. Fracciónes serving under masters such as yours were discouraged from speaking early on, so smalltalk certainly didn’t come easily. You kept a close eye on the other Arrancar out of your peripheral, but his posture only screamed polite and nothing more. Another fold of your lips and you turned your attention back forward. Quite frankly, you didn’t know how to handle this. You rarely got the opportunity to be in the company of other complete Arrancar, not including Szayelaporro.

At the edge of the ravine, the kit slipped in your arms and Tesla instinctively reached out an arm to catch it if you lost your grasp. You paid him no mind and instead hiked up a knee once again and continued on. You tilted your head, focusing on your footing as you descended into the chasm. Even at the surface, the space was dark and hollows of different designations howled in the depths. Tesla followed you down, his face gradually overtaken with shadows.

And in the pitchest of pitch black you saw them. Small glimmers in the darkness. You stumbled forward, the Fifth Espada’s Fracción close behind. You sat down in front of the small gathering of luminescent crystals and finally set down your burden. Tesla preferred to stand, on guard at the many noises around you. You quickly sorted through the bounty. Upon finding a quality bundle, you opened your materials box to pluck out a small pick. You felt Tesla’s stare. Arrancar were never truly creatures of companionship in your experience, but when solidarity came, it usually came quietly.

“These are Reiatsu Gems or canyon crystals. They are known to be excellent conductors of spirit energy,” You explained, voice ever-soft. The luminescence cast a faint light upon your face. You lowered a specimen into your extraction box, the glow retreating into the contained dimness. Standing, you heaved up your kit and moved deeper into the murk. Tesla followed. You passed by another gathering of crystals, then another. You felt Tesla beside you.

“What was wrong with those?” He asked, equally as quiet as you had just been.

“Not ready to be harvested,” You answered promptly.

“How can you tell?” You stopped at a small batch. The crystals grew diagonally out of the canyon wall at about waist level. You put your kit down and crouched down.

“See these here?” You gestured to the dimmest section of gems. “This place is filled with reiatsu, they should be glowing more.” You directed your attention to the brightest of the bunch. “See? These shine a little bit brighter.” And with your pick you extracted them.

You continued on, trudging around in the immensity of the ravine. You performed your field work diligently. The kit gradually began to fill with valuable specimens. Tesla came forth from the darkness, a glowing coming from his palm. He wordlessly presented it to you to inspect. You gave a grateful nod and carefully placed it in your box.

The journey up served to be more difficult than the journey down and your load had since doubled in weight. Tesla patiently waited as you struggled back up the canyon, at that point still refusing any kind of assistance. You plopped the kit on the sand at the top before pulling yourself up. Your body half hanging into the abyss, Tesla offered you a hand. You glanced at it, then back at him, and after a second of deliberation, you placed your hand in his. But a moment after you had found your footing and had your package back in your arms, a horde of adjuchas surrounded you and quickly.

Tesla scowled and flared his spiritual pressure. You looked up at him, beginning to piece together that his scowl served more as an unfortunate resting expression than any sort of intimidating grimace. Either way, the adjuchas were not discouraged. Tesla placed a hand on his zanpakutō and you sighed. He looked on in confusion at the disappointing shake of your head and curiously accepted your kit as you handed it to him.

“I have orders,” You exhaled, unfortunately not feeling any hungrier than usual. And as the gang of adjuchas lunged, too greedy for flesh and soul energy to recognize their opponents, you struck. Your blade made short work of them and your mask ornaments glowed. You tore into mask after mask, canines bared, and when you made it to the last one, you offered it to Tesla. He wanted to decline, but after some thought, he didn’t have it in him to decline a free meal.

***

“Adequate.” That encompassed all Szayelaporro had to say about the crystals you gathered. You placed them neatly at one of the lab tables as you cleaned and reorganized the field gear. Szayelaporro toyed with your gathered gems, inspecting them with a critical eye. He lifted one to his nose, taking in a slight inhale. “And why does this one smell vaguely like Nnoitra Gilga?”

“His Fracción accompanied me on my field work today.” Szayelaporro stared at you blankly, setting the bundle of crystals back down in disdain.

“You should have told him to go away.”

“And I did. I raised my sword against him like you told me to, but he did not seem to pose any threat. He was particularly interested in the Reiatsu Gems so he followed me.” Szayelaporro nodded once, appearing to be somewhat deep in thought, but his face remained expressionless.

“Let him accompany you next time as well.” The room was cast with a dull gleam.

“Yes, Master Szayelaporro.”

Notes: As much as I feel like Szayelaporro likes to make a show, I feel like he wouldn’t be as flamboyant when he thinks he doesn’t have an audience. I have too many Szayelaporro headcanons. I tried to make a single post with all of them but it’s like too many to fit. I’ll post those at some point. It’s in my drafts rn.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed and otherwise supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

[aidensm8]

Random vampire AU ramble just cause it was too tempting

Setting:

All the light sides are vampires, the dark sides are hunters

Patton is head of his own vampire manor

Remus and Roman were born human twins (still a prince and a duke)

Janus is a shapeshifter who became a hunter to protect his friend from a demon that friend made a deal with

Logan is the average working human

Virgil is also a normal human who wanted to make a legacy and so he ran away and became a hunter

__

Storyline:

Patton’s is a pureblooded vampire who owns his own manor, he has gargoyles and other newer vampires to serve him

Logan is a regular human who was stressed about work, he one day runs into the dark woods in a fit of anger when his boss and coworkers piss him off

Logan cools down but then realizes he’s lost

A creature finds Logan, severely injuring him

Patton is out on a hunt when he stumbles into Logan. He feels pity and asks Logan if he can try to save him

Logan says “I doubt there’s anything you can do to save me but yes…” while hoping the stranger meant giving him a merciful death

Logan is surprised when he awakens in a fancy room, his wounds seemingly gone. He feels a huge wave of relief that he’s alive but is now anxious of what to do when he goes back home. He’s panicking but tries to calm down to figure out his situation

Studying his surroundings, he notices that the room has no mirrors

His thoughts are interrupted when one of Patton’s “servants” come to check on him. They give him spare clothes and tell Logan that they’ll inform the master that he’s awake

When Patton enters the room, Logan’s worries are calmed. He recognizes Patton as the stranger who saved him and asks him what he did

Patton apologizes profusely and tells Logan that he is a vampire now

Logan is shocked but now trying to figure what to do, how his job would react

Patton offers to let Logan stay with him, to be his advisor or keeper of the archives

Logan takes a moment to think, he has no friends nor attachments to his human life. He has a chance to feel happy, but knows the feeling of guilt from “running away” from his duties will haunt him

Patton reads his emotions, sensing the guilt, and assures Logan that he’s free to start over, to choose what’s best

Patton gets up to leave since he has duties to attend to, but will return to check on Logan later

As time goes on, Logan is feeling settled in his new role in the manor, doing an excellent job at maintaining the archives

Patton regularly checks on Logan to see how he’s doing until one checkup, Logan asks why Patton cares so much about him, why he saved him

Patton’s response brings Logan to tears. Patton holds Logan close, giving him words of assurance and love, and at that moment, Logan silently vows to himself that he will protect Patton with the 2nd chance of life he has given him

—

Moving on to the twins’ side of the story, Roman and Remus are still prince and duke

Roman is crowned prince but recently, discourse has happened and their father, King Creativity, had made some mistakes to warrant the people wanting the royalty removed

The king makes the mistake of pissing off a vampire, who vows revenge against King

King is immediately worried and gets more security on himself

He made the mistake of letting the twins wander alone in the back gardens, where the vampire attacks them

Remus was the intended target since he was the dark duke, seeming to be a perfect addition to the vampires

But Roman draws his silver sword and intervenes

In a moment of spite, the vampire takes Roman with him to the woods, dropping his sword

Remus chases after them, now wielding the sword, and when he finds the vampire leaning over the unconcious form of his brother

Remus fights off the vampire. As they leave, they mockingly laugh at Remus, asking him “Who will take the throne now? Surely, they wouldn’t want a bloodsucker on it”

Remus looks over Roman, realizing that he had changed

Roman wakes up, and now they’re both worried on what to do next. Either way, this was a loss for their lineage

Patton was on his own hunt when he runs into the twins

Noting Remus’s sword, he asks from a distance what was wrong

Patton felt a wave of protectiveness on him, seeing a vampire so close to a weapon that could harm them

Remus is poised to defend Roman, asking Patton what he wants

Patton tries to calm him down to let him know that he just wants to help and explains to them that from what he sees, Roman was a vampire

Roman is panicked at this, but Patton offers to take in the prince

Remus tries to stop this, but Patton argues that Roman needs someone to help him figure out this new life

Roman is also hesitant, but knows that only tragedy awaits them if they return home. He asks “what about my brother?”

Remus withdraws, realizing Patton is right, but knows he can’t return home either so Remus decides that he’s going to pursue being a vampire hunter to protect his brother from other vampires and hunters

Roman is worried about this but Remus assures him that he’ll find a way, as he always does

Patton takes Roman home with him, and Remus takes his leave to begin a new journey of hunting evils, he will be the evil they fear

__

Years pass, and Patton is very protective of Roman as he is like a son to him

Logan also views Roman as a son, and is protective of him, but is more protective of Patton

Remus meets Janus during one of his missions, and they quickly became hunting buddies

Remus figured Janus wasn’t human, and Janus admits

Janus suspects Remus isn’t just a messy hobo, as he noticed that Remus had some grace in his gestures and way of speaking, seeming like he is very much educated though his usual manner of speaking seems like the opposite

Virgil and Janus were old friends

Virgil finds that Remus does have features that seem very much royal, but brushes it off since Remus acted so weird

Virgil doesn’t agree with Remus’s messy methods, but stays nice for Janus’s sake

Virgil wanted to be bold, and so he tries to go on a mission alone

Virgil meets Roman, and is entranced by the vampiric prince

He realizes how much he looked like Remus

He can’t find it in him to attack Roman, and Roman, smelling Remus’s scent on Virgil, cautiously asks him who he is, using his vampiric power of persuasion

Virgil tells him that he’s a hunter who wants to make a legacy for himself

Roman tells him that not all legacies end welp (such as his and Remus’s), and leaves

Virgil takes in Roman’s words, realizing he had a point. He decides to try to find Roman again just so he can talk to him, but for now, he returns to the inn where he meets up with Janus and Remus

He tells him about meeting a vampire and wanting to deal with it alone

Remus wants to come, but Virgil insists not to

Janus convinces Remus to just let Virgil do as he wants, and they leave

After a while, Virgil finally finds Patton’s manor

The servants are alert and attack him until Roman pops in, seeing Virgil, and asks them to let Virgil be

He asks Virgil to leave, but Virgil doesn’t want to lose Roman again

“You can’t lose what you never had”

Virgil looks defeated, but Roman gives him a forhead kiss, “but perhaps one day, we’ll have each other”

Virgil blushes, but is now outside. He leaves, but he finds Roman waiting for him where they first met, and they start slow with small conversations which escalate to “May I hold your hand?” then to “May I kiss you?”

Virgil realizes maybe he doesn’t want to be a hunter anymore. He tells Janus about his thoughts of wanting to settle down, which Janus finds suspicious

So when Virgil meets with Roman, he says he has a surprise for later, giving Roman a quick kiss before leaving

Roman is confused but watches as Virgil heads to the direction of the manor

He is about to follow him but Janus pins him down by surprise, thinking Roman may be a shapeshifter since he looked just like Remus but cleaner

Janus tells Remus to help him but when Remus recognizes who Janus is holding, he attacks Janus to get him off his brother

“Remus, what the fuck, that shifter is using your face”

Remus stands protectively in front of Roman

Remus explains that the vampire was his brother and the reason why he became a hunter

Janus is shocked at this, but calms down as he realizes that this may be a revelation for Remus’s background and motives

Roman and Remus hug as they tell each other how much they missed the other, telling stories of what had happened

Janus is just there, until Remus remembers and introduces him as his boyfriend, joking about the whole “in-laws sure do love attacking each other lmao”

Roman is shocked, but is open to meet the person who had been taking care of his brother in his absence

Meanwhile, Virgil had asked to meet with Patton

Patton agrees and Virgil now sits in his office/grand hall

Virgil explains that he wants Patton to turn him into a vampire

Patton agrees and Virgil becomes a vampire himself

Remus, Roman, and Janus had decided to go back to the town so the brothers can catch up since Roman was very excited about seeing Remus again

Later that night, Remus fell asleep first and Janus and Roman get to talk. It’s a bit tense since their first interaction was a fight

They apologize about the fight before and they find they have many interests in the same field, even having near equal acting prowess

Janus then moves the conversation along to ask for Roman’s blessing in proposing to Remus

Roman is happy for his brother and agrees

Roman is happy to stay the night so he can have more time with his brother

Virgil was waiting for Roman to return at the manor, and when he didn’t return, he got worried. Patton tries to assure him that Roman tends to have little misadventures that last a few days, but Virgil was still anxious

In the morning, he decides to return to the inn to pick up his stuff

Janus and Remus woke up before Roman did and Janus gets to talking about them, and how much he looks forward to Roman being his immortal brother-in-law

Virgil returns and seeing upon seeing Remus and Janus hovering over an unconcious Roman, has his anxieties assuming the worst and he goes feral protective

Caught off-guard, Remus and Janus didn’t stand much of a chance. When Janus tries to ask Virgil what he’s done to himself, Virgil doesn’t respond, carrying Roman back to the manor

Uh…. fuck, this ramble got long o_o

So I’ll pause now, thanks for taking the time to read if you made it down here. I may consider making a part 2 (for when Logan meets Remus, Virgil and Janus making up, Patton being a dad to all of them, etc) but anyways, that’s all for this post

[cutesilyo]

no place in the world (like manila) — an amephil fanfic

A few months after the outbreak of the Philippine-American War, Alfred falls in love with and is betrayed by a bright-eyed teenager with the prettiest smile on this side of the Orient in a single night. 

This is not a love story.

Also available on AO3.

—

"Sir, I don't think it's safe for you to leave the camp," Major-General MacArthur warned. "I don't know how, but the revolutionaries know your face. They could attack you!"

"Pshaw," Alfred snorted. "I'm a nation. What could they do that could take me down, huh?"

MacArthur's mustache bristled in displeasure. "Be that as it may sir, might I remind you that you only arrived in Manila a week ago? Knowing you, you'd just get lost and I'd have to put together a whole squad of troops just to hunt you down. You could get captured, Alfred. I don't know how to tell you just how badly that would bring down morale."

Alfred just wagged his fingers, a bright grin on his face. "Look, if I get captured, I'd bust out of whatever crappy holding place they'd put me in without barely breaking a sweat! And knowing our soldiers, that's just the stuff that would make a great story to tell at dinnertime. How's that for morale?"

The way that MacArthur simply stared at him blankly told Alfred that this was not a convincing argument.

"I hate it when you do that," he groaned, slumping back on his seat. The leather was hot with the heat of the tropical sun and it stuck uncomfortably to his skin. Oh, how badly he wanted to just finally get up and leave. "I'm just saying, I can't stay inside here forever just waiting for you to dictate our next move."

"It's part of our strategy—"

"And it's boring. I'm bored, Major-General. I might as well look around." Alfred's eyes glinted dangerously. "Besides, you'll capture the whole nation for me soon enough, won't you? No harm in wanting to see what we're winning once this war is over."

The silence lasted for a few seconds before the major-general sighed in defeat.

—

Private Patton R. Wilkes was assigned to “accompany” Alfred while he roamed around Manila, but he knew that MacArthur just wanted someone to make sure he would actually return to camp instead of getting lost or, God forbid, taking the next ship back to America. Though the both of them were dressed in civilian clothing, the private carried himself with a strict stiffness that just screamed hardened military man. If Alfred wanted any chance of escape, it looked like the private would be hard to shake off.

Alfred tried to stay optimistic about the trip anyway. He hadn't paid much attention to the city while he was on the way to the American camp, but he certainly expected it to have an air of exoticness. He was a bit disappointed not to see anything like the palaces of Japan or the distinctly oriental architecture of China. Instead, he found street signs written in Spanish, the excited chatter of fast-talking brown-skinned people, and the cacophony of guitars, church bells, and the sound of horse-drawn carriages trotting along the stoned roads. Walking around Manila was like looking at a funhouse mirror version of Mexico: more or less the same, but with just enough differences to make his head spin.

"Uh, you alright there, sir?" Patton asked.

"Was just thinking about a bad memory, is all," Alfred grimaced. He's sure that Alejandro would have his head once he returned to the continent. He's been pissing off a lot of Spanish-speaking nations recently, that's for sure. "Come to think of it, the Philippine Islands must have its own personification too, right?"

The private's face darkened. "He's a force to reckon with, sire. Haven't seen no hide nor hair of him myself, but some guys in the other squadron barely survived after fighting with the kid."

"A kid?" Alfred furrowed his eyebrows. He didn't know there were still nations out there who were that young. Then again, he was only a teenager himself, and he was even younger when he fought against Arthur as well. "I don't know how I feel about fighting a kid. Couldn't I just give him a lollipop or something and this could all just work itself out?"

He meant it as a joke, but Patton seemed to take it seriously and started furiously shaking his head. "Don't think you could even try negotiating with him sir, the kid's a savage. Hacked and slashed his way through the guys with some kind of golden knife, they said. We're lucky our medics are so darned fast, otherwise, we would've been down almost a dozen men from him alone."

Something in Alfred's resolve hardened at the thought of losing his soldiers to someone so brutal. He clapped the other man on the shoulder and said, "Don't you worry, Pat. We'll end this soon, and when we win, we'll make sure that nobody from these islands ever lays a hand on any of our own."

That seemed to comfort Patton somewhat, though he was still shaking with anger. "I'll give them a good walloping right by your side, sire."

"Now that's the kind of patriotic determination I wanna see!" Alfred crowed. He then immediately scrambled for his wallet and hurriedly gave the private a wad of bills. Some onlookers openly gawked at seeing the number of dollar bills in his hand. "Tell you what, why don't you buy some booze, head back to camp, and inspire your fellow soldiers, eh? God knows we need some fun around here."

"Um," Patton blinked, caught off-guard. "I don't know if Major-General MacArthur—"

"Tell Major-General MacArthur that I'm just trying to boost morale," Alfred winked. "Also, tell him I'll back by next morning!"

He didn't get to hear Patton's response as he took off running wildly in the opposite direction. He barely registered running past the stores, wet market, and the cathedral; he just wanted to be alone and independent, exploring this new land to his heart's content. The buildings were shorter and the roads were narrower here than in his own country, but Alfred was just so glad to finally be in a place filled with people just like he was used to.

Alfred collapsed on his knees, winded. When he looked up, he was surprised to see that he had apparently made it to one of Manila's many ports. Past the numerous small fishing boats and trading boats, he could see that the sun was already beginning to set. The sky was painted in a pretty combination of pinks and oranges in contrast to the ocean's blue, the stars already starting to twinkle faintly into appearance one by one. The rhythmic lapping of the waves against the rocks seemed louder than everything else around him — a stark reminder that no matter where he went, there was always something bigger to discover.

He stood there for a moment, mesmerized when a loud grunt startled him out of his stupor.

He turned to find some kind of bull staring at him with its beady eyes, its long horns curving towards the back instead of to the front. It was pulling a wagon full of leafy vegetables that Alfred couldn't recognize, and the old man riding it looked startled to come across a foreigner.

"Hijo, padaan naman po," he said, with a strained smile.

"Oh, sorry, I don't know what you mean," Alfred tried, but the man just continued smiling at him. He was starting to think that maybe abandoning Patton, who wasn't fluent but at the very least conversational in Tagalog, was a bad idea.

Luckily, someone came to his rescue. A teenager with bright eyes approached him, an amused twitch of the lips on his sharp face. He was dressed simply: unlike the suit and tie ensemble of the richer Filipinos he'd come across or the pale blue uniform of the Philippine Army, he wore a thin white top and trousers cut just above his ankles. The scabbard on his hip would have been concerning if Alfred didn't know just how many Filipinos carried knives in their daily lives. All in all, he looked just like any other street vendor, but the red handkerchief tied around his neck was vibrant enough to make him stand out. "You are American, yes?"

"Ah yeah," Alfred flushed, a bit flustered. The way the stranger leaned in was a little too close for comfort, but he looked harmless and at least he spoke English. "Can you help me? I think that man is talking to me, but I can't understand what he's saying."

The teenager grabbed his arm to pull him to the side. The old man tipped his straw hat in thanks, and the teenager smiled, saying: "Pasensya na po, lolo! Hindi kasi taga-rito."

The two of them watched the wagon pass them by. They stood there in silence for a moment, and then Alfred blurted out, "I didn't know I was in the way, I swear."

"You did seem quite distracted." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other boy laugh. The both of them turned to each other at the same time, a small smile on each other's faces. "Not that I blame you. I am sure you have sunsets in America, but it is different here than in other countries. I think the colors are more vibrant, do you agree?"

"Certainly takes my breath away," he admitted. "I do have to ask, how come you speak English so well? I've only been in Manila for a few days but I don't think I've met another Filipino that's as good as you are."

The teenager only laughed again and held on to Alfred's arm tighter. As he looked up at him, his eyes and grin were equally bright with mirth; and despite himself, Alfred was a bit charmed. "Us Filipinos are not as stupid as you think, señorito. Now, you say you are a stranger to Manila, yes? Come with me, and let me show you around my city."

—

They ended up hailing a tranvia, a carriage made to carry a whole group of people instead of just a pair. Alfred found it small and quaint, making an internal note to build tram lines in the city once he was able. Yet the energy that the teenager had with him was larger than life. He had apparently noticed the other passengers giving Alfred a suspicious side-eye, and immediately launched into a round of jokes to dispel the tension. Though he barely understood the jokes due to them being told in a mix of Spanish and Tagalog, the way that the whole tranvia burst into loud laughter was enough to assure him that his companion was quite the comedic performer.

When they got off, the driver even thanked them for the entertainment and told them not to pay the fare anymore. Alfred let out an excited whoo! as the teenager did an exaggerated bow.

As the carriage rode off, Alfred turned to his new friend and exclaimed, "Wow! The way you handled that was amazing! I mean, I've been through worse than an awkward train ride, but you definitely saved my ass back there."

The teenager blushed slightly. "Think nothing of it. I would rather see my companions happy and comfortable in my care than anything else."

"Still, that thing you did was certainly a swell sight." Alfred breathed in the cold evening air and let it out with a contented sigh. He looked straight into the other boy's eyes as he said, "And it's really nice that you're going through all the trouble to be with me tonight too! Like, we don't even know each other's names but you just whisked me away like some kind of fairytale hero! That was really awesome of you, I have to say."

"You are a man of sweet words," the teenager said, with a smile that looked almost bittersweet. Then, as if he had completely forgotten about his melancholy, he grabbed Alfred's arm again and dragged him towards the next street corner. "But let us not waste time talking! Most of these shops close soon, and I would hate for us to miss them!"

Helpless, Alfred let himself be strung along.

Sadly, most of the shops they went past had already closed for the day. Still, the teenager cheerily talked his ear off about what wares they sold and the local gossip about the people who ran those stores — like Pepito, owner of the clay pottery store, who had apparently given away all his lotto winnings to the next city's blacksmith. The one time that they had actually been able to buy something was when they came across a small, brightly-colored cart that apparently sold the Filipino version of ice cream. Both the vendor — Mang Tomas, as he was introduced — and the teenager had chuckled when he brought out a wallet full of dollars, so the teenager had to reach into his own pocket to pay with a few coins. As they walked past yet another cathedral, Alfred caught his friend singing the hymns under his breath. When they reached the plaza, the teenager then asked the lady standing nearby — Aling Nena, he was told — to give him a jasmine garland, the scent of the white flowers so powerful that it immediately made Alfred sneeze on his friend's face when he put them around his neck. Yet instead of getting mad like he expected, the teenager had only laughed and told him he looked handsome.

No matter where they went or who they talked to, his friend always seemed to know everyone's names. Alfred had no idea how he had the time to possibly get so familiar with all the people around him, but he certainly understood the sentiment; he loved talking with all the Americans that he came across with too. Personally getting to know the people who made his nation always made him feel more connected with them in a way that war and politics never could.

And if the Philippine Islands was truly to be his someday, Alfred knew he wanted to treat them similarly. More than anything or anyone else though, nobody in the archipelago had intrigued him most than the young man beside him whose smile was brighter than any star.

Yet all his experience in small talk failed him tonight, and not for lack of trying. Every time he asked questions about his friend, he was always diverted away from the topic.

Which part of the city are you from? was met with a vague Do you ask the flower which vine it came from? You are better off simply enjoying the whole garden.

Where is your family? had been completely ignored as his friend said You must be hungry, yes? I know a place with the best empanadas this side of Binondo.

What is your name? earned him a cheeky wink and a teasing If your mind still ventures to inane questions like that, then I am not doing very well in completely impressing you.

How old are you? made the teenager burst out into loud, hearty laughter that lasted for more than a minute. Alfred didn't even bother to try asking anything else after that, choosing to focus on his empanadas and arroz a la valenciana for the rest of the meal.

Later, when they were served a bottle of gin to share along with a bowl of peanuts, his friend had the grace to apologize for his behavior.

"I truly am sorry," he said, but the playful grin on his face made it difficult to take his apology seriously. "I simply do not think that you knowing more about me is more important than us having a good time together."

"How am I supposed to find you again if I don't know who you are, huh?" Alfred couldn't stop himself from whining. He ignored the glass in front of him, taking a swig straight from the bottle and letting the alcohol burn down his throat. His friend watched him in bemusement. "This has been the best night of my life in a long time. And if this is the last time we see each other, I don't think I'm going to forgive myself if I don't push you into giving me a hint."

This time, it was his friend's turn to take a drink: he filled his glass half-full and downed it all in one go. "You are certainly bold, señorito, I will give you that. A good friend of mine warned me about how loud and annoying Americans were, but it seems he neglected to tell me about how forward you all were as well."

Alfred resisted the urge to roll his eyes; of course, he would get deflected yet again. "Alright, I'll bite. Tell me more about your friend."

The teenager looked surprised. "You wish to know more about a man that insulted you?"

"If this is the closest I get to you telling me more about yourself, I'll take it," he shrugged. "Besides, I'd love to know how this friend of yours thinks. Americans are the greatest people in the world! He must be stupid if he doesn't know that."

The other boy laughed. "Of course you would say that, you biased brute. And I will have you know that my friend was quite smart, actually. One of the smartest men I have ever known."

Alfred felt like he wouldn't like the answer, but he asked anyway: "Was?"

All traces of laughter from his friend's face faded away into a hollow smile. "Killed by firing squad a few years ago."

Silently, Alfred poured gin into both of their glasses. They drank in solemn solidarity.

"My sincere condolences," said Alfred, and he meant it: he had lost too many friends himself over the centuries. "And I'm sorry I called him stupid."

His friend waved it off. "No worries. Pepe was incredibly intelligent, but he definitely had his fair share of stupid moments — you wouldn't believe how many times that man fell in love over the course of his short lifetime. Still, I miss him terribly and I wish he was still around. God only knows what he would have thought about everything happening at present."

"Oh, I know the feeling." Despite him dying decades prior, Alfred still longed for George Washington's steadfast guidance sometimes. He reached, a bit messily, for another drink. "It's uncanny, yeah? Some people just have this weird ability to analyze the present and predict the future. I certainly don't know how they do anything like it, really. I kind of just talk big and hope for the best."

"Funny that you talk about the future," the teenager chuckled. "Somehow, my friend even managed to predict that you would come here, Alfred. I did not believe him at the time, of course, but here you are."

"Here I am," Alfred repeated faintly. "Hold on, how did you know my—"

"Why were you all alone in my city, señorito?" His friend interrupted, looking up at him through his eyelashes. He leaned closer, close enough for the skin of their arms to touch, and Alfred suddenly forgot about all his worries. "I was very surprised to see you on your own, looking every bit like a lost little lamb. You are very lucky that I found you."

"Lucky indeed," he murmured, adjusting the collar of his shirt. It felt like the temperature in the room had risen by a dozen degrees. "Just wanted to explore, is all. MacArthur told me we had to stay low for a few more weeks, I got bored, and he let me out."

Those bright eyes were practically glittering as the teenager looked up at him, his fingers slowly tracing up his arm. "And you were alone? I always thought American soldiers traveled in pairs, but perhaps I was mistaken."

"No! No, you're right, you're definitely right," Alfred stammered out. He was sure his face was completely red by now. "I was with Private Wilkes earlier, but we, ah, got separated. He must be on the way back to Bulacan by now."

"How unfortunate," the other practically purred, clearly delighted. "Say, tell me, how did this Wilkes look like? Because I am sure that he does not look as handsome as you do."

That damned smile, now coy instead of kind and sweet, was tantalizingly close. If only he had the courage to lean down—

Alfred, trying desperately to distract himself, grabbed the bottle again and took a long swig.

There were about a million promises that threatened to spill from Alfred's lips, each one more outrageous than the other: Come with me. Stay with me. I'll keep you safe. I'll love you. Yet at the moment, he found himself tongue-tied. He didn't know if it was the alcohol or the atmosphere or the way the young boy across the table had so effortlessly allured him, but he felt like he was about to go insane. He barely registered the both of them standing up to leave, didn't question why they didn't need to pay at the restaurant, paid no heed to what his friend had whispered to the men standing guard by the door. His mind was in a muddy haze, and all he could focus on was the fact that his friend was holding his hand as he was led into the dark streets.

Dimly, Alfred thought that however striking he looked by the setting sun, he looked much more ethereal bathed in moonlight.

He must have said this aloud because the teenager laughed.

"You are a man of sweet words," he said, and there's that oddly bittersweet smile again. "And I wish we could have met in better circumstances."

"What's wrong with the way we met today? I had fun," Alfred argued. He swayed slightly on his feet, and his friend held on to him to keep him from falling. "Didn't you have fun?"

"You forget we are at war, señorito. And you forget that you are seeking to control me and my people, not find a lover." Despite the harsh words, the way his friend said this was soft and sad. Almost like he was somehow hurt. "It does not matter what we feel today if we are bound to fight each other tomorrow. Should you not know this by now?"

They walked together in silence, each supporting the other. Slowly, Alfred's alcohol-induced dizziness began to subside. It was replaced by a growing emptiness in his chest — and a heavy, heavy realization.

"You knew I was America this entire time." When his friend deigned to respond, he continued. "Then, why...?"

At this, the teenager laughed — broken and wistful and desperate, all at once. "I do not know myself. I was ready to attack you, but for some reason, the look in your eyes as you watched the sunset stopped me. I thought, if you could look at my country with such amazement, then you could see that this war is unnecessary. That if you could know my land and my people the way I knew them, full of vibrancy and color and light, then you could realize that they did not deserve to die.

"Yet as the night went on I began to realize my efforts were fruitless. It was not them you were looking at anymore, but me." Here, his friend faced him; Alfred barely catching a glimpse of his wet eyes before the teenager looked away. "Believe me, I would love to spend another night like this with you. But you have your responsibilities and so do I."

"Fruitless," Alfred repeated hollowly. The cold night wind was in stark contrast to the hot rage he felt bubbling inside him. He forcefully wrenched himself away from his friend, yelling: "You made me tell you classified information!"

In seconds, he watched the teenager's face go from shock to hurt to an angry glare.

"Do you not understand how badly I need to win this war? My people did not give their lives to free me from Spain just so you could swoop in and take over! So forgive me, señorito," his friend spat mockingly, "for trying to find whatever advantages my poor nation can get against such an imperialistic nation like you!"

"And do you not understand what we're trying to do here?" Alfred shouted. "We are fighting this war to save you! Don't you see that your country is a mess? That you're underdeveloped, uneducated, and unfit for self-rule? I was the hero who helped save your people from Spain, jackass, and—"

"—and you promised to give us independence, and yet all your countrymen seem to do is kill." The teenager finished, both his eyes and the hilt of his knife glinting golden under the moonlight. "Is that what freedom means to you, America? I beg to differ."

As Alfred stepped away from him in furious, furious betrayal, all he could think about was that the other boy looked so small.

"I thought of you as my friend," he said.

"And I thought of you as my liberator," the teenager said coolly. "I see we were both wrong."

A harsh whinny interrupted them both. Alfred turned to find Patton riding a chestnut brown horse, his face red from exhaustion but seemingly unharmed. The private stopped in front of him, dismounting without grace on the pavement. His face was red from exhaustion and his clothes looked considerably ruffled, but otherwise, he looked unharmed.

"It ain't my position to say this sire, but don't you dare ever try to run away from me like that again," Patton panted, giving a quick side-eye to the other teenager before dismissing him. "We best hurry now, because those two won't be happy about their stolen horse."

Just as he was about to ask who those two were, a pair of Filipinos with muskets turned the corner and ran towards them. He vaguely recognized them as the same two men who were standing guard at the restaurant. They shouted loudly, a mix of Tagalog and Spanish expletives that Alfred could barely recognize, and a phrase distinct enough that he felt like it was something significant: amang bayan.

Patton evidently recognized the words. He looked at him in a wide-eyed panic, saying, "Sire, we need to leave—"

And as quick as lightning, Patton fell to the ground with a sickening crack. Caught completely off-guard and his arms restrained, he was helpless against the teenager who had a knife at his throat: a knife that, as Alfred began to realize with a horrified lurch of his stomach, was engraved with golden flowers and the insignia of an eight-rayed sun.

"You must be Private Wilkes," the Philippines smiled. "I do hope you are enjoying my country."

"Get off him or else!" Alfred screamed, the combined events of the night making him feel like he was about to reach his breaking point. He reached for the pistol he kept hidden on his belt and took aim, hoping to God that the other nation wouldn't force him to shoot. Even after everything, he didn't feel like he had the nerve to hurt Philippines after the hours they spent together; maybe some other day, but not tonight.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the two men had caught up to them. They angled their muskets at him from a distance. The horse, which Alfred had been planning to use for escape, had already taken off running in the commotion.

Patton stared up at him with fear in his eyes, a bleeding gash on his forehead, and Alfred's hands began to shake.

Above all else, Philippines was still smiling: eyes bright, amused twitch of the lips on his sharp face. Slowly, he stood to approach him.

Like a switch had been flicked, his features turned soft and kind again — more like the boy that Alfred had met earlier, the boy who had dragged him around the streets of Manila with lighthearted laughter, the boy whose smile was brighter than any star. All Alfred could do was stand there, mesmerized once again, as his hand was gently pried away from the gun.

"Alfred," Philippines said this quietly, almost like he was invoking a prayer. He motioned the men to stand down. "I do not wish to fight."

"I don't want to either," Alfred admitted. Maybe there was hope... "C'mon, we can talk this through, right? Look, we haven't had a battle in months. It should be really easy to negotiate, yeah? I'll set up a meeting with your generals and mine, we'll have a civil discussion with no weapons allowed, and we'll reach a compromise."

The other nation was leaning in, and this time, Alfred took his chance. He held Philippines' cheek in his hands and they kissed, soft and quick and chaste.

"Of course," Alfred said, as he pulled away. "I would need your complete surrender—"

He was swiftly kneed in the stomach, disarmed, and shot.

"Alfred, I do not wish to fight," Philippines said, as he watched Alfred collapse to the ground. "But I have to. I hope you understand."

He vaguely registered Patton reaching out to him as his eyes closed and the blood pooled around him, but all he could focus on was watching the other nation walk away into the darkness.

—

When Alfred came to, he was already back at camp. Without thinking, he immediately trudged to the general's war office.

"Good morning, Major-General MacArthur," he smiled, bright and cheery. "Gather the troops. I want to destroy Manila immediately."

—

Notes:

This is set in October 1899, during those months when there were no battles or skirmishes between the two armies. On the first day of November, the Americans launched a major attack on the Filipinos. This attack happened in San Fabian, Pangasinan, not in Manila, but let's forget about that.

Major-General MacArthur is, of course, Arthur MacArthur Jr., who was a major military figure during the Philippine-American War. I also claim artistic license in hinting that the American camp was in Bulacan because it probably wasn't.

Alfred's comments about Manila looking like Mexico are based on a comment by former president Manuel L. Quezon when he visited Mexico back in 1937: "Everything was the same." He meant that very, very affectionately.

Here's a nifty map of modern Manila. Alfred and Patton start out in Quiapo, which is basically the heart of downtown Manila. Alfred runs all the way to Muelle del Rey, which, coincidentally, happens to be the same place where the Jones Bridge stands today. Alfred and Phili take the tranvia to Binondo, Manila's business district and home to the world's oldest Chinatown.

The names of the store owners and vendors that Phili talks about are references to assorted media in Philippine pop culture. Pepito is a reference to Pepito Manaloto, a long-time comedy show about a man who won the lotto. Mang Tomas (Mang being an informal way to refer to a male adult older than you) is the name of a popular brand of gravy. Aling Nena (Aling being an informal way to refer to a female adult older than you) is a reference to the song Tindahan ni Aling Nena, about a boy who falls in love with a storeowner's daughter.

The garland of white jasmines that Phili puts around Alfred's neck are supposed to be sampaguitas, our national flower. They're usually sold near churches and are given as a sign of respect.

I have no idea if there are actually empanadas and valenciana sold somewhere in Binondo, but let's jot that down to artistic license. But these are very much Filipino foods that were adapted from Spanish foods, which is why Phili brings it up when Alfred asks about his family.

The old friend that Phili keeps talking about is Jose Rizal, our national hero. He is primarily known for being a great writer, whose novels inspired the Philippine War for Independence, and for being killed for it. He is also known for being having a long list of lovers, many of them not even Filipino. Lesser known is the fact that he visited America, hated it, went on a train ride with an American, and hated it. He wrote a whole diary entry about how much he didn't like America and Americans. He had also predicted that out of all the world powers, it would be America who would probably take an interest in conquering the Philippines when Spain was out of the picture. Go figure. Rizal was also affectionately known by his nickname, Pepe.

I imagine Phili to be particularly proficient in arnis, which is also known as kali or eskrima. It's a kind of Filipino martial art, most easily recognizable as that one martial art where everyone is dual-wielding a pair of sticks. The sticks are actually for training. Traditionally, arnis is fought by dual-wielding knives or swords, and it's meant to be quick and efficient in defending, attacking, disarming, and killing. Phili's fictional ornately designed knife is inspired by this very real ornately designed knife. The detail of the eight-rayed sun is a reference to the eight-rayed sun in the Philippine flag.

Lastly (phew!), some Tagalog to English translations!

Hijo, padaan naman po - Young boy, kindly let me pass Pasensya na po, lolo! Hindi kasi taga-rito - Sorry, grandfather*! He's not from around here. Lolo literally means grandfather but is a general way to refer to any elderly man regardless of any actual blood relation. Amang bayan - Fatherland

[imagine-loki]

Not as it Seams

TITLE: Not as it Seams

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: One-Shot

AUTHOR: wolfpawn

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki using a seams ripper to play a prank on Thor

RATING: General Audience

Elena loved her job tending to the fashion needs of the Aesir royal family. She loved assisting Queen Frigga in designing grand dresses, working on Thor and Odin’s clothes to get their attire to work with their armour, but Prince Loki was the most fun to work with. He had impeccable style and taste and appreciated the work of the palace tailors. He often came in discussing what he needed and spoke with them rather than merely telling them what he wanted and expecting it done. 

“What is that device?” Loki was looking at the small item in her hands. 

“This?” She held it up causing Loki to nod. “A seam ripper which does exactly what it’s named and rips seams.”

Loki’s eyes lit up at the explanation of the device. “Interesting.” For the rest of the time he stood waiting for his cloak to be sized correctly, he remained silent but looking at the instrument on the table close by. 

When he was finished, Elena was entirely unsurprised when he walked over to it once more. “I wonder if I could borrow this for a short time?” Knowing better than to decline such a request for a item worth so little, Elena walked over to her desk and pulled out another one. “Perhaps you would like it better in green?”She held it out for him. “They are inexpensive so don’t fret returning it.” She was half saying it because it was true, half because she feared what he would do with it and she did not want to get blamed if it could be linked back to her. 

With a deep chuckle, he took the seam ripper and left the room. 

*

Elena had practically forgotten about the seam ripper Loki had procured from her when the reason for him acquiring it came to the fore. 

Loki had been on Vanaheim for a solid four weeks when Thor burst into the tailors’ rooms looking red-faced and bewildered. “What has happened my clothes?”

Elena and a few of the others that worked there looked at him worriedly before noticing parts of his clothes seemed to be coming apart...at the seams. With raised brows and a look to match her workmates, though a deeper understanding as to what was happening, Elena walked forward to look at the attire. “Your seams seem to have fallen apart, Your Highness.” “How? Is it seidr? I bet it is, I wager Loki is to blame.” Thor snarled angrily, not admitting to them that this became embarrassing because he had been attempting to talk a maiden of the court to go to his rooms with him and she had laughed as he flexed only for the side his attire to fall open. 

She studied the clothes closely and shook her head. “No, the thread is snapped in a few places.” She pulled out some of the thread for him to see. “There is no foul play afoot, as you can see, it is simply pulled apart, nothing more. I would assume seidr would fizzle it to nothing or snap it cleanly. This is just frazzled. I think I recall this clothing, it is quite old at this stage, it looks like it has had a few adventures too.” She indicated to the few areas that needed patching previously. “I would wager in moments of playful sparring with your comrades, you have pulled it harshly from you and discarded it to the nearest surface, with your muscle growth since this was made, I am sure that has pulled on it so.” She smiled. 

Loving that his ego was being stroked by the implications of her words, Thor moved his head side to side slightly in agreement. “Well, it has been some time and you know, clothes are not meant to last forever, I suppose. I better leave it so.” He pulled it from himself and gave it to Elena who nodded back at him. “I will require new garments, are you the one that usually does such?”

“Not for yourself, Your Highness, that tends to be Lady Geraldine,” Elena explained, unsure how the prince would not notice the Light Elf that made his clothes from the Vanir and Aesir that also worked in the rooms. 

“Is she here?” “No, Your Highness. It is her day off.” Thor swore. “You start them, then.” Unhappy at threading on Geraldine’s work but knowing she could not decline a direct order from Prince Thor, Elena took his current measurements and started her work. 

Thor was nothing like Loki, he did not assist in any manner. Loki seemed to know where she needed him to place his arms and when she did the inseam of Thor, he seemed to think she had different thoughts with her hands there. “Perhaps you rather go somewhere more private with that?” Elena rolled her eyes internally at his stupid remark. “I will say to you as I say to every man that makes that joke, regardless of where you want me to do this, it needs to be done and I am not interested in wasting time.  I can do it correctly now or guestimate it if you make me wait but that results in incredibly tight groin areas that tears easily at best or damage your, Crown Jewels when not done correctly.” Thor winced at her reference. “I am just doing my job, so please let me do it.” Feeling embarrassed by her admonishment and nauseated at the image she had put in his head about tight pants harming him, Thor said nothing after that. She moved his limbs as she needed them and took notes. Walking over to Geraldine’s table, she took her notes for Thor and checked them against her own. 

“Your last had your measurements done with Geraldine eighteen months ago, your numbers are mostly similar, your neck has increased somewhat, metaphorically and physically.” She added the last three words quietly, though not so quietly as for others to not hear causing the other tailors and seamstresses to chuckle. “I will add these to her notes and begin the basics as per the instructions she has here. She will do the more intricate work when she returns to work. She is off for a few days, you should have them ready to try within the week.”

“So long?” Elena wondered what level of service Geraldine was being forced to work at. “That is standard practice outside of emergencies, Your Highness.” 

“What are emergencies with clothes?”  Thor asked. 

Elena merely held up his destroyed clothes he no longer could wear as an answer. 

“What will I wear back to my rooms?” Renée, a seamstress, brought over a riding cloak for him. “If I may, Your Highness.” Thor studied it and put it on. “This is for someone more slight of frame than I.” “It is Prince Loki’s,” Elena explained. “It was in for repair but with him being off-realm for so long, he has not collected it yet.” 

Remembering that Loki was gone and certain he had worn the clothing since Loki’s departure, Thor grumbled and mentioned something about having them brought to his rooms when it was done before walking out of the tailor’s rooms. 

Elena looked at the other tailors and seamstresses present before shaking her head and sighing. “I guess I better get started on this, then. Renée, could you get me…” She looked at Geraldine’s notes to see what fabrics Thor preferred and gave the seamstress her instructions. 

*

Loki walked into the room with a smirk on his face. He had waited three weeks after court began to gossip about his brother’s clothes seemingly fell apart where he stood speaking to a lady of the court. 

Elena, who had been working on a clasp of a coat that Loki’s hand servant had sent to be repaired before Loki’s return, turned on the sight of black and green leather in the tailor’s rooms. She noted Loki walk past her desk and inconspicuously drop the green seam cutter as he passed without breaking stride. “Your Highness.” “I have to have a few new pieces commissioned.” He declared. “When are you free to take my fresh measurements?” “I can fit You Highness in now if that would please you?” “Excellent.” He used his seidr to alter his travelling clothes to something more comfortable and stood as he knew Elena liked him to do to start his measurements. “Have I missed much in the world of tailoring in my absence? I hear my brother had the palace all a din.” “Apparently, Prince Thor was over eager with his attire and tore his seam in a manner that relieved his clothing from its duty of concealing his torso.” She responded, barely able to conceal her grin as Loki embraced his own laughter. She took the measurements of his inseam and around his thigh as he stood still, with him ensuring she had enough room to do so. “He also was of the impression that my current actions are somewhat sexually based.”

Loki stared at the tailor in startled shock. “Norns, I am not sure if it is ego or stupidity or even both with that fool.” He chuckled to himself. “I am sure you set him straight.” He moved so she could check both thighs were equal in size. 

“But, of course.” She rose to write the measurements, Loki checking on her notepad to see how he had altered in the few weeks away. “The usual?”

“Please.” 

She nodded and while he was close to her, she whispered in his ear. “Next time, try the groin of his pants where it attaches the front and back. It will either rip as he bends down to show his rear end or when he sits and tears to reveal his less than attractive underwear." Loki's eyes widened at the idea. 

After doing all that needed doing, Loki went to leave again bidding Elena farewell as he did. 

When Elena went to put her notebook back on her desk, there was no sign of the green seams ripper on her desk causing her to laugh slightly to herself as she shook her head. 

[gladerwolfstarkimagines]

Zuko x female reader series: Part Six

After leaving the firenation you and Zuko track the avatar down, break into a fire nation prison and you get into a fist fight with Sokka...but your fun summer aside, It all comes down the agni kai between Zuko and Azula. Although you’re only there for support you end up doing more harm than good for Zuko...

Part One here

Part Two here

Part Three here

Part Four here

Part Five here

Tagged: @taeeemin​ @creation-magician​ @kaylove12​

The first meeting

After leaving the fire nation you’d found the avatar pretty easily and now it was just the matter of convincing him not to attack you that was the problem. Zuko rehearsed his speech to an audience of you and a frog you’d befriended and you and said frog glanced at one another not convinced as Zuko finished his speech. Zuko saw you expression and groaned “this is stupid! I’ve dragged us out here for no reason, they’re not going to let us stay”. You shook your head “no they will it just depends on what you say! Come on we can get this right! Try again but this time maybe don’t seem so...teriffied?”. Zuko sighed but tried again.

Zuko wouldn’t let you come with him the first time he approached them incase they reacted badly and you agreed only because one fire bender was less intimidating and punchable then two fire benders. Despite all your rehearsal the inital meeting didn’t go well but Zuko eventually managed to get the gang to agree to your presence. He only had to risk getting attacked by them and then save their lives from an assasin, almost dying in the process, but he came back beaming to tell you the gang was expecting you. Zuko led you to their camp and the gang came into view, each and every one of them staring at you. You stared back, putting names to faces and Zuko stopped infront of Aang. “Aang, erm everyone this is y/n, she’s a firebender so she can help teach you aswell”. Aang smiled at you hesitantly but the two water siblings huffed and the earthbender just frowned. “Nice to meet you, cool airbison” you said in greeting and Aang couldn’t resist a smile “thanks his name’s Appa!”. “He’s glorious” you grinned “can i stroke him?”. In reply Appa licked you and you made a noise of disgust and suprise. Aang laughed “that means he likes you! He must smell Zuko on you”. You exchanged a raised eyebrow with Zuko but smiled back at Aang “great I made a friend already!”. The water tribe girl, Katara according to Zuko, made a noise and rolled her eyes walking away. Her brother and the earth bender stared at you but seemed equally curious as they were angry at you, which for a first day you took as a win.

The gang’s reaction to you and Zuko

Straight away you could tell the gang was confused how you and Zuko worked. You knew Zuko had mentioned you were dating but still the gang all seemed shocked at the concept. The Zuko they knew was so different to the one you knew and even though Zuko was never one for PDA even watching him be casually sweet and attentive to you was like seeing a completely different person from the angry man they first met. The day after you arrived Aang started his firebending training and Zuko asked you to help. You were more than happy to but soon realised something was wrong with Zuko. He trired showing Aang the forms but he didn’t have any fire. You basically ended up demonstrating everything to Aang while Zuko got more and more stressed that he couldn’t do it. Aware Zuko didn’t perform well under pressure you told Zuko you should break away from the training session to give him and Aang time to bond. You’d barely been back at camp 10 minutes when Zuko and Aang came into view on their way back to camp, training apparently abandonned. Aang reached you first and explained Zuko still couldn’t fire bend. You looked up the hill to where Zuko was slowly sulking his way back to camp and frowned, he looked sad, his body language defeated, head slumped. You weren’t having this and without a word to the gang marched over to Zuko.

The gang’s POV

The gang watched super confused, and partially fearing for your safety due to the look on Zuko’s face, as you marched over to Zuko. You reached him and they all held their breath. They couldn’t hear what you said but whatever it was made Zuko more upset, he exploded, gesturing wildly to where him and Aang had been training and they all recognised that temper. What they hadn’t seen though was someone control it. You touched Zuko’s hand and his whole body seemed to deflate. You gripped his hand and stared speaking to him calmly with a small smile on your face. Zuko sighed but smiled too and you hugged him tightly. They were all shocked when Zuko sunk into you and wrapped his arms around you burying his head in your neck. You seperated and said something making Zuko smile and took his hand leading him back to the camp. Sokka raised an eyebrow but Katara rolled her eyes “so he’s kind to his girlfriend, big deal he still tried to kill us”.

Zuko and Aang’s went on a fieldtrip to re-learn firebending and when they returned the gang all watched amazed as Zuko animatedly told you details of what had happened. None of them had ever seen the boy smile let alone talk so happily, it was odd. You smiled at Zuko brightly and after he’d told you everything he seated hismelf beside you an arm around you. You leant into him, tracing his hand around you, and Zuko grinned at whatever you were saying. "Is anyone actually buying this?" Katara asked watching and Sokka frowned "what the fire duo?". Katara nodded and Aang shrugged "they seem pretty happy maybe Zuko was always tring to kill us because y/n wasn’t with him". Katara scoffed as Sokka nodded like that was a plausible excuse for trying to kill them.

The first fight

Your first argument with the gang was with Sokka and unsuprisingly it was about food. The daily rations had just been split 6 ways and there wasn’t much of it, something the ever perceptive Toph noticed. "That’s it for food?" she asked when Sokka passed her a bowl and he sighed "yes there’s not much to go around now there’s 6 of us". You were sat nearby and thought the tone Sokka used was very pointed but didn’t comment.  Aang frowned "so we'll get more food, no big deal". "I mean it kind of is a big deal" Sokka sighed "it was hard enough the four of us and now there’s six of us...”. “I needed a firebending teacher Sokka you know that” Aaang shrugged and Sokka rolled his eyes. “Yes and I get letting Zuko in to teach you but do we really need to be responsible for every run away from the firenation?" Sokka asked talking about you. "First it’s his girlfriend but what next? His whole extended family? His gardener? This is hard enough as it is without Zuko’s girl tagging along". "Zuko’s girl? Tagging along?" you asked loudly and Sokka jumped seeing you’d heard. “You think that’s what I did?” you smirked "I was no use to Zuko during the escape, I didn’t help him get here or anything?”. “I didn’t say that” Sokka started but you cut him off “and we brought food too so i’m not the reason food’s short, you’re the one who eats like a horse. I’m just as much an asset as Zuko". Sokka raised an eyebrow "really because he’s a fire bending prince". "And i’m a fire bending navy expert, what can you do?". Sokka blushed "well i....". "Water tribe right?” you said not giving him the chance to repeat himself “but you can’t water bend can you?" you asked smirking as the boy glared "i can still fight" Sokka cried. "Really prove it, fight me" you grinned. Sokka frowned "i’m not going to do that". "Why because i’ll beat you?". "I’m a warrior of the souther water tribe" Sokka argued and you rolled your eyes "big deal i’ve been sparring with Azula Mai and Ty lee since I was 7, have you ever played fire knives with Azula? I don’t think so, you’ll be easy". Sokka glared and you knew you’d triggered him. "Okay no bending" Sokka said and you nodded "sure and no weapons, that includes boomerangs". "Guys are you sure..." Katara started but Toph shushed her “shut up Katara I want to feel Sokka get his ass kicked”. You and Sokka stood feet away from each other and Sokka smirked looking past you to Zuko "don’t worry i won’t hurt her too much" he said cockily and your anger peaked. You were going to teach this water tribesmann who was useless.

_ _ _

The fight over, you and Sokka sat beside one another on the floor. Sokka held an icepack to his head for the swelling, it was the only injury you’d given him Katara couldn’t heal, while you inspected the red mark from where Sokka bit you when you had him in a headlock. "I’m sorry about that" Sokka blushed "i don’t usually bite, it’s not noble for a warrior to do". "Any victory is a victory no matter the means...even if you lost" you replied. Sokka frowned but you smirked at him to let him know you were joking and Sokka laughed. "I let you win". You raised an eyebrow and Sokka sighed "okay maybe i didn’t but there’s no shame in losing to a better opponent". You grinned "friends?" And Sokka nodded "friends".

Zuko and Katara’s POV

Zuko and katara watched you two confused. You’d gone from arguing, to physically attacking one another to now laughing like old friends. "Is she...does y/n always fight people?" Katara asked hesitantly. Zuko shrugged "usually not physically but yeah she does that, does your brother usually bite people?". Katara shook her head "nope just your girlfriend". "I don’t know if i should be offended or pleased?" Zuko frowned.

The prison break

True to your promise, after you fight you and Sokka became fast friends mainly because you had the same reckless energy and it was utter chaos when you two were brainstorming ideas. Zuko was kind of jealous at first but you reassured him he’d always be your best friend even if he was your boyfriend and Zuko didn’t mind as much. Sokka didn’t object to you coming with him to rescue his dad and considering you actually knew where the prison was considered you a pretty important asset.

You were meant to stay on the ship during the prison break but that idea went to pot as soon as the steam made the ship useless. So you entered the prison with Zuko and Sokka and soon enough Zuko got caught. You managed to get the job guarding his cell though so could keep an eye on him when there was an announcement important guests had arrived. Your plan to escape was soon so you ditched your guard uniform and headed to your meeting point when you came across one said important visitor who spotted you straight away.

Mai.

You swore inwardly but tried to offer a friendly smile incase she was in a forgiving mood "hey Mai...". A knife was embedded in the wall next to you and you nodded "okay okay, before we start trying to kill each other any chance you'll accept my apology, realise me and Zuko didn’t mean to hurt you and let me go?". Mai sent a knife for you and you used your bending to only just knock it off course. "Fine i guess violence is the answer" and launched into an attack. You didn’t want to hurt Mai so mainly avoided her attacks in an effort to tire her so you could then take her out carefully. The best way to do that was to make her lose focus. You’d been told your best weapon in a fight was your mouth, you could make people angry and lose concentration easily and so tried to use some of that now on Mai. "Also just to clarify i’m not fighting you because of Zuko, i mean two girls fighting over a guy is so gross and demeaning i’m fighting you because you’re trying to stab me! Alright? Okay good, just wanted to make that clarification". "Stop talking!" Mai cried and you smirked, it was working. You carried on talking nonesense, apologising for that time at school you’d accidentally fell on her in gym, that time at the dinner party you’d knocked her drink over, that time when you were eight and called her knives dumb etc, until finally Mai’s anger peaked but it didn’t make her an easier opponent, the anger seemed to fuel her. Mai threw a knife and before you could move it landed in your arm. The pain was red hot and more intense that any burn or hit you’d been inflicted before. Angry and barely thinking you retaliated. You yanked the knife out of your arm and sent it right back at her. Mai hadn’t been expecting that and neither had you. It cut her hand and you stared "Mai i’m sorry...". "Stop apologising" she cried trying to attack you again “fight!”. “I don’t want to fight you” you cried and Mai glared “well i’m not letting you go, this doesn’t end until me or you can’t get back up”. You winced “I hate to disagree with you but no”. You shot a wave of fire at her knocking her back against the door of a cell. “Sorry” you winced and kicked her in the chest. She tumbled into the room and you slammed the door shut. Mai beat her fists against the door in rage and you grimanced opening the eye hole. "Mai i’m sorry but I’m not fighting you so this way I don’t have to, i hope you can understand that and some day we can maybe be friends again" and then rushed away. Your escape was still in motion and you had serious time to make up for. You ran down a tunnel and shot out into the sunlight of the main yard. You spotted Zuko and Sokka and worked your way through the crowd to them. You reached Zuko and the others and were panting hard "Mai’s here...very angry...we need to go". Zuko nodded gripping your hand "yep that seems wise, let’s go!". “The barge is this way” Suki cried and you all took off running again.  

You’d finally reached the barge with minimal trouble when the pain in your arm flared and you held it awkwardly trying to ease the pain. Zuko spotted the blood on your arm and frowned “Y/n!”. "It’s fine" you smiled seeing his worry and he shook his head ripping a piece of fabric off his shirt “No it’s not, here”. He wrapped it around your arm tightly "i’m sorry we'll get you back to Katara soon" and squeezed your hand. You smiled and Zuko looked at you for a few more seconds before he had to turn away to help Sokka. Mai wasn’t the only one in the prison, Azula and Ty lee were here too of course. You watched the fight from the barge, furious you couldn’t join in but your arm was making you feel faint so you knew fighting was not an option for you. Azula and Ty lee appeared to be winning but thanks to Mai you got away. You cheered for Mai as she attacked the guards, taking out multiple men at once and Zuko looked at you confused “y/n she just stabbed you”. “But she saved us Zuko” you smiled “my apology worked...that or she just wants to kill us herself...no it’s hopefully the first one!” and then you prompty fainted from blood loss.

_ _ _

When you came round you were back at camp, arm healed courtsey of Katara, Zuko asleep at the foot of your sleeping bag. You sat up carefully not wanting to wake him but Sokka didn’t get the memo. “Y/n” he yelled seeing you and rushed over. Zuko jolted awake and stopped Sokka from touching you “don’t she could still be sore!”. “I’m fine Zuko” you smirked but still he pushed Sokka away from you so he could hug you first. “You worried me when you fainted...I had no idea your arm was that bad...i’m so sorry”. “Don’t be” you smiled “i’m fine aren’t i? and we got Sokka’s dad! and Mai might have forgiven us! All in all it was a good trip”. “Only you could think you almost dying was a success”. “Almost” you said pointedly “almost dying Zuko”. Zuko rolled his eyes and kissed you making Sokka groan “ugh I think I’ll take my hug later...” and left you and Zuko alone.  

The campsite

Azula soon found your hiding place in the western air temple forcing you to move to a camping ground and there was a limited number of tents. Katara was trying to sort out the sleeping arrangements but she miscalculated.  "And y/n you can share my tent" Katara announced, her long and careful explanation finished and you and Zuko exchanged a look. "That’s sweet Katara but i’m fine bunking with Zuko". You’d barely finished your sentance when Sokka spluttered in suprise. "But you can’t do that" Sokka cried and you raised an eyebrow "why not?". "Because you’re dating" he cried but you and Zuko shrugged "and?". “And? well it’s...it’s against the rules! I’m not allowed to share with Suki, tell them Katara!" he cried pushing his sister forwards who frowned awkwardly. "Well we’re older than you" you shrugged and Zuko nodded "and smarter". "Plus we’re engaged" you pointed out and everyone’s eyes widenned "what?". "Is she lying?" Aang asked Zuko shook his head "i mean no...just i didn’t actually ask her my father did it for me but yes, technically speaking we are engaged". You nodded to Sokka "are you and Suki engaged?". "Well no..." he blushed. "Then that’s why you can’t share a tent" you retorted and pulled Zuko’s arm as you went into the tent "night guys". Zuko followed you as Sokka called out protests and Katara just sighed "leave them alone Sokka". Sokka stared mouth wide-open before an idea formed in his head and he started towards Suki’s tent. "Go to your own tent Sokka!" Katara called and Sokka cursed "ow come on!".

You moved around campsites pretty regularly after that incase Azula found you again and ended up in an old villa Zuko’s family owned. Everything was going fine, you had a beach day, Zuko and Aang got better at firebending, you even managed to drag Zuko to the theatre and then Aang went missing. With Aang gone Zuko figured the only person who could take on his father was his uncle and so you set out to find him. Zuko recruited an old friend to help and you soon found King Bumi and the white lotus who took you to Iroh’s camp site. Bumi told Zuko the tent Iroh was in and you saw Zuko tense and fear covered his face. “Don’t worry” you said patting his arm “your uncle will forgive you, just tell him what you told me and it’ll all be okay”. Zuko nodded but seemed unable to do much else, he looked paralysed. “Can you...can you come with me?” Zuko asked softly and your heart exploded in sympathy. “Of course I will” you nodded hugging him tightly. The others all dispersed and you and Zuko walked arm and arm to the tent. Zuko took a breath before entering and you looked at him “ready?”. He nodded looking at you before fixing his eyes on the tent opening and he stepped inside. You followed a few steps behind and saw Zuko look around before his posture slumped. It took a few seconds for your eyes to adjust but Zuko filled you in on what was happening “we should go he’s asleep”. You frowned knowing Zuko wouldn’t get any rest until this was done. “Why don’t we wait for him to wake up?”. Zuko looked at you before nodding “yeah okay”. You sat crosslegged on the floor beside one another waiting for Iroh to wake up. The hours stretched on and on and you felt sleep trying to take you but you resisted. You kept ahold of Zuko’s hand letting him know you were there with him. You were sure the time felt far worse for him and weren’t going to leave him, even if it was just to sleep. When Iroh did move Zuko jumped and you swallowed. “It’s okay” you assured him and he nodded standing up. Zuko moved forwards and you didn’t follow. This should be between him and his uncle, but when Zuko started to cry your heart did crumple slightly. Just as you were begging Iroh to forgive him already he wrapped Zuko into a tight hug and, also crying, forgave him. Tears fell down your cheeks too as you smiled at the sight of Zuko and his uncle. Iroh noticed you when he opened his eyes and he smiled warmly.  "Y/n get in here" Iroh grinned holding out a hand to you. You blushed “ow are you sure? I mean this is your family moment...I don’t want to intrude”. Iroh scoffed "any girl who visited me in prison and snook me snacks is family in my eyes". You grinned and Zuko frowned "wait you visited my uncle in prison?". You shrugged "not too often about once a week". "How did i not know this?" Zuko asked and you paled "i purposefully didn’t tell you, i wanted you to work out your feelings on your own, i hope you’re not mad". Zuko shook his head "of course i’m not mad now come here". You smiled and stepped forward to join the hug between Zuko and Iroh.

Afterwards you caught Iroh up on everything he’d missed and Zuko explained his idea to have Iroh overthrow Ozai. Even as Zuko said it you got the feeling it wouldn’t happen, you could tell by Iroh’s reaction he had something different in mind. When Iroh said it wasn’t him who should be the new firelord you knew where he was going, you’d already been suspecting Zuko should have more say in how the fire nation was run and Iroh apparently agreed. "Me? Firelord?" Zuko asked "but i can’t...". Sokka, Toph, Katara and Suki just looked to you, now very used to you giving Zuko pep talks and you were on it. "You can" you smiled taking Zuko’s hand "i figured you’d have to do it for a while now and you’ve proven yourself Zuko, you can do this". Zuko stared at you blankly as his uncle joined in, listing the reasons why Zuko would make a good ruler. Zuko gripped your hand tighter as what you were both saying set in. "Okay" he barely whispered "i’ll go see Azula and become..." he swallowed and you smiled "you won’t be facing her alone" you told him and Zuko beamed at you.  

The Agni Kai

Judgement day here you and Zuko returned to the fire nation so he could fight his sister. Katara accompanied you as you figured you’d need a healer no matter who won. You landed in the courtyard and told Appa to fly away in case Azula tried to hurt him. You stood behind Zuko, beside Katara, waiting for the fight of his life. If he won he became firelord, if he didn’t...lets just say there’s no way Azula would let any of you live. The fight began and you stayed out of the way of Azula and Zuko’s duel as much as you could. With the comet fueling their bending it was one of the most intense fights you’d ever witnessed but Zuko was performing well. As Azula started to lose you could see her eyeing her surroundings for a way out and she fixed on you. You were ready for this, back at camp Iroh had warned you about this and given you a crash course in deflecting lightning, you pushed Katara back and readied yourself to deflect your first lightning bolt ever as it hurtled towards you. Zuko yelled out chasing it but was too slow, not that it mattered. You caught it and using the technique Iroh had taught you shot it right back at Azula. It worked and you were thrilled until you realised Zuko had been running towards you and was now right in the path of the deflected bolt. The bolt struck both Zuko and Azula within seconds of one another and sent them both flying back at the force. The smoke cleared and you went cold as you saw Zuko smouldering on the ground. "Zuko" you yelled rushing to him, it had hit him on the shoulder and the wound was badly burnt. "Katara" you called and she rushed over. "Heal him! Please! please!" You pleaded "i didn’t mean to hit him, i didn’t know he was so close". Katara worked and you stared at Zuko’s burn, the burn you’d given him until his breathing evened out and you gasped in relief. "I’m going to go make sure Azula’s okay and bind her" Katara told you and you nodded barely even listening as you cradled Zuko "Zuko are you okay?" you asked "Zuko i’m so sorry!". "Don’t be" he smiled weakly "i should’ve learnt long ago you don’t need me to save you, when did you learn to do that? More secret visits with my uncle". "Maybe" you smiled before frowning at Zuko’s burn that would surely form a scar despite Katara’s help "i can’t believe i did that to you". "Don't' Zuko said moving your gaze to his face "you did it, we did, we won". You nodded smiling and hugged him, carefully, but none the less passionately.

When Zuko was well enough you helped him to stand and walked him to the balcony overlooking all of the firenation. Zuko looked over the city below and you followed his gaze. It was still barely light but dusk was approaching and small lights were lighting up around the city. They news would be spreading as you stood here that Zuko was the new firelord and the war was finally over. You smiled standing beside him "surveying your new kingdom? Looking for a place to build a statue of yourself?". Zuko tutted but smiled. "This doesn’t feel normal" he sighed "this...that i’m...". "Firelord" you smiled "Firelord Zuko". Zuko nodded "it even sounds weird you saying it". You smiled and wrapped an arm around his waist. Zuko didn’t hesitate to wrap his around your shoulder. "It sounds weird now but you’re going to be an amazing Firelord Zuko, you’re kind and smart and actually want to help people! We haven’t had a firelord with that mentality in...well forever! I have total faith in you". Zuko sighed "i’m glad someone does". "Hey" you said tilting his face to yours "remember what i said to you on that ship all that time ago, i never lie about important things. You will be an amazing Firelord Zuko, just you wait and see". Zuko smiled and kissed you softly. You smiled stroking his cheek as you kissed him back. Zuko broke away but pulled you to his chest wrapping his arms around you. You smiled looking out at the city. "With you with me i can’t mess this up too badly right?". You smiled "that’s right, together we can handle this".

2 years later

"Y/n" Zuko groaned as you messed with his hair but he didn’t push you away. You’d been on your longest voyage since you’d been dating and honestly Zuko wouldn’t push you away from him even if you were stabbing him he’d missed you so much. You’d returned this morning after a 6 month naval trip to the water tribe and Zuko had left your side once. He had to leave for a small disaster in one of the colonies and that had killed him but now he was back in his rightful place beside you and that was all that mattered. You were messing with his hair, trying to get his hair free of the crown he’d had to put on to attend his crisis meeting. You were never of a fan of anything restricting Zuko’s hair and finally yanked the clip from his hair and smiled as it fell down in all it’s glory. "There" you said patting his shoulders and Zuko shook his head blowing a piece of hair out of his face. "Y/n you know i can’t have my hair down all the time". "But why not? You’re the Firelord and now is the time for important changes!". Zuko rolled his eyes but smiled "and this is the big change you think i should make?". You nodded "ow yes, you need to look respectable as Firelord and with your hair down you look really really good" you sighed and Zuko smirked. "Well i’m glad you like it but it’s not practical, how would i even wear my crown?" Zuko asked and you frowned before pushing him down so you could reach his head. "Hmmm maybe we could fashion a little stand, or pin some pieces to hold it in place...". "That sounds like a lot of effort" Zuko commented when you gasped "or you could plait it!". "Plait it?" Zuko asked and you nodded. "I saw lots of men with plaits in their hair in the water tribe on my visit, Sokka’s dad has one and it looks very good on a man". Zuko raised an eyebrow "you think Sokka’s dad looks good?". "No...well yes Hakoda is hot but you’re missing the point, let’s do your hair like that!". "No i think we should go back to the Hakoda’s hot part..." Zuko commented but you hushed him and pushed him to sit on the floor as you fiddled with his hair. Zuko sighed but liked the feeling of you playing with his hair so smiled and closed his eyes. You were gentle and your touch soft so Zuko relaxed into you until you abruptly stood up "done!". You showed Zuko himself in the mirror and he smiled "wow it does look good". "I told you" you grinned when the door opened and Sokka walked in. You’d brought him back from your trip as a suprise for Zuko and he’d wasted no time settling into the palace and letting himself into rooms without knocking apparently. "Zuko where do you...." Sokka started before he stopped dead in his tracks seeing Zuko’s hair. He started laughing with glee while crying "water tribe!" multiple times as he pointed at Zuko "you’ve got a water tribe hairstyle!". "Yeah y/n apparently thinks they look good on the men in your tribe" Zuko said raising an eyebrow, still not over your comment about Sokka’s dad, but you weren’t listening. As soon as Sokka heard you could plait hair he’d grabbed you "do mine! do mine!" and shook his hair loose. Zuko watched as you pulled Sokka’s hair into a plait delicately until it looked like his. "Finished" you smiked and Sokka rushed to the mirror before laughing at himself in glee too. You smiled as Sokka grabbed Zuko "we look like twins!". Zuko raised an eyebrow but you saved him the effort of replying "now do mine Sokka!". Sokka complied and you made Zuko watch so he could do it for you when Sokka wasn’t here.

Plaits all finished it was quiet a sight, the three of you sat together with matching hairstyles. You had a games night and then relaxed and chatted. You soon fell asleep against Zuko, your journey and reunion with him tiring you out too much to wait for Sokka to leave, and unbothered Zuko and Sokka carried on chatting.The conversation went quiet and Sokka looked at you "is she asleep?" he whispered and Zuko frowned "y/n?" he called but you didn’t stir "i think so". Sokka smiled "so wanna see the necklace?". Zuko nodded and Sokka went into his pocket pulling out the betrothal necklace Zuko wanted. "I had Piandao help me make it like you wanted" Sokka told him and opened the box. Zuko didn’t want a design exactly like the water tribe one, the fire nation was different and so a different necklace was needed. The one he asked Sokka to make was thinner, with a black cord crisscrossing several times before dipping down where a red stone sat, glimmering in the light. Zuko grinned, it was exactly like he’d imagined it. "Do you think she'll like it?" Sokka asked and Zuko nodded looking down at you "yes". "Well she better or she’s never going to say yes to marrying you". Zuko gulped, that was true but Sokka hit his arm "i was joking, of course she'll say yes, she loves you more than anything, anyone can see that just watching you two together". Zuko smiled down at you asleep against his chest and thought about the proposal he’d prepared. He was going to take you to your favourite restuarant, a tradition you’d still kept up even after he turned into the firelord, and treat you to your favourite foods. Then you’d walk back to the palace through all your favourite spots in the gardens and end up by the turtle duck pond. He’d have your turtleduck come over with the necklace securely attached to his back and Zuko would ask you then and there. "I hope so" he sighed when you moved in your sleep suddenly. "Zuko can we go to bed" you yawned "i’m tired and the light is very bright". Zuko and Sokka froze as you sat up and you frowned "what? Did i drool or something when i was napping?". They both sighed in relief, you hadn’t heard. "Yeah we can go to bed" Zuko nodded and Sokka stood up "i’ll see you guys tomorrow" and sneakily left the box on a table for Zuko. You were oblivious already pulling the covers back to get into bed. Sokka grinned at Zuko and made his way to the door "night y/n" he called and you said a sleepy reply before face diving into the bed. Zuko smirked closing the door and turning the light off before joining you. You sighed sleepily as Zuko snook closer to you and pulled you against him. You shuffled your head getting comfy against him and eventually stopped "goodnight Firelord" you said sleepily and Zuko smirked, he still hadn’t gotten used to it but he liked how it sounded when you said it. "Goodnight y/n" he smiled kissing your head but you were already asleep. "I really hope you say yes" he whispered before resting his head beside yours and going to sleep.

You said yes of course.

______

So that’s it! I had to get in a comment about Zuko’s hair progression one last time because honestly that was one of the greatest things about the whole series. This was kinda hard to write cus so much happened once Zuko joined the gaang but i tried to split it into parts so hopefully it wasn’t too disjointed 😐

Thank you for all the likes and support it means a lot :)

[the-final-sif]

My head produced a scene, basically what happens after the ending to my blue core Katsuki vs Overhaul post where Dabi captures Katsuki after Katsuki defeated Overhaul. The whole fight/fights were broadcast out, and the heroes get free too late to stop Dabi from taking the heavily weakened Katsuki.

So, the LOV/PLF now have Katsuki. He’s still heavily weakened and injured, but they patch him up as best they can and he’s put on painkillers, which have the added benefit of keeping him hazy so escaping his harder for him. 

Aizawa is losing his fucking mind, as are a lot of class 1-A, but unlike before they have no leads on where Katsuki is, given that the league now has way more resources to keep him hidden.

Or at least, they think they have no leads.

Hawks, a double agent, is working on fixing that. Sort of. It doesn’t take him long to find out where Katsuki is. The league is wary about letting him have any information on the matter, but Hawks is a charmer and convinces them he just likes the kid and wants to be sure he’s okay.

Finally, Hawks gets down to where Katsuki is being kept. He’s meant to stay quiet so Katsuki doesn’t notice him. That was his plan anyways.

His plan did not involve a wide eyed Dabi being in the cell already.

Katsuki is high on painkillers, gaze bleary as he recounts his mother’s anger and blame after the last time he got kidnapped. His words are slurred and voice quiet, sad, weak. Towards the end of his story, he refocuses, red eyes seeming to see Dabi again, for just long enough for him to get out a single sentence.

“Guess you'd understand what that's like, huh Touya?”

And then he’s passed out. Leaving Hawks and Dabi both equally stunned and confused.

Dabi recovers first, pushing his way out of the cell almost in a frenzy, brushing past everyone else to get up to the roof. Desperate for fresh air and to be alone. He is not alone. Hawks is stunned for several seconds longer, but once he regains himself, once all the puzzle pieces fall into place, he’s surging after Dabi, frantic to not lose him. Not again.

When Hawks gets to the roof, Dabi is on the far side of it, sitting on the edge with his legs dangling off the side. The door was silent, Hawks was silent, Dabi is not looking at him. That doesn’t stop Dabi from speaking the moment Hawks pauses in indecision.

"I know you're there."

Throwing on a smile Hawks tries to play it off, stepping forward as if nothing is wrong. As if this doesn’t change everything.

"Hey, uh, sorry, didn't mean to intrude, I just saw you and you looked kinda upset-"

"Don't lie to me, spy. I know who you are. I know you heard him."

Hawks blood freezes, but Dabi's made no move to attack him, so he steps a little closer against his better judgment. He’s not afraid. How could he be?

"... So I'm guessing the kid got it right?"

"... Go away."

"That's a yes then."

Hawks is still a few steps back, and he's got so many mixed emotions but in the end, he's a hero. He does what he does best. Besides, there’s no way he could walk away from this. Not again.

"Listen, I don't know what hap-"

"Fuck off. I'm not doing this. I'm not someone you can save, Hawks. Don't waste your time. Just take the kid and go. I figured out you're a spy, your cover was blown, blah blah, so you didn't have any other choice but to cut your losses and save who you could."

Hawks' eyes soften, hesitation slipping away as he steps forward, hopping up onto the roof's edge to sit next to Dabi. They’re sitting too close together, but Dabi doesn’t try to move away despite his words. Both their gazes look out over the horizon as Hawks tone shifts to something regretful.

"I can't save him."

That gets Dabi to look at him, blue eyes angry and accusing.

"The fuck are you talking about? You could cut those damn chains and be gone before the damn alarm even sounds."

His words, an odd hostile vote of confidence, only serve to make Hawks' expression fall further into soft apologetic sadness.

"You’re right, I could do that, but I can't save him.” He pauses for a moment. “I figured out his location two days ago. I've been lying to the Commission about it since I found out. I’m going to keep lying to them about it."

Now Dabi just looks confused, eyes narrowed and face scrunched up as he tries to figure out Hawks’ game.

"Why the hell would you do that? What's stopping you from just taking his ass back to his shitty high school?"

Hawks' voice turned cold, eyes hallow. He looks more defeated than Dabi had ever seen him, which isn’t saying much. But he also looks more defeated than Touya had ever seen him, and that says a lot more.

"Because if I bring him back, if any hero brings him back, he won't be returning to UA. At all."

Then after a beat, almost as an afterthought, Hawks continued. There’s too casual a tone to his words, as if he’s on the news giving an update on a bad situation while trying not to let his mask break.

"The Commission saw the broadcast. Everyone did. Everyone saw a 16 year old unleash the equivalent of a small nuclear weapon in under 10 seconds. According to one of his classmates, the kid can do it with no real prep and a 12 to 24 hour recovery. No long lasting damage if the attacks are spaced out enough. After the Commission saw that, they gave me new orders."

It takes a moment for Dabi to process that. He's almost gaping at Hawks in horror and revulsion. Hawks doesn’t need to say what his orders are. Both of them already know what the Commission does.

"They can't- I mean I know they'd fucking try it, but UA wouldn't give up one of their best students. Fuck, that homeroom teacher of his wouldn't put up with that shit."

"His parents already signed the forms. Hardly took anything to convince them. UA has no legal ground to stop anything.”

Dabi tries a different approach, still unwilling to believe it.

"It wouldn't work. He's too old, you know how stubborn that damn kid is. I can tell you for a fact we aren’t gonna be able to break him, and they sure as hell won’t either."

"They can. They’ll make it work. One way or another.”

That’s all Hawks has to say, both of them know how true it is.

“The public wouldn’t-”

Hawks barks out a laugh, and it is an ugly, angry sound of resentment.

"They've got it all planned out, No matter what state he's in when he's recovered, the story is he got brainwashed by you lot and required a specialized recovery program along with extensive therapy. That excuses the personality change and sudden cooperation. UA can't do shit about it, even with their PR influence, they let the kid get kidnapped twice and the public is already upset with how they’ve handled him."

Hawks' gaze turns bitter and his voice is near venomous.

"The Commissions’ already got a new name picked out for him and everything. ‘Firecracker’ because they thought it'd ‘create positive associations’ and ‘make him more marketable to children’."

Both of them need a moment after that. Dabi looks away, furious now. Hawks takes a deep breath and gives him a watery grin of helplessness.

"Like I said, I could get the kid out of here, but I can't save him."

Dabi takes a deep breath too. Then another. His anger focuses, turning from unfiltered rage to a targeted fury. He knows what Hawks was saying now. Knows just how this story goes. How it’s already gone. But things are not the same as they were back then, and Dabi is sick of this fucking story.

"Alright. So, the kid can't go back until those fucks are out of the way. We're sitting on the roof of a fucking villain organization that's already trying to bring down the government. I'm one of it's fucking commanders. That’s not a problem. Or at least it won’t be for very long."

For the first time since he got the orders, hope sparks in Hawks' chest, and it's his turn to be wide eyed. If it was anyone else- anyone in the fucking world, there’d be no way. But this isn’t just anyone. This is Dabi. This is Touya. But doubt still taints his voice.

"I- It's not just one person. It's dozens and dozens, and they're all heavily protected.”

"So? We aren't one person either. There's a whole damn army here waiting to go."

Hawks bites his lip, but the hope only grows stronger. He used to have dreams of getting free. Of ending the people who trapped him here. It’d been a long time since he had those dreams. They’d been foolish, he had no where else to go but his pretty gilded cage. Nobody to turn to. No help, no savior. But that wasn’t true, maybe it never really had been. He’d gotten a feeling that someone had been bailing him out when he’d almost slipped up a few times as a double agent. Maybe someone had been.

"Will the kid be safe here in the meantime? This won't happen quickly. Even with all the resources in the world."

Dabi considers it, well and truly, before he nods firmly.

"Yeah, it'll be a pain to actually keep him here. Word going around is that he's a little escape artist. But Tomura's not gonna hurt him, he’s given a standing no harm order and nobody around here’s stupid enough to go against that. I'll keep my eye on him too. Just in case."

Then he pauses, plans taking shape in his head, growing and spinning, forming more completely.

"All we'll need from you is names and faces. We need to know who needs to go."

It's terrifying, it’s the wrong choice, it’s a stupid idea, but Hawks nods in agreement after a few seconds of internal debate. He wouldn't under any other circumstances- but fuck. He can't let them do what they did to him to someone else. He just can't. Hawks wants out of his cage, and he sure as fuck isn’t letting them drag another kid into it.

“I- I can do that. Give me a day to get everything together, I don’t know all the names, but I can get code names if nothing else.”

Dabi nods once more to affirm the plan, and the two of them sit in silence for a few more heartbeats, unsaid word lingering between them. It's Dabi who breaks the silence, an uncharacteristic softness to his voice.

"God, I can't believe you finally find out my name, and what, fucking five minutes later we're already back on our bullshit."

Hawks laughs, but this time it's light and childish like it used to be. Like it should be. He kicks his legs out, stretching out his wings behind him.

"What can I say? There was a reason the Commission hated it when I hung out with you, isn't that right Touya?"

It brings back memories Dabi had been suppressing for months now, pretending that they meant nothing to him, even as he let Hawks into the league, covered for him, erased camera footage and lied to protect him. He can't help but laugh too. His laugh is raspy from years of smoke and burned lungs. Hawks can’t help but take joy in hearing it again.

"I supposed so. You really haven't changed at all Keigo."

It's the first time in nearly 10 years Hawks heard that name, and it makes him grin ear to ear, silly and open and feeling comfortable like he hasn't since the last time he was called that. The last time he was Keigo.

Dabi takes another deep breath in and then twists to hop back onto the main part of the roof, pausing to meet Hawks' eyes with a long lost mischievous grin on his face.

"Come on slowpoke, we've got shit to do."

It’s not the first time he’s been called that. It’s the first time in a long time, but it’s just like every time before.

Just like every time before, Hawks' wings flutter in indignation (Touya was the only one who ever called him that, because he thought it was ever so funny how affronted Keigo got, so much so that no matter how fast he got, Touya refused to let it drop).

“You are the worst.”

Hawks grumbled, rolling his eyes as he hopped to his feet, snagging Dabi's hand to tug him back towards the door. Dabi is laughing at him again, but Hawks can't find it in himself to be actually annoyed.

How could he be? For the first time in too many years, he had his Touya back with him. He was allowed to be Keigo again, even if it was only for a short period. And for once, he had a feeling that things might be okay after all.

[zaddyzemo]

helmut zemo x reader x heinrich zemo

⚔

cw: power imbalance, sexist language, abusive behavior, emotional manipulation, dub-con, attempted impreg

summary: your loyalty to the House of Zemo is tested when the 12th baron travels through decades to aid his son in restoring their legacy and carrying on the bloodline

author's note: for more context, check out this Avengers: Ultron Revolution clip and the two pre-serum Helmut Zemo x Reader drabbles written in that universe

as an octogenarian, Helmut Zemo is now older than his father ever was. however, watching Heinrich remove his purple cowl for you to assess the damage done by Captain Roger's fist to his face, he saw that thanks to the Super Soldier serum and time displacement, the two of them were physically the same age. "the swelling should go away by morning, sir," you smile at the face you've become familiar with through faded photos and the genes his son inherited from his side. "there is no damage to your cranium." Heinrich hissed when you touched up his stitches. "if it weren't for Zemo 2099, a little bruise would've been the least of my worries."

he wasn't talking to you, however, and he hadn't been since Helmut had brought him back to his now old castle along with the cyborg Zemo 2099. he ignored you in favor of berating his son, and you hadn't seen the baron look this humbled before. his mask was still on his hanging head and you suspected he kept it on to hide his pained expression. "I am grateful for his assistance in our battle against the Avengers. and for keeping you safe, Vater."

"his assistance? he practically fought every single one of them off on his own while you stood there like the weak link you are." Heinrich pushed you aside so that he can properly yell in Helmut's face all the insults your master would've plunged his sword through the one speaking them, but he didn't dare move a hand against his father. standing perfectly still and silent, he was falling back into the role of the perfect soldier since he failed at being a good son. he only shifted when the man screamed "the only reason you're still standing here is that you're my true heir's great grandfather."

the thirteenth baron was nobody's great grandfather. truth be told, he was nobody's father. in eighty years, there's been no shortage of women between his satin sheets and there's been more than a few men. however, there's never been a baroness. so preoccupied recreating his father, Heinrich Zemo's work and restoring their legacy he was that he ironically didn't spend a single second on producing an heir. you suspected that he didn't wish to subject his supposed brood with the same trauma he went through. he's always had a soft spot for children and you only found out once he took you in that the orphanage you grew up in was one of his many estates. he grew up an orphan himself, but he's always had his blue blood to help him gain access to all the resources he needed. as far as he was concerned, every child in every orphanage he ever built was his heir.

however, Henrich Zemo didn't see it that way. he saw his son flinch at the mention of offsprings and figured out that he doesn't have a grandchild in this timeline. "you've not produced an heir?" when Helmut couldn't meet his eyes and the shame in them was visible through the mask, Heinrich raised his voice again. "YOU HAVEN'T EVEN GIVEN ME AN HEIR? HOW IS THE HOUSE OF ZEMO SUPPOSED TO SURVIVE WITHOUT AN HEIR?"

"Vater-"

"did you try and fail as you do in everything? did you not even try?"

"Please, Vater-"

"what about das mädchen?" he pointed you out as you were packing the medical supplies. "did you not sire a child by her? i'd even name a bastard born from a bed wench my heir if it meant the Zemo name will survive until 2099."

"she is not a bed wench, she is my apprentice-"

his attempts at protecting your honor were weak and so was his voice. as powerful and proud of a man he was around his allies and even enemies, he was pathetic in front of his parent. he was silenced with nothing but a slap.

"how you survived all these decades without me I do not know and, truth be told, I do not care to know." Heinrich Zemo watched his son straighten his crown on his head and his mask on his face. he was not just disappointed, he was downright disgusted. "if it weren't for my title, my fortune, and my Super Soldier serum, the house of Zemo would've died with me."

"with all due respect, baron," you snapped, smoothening the bed sheets where he sat earlier. "your son has sacrificed everything for the survival of the Zemo name. if it weren't for him, you wouldn't be here in the first place."

he looked at you as if you were a stain on his boot. "how dare you speak to me that way? Helmut, how dare you let her speak to me that way?"

"you are dismissed, mein fräuline."

"even if she were a lady, she should know not to speak unless spoken to."

that was when Heinrich Zemo acknowledged you. and approached you. his eyes he had passed on to Helmut, but you've never seen them look down on you as if you were the dirt under his sole before.

"I'll see to it that she never speaks to you that way again, Vater," Helmut made one last attempt at deescalating the situation, but he already had you backed against the bed. his old bed. "she will be punished for her insolence."

"yes, she will." Heinrich raised his hand up in the air and struck you across the face with the back of it. "she will learn her place in my palace." the lesson seemed to be going well as you were too shocked to say a word and your master was practically mute where he stood frozen in place. the sting of the slap didn't hurt nearly as much as the shame. "she belongs beneath us." he grabbed you by the jaw and forced you to face him again. "and she will not speak over us. do you hear me, madchen? you are never to speak unless spoken to. is that clear or are your little peasant ears so dirty and clogged that you haven't heard a word I said?"

you tried looking back at your master, the thirteenth baron, but the twelfth wouldn't let you. he squeezed down on your jaw. "yes, sir."

"now was that so hard?" he loosened his grip and stroked the handprint he left on your cheeks and the tears that fell on top. you nodded instead of opening your mouth again. "of course not. you were born to obey, mein kleines lamm. and i was born to lead you lest you wander astray. no harm will ever come to you as long as you do as you are told. you will be safe, as long as you serve the house of Zemo. have I make myself understood or should i speak plainly so that you can follow along?"

"I've read all the books in the castle library, sir, including your journals. I can follow along with your words just fine."

when you saw him smile for the first time, you recognized it as Helmut Zemo's lips stretched across a row of carnivorous teeth. they were lions who've developed an appetite for lowly little lambs like you. "she's a mouthy one, isn't she? clever, too." father then turned to look at his son as he pushed the hair off of your shoulders and exposed your cleavage. "I see why you'd keep her close and even let her wear your own mother's clothes." then, he yanked your hair back and twisted it along with the rest of your body. when your back was against his chest, he came close to your ear and caught it between his canines. "you're lucky us Zemo men have a weakness for reckless women. you're always asking for it and we're always willing to set you straight."

"Vater, what are you-" Helmut found his voice, but he had yet to find the strength to step in between you and Heinrich.

"if you won't make a baroness out of this peasant girl, then I will." he licked the bitemark and buried you face-first into the bed covers. "my lineage will not end with you," he held your head down while lifting your skirts. "if you are too weak to sire an heir, then I'll do it myself."

you struggled, but he was too strong. his hands on you had a powerful grip as they parted your legs and ripped your underwear on the furst try. his hands also awakened the same ardor his son's did whenever he touched you. you were burning with shame and need in equal measure.

"you've kept a young, clean and ripe little cunt in my castle for years and you didn't even once consider it," Heinrich placed his pelvis between your thighs which were trembling in fear and anticipation. one of his fingers, his thumb, traced the lips and the leakage they were covered in. he did this several times, testing you. "look at this, Helmut. she's already wet and ready to receive me. she was made for this," he sinks his finger in and your cunt closes its warm and wet wall around it. "look at how she swallowed me whole. she was made to carry my royal brood," he chuckled, ecstatic to be so enthusiastically enveloped by you. "as lowly as you are, I'll turn you into the lady this fool never could, little lamb," he addressed you, but his words were meant to provoke his supposedly foolish son. still, you moaned into the mattress and even moved against his thumb, your body ready to be bred just like he said.

you almost missed the sound of Helmut hitting his father across his already bruised face, you were that preoccupied with whining pathetically at the loss of the feeling if being penetrated. all of a sudden, you were flipped over, your spime sinking into the mattress as your master - your true master - looked down at you with a bare face and a lustful gaze.

you sucked in air, breathless from Heinrich's ministrations and Helmut's manhandling. you didn't dare fight him ripping open your corset. finally, you could breathe snd he could behold your heaving breast which he marked as his with his teeth every night.

"I never impregnated her because I didn't want to, not because I couldn't," he looked back where his father lay on the floor. "i watched her grow under my own eyes, under a microscope, and I am very much aware of her fertile womb, father. and it is mine to turn into a bed wench, servant, assistant and even the mother of the next generation of Zemos, if I so desire." his large hands grabbed you under your knees and spreading you wide enough for him to slot himself between your legs. "she is mine."

"finally," Heinrich found his voice and his footing again as he stood up. "a show of strength," he watched you surrender to his son fully, arms flailing as you scratched the sheets in search of a grip. Helmut had entered you up to the hilt and split you open in one stroke. seeing his boy bury himself into your belly fully and noticing the bump his cock created in your abdomen, he grabbed him by his wide shoulders from behind. "you sound like the lion cub i never got to raise. you almost make me proud."

Helmut was heaving, his wide chest expanding as he lost himself in the luxury of your luscious cunt. he turned towards his father and his words of praise. "I am not a child anymore, father. I am a man. I take what is mine and tear apart all those who stand between me and what is mine." at this, he pulled out only to plummet back in. in a flash, his pace was fast and you found yourself mewling, a cat in heat or maybe a sacrificial lamb. you were his to devour.

"yes," Heinrich rubbed at Helmut's shoulders as his breathing got heavy. "yes, that's it," his hands moved lower, sliding down his spine and holding onto his lips. when the song stopped to slap the underside of your thigh, the father chuckled. "that's my boy," he squeezed his sides as they snapped against you, the sound of skin slapping against skin bringing the smirk back to his father's face as his son chased his carnal release. "mein guter junge," he nuzzled his ear. "now, come inside. come inside that cunt. that's your cunt, my boy, now claim it."

you tossed your head back as he lifted your hip up in the air and slid his cock so deep in your cunt, you saw stars on the ceiling.

"fräuline," Helmut grunted, burying himself deep inside your guts. "fräuline, you're mine." he tossed his head back against Heinrich's shoulder. "give me a son, mein fräuline."

"yes," your tongue lolled out as your eyes rolled back. your brain was a blur as you agreed to be a broodmare for the house of Zemo. "yesyesyes."

"come inside," his father pressed his lips against his earlobe. "make me proud," he kissed the shell of his ear. "come inside that cunt and give me an heir."

there's nothing he wanted more than to spill his seed inside of you. well, maybe getting more of his father's praise. once he emptied himself inside your womb, he got a pat on his head, sweaty head slicked back as you got a pat on your full tummy. "mein guter junge."

"Vater."

[otomememento]

Information Interrupted

What was blood? In the most basic terms it was one of the many substances that kept a person alive. And for that reason, it became a word of many meanings, some positive and some negative, but all carrying the weight of life and death lingering in the sound. All humans depended on it. But to Esme, it was equal parts a blessing and a curse. For even as it kept it alive, it was also killing her. Medical aid had kept her going for the last several years, but here, in Paris of the late 1800’s, the medical field was far less advanced. Though she had gone to Paris to escape the never ceasing doctors appointments, it had led her down a different path. And now that she wanted to linger a little longer, the means by which she was lingering were out of reach.

One morning she woke up, her head pounding in her ears. Her body felt tired, sluggish, sore. She hadn’t felt it this bad in some time; the regular appointments with the doctors made sure of that. But she had gone off the treatment, and now it was coming back in force. Still, she didn’t want her hosts, or fellow house mates to worry, so she forced herself to get up.

If Sebastian noticed how ill she was, he said nothing, and was fairly mild when it came to correcting her mistakes. He had almost gotten her to a point where she was doing her chores to his satisfaction, though he realized she would never quite match him. But he could hardly hold it against her when she was obviously trying her best. Still, there was concern in his eyes as he watched her, though he kept it schooled when she was looking directly at him. He would have to speak to Le Comte about their guest. Perhaps she had caught something when she was in town…

The opportunity didn’t present itself right away, and time took care of the rest.

Esme often ran little errands for people in the house, fetching and carrying items or messages. In the shadow of their greatness, she felt that she could at least make sure they had what they needed to continue their various works, whether it was ink for writing, a book from the library, a preferred sweet or snack. It didn’t matter to her, really, as long as it was something she could manage. And it even made her happy to do so. Some of the residents were more grateful, on the surface, than others. She never expected much gratitude from Mozart or Theo, as it wasn’t really in their personality to do so. Vincent was probably one of her favorites to see, simply because he was just so kind and cheerful to everyone; she never had to worry about a harsh word from him. Even his blond hair was welcome, not simply because it was a bright color, but because it was so close to her own shade of hair that it gave the illusion of a connection.

On that day she had been bringing in some paintbrushes that he had requested. While Sebastian often did the shopping, Esme was often the one to disperse the goods among the residents. Her steps were slower on this occasion, more unsteady. Vincent, who was busy at work, thanked her kindly, but didn’t turn to look at her when she entered the room. However, he stopped the moment he heard the thud, turning to see that she had collapsed on the floor. Worried, he called out to her, but she didn’t respond, and when he knelt beside her, she looked so very pale. So Vincent did what was most natural to him: he called for Theo.

While he was often acerbic with Esme, Theo meant the girl no harm, nor did he wish her any ill will. When he joined his brother and saw how unwell Esme looked, his concern was real, and he chastised himself for not noticing she was so weak. He had a fine eye for art, and for people, but it had been too easy to dismiss her. He should have known better. But, then it occurred to him that no one had really done, or said, anything to indicate she wasn’t well. Not even the resident doctor, who certainly had spent enough time staring at her, but not as a medical subject. And, of course, that was the next person he contacted: if anyone knew what to make of the situation, it would be Arthur.

It took a few moments for Theo to impress upon Arthur the seriousness of the matter, but once he reached through the flippant façade, Arthur didn’t waste any further time being clever and hurried with Theo back to Vincent’s room, where the painter was still keeping a watchful, but worried, eye on the fallen girl. Vincent, who hadn’t known of Arthur’s medical position, was surprised at first, but when he saw how methodical Arthur was, he didn’t question it, but quietly stood back so he wouldn’t be in the way, and watched, ready to fetch anyone else if it was required. After a cursory examination, Arthur stood up, expression grim.

“We’re going to move her to her room. I’ll carry her. Theo, go ahead of me to open doors and make sure no one gets in the way; we can answer questions later. Vincent, go fetch Le Comte.” There was nothing of the playboy in his mannerisms now, and while Theo could be belligerent towards the arbitrary authority of the upper class, this was the authority of experience speaking, and he didn’t balk at Arthur’s commands. He simply opened the door, determined to follow the orders. Arthur was firm, but gentle, as he scooped up Esme, carrying her with a good balance of speed and caution. Vincent’s room only had a narrow couch, and it simply wasn’t the best place to keep her.

Theo dealt tersely with anyone they met in the halls, and seeing no trace of Arthur’s usual levity, it was easy for them to believe that the situation was serious. Hushed voices trailed behind them as the residents dispersed, not wanting to get in the way. While they all had their issues, and not all of them were fond of Esme, none of them had a sense that they were so much more important than her when her health was at stake. Le Comte joined them when they were almost at Esme’s room, Sebastian hovering in concern behind him. As the other human in the mansion, this was particularly worrisome to the generally stoic butler.

Arthur lay Esme down carefully in her bed, working to loosen any tight clothing, already checking her vitals again in various places. Near the door, Theo and Vincent explained everything so far, from the moment Vincent heard Esme fall. Le Comte, although eager to hear from Arthur, let the man finish his work, knowing that rushing him would not do anyone any good. He could be patient; living for so long had given him that gift at least.

Part way through the examination, Esme stirred and slowly opened her eyes, her unfocused gaze gradually gaining clarity and settling on Arthur’s face. Although she looked very startled to see him there, of all people, she didn’t exactly look alarmed. In fact, she mostly looked tired and a little foggy-headed.

“What happened?”

“You passed out. I carried you here from Vincent’s room.”

“Oh.” There was a long pause. “Thank you.” Esme tried to pull herself to a sitting position, but Arthur put out a hand to stop her. She didn’t resist this, and slumped back against her pillows. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t make a mess or anything, did I? I remember…I was delivering paintbrushes.”

“Don’t worry about the brushes. Even if they were damaged, I don’t think Vincent is the type to make a fuss,” Arthur reassured her.

“I suppose that’s right,” Esme agreed, though she didn’t sound too certain. Not that she didn’t believe the words, but her mind was just not working the way she wanted it too. Something was nagging at her, but she couldn’t put a finger on it.

“I will have to ask you some questions about your health. But Le Comte is worried, and he’s waiting for me to talk to him. Do you want everyone to leave while I ask these questions? He might be the master of the household, but your privacy is important.” It seemed almost funny to hear Arthur talk so seriously about privacy when he had shown such little regard for personal space when they first met. Finally Esme’s thoughts clicked into focus.

“Oh! Are you a doctor?” she asked him. She knew he was a writer, of mystery novels no less, but she also knew that a lot of authors had other jobs as well. Most people didn’t have the fortune to just be a writer all along.

“Yes.” It was a single word, blandly spoken, betraying nothing. It wasn’t much like Arthur’s usual, glib responses. Esme blinked a few times as she tried to absorb this other side to Arthur. She wanted to ask him about it, but her head was starting to really pound again. Wincing she closed her eyes. “Where does it hurt? What kind of pain is it?” The questions, while concerned, were also very direct.

“My head, mostly. Makes it hard to think.” Esme didn’t shake her head, knowing that it would just rattle her more, but she looked around, her eyes moving slowly as though even such a thing was hard to do. “Ask your questions.” It wasn’t a command, as the words might suggest, but Esme didn’t have the energy to waste the words required to be as round about as usual. Arthur waved everyone else away.

“Do you know what is wrong already?” asked Arthur when the room was cleared. Esme started slightly. It seemed strange that it was the first question he asked, but then she vaguely remembered that he was so very clever. Of course he would pick out something like that, though she didn’t know how. She just couldn’t piece it together herself in the state she was in.

“Yes, it’s…my blood,” she managed to say before passing out again.

Blood. The word itself sent a thrill through Arthur, fight it though he may. Whatever she meant by it, it certainly wasn’t an invitation to the predator inside him. No, he would have to work to rouse her again to get the answers out of her, since she seemed to know what was going on. Meddling around with her health could have negative consequences that could be mitigated by information. Already he was on his feet, issuing orders to bring him a variety of things he would need. Even the master of the household listed to such orders. For now.

[witchbitchheadedtoaditch]

Shadow Work Prompts Part 2

Hello my loves! I'm going to add some more shadow work prompts (primarily because... Kaye needs to do shadow work and maybe this will convince them to do it. (It won't. We all know it won't. But we can hope....))

I'm gonna put these below the cut just so people don't have to scroll through this long as fuck list on their dash if they don't want to see them lol

Some of these are really, really heavy, and do touch on things like sexual assault, abuse, death, etc., so this is the trigger warning for you.

A lot of these are also focused on women and AFAB folks because I'm trying to reconcile with my femininity and whatnot.

Anne Carson Quotes

You remember too much, my mother said to me recently. Why hold onto all that? And I said, Where can I put it down?

Why does tragedy exist? Because you are full of rage. Why are you full of rage? Because you are full of grief.

Words bounce. Words, if you let them, will do what they want to do and what they have to do.

Eros is an issue of boundaries. He exists because certain boundaries do. ... Eros: the boundary of flesh and self between you and me.

Desire is no light thing.

It is easier to tell a story of how people wound one another than of what binds them together.

Reality is a sound, you have to tune in to it not just keep yelling.

All mortals owe a debt to death.

...sex is a substitute, like money or language.

...your story begins the moment Eros enters you. That incursion is the biggest risk of your life. How you handle it is an index of the quality, wisdom, and decorum of the things inside you.

Myths are stories about people who become too big for their lives temporarily, so that they crash into other lives or brush against gods. In crisis their souls are visible.

Philosophers say man forms himself in dialogue.

There is no person without a world.

If there is anything dearer than being alive, it's dark to me.

We humans seem disastrously in love with this thing... life.

The underworld's a blank and all the rest just fantasy.

Caught between the tongue and the taste.

What is mortality after all but divine doubt flashing over us? For an instant God suspends assent and poof! we disappear.

Girls are cruelest to themselves.

What really connects words and things?

Blessed be they whose lives do not taste of evil

Perhaps the hardest thing about losing a lover is to watch the year repeat its days.

Consider incompleteness as a verb.

You can get used to anything, my mother was in the habit of saying.

I am talking about evil. It blooms. It eats. It grins.

I don't want to be a person. I want to be unbearable.

Beauty makes me hopeless.

The dead... are victims of love, many of them.

To live past the end of your myth is a perilous thing.

You read a hundred military manuals you won't find the word kill they trick you into killing.

I went mad, a god hurt me, I fell.

Those nights lying alone are not discontinuous with this cold hectic dawn. It is who I am.

Love does not make me gentle or kind.

Your grief is as great as your splendor was: some god is weighing the one out equal to the other.

You can never know enough, never work enough, ... never leave the mind quickly enough.

Language is what eases the pain of living with other people, language is what makes the wounds come open again.

Where does unbelief begin?

Everything that is me is with me.

A wound gives off its own light...

I began to think I was someone thirsting for God.

You are a person in love with the impossible.

When we are denied a story, a light goes off.

Some conversations are not what they're about.

I lack myself.

Who knows what will happen if I'm alone with my grief.

I... forbid that you should ever lose your screams.

You are not a god. You are not that enlarged self. Indeed, you are not even a whole self, as you now see. Your new knowledge of possibilities is also a knowledge of what is lacking in the actual.

There is a loneliness that fills the plain.

The women of mythology regularly lose their form in monstrosity.

We live by waters breaking out of the heart.

Time as hunger. Time passing and gazing. Time as perseverance. Mountain time. Time as paper folded to look like a mountain. Time compared to the wild fantastic silence of stars.

What are we made of but hunger and rage?

When I look at you, even for a moment, no speaking is left in me.

Kelly Cherry Quotes

I didn't find my story; it found me.

There is blood everywhere and I am lost in it. I breathe blood, not air.

The story of [their] great-grandfather [or any ancestor]... was [their] own story, too.

Ashe Vernon Quotes

Don't you dare, for one minute, believe that my kindness makes me anything but insurmountable.

Understand that I am not your next victim in a laundry list of broken girls.

I will eat you alive before I let you make a meal of me.

What they don't tell you about standing up for what you believe in is that your feet will bruise and your legs will ache.

I'd like to take a moment to submit a formal apology to my soft parts because they kept me warm when I was trying to freeze to death, and I hated them for it.

I let myself be afraid.

When you learn you are only as good as your beauty routine, you forget how to define yourself by anything else.

I will know how to be vulnerable with you, but I won't know how to not regret it.

I know how to put my body inside someone else's but not how to make it beautiful.

I love better at a distance.

I am as much lion as I am lion tamer.

I got good at inflicting pain the same way I got good at soothing it.

Quit picking old wounds and going tor walks in the aches and pains you already made it through--you call it healing, but it sounds like a good way to take a haunting home with you.

I am a cathedral of almost-lovers

Louise Gluck Quotes

We look at the world once, in childhood. The rest is memory.

I thought that pain meant I was not loved. It meant I loved.

The soul is silent. If it speaks at all it speaks in dreams.

Intense love always leads to mourning.

You will never let go, you will never be satiated.

It will feed you, it will ravish you, it will not keep you alive.

Why love what you will lose? There is nothing else to love.

I speak because I am shattered.

I don't need your praise to survive.

Whatever returns from oblivion returns to find a voice.

Nakedness in women is always a pose. I was not transfigured. I would never be free.

The unsaid, for me, exerts great power.

I am tired of human... I want to live on the sun

Death cannot harm me more than you have harmed me, my beloved life.

There are places like this... you enter as a young girl... you never return.

Writing is a kind of revenge against circumstance, too: bad luck, loss, pain. If you make something out of it, then you've no longer been bested by these events.

The riddle was: why couldn't we live in the mind. The answer was: the barrier of the earth intervened.

It is true that there is not enough beauty in the world. It is also true that I am not competent to restore it. Neither is there candor, and here I may be of some use.

You're not a creature in body. You exist as the stars exist, participating in their stillness, their immensity.

And then, suddenly, something is over.

You must be taught to love me. Human beings must be taught to love silence and darkness.

Sappho Quotes

Someone will remember us/I say/even in another time.

Their heart grew cold. They let their wings down.

What cannot be said will be wept.

What is beautiful is good, and who is good will soon be beautiful

Once again love drives me on, that loosener of limbs, bittersweet creature against which nothing can be done.

Love shook my heart like the wind on the mountain rushing over the oak trees

Love is a cunning weaver of fantasies and fables.

I know not what to do, my mind is divided.

The female creature is a letter.

No holy place existed without us then

She who loves roses must be patient and not cry when she is pierced by thorns.

Because I prayed this word: I want.

If you had a desire for good or beautiful things and your tongue were not concocting some evil to say, shame would not hold down your eyes but rather you would speak about what is just.

Wealth without virtue is no harmless neighbor.

I am weary of all your words and soft, strange ways.

Paisley Rekdal Quotes

Does it offend you to watch me working in it, touching my hands to the greening tips or tearing the yellow stalks back, so wild the living and dead both snap off in my hands?

I can wait longer than sadness.

It is such a small thing to be proud of.

Should I, too, not be loved?

We are even now still so young

I loved him. I loved forgiving him.

Yasmin Belkhyr Quotes

Contrary to wound, I still know nothing of defeat.

Contrary to ache, I still know nothing of guilt.

I help: a good daughter.

Someone always ends up holding something mangled.

It wasn't enough to feel... he had to see, to know.

Adrienne Rich Quotes

There must be those among whom we can sit down and weep and still be counted as warriors.

Lying is done with words, and also with silence

Responsibility to yourself means refusing to let others do your thinking, talking, and naming for you; it means learning to respect and use your own brains and instincts; hence, grappling with hard work.

When a woman tells the truth she is creating the possibility for more truth around her.

My heart is moved by all I cannot save: so much has been destroyed

If you are trying to transform a brutalized society into one where people can live in dignity and hope, you begin with the empowering of the most powerless. You build from the ground up.

Until we know the assumptions in which we are drenched, we cannot know ourselves.

The truth of our bodies and our minds has been mystified to us.

It will take all your heart, it will take all your breath. It will be short, it will not be simple.

You look at me like an emergency.

The unconscious wants truth. It ceases to speak to those who want something else more than truth.

In a world where language and naming are power, silence is oppression, is violence.

There is no 'the truth', 'a truth'--truth is not one thing, or even a system. It is an increasing complexity. The pattern of the carpet is a surface. When we look closely, or when we become weavers, we learn of the tiny multiple threads unseen in the overall pattern, the knots on the underside of the carpet.

The moment of change is the only poem

There is nothing revolutionary whatsoever about the control of women's bodies by men. The woman's body is the terrain on which the patriarchy is erected.

The scars bear witness but whether to repair or to destruction I no longer know.

Not biology, but ignorance of ourselves, has been the key to our powerlessness

What kind of beast would turn its life into words?

Truthfulness, honor, is not something which springs ablaze of itself; it has been created between people.

You touched me in places so deep I wanted to ignore you

Silence can be a plan rigorously executed, the blueprint to a life, it is a presence, it has a history, a form. Do not confuse it with any kind of absence.

Most women have not even been able to touch this anger, except to drive it inward like a rusted nail.

We have lived with violence for so long.

This is my body, take it and destroy it

We have been raised to fear the yes within ourselves, our deepest cravings. And the fear of our deepest cravings keeps them suspect, keeps us docile and loyal and obedient, and leads us to settle for... many facets of our own oppression.

Every journey into the past is complicated by delusions, false memories, false namings of real events.

A language is a map of our failures.

The more I live the more I think two people together is a miracle.

Poetry is, among other things, a criticism of language.

How do you make it, all the way from here to morning?

An honorable human relationship--that is, one in which two people have the right to use the word "love"--is a process, delicate, violent, often terrifying to both persons involved, a process of refining the truths they can tell each other.

You grieve in loneliness, and if I understand you fuck in loneliness.

We write from the marrow of our bones.

The liar has many friends, and leads an existence of great loneliness

We must use what we have to invent what we desire.

William Styron Quotes

We're all in this game together.

In depression this faith in deliverance, in ultimate restoration, is absent. The pain is unrelenting, and what makes the condition intolerable is the foreknowledge that no remedy will come-not in a day, an hour, a month, or a minute.

It is hopelessness even more than pain that crushes the soul

We each devise our means of escape from the intolerable.

Reading--the best state yet to keep absolute loneliness at bay.

Judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to answering the fundamental question of philosophy.

Let your love flow out on all living things.

Loss in all of its manifestations is the touchstone of depression--in the progress of the disease and, most likely, in its origin.

Kai Cheng Thom Quotes

I wanted to protect you, but I'm starting to think that the best thing you can do for people is teach them how to protect themselves. Every girl needs to be at least a little dangerous.

A sanctuary is a place where the door only locks from the inside.

Sometimes to be somebody else, you have to be nobody first.

You will be able to stop hurting people when you stop hurting yourself.

When you're a child trapped in a situation of physical or psychological depravation, you learn shame as an efficient, elegant mechanism of survival: shame simultaneously shields you from the reality that danger is out of your control (since the problem is not that you're unloved and deprived; it's that you're Bad) and prevents you from doing or saying anything challenging that might provoke a threat.

It's good for you to cry sometimes. Even if there isn't a reason.

When you live in a community of queers, anarchists, & activists, crisis is the baseline and stability an outlier.

You are mine like nothing has ever been before.

Safety is, I believe, an inherently classed, raced, and gendered experience that frequently runs the risk of being used for regressive ends--ironically, for restricting the freedoms of the vulnerable, those who are never really safe. Often, we see the call for safety actually reinforce the power of oppressive institutions, like the police and the prison system, in our lives. When we choose safety over liberation, our movements fail.

When they looked at me and my sister, even their love was hungry.

Some people will cling on to anything that makes them feel even a little bit free.

Forget, if you can, all the promises you've ever made and the lies that you've told.

Once you start hurting people, you can't stop

I feel tired. I don't want to be myself anymore.

Sometimes it's important to be alive.

Sometimes, there is nothing you can do but surrender.

You are always disappearing in the hope of being seen. You are always shrinking to fit into someone else's arms. You are collapsing ever inward, a galaxy to become smaller.

Gregory Orr Quotes

If we're not supposed to dance, why all this music?

Even hell is holy.

I was born with a knife in one hand and a wound in the other.

Maybe she loved me, maybe not--who knows? Not even the gods can see into a human heart--it's that dark.

Writing often reveals us to ourselves, lets us name what's important to us and what has been silent or silenced inside us.

And to live only once--what if that's not enough?

Maybe it was always simple: loss surrounds us. Who would deny it? We ourselves are loss, are lost.

I want to study the book of the world: every vanishing page.

The dead sing us songs I'm learning to answer.