#embracing that side of my culture so. good luck with that. at least she knows and (sort of) accepts it about me though

[arthur-r]

hey so im going to nebraska on thursday that’s a thing that’s happening

[demonslayedher]

The Sound Pillar past, I have heard that explore a bit in databook about being ninja.

Also what happened his sibling that still remain.

Also what there react

Combining info from the fanbooks and Chapters 80, 87, and 90 we get the following narrative of Uzui Tengen and his family, as complete as I could fill it in. It's always possible the anime version will expand and give us more, but here's what I've got in chronological format.

Uzui Tengen's father was the leader of their clan, one of a few ninja clans who lived in close community. Ninja were regularly sent on missions, but it is not clear what those missions were. Women and children were also expected to undergo strict training and go on missions, but women were primarily only valued as baby-makers, and it was common for one man to take multiple wives. The wives, at least in the Uzui case, were chosen upon agreements between families. (For more commentary on the unusual and cult-like nature of the Uzui ninja clan, please see this post.) In Chapter 80, Makio recalls how she never used to be afraid of dying because she was so brainwashed to believe her only value as a kunoichi (female ninja) was to put her life on the line in support of the strong male ninja. Tengen is the oldest of nine children. Of note, Fanbook #2 states that he has a mother and father from whom the nine children came, but as multiple wives is the norm in this village and Uzui was 15 when they were forced to fight each other, I think it's reasonable to assume many of them were half-siblings (even if all with one very busy wife, that would make the youngest one only around 7~9 years old or so, by my guess. But, it doesn't seem unreasonable in this clan that an 8-year-old would be expected to take part in this fight.)

Tengen had his three wives by the time he was 15. Since he is 23 when canon takes place and Hinatsuru (from a ninja clan second in rank to the Uzui clan and who has a good balance of core ninja skills) is 21, Makio (physically a highly capable ninja but her short temper causes her to fail her missions and yes, she is Tengen's cousin, please restrain your knee-jerk reactions and accept the cultural difference and move one) is 20, and Suma is 19 (and yes, Fanbook #2 said she likes both men and women), that means his wives were respectively 13, 12, and 11 when they fled the village. As Suma's younger sister was originally the one being considered as a bride, this means they were willing to marry off girls even younger than that. See this post for more commentary on multiple wives in the Taisho period, and as an added note, the legal age for women to marry in Taisho was 16. The Uzui ninja clan was entirely counter-cultural in the first place, though, so this doesn't apply very directly to them. Furthermore, due to their curse, the Ubuyashiki clan had very usually early expectations for children to wed, and they always run a not officially recognized organization. Otherwise, most of the cast seems to follow more usual Meiji/Taisho family patterns. Of the nine siblings, three of them died before Tengen turned 15, simply due to the lifestyle. When Tengen was 15 (clarified according to Fanbook #1), Tengen's father pit the remaining six siblings against each other so that only the strong would remain. They were all concealing their identities and did not know they were fighting their own siblings. According to Fanbook #2, Tengen killed two of them, and his younger brother (second oldest) killed another two, and Tengen was pissed when he realized what was happening. He couldn't bring himself to kill his remaining brother, though that brother was just like their father when it came to his values that only the strong should survive, and he really didn't care about killing his own flesh and blood. This was when Tengen decided he didn't want to live like this, and he took his wives and fled. For a while (according to Fanbook #2), he often said he should go to hell, but this made Makio angry, it made Hinatsuru cry, and it made Suma bite him so he stopped saying that. He did continue to think that he should eliminate the rest of this evil Uzui clan, but he could never bring himself to kill his father and little brother. (So, fanfic writers, grab your pens, we can assume the Uzui clan is still active.) Anyway, once he was free of that lifestyle where he had to constantly hide his presence, he thoroughly rebelled and embraced the flamboyant.

It's unclear when and how Tengen learning Breathing technique. It's possible there was knowledge of this technique in some form or another among the ninja (though his wives don't seem to display it), and it's also possible he learned from a cultivator. Sound is an off-shoot of Thunder, but it's unclear whether Sound was established before he came along, or if he created this Breath to make extra use of his keen hearing. (What I would give to see Tengen/Kuwajima interactions, preferably arguing about which Breath is superior.) It's unclear how much time passed between fleeing the clan and joining the Demon Slayer Corps. Given his ninja skills, as soon as he found out about the Corps (and perhaps by extension, demons), passing the Final Selection was probably a breeze for him. It was either right after the Final Selection (and therefore still waiting for his uniform), or just as he had made up his mind to join the Corp that he declares his new rule to his wives: their lives are #1 priority. #2 priority is morally upright humans, and #3 is Tengen himself.

And they're like, "whaaaaaaaat."

But sure enough they all accept the demon slaying mission, and before long, Tengen and his wives meet Oyakata-sama one fine spring day, I assume upon attaining the rank of Sound Pillar. Oyakata-sama sympathizes with how hard it must had been for Tengen--for all of them--to go against what they were raised to believe, and to fight to protect people in what they've deemed a morally upright course of life. Tengen's like, "this guy gets it" and becomes as big a fanboy as any other Pillar is for Oyakata-sama. It's purely conjecture, but I'm guessing he and Oyakata-sama both were somewhere around age 15~17 at this meeting (again, we don't know how much time has passed since Tengen left the ninja. Due to Kanae and Tengen's shared presence at later flashbacks, he couldn't had been older than 18~19). Tengen goes on to be super popular. The most popular Pillar in the Corp, Taisho Rumor has it. His wives all help on missions too, but there's an agreement that they'll get out and live a happy domestic life once they've bagged an Upper Moon--enough of a contribution to, perhaps, to feel they've atoned for the sins they committed as ninja (or at least, this was how Hinatsuru proposed the idea). Once the arm gets chopped and the eye gets cut, Tengen gains a really good excuse for retiring, but it was just his luck to have declared three Tsuguko within hours of his forced retirement. (Like, I doubt this counts for anything. And if he ever calls them that again his trio of Tsuguko are probably going to be more confused than anybody else.) Anyway, Nezuko brings him back from the brink of poison-induced death and he basically walks home. While still involved in the Corp in training the rank and file members and guarding Kiriya upon his becoming Oyakata-sama (meaning he, like Himejima, was trusted with knowledge in advance about Kagaya's very flamboyant exit plan). After that he truly goes into domestic retirement mode and makes friends with a fellow lop-sided former Pillar, however drab he always thought that person was. He takes enough of a liking to said former Pillar that he brings him along on co-ed hot spring dips and lets him hold his first child. Which of the three wives birthed the first child, we don't know. And then one of his descendants goes on to be a flamboyant gymnast, but still gathers once a year under Ubuyashiki's leadership to perform the Sound Breath forms as a sacred Kagura dance. And we still don't know what became of Tengen's brother. For all we know, modern gymnast Uzui Tenma and his six other siblings regularly avoid explosive attacks on their life from a generations-held promise to eliminate them. PARKOUR---but more flamboyant. (I hope it's obvious that I am being silly here and have no canon basis for this.)

[tokoyamisstuff]

Scandal Ch. 2 - Loki x Reader

Summary: To preserve his secret, Odin sacrifices you and his grandson.

Warnings: Angst, basically everyone treats you like shit

Words: ~2200

A/N: Thanks for everyone who commented on the previous chapter, it really means much! I hope to not disappoint as I continue the story...

I Story Masterlist I General Masterlist I

Taglist: @hi-there-x @haloangel391 @misssilencewritewell @babayaga67 @accioremuslupinn @mochimommy2002 @just-someone-who-likes-to-write​ @damalseer​

“What if I turn out to be a horrible father?”

You remember it as if it was yesterday that you announced the pregnancy to Loki, who at first was deliriously happy. He showered you with praise and love, celebrating this occasion as the peak of your marriage - the relationship both of you had put so much passion into.

It was only a matter of time until the prince would do as he always did, destroying his own happiness through overthinking. So soon, his mood shifted from thrilled anticipation to worry preying on his mind.

Yet considerate as he was, Loki didn’t want to stain your happiness through his self-consciousness, for weeks keeping up the play until he ultimately collapsed at the pressure he was putting himself under.

“All my life, I haven’t been worthy of anything...” he exclaimed, making wild gestures as he paced around in your room. “My fathers love, the warriors respect, the admiration of the folk...everything I claim to be I fail!”

“Loki, you-”

“Don’t tell me to calm down, Y/N!” he sharply cut you off just to feel bad for raising his voice at you. “S-Sorry, it’s just...I’m...I’m unfit to bear such responsibility.”

“My love” you cooed sympathetic, already welcoming him with open arms. “Come here.”

Immediately he rushed to your side, quiet whines turning into frantic sobs as your embrace broke down the last of his defenses.

With his head resting in your lap, you busied yourself untangling his locks before daring to speak from the heart.

“I know your upbringing made you believe you were undeserving of luck...but that simply isn’t true, my prince.” Your voice was like silk to him, calming and yet so incredibly impactful. “A witty, sensitive man being forced to live among such dull brutes...”

Yes, Odin had always been rather distanced. Cold, some might even say. Especially when it came to his second born Loki, you always had a feeling that something was plaqueing his mind, keeping the kind from treating his son properly.

Luckily, he at least had his mother Frigga - a formidable sorceress, calm and benevolent, and over time a great friend of yours. She had a major impact on Loki’s childhood, raising him into the man that was now before you. Her influence on his behavior was almost everything good he could see in himself, and you were thankful for her always believing in him.

However, though even she seemed to have her secret burdens to carry - well, who doesn’t?

Stopping yourself from insulting Asgards’ warrior culture any further, you continued your speech elsewhere.

“Just because you’re no part of this world doesn’t mean you belong nowhere! It pains me that you always only see what you lack, my love. You are blind to your worth, and unaware of your qualities. My prince, you are strong, wise and the kindest man in the nine realms! I love you, Loki Odinson, more than anything ever before!”

Your husband looked up to you, eyes incredibly vulnerable - yet also full of pure, unconditional love.

“I’ve found my tribe already, Y/N. A place I call home.” Loki placed his hand on your heart before wandering down to your belly, where your child was growing to bless this world. “It’s right here, with you! And I desire nothing else. No throne, no wealth could provide what you gave me!”

His lips moved against yours, unwilling to ever part again. Tonight, he shall proof his determination. Where his father went wrong, he will learn from those mistakes and make a difference.

Until the end of time, he will protect and provide for you and this child - his newfound, glorious purpose.

“Thank you for this precious gift of life, Y/N...”

_______

Your eyes snapped open when the memory of those carefree days ended, the brutal push of a guard bringing you back to your terrifying reality again.

"No harm shall ever come to this child!”

Your subconsciousness was screaming at you, a tunnel view focused your mind on that one desire. “I need to protect him!”

It didn’t matter what would happen to yourself. As long as your son would be assured of a safe and happy life, you’d be fine with becoming the scapegoat of whatever mess your family had been dragged into.

Even though you were already in chains, roughly dragged through the hallway, you couldn’t help but hope that Loki would eventually come to clear things up and safe you.

“Shh...” The child was sleeping soundly, wrapped in a fabric around your body. “Everything will be alright. Your father loves you, he just doesn’t know it yet.

The throne room immediately fell silent upon your arrival, two guards harshly forcing you to kneel in front of the Allfather.

People from all across the kingdom had gathered to witness this phenomenally trial, booing and yelling curses towards you and your innocent newborn - with some even throwing stones or rubble at you.

How dare they threatening your child?! Just one look of yours was enough to silence them in fear, even though you could grasp a fraction of a conversation questioning your sanity.

“Why...?” Tears were prickling in your eyes once again, curled up on the floor and desperately trying to shield him, still unable to fully grasp the situation. “We haven’t done anything! He’s just a child!”

Everyone was staring you down with nothing but hatred and disgust staining their glares - people that always before admired their beloved princess.

And among them, there he was: Your husband.

It was impossible to guess just what he was feeling, let alone thinking now that he saw you shivering beneath him - his beloved wife humiliated in front all of Asgard.

“How do you plead?” The Allfather’s voice was calm on the outside, but you could clearly decipher the storm hiding beneath.

“I-I don’t know-” Several times you attempted to explain yourself, yet your voice broke down as you tried to not break out into convulsive sobbing. “I don’t know how this is possible, yet...”

Hesistantly, you presented his beautiful face to the audience, now that he had completely adapted to the Asgardian outerior. You’ve heared some of them gasp or whisper in between spiteful laughs, accusing you of foul magic to save your own skin.

However, when Frigga laid eyes upon her grandchild, she was unable to contain herself any longer. No matter how much she pleaded for her husband’s mercy, to just end the circle of lies and reveal Loki’s true heritage, the Allfather’s decision was ultimate.

The Allmother weeped painfully, knowing the unjust fate that was already written. Without letting the witnesses peek underneath her facade for too long, she fled this trial and disappeared into her chambers.

What was the meaning of this?!

“Odin, my dear inlaw...I beg of you to believe me!” you stammered, pleading on his humanity as your shaky hands still showed him this pure, little creature. “I vow upon my own life: This child bears Loki’s blood!”

“Bring the cascet” the visibly strained king demanded, and one of the guards did as he was told.

“Wha- don’t!” you hissed as they got closer, but another soldier was gripping your wrists, bringing them away from your baby. “What is this?! What are you doing to my child?! NO!”

Right now several people were needed to contain you, cheek pressed against the floor while Loki was unable to watch any more, his heart’s strings tearing at the sight. He turned around, covering his own mouth to contain his strangled sobs as tears began to run freely.

No matter the pain you unleashed on him: Loki Odinson loved you more than reason allowed him to, and it dreaded him that he couldn’t change that fact.

Another one of Odin’s soldiers picked up your child and held it in range of the cascet’s influence.

The hall was drowning in noise when your son revealed his true form, screams and insults echoing through the whole palace.

“Loki!” you begged yet again to no avail, “You are his father! How can you let them do this to him?! Help us!”

Your husband’s look was stern, cold and lifeless - as if your betrayal had drained him of any hope he had left inside of him.

All of his life, he desperately tried to belong, be loved and appreciated - and starting his own family was his first and final hope of achieving this.

Of course, he told himself. This was just fitting for his joke of a life. Happiness is a foreign concept for him, and he will only ever grasp a brief fraction of it before it will be taken away from him again.

“Y/N...you are dead to me.”

And just like that, your husband had disappeared, unable to take any more.

The love of your life had ultimatively abandoned you and his own son, choosing to not trust you - and leaving you alone in midst of those people despising you, and wishing for your death.

“Monster!” “Horrifying!” “Traitor!” “We should execute them both!”

All those words were hammering against your head, shattering your heart into pieces. “Please!” you screamed from the top of your lungs. “Do whatever you want with me, just spare my child!”

“Very well” Odin spoke without any remorse, “You should be grateful: My son has pleaded for your lifes to be spared, even though death is all you deserve for commiting such an atrocity.”

Your eyes widened at his words, for a second completely forgetting about all those horrible things your husband told earlier: Loki actually spoke up to his father, just to assure your safety?!

There was still hope for him to see the light, you just couldn’t give up!

Yet when he pronounced the sentence, your blood ran cold none the less:

"I, Odin, speaking for all of Asgard, find you guilty of high treason against our glorious kingdom. Since you are beyond forgiveness, you are no longer a citizen of Asgard. Hereby, I cast you out, to serve your sentence on Jotunheim, among your equals!”

“N-No, you can’t, I-I p-please-”

This was even worse than the mercy of a quick death, and they knew it!

Why not Midgard, among those mortals? The Allfather knew very well that this place of cold and darkness was a deadly environment to anyone - and if the Jötunns would find an Asgardian roaming around in their territority, a painful death at their hands was certain.

“Enough!”

Only this one word fell from Odin’s lips, his sceptre crashing on the ground with keen force, magically breaking the floor beneath you. You tried to struggle, scream, anything - yet his power was too overwhelming, silencing all of your struggles as the portal sucked you in.

“Hereby, I, the Allfather, cast you out!”

_______

Cold. So damn cold. And dark. You couldn’t see a single thing in midst of a heavy snowstorm.

There you were, in the middle of nowhere. On Jotunheim, with that little Asgardian clothing.

Your body was using all of it’s might to keep your body temperature up, but you knew if you didn’t find shelter soon, you will freeze to death.

Nonetheless: A mother’s resolve was nothing to mess with!

And so you continued your travel through this unknown land, the love for this child being your only motivator. No pain, no heartbreak could stop energy from lighting your veins on fire.

A weight fell from your heart when you saw your son being completely unaffected by the cold, having turned blue once again. The muscles of your mouth already hurt from the cold, as a pained smile spread across your cheeks knowing at least he will be fine.

“Shh..” Hushing the little one, you tried your very best to keep it together, no matter how broken and pained you really were.

You only need to find someone to care for him, that’s all that matters.

Yet here, all you would be able to find were monsters, having the reputation of being remorseless killing machines.

All those tales about Jötunns, their primal brutaility and lack of empathy, were they true, or just exaggerations as means of war propaganda? For millenias, you never wasted a thought on that topic, but now a completely different light shined upon Asgard and their history of how they gained power over all the realms.

Maybe Odin was the bad guy after all...

“You are dead to me.” Those words would leave scars that will forever be engraved in your heart.Tears now ran down your cheeks, freezing almost immediately before they fell into the snow.

Your lips and fingertips had already turned blue, eyelashes covered in ice. Crazy to think that just a short time before, you were still in labor, and now burdening your body again just like that.

How many time had passed since you were banished? Must be at least several hours. Without a sun ever rising, one was quick to become disoriented.

And there was still no village or cave in sight.

“I can’t give up yet...” Anyway, you were too weak to even form a proper sentence, exhausted body collapsing into the snow without your control. In one last, desperate attempt, you curled up around your child, wanting to protect him with your body even after you’d decease.

“Pathetic...”

This foreign voice made the adrenaline in your system allow your eyes to squint open again, if only for a mere second. And there he was, you knew from the ceiling painting in the palace: Laufey, king of the Frost Giants.

And then, everything went black.

[nightswithkookmin]

chile i'm so glad i came across your blog, the amount of "i'm not going to assume they're dating" or "we can only draw certain conclusions but i can't say for sure" "we don't know their sexuality, BUT" type blogs i follow is getting kinda wack lmao. while i appreciate their perspective and nuanced takes i need to strike a balance. like let's get a lil delulu every once in a while. 💀

lol the im-not-a-shipper-but-call-jikook-boyfriends-every-other-post blogs are the funniest to me. the shipping hierarchy, so to speak is so weird. maybe just because im not a "shipping real people is bad" person i don't see the big deal. gonna get called delulu anyway, might as well go full out. they is gay/queer and they're fucking. i'm so sorry.

*also can we touch on the fact that shipping in this type of fandom (kpop) is kind of inevitable and unavoidable??! these boys are the other people we see them with day in and day out, interacting with each other and no one else. i feel like it's natural to ship when there's no other people around to break up everything, idk maybe someone can articulate this better than me. and people who are made to feel stupid for thinking that 2 members could actually be dating is so dumb. like is it really out of the realm of possibility that two people (jikook, cause all them other ships are....😬) who spent almost every waking minute together for like 8 years could fall in love. really?

/rant

It's the delulu hat for me

Lmho.

I guess for me being queer, I feel it's gaslighting for these people to be saying things like that. As silly as it is, it inadvertently deny and invalidate the existence and queerness of gay individuals and so I struggle with it.

This is the consequences of straight people in gay people business. They like defining gay parameters for us and it's like who asked you?? I feel people who say things like that are just plain ignorant or tone deaf or willfully homophobic.

I don't think everyone in BTS is gay but it makes me feel safe to see half the community assume them to be and celebrate them in that way. They are not cussing at them and threatening to leave the fandom or cancel them for this assumption and that is huge inspiration to me.

Those parts of the fandom are a safe space to be in as a queer army.

When people assume a person's queer sexuality they are simply admitting to themselves at the very least that LGBTQ EXISTS. This is important to me because I grew up in a community where LGBTQ didn't even exist in the collective consciousness of the people and EVERYONE IS AUTOMATICALLY ASSUMED TO BE STRAIGHT AND EXPECTED TO BE.

People read people's sexuality all the time and have done so since time immemorial and a lot of the time when they have had a sexuality read it's in the lines of straight, cis, rich, poor, superior or inferior. And that is a problem for some of us too because that discrepancy in the assumptions is as a result of homophobia and heteronormativity.

That whole don't assume a person's queer sexuality debacle sounds to me like a boujee way of denormalizing and preventing the normalization of queerness disguised under care, disguised under intelligence and disguised under wokeness. Especially when straightness is the default setting in this giant blue bulb.

We need to radicalize that. We need to change the cis straight default setting and if you are perpetuating this narrative you really aren't helping the situation. SIT DOWN.

I'm rarely assumed to be queer in certain circles and while that makes me feel comfortable within those circles it often times make it hard for me to admit my queerness openly in those circles too because I fear I will lose that comfort and respect and love and privileges that comes with being percieved straight in those spaces.

When I started my blog, I noticed some people assumed I was white and would use certain black descriptors as slurs when describing other people to me. I quickly had to switch the formal way in which I wrote to a much casual tone so my blackness would show through. Don't get it twisted. She black. She blackidy black black.

Then on the other hand, I was hesitant to let my queerness be known too because being black, I was marginalized as it is- you is black, or sound black💀 you know how it is- it's that intersectionality of oppression at play. Double double homicide.

When certain people realized I was black POC minority, their attitude towards me changed. I had those who didn't so much understand what black language is or perhaps wasn't used to being in black spaces and were uncomfortable with my blackness- these would take offense at me saying certain things in certain ways. Like chilee relax Karen, all I said was these motherfukkers gay as shit and they gay. Why you acting like I called them twinks or sommin. Right there, I'm cancelled for calling Jikook motherfuckers. They get sirens and everything😭😭😭😭😭😭

Same vein, I struggle destraightening myself or correcting people who assume I'm straight because I fear they will treat me differently if they knew I wasn't.

Straight privilege exists in the same way as white or even pretty privilege may exist and because these exist there's that automatic conception of queer, poc, ugly, fat disemfranschismet to run along side it.

People treat you differently based on how they perceive you. That's a fact. And for queer people, perceiving us as straight is the only way we get to be treated as human by the masses. And a lot of us embrace that- straight until proven gay am I right 🤣🤣🤣🤣

It's the duper's delight for me. Untill you catch me with a 5'8 melanin skinned silk pressed auntie on my left nipple good luck proving I'm gay.

It can be fun, I akekeke when some people around me are totally oblivious to the fact and even sometimes defend my straightness with their dying breath when nasty friends throw them shades or try to out me unprovoked.

A lot of us don't want to admit we are gay because we don't want to be disenfranchised.

I speak for myself when I say this.

But 'Don't assume someone's sexuality' is a double edged censorship used for and against queer people. It seemly offers protection on the surface of it for queer people but underneath it promotes heteronormativity and standardizes straightness and it is also used to promote closet culture, under the disguise of care and concern for the autonomy of queer people but that is a fallacy because our autonomy has never mattered to anyone since the dawn of homophobia.

And I don't know where this interpretation comes from. Why do people not want to assume queer people's sexuality but it's ok to assume straight people's???

It feels like a hijacked movement to me.

THIS IS THE ACCURATE MOVEMENT AS FAR AS I'M CONCERNED.

Don't assume all people are straight. It's ok to assume some people are queer because queer people exists too.

It is wrong however to assume queerness based on how a person talks, walks, dresses or even on their body type. That is stereotyping. And stereotyping is wrong.

When it comes to Jikook, Jimin is often stereotyped as gay more so than Jungkook because they have different body structures. Jungkook is stereotyped too solely because of the way his wrists hang, or based on moments he's femininity shines through.

But I don't think shippers stereotype Jikook in that way at all. I dont think shippers believe Jikook are dating eachother simply because Jungkook applied setting powder to his face that one time. They assume they are gay only because they believe those two to be dating eachother. That is not stereotyping. If those two were heterosexuals I don't think people will accuse their shippers of stereotyping.

It's one thing to assume Kai is gay because he looks skinny and dances well. It's another to assume he is gay because in a relationship with Gdragon. And if people can't tell the difference between the two, they should get some education and stop talking about things they know nothing about or only know because they stumbled across user69 on Twitter. They are not helping.

Untill people get offended when people assume others are straight, that rhetoric doesn't matter in its inequality. If you ask me, everyone is gay until proven straight.

Yet how many people will take offense at that?

Assuming people can be gay is not delulu.

It's ok to assume people can be gay. It's wrong to stereotype them as gay. If you can't assume they are gay, don't assume they are straight and don't assume at all. Run with this sis.

Wait, they don't ship Jikook but they call Jikook boyfriends???????👀👀👀👀👀

The fake woke syndrome will kill people in this fandom with these mentally confused thought crisis bunch💀💀💀💀

Jikook themselves are shippers💀

Smh

GOLDY

[haravath0t]

parol (with filipina!reader)

Warnings: angst (if you squint), immense fluff, and a big word count (sorry)

Summary: The holidays are approaching and reader shares some of her favorite Christmas traditions with Bucky as they decorate, but a little incident happens. To lighten up her spirits, James surprises her on Christmas Eve. 

A/N: Hi everyone! I hope you had a great Christmas and New Year! Now with time in my hands I was able to complete this work! I rarely see any Filipina!Readers so I wrote this, as Christmas and my heritage is something I hold close to my heart. It is my first one shot, so bear with me! I hope you all enjoy!

*italics indicate flashbacks!

Today was not your day. You wanted to go home after doing reports and paperwork, surprise Bucky with a nice dinner and pumpkin pie, video call your family that lived in the Philippines to open the gifts you shipped over to them, and call it a day. However, luck was not on your side. Oversleeping, last minute additional reports, agents that were slacking off during training, misplacement of papers, everything you could never dream of happening all in one day happened. You walked over to Bucky, who was leaning against the black car waiting for you as he toyed with the car keys. “Hey, sweetheart, come on why don’t we- you okay?” He asks, concern apparent in his voice as he watches you angrily open the door. “Swell.” Bucky knew better than to push you into talking based on the way you slammed the door and did the better option as he drove you two out of the headquarters to your shared apartment: wait till you talk. “It’s been a bad day,” you sigh in frustration as you look out the window, relaxing when Bucky nods in understanding. “It’ll be alright, sweetheart, talk to me.” And so you did, which led to you both agreeing on having take out for dinner to save yourself from more stress. The two of you were carrying bags filled with take out and lovely desserts as you went into the apartment, leaving you to close the door behind you with your feet. Unfortunately harder than you had intended to. The laughter had died when you heard the sound of something breaking not too far from you both, causing your whole face to drop. The once brightly lit parol, had shattered into pieces, leaving the lights inside to flicker. That did it for you. The tears that have been threatening to fall from your eyes all day have started to drop. “Y/N…” Bucky starts softly, cutting himself off when he sees you quietly and carefully approach the now broken parol, trying to pick the broken pieces up. “Y/N, careful,” Bucky says worriedly, putting his set of bags down to stop you from hurting yourself. “It’s… it’s broken Buck…” you say in disbelief and disappointment, sniffing as you wipe your tears. “Hey. It’s going to be alright, sweetheart. We can work something out-” “It’s my only parol.”

“It’s okay, hey we still can video call-” “My family had opened their presents by now.” Bucky was stumped for you to say the least. He couldn’t even figure out what to say to you over the quiet dinner table when you barely picked up your food and when you immediately retreated to the bedroom, quiet sniffles echoing. He knew that feeling all too well, having something so connected to your identity be taken away in a moment’s notice. He knew one thing though. He wanted to make you feel at home, and he was going to do something about it.

---

“What do you have there, baby doll?” Bucky questions as he watched you open a square shaped box. He smiled when you didn’t respond, a little habit of yours that he has loved knowing that you could not contain your excitement. “A parol!” you squealed, revealing a carefully crafted ring with a star shaped piece in the middle. It was made of red, white, green, and yellow dyed capiz shells. He had never seen anything like it before. 

He continues to look at the parol, blush forming on his cheeks in embarrassment when you laughed at his curious gaze. “Parols are pretty much Christmas lanterns back in the Philippines. They normally are shaped as stars and they light up at night! It definitely shows the Filipino Christmas spirit,” you explain to him as your excited eyes meet his. Bucky loved hearing you explain your culture, especially since you have been quite homesick since joining the team and having a place of your own. You did not want your family to know too much of what your job entailed. With that being said, whenever you got a chance to immerse yourself in the culture you grew up with, you always took the chance. 

“Want to help me hang it?” You ask, already finding the right spot for it. “Of course doll, let’s go” he replies with a smile, following you to the window to help. Bucky had to admit, the parol looked wonderful. He watched the lantern in satisfaction as it lit up in wonderful patterns, a sight he can’t wait to become accustomed to. “Must really take long to make these,” he remarks as his eyes admire the lantern. “It does… especially these, but they’re all beautiful.” You sigh happily hugging your boyfriend as you watch the parol, twinkling bright as the snow slowly fell gently outside the apartment’s window. 

“God I missed this. You wanna know something?” Bucky’s eyes turned away from the lantern and looked at you intently. 

“Yeah?” 

“This has been around since I was a kid.”

“Really, now?”

“Mhm! I always grew up being surrounded by the culture and my family and I always loved showing it off during the Christmas season. Of course not like in the Philippines though, but we always tried to remember home here. I hope you don’t mind. I asked my parents to bring it over, so I can have a piece of them with me.” The way your face fell in melancholy and embarrassment did not come unnoticed by Bucky. “I don’t mind at all, sweetheart. This is our place, right? Besides, it adds a little flare to our little place doesn’t it?” he questions with that charming smile, making you reciprocate it back in relief before you kiss his cheek. 

“It does… thank you.”

--- 

A knock sounds through the now quiet apartment, making Bucky immediately make his way to the door. “Oh, Mrs. Y/L/N. Thank you for coming.” He says, gently taking your mother’s hand and bringing it up to his forehead just like you taught him. “Ahhh, bless you, bless you,” your mother responds while giggling, making her way into your apartment and sitting down on a couch. Bucky watched in surprise as she took out several simple materials from one of her plastic bags: string, small string lights, bamboo sticks, colored cellophane sheets, rubber bands, and colored tissue paper. 

“That looks different from the one she hung up a few days ago.” Bucky commented in surprise, only for your mother to look up at him with raised eyebrows. “You don’t expect me to make one that expensive looking, do you? No! I’ll buy one for you two later. But for now, let me teach you how to do it the traditional way. Come here.” Your mother beckoned, making Bucky smile as he took his seat next to you, excited for what’s next. 

“Yan! (There we go) What do you think? Pretty good right?” Your mother smiled, clapping quietly as Bucky smiled proudly at the simple parol he had just finished making. It was a simple one for sure unlike the incredibly detailed one you both hung, but he desperately hoped you would enjoy at least a substitute for the meantime. “Wow..it’s nice… thank you…” he started, only to have your mother wave her hand nonchalantly. “Ayyy… it’s no problem. I’m glad you made the effort to do this for her. Thank you.” She laughed when Bucky’s cheeks started to turn red and pinched them before standing up and taking the rest of her bags to the kitchen. Bucky was then confused, from the additional bags in the kitchen, the urgent sounding phone call in what seemed to be Tagalog, and your mother’s quick paced actions. “Is there a way I can help?” He asks, shyly. Your mother couldn’t help but laugh once again, dragging him into the kitchen with her. “I called her father so we can do this.” 

“What are we going to do, exactly?”

“Bring home to her!”

You sighed in relief as the door of your apartment was getting closer and closer. It was luckily a better day, just training and meetings before you were able to go home. You were very much ready to be greeted by your lover’s arms and wind down. However, that wasn’t the case, for when you closed the door, a familiar scent filled the air. “Wait a minute,” you whispered in disbelief, hurrying to the kitchen and saw several foods that you have terribly missed: pork barbecue, chicken afritada, bibingka, and rice cakes. You squealed with joy when your mom and dad yelled surprise, not hesitating to hug the both of them excitedly as joyful tears ran down your cheeks. “I’ve missed you guys! How did you come here?! What?!” you question in awe and denial, which made your parents smile. “You have to thank your boyfriend for that one, anak (child)” your dad replies to a smile.  “I called them over. To hopefully cheer you up.” A shy voice says. You turned around in surprise to see Bucky walking shyly to you with his arms behind his back. “That’s not the only surprise he has for you anak! Bucky, show her! Show her!” Your mother beckoned, resulting in yet another confused look from you. Bucky smiled shyly and revealed to you the parol that he had made earlier, causing another gasp to leave your lips and more tears to fall. 

“Buck… you made this?” Bucky smiled shyly “I did… I remembered you mentioning that people were able to make them, so I asked your mom to teach me, so we can have this for the meantime. I know it’s not much but-” His words were then cut off as you tightly embraced him, then went up on your tippy toes to shower your boyfriend with thankful kisses. “Oh, it’s more than enough, Buck… thank you. Thank you, so much.” You truly were grateful. You were aware that it may have not been easy for Bucky to call them up, let alone build a parol, and you were amazed beyond belief. The two of you hung the small and simple parol that lit up softly in the dark night, admiring the cute sight as your parents took pictures of the two of you with smiles beaming on their faces. “Come on then, you two, let’s eat!” your dad exclaims, laughter filling the walls of the apartment.

 “I can’t believe you,” You whispered to Bucky, holding his hand as you both walked to the table. “Couldn’t let my girl go through her favorite holiday being sad, can’t I? What kind of boyfriend would I be? I figured you could have a piece of home with you for the holidays, so I wanted to give my girl a surprise..” You giggled and nodded and kissed his knuckles, your eyes meeting his wonderful blue ones. 

“I love you so much, Buck. Thank you. But my home wouldn’t be complete without you in the picture, couldn’t it?” 

“Neither would mine, baby doll.”

You took a final look at the parol and back at Bucky, smiling in content as he led you to the dinner table. You held that parol close to your heart, as it showed the efforts and the simple actions that you two took into making each other happy. The fact that Bucky would do this for you was remarkable to you, and that alone proved to you that it didn’t matter where you were, for James Buchanan Barnes was now always there to proudly remind you of home.

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Main Masterlist

[thiswasinevitableid]

Furies (Mermay OT4)

Request from @angellioncosplay, fill is NSFW

The jagged edge of the harpoon slices into his tail. 

Barclay knows he’s doomed but he thrashes and tries to dive all the same. He doesn’t know what the boar above wants, doesn’t care, he just wants to go home, he has to make it back to them, please, all he wants is to see them again. 

A second barb pierces his side, blood clouds his vision. 

In the darkness below, he thinks he sees two red lights racing closer. Then the harpooners tug, and the world snaps to black.

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

“Is he stable?” Duck whispers as Aubrey swims out of Barclay’s bedroom, shutting the door behind her. 

“Yeah. I’m glad Indrid warned us when he did; if he’d lost much more blood, I’m not sure even my powers coulda helped.”

“And Joe and ‘Drid?”

“They’re gonna stay with him. I think they’re okay but, well” she sighs, shakes her head, “if that’d happened to Dani, I don’t think anything could make me leave her side.” She loops their arms together as they swim to the door, “do you wanna come stay with us? I know this is hard on them, but you had to, like, break a harpoon in half while one of your friends almost died.”

“Nah, oughta stay in case any of ‘em need somethin.”

“You want to keep Dr. Harris Bonkers for extra support?” She holds out her sea bunny.

Duck rubs it’s back, “I’ll be okay, but thanks for the offer Lady Flame. You get home safe now.”

“I will. Oh” She turns, swimming backwards as she adds, “if he needs any more healing between now and tomorrow, come get me right away!”

He promises he will, locks the house up for the night and floats into the kitchen to put it back in some kind of order. Indrid’s sketch pad and enchanted pen are still on the floor where he dropped them, Joseph’s book and Duck’s half-built model ship knocked sideways from the seer pushing away from the table in a flurry of silver and panic. And on the counter are the ingredients Barclay’d set out for dinner, the ones he was checking off when he realized he needed scallops and swam off with a promise to be right back. 

Duck sighs, jumps when something whaps at the green-glass window. 

“Jesus Winnie, thought you were in the bedroom.” He cracks the window enough to lift the octopus inside. See slowly slides off his arm, swimming across the floor to the pile of salvaged ship instruments Duck and Indrid found for her. 

“Maybe this will keep her from stealing the silverware.” Barclay plucks a knife from the cephalopods tentacle. 

Suddenly, he’s too heavy to swim. They almost lost him. 

It’s simple, really. Duck is in love with Joe and Indrid. Joe and Indrid are in love with Barclay. But that doesn’t mean Duck doesn’t love the other mer; Barclay is one of his best friends, a sympathetic ear when things go south and the only one of the four of them capable of beating Joe at Ten Shells. Barclay also understands something about Duck that escapes many of their kind; that he can love Joe, curious and meticulous from his black hair to his dapper monochrome tail, and Indrid, strange and aloof until you gave him the right kind of stroke on his silver scales, with the same intensity. It just manifests in different ways. 

Duck cracks the bedroom door open, finds the wounded mer on his back in their large, seaweed colored bed. Indrid and Joe are nestled on either side of him. Normally, they’d be an undignified, loving pile, but the bandages on his stomach and tail prevent it. 

Indrid stirs, trilling in distress. His nightmares come and go, are most often the echos of horrible futures he was forced to watch over and over. Duck has a pretty good guess as the which one is playing in his mind tonight. 

He wiggles down onto the bed, draping his arm over Indrid’s side and guiding his bony back and red fin against his chest. When Indrid registers his weight, the nervous twitches of his tail stop. Duck glances up, watches Barclay’s hand glide down the bed to hold Indrid’s own. 

Someone almost took this from them. Almost ripped away pieces of the hearts of the mers he loves most in the world. 

And he wants to know who. 

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

“Dearest, how are you feeling?”

“Fine, totally fine.” Barclay tries to sit up as a demonstration, only for his whole body to convulse. He falls back against the bed, whimpering pathetically. 

“Hmmm, I was afraid that would be the case. There were some timelines where you healed quickly, but it seems the monsters who attacked you did a great deal of damage.”

“No, no, it was just a twinge, if you give me a sec I can-”

“-You will stay in bed.” Indrid’s red gaze sharpens, “no mate of mine is going to re-open his wounds trying to make me breakfast.”

“Besides” Joseph looks up from setting all the med supplies they need in tidy stacks and lines, “it’s not like Duck or I can’t cook. You need to rest, big guy.” He swims over, strokes Barclays hair. Barclay leans into the feelings, trying to ignore the fear gnawing a new hole in his side. 

In the three days since the attack, he hasn’t been alone. His boyfriends and friend take turns sitting with him, talking when he wants to and letting him sleep when he needs, bringing him food and changing his bandages without complaint. 

It’s all wrong. That’s not their job. It shouldn’t be, that’s what they have him for. Some part of him wishes they’d been too late. Because he doesn’t want to face what’s coming. 

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

“Any luck?” 

“Some. Juno says she saw an unfamiliar hull pass by about an hour before Barclay got attacked, but she wasn’t close enough to see any details.”

“Damn it.” Joseph slams the book one human weapons in frustration, then cringes at his outburst. 

Duck swims to him, pulling him up from the chair into an embrace, “We’ll figure it out, slick. Nothin else, happen to know we got a real smart mer workin the case.” He winks, kisses Joseph on the cheek. 

He snorts, then looks at the floor, “Some part of me is worried about what will happen if we do figure out who hurt him. I...I don’t believe in violence outside of dire circumstances, but they, they nearly killed him. I’d like to say my motive in seeking them out is to make sure they can’t hurt anyone else but, well, that’s secondary at best. What I want is to make them pay.”

“That makes two of us” Indrid slithers in the door, “he’s sound asleep, not to worry. I have narrowed down our potential culprits with my visions, but I too am afraid of what I may do if I locate the humans who dared harm him.”

“I get the feelin, but right now we’re mostly borrowin trouble. Let’s wait until we know a little more before decidin whether to track ‘em down.”

Joseph nods, opens his mouth to suggest one of them retrieve dinner from the fishmonger down the block, when there’s a crash from the kitchen. 

“Damn, Winnie must’ve gotten into the cabinets again.”

Indrid blinks, then frowns, “No, that is not her doing.”

Rushing into the kitchen reveals Barclay trying to arrange food on the counter. His upper body can barely move, and his tail is unable to maintain direction due to the bandages. 

“Don’t worry about, ow, me” Barclay smiles at them, but Joseph spots panic in his eyes, “th-thought I’d do some meal prep since you’re all gonna be busy this week.”

He’s about to point out that a)they’re all capable of feeding themselves even when busy and b)Barclay’s only been recovering for a week and a half and Aubrey explicitly told him it would be at least a month before he could move around without help.

Before he can make any points at all, Indrid draws himself up to his full height, frills of his ears fanned out and gestures to the bedroom, “You will do no such thing. You need your rest, dearest.”

“But-”

“That was an order, not a request.” It’s a tone that never fails to make Joseph’s spine turn to mush, and by the flash of pink in Barclay’s tail, he feels the same way. Then his whole tail drains of color and he nods. 

“Right. Sorry. I, I didn’t mean to upset you guys.”

Indrid’s frills flatten and he swims swiftly towards the other mer, “Barclay, I’m not-”

“It’s okay. I caused enough trouble already.” He catches Indrid by the chin to kiss him, blows a second kiss Joseph’s way, then disappears into the bedroom. 

As Indrid flicks his tail nervously, Duck clears his throat, “Know I joke about him not havin a selfish bone in his body, but this is startin to get ridiculous.”

The silver-scaled mer sighs, coiling his tail around Joseph’s own and opening his arms so Duck will come give him a hug. When the three of them are close together he murmurs, “ I saw this timeline, but I had so hoped it would not be the one we ended up in. I have mentioned before that the culture Barclay and I grew up in as deep water mers is very different than what you have on the reef. One component of that was the belief that a mer who could not carry his weight in his home would not be in said home for much longer. His mate or mates not only could, but were encouraged to, throw him out to make room for a more useful partner.”

The entirety of Joseph’s stomach crawls up his throat, “He really thinks we’d do that to him?”

“I suspect so.” Indrid rests his head on Duck’s shoulder, “Barclay is already prone to such fears, in that he prides himself on taking care of others. And it is a deeply ingrained message and practice, so much so that there are times I still fear you three may turn me away should my powers disappear.”

“‘Drid-”

The mer purrs reassuringly, “But then I remind myself that I am not down there. I am up here, with you who love me regardless of my strength. Seeing the future helps a great deal as well; I can peek and see there are no timelines where you turn me away. Hmm” his tail taps Sterns lower back, “I wonder, is there a way we can mimic that experience for Barclay? Help him see his future here?”

Joseph gets an idea and, for the first time all day, the sense that he’s getting somewhere, “I have a plan.”

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

Barclay isn’t sure if this is some cruel joke, or if his boyfriends genuinely believe they won’t grow tired of him needing to be cared for all the time. Regardless, he doesn’t know what to do when Joseph lays beside him, kissing his cheek and shoulder as he talks about how they should go see the Kelpie migration this fall, and how he’s heard about a human beach where they serve a swim-up meal to mers and humans alike, and wouldn’t it be nice for all four of them to visit and try the food?

He doesn’t know what to do when Indrid gently sits him upright and combs his hair, jumping from topic to topic between kisses to the back of his neck but always returning to what they should do for Joseph’s birthday, or Dani and Aubrey’s anniversary, or their own anniversary.

He doesn’t know what to do right now, Indrid sitting and drawing while Joseph finishes changing the bandages on his tail. The one on his side came off a few days ago, scar tissue forming a jagged tooth of pink and white in his skin. 

Duck swims in, greeting them all at once, his usually friendly expression somber. 

“Joe, ‘Drid, could I talk to you in the kitchen? It’ll only be a minute.”

His boyfriends nod, assuring him they’ll be back even as they swim away. He wishes he could believe it, but he can think of only one reason Duck would need to talk to them alone. With a sad little groan, he rolls onto his uninjured side and pities himself to sleep. 

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

“You’re sure that’s the one?”

“Positive. Minerva had a near miss with it this mornin, described the exact same thing Barclay did. Speakin of which, we know they’re down a few harpoons because the ones they sent after her she threw right back at them.”

“A fair response if ever there was one. Do we all agree on the plan?”

“Yep”

“Yes.”

“Good” A smile that could make a sea monster afraid, “then let us begin.”

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

Winthrop lounges on the deck of the Nemo as his guests and the hired guides mill around the edges of the boat. After that run-in with the mermaid earlier today, they’re on pins and needles, hoping to see and (finally) catch another. 

Is poaching in a protected cove illegal? Only if you don’t have the money to pay the fine. Is it wrong to hunt the rare creatures that call this stretch of ocean home? Wrong is a deeply subjective concept. 

Warmth leaves the deck as clouds swirl above the sun. 

“I say, wasn’t it sunny a moment ago?”

“Yep. Could be again, provided y’all head to shore and never come back here.” A voice calls from the bow. 

Everyone races forward, shouting in excitement when they discover the merman addressing them with an oddly calm expression.

“Don’t even think about tryin to spear me. You ain’t the only ones with weapons.”

A second mer surfaces, armed with a spear gun he clearly knows how to use. 

“Joe’s a damn good shot.”

The other mer fixes them with a steely gaze, “This is your last warning. Leave this cove and never try to hunt here again.”

“Or what?”

The whole boar rocks as something massive bumps the underside. Screams draw his attention to the silver, serpentine shape gliding through the water. A red fin breaks the surface and then it’s gone. 

Then the boat nearly capsizes as it rams the port side. In the darkening waves, the monster turns it’s head to look up at them. It’s red eye is the size of a steering wheel, but he forgets all about that when the creature rears up, jaws snapping, and narrowly misses dragging his wife off the boat between butcher-knife teeth. 

“Our friend here is mighty angry with you” the first merman rubs the monster's fin as it swims by him, “in fact, he’s downright furious.”

“And it looks like he’s decided to build up some speed before hitting you this time. I don’t think your boat will survive that amount of force.”

“Alright, alright we’ll leave, we’ll go and never come back.”

A hissing screech from the monster. 

“We swear!” He says, really meaning it this time. 

The first merman points towards shore, “then get goin’.”

The boat speeds away, and Winthrop decides to never, ever look back. 

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

“That was fuckin incredible darlin’”

“Thank you” Indrid returns to his usual form, groggy but pleased, “you were both wonderful as well.”

“Never been happier that you’re so into workin out how human machines operate” Duck kisses Joseph hard, one of Indrid’s favorite sights in the whole of the sea.

 “If you like how I handle a spear gun, you should see how I handle, um, other things.”

“I am” Indrid yawns, “in favor of that idea. But first, I believe I am due for a nap, and Barclay is due for an update.”

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

“You did all that for me?” Barclay twists his fingers in the blanket beneath him, trying to sound pleasantly surprised instead of confused. From the look Joseph and Duck trade, he’s doing a shit job. 

“Well, technically we also did it to keep the reef safe from hunters, and hopefully start a legend that will keep any like-minded poachers from coming within fifty miles of our home. Or our family. And yes, dearest, that includes you.” In the darkened bedroom, deep purple shimmers up Indrid’s tail. A signal to obey.

“I, I never said it didn’t.”

“Yes, but it has been on your mind for weeks.”

“I…”

“Barclay” Joseph settles beside him, taking his hand, “Indrid told us about what you two were taught about needing care or being helpless. I, we, none of us want you thinking that’s what will happen here. I promise.”

He doesn’t realize he’s crying, not until Indrid whispers “hush now, dear one” and carefully rests their tails together so that the wound is left untouched.

“I, I thought saying it would make it worse. Make you think I needed reassurance, which would just make it clear how useless I am. I, I know that sounds ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous to feel vulnerable or scared after something traumatic.” Joseph traces his fingers up and down his arm and his scales ripple in reply. 

“Nor to feel off-balance when you are unable to do what you usually do.”

“But you gotta tell us next time.” Duck rests next to Joseph, “we care about you, all three of us, but we can’t help if we don’t know what’s wrong.”

He flashes apologetic yellow, “You’re right. I’ll, I’m gonna try to be better about that. It’s just hard for me to let other mers take care of me sometimes.”

The purple returns to Indrid’s tail, and when he turns to look at Barclay his smile is no longer gentle and ethereal. It’s almost tangible enough to slice his chest and send everything he wants pouring onto the bed. 

“It seems to me, my dear one, that you could use some practice in that area.”

“Yes” he murmurs, then yips when Indrid bites his throat, “I mean yes, sir.”

“Much better. After all, your convalescence has made such things difficult until now. And yes, Joseph, I will keep an eye on the futures to be certain no one is hurt. Speaking of which: Duck, please adjust so Barclay’s head is in your lap. You’ll need to hold his shoulders down should he try and disobey me.”

A shift of the bed and then his head rests on mottled green scales. 

“Hey” He smiles up and Duck sends a crooked grin his way, setting more pink off in his tail. He may not want to fuck him, but Barclay’s not about to deny how handsome Duck can be.

This rumination distracts him from Indrid and Joseph’s conversation, so he’s pleasantly surprised when the black-tailed mer catches his lips in a kiss. It’s precise, down with calculated care that always makes him feel like the most interesting, important thing in the world. 

“That’s it big guy, relax for us.”

“I’, I’m tryINGfuck, it’s, it’s kinda hard when Indrid is doing that.”

Indrid chuckles, continues teasing the scales in his upper tail, “Shall I stop?”

“No, please no-”

“Please what?” His slit opens at the steel in Indrid’s voice. 

“Please sir.”

“Good boy. Ah, and here’s that lovely cock of yours. What shall I do with it, hmmm?”

“Anything you want sir.” He tries not to giggle as Joseph nibbles his ear.

“I was not asking you.” Indrid cocks his head at Duck.

“Huh” Duck toys with Barclays hair, “think I wanna see you suck it. Been too damn long since you had a dick in your mouth that wasn’t mine.”

Indrid licks his lips and then Barclay’s moans fill the bedroom as his boyfriend lovingly sucks the head of his cock. 

“Is now the time to mention he sucked me off yesterday while you were at work?” Joseph smiles up at Duck, though his hand is busy teasing Barclay’s nipples. 

Duck growls, “and you didn’t even give an encore where I could watch. Mighty rude of you. Both of you.”

“Don’t blame me” Indrid jerks Barclay off with one hand and fingers his slit with the other, “you know how needy our pet gets.”

“True. Guess I’ll have to put him in his place.” Duck looks down at Barclay, gaze soft in spite of his tone, “not tonight though. Tonight his job is to take care of you.”

“Speaking of which” Joseph turns his face into another kiss just as Indrid’s mouth envelopes his cock once again. He moans and whimpers between those perfect lips, a month of not even being able to touch himself meaning his body is already being dragged towards orgasm. His hand finds Joseph’s tail, petting it enticingly. 

“If you AHnnnfuck, lay perpendicular babe, I can suck you off without hurting myself.”

Joseph glances at Indrid, who pulls off of Barclay’s cock and shakes his head, “Not tonight, dearest.”

He whimpers, tries to lift his head, use his tongue to tease Joseph’s retreating tail, only or Duck to hold him firmly in place. 

“I know, sweet one, you do so love being inside our pet, whether with that talented tongue, those skillful hands, or this sinful thing.” He gives a final jerk, then uses his tail to guide Joseph into his former position, “And I would never deny you that pleasure. He’s such a good little pet after all.” He kisses Joseph posessively, then glides behind him and sets his hands on his waist, “which is why I am going to fuck him on you. I will control his movements, so as to avoid aggravating your injury.”

“And because you get off on it.” Duck adds.

“That too.”

“AHfuck!” Barclay’s whole tail lights up purple for an instant as Indrid shoves Joseph down onto his cock. He might submit to Indrid, but Joseph is the mer in the sea he most wants to claim, to fuck until he’s begging for more.

“Nghnshit, shit that’s so good big guy, fuck I missed this.”

“Ahem.” 

“Thank you Indridoh, ohohohohfuck.” Joseph’s hands scrabble on Barclay’s tail as Indrid bounces him up and down. He looks so handsome like this, cock hard and slit swallowing Barclay to the hilt, dark hair loose and framing his head like a crown. 

Barclay reaches for him, desperate for a touch, but Duck holds him down.

“Thank you, love, if he had moved just then he would have hurt himself.”

“Don’t care” Barclay growlwhines, “Joseph, babe, wanna touch you so bad.”

“You’ll get to, big guy, there’ll be plenty of chances after this.”

He growls, teeth clenched as the riptide of his orgasm pulls at him. 

“It’s okay big fella, you can let go. We’ve got you.” Duck’s voice, as soothing as the hand he scritches down his scalp. 

“Fuck” is all he gets out before Indrid pushes Joseph down and Barclay spurts up into him with moan. 

“Better, big guy?” Joseph’s smile is as dazzling as ever. 

“Uh huh.” His bones are mud, his eyes heavy, and he feels better than he has all month. 

“Good. Come, let me look you over and hold you. Duck and Joseph will join us shortly.”

“But I thoughtAHfuck” is all he hears before the sound of Duck frantically fucking Joseph fills one half of the room, his boyfriends moan switching from charming to mouthwatering as Duck keeps fucking him after he’s cum. 

Indrid builds them a nest on the other side of the bed, guides him into it to comb his hair and rub his aching shoulders, humming as he does. Eventually, Duck swims over to join them, Joseph more floating than swimming in his embrace. 

“How do you feel, big guy?”

“Good. Really, really good.” He closes his eyes, safe in the knowledge that his home and family will still be his when he wakes up.

Then he opens them again.

“Wait, so what the fuck did you actually do to the guy who harpooned me?”

[bbq-hawks-wings]

Series Review Pt. 2/3

Part One

Part Three

Continuing the trend, lots to read under the cut.

In part one we established that the central conflict of the series as a whole is not so much a black and white “good guys side vs bad guys side” but of a much more complex societal problem stemming from individual choices and series of choices made by individual people and the impact those choices have on others. This is the heart of the current conflict between Hawks and Twice.

Twice and Hawks share many things in common and have been shown to develop a genuine friendship in their shared time in the PLF. This, however, has not changed the fact that they are still functioning from opposite sides of the central conflict - at least the institutional facet of it. Each of them has taken up a position fundamentally opposed to the other in attempts to bring about their prospective “big picture” futures, but that comes with the added emotional baggage each carries from the events that have happened to them in their respective pasts.

The visual direction of the scene enforces this concept. Each one is seeing the other literally from a different angle and in a different light. Twice is on the ground prone in a room where the only exit is blocked while Hawks stands alert and at attention over him, obscuring the only source of light entering the room. 

From Twice’s perspective Hawks’ face is obscured- the harsh light from behind casting a dark shadow across any features that would clue him into what Hawks is feeling - and he has to use the context clues he has available (posture, words, immediate events) through tears and adrenaline to interpret how to respond to Hawks. He’s been so suddenly thrust into this situation he literally and metaphorically can’t properly tell which way is up from where he lies. (Note how Hawks’ silhouette is sideways and looming over him in the same direction as Twice would be seeing from his place on the ground on page 13.)

From Hawks’ perspective Twice is knocked off balance and panicking like a cornered animal, completely unaware of the larger situation at hand and how they arrived here. When the perspective of the camera shifts and we can see his face again for the first time we get a completely different picture of what’s going on. Importantly, we can see in the change in perspective a closeup (usually used to highlight the key emotion) of Hawks’ face, complete with a somber and compassionate gaze that Twice is incapable of discerning right now.

Read this section through again twice. The first time use only the frame from Twice’s perspective and the second time read it with Hawks’. This is something I’m actually intrigued to see the anime handle because depending how deep the divergence in perspective goes, even the vocal performance may be different depending on the camera angle.

Twice sees a sociopathic, unempathetic monster who has used, abused, and thrown away his sincere offer of friendship to get what he wants and then has the audacity to try to convince him to play the fool again to get Twice to betray his friends for an easy way out. Hawks sees a person who feels betrayed and scared so Hawks is trying sincerely to explain to him what has been going on in order to be transparent because that’s the only way he can think to communicate the fact that he still values Twice, ending on the note that he believes that while Twice has crimes to answer for, he is still a good person who deserves to have a real shot at a happy life and that Hawks is personally invested in making that a reality if he’s willing to take the offer and trust him.

Hawks is operating as an enforcing tool of the law, but while he believes that law is set in place for general stability and safety it takes a human to human connection and cooperation to save someone to whom the law is blind. On page 16 when he says, “I don’t want to fight you, Bubaigawara!” he’s identifying with him not as the villain Twice, but as a person with an identity and will separate from the personae he’s crafted for himself over the years. Hawks would probably use his own real name to try to hammer this point home if there was a way to naturally do it. If Bubaigawara continues to resist and fight Hawks cannot make the case to others that he deserves a second chance. 

The exact memory that comes to Hawks’ mind is Twice’s words, “Anyone who helps his friends can’t be all bad.” Hawks is trying to say in this scene, “I’m your friend! I’m trying to help you! I know you see me as the bad guy, but I want to be your hero so please let me save you the only way I know how! Please trust me!”

He needs the cooperation, but Twice resists and Hawks has no other choice but to operate as law enforcement for the sake of the greater good. Twice has chosen to be a “villain,” so Hawks has to be a “hero.” All those feathers were for Twice in the case Hawks needed them, and now Hawks has to subdue the Sad Man’s Parade alone as well as Dabi whom neither knows is on the way.

That’s the bad news, but the good news is that hope is not lost. 

This is where I repeat my mantra of “we won’t know specific, individual fates until they happen." However, I think there are notable observations to keep in mind as we watch these final battles unfold.

Coming off of the discussion with Twice and Hawks, many including myself (and arguably even Twice) have gotten hung up on whether Hawks will choose to join the League eventually. Where we are now, I think it’s become a moot point almost not worth discussion anymore. If he does, we’ll see it soon; but Hawks seems to recognize that as long as the core complaints of the individual League members - and any of their sympathizers, for that matter - are not directly addressed, some other criminal force will come alongside and clash with them continuing the cycle of bloodshed and violence as influential leaders focus on gaining power until they are absorbed or achieve their end goal of complete anarchy and societal destruction. (Remember, he’s been following the League and their movements at least as far back as Kamino.) We saw it with the MLA, we saw it with the Shie Hassaikai, and even with Stain - along with the League of Villains, it began with a guerrilla group of revolutionists seeking to right a societal injustice; but if and when a separate opposing force of revolutionist outsiders cannot agree with them a battle ensues until one is subjugated and the strength of the loser is granted to the victor. Until the underlying issues are addressed, this cycle will only continue.

This is also to bring up the fact that the League of Villains is genuinely strong in terms of interpersonal loyalty but as an organization with foundational core values and a unified end goal has been fractured and shaky since the beginning. We saw those particular cracks most prominently just before the fight with Gigantomachia when lack of outer conflict began to highlight the inherent lack of unity in the LoV, only to be interrupted once again when some outside force stirred up a reason for them to work together for survival. Remember, all of the current members of the League of Villains were initially attracted and recruited because Shigaraki falsely appropriated Stain’s ideology. Dabi has stated he wants a world where heroes are obligated to their families first and that thinking of the misery he’s left the survivors of killed heroes “drives him crazy.” Toga wants a world where she has a network of unconditional support without feeling repressed. Twice wants a world in which he can trust others and be trusted and useful despite his bad luck and occasional mistakes. Spinner has clarified he needs a cause to believe in and fight for that supports outcasts like him, and Mr. Compress’s reasons for joining the League are simply to challenge the current status quo instead of mindlessly embracing it.

Shigaraki’s nihilistic dystopia of “burn everything to the ground” is not necessary to achieve any of these goals, and if enough confidence in alternative solutions and doubts in Shiguraki’s loyalty grows in the minds of each member of the League it could genuinely fall apart at the seams, though that isn’t to say that the League isn’t an incredibly tight knit and loyal group - quite the opposite, they’ve constantly shown to be willing to risk life and limb for each others’ sake - just that they’re more concerned with tearing down the current order than restructuring a cohesive new one. However, if the context around their unity has genuinely shifted to center around Shigaraki himself as a symbolic leader as it's been implied since the fight with Gigantomachia and the MLA, this will be clarified very quickly.

Even for most other villains we’ve encountered through the series this violence-first upheaval of society is not necessary to realize most of their goals. Gentle Criminal sought to shake up heroes’ apathy and overconfidence in their strength - La Brava following him closely because of her unwavering loyalty to him as a person - and even Stain was not opposed to the concept of heroes, just an institution of heroism that breeds greed and apathy instead of elevating the ideals of heroism. 

There have been exceptions like the Shie Hassaikai (who sought a complete erasure of quirks from the human genome) and the initial ideology of the Meta Liberation Army (a world ruled by the strong with completely unimpeded use of quirks) that would have required an entire shift in society on a cultural, governmental, legislative, and economic level; but for most the heart of their issues with society is an issue of the heart - that is, a cultural shift is necessary first and foremost to alleviate the problems each of these criticisms address.

This drastic but necessary change has been difficult to achieve up until this point because most of the mouthpieces for these cultural criticisms are either not weighty enough to carry traction without the threat of violence or are held by those motivated by personal vengeance who are not guaranteed to sit and talk  about peaceful options even if the opportunity was presented to them. The “outsiders” are so deeply ostracized in the current social and political climate that they can’t get a word in edgewise to those “inside” who go mostly unaffected by the shortcomings the outcasts are attempting to bring to light. This is where the series’ proposed solution enters the stage.

[amalthea9]

Classic Who Fanfic: Minerva and Salamander

Part 3

Shorter but thought it was a good place to stop.

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

As the morning sun broke through the curtains, Minerva awoke and found that Salamander's arms were about her. It surprised her if she was being honest. 

She needed to find Jamie or Victoria and see if they had uncovered anything. 

As gently as she could, she lifted a hand to Salamander's temple, and induced a deep sleep by overwhelming his synapses. He would sleep for at least an hour more if the servants didn't stir him. 

She dressed and made her way out of the chambers. She approached the kitchen, hoping she might find Victoria. Thankfully she did. Victoria was peeling potatoes, and Minerva quickly whispered her name as she came to her side.

Victoria was so relieved to see Minerva that she embraced her tightly. 

“Oh, Minerva!” Victoria exclaimed. “I was so worried about you!”

Minerva held her tightly back, projecting her calmness onto Victoria.

“I’m alright, darling. Please don’t worry about me,” Minerva assured her. “Salamander hasn’t hurt me in any way!”

They released and Minerva quickly asked Victoria if she or Jamie had uncovered anything. Victoria  said they hadn’t, because right now Astrid was trying to save Denes because he’d been arrested by Salamander. Minerva now understood what she overheard yesterday. Priorities have changed for now. They need to get Denes out before they can gather information on Salamander. Minerva tells Victoria to not worry about her and to focus on whatever plan Astrid has to get Denes out. Minerva kisses Victoria’s forehead and left her in the kitchen. Minerva wanted to make herself useful, but she wasn’t sure how at this point. She decided to return to Salamander’s chambers and see if he was still there and try to keep him there.

As she makes her way down the halls, she is greeted by the sight of Salamander coming down the hall. She freezes instinctively, even though she’s done nothing wrong. Salamander is also still for a moment, and Minerva isn’t close enough to him to read his emotions.

But he smiles at her, and quickly comes over to her with his arms extended to her. 

“Ah! My princess!” he exclaims happily, taking her hands into his. “You were not there when I awoke! Are you alright?”

Minerva smiles in return, squeezing his hands in assurance.

“Oh, Ramon, I’m so sorry,” she apologizes meekly. “I was hungry and didn’t wish to wake you. You looked so peaceful in your sleep, I thought perhaps I could go to the kitchen and get something myself.”

Salamander chuckles and kisses her lips softly.

“It is quite alright, my darling,” he assures her. “I did indeed sleep very well.”

Salamander was still for a moment, his right hand now cupping Minerva’s cheek.

“I fear you wore me out last night,” he smirks, winking at her.

Minerva can’t help the blush that covers her cheeks as she looks away shyly.

“I would apologize for that if I didn’t know that you enjoyed yourself just as much as I did,” she replies softly, her eyes now meeting his with a flirtatious smile.

Salamander’s smile widens as he brings her into a kiss once more. This one isn’t as chaste, and Minerva knows it is one of claiming and dominance. He releases her but keeps a hand in hers.

“I must tend to business now, my darling,” he says sweetly. “Please, do what you wish today. All of my servants will attend to you.”

Minerva nods with a smile as Salamander kisses her hand and leaves. She watches him turn the corner, and wonders what she can do.

She thought perhaps to return to the kitchens, or see if she can find Jamie? This was frustrating. She wanted to be useful somehow. But what could she do?

She headed to the kitchens, if nothing else she did need some food. 

She does find Victoria there, and Victoria is relieved to see her return. She asks if she can have something for breakfast, and Victoria eagerly gives her some eggs and toast. Victoria sits next to Minerva while she peels apples.

“Minerva,” Victoria begins, her voice timid.

“Yes, dear?” Minerva asks as she takes a bite of her eggs.

“Are you...are you sure you’re alright?” 

Victoria doesn’t make eye contact as she asks this, continuing to peel.

Minerva knows that Victoria is worried about Minerva’s purity. The Doctor explained to Minerva Victoria’s time and culture, and how a woman who has sex before marriage was considered judged by society. Minerva knows that Victoria is concerned for her virtue, and although she doesn’t agree with Victoria’s culture, she understands she hasn’t known anything else. Minerva is quiet for a moment, then looks to Minerva with a kind gaze.

“Victoria,” she begins, her voice gently. “I promise I’m alright. I had to play this part. There was no other outcome once Salamander saw me. I don’t look like any other kind of woman he has seen before. Even I forget that I do not look like you or other human women.”

Victoria looks at her now, and Minerva smiles kindly. Victoria stops her work, and squeezes Minerva’s arm. She smiles in reply, and nods. “I know,” Victoria says softly. “I forget that too. I just...I don’t want him to...hurt you.”

Minerva takes Victoria’s hand into her own and squeezes it. “He has not hurt me, dear one,” Minerva assures her. Her voice soft and reassuring. “This will all be over soon and I promise I will not be changed by it.”

Minerva doesn’t know exactly what to say in this situation. But she hopes she is helping Victoria feel better about the situation that Minerva is in. Victoria nods, her eyes still filled with worry, but Minerva feels a sense of calm coming over her. They are silent now, as Minerva finishes her food and Victoria finishes her work.

Minerva leaves Victoria then, reassuring her that everything will be alright. 

Minerva wonders how she can pass the day now. 

She feels useless just being a consort, surely she can see if there's any information she can find to prove Salamander's guilt.

So she sets off down one of the halls.She was grateful that there weren't guards throughout the palace so that she could explore. She had only seen them with Salamander himself but not in front of every doorway.

She finds many rooms and many desks. But either they have no documents in them or they are locked. 

She knows Salamander isn't stupid and is very careful, but still hopes she might find even the smallest thing. 

But no such luck. After hours of searching, she has nothing. 

Feeling defeated, Minerva heads back to the bedroom chambers. 

Even though Salamander gave her permission to wander, she still didn't want him to suspect her. The room is empty, so she decides to take one of the books from the bookshelf and read for a bit. Her mind is distracted however, she feels she let the Doctor down by not acquiring hard evidence for him.

But these thoughts are interrupted by Salamander coming into the chambers abruptly. Minerva rose from her chair immediately, and she felt the anger from Salamander immediately.

"...Ramon?" Minerva's voice is quiet and timid. 

Salamander stares at her, as if a whirlwind of emotions is filling him.

"You deceived me...my princess."

His voice is even, yet his dark eyes are filled with rage.

Minerva felt her chest grow tight as fear fills her. 

What happened?

"How..Ramon?" She keeps her voice calm, though her golden eyes are a tempest of fear.

Salamander sees this, and grits his teeth. He comes towards her slowly, keeping his eyes locked with hers.

"Your...friends...were spies all along," he states. His voice is low and venomous. "They betrayed my trust. Tried to...undermine my plans."

Minerva realized he was talking about the assassination of Denes. The plan to help Astrid free Denes had failed…

And now, Jamie and Victoria could be dead for all she knew. 

And the Doctor was not here to save her. 

Minerva felt her chest tighten and she stood very still as Salamander stopped a few feet in front of her. She did not burst into tears, she would not beg for her life. 

"You are right, Salamander," Minerva begins, her voice even and low. "I knew all along what my friends were doing and I kept it from you."

Salamander winces at this admission of guilt, and to hear Minerva call him Salamander. As if to confirm her lack of remorse by not using his first name anymore. 

"Do what you will with me," Minerva stated, her eyes still locked with his. "But spare them...please."

She knew it was a pointless plea, but Minerva still wanted to say it. If for no other reason than to hope Jamie and Victoria were not already dead.

Salamander's expression changed at those words. His eyes became calm, his face solemn. He closed the gap between them in a few steps, and Minerva felt Salamander was suddenly calm. 

Slowly, he lifted his hand to Minerva's face and caressed her cheek. There was a smile on his lips as he leaned forward and kissed her.

Minerva was utterly shocked and froze as he pressed his lips to hers. But as he deepened the kiss, she realized she should play along, and kissed him back affectionately. When Salamander broke away, he was still smiling kindly to her.

"My princess…" Salamander whispered, his eyes soft and warm.

But as Minerva stared into Salamander's kind gave, she felt his hand slide down to the side of her neck. Then the rush of fury flooded through him, and Minerva's fear returned.

"I will spare none of you."

With those words, Salamander wrapped his hand around Minerva's throat and gripped it tight. Minerva gasped in alarm as he did this, and was about to raise her hands up to free herself. But Salamander's other hand was now about her throat and she was being pushed backwards.

Minerva felt the hard wall against her back now, and she tried once again to raise her arms up to claw at his fingers. But his grip was like a vice. 

The pressure of the blood in her skull, feeling her heartbeat pound through her head. She kept her eyes fixed on Salamander's, his face like stone, but his eyes a fiery rage. That was the most terrifying thing to her. His eyes devoid of any emotion besides fury. 

Every part of her trembled in fear as she felt herself gasping for air. 

His face....the face of the man she loved, now a nightmare to her. Minerva's eyes dart around the room frantically, only to meet his glare again.  

Her hands grasp desperately at his wrist, her golden eyes wide as she feels the pounding in her skull getting worse.

She wants to scream for the Doctor...she wants to be saved...like he has always saved her before.

Dread and failure fill her. 

“I’m sorry, Jamie...I’m sorry Victoria…” she says in her mind, tears now filling her eyes.

"I'm sorry...Doctor…"

Darkness blots her vision, and she remembers nothing more.

[grandtheftstarship]

Our Little Broken Family (Spock x Fem!Reader)

Summary: [y/n] finds a small Vulcan boy in the wreckage of a Vulcan science vessel. Spock decides to help her take care of him.

Word Count: 2038 Posted: Tumblr, Wattpad Warnings: none that I know of :) Requested: On Wattpad

You sighed.

He's so perfect.

"[y/n]!" Uhura snapped her fingers in front of your face. "Enterprise to [y/n]."

"Sorry," you shook your head, lifting your chin off your hand.

"Girl, you are in too deep," she smirked. "We've only been on this ship for a few days and you are already smitten. What's up with you?"

"Oh, it goes way back," you muttered, twirling the spoon in your tea. "Since the academy, really."

"Oh man," she leaned back, laughter lacing her words. "You really are hitting rock bottom, eh?"

"Yeah," you let out another long sigh, returning your longing stare at the Vulcan across the room. "The bottom of the ocean."

Before you could become lost in thought, your and Uhura's communicators beeped.

"I'm needed in the transporter room," you stood up suddenly.

"And I'm needed on the bridge," she said. You noticed Spock stand up and walk over to you.

"Lieutenant, we are needed on the bridge," he said to Uhura before turning to you. "Good luck, Commander."

"You too," you told him, turning away abruptly and hurrying towards the transporter room. Your team and the captain were waiting for you there and he handed you a phaser.

"There's a disabled vessel on the surface of this planet," Jim explained. "We need you guys to get down there and retrieve any survivors."

"Aye aye, sir," you nodded, leading your team onto the pad. "Energize."

The gold beams spun around you and the next thing you knew you were on the planet's surface near the smoking vessel. You team followed you in a tight single-file line as you led them over the rough rock features, stopping once you held up a fist at the door of the ship.

"Edison, help me for a sec," you motioned to the ensign behind you. You gave him instructions as you pulled out your phaser, setting it to high power and started cutting into the metal hull. About five minutes later, you both had outlined a small hole in the wall. You held out an arm to push your team back a bit before slamming your shoulder into the impression which led to surprised yells from your officers. The impact from ramming into the metal surface and then on the floor of the vessel hurt, leaving some ripped skin and a large bruise. You waved off the concern of the redshirts around you, standing up and clicking on a flashlight.

You gasped in surprise.

"[y/l/n] to Enterprise," you spoke quietly into your communicator.

"Yes, commander what is it?" he responded.

"Captain, this ship appears to be of Vulcan origin," you said, ghosting your fingers over the broken control panels. Distorted murmurs came from your communicator and you knew Jim was talking with Spock.

"[y/n], that's impossible," you heard Spock say. "All Vulcan science vessels were destroyed along with the planet."

"I am aware of that," you replied, attempting to read the Vulcan writing on the flickering screen. "But the language seems to be Vulcan, along with the advanced technology there seems to be-"

You were cut off by a small cry sounding from within the ship.

"Enterprise, stand by," you whispered, hearing the protests of the bridge crew before you shut your communicator and motioned for your team to stay where they were.

You crept down the hall, following the whimpers. You entered through a broken door, barely making it through before a small form tackled you to the ground. You gasped in surprise, but relaxed when you were met by a small Vulcan boy, no more than the age of seven, sobbing into your uniform.

"Shhh," you cooed, rubbing his back softly. "Its alright sweetie. You're okay."

When he stopped crying and started sniffling, you pushed him slightly off your chest.

"What's your name, honey?" you asked softly, pushing his rustled hair our of his puffy eyes.

"T'Kian," he whimpered, rubbing at his eyes.

"Okay, T'Kian," you kept rubbing his back, trying to get him to calm down. "I'm going to take you back to my ship and introduce you to my captain, okay?"

He clung to your neck, forcing you to hold him as you walked back towards your team. They gave you questioning looks, but none of them spoke as you led them back over the rocky terrain to the place you would beam out.

"[y/n] to Enterprise. Nine to beam up," you closed your communicator and set T'Kian down, allowing him to grip your hand tightly. Once you materialized back on the ship, Jim, Bones, and Spock were all waiting for you.

"Captain," you said, leading the small boy down the steps. "This is T'Kian."

Seconds after the small introduction a team of nurses had tried to take T'Kian away from you, but he immediately started bawling. His cries turned to shrieks and he was thrashing around in their arms, trying desperately to be back in yours.

That led you to the present time, precisely three am. You were rocking the small Vulcan on your couch, attempting to get him to sleep so you could rest as well. You weren't expecting him to attach to you so quickly and you weren't sure how to even care for a seven-year-old emotional Vulcan who didn't know how to behave for his age. 

As the hours turned into days and the days turned into weeks, you found yourself becoming fond of him too. The only problem was that you weren't sure you were raising him to his full Vulcan potential.

"Spock?" you called. He turned around, eyebrow raised in the incredibly annoyingly sexy way. "I need your help."

From then on, Spock was almost always by your side, teaching T'Kian about the Vulcan culture that was lost and even giving him the harsh news about his planet. You started teaching him basic knowledge of the universe, and when he was finally comfortable being without you for a few hours Spock put him through the same simulations he did as a child.

The captain was completely understanding, allowing you to take as much time as you needed to take care of the small Vulcan. About a month and a half after Spock started assisting you, he corned you in the hallway.

"[y/n]," he began. "After spending numerous hours with you and the child, I believe it would be an appropriate time to confess."

You stared at him, heat rising to your cheeks, afraid of what he was going to say.

Does he hate my guts? Does he never want to talk to me again? Am I THAT annoying that he-

"I believe I am in love with you, [y/n]," he finished and for the first time (you believed ever), he looked uncertain of his words.

You smiled, leaning forward and placing a quick kiss on his lips. "Good."

He stared at you in disbelief, before allowing a small grin to form on his lips.

"Since you're always in my quarters anyways... would you like to move in? I'm sure T'Kian wouldn't mind," you said shyly.

"That would seem wise," Spock mused, looking down at you tenderly.

You had never thought, let alone guessed, that Spock slept shirtless. Yet, here he was, standing before you with nothing on but sweatpants.

"Is this... unpreferable?" he asked you, a green tint glowing on his ears.

"N-no! It's fine," you added, embarrassed. You changed into your usual [favorite sleepwear], and slid into bed next to Spock. It was beyond nice, snuggling into his side and knowing you had a good night's rest ahead of you.

A few hours later, the door to your bedroom opened and the soft pitter-patter of bare feet echoed a little against the walls. You were wrapped tightly in Spock's arms, fast asleep until a small form wriggled itself between you both. Spock stirred slightly, yawning, and made room for T’Kian to wiggle in. Once he had made himself comfortable, Spock threw his arms loosely around your back. You rested your hand on his side, holding T'Kian in a firm embrace with the other. Before you drifted back into the darkness, you heard a whisper.

"G'night Mommy and Daddy."

Your eyes opened, meeting Spock's. Your faces were surprisingly close, despite the little Vulcan between you. A smile grew on his face, causing one to blossom on yours as well.

"Night, Pops," you yawned, shutting your eyes, a smile still gracing your lips. You felt him hum a laugh slightly. Before you drifted off a second time, Spock had captured your hand in a Vulcan kiss. Your face heated up, but you smiled wider nonetheless.

Waking up in Spock's arms was just as amazing as you thought it was going to be. Waking up in Spock's arms with T'Kian snuggled into your chest was even better.

T'Kian started having intense nightmares about the destruction of his planet and the death of his mother, causing him to come sniffling into your and Spock's room. When you woke up in the morning, Spock would take your hand in a Vulcan kiss since he was not comfortable kissing you in front of the newest member of your family.

On the few mornings he didn't have night terrors and slept soundly in his room, Spock woke you with a regular human kiss. You loved it when T'Kian snuck into your cozy covers, but some alone time with your boyfriend was always a blessing.

Frisky business was done in Spock's private quarters every so often since you didn't want the innocent boy to walk in on you.

Four years later, the five-year mission had come to an end. You and Spock had bought a small house in San Fransisco where you were able to raise T'Kian in a proper setting. You had enrolled him in a local school for Vulcans, where he found his newfound love for science just like Spock.

Throughout the year that you and your little family were on Earth, you and Spock got married and successfully adopted T'Kian. Spock was beyond thrilled to have a true son and spent endless hours telling him stories of his people.

Your parents even moved to San Fran, helping you take care of your new son and be the grandparents they always wanted to be.

You were so happy.

Until you got the call.

You were excited, to say the least, about the new mission you were going on. It was only three years this time, shorter than the last one, but still, a long time to be away from your family. You pleaded with the admiral to let you bring T'Kian along, but he refused, claiming it to be much too dangerous for an untrained, eleven-year-old Vulcan boy to be going on a deep space mission.

You knew you had to go. This was your dream job, you were needed, and you had to leave your son in your parent's capable arms. You contemplated staying, but you knew that Spock would try and stay with you and you couldn't let him do that. He was the first officer, and he was needed.

T'Kian took the news surprisingly well. He was practicing his control over his emotions, even though he held on to your neck and shed a few tears.

"I love you T.K," you murmured, using the little nickname you had for him. "I always will, and don't you forget it."

He nodded, wiping the tears out of his eyes. "I love you too, Mommy.”

You let Spock have a moment with him, carrying your bags onto the shuttle. 

Spock followed you in, allowing you to wave at your son and your parents one final time.

Spock let you cry on his shoulder for the whole shuttle ride. He tried to hide his own tears as well. You looked up at your husband, who returned your gaze, sympathy, hurt, and love pouring from his eyes.

Oh, how you loved your little-broken family.

[ja-barakrispy]

The Moon in Your Eyes - Chapter One: Jasey

OK, so this is an original story that I have written - it’s your typical teem romance story, full of lil dramas, about a 16-year-old girl who moves from Baltimore to a new school, and falls in love with an aloof ‘bad-boy’ type, who has also had his fair share of heartbreak in recent years. It’s honestly a tumblr-perfect teen story.

Lots of music and pop culture mentions as well - the likes of Harry Styles, Elton John, Nirvana, Lewis Capaldi (my characters have really good taste in music, if I do say so myself), and both main character’s favourite film is Donnie Darko. Just so you know the characters a little better, and to give you as a reader a better idea as to wether these will be characters that you can relate to!

The chapters flip between the point of view of Jasey (the female protagonist) and Spencer (the male protagonist), but I will highlight this at the beginning of each chapter.

Posting this online is a BIG confidence thing for me, as I love writing, but have 0 confidence in my ability. BUT I have enjoyed writing it so far, and feel like maybe others would enjoy it too?

Any feedback, likes, reblogs would be so greatly appreciated! If this gets like no response, I probably won’t post any more, but we will see!

                                                             One                                                             Jasey

Warnings: Few curse words, slight anxiety.

Word Count: 1,848

A/N: These characters have all been created by me, and this is not based on true events - any character resemblance to anyone alive or deceased, and any story resemblance, is purely coincidental.

I checked myself over in the full-length mirror one last time. I tugged at my burnt-orange, corduroy skirt, the buttons running down the centre of it cold against my fingers. I pulled up the polka dot tights around my knees, and straightened out my over-sized, white sweater embroidered with maroon, orange and yellow flowers over the chest. I’d paired the outfit with plain black Doc Martens – because really, you can’t go wrong with Docs.

   I’ve always tried to look my best. Back in Baltimore everyone used to say I dressed like hipster/indie kid hybrid, but I never really cared. I was always comfortable with my look, and that was all that mattered to me.    But there was something about my outfit today that I questioned; what if people thought I was… overdressed?    Usually, I wouldn’t care, but today was my first day at Nightingale High, and I wanted to make a good first impression. What if the people here were a little more refined than I was?

   My dad is a Chemistry Professor – he used to teach at my old middle school, so when he was offered a position at Orley University, just outside of Pittsburgh, my family packed up our life in Baltimore and headed west. I was excited. Mostly.

   Born and raised in Baltimore, leaving it behind was tough. But, really, I guess I kind of knew I was ready for life’s next adventure.    As I stared myself down in the mirror, I clasped my necklace close to my chest and began to fiddle with it between my fingers.

   “Jasey, come on, we gotta go.” My older brother, Tyler, called me from downstairs, snapping me out of my trance.

   I grabbed my backpack, took one last glimpse into the mirror, and made my way down.

   Tyler was waiting for me at the bottom of the staircase, tapping away on his phone. I gently slapped him on the forehead as I passed him – no reaction.

   Tyler was 17, and going into his Senior Year at Nightingale. Being so close in age, we always used to get mistaken for twins, until 9th Grade, when he started to get taller and bulked out from playing football.

   “Sociable as ever, I see, Ty.” I rolled my eyes slightly.

“I am being sociable,” He looked up, gesturing to his phone. “Everyone back home is sending me good luck texts, and I - being the polite young man I am - am making sure I reply to everyone individually.” He gave me a sarcastic smile, as I folded my arms across my stomach.

   “Hey, you are home!” My mum pointed a finger at Tyler as she entered the hallway from the kitchen, her British accent still as evident as ever.

  My parents are both from the UK – my mum is from Chelsea in London, and my dad is from Glasgow in Scotland. They moved to the US 16 years ago, when Tyler was a year old, and mum was pregnant with me, along with my two older half-sisters from my dad’s first marriage, April and Norah.

   “Yeah, OK.” Tyler sighed. “Roddie, we’re getting in the car.”

   Roddie is our youngest sibling – 13 and just starting 8th grade at Westinghouse Middle School. Roddie isn’t short for anything; not Rodney or Roderick; he’s just Roddie. Our mum is obsessed with Rod Stewart, and when she was in labor with our littlest kin, she’d put on a playlist she had created, ready for her sprogs arrival. ‘Hot Legs’ by none other than Rod Stewart himself popped up on shuffle at the exact moment my wonderful little brother made his appearance into the world. And so, Roddie was born, named after the man who was there for our mother during his birth.   “I’m coming!” Roddie ran into the hallway, nearly slipping on the laminate flooring.

“Have the most amazing day, all of you,” Mum embraced all three of us in a group hug. “I love you guys so much.”

“We love you too, mum.” I smiled sweetly at her. “See you later.”

   We piled into Tyler’s car, mum blowing us a thousand kisses, as we pulled out of the driveway and headed to our new schools.    Tyler switched on his car stereo, Drake blaring through the speakers, which prompted me to put in my headphones. I scrolled through my Spotify, before deciding on shuffling the songs in my Elton John playlist.    My phone pinged, a new text illuminating the screen.

Isaac Good luck at your new school today, Stinks. I’ll be thinking of you xxx

I smiled as I read the message.

   Leaving Isaac back in Baltimore was tough. We’d been together for just over a year, and he was the first guy I’d ever really had feelings for (if you discount Warren Princeton in the 7th grade).

Jasey Thanks sweet cheeks, missing you so much xxx

Isaac Facetime later? xxx

Jasey Wouldn’t miss it xxx

I caught myself smiling as Isaac and I sent a stream of messages back and forth.

   “Aw, texting your boyfriend?” Tyler said, making kissy faces.

Rolling my eyes, I took the ear-bud out of my left ear. “At least I have a boyfriend,” I raised an eyebrow at him. “You can’t seem to keep a girlfriend for more than five minutes.”

“I need to spread my wings.” He shrugged. “I don’t like being tied down.”

I rolled my eyes again – harder than last time – and sighed, “whatever you say, Romeo.”

   “Besides,” Tyler grinned. “How could I pick just one girl, when so many want me?”

Roddie began to make retching noises from the backseat, as I belly laughed. “Oh, Tyler,” I gasped for a breath, “You really are something else.”

   Before we knew it, we were at Westinghouse.    As we pulled up in the drop-off layby, Roddie unclipped his seatbelt and shuffled to the edge and the centre of the backseat, so that he was closer to Tyler and I. He put his arms out in front of him, his thumbs hooked together and pinkies sticking out from both hands, almost resembling a bull. Tyler and I both did the same, this time connecting all of our pinkie fingers together. We started to chant softly and slowly; ‘Tanner kids rule’. Gradually, we got faster and louder, eventually swapping to a vocal Mexican wave of ‘woahs’, before breaking our finger circle, lifting our bull-formed hands over our heads and shouting our last name – “Tanner’s out!” It was cringy, and ever so corny, but we’d been doing this since Roddie could barely talk; it was our little tradition.

   “See you guys.” Roddie smiled, climbing out of the car.

“Have a great day, bucko.” I waved.

Roddie skipped up the steps to his new school, excitement in his eyes, before turning back to the car and giving us a cheerful wave. I blew him kisses as Tyler waved back.    “OK,” Tyler began, once Roddie had disappeared inside. “Let’s go take Nightingale High by storm, little sis.”

                                                        *     *     *

We walked up the school steps together, shoulder to shoulder, holding our breath until we walked through the front doors.    The hallway was alive with hundreds of teens, some stuffing their blue coloured lockers with bags, books and binders, while others stood around chatting, chortling and checking in on what had happened over the Summer. It was almost too loud to hear yourself think, the buzz was electric.    The school’s crest was displayed on a huge banner above the doorway, as well as laminated onto the floor in front of us – a nightingale bird, with a lamp hanging from it’s beak, displayed in blue and gold.

   “So, this is it.” I breathed in. “I guess we should go and find the office.” Tyler placed a hand on my shoulder, looking down at me. I nodded boldly, as we searched the hall for any clue as to where we needed to go. I noticed a board a little way further into the hall, which had a map of the whole school. “Over here,” I tugged on Tyler’s arm. “We need to carry on down the hall, and take the second left.” Tyler studied the map. “OK, let’s go, I’m ready for this.” I attempted to pump myself up.

   In reality, I was petrified.    I grew up with all my friends in Baltimore: we had known each other since Pre K, so I’d never really been in a position where I had to prove myself as worthy to a bunch of new people in one hit. Making friends is a lot easier when you’re 4-years-old.    Now, I had to try and make fresh friends, and settle into a new school environment, all whilst trying to maintain my high grade average.    Tyler and I followed the directions on the map and came to the main office. A young woman sat on the other side of the desk, and greeted us with a warm smile. She looked pretty young - perhaps only in her early 20’s - her short blonde hair framing her soft face.      She gave us both our timetables for the semester, along with a locker number and combination each, and a map of the school to keep.    “You’ll both need to go to your homeroom classes first, and if you need any help at all with finding your classes, the teachers, and I’m sure your fellow students, will be more than happy to help you out.” She smiled.    Tyler and I said our thank yous and headed back out into the hallway. It wasn’t as busy as when we’d first arrived, but the after-Summer-buzz was still apparent.

   Tyler studied his timetable, his brow forming into a frown. “My first day of a new school, and they give me all the worst classes – I hate this place already.” “I dunno,” I smirked. “My classes don’t seem to be so bad.”

Tyler grabbed my timetable out of my hands and whispered each class to himself; “English Lit, Music, Astronomy, Art…” He opened his mouth wide and made his frown even deeper. “Study Hall?

“So I get all the whack classes, and you get let off with a fuckin’ Study Hall?” Tyler whined. “Sorry dude, I didn’t write the timetable.” I held my hands up.    I jumped slightly as the bell rang, signaling the start of our first period of the day.

   “Right, I’m out. See you later, loser.” Tyler began walking to his homeroom class, flashing the ASL for ‘I love you’ to me as he walked away. I put my fingers up in the same formation, “Hope you have a shitty day.” I called after him.    I looked down at my map and timetable while simultaneously walking, trying to figure out where my homeroom was.    I came to a bright red door, with one singular square window in the centre. The door had ‘C7’ engraved into a plaque right at the top – I was in the right place.    “OK,” I breathed, prepping myself to go inside. My stomach flooded with anxiety, filling to the brim with intense butterflies: “you can do this Jasey. You are OK.”

[the-joshua-peck]

Qué Me Importa

If you are reading this, it is likely that you know me, and that in large part is because it is probably myself reading this at a later point, reflecting on what is my first attempt at writing. I think that it is important to know the context that I’m writing this in, I have been both inspired and frightened by author and The Atlantic writer Ta-Nahesi Coates. His is one of talent and a lot of luck, a luck that pulled him from the life of a starving artist to one of success and acclaim. Either way, his story and the way that he tells all stories has inspired me to begin writing myself. While it is not the first time I have ever written, it is the first time I have written with this purposeful self-awareness, and I have him to thank for it, whatever the outcome.

          The story I look to tell is one that I don’t believe is necessarily unique, however, I do believe it is relatively untold. Mine is the story of a boy with identity conflict. My parents come from Mexico and Massachusetts, and I come from nowhere in particular. I was born in the United States in a city called Downey in the state of California, but that is rarely the answer I give to the question “Where are you from?” If I have given that response it has never been the truth. While I may have been born there, I have no real memory of that place, no sentimental attachment to my first home there or really any other home after it. We moved often when I was young, and although I have now lived in San Antonio for nearly half of my life, it still is not home to me. But the question of where I’m from goes deeper than any place that I could be born, to where my heritage lies. I am Mexican-American in a way that feels very different from most other people. I come from an Anglo dad and a Mexican mom, yet the way I indicate on official forms is the same way that those who come from two Mexican-American parents respond. As a child I always struggled to fill those forms out correctly, at times identifying as more than one race even though I am only white, at other times identifying as “other,” and always indicating my Hispanic ethnicity, not knowing how to get across that I am somehow mixed and not mixed at the same time. It is a struggle that continues today and that I am sure will continue for a long time after now. My internal conflict is one that is reflected and reinforced in official forms of the state, furthering the divide between myself and I, a divide that can be easily seen in my own reflection.

          When I look in the mirror, I see the white boy that I most often feel like. I am not sure what others see when they look at my light complexion or hear the way that I speak without any semblance of an accent or recognize the Americanness of my last name, but I have only ever genuinely felt white, even though I now wish more than at any other time that I could see at least one Mexican eye looking back at me in the mirror. I am not ashamed of being white, but I am ashamed that I don’t feel more Mexican. When I curse at myself in my head for mispronouncing a word in Spanish, it isn’t because I’m upset that I misspoke, it is because I’m struck with guilt that Spanish feels foreign in my mouth when it should feel as natural as breathing. It is for that reason that even as I try to learn and become fluent in a language that comprises half of my heritage, I turn away from practicing with those around me who are native speakers because I fear that I will never be as good of a Spanish speaker as they are, and by extension as if I will never be as good of a Mexican as they are. I have always felt that, and not just because of a language barrier, but also because of my family.

The Mexican side of my family loves me very much and accepts me with open arms whenever I see them, but the same arms that bring me into their embrace push me away from my heritage with every offhanded comment about how I’m a “white boy.” Comments that are never made from bigotry or prejudice or malice but are purely made because that is their truth when they look into my eyes and hear the way that I fumble with a language that I cannot call my own, even as the youngest of their children fumble in the same way. But they can lack an ability to speak the language because they have grown up within a culture that called them Mexican. My early childhood has passed, and it is too late for me to mature in a culture that would call me Mexican if I had only been exposed to it. Because of that, I will never be Mexican to some people, at least not Mexican enough. When they’ve seen me dance, they comment on how the “Mexican side” of me comes out, as if that is the singular moment that I can claim my heritage and only then. It certainly doesn’t help that I am more sensitive and less dominant than the machismo men in my Mexican family, traits that I do not at all regret having but one that separates me from being a “real” Mexican man in their eyes.

There have been nights of tears created by this internalized belief that I am not enough. I am not Mexican enough because I do not know the language and because it is too late for me to grow up within its culture. I was never a member of a cousin’s quinceañera court and I do not have a home that connects me to my heritage. There are still some days when I do not feel like I should call myself Mexican-American. But it was a speech from a Latina blogger at a summit for women empowerment of all places that I heard what I never thought I would from a place other than my own thoughts. She had believed she wasn’t Mexican enough and she had been told by one of her Latina heroes that her Spanglish made her less than, and she had come out the other side. She realized, and I did in the same moment that she explained it, that there will always be someone who doesn’t think you’re “something” enough, but the only opinion that you should be concerned with is the one that is with you every sleeping and waking moment: your own. It’s an obvious enough conclusion, but to hear it come out of the mouth of someone whose story felt so much like my own, a story that I had never heard before, it resonated. Someone will always think I am not Mexican enough, but they can never refute my heritage and they will never take away my Mexican-American pride.

- Josh Peck

[authormitchel-blog]

GOF: Part 13

Throughout his life, Harry had woken up to quite unsettling and unusual things. Aunt Petunia in her rollers and green face cream, Percy’s bottoms on top of his face as he ran around Ron’s room chasing his Prefect’s Badge as Fred and George had enchanted it to fly away at his touch, Goyle’s bare chest every morning since he started getting chest hair, so Dobby’s big eyes almost didn’t scare him out of his seat. Almost.

           He had fallen asleep in the library, his invisibility cloak slipping off him some time during the night.

           “Harry Potter needs to hurry!” squeaked Dobby. “The second task starts in ten minutes and Harry Potter….”

           “Ten minutes?” Harry croaked. “Ten….ten minutes.”

“Harry, Harry Potter,” squeaked Dobby, plucking at Harry’s sleeve. “You is supposed to be down by the lake with the other champions, sir!”

           “I can’t. It’s too late, Dobby,” Harry moaned hopelessly. “I don’t know….”

“Harry Potter will do the task!” squealed the elf. “Dobby knew Harry Potter had not found the right book so Dobby did it for him.”

           “What?” said Harry. “How?”

Dobby thrust something into his hand.

           “You has to eat this, sir,” squeaked the elf. It looked like slimy, grayish green rat tails.

“Eat this right before you go into the lake, sir…..it’s gillyweed! It will make Harry Potter breathe underwater, sir!”

           Thoughts of the last time Dobby tried to help him ran through his mind.

“Dobby, are you sure about this?”

           Dobby nods solemnly.

“Dobby is quite sure, sir!”

           And since Harry had no choice. He accepted it.

“Thanks, Dobby,” Harry said with a broad smile.

           “Dobby will be missed….good luck, Harry Potter, sir, good luck!”

Harry made it to the lake just in time to be scolded by Percy Weasley.

           “Where have you been? The tasks about to start!”

He was sitting at the judges’ table, Mr. Crouch had failed to turn up again.

           “Now, now, Percy, let him catch his breath!” said Mr. Bagman.

Then after assuring him that Harry really did have a plan. Bagman announced the task.

           “All of you champions are here, and are ready for the second task, which will start on my whistle. It is easy and admirable to save and love what is natural to us, but difficult and even more admirable to accept the traits in others that confuse and challenge us. Champions find the thing you despise the most and embrace your envy. On the count of three. One, Two, Three!”

           The whistle sounded, Harry pulled the handful of gillyweed from his pocket, toasted Dobby, stuffed it in his mouth, and jumped into the lake.

           Harry thought he was drowning. The gillyweed hadn’t worked. He opened his mouth to scream as he felt a slicing pain on each side of his neck.

           Harry felt his neck….he had gills? Great, Dobby had turned him into a merman. He hoped they would fade in the hour or else Harry was going to have to get quite cozy with the giant squid. Fred and George had always said he could be a tad prickly.

           Small fish zoomed past him like silver darts. Dark shapes flirted just outside his vision. Harry swam past seaweed and large rocks that turned into caves and a ….village. The merfolk looked nothing like the image in the Prefect’s bathroom mirror, but had greyish skin and wild green hair. They blended in so well, Harry wondered how he had noticed them at all. In the center of their town rose a crude sort of statue; a gigantic merperson hewn from a large boulder.

           Four people were tied tightly to it’s tail. Ely McGovern, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, and Hermione Granger.

           Bagman had said who you despise the most, what you envy, the clue was what you’d never miss. Harry immediately swam towards Draco, but then thought who did Ely belong to? Surely Fleur and Krum wouldn’t have cause to envy or despise Ely. Harry doubted they really knew him, but as Harry swam to look at Ely. Cassius Warrington swam right beside him. Some sort of bubble was wrapped around his face. But Harry could see his face clearly. He stared at Ely in what could only be seen as horror.

           And Harry knew that it wasn’t Ely that he was taking back up to the surface. Harry drew his wand and sent a burst of fire toward the rope that held Draco to the statue, grabbed the prat by the arm and tugged him toward the surface, leaving Warrington behind him.

           When they popped to the surface Malfoy woke out of whatever state he had been placed under and instantly started screaming that Harry was attempting to drown him.

           “I’m trying to save you, you prat!”

Harry was announced as being the first to complete the task as he dragged Malfoy to the platform.  A towel was tossed over his shoulders as an eager and lost looking Crabbe and Goyle told Draco about the clue?

           “Aw, ack… Potter…I never…kkknew…you admireddd meee so…” Malfoy carried on despite his shivering.

           Harry could barely roll his eyes he was so cold.

Thankfully someone thought to cast a warming charm over the platform that they were on. The way Malfoy looked you would have thought they did it just for him.

           “Ever want a repe….”

“No,” Harry said, stopping the boy from discussing anything that had happened in that bathroom. Harry certainly wasn’t thinking about it, no, definitely not.

           In quick succession, Hermione and Fleur broke the water and then Viktor and Blaise. The two champions were only a few seconds apart, but Cassius was still under the water. The look on Fleur’s face as she stared down at the murky water hinted that the witch knew why Warrington was yet to finish.

           Then Warrington and Ely’s head popped above the water. Cassius seemed to cradle his boyfriend as the two made their way to the platform. Ely was enjoying the attention, allowing Cassius to garner the cheers of the crowd for saving him. Cassius helped Ely on to the platform and the Slytherin boy took a deep nod toward the people.

           “Well done, all of you,” Bagman’s voice boomed from the crowd.

“Alas, the task is not over. Each of the champions must confront the object of their envy, the vessel of their distaste for the only way to overcome an obstacle is to face it.”

           Viktor held out his hand for a shivering Blaise and the two moved off into a secluded corner. Harry watched for a moment in case Blaise needed him, but in a matter of moments Blaise was laughing at something that Krum had said. And Krum seemed to be blushing. Some of the other Durmstrang students fought to hear what the pair were saying, but neither seemed to care.

           “I do not hate you,” Fleur said near Harry’s ear. But she wasn’t talking to him, she was addressing Hermione.

           “I envy you.” The blonde part veela was soaked to her skin, her wet hair plastered to her skull, and yet she still looked enthralling.

           “What?” spluttered a recovering Draco Malfoy before Hermione had a chance to say anything.

           “You’re jealous of this mudblood?”

Fleur turned sharply in Malfoy’s direction.

           “I don’t know what that word means, but I do know that she is far better a wizard than you. It was like dancing with a piece of bamboo. Not to mention trying to talk with one.”

           Malfoy scoffed. But Fleur continued.

“She is strong and independent. She is smart and doesn’t care to cover it up. She doesn’t hide herself from others like I do.”

           “And you,” she turned on Malfoy.

           Hermione looked at her.

“But you’re a champion?”

           “Yes,” said Fleur. “But several Beauxbatons students believe that a woman’s place is secondary to their husbands. Ruthlessness is not an attriubute that we are taught to strive for. Intelligence is neglected in favor of more aesthetical charms. But you,” she turned to face Hermione.

           “But you have no fear in being the one who stands on her own. And that is why I envy you, that is why I despised you without knowing.”

           “But, France is full of independent women, most of the queens took a quite active role in the making of society and even modern culture.”

           As Hermione pulled Fleur to the side to educate the girl on her own fierceness it suddenly made sense to Harry. The girls who had cried and balked when Fleur had made champion. The looks from the people when Fleur was at the ball dancing with more than one person before she quickly peeled off to give attention to just the one.

           Harry could see how even a girl who seemed to have it all like Fleur would envy his friend. Hermione was a force to be reckoned with. She knew it, and she made sure that others knew it too.

           Malfoy having recovered from Fleur’s verbal beat down turned to Harry.

“Anything you’d like to say to me Potter? I can list at least several things that I have that you would be jealous about. My confident personality,”

           “Cocky,” Harry supplied.

“My handsome looks,”

           “Protruding cheekbones,” Harry corrected.

Draco stopped. “That’s a compliment, Potter.”

           Harry ignored that one.

“Mother always does say that us Malfoy’s have exceptional bone struct….”

           “It’s that!” Harry said. He hated himself for raising his voice, but Malfoy always did get the better out of him.

           “It’s the fact that you have a family that loves you, and that supports you!” Harry shouted. The whole platform now had eyes for the pair. “It’s that you got to be raised by a mother and father who loved you and who wanted you. Yes, maybe they spoiled you into the little rat that you are today, but at least you have them.”

           Malfoy looked stunned.

“I envy that you have that, but I also despise you because all that love seems to have been wasted.”        

           Harry stood from the platform, prepared to make a grand exit when Ely McGovern and Cassius Warrington knocked into his shoulder.

           “Don’t touch me,” Ely hissed. “I can’t believe this.”

“Ely, wait, it’s not like that.”

           Ely turned on him, his blonde hair disheveled but still nicer than Harry’s ever is.

“I heard what the man said, Cass. Am I what you hate? Really? Am I something that you would never miss? Am I the thing that you despise the most?”

           “No, no, E, let me explain. You just have to listen to me.”

Ely laughed cruelly. “Actually, I don’t.”

           He turned and jumped in the water as graceful as could be. His body barely made a splash as he swam towards the shore faster than Harry thought possible. And without hesitation, Cassius jumped in after him. But he wasn’t fast enough. Ely was already to the shore by the time Cassius was almost halfway. Harry watched as Ely walked up on the shore and headed toward the castle. The Slytherins around Harry gave each other a look. This was something that couldn’t be missed.

           The scores were announced as soon as Ely hit the water, each of the champions having completed their tasks of facing their envy and in Harry’s case his enemy. Millicent pulled his arm and the two got on one of the first boats back to the castle, Malfoy far from his mind.

           The other Slytherins looked eagerly toward the castle. If there was one thing that Slytherins loved more than the possibility of watching people nearly drown to death it was drama. And that’s exactly what they were due for in their common room. Ely McGovern would go no where looking like he did now, and both were too proud and too involved to let this go that easily so Harry walked steadily toward the castle.

           To anyone else it would have looked like the horde of students were just returning to their rooms eager to get close to the fireplace. But as Tracey Davis nudged Millicent in comradery Harry knew there was something in the air.

           Someone whispered the word to the common room, and they were let in.

Ely McGovern was standing the middle of the common room, dripping water on to the carpet from his clothes. Cassius stood in front of him.

           “Please, Ely, you know it isn’t like that.”

“Then explain it to me, Cass, because that’s not what it seems like. It seems like you have been lying to me all this time, and that I don’t mean as much to you as you.”

           “Of course you do, it’s not just that…it’s just…”

“Just what, Cass?”

           “That you’re so free with it,” Warrington mumbled.

“Free with what?” Ely asked. “I don’t understand.”

           Cassius sighed. Neither boy seemed to be conscious of the crowd that had gathered around them.

           “With us, with being who are, with not having the expectations of a father who refuses to acknowledge anything that his son tells him.”

           Ely seemed to drop his guard.

“I know how your father is Cass.”

           “Yeah, but did you know he’s literally been counting down the days until I leave Hogwarts.”

           Ely’s eyebrows scrunched together. Then recognition.

“He’s been counting down the days that you leave me.”

           Warrington nods.

“He doesn’t think that we’re going to make it. He thinks I’m just going to lay down and join him at the ministry. And I’ve never once told him no. I’ve never told him that it’s not going to happen. I’ve never told him that I wasn’t going to join the ministry or marry a nice pureblood witch. I’ve never told him that I want to live my own life, but I know that you would. You have no issues in being exactly who you are, and I can’t even tell my own father the truth when he’s throwing lies in my face.”

           Suddenly, Harry feels like he is intruding on a very personal moment. He feels sick with it. But just when he thinks that the pair are going to launch into another tirade. Ely crossed the room and kisses Cassius in front of everyone.

           “This,” Ely says when he pulls back. “This is who you are, Cass. And I don’t give a damn about your father or about what he thinks because I see you. And while he may doubt the kind of man that you are, I don’t.”

           Harry was warmed by the conviction in Ely’s words. He could only wonder what the effect they had on Warrington was. But as Ely took Warrington’s hands they seemed to become aware of everyone else in the room, and Ely dismissed them with a cool look.

           “Enjoy the show, kiddies?” he taunted. And the people in the room disassemble like they just hadn’t been watching the whole thing at all.

[nico-in-space]

The Return

Hey, all!

Realized it’s been a while since I updated my writing tag, so here’s this fanfic I wrote after watching s5 of vld. It’s not polished, but I think it has its own charm. :)

You can catch me at Starlight_64 on AO3 :)

Read it at AO3 here, or continue below the cut...

“Hey, it’s Keithy boy!” Lance called out, face brightening from across the room. Pidge and Hunk paused whatever they were doing on their laptops and looked up.

“Keith!” Pidge called, setting aside her laptop and racing towards him with speed intimidating for someone of her stature. She collided with Keith’s stomach, causing him to involuntarily let out an ‘oof.’ Hesitantly, he returned the hug.

“Hey Keith, what’s up?” Hunk asked, getting up more calmly to greet Keith. Lance followed him. “How’s the Blade been? Business as usual, right?”

“Yeah, just about,” Keith responded, accepting Hunk into what is now apparently the Group Hug.

“You’re rarely here on break, though. Did something happen?” Lance asked, patting Keith on the shoulder.

“Well…”

It takes Keith a while to explain, and by then the rest of the Voltron team had entered the main room. Keith had already talked to them about this earlier though, through the Com. Ever since he found his mom, ever since Allura and the White Lion forged their bond…

Well, to put it shortly, Keith decided to return to Voltron. Not really a big deal, but it sure looked like a big deal by the expressions on Pidge, Hunk, and Lance’s faces.

“No way?!” Lance squawked, once he finished.

“That’s awesome, Keith. It’s great to have you back.” Hunk smiled warmly, and Keith felt himself returning it.

“There’s so much to show you; to tell you…” Pidge began.

“We should throw a party!” Lance exclaimed.

“What? That’s not really-” Keith, a known hater of parties, started to protest.

“No, no, just a chill thing. It’d just be the Voltron crew, yanno? Watch movies, play video games, eat awesome food that Hunk makes…”

“Hey, why do I suddenly have to cook? Why can’t you guys cook too?” Hunk said deplorably.

“Maybe Hunk could teach you how to cook! Hopefully, it could make an improvement…” Lance smirked, alluding to one time, just once that Keith tried to cook and ended up creating a poisonous substance that ended up putting him in the cryopod. Only once!

“Lance,” Keith began; but was interrupted by the door to the lounge opening.

Keith’s mom, Krolia, took in the slightly chaotic scene before her: her son and a young man his age, face to face, arguing. A young woman very small in stature still clinging to Keith’s arm. A tall man dressed in yellow, rolling his eyes and smiling fondly. Keith’s friend Shiro sitting with the Princess Allura and her Guide, Coran; and the Emperor Lotor leaned against a wall, watching the paladins with guarded amusement.

This here, this was Keith’s family. And Krolia was so glad he had found one.

Keith glanced in her direction, and his eyes lit up.

“Hey, guys, remember how I mentioned I found my mom,”

“You what?!?” ------- Once everyone had been introduced, plans for a Voltron party had begun. Allura and Lotor gracefully backed out from the event, citing official business. Probably more lessons from Allura for Lotor about Altean culture, which Keith had learned were a common thing these days.

First everyone, at the request of Hunk, prepared snacks together. Though there were limited ingredients, the highlight was Krolia teaching Keith how to cook a traditional Galran dish, which Keith couldn’t remember the name of, but it looked a lot like Nachos and tasted good. Mostly it was his mom cooking, and Keith watching carefully, but he counted it as a bonding moment between them.

Keith and his mom were beginning to get closer as time went on. He still had some issues with her for abandoning him, but he had begun to set those aside so that he could become friends with her. So that he could learn how to be a son of a loving mother. It was tough, but they were working through it together. Step by step.

Once they had cooked their hearts out, the party moved to the main room, where Coran had set up the screen. As they had a limited selection of movies, the choice became Coran’s, who chose a comedy movie. The comedy almost translated, and Keith found himself chuckling a few times.

Movie after movie, and soon everyone had either left or was asleep. Keith’s mom had left after the second movie because she was tired; Coran had left at the same time as well.

Hunk was dozing in a pile of pillows, and Shiro slept upright in a dining hall chair, head drooped slightly to the side. Matt and Pidge were knocked out against each other on the couch. Matt was snoring loud enough to wake up Keith, who soon realized his predicament.

Earlier Lance and he had gotten into a bit of a tiff over the pillows and the blankets, ergo; the pillow pile which Hunk was blissfully asleep on. But they had come to an agreement and had constructed a small blanket fort together. Which they fell asleep together in.

And, thanks to Keith’s wonderful luck, Lance was, of course, a cuddler in his sleep. So he had attached himself to Keith’s back with an iron grip, hands comfortably wrapped around Keith’s waist.

Keith could feel his hot breath, ghosting against his ear. His body shifted in his sleep, and Keith felt every millimeter of it. Dammit. Damn Lance, and damn his stupid crush on the guy!

Keith sighed, resigned to his fate.

...Lance was so warm. His arms were nice and toned, and Keith could feel their strength as they wrapped around his middle. His hands met at Keith’s waist.

‘Dammit, Keith,’ he said to himself, ‘just go back to sleep.’

…

…….They really were nice hands. Long fingers, with nicely manicured nails. Keith felt the irresistible urge to touch them.

Warmth and solidity. Keith hesitantly brushed his own hand over Lance’s joined hands. Heart racing, he gripped them, held them close to his body.

Lance shifted again, and Keith felt his ears burn.

“Mmm Keith,” Lance mumbled, and Keith jumped, his flight or fight reflex kicking in a bit. It’s okay, he probably talks in his sleep, right?

“Keith,” he heard, with more conviction.

He hesitated to answer.

“Keith, I know you’re awake.”

Why wasn’t Lance jumping away, stammering excuses? For that matter, why wasn’t Keith?

Well, at least for himself, Keith knew why. At risk to himself, he wanted Lance’s embrace. Even for a little while longer.

“Hey,” Lance said, poking Keith’s cheek. “Whoa, you’re warm. Are you blushing?”

“...Shut up.”

“Then shut me up.”

At this, Keith turned to look at Lance. Those were fighting words.

But upon looking at Lance’s face, Keith wondered: were those kissing words? Lance’s eyes looked so tender. And Keith thought it was his eyes playing a trick on him - but was Lance blushing too?

“I’ve missed you.”

Lance coughed.

“We missed you, I mean. But... I missed you. A lot, okay? You...I thought before you left we had some kind of, I think, but I don’t know maybe I was just imagining…”

“Lance.”

“Yeah? Oh, okay.” Keith shifted so that he was facing Lance, and Lance adjusted his grip. Both of them holding onto each other, almost in disbelief that this was happening.

“I missed you too,” Keith admitted, looking Lance plain in the eyes.

“Oh,” Lance mumbled, blinking a few times.

For a heated moment, all they could do was look into each other’s eyes.

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Wh-”

Keith shot forward, remembering every kissing scene he had ever watched, and tried to emulate that motion. It kind of worked. Lance was awkward and close-mouthed, and Keith was kind of kissing his upper lip. Lance giggled, which was a reaction that seemed involuntary, but Keith still retreated, offended.

“Lance.”

“I know, I know, I just. Wow, we. We sure kissed, didn’t we?”

“No shit.”

“I know! I’m sorry, I was just surprised, that was my first… just let me,” and Lance put a gentle, sweaty hand on Keith’s jaw and leaned in.

Keith met him there. This time, the kissing was better. Lance’s mouth was warm, and his lips were a little chapped. Keith felt every millimeter of them on his own. Keith was content to stay in the same position, but then Lance started kind of moving his mouth, which felt really good, so Keith did it too. After that, Keith stopped thinking so hard. Just felt their bodies intertwine, felt the solid flesh of Lance’s back with his hands, and let himself go for the ride.

That is, until one of them moaned.

They separated with a loud smack, both blushing furiously.

They made eye contact, and Keith wasn’t sure, but one of them started laughing, and then it turned into a full-on giggle fest, which they tried to keep quiet, so they wouldn’t wake up the others.

“Holy shit, that was,” Lance interrupted himself with a snort, which only increased the hilarity of the situation between them.

Keith laughed. “Yep. Wow.”

After the giggles subsided, Keith and Lance contented themselves with snuggling up next to each other. To think this would have happened so quickly… Keith was elated. He rubbed Lance’s back, and Lance sighed, leaning into the touch.

“Does this make us boyfriends?” Lance asked, hopefully.

“Sure,” Keith responded; and pecked Lance’s chin.

“Oh! ...nice,” Lance mumbled.

Keith smiled, feeling himself drifting off. “Night,” he said, but Lance was already asleep.

Keith slept better than he ever had that night.

[supergirlimaginesfic-blog]

Kara Danvers x reader (Sweet, sweet love)

Request: um first of all thank you for this account and second of all would u do a kara smut ? with like toys if u can't that's alright oanaja            

a/n: well, thank YOU for stopping by and supporting it!! I’m having loads of fun with this writer’s high I’ve been blessed with. Let’s hope I don’t get another bout of writer’s block that lasts for a year again... LOL *fingers, toes, all other limbs and phalanges crossed* Requests are still open as always!! :)

so anyway I enjoy the thought that Kara is just... so good to you. She would take such good care of you in all the things and really I have a whole lot of feelings about it

- - - - -

Certainly, you still find yourself not believing your luck and the fact that you scored it all when you first started dating Kara Danvers.

How couldn’t you think you won the lottery of people when your girlfriend truly ticks off all the boxes you looked for in someone, and even still also ticks off all the boxes you didn’t think you had?

She set plenty of new standards for you, and you’re convinced she’s ruined at least a good majority of National City’s populace for you. It had seemed that with every thought you had, you could feel every bone in your body begging you to hold onto her for as long as you can.

Kara was stupidly sweet, and so it was, you could just see pure goodness permeating into every single thing Kara did for you and for others, and you couldn’t help but swoon. In every sense of the word, Kara Danvers was chivalrous and upstanding, and though those are words one wouldn’t necessarily use to describe their love life and the bedroom activities thereof, you find that this peculiarity turned you on even more.

It had been a regular day for you, making your rounds of the diner you worked at and easily twisting and turning to fill a coffee cup here, to hand over a heaping plate of breakfast food there, and you’d turned it into a sort of dance. You liked what you did, and you were pretty cozy in the fact that you didn’t need to be working in a high-rise big corporate office to get by - you felt just fine making the same money here.

You’d fell into an easy routine with your life, and your girlfriend, Kara, was the happiest surprise indeed. Who would have thought that the radiant blonde angel who’d waltzed into your life and sat at a window booth would be such a happiness in your life? Who would have thought this otherworldly woman would order a platter of six regular pancakes, extra maple syrup and a side of fruit, and an additional waffle and steak meal for herself? Who would have thought you’d have a regular customer you were more than willing to sneak extra pieces of bacon for? Certainly not you.

In the very beginning, you were absolutely charmed by her. Her very prominent habit of fixing the glasses that sat perfectly on her nose and her easy, lopsided smile was what drew you in. What kept you, though, was the way she’d tilt her head sometimes whenever you got the chance to sit down and talk to her, giving her undivided attention to you and a soft look in her eyes that emanated comfort. You couldn’t be blamed for wanting to chase it.

And so it was, she’d left her phone number and a series of well-done doodles of various animals on a ripped sheet of notebook paper under her coffee cup. She stuck around to make sure she could say goodbye to you properly, and what you found was leagues better than any monetary tip that could be. “Don’t need no butterflies when you give me the whole damn zoo”, the note had said, and you laughed at her affinity for lyrical pop culture references.

You’d texted that sacred number, and you found yourself pleasantly surprised you’d spent hours on the phone with Kara, both of you having lost track of the time when it had become close to midnight and she regretfully informed you of her early wake up call.

Eventually, you went on dates, progressing naturally into the realm of domesticity despite the small amount of time you’ve known each other, both of you finding the ease of fitting each other into your schedules so seamlessly.

On one such day, you were more excited to come home after a bout with several rude customers. You couldn’t wait to undress and let your hair down and just mope around in your sweatpants. You’d gotten a text from Kara, bombarded by the inundation of general excitability and an overzealous use of emojis and exclamation marks.

Kara: “Hi!!!! I miss you so much! <3 <3 I hope you’re having a great day! I’ll be home really soon. I just have to run and get a few things. I can’t wait to see you!! :D”

You smile at the message, you can practically hear her voice saying these words.

you: “no worries babe. I can’t wait to relax with you :) see you soon!”

For good measure, Kara replies to your text again, always making sure to indicate somehow that she’s read your message and that she’s never willfully ignoring you.

Kara: “<3 :D”

Eventually, Kara makes it to your apartment - much to your relief, and you welcome her embrace and let her take you in her arms, barely allowing her to put down the various plastic bags and a bouquet of flowers at her feet. You breathe in, taking in the lingering scents of her shampoo and perfume.

“Hi, cutie.” She smiles down at you, holding you by your waist.

“Hi yourself.” You bite your lip, glancing at her face before taking in her outfit. Your girlfriend pulls off the casual futch look so well.

Kara’s head tilts slightly and a small smile appears on her face, her eyebrows crinkling as she seems to remember something.

“Oh! Right! I got these for you!” She crouches down quickly and springs back up, eyes wide with excitement as she practically shoves the bouquet under your nose.

You giggle at her antics, enamoured and already feeling the heaviness of your day dissipating. “Thank you, Kara. They’re beautiful.”

She smiles, pleased with herself before taking the bags and zipping towards the kitchen. She takes out an army’s worth of styrofoam containers filled with food and she freezes in her tracks when she opens the fridge door. She’s staring blankly into the fridge for just a moment, but it’s enough for you to catch it.

“What’s up? You okay?”

She snaps out of her reverie quickly and glances at you, her hand coming up to fix her glasses. She laughs nervously.

“Yeah, yes- I’m fine! All good here. Just had a moment, nothing to worry about!” She inhales sharply and gives you a smile, almost convincing, but you let it go.

“Alright...”

She shakes her head in some attempt to right herself. “So are you ready to Netflix and chill?”

You laugh despite yourself. “Kara, I still don’t think that means what you think it means.”

“No, no. It’s exactly what I mean, just some chill and some Netflix. And also other things that you may want to do... while we do Netflix.” She laughs uneasily again, and you just look at your girlfriend. You’ve only been dating for a short while, but you know even this behaviour is a bit weird.

“Are you sure you’re fine? We can talk about it if you want.”

“No! No need!” She interrupts you almost too abruptly, and you’re beginning to think you should be concerned.

“Let’s just have our movie night? I’ve been looking forward to being with you all day. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

You give her a soft smile, allowing her some space. You know she’ll talk to you if she wants.

And true to the knowledge you have of your girlfriend, you’re not even ten minutes into the start of your movie and settling down fully when your hand gently rubbing up and down her thigh has her spewing an entire train of thought.

“I wasn’t kidding when I said I was thinking about you all day, all week in fact. I know it’s only Tuesday but it’s felt like such a long time already. Do you think the same thing? Is that just me?” She blurts out.

You look up at your girlfriend from your head’s place in her lap, her fingers still tangled in your hair from softly massaging you. You chuckle at her expression, one still reeling from her emotional admission.

“If it’s any consolation, you’re constantly running through my head too. You’re just too irresistible.” You joke lightly, grinning a bit but not at all untruthful.

She draws in a long breath before another slew of words trip from her lips. “I just mean, you’re in all my thoughts. It’s like, you’re everywhere? And I can’t stop? Not that I would want to, I would never want to. You’re such a great thing to have in my mind all the time. I love it.”

Your eyes crinkle at her, you have no idea where this is going. She continues on the tail end of her previous thought.

“And, it’s just. Wow. Like, I really can’t help myself. I find myself having these thoughts of you when I least expect it. I could be in the middle of something and I just- you’re there and it’s totally you and we haven’t really done much of it before but-”

She cuts herself off, eyes going wide immediately at the thought of probably having said too much.

Your expression softens, still looking up at her with a hint of a smirk on your lips. “And what exactly do you mean: thoughts of me?”

When Kara doesn’t answer, you continue to prod her. “What do you refer to when you say we haven’t done much of it?”

You know exactly what she means. Though you and Kara haven’t dated for a significantly long time, you still feel comfortable enough and find yourself trusting her almost fully. It should terrify you, and it would in most circumstances, but Kara seems to be an exception and you’ve happily embraced that fact.

The two of you haven’t really ventured into anything beyond a very heated make out session, some grinding and plenty of moaning and grabbing certainly sufficed for you. You didn’t want to push her, you felt no need, and so you knew Kara was special in that truth alone.

She finally speaks up after bracing herself to leap out of her stubborn silence. “Um, well. You know, we haven’t really done any... sexual stuff. Not that I’m forcing you! I really don’t mean that, oh god, that came out wrong. I didn’t mean it like that, I was just trying to say that I’ve been having all these thoughts about you, and I know you’re my girlfriend and I care about you a lot, and I think you care a lot about me too, and I don’t want to pressure you into anything you don’t want to do. I have no idea where I was going with this anymore-”

You move to sit up and face Kara, bringing your face very close to hers so that your lips barely brush over hers. You can feel her soft sporadic breaths, and you close your eyes as you move to close in on the last millimeters that separate you two. You allow yourself a moment before you open your eyes slowly, basking in the look Kara gives you before you lean in, kissing her with a languid passion that conveys vulnerability and assurance.

“Kara...” Your whisper falls like a ghost of a breath on her lips.

“Yeah?” She’s slightly dazed from the kiss, and you find the time in your quickly growing desire to admire the look of utter contentment on her face.

You kiss her again, this time with a certain roughness and you hope she gets the idea. You can bet anything by the way Kara is gripping at your hips and bringing you closer that she feels the same lurking desperation as you. You bite her lip just short of painful and relish the soft moan she makes.

“Take me to bed.”

With that, you’re scooped up into Kara’s arms as she lifts you with ease, your legs instinctively wrapping around her waist as she chases your lips for another kiss.

You figure her particular otherworldly powers have its perks, and you’d be impressed at any other point by the sheer smoothness of her making her way to your bedroom and the fact that she hasn’t bumped into one thing yet even carrying your whole weight blindly. But right now? At the present moment, you find the entire situation so unbelievably sexy and the heat humming through your body is becoming more and more intolerable.

She sets you down on your bed easily, falling after you as she settles herself on top of you. Your hands are everywhere on her body, going everywhere from her back, to her sides, to the strong clenching of her abs and to her neck. You can’t seem to get enough of her - you need to feel more of her on you.

Kara kisses you, her hands braced on either side of your head and when the combined sensation of her grinding in between your thighs and with the moans that freely escape her lips rumble at your ears - well, you practically break.

You gasp at the sudden onslaught of everything Kara, and your fingers find the edges of her shirt and tug upwards. “Off,” is all you say, and it’s enough. Kara leans off her hands and lets her shirt come over her head in one fluid motion, tossing it in some direction that is presumably as far the hell away from either of you so she can feel her skin on your fingertips immediately.

With enough persistence and sheer desperation, her pants somehow come off and your hands find her again, settling between your bodies as you palm at the tone of her stomach.

You moan into her mouth as you feel the physical strength in her core. “Jesus christ-” is all you can manage. You rock your body against her, the weight of her body between your legs making you more wet and more intolerable of anything that won’t relieve the throbbing.

She pulls herself away just to get you out of your clothes, leaving you in your underwear and bra.

“Still wearing too many clothes-” you observe out loud. You find yourself not entirely caring when you gasp and feel her fingers pressing on the only piece of fabric separating you from your pleasure.

She’s looking down at you with a mixture of so many emotions. There’s question and a little bit of trepidation, but much to your delight, all of that is overpowered by an unrelenting desire.

Your capability of making coherent sentences is rapidly escaping you, and the only thing you can say is, “Yes.”

Kara’s fingers press intently, her hand resting next to your head again as she continues her ministrations, combining the steady thrusting of her hips against her palm so that there’s pressure on all the right places.

Your hands tangle in her hair, moaning as you take in everything that Kara is giving you. It’s more than you’ve both done ever. Kara pulls away and you look up at her, seeing her eyebrows crinkle like they do when she’s pondering something. She tilts her head and says nothing else, before you can ask her anything, you feel a finger pushing your underwear aside. She’s gauging your reaction and looks intently at you, but your head falls back on the pillow and you sigh loudly.

“Oh my god.”

She coats a finger in your wetness, slipping it between your folds as you whine for more contact.

“Kara. Stop teasing.” You manage to say between broken breaths.

She mumbles a, “Sorry,” before leaning down to kiss you again, a finger finally entering your pussy.

“Holy shit-” you gasp as she tests a rhythm, slow and powerful. “Kara, harder.”

She continues her pace, and you have the mind to look at her to see if she’d heard you, but you realize even without her super abilities that she’d heard you just fine, and that she’s taking her sweet time.

“Baby, I need you-” She thrusts meaningfully now, whatever you were going to say immediately dying before it can be said.

She slips another finger in, fucking you steadily as she leans down and puts her ear close to your mouth. Somehow, you got the idea, whether or not even she knew what she was asking for.

You become louder, figuring to try out all the things and discover exactly what Kara wants and how she gets off. The very thought of Kara needing you that way is taking you to entirely new heights. You let out a loud, long moan, making sure that your lips press against her ear so that your words shake her entire being. “You’re fucking me so good Kara.”

A hard breath escapes from her, she moans as she moves against you, setting off a higher level of raw need in her. You thought correctly, making sure that all your vocalizations and praises are louder than you’re used to and just feeling Kara become more confident and aggressive in her movements.

Your sweet, beautiful girlfriend has a praise kink. Somewhere in the currently non-functioning, rational part of your mind, you realize are going to have so much fun with that.

You feel her everywhere, you savour the feeling of her grinding against you, both of you now slick with a light sheen of sweat. Suddenly, you feel her thumb pressing on your clit, and she curls her fingers at the same time as you scream and feel the entire weight of ecstasy crashing into you.

You’re chanting an incoherent string of nothings, her name and your pleasures tumbling from your lips. She moves her head from your lips to finally kiss you, swallowing your words and fragmented mewls as you come all over her fingers. Your underwear is wrecked and you really don’t care.

Your body becomes limp and you feel the waves of your orgasm still as if Kara was still fucking you. She’s finally fucked you thoroughly, but it’s not enough. At some point, her fingers are slipped out of you, and you’re still a non-thinking person and all you’re capable of doing is bringing your hands to her face to kiss her.

You let your tongue trace her bottom lip, rocking your body to find hers. You nip at her lip and slip your tongue against hers - you become invariably frustrated and greedy when you don’t feel as much friction as you need.

She pulls away from your kiss, looking down at you with a look of total adoration and awe. Her words are just barely above a whisper.

“That was so much better than I’d imagined it.”

You smile at the implication. You’re absolutely thrilled at the thought of Kara thinking about you in compromising positions. You’re still riding a high of pleasure, everything you know and everything you are at this very moment is just Kara, Kara, Kara.

“I’m glad, baby.” You’re still trying to catch your breath.

Immediately, Kara shifts back into a fit of nervousness, and you’re mindful enough to be aware of it.

“Um, right- yes. So you remember how I said I’ve been having these thoughts about you, like, all the time?” She doesn’t let you answer. “Well, it’s kinda a bit more than that. I may have gone and got... things. I don’t know why, I don’t know why I bought them. I don’t know what came over me. It just happened suddenly and it is so presumptuous. I didn’t even ask you about it and I just went ahead and bought them, and I feel really bad, because why would anyone be happy about the thought of handcuffs, and it’s not even just that, I bought another thing, a strap on, the lady at the store said it could be a great idea and I don’t know why I listened to her so intently if I didn’t even talk to you about it first, I’m sorry for not asking you before-”

In your blissful haze basking in the afterglow of sex, all you can parse from Kara’s longwinded speech is handcuffs and strap on, and instantaneously, a very specific neediness overcomes you again. How on earth does Kara manage to be accidentally everything you need, thinking she’d made a big mistake?

“Kara.” Your voice is firm enough to effectively shut her up.

She’s so attentive and tense, your hand comes up to her side instinctively and runs soothingly along her skin. You didn’t mean to sound like you’re about to reprimand her. She’s almost too good of a person, you think.

“Kara,” you try again, softly this time. You look at her fondly, a grin flashing on your lips. “Baby, you are fine. You are more than fine. So please, don’t think about anything else right now. I need you again and I want you to just tie me up.”

You watch, practically in slow motion as her mouth falls open, her eyes darkening and breathes heavily. You quirk your eyebrow at her and in that same moment, you feel a small gust of wind that chills your body, Kara no longer on top of you.

She comes back with a pair of modest, black handcuffs in her hand, brandishing it delicately like it’s some kind of weapon.

She tilts her head in question and you look at her expectantly, raising your eyebrow as you wait. Her eyes widen slightly as she takes the hint and moves to restrain you to your bedpost - you thank all sorts of gods that you have the type of bedframe that allows for this particular activity.

You’re restrained to your bedpost and she moves on top of you. You still have one free hand and you appreciate that Kara is letting you take this slowly. She has a thigh in between you and when she shifts, accidentally presses up against you and a moan escapes you.

She glances down at you and contemplates something. It’s after a seemingly long moment that she finally speaks up. “Can I just...?” She asks vaguely and you feel her hands come between your legs, tugging at your underwear.

Kara doesn’t elaborate further, but you get your answer when you feel the fabric ripping from you, you squirm as another wave of desire washes over you. She tosses what’s left of your underwear over her shoulder just as easily as she ripped it, and your whole body is buzzing with anticipation.

She pushes her thigh against you and you’re overcome with the need to coat her leg with your come. You grind against her thigh, the hardness of her muscle making you bite your lip roughly. You press your pussy harder against her, she gasps and brings a hand around your uncuffed wrist.

The total restraint she has on you makes you clench, and she must feel it against her thigh. The thought that you are entirely at her mercy has you shaking with unbridled need.

“You like holding me down, don’t you?” The observation is weightless, you know very damn well by now that she’s enjoying this just as much as you are.

You take a glance at Kara and see a shift in her expression. You just keep going.

“You love taking control, baby. I know you like seeing me like this.” You are really enjoying the very evident shift in Kara’s persona. You decide right then and there you will do anything to chase that thrill.

“Do you feel how wet I am for you? Do you like how wet my pussy gets when it rubs against you?” You roll your hips, grinding as you feel her leg getting more slick with sweat and come. Kara pushes against you, following the rhythm of your movements.

You test the restraint on your wrist, your other hand struggling against the rock-hard weight of Kara’s inhuman strength. You’re totally pinned and you gasp at the realization.

“You’re so strong baby, you can have me any way you want. Take what you want. Use me.”

Kara’s lips ghost over your neck and suddenly she bites down just short of painful, soothes the sensation instantly and sucks on your skin. She’s kissing you all over and you can feel her leaving marks - you really can’t find it in you to care.

Her voice is low and coarse against your ear, you feel a hand come between your legs and she says, “Come on my leg, (Y/N). Show me how much you want me. Show me that you deserve the strap on.” Suddenly, her fingers press against your clit and you barely process her words before you’re falling over the edge again, your back arching off the bed as you come over her fingers and her leg.

She hangs her head low against your ear, her murmurs sending you spiraling until you are entirely spent. “That’s it, yes baby, you feel so good, I love watching you come undone.”

You whimper one last time before you slacken again, the shocks of your orgasm rippling pleasantly throughout your entire body. Kara plants soft kisses all over you, giving adequate attention to your chest, your neck, your cheeks, and then she’s kissing your lips. You kiss her lazily and before you can realize it, she’s undone the cuffs and your hands are free to use again.

You instantly wrap her in an embrace and nuzzle into her chest, letting her body envelop the entirety of you. You two are silent for an exceedingly long time, fragmented breathing the only sound that can be heard in your room.

“I can’t believe how good that was. We did all that, and we weren’t even fully naked.” You manage to finally say.

You can feel Kara’s smile as she squeezes you slightly - she’s still wordless and you can’t really blame her. Eventually, you speak up again. “You wanna talk about it?”

She hums lazily and you suspect she might be falling asleep and you smirk fondly. You move your head to get a look at her and her eyes are closed, but otherwise she seems awake.

“What do you wanna discuss?”

“I don’t know, whatever’s on your mind? If anything?”

“Is this what they call pillow talk?” You wonder if she’s joking, but there’s an equal amount of wonder that makes you believe she’s asking an honest question.

“We don’t have to talk at all, I can just fall asleep like this and sleep through my alarm and not go to work, ever.”

She laughs this time, moving slightly away so that you can actually breathe.

“I’m not gonna be responsible for you suffocating in the middle of the night.”

You make a sound as you pout, and you figure she can hear you pouting too. “You’re comfy though.”

There’s a pause in the conversation and Kara fills the silence. “I don’t know where that all came from.”

You look at her questioningly, moving so that you can look into her eyes. “But are you okay with it?”

“Yeah, more than fine!” She rushes to reassure you. “It’s just, I don’t want to get to a point where I totally lose myself. It could really hurt you. It’s a wonder at all that I let go like I did just now. It’s a little bit careless-”

“Kara, look at me.” She does as you ask. “You’re fine, I’m fine. Nothing’s wrong, nothing’s broken. We’re two happy people. We did good.”

“You know, I had to be extra mindful about all this.” You feel a flash of guilt come over you but Kara interrupts the feeling from festering in you. “I had to pay attention to how I eat apples and like, pretend it was you so I would know not to bite too hard? Just the right amount of pressure, and it’s already such a fine balance between pleasure and pain anyway. It’s so difficult with my powers and all, and the human body is fragile as it is without-”

Your full-body laughter stops Kara in her tracks. You can barely get your words out.

“Are you saying you practiced leaving hickeys on apples?”

Kara looks moderately alarmed and she blushes instantly. “What? No, that’s not what I did. I definitely did not do that, necessarily-”

You stop anything else she could say with a kiss, and she happily lets you, feeling like you’ve given her an easy out of that conversation. You’ll bring that particular fact up again in the morning.

[silenceisbanished]

a chauvinist pig in love with his sister

My favorite part of Susan Sontag’s “Under the Sign of Saturn”, among some interesting thoughts on Riefenstahl and Barthes, is definitely her essay about Antonin Artaud – a man known best for his concept of Theatre of Cruelty (on which he elaborates in an amazing collection of essays called The Theatre and its Double). I won’t get into Artaud’s theory of theater, though, because it’s not all that important for understanding the most interesting part of Sontag’s piece – a very refreshing view of how pop-culture approaches things it finds hard to accept.

The part I’m talking about feels like a self-reflection of an accalimed author/writer/journalist (and all these labels seem fitting since this essay was originally printed in The New Yorker), and it helped me come to terms with starting a lot of books of highly praised authors, yet taking so long to actually finishing them. Especially since I’m currently reading through various works of Bataille and starting to feel like I’d either have to accept that I won’t fully comprehend what’s going on in them, or I will never manage to finish reading his stuff at all.

What Sontag had to say about Artaud rings true about plenty of authors – be it Comte de Lautréamont or Maurice Blanchot. In our current climate it’s easier to hear things about them, then to actually hear them – their books are not only hard to get in modern bookshops, but also getting a proper translation might be challenging (if we’re talking about obscure authors such as Lautréamont, not Nietzsche in whose case the sheer amount of available translations is a problem, not lack of them). On a side note: it’s easier to find books about Borges in bookshops all around me, then his writings.

Anyway, Sontag packs a lot of topics in a very short paragraph of her essay. She says, for example, that:

Unknown outside a small circle of admirers ten years ago, Artaud is a classic today. He is an example of a willed classic-an author whom the culture attempts to assimilate but who remains profoundly indigestible. 

And it’s an interesting sentiment. This indigestible quality of some authors seems to be precisely the factor that still separates certain ideas from the mainstream thought and popular culture. Artaud or Bataille remain resistant to pop-cultural appropriation we’ve seen happening with Nietzsche or Baudrillard – it’s hard to trap them in a cage of regurgitated aphorisms (”And if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you”, and others, ad nauseam) or misunderstandings and misconceptions (as in the case of simulacra/simulation and The Matrix – beautifully summarized by Baudrillard himself as: “The Matrix is surely the kind of film about the matrix that the matrix would have been able to produce”).

However, even thought it might find certain things hard to digest, the pop culture (The Mainstream, understood as "what’s acceptable”) never stops in its attempts to consume and regurgitate things that seem dangerous to its existence –– because, it seems, that’s the only approach to preventing its own internal explosion that it knows. I know, it might seem like a juvenile and oh-my-god-how-edgy thought, but at the same time it’s an interesting phenomenon that might prove to be a handy guide in predicting what’s going to be acceptable and treated as normal by the society (or media) in years to come.

Philip K. Dick summarized this cycle beautifully in “Valis”, where he said:

To fight the Empire is to be infected by its derangement. This is a paradox; whoever defeats a segment of the Empire becomes the Empire; it proliferates like a virus, imposing its form on its enemies. Thereby it becomes its enemies.

It’s a beautiful, visceral description of a snake eating its own tail, a cycle that never ends – and of war that’s never going to be won. However, it feels  refreshing to consider whether approaching this problem with a dualistic mindset (even describing it with words such as “the Empire” or “a virus”), isn’t what actually creates this particular problem of an endless loop of attempts of appropriation and regurgitation. Fighting the Empire is what forces it to actually make an effort. 

On the other hand, Sontag says: 

One use of literary respectability in our time and an important part of the complex career of literary modernism-is to make acceptable an outrageous, essentially forbidding author, who becomes a classic on the basis of the many interesting things to be said about the work that scarcely convey (perhaps even conceal) the real nature of the work itself, which may be, among other things, extremely boring or morally monstrous or terribly painful to read. 

It feels like an interesting case to think about – how the names of such authors as Artaud or Bataille live in our culture mostly thanks to things said about their work by other people. People who had more luck in “fighting the Empire” (thus becoming a part of the mainstream, being widely known and, consequently, discarded as mad or boring), and so gained literary respectability/made careers, that allowed them to spread the words of long forgotten visionaries – creating “classics” that everyone knows but nobody reads. It’s like creating a virus that infects a virus: passing on a thought that needs to spend time in other minds in order to bloom. Because even though Bataille or Artaud had dreams of fighting the Empire (be it through revolutionary thinking or a shift towards existence-without-a-project, embracing the void), their influence needed time to infect other minds –– and precisely because their writing is extremely hard to internalize in its whole, it essentially acts like infection. Like an unwanted influence that the mind constantly feels –– and can’t shake off, even though it tries. And so their thoughts still don’t constitute what’s normal (they can’t). They’re still on the sidelines – and here’s a beautiful paradox: thanks to being outside the mainstream, it feels like their influence might only become stronger with time. Because even though they’re not widely read, they’re not, and won’t be, forgotten.

As to the hardship of actually reading them: maybe it’s their degree of introspection that makes them extremely hard to approach with a clear mind and good intentions – to read them is to accept you’re not going to spend time in a pleasurable company of friends, but rather rolling in thorns that somebody laid in from of himself precisely in order to not be approached, read or understood. Or maybe it’s the other way around: it’s only a desperate cry for someone to finally understand, and that – being visceral and gut-wrenching as it turns out to be (at least in case of Bataille) – makes it only worse.

As Sontag wraps it up:

Certain authors be­come literary or intellectual classics because they are not read, being in some intrinsic way unreadable. Sade, Artaud, and Wilhelm Reich belong in this company: authors who were jailed or locked up in insane asylums because they were screaming, because they were out of control; immoderate, obsessed, strident authors who repeat themselves endlessly, who are rewarding to quote and read bits of, but who overpower and exhaust if read in large quanti­ties.

And that seems to be the crucial part: reading them feels like watching them being consumed, eaten alive, by thoughts they couldn’t control – hence the endless repetitions, entire unreadable chapters of their books or lack of focus mixed with heuristics based on knowledge that’s never explained (as if – locked within the author, whereas the whole point was to let it get out, making the whole ordeal of writing a book ultimately a failure). What’s interesting, though, is that maybe precisely this tiresome obsessiveness of Sade, Artaud or Bataille, make them so hard to be appropriated by pop culture in their original form – as if “the Empire” needed other’s people interpretation of their works in order to consume and regurgitate them in an easily digestible format. 

It’s not like it never happened before: when taken to an extreme, the Empire needed Nazis to help it with Nietzsche, and when Nazis failed (because after the War his thinking became more widely understood than ever before), it eventually used Hollywood to preach that he was nothing more than: “a chauvinist pig, who was in love with his sister.”

[ridleytheknight]

I’ll Always Come Back To This Moment

A little Langst. A lot of corruption. A lot of Lancelot. A little Klance. And mostly a lot of tears. Good luck to all my loyal starlings. Time to get out your tissue boxes! WARNING: Manipulation, suicide, corrupted views, OH MY GOD I AM SO SORRY TO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE I DIDN’T MEAN TO HURT YOU

—

          His long eyelashes fluttered. The blackness slowly fading into the light of an overhead, thing? It was metal and had an arm that looked adjustable. The boy squinted in the harsh light, attempting to look around. His limbs were humming, they felt like static. Cold. He couldn’t feel anything in them. It was like he had cotton instead of nerve endings in his body. He flinched, there was something calling out to him. He looked to his left side. Seeing a woman leaning over him. Her long white hair brushed against his cheeks, tickling the skin. But he could barely feel it at all. It was just a sensation that was there. There was no, real, connection. He tried to clear his vision and look at the woman, finally being able to pick up more of her features as she pulled back her hood and leaned forward smiling brightly at him in what he was able to pick up a flicker of a thought. He briefly thought it was relief.

          “L, my god, L. Thank the heavens you’re alright. L?” He blinked at her. Watching her passively as her hands grabbed the sides of his face. Her thumbs tracing swirls and patterns on his cheeks. He felt a shooting of cold from where she trailed her thumbs. His skin felt cold and different there. But not from her touch strangely. Did this woman know him? Was his name L? Where was he? Who was he? He made his lips move, his voice croaking out. Weak and raspy.

          “W-Who ar-re you?” Her eyes softened with concern, her expression twisting in what felt like concern as she pulled away, him sitting up to follow her and leaning against the back of the bed to support himself. The woman pressed the back of her hand against his forehead. The touch was still distant. He briefly wondered if this was natural for him. “Why can’t I feel you?”

          Tilting her head, the woman tucked her hair behind her ear. Yellow eyes looking over him with curiosity and then horror.

          “You don’t remember, do you Luca? Luca, please tell me you remember me.” Luca? He guessed L was just a nickname. He blinked, slowly closing his eyes as she ran her long-clawed hands through his hair. He reopened them and glanced down at his hands. They were pure black, the tan skin of his arms fading into rough, almost leather like skin. Long claws instead of fingers. He blinked again, and they were soft and tan. He looked at the woman.

          “What am I?” She sighed softly, pressing him against her collarbone.

          “My dear sweet Luca, you have so much to relearn. You were in an accident, you’re a warrior of the Galran empire, and you were injured in our latest battle. You’d sustained a bad head injury, but I’d thought it’d be fine. I’m so sorry I was not quicker to getting to you my sweet boy.” L blinked at her.

          “Are you my mother? Why can’t I feel anything?” The woman sighed again, looking at him. Causing a small shot of fear to shoot through him. And for a brief second. All he could hear was screams, gunfire, and his own screams. In pain. Fear. He jolted up. “Why am I afraid?”

          She stroked the side of his face, it sent a wave of calm through him. “My son, you have nothing to fear. You might have some flashbacks to the battle, that’s perfectly normal. You’re safe here, I won’t allow anything to ever hurt you again love. As for feeling, you were born with a nerve disorder. You’ll feel things a little differently than others, and it might feel different with the damage you sustained in the battle. I’m sorry. Are you in any pain?” L shook his head. Noticing a small mirror at his side, revealing pulsing blue marking on his skin. Two streaks of blue on his cheeks and a strange design on his forehead of a symmetrical almost pointed cell shape. He glanced at his hands. Still soft and human looking.

          “No… I feel. Strange. But, I don’t hurt.” The woman smiled at him. Pulling away from his bedside and standing up. Holding her hands out to him.

          “That’s good my son, let’s take this one step at a time. Starting with the first step. Are you ready dear?” L looked up to the woman who claimed to be his mother, and he looked back to the mirror at his side. Dark skin, brown hair, pointed ears, strange markings. Markings that at least resemble the markings on his mother. His mother had claws, almost like the ones that were wavering into existence every time he even had a glimmer of a thought about them. Maybe the other hands were from his father. L sighed. He’d have the answers in time he’d supposed. So he pulled the covers away from his legs and swung them over the edge, taking his mother’s hand and standing up. Taking a deep breath.

          He took the first step.

—

          It turns out the whole business of losing every memory he had, meant losing everything that had apparently made him the man he was. Re-meeting his leader, the one who had christened him into a special squadron of specialized and talented soldiers, also known as Zarkon, the father of his boyfriend Lotor. A tall male with purple skin and long white hair. Both had been devastated to hear of his extensive mental injuries. Lotor the most of all, but Lotor was also the most determined to get them back.

Lotor spent hours with L, teaching him the customs and culture all over again. Telling him about his mother, who was apparently a gifted sorceress and trusted advisor of Lord Zarkon. Lotor held his hand and walked him through the castle, pointing out certain places and telling him of all the things they had done as children, or accomplishments of L’s on the battlefield. The best marksmen, sniper, and sharpshooter in the empire. Lotor also walked him through every moment of their relationship. Telling him of every happy moment, every fight.  And by the end of it. L still remembered nothing, but he knew everything. And that’s what mattered. He knew these things, that was one step of reclaiming his old life that he’d lost.

L started with his status on the battlefield much to his mother’s worry and pride. His aim was still as true as the stories he’d been told. Though some weapons were harder to gain use of than others, and his hand to hand combat was subpar from what he’d heard. But he was steadily improving with the help of the other Galran soldiers. Helping him regain control of his claws, and his mother helping re-teach him about magic and how to change the environment to his advantage.

Next, he worked on his relationships. He spent time with his mother, who was delighted to have him learning magic with her again. Apparently he’d lost interest in magic as a child once he picked up his first rifle. He’d had dinners with his mother and his Lordship with Lotor. History lessons and play fights with soldiers in his squad, those who’d apparently been his best friends. Having date nights with Lotor to rekindle the spark he could not remember. Which L learned was easier than he’d thought.

It felt so natural to lean into Lotor’s touches and embraces, so natural to hear his voice whispering praise into his ear. Natural to turn in those arms and whisper sweet nothings right back, slow dance at the parties together. Or even just dance in silence in the gardens of the palace. Just as natural as it felt to finally feel warm. It felt so nice. Apparently, his body was healing, touch bringing warmth, and he smiled easier. Much to Lotor’s delight as the bad jokes and pick up lines slowly came back to L. L smiled as he remembered the first time a pick-up line floated into his mind and he’d immediately used it to flirt with Lotor. The look of his face when L’s words sunk in. It was silent, but then a large grin spread across his lips and he immediately swept up the shorter and tanner male into a spinning embrace, kissing all over the others face in his happiness. ‘Luca, Luca, Luca, Luca, you’ve come back to me, my beloved soldier.’ And L had replied, saying that he would always come back to his prince. Ending with L in Lotor’s arms, Lotor’s hands running through L’s slowly growing hair. Begging L to always come back to him. No matter what.

L knew, that if anything bad were to ever happen. He’d always come back to this moment.

Happiness. Warmth. Love.

L hoped that coming back was a promise he would be keeping.

That’s how his days passed for a while, peaceful. His memories, worries, and injuries all but forgotten in the bliss of quiet days. Until he was placed into battle once more, the enemy was close to his home and they’d sent for him while he was with Lotor. Who’d held onto his hand. Pleading with him to not go.

“But, I have to.” Lotor shook his head vigorously.

“Luca, my love, no. You don’t have to! We can stay here, together. Peacefully ruling.” L smiled.

“I have to my prince. I want to win the fight. Bring to you the peaceful world. Bring to you protection and safety. I have to because I love my mother, my lord, my home. Because I love you Lotor.” L looked into Lotor’s eyes. He’d never said the L word before to his prince. Though he’d apparently said it before his last fight. It felt right to say. L leaned forward, sealing their lips together before pulling away from Lotor. Forehead’s pressed together, warmth burst into L’s cold body.

“I’ll always come back to my prince.” L kissed Lotor one more time before he disappeared from the love struck and broken-hearted prince’s view. That strong and tan back disappearing behind doors and halls. Taking away the light and best part of his existence. The short time he was able to live with the man as his. No, his blue paladin would come back. His soldier would come back to him.

Always would come back.

—

          The battle was going sour again. They just seemed to be everywhere, even though they were not many. Their forces were apparently more numerous, with other enemies of the empire on their side for this siege. L was doing what he did best. A rifle on his back, his claws out and marks glowing as he fought through the crowds. He’d run out of ammo, he’d given it to his friends. But they were alive, and he was alive. So he regretted nothing from the decision. Even as he gained injuries with each breath, even as the flashbacks were hitting him from all sides. The lions were so familiar it was painful, his ears were ringing and his breath was short. His energy and strength was wearing thin from his constant use of magic and physical strength, but he soldiered on.

          He had a home to protect. A mother. A lord. A boyfriend and prince.

          He would not give up.

          The markings on his face and his eyes shined brightly as he let out a cry, fighting with more vigor. Protecting his friends and covering them. The hope of morning. The hope of the end of the battle was driving him forward. Until he saw the red one. A paladin. With black hair and hard determined eyes, the traitor of the race. The weapon in his hand was moving forward with the swing of his arm. Straight for Tamara. A Galran soldier on his squad, with long braided hair and piercing eyes. She was the first one to assist him in learning his claws. She was one of the first ones to not give up on him. Smile even when he was unsure of how to smile or give something in return.

          Now he knew how to return the favor.

          His feet gripped the ground. Toes curling into the metal of the ground as he hated the boots. It restricted him and his movements as he grabbed Tamara’s waist and tossed her aside, holding out his forehead and gritting his teeth to a mean snarl as a searing slash of pain slipping through his forearm. He glared at the shell shocked red paladin. Using the paladin’s hesitation to shift his stance, holding his claws in front of him and growling long and low.

          “This will be a fight between us. You’ll stay the hell away from my squad and my home. Even if I have to kill you to make that happen.” And he lunged forward. His claws reaching up to swing down in a devastating blow, if it were not for the red paladin snapping out of it and blocking the hit with his bayard. Holding back the reaching and dangerous black and red dripping claws that were mere inches from his face with both hands. L gasped as the paladin’s boot reached up and slammed into his ribcage. Making L cough and sputter as he was than mounted and held down by the red paladin’s weight. Rage filled L as he struggled from under the man.

          “Lance! It’s me! Keith! You have to remember me! Us? The bonding moment! Lance, it’s us! We found you! Blue has been missing you. Me too. I missed you too. Lance! You don’t have to fight! It’s me. Can’t you remember me. Remember us?” L swiped at the man with his claws, making the male back up with a jerk. Making it easier for L to buck his hips up and throw the other male off at him. L skidding away warily as rage built up.

          “Shut up! You’re a liar! My home is here. My family is here! And your death will be dedicated to my mother, my ruler, and the one I love!” The red paladin stood there blankly, almost looking through L as he muttered almost silently.

          “No, Lance. No. No. No, no, no, no, no. Lance. What did they do to you? What did those bastards do to the man I loved?” The man’s eyes hardened, and L almost felt tremors. There was a voice screaming in his head. So many voices. Mixing with the screams of battle. Lance. Lance. Lance. Lance.

          Who was Lance?

          Who was Luca?

          Which one was him?

          “I’ll just have to bring you back.” L didn’t see the hit coming, trapped in flashbacks and swirling thoughts as the blunt edge of the weapon came smacking against his temple. Didn’t see the floor rising up to meet him. Didn’t see the red paladin hovering over him, checking the blood and injury on his head. Didn’t hear the heartbroken and desperate scream that echoed from where the prince was watching the fight on a monitor screen. Didn’t see the claws of his teammates reaching desperately for him. Didn’t even feel the freezing touch of unconsciousness grab and pull him under.

—

          According to the calendar across the room from the medical bed he was restrained on, it’s been almost a week. Enough to be presumed dead by the empire. He’d hurt his mother again hadn’t he? His team. His love. At least he hadn’t forgotten them. No. He’d never forget them again. He wasn’t sure if Lotor or his mother could handle it again if that happened. He would not let them take away his home from him.

          Though, he’d learned they were quite insistent. Even showing him photographs with what was apparently him and the paladins of Voltron. Him being the blue one in place of the Altean princess Allura. Face with a large smile that was familiar, but plain. No markings. No pointed ears and smooth sharp teeth. Rather little dull white ones. Seriously? Why did they think he would believe such a blatant lie like that? It was almost laughable. Either way. He was still strapped to a bed. His hands in some strange restraint to keep him from forming his claws and slashing either his restraints or his ‘visitors’. They said it was a precaution to make sure he didn’t hurt himself.

          Seriously? Who did they think he was? What did they think he was going to do?

          He had a prince waiting for him back home.

          A promise to come back. A promise to keep.

          Yet, that one moment where the promise was made always lingered in his mind when they would come to try and brainwash him into joining their side. Trying to ‘jog’ the memory that their battle in the first place had taken. Once they’d found out L had no memories of the past they had been more eager. Hopeful for him to fall into their trickery. More. Persistent.

          It was tiring honestly. L felt like he was slowly going insane. It was so mind numbingly boring to just lay here day after day. Only being free to sit up and eat under heavy supervision. Often while the dark haired ‘mullet man’ recanted fake memories. Probably trying to lure him into a false sense of kinship and security through trust and friendly gestures. L didn’t want to give in. But, lying wasn’t giving in, right? Playing a role like an actor wasn’t betrayal, was it?

          No. It was surviving. He’d played a part he didn’t know a while ago.  He could do it again

          He just wouldn’t believe in this. It wasn’t his life.

          So, he started calling them by name. Giving them insignificant things, like bad jokes. Small talk. Learning to avoid talking about his home. Even in the smallest details. It only agitated them and made them regard him with a serious voice. Telling him that they’d protect him from the Galran Empire. That Zarkon would never hurt him again and would be defeated.

          It always left L feeling unsettled. As if something were twisting in his gut uncomfortably.

          He always avoided the topic now.

          Just like he avoided the red paladin.

          Oh how he wished he could just hate the red one. But it seemed there was more complicated things at work with these strange emotions. The way his heart would twist at the sight of the red paladin, and the fact L couldn’t tell if it was in hatred that the red one had forced him here, or other emotions that L did not want to read into. But, slowly, he slipped into a routine with the paladins of Voltron. Gained freedom. Gained a room. Freed hands. It was endearing, the routine. Wake up, eat, joke around, train with the red one. Keith. Flirt. Lean into touches that L was becoming uncomfortably used to.

          Lance.

          They called him Lance

          Lotor called him Luca

          He called him L.

          Who was he anymore?

          His thoughts swirled, causing his claws to form as he sat in his room. His claws forming at the anxiety building up in his mind. Images of warm slimes and food goo in his mind. The stories they shared were all so painstakingly familiar. And each one sent a sharp wince of pain through his heart. A wince that only scared Lance more.

          Lance.

          He called himself Lance.

          Oh god. Lotor. Mother. He was forgetting them, wasn’t he? The brainwashing was working? Lotor’s long hair in the breezes of the garden was a fuzzy image. The cool, soothing touch of his mother’s claws in his hair. The laughing of his teammates. Replaced and made hazy with the images of the paladins. Lanc- L almost screamed as a ripping and shredding pain went through his heart at the discovery.

          Lotor, Lotor, Lotor. His prince. His love. His home. It was all so fuzzy. Images of long black hair and metal walls replacing dim and warm rooms. Full of love and cozy scents. The only thing Lance could remember was the first time he’d felt warm. His promise.

          The moment he’d always come back to.

          The man he’d always come back to.

          The promise was fading away, with L’s memories of home.

          No. NO. NO. No nononononoononno.

          Never.

          L would rather die than betray the man he loved. His home. The love of his life. The mother that breathed life into him. The gardens that withheld secret rendezvous within their branches. The feeling of family from his own team. Warmth. Love. Home. It was all mixing in his mind. Hate. Betrayal. Fear. It was like a poison in his veins.

          They were infecting him.

          What do you do with a disease?

          You kill it.

          L’s eyes immediately fell onto the sight of his claws. Black with stains of red. Battle hardened and scarred. Sharp. Ready. So easy to part flesh as if it were the air. L has a flickering thought. Maybe the paladins of Voltron had been right in worrying what the Galran soldier might do with his own claws. Death wasn’t the favored option. But he was nowhere near close to any of the empire’s territory. Nor was he in a place where he could flee with no supervision. The past Champion had made that quite clear. For safety. For his own ‘protection’. Leaving him to simmer in the lies until he was nearly choking on them. Seeing them swimming in front of his eyes. Almost real.

          No. This was not the favored option. The favored version of reality left him in his mother’s and his prince’s embrace. The love of home sinking into his bones. Never letting go of him for even a moment. But this wasn’t a favored universe. It was cold. Cruel. And it was the reality that Lance. LUCA. LUCA LIVED IN. Not Lance.

          Those claws gleamed as L watched with blank eyes and a strange smile. Before he swiped down and dug those sharp claws into the flesh of his own abdomen with a soft, barely heard groan. Falling gently to his knees as red spilled down. Red like the paladin who claimed to love him. Red like the marks on his mother’s cheeks. Red like reality bleeding from his body. L sputtered, red leaving his lips. Staining them like lipstick.

          “My prince. It’s an honor to die for my empire. But an even higher honor to die for you love. Even if I broke my promise it is for you. My prince Lotor. I love you. Please. Lead us to victory. And I’ll watch over you as you do.” The dark was calm and quite laying there, letting L fall into the memory of home and his promise that he didn’t quite keep.

          A moment he’d always come back to.

          The moment that always meant home.

—

          Sometime and somewhere later, the same prince that was drifting in previous thoughts and moments of the blue paladin screamed. Blood curdling and loud. Not unlike the scream when the strong smiling soldier had been seen taken. Smiling soldier. His soldier. His knight.

          Dead.

          News of how the previous blue paladin had committed suicide spread through the universe like a plague. Finally reaching the ears of Lotor in his castle. Far from his soldier. Far from his life’s love. It caused a chill in the air of the castle as Lotor expressed his rage and grief in loud screams.

          Lotor looked up ominously, eyes glowing as he clutched the last jacket he’d seen on L’s body close to his chest. Tears staining it, but not washing away the scent that clung to the material to Lotor’s relief as he held it tightly. Getting up as he held the jacket and glared at the screen. A picture of the gravestone. Half assed. Not worthy of his beloved soldier. Nowhere near showing how loving, beautiful, and amazing the person it commemorated was.

          Voltron would pay.