#i have so many comments i'd better just shut up but i hope the idea is even comprehensible through the writing

[freuleinanna]

trials (and errors)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 AO3

Chapter 4: Liars

A perfect lie does not exist. Untether it from truth, and it's a mere fantasy. Weave truth into it, and it becomes a commemoration, for concealment is just an act of protection, and protection, well, is just an act of love.

Can you imagine? The chapter I started the whole thing for? Ugh. Welcome to the circus, aka the courtroom angst, aka Sturrock hardly dealing with those two and those two hardly dealing with each other

The hearing itself is a blur.

If they were to compare memories, both Marisa and Asriel would probably agree that what they remember most is endless bureaucratic gibberish and a whole lot of pretentious words flying about. Illicit affair this, conspiracy to murder that. Asriel powers through the whole thing silently agreeing to at least consider respecting the Authority should he miraculously manifest himself and strike down the bunch of dim-witted black-robed idiots blabbering about marriage institutions and the worth of a human life. Beside him, Stelmaria is unmoving, her eyes glide from one speaker to another, thoughts impenetrable behind the icy facade. Both of them exude the feeling of having much better and more important things to do with their time, which isn’t wrong. Both of them are fully focused on not looking at the opposite side of the hall where Marisa and her daemon are.

They climb their respective stands. They aren’t allowed to be seated. After all, it is a trial, and they are supposed to be defending themselves. Asriel has a feeling that neither him nor Marisa are interested in defense, simply wanting things to be over.

Stabbing each other in the process is just an extra perk.

‘State your name, please,’ Cardinal Sturrock is slumping in his direction. Asriel opens his mouth and doesn’t shut up out of spite listing his name, status, estates, and full heritage up to the seventh generation even when he’s interrupted – twice. His voice thunders through the room. People wince.

‘You did ask, Your Eminence,’ he shrugs coldly.

‘Thank you, Lord Belacqua,’ comes the most thankless tone possible.

Marisa’s answer, against his, is short and dry.

‘Marisa Coulter, née Delamare.’

With the precision of French vowels on née. Whether it’s pride or emotions that make her resort to the accent, or a simple habit of pronouncing it right, Asriel doesn’t really know. I love you, sea creature. He doesn’t look, but his teeth hurt from clenching.

And then it becomes very hard not to look because questions come one after another, and it’s their shared history that gets spilled on the floor.

‘Could you remind the honorable judges of the circumstances of your meeting?’

He stifles a groan. The only thing stopping him from suggesting the honorable judges to shove their honorable questions up their honorable asses is Stelmaria’s tail around his legs. She could have crushed the pathetic daemon-insects between her paws if she wanted, but she is playing impassive for his sake. Asriel burrows his fists deeper into his pockets and clears his throat.

‘It was a social event, I don’t remember which. Both Mrs. Coulter and I were present.’

Well, he made the whole board frown. Again. What, did they expect him to pour out every detail? Who cares, let’s cut right to the chase. They met, they slept together, they had a child, he killed her husband – that’s what everyone wants to discuss anyway. Dancing around the subject just takes the meaning out of it.

‘And how old were you?’

‘Twenty.’

‘And Mrs. Coulter?’

‘Why don’t you ask Mrs. Coulter herself?’ he snaps, patience is leaking out of him despite the decision to stick to his best behavior. Damn his non-existent tolerance for stupidity.

‘It is your account of the events, Lord Belacqua. We will address Mrs. Coulter when needed.’

Speaking of her like she isn’t in the room. The spot of blue color is very still in the corner of his vision as Asriel makes an effort to look straight in the Cardinal’s bloated face. He can’t lick Marisa’s taste off his lips. It’s distracting. Stelmaria moves her head in a warning: focus.

‘I believe, Mrs. Coulter was nineteen at a time.’

‘And is it correct that your affair started a year after that?’

To be fair, Asriel said so himself during one of the previous hearings because it was easier then, one on one with Sturrock and his henchmen. He said a lot of things. Now, however, with Marisa standing witness, the lies become palpable like rough stitches in the air. Seeing them, knowing them, how could anyone believe they lasted a whole year?

The truth is, the affair had started immediately. It’s just that the sex came well after, but she cheated on her husband the moment their hands met.

They would meet at the library. She would pretend to not notice Asriel’s presence until the last minute, but always made sure to wear the most flattering dresses. He would pretend he visited the dusty archives for any serious, adult reason except spending a day with Marisa.

She would smile politely as she saw him and say, ‘Lord Asriel. Here again?’ – in a voice that fit a genderless servant, not a woman of flesh and blood, but her eyes would spark with delight. Sometimes, he would approach to read over her shoulder, hardly seeing the lines from being struck on the head with the scent of perfume mixed into that of her skin.

She would turn her face half-round to ask, ‘I wonder, what do you make of the Bermundsen’s last paper on potential use of natural events, Aurora lights in particular, as a source of renewable anbaric energy?’

He would breathe ‘I think Bermundsen is flying pitifully low’ down her neck.

They would sit across from each other, shamelessly making love with their words and ideas, innocent to anyone who could see.

At times, she would make for the stepladder to take another book. He would take it for her, reaching over her head, almost pressing her into the shelf in the process. Their eyes would meet, and there would be that look in hers, all at once calculating and genuinely content, impossible to decipher all the way through. Not daring to allow their fingers touch over a book, they would pause. In the air, an instant collapse waiting to be released. They would both stand, undoubtedly imprinting one another in memory to imagine late at night for their own raw, secret pleasure. Adding a throbbing sensuality to that image on purpose.

At the end of the day, they both knew exactly what they were doing.

It’s a force Asriel, with his scientific mind, cannot comprehend or break down into a handful of co-applying laws physics has to offer. Something possesses him to take a look, something not entirely lost, that’s still trying to live and breathe despite his best efforts.

Marisa appears withdrawn. Empty, like she isn’t there at all. The harmony of deep blue with the gold of her daemon would be fitting to a saint, except that wearing a color besides black only paints her more of a sinner. Deep within, Asriel is admiring the defiance. His admiration is of dark, self-torturing quality.

Under a delicate hand, the golden monkey seems to have lost all life. Therein lies the Marisa effect.

‘Lord Belacqua?’

‘Hmm?’

‘Is it correct that your affair started a year after you and Mrs. Coulter had met?’

‘Yes. Yes, that is correct.’

***

Mrs. Coulter, he keeps saying.

I briefly collaborated with Mrs. Coulter on one of my branching research, she was providing theological base to…

When Mrs. Coulter and I had become involved…

… there was no paper correspondence, Mrs. Coulter insisted…

…Mrs. Coulter…

…Mrs. Coulter…

Some other woman she must be, that Mrs. Coulter, because Marisa doesn’t recognize herself in what Asriel is saying. The person he talks at such lengths about sounds rational and cold, plotting her way through the affair down to every breath she takes, and not at all in love. She remembers being in love. How does one pick memories clean off the carcass of that giant dead thing?

Bones are there, alright, but Asriel is lying. Tiny details get cloaked sometimes, and sometimes grand ones. Marisa isn’t fool enough to think it a protection, instead pulling herself together against what it really is. An erasure, utter and complete: of her, of what they were. Matter-of-factness, with which Asriel answers the questions, ultimately retelling the story in a way a dust-dry librarian would retell the plot of an exciting novel, is an act of killing. She is reduced to an outline, a character – someone unimportant, and only vaguely familiar.

A stranger, in a word. A stranger whose name he pretends to have never tasted on his tongue in moments of disarmed tenderness.

He said he wouldn’t spare her. Who knew it was to be like this.

Despite the indignation it pokes alive, his flow of immaculate half-truths has another effect, an unexpected one. They carve Mrs. Coulter into existence out of thin air, and the more Asriel speaks, the more real she becomes, allowing Marisa to dissolve in the image. Soothing her until she enters a state of tranquil trance, her tyranny buried into the golden fur. How easy it is to pretend uninvolved. It allows her some control – maimed, disfigured, but control still.

So she listens, and doesn’t object. Her hatred, now cool and steady as opposed to the fiery eruption before, listens too. Grasped by curiosity almost unhealthy, it wonders how much less emotional Asriel can make the whole thing sound.

And then, suddenly, it’s her turn.

And then, suddenly, it’s a full-blown interrogation.

Air grows thicker, as if molecules knit themselves closer together with every pair of disapproving eyes landing on Marisa. She tenses.

‘Mrs. Coulter, do you agree with Lord Belacqua’s account?’

Down to the detail, except where he left out that we actually had hearts, she says, yet the words transform in her mouth and leave it as a plain, ‘Yes.’

‘Very well,’ Sturrock locks his ring-laden fingers, leaning over them and resembling at that moment a fat hawk on the search for a prey. ‘Could you say for how long you had been married to Edward Coulter prior to meeting Lord Belacqua?’

‘Six or seven months.’

‘Are you not sure?’ the hawk frowns.

‘Seven,’ Marisa corrects, even though it’s not true, because the whispers start swishing and she needs some merit. Yes, she was still very freshly a wife when she broke all her vows, but at least she can track her own marriage. That must count for something, must it not?

It was, in fact, six months and eighteen days. She spent endless nights wishing she’d just waited for six months and eighteen days longer before allowing Edward to put a wedding band on her finger. Or that Asriel had come along that exact amount of time earlier. Either way, a fruitless endeavor, but it kept her up for hours.

‘And would you say you had amicable relationships with your husband?’

‘Quite.’

‘Mrs. Coulter, I’m afraid I need you to elaborate.’

They say, when vultures come, it’s already too late. Marisa stands surrounded by vultures, painting and repainting her cracking mask of humbleness to not let fury taint it. Even in death, Edward traps her. Say a few good words about him, and her sins become appalling in comparison. Say a few bad ones, and she’s obviously besmearing his memory with lies to save herself, a malign creature whose only hope is to pray for forgiveness. In a convent.

Very carefully, her voice treads across rows.

‘My husband was a man of politics, as you know. Often away. Amicable is the exact right word, Your Eminence, for we didn’t have much in common, nor did we spend much time together. There were always…other duties.’

‘Is that why you chose to betray your sacred union by infidelity?’

Damn you.

Is there any winning this at all? The Cardinal himself is pushing her onto the thinnest ice Marisa’s ever walked on. Everyone is waiting, everyone is angry. A bunch of men who’ve never known a woman’s touch behave like she’s been unfaithful to them personally, and that is a mighty dangerous sea to navigate. That collective ego can crush her like a wave.

Giving herself some time, Marisa strokes the gold. Her hand is hard despite the gesture, the monkey shivers under it. It might pass for embarrassment, his fear. Good. She tugs at the fur a little and greets the pain where, connected to her deamon, a part of her soul resides, stuck among arteries and veins in rivers of blood – the one thing she’s yet failed to dissect to understand the nature. Her insides yelp; it helps her think. She needs to think fast.

Truth, she decides, is the simplest thing to say. And the quickest way to try and thaw a few hearts that are so hung up on innocence.

She only makes one mistake. She looks at Asriel.

‘I was…’ in love, is what Marisa tries for, ready to play the cards, but that incomprehensible soul of hers… She would throw it to the wolves if she could. It makes the words cluster in her throat. It fights against every sound, clawing them down with a fierce proprietary desire to omit, to withhold, to never share a single meaningful piece.

‘Yes, Mrs. Coulter?’

Because it was theirs.

A young man bumps into her, rushing away from her husband like all dogs are on his tail, which is a bit funny since he’s being followed by a giant cat. A  leopard, alright. For the sake of precision, a snow leopard. The man’s face still carries echoes of an argument he’s very obviously continuing in his head even as he turns.

‘My apologies,’ he mutters, a hand on Marisa’s shoulder making sure she’s okay.

‘No need,’ she chuckles at how aggravated he looks, then nods to his suit. ‘You’ve spilled your drink.’

‘What? Oh–’

Something very inappropriate is about to leave his lips, but the stranger contains himself, albeit hardly. He does give an impression of someone who’s not used to doing it. A gentleman, then; sparing Marisa’s ears the horrors of hearing him curse. She smiles. It is a very expensive suit he’s wearing, of fine materials, clearly tailored. With a big wet whiskey spot on the left sleeve.

She lends him a handkerchief. Simple as that.

‘Seemed like you were having a hard time with Edward Coulter there.’

‘Politicians,’ the man scoffs, patting his sleeve dry. ‘A fine specimen too, pigheaded as they come.’

‘Hard to disagree.’

The man snorts.

‘Thank you.’ He looks up to return the handkerchief. For the first time, their eyes meet. Marisa feels blizzard skies touch her face.

Fathomless, untamed, impossibly blue.

Now she’s dizzy.

She has to blink and breathe before reinforcing a polite smile.

‘You’re welcome.’ There’s a little crack in her voice, through which something new seeds in, spilling gold all around. Everything is brighter. Warmer. And the stranger doesn’t help, the stranger is watching her with intensity so profound, as though taking his snowstorm eyes away would be death.

‘I don’t think we’ve been introduced.’

‘We haven’t,’ meaning to take the pitiful piece of cloth, she reaches forward, sly cruelty curling the corner of her mouth in anticipation. ‘Marisa Coulter.’

Now their hands meet. Now she shudders.

It’s against the rules, the anbaric charge running from her fingers and all the way down her spine.

The young man raises his eyebrows, glances over at Edward, then turns to Marisa again. She nods, enjoying the trick. Now he’ll say, ‘Forgive me’. He’ll say, ‘I didn’t mean to be rude’. They’ll laugh about it for as long as another minute will be merciful to last and by tomorrow, they’ll have already forgotten. Simple as that.

He sends her a grin with not a hint of apology in it and whispers, ‘My condolences.’

Their hands are still touching.

Now, Marisa falls.

How does one share… that?

‘I was weak,’ she says instead, hiding the truth so deep in the hardened soil that is her core now, it doesn’t have any chance of pushing back to the surface, ‘and easily seduced. A young woman, the high society. Getting plentiful attention from a handsome young man. It doesn’t excuse me, but the result is, I think, understandable.’

That should do it. That should be enough.

In years to come, she’ll bare her teeth at anyone suggesting that she was, indeed, seduced, for every time, this exact moment will come before her eyes. When she set the rumors free to cover her refusal, her actual inability to kill whatever love there was by laying it down before the judging eyes. When she stood lying her heart out to protect it. What a wild, unreasonable thing to do, lacking any logical backbone.

‘In your own words, Mrs. Coulter, could you describe the nature of your affair with Lord Belacqua?’

And she keeps doing it again, and then again. Before the board of the Consistorial Court, before the Authority himself. Before Asriel, to whom she has no means of explaining what she’s doing and why, and it’s too late for explanations anyway.

‘It was just that, an affair.’ The monkey’s frozen under the palm of her hand, but his heart is racing. He’s looking at Asriel, making her want to look. She can’t bring herself to, not with all the atrocities falling out of her mouth. ‘I never made any advances.’ A lie. ‘Our relationship was merely physical.’ A lie. ‘There were no high feelings involved on either of our ends,’ a preposterous lie, ‘and I certainly never planned for a child.’

‘Now, the child…’

And so it continues: a hook after hook, round after round of scrupulous investigation, escaping traps, spinning a detail or two into webs by myriads and morphing them to the point of striking unrecognizability, concealing what couldn’t be shared.

Marisa goes through humiliation of describing her pregnancy to a board of priests, each of whom, at some point, winces at the realness of their beloved sacred concept. She answers increasingly stupid questions, and grooms her voice to sound respectful and calm. She acknowledges her sins without ever raising eyes. She, for all means and purposes, survives.

There’s one moment where it almost goes downhill.

‘What were the circumstances of your conceiving of a child?’ Sturrock asks, cruelly overdoing the air of grave solemnity. Perhaps, Marisa is just too exhausted to be impressed anymore.

Are you stupid? she might have as well said it, with the way she turns to the man raising a brow, face completely unreadable otherwise. The fat hawk dives out of his papers. Without as much as a word, he gestures for her to talk, and Marisa, the perfect statue, feels the last crumbs of patience being incinerated within.

‘Physical intercourse,’ from her tongue, venom all but drips. ‘Am I supposed to explain to the honorable judges what that is?’

Well, now she’s done it. Caused a storm. Rows of black attires buzz in a unanimous disapproval. Marisa imagines Asriel chuckling. She doesn’t see him, doesn’t hear him behind the noise, but she’d like to imagine a smile. A half-hidden, proud smile he used to have as he looks at her stirring trouble.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! A gavel brings order by slamming the living demons out of the wood. The monkey’s tail curls around Marisa’s forearm. He scowls, and takes a step back. Closer to her. She doesn’t have shelter to offer, only her nails driven deep in the fur.

‘Let me rephrase the question, Mrs. Coulter, and from now on, please refrain from any irrelevant comments,’ the Cardinal grimaces. ‘Were the circumstances clear enough to presume Lord Belacqua to be the father?’

‘I am the father!’

Immediately – a roar, as if that man can’t speak in lower volumes. Always the roars with him.

Across the room, the whole magnitude that is Asriel comes alive, and suddenly Marisa knows – not even understands, it’s not a eureka, she just knows. Stelmaria paces, abandoning her sphinx-like grace; her hissing grows into snarls and back. Asriel is arguing with Sturrock who, without a doubt, is telling him to shut up, which Asriel, without a doubt, ignores. The voices echo. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that for all the lies they both told – the lies, she realizes, absolutely identical in their meaning and reasoning – this one he won’t allow. That single grain of truth must remain unmutilated, untouched by their game of erasure.

For Asriel loves that child. He loved it enough to name it, loved it enough to steal it away. He loves it enough now, to fight for it. And Marisa, while having the power to invent any obnoxious story and take his fatherhood away, won’t do it.

Because it’s theirs.

Because it’s the only thing they haven’t buried yet.

Because, as her love-stricken body never ceases to remind her, she didn’t want a child, but she also wanted his just a little.

So she bites her cool, steady hatred down and doesn’t ruin it all the way. For an act of killing, an act of mercy. Screaming: Here. Don’t you fucking dare say I didn’t have a heart.

‘My husband was frequently absent, sometimes for weeks on end.’ A sterile voice, devoid of anything but a drop of sarcasm. ‘As a scholar, I pride myself in knowing the basic mathematics to do the count.’

It’s hard to say if the Cardinal’s forehead is glistening with sweat of responsibility or mere frustration. He waves his hand, and doesn’t ask Marisa any more questions.

From the distance, Asriel is scrutinizing her. She can imagine gears turning in his head as he contemplates her actions. Imagining is the only thing she can do; to salvage something, something else must be sacrificed. Marisa fakes a cold smile. He frowns. Threads of Aurora colors are still hanging between them, uncut, piercing the space to weave the two together, but the ability to read them is lost.

***

Mercury. Lead. Cadmium. Aluminium. Any type of hazardous metals, Asriel is used to handling in his laboratory with according tools and protection, but when a tiny bundle nestles on the crook of his arm, he suddenly feels stupefied. What to do. How to hold it. How, for heaven’s sake, to not harm it?

Afraid of breathing the wrong way, he walks to the stairs. Thinks. Properly, carefully. Then sits on the lower steps, all the way making sure not to press the baby too hard, not to bump the head, not to… a billion other not-tos.

The tiniest face he’s ever seen wrinkles in sleep, and Asriel understands why it’s called ‘falling in love’. It is a fall. His heart plunges down toward something so entirely new, it’s torturing, yet rewarding at the same time. He felt it with Marisa but this, this is different. He stares at his daughter’s face with awe written all over his.

‘Won’t you introduce us?’ He’s oblivious to his own daemon approaching. Stelmaria rubs at his shoulder, her impressive might turned delicate, affectionate. Amber eyes find the baby. She gives the blanket a couple of sniffs and grumbles with content, tail slowly passing from side to side. Asriel feels holy.

‘Stelmaria, this is Lyra,’ he whispers proudly, stunned at the sheer strangeness of the words he never thought he’d use in a combination until he does. ‘My child.’

And then again, ‘My child.’ Like he’s perpetually amused by it. His chest shakes with a stifled laughter of joy.

The baby’s eyes aren’t fully closed, so he thinks he might need to ask Ma Costa if that’s alright. She’ll know. Still, the child appears happy in her slumber. His child, sleeping in his arms. Under her eyelids, a shard of blue. Gyptians say, everybody’s born with blue eyes, sky eyes, and only when spirits finish weaving the threads of one’s life here on earth, do they acquire their true color. What a bunch of nonsense. His child, Asriel knows, will have the bluest eyes forever, even when she’s all grown up. Because she’s theirs, Marisa’s and his.

A little mousy thing climbs from under the fold, yawning and squealing. Perhaps, it’s too hot there. The tiny daemon doesn’t even fully wake, slumping right back on his daughter’s chest and dreaming their little dreams.

‘Won’t you introduce us?’ Asriel turns to Stelmaria, echoing the question. The leopard comes to lick the mouse, her tongue as long as his whole body. A kiss of love, though she’s careful enough not to touch the baby. Small paws catch at the fur on her chin. She licks the daemon again, unmistakably pleased.

‘Feisty,’ she says with quiet fondness before resting a head on her human’s shoulder. ‘Asriel, this is Pantalaimon.’

‘Pantalaimon,’ the name settles over the little thing. Both little things. ‘Lyra and Pantalaimon.’

He sighs, content, amused. In love.

‘My child. My child.’

‘He was going there to murder my child, and I wasn’t supposed to intervene?’

‘Lord Belacqua, we’re not questioning…’

‘Where in your holy books does it say that a father should sit and let it happen?’

‘Your motifs are…’

‘Because I’ve read them, and there’s no such thing there! You know what else they don’t say? That a husband can kill the bastard his wife bore. And don’t give me the ‘violation’ speech, if he was going to avenge his wife, he’d have come straight to me. Edward Coulter chose to go and murder the child.’

‘Silence!’ Sturrock roars, banging the gavel in a deafening, psychotic rhythm for so long, the thing must have gone flat. The Cardinal drops it on the table before wiping his forehead for the umpteenth time. Another ink smudge appears. The man sighs. When he speaks again, his breath comes out heavy with wheezing. ‘As I was saying, Lord Belacqua, we are not questioning your motifs. But if the murder of Edward Coulter was indeed, as you claim, undesigned, the question remains: how did you know of his whereabouts?’

Asriel’s hands are itching to break something. The damn gavel, preferably. Preferably, against the Cardinal’s head. Conversations have been going in circles forever now, following the same patterns like figurines in a music box.

‘Once again, the gyptians sent for me,’ he grips at the sides of his stand until his knuckles show white. ‘I know you’ve spoken to Ma Costa and John Faa. I’m sure they told you the same.’

‘Did any of them know what Edward Coulter looked like?’

‘Why would they?’

‘So, a stranger shows up, and they immediately call for you? Certainly, you understand why I’m finding this peculiar.’

‘The man was ravaging their settlement, screaming my name and demanding to see the child. I doubt the dots were hard to connect.’

‘And you, luckily, showed up just in time?’

‘Luck, chance, divine intervention, I don’t care what you call it. Ma Costa sent a boy for me. As soon as I heard what was happening, I took his horse and rode. And yes, I killed a man, but need I remind you, I did so protecting my child.’

‘Yes, yes, you’ve made that abundantly clear, Lord Belacqua,’ Sturrock mutters, clearly irked, dropping back in his chair.

A short silence follows. A short time to regroup for another attack. What ticks His wheezing Eminence the most, Asriel thinks as he’s watching the man shuffle papers on the table, is that he does not exhibit guilt. Every fool knows it’s the surest way to win the judging party over, yet he disregards even the most basic of rules. Deep within, he can’t miss the appeal: a man of science facing a board of clerics and winning, slowly but surely. He allows himself a smirk. Right away, comes a cautionary glow of golden eyes. Stelmaria bares her teeth, just slightly. Nothing is over yet.

They are all tired, agitated, and way, way less patient. Sturrock finally stops pretending to be the all-knowing bringer of justice and sulks in his high seat, clueless as to what comes next. That makes him pesky, stubborn. From here on in, dangerous paths wind ahead.

‘Where is the child now?’ the Cardinal finally asks.

Ah. So they know.

Asriel draws air to reply when he notices a tiny movement. It only makes him pause for a fraction of a second, but his mouth grows suddenly dry as he realizes what it was. Marisa turns her head. Marisa, who, for hours, stood as  indifferent as a statue and seemed to be oozing nothing but quintessential, undiluted boredom with the fate of their daughter, turns her head, and listens.

‘Lord…’

‘Yes, I heard.’

He can feel Sturrock frown.

‘And?’

It doesn’t matter. Her listening doesn’t matter. The woman is a labyrinth, each turn a dead-end. A sea creature that learned to mimic humanity. It’s just his heart he needs to persuade, because, well… She told the truth. Threw away the best weapons she had and told the truth where it mattered.

‘Lord Belacqua, I have to insist…’

‘The Jordan College,’ Asriel barks, pushing through the pounding in his chest. ‘She’s in the Jordan College, in care of its Master.’

Come what may, he’ll fight.

‘So,’ the sweaty, round face of the Cardinal proves to be a surprisingly good distraction. Who could’ve thought. ‘How does a child, placed in a nunnery, end up in the Jordan College?’

‘I took her there myself.’

‘On what grounds?’

‘On the grounds of my doing whatever the hell I want, because this is my child!’

He shouts. Stelmaria’s roaring, carried by the echo, rambles through the hall, and a whole lot of bugs, spiders, and mice daemons hurry to hide in their humans’ sleeves. They don’t have anything against him, Asriel realizes with grim satisfaction. Better yet, they are quite afraid. He stands prouder, arms folded. The taste of victory grazes his tongue already, nearing in anticipation to that first sip of tokay as the liquid gold pours into a glass.

‘And did you not think to consult with Mrs. Coulter?’ Sturrock gestures innocently to the side. ‘Its mother?’

He looks a cheap magician demonstrating a trick, although why, Asriel can’t seem to grasp. Marisa has been standing there this whole time. It’s not like he made her appear out of nowhere. A thought stumbles on its own irrelevance, at once fading.

There’s something in Marisa’s eyes.

Something, he could swear.

She stands wearing her guilt, and shame, and sin like she would one of her ravishing dresses, and he could swear she gives him the smallest, sharpest nod.

‘Mrs. Coulter…’ Asriel begins hoarsely, then stops. Honey-spiked wine turns into a nauseating unctuous slush in his throat. With an effort, he swallows it all the way down. He’d swallow his own pride to keep talking. ‘Mrs. Coulter does not have a grain of interest in being a mother, Cardinal. As soon as the child was born, she wished for it to be sent away. She even went as far as telling her husband that it died at birth. That child never knew a crumb of mother’s care, so I don’t think Mrs. Coulter has a say in the matter.’

He never takes his eyes off Marisa. Treading onto the ice, waiting for creatures to come from the depths and devour him.

Take her away, Asriel. I can’t… I’ll hurt her, or do something, or… She will ruin everything, she will. I hate that. I hate… Just hide her, Asriel, please. Hide her from me. I’d rather hate her from the beginning than love her, and hurt her still.

Creatures never come.

The lie settles.

Hanging over the room, an uneasy silence: the entire board of the honorable judges grows quiet, shifting their gazes from one stand to another. There’s not a cough, not a chirp from their daemons. No minds able to unriddle that enormous magnetic charge pulsating in the air, created and sustained, it seems, in half-accidental, neither scientific nor theological, conditions of two people looking at one another. Each a defendant, each a prosecutor. Making their own gravity.

Which can only exist for as long as it’s allowed.

‘Be it as it may, Lord Belacqua…’ the Cardinal sounds a tad less sure now, yet there are no more grounds to surrender. ‘She is still the child’s mother, and in terms of the rightful…’

‘Your Eminence, if I may?’

A clear voice, so perfect in its tone against the angry, tired grumbles that have been bouncing off the walls for hours, it’s like a breath of air.

All Asriel can do is watch. It all depends on her now.

Sturrock pinches the bridge of his nose – needless to say, dripping with sweat – before addressing Marisa. Whether he’s contemplating his career, or wondering if the two of them decided to team up specifically to wear him down, Asriel would understand.

‘Yes, Mrs. Coulter?’

‘Let him do with the child as he pleases.’

What are you doing.

‘Again, Mrs. Coulter, any elaborations?’

‘None,’ she shakes her head. ‘Except that I have no intention of being a mother to, as Lord Belacqua so eloquently put it before, a bastard born of sin.’

What are you doing, goddamn you.

She stands there. Just stands there, with whispers and looks touching her face, her clothes, getting under it and branding her a monster. An adultress, twice sinner, a mother who left her child. They would be more merciful if she just played her cards. Everyone loves a sad story with a mother and a child somewhere in it, and none more that the church folk. She doesn’t leave them a chance to be merciful.

In her eyes, shards of sea-blue, so familiar it sends a violent thrust through his heart. The ones forever mixed into the blue of their daughter’s. And suddenly, Asriel finds himself nodding to her in the same hidden gesture she did.

That’s right. Hit harder. I know you can.

The golden monkey stirs. Behind her stand, Marisa is a mask of cold elegance. Right next to her, her soul withers in a white-knuckled grip. Then she blinks, and her sea-blue goes completely blank, and she looks away.

‘Is that your official request, Mrs. Coulter?’

‘If need be, yes.’

The Cardinal gives out an exasperated sigh. Then bangs a gavel.

‘So be it.’

***

The very last thing they do is sign the orders.

Marisa sways when she takes the first step, but simply because she spent hours on her feet, hardly moving. Not because she’s afraid of walking toward the inevitable end.

She doesn’t look at Asriel. He doesn’t look at her.

They’ve said all they wanted, agreed on all they needed, and lied the living souls out of themselves in the process, painting each other all colors of monstrous. The tainted mess left on the courtroom floor has nothing to do with what they really were. And that, perhaps, is the most victory they can share. With nobody knowing the truth, they might forget it too. Forget there was ever love at all.

Ugly, grotesque versions of them that will leave the room shouldn’t make it too hard.

Asriel is the one to leave first. Stelmaria follows him quietly, a ghost of a man and ghost of a daemon.

His signature is right there on the paper. Marisa hardly even reads what is above. She’s not to approach Lyra or visit the Jordan College, that much she heard from Sturrock’s lengthy speech. The rest, she couldn’t be bothered with.

She signs a confident ‘M’.

A less confident name, not yet understanding why.

Then shivers.

For whatever reason, her hand is aching to write ‘Delamare’. I love you, sea creature. Taking a deep breath, Marisa has to spend a good minute closing her mind, sealing it up for good. Resorting, ironically, to the very thing she and Asriel created together.

Marisa Delamare drowns at sea. From its depths, a creature emerges, as enigmatic and obscure as the black waters that have turned its blood cold all the way through to the heart, and its beautiful embrace is deadly.

The creature’s name is Mrs. Coulter.

[thetriumphantpanda]

Cruel Summer | Javier Peña (Chapter Four)

Javier helps you with an idea to help raise much needed money for your shop that turns out to be better than expected. In a moment of madness, the truth comes to the surface. Can you truly be happy with Javier when there's the ghost of your ever-present husband behind you?

Pairing | Javier Peña x Female Reader

Word Count | 3.6k

Warnings | Smoking, drinking, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of domestic abuse but nothing explicit, some fluff and FINALLY THESE TWO GET SOME INTIMACY.

Authors Note | You guys have no idea how excited this chapter has made me. THESE TWO IDIOTS ARE CONSUMING MY LIFE and I'm finally getting them where they need to be. If you enjoyed this I'd love to hear from you - comments, reblogs and asks are my lifeblood and if you liked it, I hope you consider dropping me a follow to keep up to date with my fics and to join my little family. Love y'all.

Series Masterlist / Main Masterlist

The heat was stifling in the back of your shop. Silently cursing the fact that Ethan hadn’t been generous enough to fix the air conditioning you wiped at your brow before deciding you couldn’t focus on the sewing in front of you enough to do a decent job of it. 

At the front of the shop, you threw open the door, the air was hot, so you weren’t sure what you were hoping to achieve by it but the warm breeze now flowing through was enough to give you some temporary relief. 

Setting yourself behind the cash register and pulling your book out to take a break was all you could focus on doing right now. Thankfully, a welcome distraction appeared in the form of Javier, arms laden with clothes. 

“Afternoon querida,” He greeted, “Pops sent me down with some clothes, can I leave them with you?” 

You’d barely seen him since Gabriela’s wedding the previous weekend. If anyone had watched you dance together then no-one had told Ethan about it because you hadn’t faced any of the consequences normally reserved for so much as looking at Javier. He was out of town in New York for some kind of sales meeting and you the relief you’d felt as soon as he’d closed the door and left was indescribable.  

“Sure thing,” You nodded, “What’s wrong with them?” 

“Just holes of varying descriptions, some of the seams have popped, the usual ranch acquired casualties.” 

You laughed, taking the pile, “I’d say that I would take them and sort them now but it’s far too hot back there to concentrate, so I’ll sort them as soon as I can and then bring them around if that’s okay?” 

“Of course,” He smiled, “Do you not have AC?” 

“Well, I did, it’s broken and when I had someone come to check it out, they said the whole thing needed replacing, Ethan said the price was extortionate and that it wasn’t worth the money.” 

“Well Ethan isn’t the one who needs to work here all day, is he?” Javier countered, “If it gets much hotter in here, you’re going to make yourself sick.” 

“If it gets too bad then I can just take some of this stuff home with me,” You pointed out, “Means shutting up shop but not many people pass through anyway.” 

“You should get it fixed, querida.” 

“With what money, Javi?” 

“Okay, here’s an idea,” He mused, “How about we stop waiting for people to come to you, and take you to the people?” 

You furrowed your brow, “I’m not following?” 

“The farmers market, on Saturday,” He explained, “We get you a stall and you can take those shirts you’ve been making and sell them there, hand out cards whilst you do it for the repairs you do.” 

You had to admit that it was a good idea. You had piles of shirts perfect for the ranchers just piled up gathering dust and Gabriela had bought you a bunch of business cards as an opening gift when the shop first opened. 

“It’s a good idea.” You admitted. 

“I know it is, let me go and talk to the guy in charge, Pops knows him so it should be pretty straight forward, and you’ll have your shiny new AC unit before you know it.” 

He turned on his heel to leave but you reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him back around to look at you, “Thank you Javi,” You smiled, “I really mean it, I appreciate this. I appreciate you.” 

He smiled back, “Anything for you, querida.” 

*

Javier had stuck true to his word and spoken to Mitch, who had allocated you a stall at the market without trouble. The pitch he’d given you was right at the entrance, one of the first stalls people would walk past and you wondered if Javi had anything to do with that, but you decided to push that thought to the back of your head as you folded another shirt into a bag, Gabriela throwing in a business card as you handed it to the customer and took their cash in return. 

Gabriela threw herself back down into the chair she’d brought, resting her ankles with a hand on her bump, “You can go home you know?” You offered, it was hot, and you knew she was struggling, fanning herself and taking a sip of the lemonade she’d bought from the stall a few rows down. 

“And miss your entrepreneurial debut?” She snorted, “Not a chance, besides, it won’t be long until this one takes away any semblance of social life I’ve ever had, I’m in it to the end, celebratory drinks at the bar and everything.” 

“Hola, Mija.” A familiar voice draws you from your conversation with Gabriela. 

“Chucho!” You greeted warmly, “How are you today?” 

“I’m good,” He smiles, “Javi assured me you might have some shirts I’d be interested in.” 

“He would be right,” You replied, eyes searching the crowd behind him for Javier, “Have a rummage through and see if there’s anything you like.” 

“He’s just picking up some ingredients for our meals this week,” Chucho states as his eyes look at the shirts displayed on your stall, “He’ll stop by in a minute.” 

You looked to Gabriela who was smirking to herself, they both had you read like a book when it came to him. 

“Find anything you like, Pops?” Came his voice as he emerged from the crowd behind Chucho, a paper bag filled to the brim with what looked like an assortment of vegetables. 

He set it down on one of the empty spaces on your table as he thumbed through the shirts himself, pulling out one you’d made in a rush over the past few days in order to have enough to sell. It was a light beige colour with a checked pattern of reds and browns. Chucho had settled on a similar style but in a deep red colour with a green pattern instead. Chucho took Javi’s pick and handed them to you, you diligently bagged them up and took Chucho’s payment. 

“Take those to the truck, Pops, I’ll be there in a minute.” 

Chucho tipped his hat to you in a goodbye and left, “How is it going?” Javi asked. 

“Well, the table was full a few hours ago and I don’t have much left, so I think it’s safe to say it was a success.” You smiled. 

“Well, I’m glad,” He smiled back, “You should really thank the guy who came up with the idea.”

“I’m not really sure how.” You spoke softly, Gabriela dragging you out of your flirting with a cough. 

“Javi, we’re heading to a bar after so she can count her takings and celebrate, you should come!” Gabriela said, standing from her chair. 

“How many of you are going?” He asked, obviously fishing for whether he’d need to spend time in close quarters with your husband. 

“It’ll just be Gabriela and her husband and me,” You answered, “Ethan is still away working.” 

“Well, why don’t you girls stay put whilst I take Pops home and I can come back and drive you all there?” 

You nodded in agreement and parted with a plan that Javi would come back in the next few hours. 

“He’s always been a nice guy, hasn’t he?” Gabriela mused as she started folding shirts to pack away, the crowds thinning slightly. 

“Gabriela, behave yourself.” You warned, following her actions. 

“I was just making an observation,” She held her hands up in a fake surrender, “But don’t think I didn’t notice the two of you dancing at my wedding,” She smirked, “You looked happy, Chica, for the first time in years, he brings out something good in you, he always has.” 

You sighed, trying to busy yourself with packing down, “Too bad he didn’t stick around.” You mumbled, mainly for yourself. 

“You were the one that just let yourself coast through whatever plan your mother had for you,” Gabriela prodded, knowing it was a sore subject, “If you’d have said no things could be different.” 

“I did it for my papa, Gabriela.” You shot, tone dangerously close to a fight. 

“And he more than anyone would hate what you put up with, how unhappy you are.” 

“Can we just drop it please?” You pleaded, “It’s been such a nice day, I don’t want to fight.” 

She pulled you into a hug, trying not to squish her belly too far into you, “I’m sorry chica,” She spoke into your cheek, “I just want you to be happy.” 

*

“Sixty, Eighty, one hundred.” You called as you slapped down the last of the notes on the bar table, just in time for Javier to place three cold beers and a bottle of soda down, “Oh my god, that’s halfway to what I needed!” You exclaimed, all three of your friends breaking out into grins and congratulations. 

You sat down, shuffling into the booth so Javier could sit next to you. He was sat across from Diego, Gabriela’s husband, who gratefully took the beer he’d offered. 

“Well, here’s to a new AC unit,” You smiled, watching as everyone clinked their bottles together before sipping them, “And to Javi, for the great idea.” 

You’d chosen a different bar to normal, one that was further out of town, mainly to avoid any of Ethan’s friends who would be hanging around, ready to report back to him that they’d seen you with Javier. It was quieter than your usual place and you could smell something delicious wafting from the kitchen. 

“I want wings,” You declared, “Anyone else?” There were nods around the table. 

“I’ll come with you,” Diego offered, “My treat.” 

Javi moved to let you out of the booth before sitting back down, scooting across so he was opposite Gabriela. She wasted no time in getting down to business, something that Javi had always enjoyed about her. 

“You make her really happy, you know?” She asked, “I know you probably don’t see it, but since you’ve been back, she’s been different, I just wanted to say thank you for bringing my best friend back.” 

Javier could do nothing other than smile, “I really upset her when I left,” He admitted, “And when I didn’t reach out, I knew I was hurting her more, but I guess I thought it was for the best.” 

“Between the two of us,” Gabriela began, leaning forward on the table, “She’s always needed to learn the hard way, you can talk as much sense into her as you think she needs but she’s always going to have to make mistakes and make the wrong choices to learn what she wants.” 

“That why she got married?” 

Gabriela scoffed, “She got married because her mama forced her Javi, I had weeks of her on my porch in tears, saying she didn’t love him and that she didn’t want the big dress or the church wedding, that she was going to pack up and run away, I think at one point she actually did pack her bag, but then when her dad got sick everything changed,” She shrugged, “It was fucking horrible but her mama cashed in on it, getting it into her head that he wanted to see her married before he died and she just rolled over and let it happen.” 

There was on question on Javier’s lips that he wanted to ask. He wasn’t blind, he’d seen how Ethan had spoken to her when they’d been at his house for dinner, he could see the way he looked at her, like she was his property, “Does he hurt her?” 

Gabriela shook her head, “She’s never admitted it, but I can put two and two together,” She leant back in her seat, “We’ve planned things together, dinners, movies, shopping trips, you know, the stuff all best friends do together and then she’ll call and cancel at the last minute with excuses like she’s sick or she’s got a headache and then I won’t see or hear from her for a week and then everything will be back to normal,” She shrugged, “I can’t help her if she doesn’t tell me and even when I ask the answer is always some form of no but I’ve never believed her.” 

Javi nodded, trying to keep his anger at bay. He couldn’t imagine anyone hurting you. You were sweet and all you’ve ever wanted to do with anyone you’d met was make them happy. How Ethan couldn’t see that, see what kind of prize he’d one with that ring around her finger, he would never understand. 

“He doesn’t deserve her,” Gabriela insisted, “And she doesn’t deserve to be miserable for the rest of her life, you’ve opened her up so much in just a few weeks, I’m begging you Javier, please do the rest.” 

He was about to ask what she meant when you and Diego came back to the table, arms laden with wings and fries, “I hope everyone is hungry, we went a bit overboard.” You put the food in the middle for everyone whilst Diego dashed back to the bar and came back with another round of drinks. 

The rest of the evening was nice. You chatted about everything and nothing at all, no-one really asked Javier about Colombia which you could tell he was grateful for. Gabriela did her best to tell the table the horror stories of pregnancy which was enough to swear you off it for the rest of your life. Diego and Javi spent some time talking about the boats they’d seen heading upriver, surmising it was drug runners, but you hadn’t really been paying attention. 

You had to admit it was lovely. Not having to worry about Ethan getting too drunk, saying something to upset someone or trying to start of fight. There was no possessive hand on your hip or a hushed whisper in your ear to tell you not to look so miserable because you were embarrassing him. Just four friends drinking and laughing together. You felt light. 

“You want one?” Javi asked, gesturing to his cigarette packet. 

You nodded and followed him as he scooted from the booth to lead you outside, not wanting to subject Gabriela to a face full of smoke. 

“I’m proud of you, you know?” Javier mused once he’d lit both your cigarettes. 

You looked up at him and grinned, “It was all your idea,” You shrugged, “I just turned up.”

Maybe it was the two shots of tequila you’d taken with Diego in secret at the bar whilst waiting for you food, or the four bottles of beer you’d finished over the course of the night, but something dangerous was boiling in your blood. Reckless, you realized, you were feeling reckless. 

“Hey Javi?” You spoke, getting his attention so he would turn to you. 

As soon as he did, you stood on tiptoes and pressed a quick, soft kiss to his lips, lingering long enough for him to know it hadn’t been a slip up but short enough to hopefully leave him wanting more. When you stood back on your flat feet, he was back on you almost immediately, cigarette dropped to the ground, yours following not long after as his hands cradled your face, and his lips were back on yours.

You’d dreamed of this moment for years. What would he taste like? Cigarettes, beer and something you could quite place. What would it feel like? Like the whole world around you had melted away and you were the only thing he had that could sustain him. Would he take things slow, or would it be rushed and messy? Slow, his mouth opening in order to deepen the kiss, letting his tongue mix with yours at a pace that told you he had all the time in the world. Would it be everything you’d ever dreamed of? Yes, and then some.

He pulled back and you opened your eyes, his face was still dangerously close to yours, just the smallest of movements and you could consume his mouth with your own again. You almost did, until the door to the bar opened. Instinctively you stepped back and you were glad you did, Gabriela and Diego were there. 

“We’re gonna head home, my ankles are screaming.” Gabriela announced, “Want a ride back?” She asked you. 

You looked at Javier who’s face betrayed nothing of what just happened, or what he was feeling in that moment, “Sure, saves you taking me to the other side of town and then driving back here to go to the ranch.” You speak, half to Gabriela and half to Javi. 

There’s a brief goodbye, Javi shakes Diego’s hand and gives him the customary manly clap on the back and then Gabriela receives a hug. He gives you a similar hug to Gabriela, not getting too close and you’re thankful because there is a want coursing through your blood that makes you feel like if he pressed his body to yours, you’d rip off every inch of material from his body and fuck him in the parking lot. 

*

It's late and you can’t sleep. Somewhere between Gabriela dropping you off and this moment right now, led on your back staring at your ceiling, you’d decided it was all a big mistake, but not from your point of view. How could Javi want you like that? It’d been a long waiting game to see him come back, you were almost convinced he wouldn’t at one point. How could he want you, with your pathetic life and a wedding ring around your finger. 

You push back the sheets and start getting dressed. It was irrational but you needed to know. You needed to ask him. Then you could move on, go back to being miserable and trying your best not to upset your husband enough that he hit you. Go back to your floundering business, sewing up the odd hole for someone and wishing you’d taken the opportunity to run whilst you could have. 

Unbeknownst to you, Javier is having the same argument with himself of Chucho’s porch. Glass of whiskey half abandoned on the floor he’s thinking there’s no way you could want him. No way that the girl who had always been sunshine personified could want all his sharp edges and dark thoughts. No way you could want to lie next to him and listen to the nightmares or to let his mind wander to all those people dead because he couldn’t do his job properly. 

That’s why the headlights at the end of the ranch driveway were a surprise. They cut out and at first, he couldn’t see who it was opening the door and barreling towards the front porch with purpose. Then he realized it was you and he couldn’t quite believe it. As you came to a stop on his porch in front of him he could tell you were frazzled, your hair was a mess from what he could only assume was the same tossing and turning he did every night when he couldn’t find sleep, and he could tell from the redness around your eyes that you’d been crying. 

“Do you regret it?” You asked. 

“Querida, I…”

“Do you regret kissing me, Javi?” You cut him off. 

“I could never regret anything with you hermosa.” Was his answer without even thinking. 

You stepped back from him, “Fuck!” You exclaimed, “God this would have been so much easier if you’d said yes.” 

“Hey, hey calm down.” Javier attempted to soothe you, standing from his seat on the porch to put his hands on your shoulders. 

“I hate him, Javi,” You were crying now, tears flowing freely down your face, “I hate how he makes me feel, hate what he’s turned me into, the way I felt when we kissed earlier is the first time I’ve felt genuinely happy since before you left for Colombia, I just want something good in my life again.” 

“Querida, I’m not the same man I was before I left,” He warned, “Colombia… it did things to me, made me do things I’m not proud of, things I don’t know that I can ever make right, there’s something here,” He says, hand to chest, “That I worry about, I don’t want to bring any more misery to your life.” 

“I have waited years for you Javier Peña and I will not let you talk yourself out of this, I won’t let you talk me out of it.” 

“Do you really understand what you’re asking for?” He asked, searching your eyes for doubt, you nodded in response, “You need to say it.” He demands. 

“I’m asking you to give me respite Javi,” You speak softly, “I need you to take me away from my misery, even if it’s for an hour, a day, however long we might have,” You stopped and looked into his eyes, “Please don’t make me beg for you again.”

He takes hold of your hand in a gentle way that you don’t think you’ve ever experienced and leads you to the bench on the porch. He sits down and gestures for you to do the same which you do, a gasp leaving your lips when he drags you into his side, arm wrapped around your shoulders and a kiss pressed to the top of your head. 

Your eyes close and a tear falls down your cheek. It is the most intimate you’ve been with anyone in months, and he hasn’t taken a single item of your clothing off your body. 

“If you want me, I’m yours hermosa, in whatever way that has to be.” Javi speaks softly, another kiss dropped to you, this time to your forehead as you look up at him. 

You sit up and turn your body towards his, finally pressing a kiss to his lips, pulling back just enough to utter the words, “I want you, Javier, more than the air that I breathe.” 

PREV | NEXT

[thepaperpanda]

I Want To Be A YouTuber || Venom & Eddie Brock drabble

Summary: In response to Venom's demands, Eddie creates a YouTube channel

Warnings: none, just Venom being insistent 😁

Word count: 1067

Authors: Cass & Rouge

Although Venom was persistent, he was the only one who persuaded Eddie Brock to do dumb things. Eddie always listened to Venom primarily to make him shut his mouth and hush him; it never lasted more than a few minutes. Eddie was this time persuaded by Venom to start a YouTube channel.

Venom exhorted Eddie, "We're unusual! Take us to the world. We'll be famous like Kim Kardashian!"

Eddie finally agreed to Venom's idea after almost two weeks. "I can't believe we are doing this..." Eddie muttered as he set up the camera and the background. The youtubers he saw all had nice backgrounds. "I am really unsure about this, V... What are we even gonna record?"

"You must introduce yourself, punk," Venom instructed firmly and loudly. "You must explain who you are and why you are opening the channel," symbiote responded. You wanna get some pussies? Don't get in front of the camera with that stupid grin of yours. You have to present like a cool, bad guy. Girls like bad boys. Say something like ‘Yo, I'm Eddie Brock and I've gotta show you what I got after that fucking meteor hit our planet’, yeah?" Venom joked. "Like cool banditos, yeah?" Symbiote advised. “We’ll be recording us. We’re cool, yeah?”

"There's no way I know how, but I'm gonna say you watch too much YouTube," Eddie pointed out.

As Eddie sat in front of the camera, he turned it on and began recording. "Hello! I'm Eddie, and welcome to my channel! Many of you may wonder why I have a channel, but I'm special in some way since I have this little buddy," Eddie said as he tapped his shoulder.

Out of nowhere, Venom appeared, grinning to the camera and licking his fangs. "Hello there, punks, I'm Venom and I'd love to meet you all, especially your lungs, brains and livers. But that's a story for another time. In today's episode, we're going to demonstrate our awesome abilities by eating bad guys."

Eddie glared at the symbiote. "Venom... Really? You can't be that aggressive. We need to be nice and likable so people will watch us."

"Don't worry, we know our role," Venom reminded and his tone softened. "So once again, we are soft Symbiotes, we came from outer space and we're happy we found him," Venom said, pointing his head to Eddie. "He's a dumbass, but we love him."

As Eddie hugged Venom, he said, "He is an asshole, but I love him so much. He can be rude, but he is a great friend."

Venom's head was petted; Eddie earned a low grunt of happiness from the symbiote.

"I hope you'll enjoy our channel and whatever we do here," Eddie added, smiling to the camera.

As Venom licked Eddie's cheek, he added, "We'll prank people in public."

"I don't think this will be possible, V. I have a job, I can't run around and prank people then upload them on the internet," Eddie said, turning off the camera. "Now I just have to edit it and it will be ready to be posted on our YouTube channel."

In response, Venom nuzzled Eddie and added, "Edit it as soon as possible."

Eddie nodded, "I'll deal with this now. I have nothing better to do," he grabbed his camera and walked to his computer.

Venom asked, "Can you give us that delicious cheese you have in the fridge first, punk?"

"I'd appreciate it if you left me something to eat, too," Eddie gave Venom a careful glance.

In order to get his cheese, Venom disconnected from Eddie and crawled to the fridge

The camera was connected to Eddie's computer when he commented, "You look funny, V." As he waited for Venom to return, he began editing the video.

After gliding back to Eddie, Venom climbed onto his back.

Eddie petting Venom's head asked, "Are you happy now? I am almost done."

Venom held a piece of cheese in his paws and chewed it. “Eddie, you edit it? We'd like to see it. And yes, it's fine now. Cheese was tasty."

"Yes. I am done," Brock presented the video to Venom.

Venom's white eyes widened as he exclaimed, "We can upload it! Look, Eddie, we look like a top model. I meant us, not you, but you do look great too. Upload, upload!"

Eddie laughed, "Yes, we do look like Top Model." He quickly uploaded the video. "Let's go eat something now. We will check the reactions tomorrow morning."

____________________________

The next morning Venom awoke as first, although this time he was disconnected from Eddie. He was still nuzzling the man's shoulder. "Eddie, get up, get up. It's morning! We have to check reactions!" Symbiote licked Eddie's cheek as soon as he opened his eyes.

As Eddie sat up and rubbed his eyes, he murmured, "Wait... Wait... Just let me wake up." In a few minutes, Brock got up from bed and opened his laptop, sluggishly turning it on.

"C'mon, punk, we can't wait!"

Eddie yawned and opened the page with their video, then scrolled through the comments at the bottom.

Venom stared at the man, asking, "What, and what, do they think we're ready to start yet?!"

Eddie muttered, "Well... The comments aren't really nice... Read them yourself, V."

As Venom read, he became more enraged. “What a nasty, fucking shits. Can we eat them?!"

"No, Venom, just forget about this idea, and let's stick to the newspaper," Eddie sighed.

"No, no, no. We've got to eat them. We've got to eat those fuckers," Venom claimed, showing his fangs.

"No, Venom. We only eat bad guys, not people who dislike us."

"When they don't like us, that means they're mean. That's what makes them haters. Haters are bad people so we can eat them," Venom concluded after a few longer moments.

Eddie sighed and petted Venom's head as he said, "It's not always like that. Maybe they're right. It's not our thing."

With an angry voice, Venom said, "But we love you and you did a great job, Eddie."

"Let's eat something tasty, shall we?" Brock suggested, trying to get Venom's attention away from YouTube.

"Yes," Venom replied, wrapping his arms around Eddie. "We love you."

Getting up from the chair, Eddie said, "I know, Venom. Let's go to your favorite place and order whatever you want."

Venom grinned widely. "Yes, that's a very clever idea."

[totally-not-a-cannibal-hannibal]

To My Taste

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Part 3: Nightshade

Masterlist

⚠️Warnings⚠️ there are none really just a dinner at a cannibal's house.😅

The dialog might be a little awkward. I'm still getting use to writing with more then two people on a scene. I hope it's still readable. 🙏

          It had occurred to me I had no idea what the dress code was for this sort of thing. Were jeans too casual? What about jeans and a nice top? Would a gown be too formal? Unfortunately for me this thought came entirely too late because I was already standing at Dr. Lecter's door.

       I thought I heard a rustling behind me coming from a line of trees. I turned around to look for the animal causing the sound, it must have been big the way the twigs were snapping. My stomach dropped to the floor when I heard the door open behind me. It startled me so bad I must have jumped at least an inch off the ground.

         "My apologies Lydia, I did not mean to frighten you, what are you looking at?" Dr. Lecter says as he looks into the tree line with me. 

          "It's alright, I think you have a deer or something back here." 

       "Very possible, sometimes in the morning they come up and lick the condensation from the windows. Please come in." He says as he opens the door wider for me. 

        "Oh right, thank you." I say pulling my attention from the tree line. I step inside as he shuts the door behind me. His house was as well decorated as his office. It was warm and inviting while also looking like something from a magazine. 

         "Your dress is lovely." He says as he walks me to the kitchen where Will is sneaking grapes from whatever Dr. Lecter was preparing. 

       "Oh thank you." I say now glad I wore a more casual dress. Will was in his normal attire. As per usual Dr. Lecter out dressed us all effortlessly.

        "You actually made it on time." Will says with a small smile. 

        "You wouldn't believe how many alarms I had to set." 

       "Well we are glad you made it." Dr. Lecter says as he removes the bowl of grapes from Will's possession.  They seemed to be getting along a bit better. Will doesn't look like he hates his life when he's around him anymore. 

       "How are you holding up?" Will asks suddenly, I knew what he really wanted to ask me. 

        "Oh pretty well. Day by day." I say as I lean on the counter Dr. Lecter was using to cut up some fancy looking vegetable I wouldn't be able to guess the name of in a million years. 

         "Really? You got bags under your eye." Will says bluntly. I wasn't sure if this was Will being Will or if he was on edge from something else. I laughed at his comment. Dr. Lecter glaces at Will for a second then returns his eyes back to his vegetable cutting. 

       "Speak for yourself, Will."

       "I think we all could do with a little more sleep." Dr. Lecter interjects perhaps worried Will hurt my feelings.

        Dr. Lecter poured us all some sweet smelling wine then took us to the dining room. He sat Will at one side of the table and me at the other. It being his home he sat at the head of the table. 

       "The meat for our meal is still in the oven. My apologies Lydia I thought I'd have a little more time."

        "He thought you'd be late too." Will adds with a smirk. I laughed and nodded. It was a pretty close call but I managed to get out the door in time.

       We had some polite conversation while the food finished. Will made a few quips at Dr. Lecter. He was on a roll tonight. I always enjoyed talking with Will. His wit and dry sense of humor made up for what he lacked in tack. Dr. Lecter excused himself to work on the food, leaving just Will and I. 

      "I wasn't joking around in the kitchen, you look half dead." Will stopped himself before continuing. "That sounded bad, you look good, you just seem tired."

       "Oh Will, you think I look good? You don't look half bad yourself." I say in an overly flirty tone. He let out a chuckle but looked a little frustrated. 

        "I'm serious Lydia, you having trouble sleeping?" 

         "Will I'm fine really, I have been catching up on some TV with all my free time. I don't get to bed till 3 most nights. I sleep fine once I get around to it." This was of course a lie but I didn't need him worrying about something that will pass soon enough. 

        He looked like he wanted to press the matter but thankfully Dr. Lecter came in with three dishes. 

       "Will, for you and I have prepared cherry allspice glazed ham I have had in a slow cooker for 8 hours and Lydia for you I have charred cabbage with goat cheese raita and cucumbers with some garnishment." He sat down the dishes down for us. My meal looked incredible. So some colors and he even placed some flowers. 

         "Dr. Lecter this is too beautiful to eat. I say looking up at him. He takes his seat with a small smile. 

         "No such thing, and please Lydia call me Hannibal." He places a napkin on his lap and picks up his fork and knife. I followed his lead and put a napkin down. 

          One of the flowers looked so familiar to me but I couldn't place it right away. Then it hit me.

          "Hannibal, is this a deadly nightshade?" He looks over and nods. 

    ��     "Of sorts, it's an eggplant cut to resemble a deadly nightshade. I wouldn't try and feed one of my guests something so sinister as a real poisonous flower." He says with a smile. There was a tone in his voice I couldn't place. I hoped I didn't insult him. Will leans up to look across the table at my plate. 

         "You made that yourself Hannibal? It looks real." Will praises. Hannibal's smile becomes a bit fuller. The compliment must have really meant a lot to him. I picked up the vegetable flower, sure enough the texture gave it away. It was so realistic looking I could hardly bring myself to try it. 

          "It's kinda spooky." I say with a grin as I pop the whole thing in my mouth rather unceremoniously, I had to be quick about it or my hand might not let me place it in my mouth at all. Hannibal watched for my reaction. Chewing it well I nod to him giving him a thumbs up. Once I dare to swallow it I begin to dig into the rest of my meal.

       The conversation moved to work, we took turns telling one another about odd cases we have worked on. My turn rolled around and there was just one that stuck out. 

         "In college my abnormal psychology professor had a hook up at a supermax prison and he set up some interviews for his students that wanted extra credit. It was random we drew straws and I got a man who killed 5. I can't remember his name but I can see his face as clear as day. He said God told him to kill these 5 men as punishment." The air grew thick as my tone naturally drifted to a more somber darker cadence

        "Punishment for what?" Hannibal asked as he finished his meal. 

         "He wouldn't elaborate further just that they knew what they did."

         "That's hardly odd. Religious delusions are relatively common." Will says looking across the table at me confused. 

         "Well that wasn't the end of it, 2 of the men he killed had priors for sexual misconduct with a child. 1 had a sealed record from his teen years that involved an attack of some kind and the last 2 had some pretty awful shit on their heart drives. It was just creepy, the situation was at least. He wasn't, he was really sweet actually. My partner who I was working on the interview with thought maybe he was actually getting some kind of info from the man upstairs." I chuckle a little as I take another drink of my wine. 

       "What do you think?" Hannibal asks, looking over at me. He seemed entirely focused on my story and appending answer. 

      "I think he was mentally ill. A sick man fallen victim to his own intrusive thoughts."

       "You said he was sweet?" Hannibal questions

       "He was, he was soft spoken. Seemed real gentle. He was a deeply religious man. He told me he prays for me every night, never said prayed for what." Hannibal stared at me for a moment. His face was stagnant, it was unreadable. What was he thinking? Why did his expression make me so uncomfortable? What was it?

        "Well he sounds very considerate." Hannibal said as he looked back to his plate. I couldn't stand how unreadable he was. I didn't like being at such a disadvantage in conversation. Is this what Will feels like with everyone? If so I understand why he acts the way he does when speaking to people.

         The conversation trailed to something a bit more lively as Will told a story about the time one of his dogs pulled him into the lake on one of his fishing trips.

         "I'm sorry Hannibal, can I use your restroom?" I ask as I stand up. 

          "Of course it's down the hall to the left." He says as he pours Will a bit more wine. I walked down the aforementioned hall. His home wasn't particularly large but nevertheless confusing all the same. He kept all his doors closed making my job of finding the bathroom in this maze much harder. I didn't want him thinking I was snooping around. I passed a door that had some kind of noise coming from it. I stopped and pressed my ear to it. It was a soft shuffling accompanied by drips. Was that the bathroom? The drip could be a faucet. I turned the knob to find it locked.

          "Do you need some help finding it?" Hannibal's voice seemingly came out of nowhere. I let out a pathetic yelp and turned to face him wide eyed. "I'm sorry Lydia, I really need to stop sneaking up on you." He seemed apologetic but also a bit teasing.

         "I'm so sorry you said on the right, right?" I say having to laugh a bit at my overreaction. 

          "No, very close though. It was on the left back down that hall, this is my basement." He says as he walks me to the correct door. 

          I thank him and go inside. Once finished I wash my hands. What could be making a sound like that in a basement? I try to remember what the outside of the house looked like. It didn't seem like the kind to have a basement. Did he put one in himself? I suppose a man like Hannibal had many reasons to need one, to keep wine, more storage space or even extra food. 

      I chalked my overly suspicious mood to being on edge from the attack still. All the same I had a nagging feeling about what's behind that door. 

        I walked out of the bathroom to see Hannibal coming up from his basement. He sees me and gives me a reassuring grin.

        "It's a good thing I checked, some wine had fallen off its rack. Made a bit of a mess I'm afraid to say." He says as he shut the door. So it was just a wine seller. 

      "Oh no I'm sorry. Would you like some help cleaning it up?" 

      "No no, the worst of it is fixed. There is broken glass down there still though. I wouldn't want you getting cut." He walked us back to the dining room where Will was still seated. He sat up a bit when we came into the room. "Please sit I will get dessert." 

       Will and I sat alone again. A part of me worried what he'd bring up next so I tried to beat him to the punch 

       "How was your meal?" I ask nonchalantly. He looked surprised by the question but nods.

        "Oh great I've never had a meal from Hannibal I didn't enjoy." He says as he leans back.

        "How many dinners have you guys shared? I thought you didn't like psychiatrists?"

       "Am I not allowed to change my mind about people? I thought you'd be happy. You and him seemed cozy after your hospital stay." Will almost sounded spiteful. Was he jealous of something?

       "The man sat with me for 3 days when you wouldn't even step in the room. We are going to be a bit closer than before. Besides, he's my psychiatrist now as well. Are you jealous or something?"

        "What? No, of course I'm not jealous. What would I be jealous of?" He stopped himself for a second and looked down at his hands in his lap. "And I'm sorry for not visiting you much. I was frustrated, it's not right of me to be but I was. You shou-" he stopped talking when he heard Hannibal's footsteps approaching. 

      "Am I interrupting?" He said as he placed the bowls of dark red ice cream in front of us. 

       "No, we were done." Will says looking over at me. Something about the look in his eyes told me he'd tell me what he wanted to say later. Hannibal didn't seem to want to pry. 

        "For dessert we have a pomegranate gelato I made this morning. It does have animal by-products but no meat." He gave me an encouraging smile as he sat down. The distinction was a bit odd, he knew I ate animal by-products. I just had goat cheese. 

      "It looks so good. I can't believe you made this at home." I say as I take my first bite. It was probably the best dessert I've ever had. Hannibal seems pleased with mine and Will's praise of the cold treat. 

       At this point Will had, had a few glasses of wine and didn't seem like he'd sober up in time to drive home.

        "I can drive you home, Will. It's only 20 minutes out of the way." I offer.

       "That probably would be a good idea." He said with a slightly embarrassing grin. 

        "Will you be alright to drive?" Hannibal asked.

         "Me? Oh yeah I have only had this one drink. I probably won't finish though, It's getting a bit late and the last thing I need is a DUI." I say as I take another bite. 

        My tooth crunches down on something hard and It takes everything in me not to spit it out immediately. I quickly grab for a napkin to be as discreet as possible. Unfortunately Hannibal seems to notice everything. 

        "Are you alright?" I nod and look down into the napkin. It was just a pomegranate seed. "I am sorry I thought I strained it more thoroughly than that." I feel my tooth with my tongue. My tooth was fine but something about the change in texture so suddenly set me on edge. It was the main reason I didn't eat meat. 

         "It's okay no harm done. It's still delicious." I go to dig back in but stop myself. Some of it had started to melt in the bowl. It looked just like thick coagulating blood. I got a flash of seeing myself in my bathroom mirror after the attack. I normally wasn't so squeamish. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to finish it. Would it be rude to offer mine to Will? He had already finished his. Hannibal's attention was on his own bowl. I point to my gelato and mouth to Will asking if he wants mine. 

        "No I'm alright you finish it." He says with a small hiccup. He wasn't even being so obvious because he was tipsy; this was him not picking up on the context clues that I was trying to be discreet. 

      "Did the seed ruin your appetite?" Hannibal asked. I didn't need to be able to read his face. His voice told me enough, he was disappointed. 

       I was trying to figure out which one I was more comfortable fessing up to. If I said it reminded me of my attack Hannibal might feel bad, if I say it was the seed he could feel guilty for not straining it well enough. I wasn't sure what was the lesser of two evils so I decided to lie. 

      "No no the seed was fine, I am just so full. That dinner was so good I'm afraid I didn't leave much room for dessert." He gave me a gracious smile and nodded. 

      "Well it was very polite of you to try to get through it." 

       "Of course of course, it was lovely, I'm just stuffed. Um, do you want help with dishes?" I try to change the subject as quickly as possible.

       "I invited you two here for dinner not for work." Will and I protested for a bit but he was adamant. The night winded down and Will had a few more drinks. I never knew him to be a drinker but he seemed to be enjoying himself. 

       We said our goodbyes and Hannibal walked us out to my car. 

       "Thank you so much for inviting me. It was an amazing night."

      "Of course you are welcomed back anytime." He said as he opened my car door for me. I was about to get in when he stopped me. 

        "I think your tire has gone flat." He says as he nudges it gently with his foot. 

        "Shit." I crouch down and pull out my phone to use as a flashlight. Sure enough all the air was gone. The tire wasn't slashed and the cap was on the spot you put the air in. I wasn't sure how it got flat. 

        "What's happening?" Will asked as he slowly made his way around to the driver side. 

      "Her tire has gone flat. I could drive you both home, or you both are welcome to stay the night. We can work it all out in the morning." Hannibal says as he closes my car door. Will looked at me like he wanted me to pick. 

      "If you don't mind us staying Hannibal, that might be easier for you."

       "It would be my pleasure to have you both stay the night." He said with a grin. He really was so accommodating. 

[damnfandomproblems]

@ 4234:

Not sure if they're checking for any responses, but mostly I wanted to agree. I haven't been in many fandoms, but even the main one I'm in now is alot more "cliquey" compared to years ago when RP and ask blogs were still really common. Now, alot of RP is mostly in Discord, and while I agree the messaging is easier/better than on Tumblr, Discord groups feel more closed off and gatekeepy at times. Plus my OTP is a NOTP for alot of people in the fandom, and I'm not interested in the juggernaut ships, so I get left out of alot of fandom events.

Tbh, I know it's not for everyone, but I've done better in a multi-fandom server I joined compared to any of the servers that are specific to the fandom I'm in. The one I joined I only did,cuz the admin is someone I already knew from my main fandom. I knew they were fair and kind, and they had modding experience in other servers, and it's been overall a great experience, until the server unfortunately died a while back, just due to the admin and other mods having irl stuff come up and take up all their time.

The only other server I've had a good time in was one that's specifically for fic writers in the fandom, which has events and showcases fics of people in the server, so it's alot of us pumping each other up and infodumping about our ideas and AUs.

Something I've had to learn to look out for when going into servers is in rules. Channels that state people's triggers and squicks is well-meaning, but unfortunately, in every server I've been in that had that turned into a wankfest sooner or later, usually with 2 or 3 BNFs in the server attacking each other or smaller creators in the server, using things in the trigger and squick list to harass or claim they were being harassed. Similar wankfests happened if the server has a list of topics and/or ships that aren't allowed to be talked about. Even if someone doesn't mention a forbidden topic/ship in the server, if they post stuff about it on Tumblr, Twitter, or ao3, they usually end up getting attacked in the server or just straight-up banned.

The servers I had/have good times had few if any forbidden tropes/topics/ships. If anything, it was only asked they only got mentioned in certain channels. The few times any wank came up, it got shut down within the same day.

Unfortunately, I don't have any advice for navigating fandom on Tumblr (and I avoid fandom spaces on Instagram and Twitter). I tend to just keep to myself on here, only ever talking to 2 or 3 people and not even all that much.

I hope you're okay, #4234. I'm in a small fandom, too, and I know that gossip runs rampant, so people end up hearing about callouts, even if they don't see the actual post. I've never been in that situation, so I don't know if this is good advice or not, but I'd suggest only sticking to talking to a few people for now. There will be some people who will refuse to interact with you, but even if others aren't actively reaching out, there are others who don't believe the callout, whether cuz they know the person posting it isn't credible or they've become skeptical when it comes to callout posts in general. So there will still be people willing to hear you out, if you choose to stay in that fandom and try making friends in it again.

Definitely close your asks (or at least close anon) if you haven't done that already, and depending on the level of harassment you're getting, I'd suggest making your posts nonrebloggable. I'm not sure if you're a creator in the fandom, so I know it can hurt to keep creating and not get any notes, but it's better than people reblogging your art, edits or writing only to add hurtful comments to keep harassing you.

I might not know who you are, but I'm rooting for you and hope you'll find a space in fandom (current one or another fandom if you decide to move on) that welcomes you.

Posting since this is a response to a previous problem.

[unspeakablehorror]

Where To Find Me

Added: Sept 21, 2024

Updated: Sept 21, 2024

Just making a pinned post.

My Websites

Unspeakablehorror's Site - I'll be keeping copies of my fanfic here, recipes, assorted essays, and other things of interest to me here. I will also archive select works from others on this site (with the creator's permission).

New Old Web - This is my website where I talk about how the web is crashing and burning and think about how we can make it not crash and burn. I'm still building it up, but I hope I can add lots more thoughts here.

Main Social Media

I currently feel that I use Pillowfort the most and Dreamwidth the second most. Something my main social media sites both have in common? They don't take venture capital. They're also great for longform writing and conversations.

unspeakablehorror at Pillowfort - Like if Tumblr and LiveJournal had a baby. I love the way this site handles commenting, reblogs, post edits, and privacy. And I love the communities feature. I'm the mod of 3 different Star Wars comms on here: Andor, Sith Empire, and Star Wars-The Sacred Texts.

unspeakablehorror at Dreamwidth - LiveJournal but better. Interface is a bit retro but I absolutely love the tag cloud. Every social media should have tag clouds. Dreamwidth has so many customization features. Also this site has my favorite setup for privacy options. And I love the communities feature on here. I'm the mod of the Sith of Korriban comm here.

Secondary Social Media

unspeakablehorror at Mastodon (fandom.ink instance) - I am on Mastodon, too, the most popular type of Fediverse server. Mastodon is similar to Twitter with respect to the character count limitations, but uses a protocol for social media that allows accounts on different Fediverse servers to seamlessly interact with each other (as long as the server isn’t blocked for incompatible rules). It also incorporates the idea of decentralization in a very intriguing way and is entirely non-profit.

unspeakablehorror at cohost.org - Yeah, I'm here too. I don't currently use this account as much, but I do check the site from time to time and I've made a few posts here. I'd be here more often if any of my friends used this platform, but I don't prefer the interface, which is too much like Tumblr for my taste. Basically this is Tumblr if the interface wasn't total garbage, lol. I think I clash with some of the core principles of this site somewhat, and the only way to delete your page is by emailing the site owners, but at least it doesn't have ads or take venture capital. This site is what happens when some furries with coding and design skills are given a bunch of $$$ to make a social media site. $$$ ran out! As per the most recent financial update, Cohost is planning an imminent shut down. A switch to read-only mode is planned to start in October and deletion of the entire site is expected by the end of the year.

unspeakablehorror at goblin.band - like Tumblr but for the Fediverse. Just joined recently so we'll see how this goes!

[comingyourlugubriousness]

The Diamond in the Rough and the Boy without a Fairy

OK JUST COMPLETED PART 2!!!

And I have so many things I just want jot dot down my reactions to some of the lines

• Obviously the Legend of Zelda quotes 💕💕

THE CONNECTION BETWEEN BOTH HOW BOTH TDRBF AND SORTED INTO SAVANACLAW CONNECTS WITH EACH OTHER THROUGH OUT THE STORY! I know it would've been inevitable for it to happen BUT STILL! The mention of Jack's injury...ahh I hope he feels better

I SWEAR TO JEBUS FROM PART 1 AND PART 2 THESE GODDAMN PAUSES

MAKE ME LAUGH MY ASS OFF. IT CATCHES ME OFF GAURD SO MUCH!

"Sebek was yelling his head off, arguing with Silver that HE should be teaching him proper riding teaching instead. Pause." LIKE...PUMPKIN☠️☠️

Also LITTLE CRUSH CRUSH WITH KALIM!? I mean shit I would too- ANYWAYS! That's so cute! Idia is probably kind of grumbling at the thought though

HE WOULD LOWKEY BE LIKE: Hmph it's always the rays of sunshine that captures your attention... LIKE THE JELLY MF HE IS I KNOW IT!

AUGH YUME AND KALIM'S DYNAMIC!!!!!!!!

VARGAS IF YOU DONT SHUT YO CRIMSON CHIN LOOKING ASS UP AND LET YUME AND KALIM HUG!!! 

Ok KALIM JUST GO ON AND MAKE ME CRY WHY DON'T YOU!

Goddamn Azul it is not the time 

I FORGOT I WAS STILL HOLDING MY BREATH FROM THE WHOLE YUME ALMOST DYING THING

The chat logs will always remain superior throughout this story

BLUE HAIRED MALEWIFE!?☠️☠️

YES MORE HERCULES QUOTES! 🥰💕💕

IDIA DON'T LAUGH AT YUME'S INTEREST!

Idia bud...you need to watch what you say lowkey.

OOF YUME IS HITTING WAYYYY TOO CLOSE TO HOME

Oh…..Oh no..

*Chapter 6 flashbacks*

MY. FUCKING. JAW

YUME NOOOOOOOOOOO😭😭😭

PUMPKIN HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME!?

HOW AM I GOING TO RECOVER FROM THIS!?

NO DON’T YOU DARE LEAVE OFF WITH THAT QUOTE!!!!

IDIA GET YOUR SKINNY ASS UP AND APOLOGIZE OMFG…

I am still not ok after that THAT HURT MY HEART! PUMPKIN YOU ABSOLUTE MENACE I LOVE YOU BUT YOU ALMOST MADE ME CRY LOWKEY!

I NEED TO LIKE MENTALLY PREPARE MYSELF FOR PART 3!😭

BUT THIS WAS SO AMAZING!!!!!!!!💕💕💕

I'm so invested in this story like...YOU HAVE NO IDEA!

AHHH THANK YOU THIS MEANS SO MUCH TO ME!!!! <3333

comments and such under the cut bc its long:

• The Legend of Zelda quotes were painstakingly hand chosen with love! I had that and the Hercules script pinned in my tabs for 2 months lol and I had like 3 docs separate to keep everything in order! And fun fact: their mostly in order of how they appear in the game, meaning they follow the actual game chronologically! ^^

OF COURSE! @bunnwich was the one who motivated and inspired me to write this. I'd never written fanfic before this, just stuff for OCs. It was really something!

You can blame a certain Youtuber for the 'Pause" jokes. It's literally a part of my daily vocab and I woudln't be me if I didn't put my humor, memes, and inside jokes into the writing. (After all, I wrote it with the mindset that only Bun would read it ^^). I'm glad you share my silly humor!

The pairs for the PE part were actually chosen somewhat carefully by me! I tried to think based on character relationships, personal stories and clubs, which 1st years and second years would actually want to pair up with each other!

Yume's and Kalim's relationship is important to me. I'd love to explore it more because there are more layers to it!

#VARGAS WITH YO CRIMSON CHIN, SHORT, LOBSTER LOOKING, STEAK HANDS, ASS lol

I took care writing Kalim! I wanted to show his growth and his reflection after chapter 4. Sometimes I feel people write him a certain way. I don't think he's naive about things as people always think he is. Especially when it comes to people's emotions. The fact that he wasn't able to see through Jamil's lies isn't a fault on Kalim, Jamil is just that good of a liar/ that good at masking his true feelings. but I'm rambling.

Meme voice: I don't care for Azul. (Yet there are aspects of his character that foil Yume's so interestingly.)

AHAHA yeah yume's big day for sure.

Chat logs are the only way I have communicated with people close to me so I drew from my own chat experience, but still wanted them to be understandable.

is Idia not a malewife?

Ahh yes the...climax of this part was something I had been waiting to get to and wanting to explore. I won't get to into it here.

Idia is notorious for saying shit bluntly and without thinking about it, I feel because he doesn't think about how someone could intemperate his words. He knows what he means so he thinks automatically that the other person should too. Bc its "logical" thinking. (lets just say he's not a reliable narrator)

I got to explore lots of interesting things with Yume here, and I'm glad it impacted you so much! Making people feel the intended emotions, or any really is high praise! It affected me as well when I wrote it because...well like you said it can hit close to home for some people.

I HAD to use that quote.

Please take your time!!! I hope you keep sharing your thoughts with me, I love to hear your comments and feedback!!

I'm glad you are invested. <33333

[luxmaeastra]

Audun moved through the cells, stopping before Amaya. She rose her head, he'd been hounding her nightmares for the last 11 years. 

She'd been his sole thought for the last 11 years. 

He slid eyes to the adjoining cell, where her cousins sat. They glared at him, one of them was mated, he could smell the putrid stink of it. 

Changeling Marked. 

He turned to her, his hands curling on the bars of the cell. 

"Will you deny me now?"

Amaya shut her eyes, tears falling down her face. 

"Will you let them go?"

"Both of them? What of the Unmated one. You sure she won't follow in your -"

Amaya stood, finally stepping toward him. His breath caught and his grip tightened on the cell bars. 

"She won't. Let them go Audun."

His fingers trailed over her cheek, she turned away. Her tears catching on his fingers. The fierce warrior, the Queen Dawn should have. The only female of the lot worthy of Firmament Throne. 

"I had so many ideas of how we'd meet, how I'd take you Amaya. You'd be on your knees, you'd beg. You'd come to me dressed in one of those pretty, impractical dresses I'd be able to rip off you like tissue paper."

He leaned toward her, she was trembling. So she was still a female where it counted, good.

"I thought I'd still do that tonight. But no, no I want to take what you're wearing now. I want to strip you of your armor and have you realize just what you're giving up for females don't matter."

She swallowed, finally looking to him. There was terror in those wide eyes. There were that thread of hopelessness. Both dissapered as that fire flared in her eyes. 

"Release them Audun. Please?"

There it was, the first break in her voice. 

Estelle and Peresephone glared at him. 

"We aren't leaving our sister so fuck off."

Audun sighed and grabbed their magic. Making them scream, or maybe it was Amaya. 

He Windwalked them away, dropping them close to their camp and dissapered.

Estelle and Peresephone didn't wait to catch their breath. They ran into the camp, most of the soldiers had gone to the front lines, they hadn't been told of them.

Rhysand frowned at them, dropping his glass into the dirt. He didn't like his father's side of the family, they all had good luck. They were all alive when his Helena was dead. 

"What happened to you two? Weren't you in the outpost in -"

"Amaya's been taken."

Estelle said, the hope made his heart twist. What did she think he could do? What did any of them think he could do?

Why should he care?

Sure Amaya was probably the cousin he was closest too. Sure, she was a fierce warrior and -

"Her Mate has her Rhysand. She - he's going to break her in."

Peresephone didn't cry easily, there were tears in her eyes now. Her hands trembled. 

He'd thought her mating to a changeling, to one of the Wolves would harden her further. But that seemed to have made her softer. 

She stepped toward him, there wasn't anger just a silent plea.

"Please? Please I know you don't like what we are doing. I know what you think of Hypaxia. But Amaya can be saved, Amaya is pure. Hypaxia? I get it, she's a whore who will leave Azriel the minute she finds someone better. But Amaya is good, and they're going to shatter her."

//during the war!!!!//

There were the words he never expected to hear from his cousin, to hear her utter such things in connection to Hypaxia. To hear her turn on her, to hear her utter the things he believed the moment any possible relationship was known.

Either she was desperate and grasping at straws, or...He looked at Estelle briefly. He could see the same hollow fear in her own eyes, the way she was trembling with both fear and rage. The two of them were a force, especially if the channeled their brother as well. For them run to him, to not handle this themselves.

"And why me Persephone?" Rhysand's attention snapped to her. "You could have ran to your pretty little wolf? Why me? Why do you think I care enough to want to help?" Hel help him, he was sure his father would chide him for such a comment, but he was old enough to make his own choices.

"Amaya has done nothing wrong," Estelle spoke up. "Rhysand, she doesn't deserve to be broken. If he breaks her, if we lose her because..."

Rhysand grunted, standing up. "I don't know what you expect me to do, its not like I can storm into their base and free her."

[drac-onion]

Creative Hobbies (And Other Musings)

I've been thinking about something lately, and I'd like to put my thoughts out there to see if anyone else has felt the same thing. (Warning: Long and ramble-y)

For the last couple weeks, I've been doing a lot of "making things" in my free time. Mostly writing, but also putting down ideas, editing works, and otherwise. A lot of my hobbies are creative, and while that's good, its almost overwhelming. I started a new job a few weeks ago and I can't really think of the last time I actually just sat down and relaxed by playing a game or something in my free time. I do a lot of reading, sure, but whenever I get home from work I tend to idly watch YouTube since that takes significantly less effort. Then, usually by the end of the night, I'll start writing something and then oop, I gotta go to bed now to go to work in the morning.

It's kind of...exhausting, having so many creative hobbies. I edit videos, I do 3D art (although that one's on hiatus until I can upgrade my PC cuz god my workflow is so slow cuz blender just freezes every time I wanna do something), I write, and like...I just wish I could pause my brain and enjoy doing something for the hell of it. My mind is just so busy, and while part of me wishes I could slow it down to enjoy things, another part of me is glad I have outlets for creativity. The one downside is that all my energy goes into these outlets, not really leaving time to just turn my brain off (to a degree) and enjoy something, save for just wasting time on youtube.

I want to create things, first off because I enjoy doing it, but also because I feel like if I can make something that even one other person enjoys, I'll have added value to the world in a tangible way. I love receiving positive comments on my writing (not that I'm simply writing for approval or praise), but sometimes the hustle and bustle of making things just wears me out. If I do turn on a game for a little while, it's something quick and easy to pick up and play or dedicate only a little bit of time to, so I always have the ability to shut it off and get back to whatever I was doing.

I like my hobbies, but I have a habit of turning them into work over time. I like order, I like a schedule, I like consistency. It forces me to always engage in something I enjoy, and maybe even get better at it to become a more rounded individual. But without fail, I will always find myself becoming a slave to my hobbies. A slave to something I started doing to have fun, to express myself, to take what I'm feeling and put it somewhere for others to see. Hideo Kojima often says that 70% of his body is made of movies. Well, 100% of my body is made of my creative pursuits. That doesn't leave a lot for much of anything else. I work, I come home, I work on something, and then I go to sleep. I still enjoy writing, but I'm worried that the same thing will happen where it becomes work. Where it becomes the very thing I tried to escape by engaging in it.

They say to write what you know, but I tend to write what I want. I don't really want to go into detail, because I don't wanna be a sad sack and get all depressing on here, but you know that "depressing" thing I was talking about writing the other day? Well, that's an instance of writing what I know. If you read between the lines, that's where I put myself. If you shift your perspective to the whole of it, it's what I want. I said I didn't want to insert too much of myself into my writing, into my work, but it just happens sometimes.

Fiction is written by people, and people have a lot of experiences. Feeling emotion for fiction isn't CrInGe because "it's not real". It's the result of perspective, emotions, experiences, and that's real.

Sorry, I know I've been a real downer recently, but life has been fucking me raw and its starting to come to a head (oh boy! I can't wait til the holidays for things to get even worse!). Here's hoping I can use this as a force for creativity haha... Seems almost sad to think about; considering my own struggles as inspiration for creativity. But that's just how my brain works, I guess. I live on a roulette wheel of hyperfixations and all I can do is wait for it to stop spinning and start walking in that direction. Whatever my mind wills, I will do. It's the only way to stay sane. If I fell apart and just did nothing, well...I've already been there. Boredom is one step towards madness, and no play makes Drac a dull boy.

So yeah, that's a bit of a ramble for tonight. Hopefully, one day, I can look back on this and laugh.

[helloalycia]

The Wrong Lifetime — Ten // Wanda Maximoff

chapter nine | story masterlist | main masterlist | wattpad | chapter eleven

author’s note: okay so this was supposed to be published yesterday but (if anyone cares lol), basically, i finished my last year of uni two days ago and so yesterday was the first official day i had that i didn’t have to do work, so i spent the whole day playing video games 😂 but it’s here now, so i hope you liked it!

Approaching Y/B/N's study, my annoyance returned when I remembered how he acted only an hour before. I didn't bother knocking as I let myself in, seeing him loosening his bow tie and looking out the window.

"What the hell was that?" I snapped instantly.

He sighed, yanking his bow tie off and throwing it to his desk. "What was what?"

I crossed my arms to contain my frustration. "You know what, Y/B/N." He continued to play dumb, so I watched him with a frown. "Why are you so against me getting published? I thought– I thought you'd be proud of me. It's all I've ever wanted."

With a scowl, he looked the other way. "I'm the writer, Y/N, not you."

His words created an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach. Jealousy was a disgusting look on him, one I never wanted to see.

"No," I said, uncrossing my arms and staring daggers at him. "You're not the writer. I am. You only got noticed because of me!"

"Shut up!" he shouted, finally meeting my eyes. "You don't get to do this! It's not about you!"

"Yes, it is!" I shouted right back. "For once, it is about me, Y/B/N! Because this is my chance to do something I love."

He rolled his eyes, getting riled up all over again. "And that's another thing. Why the hell are you putting silly ideas into my fiancé's head about making money? Are you trying to make me a fool in front of my in-laws?"

I squeezed my fists together, narrowing my eyes. "They aren't your in-laws."

"Oh, you know what I mean!"

He didn't deserve Wanda. He couldn't. She was too good for him.

"Sorry that your masculinity is so fragile that you can't let your fiancé do something she's passionate about," I said through gritted teeth.

He glowered down at me. "You need to butt out."

I smiled bitterly. "Maybe if you didn't start on Pietro for no reason, I would."

He scoffed. "Please. That man is only trying to get into your pants."

I don't think I'd ever wanted to strangle my brother as much as I did right now. Did he really not believe in me? He couldn't accept that maybe I'd earned this on my own accord? Thankfully, unlike him, I could contain my emotions and managed to swallow down my anger.

"You know that's not the case," I said with a dangerously calm voice. "You should talk about your soon-to-be brother-in-law with some respect."

Y/B/N sighed, moving to sit at his desk. I followed him with my eyes, unable to recognise who he was. I hadn't dubbed him for the insecure type, but I was being proven wrong many times tonight.

"I don't want to do this right now," he said quietly, sinking his head into his hands.

I uncurled my fists, fed up. "It's already been done."

He looked up, but I didn't wait to see his face. Maybe he wasn't the brother I thought he was.

—

"Honest opinion," Wanda said, before revealing herself from behind the curtain. "Nice or ugly?"

"Nice."

She smiled brightly, twirling around in the dress she was trying on, before going back behind the curtain to change into another one. She'd invited me over to hers to hang out, which meant watching her try on a bunch of new dresses and getting excited over each one. I wasn't complaining.

"So, that first book," she picked up from our previous conversation as she changed. She was referring to Y/B/N's first published book. "That was really you?"

"Yep." I pulled my legs up onto the lounge sofa and leaned on my hand, elbow propped on the back of the seat. "I mean, it got edited of course, but the initial manuscript was mine."

"Wow," she commented. "That must have really sucked to hear everybody praise it when it was actually yours."

"It did indeed."

She came out from the curtain wearing a dress that wasn't particularly nice looking. It had a baggy torso and slim legs, making Wanda look very unflattering. And that was saying something – she could pull off anything.

"Nice or ugly?" she asked, hands on her hips.

I squinted, tilting my head and trying to think if I should lie or not. Her blue eyes peered down at me intimidatingly and I knew I couldn't find it in myself to lie to her.

After a moment, I released a breath. "I'm sorry, love, but it's kind of ugly."

She chuckled, giving me a knowing smile. "Good. This was a test. Means you're paying attention."

"Wow. You think I'm just sat here for fun?"

She didn't respond, but an amused smile was on her lips as she headed behind the curtain to change yet again. It was quiet as she was changing, before she spoke up again.

"You know when we first met? And you showed me around your room?"

"How can I forget? You thought I was jealous of my brother," I quipped with a smile.

I could imagine the eye roll she was giving me. "That was before I knew you wrote half his stuff."

Stifling a laugh, I nodded even though she couldn't see me. "Okay, go on."

She sighed. "I told you how I fell in love with that first book. How I fell in love with the words. And the person who wrote those words.”

"I remember."

She reappeared from behind the curtain, this time wearing a stunning floral blue sundress. It fell off her shoulders, revealing cream-coloured skin and a well-defined collarbone. I smiled softly, overwhelmed with admiration for the beautiful woman before me.

"I'm glad it was you," she said, and I suddenly remembered we were in the middle of a conversation.

Her eyes sparkled brightly as she smiled my way, and then her words sank in and my heart fluttered with adoration.

"Me, too," I breathed out.

She held my gaze for a second longer before looking down at her dress, pressing her hands over it. "So. What do you think? Nice or ugly?"

I raised my eyebrows with astonishment. "Wanda, you look absolutely beautiful."

Her shoulders relaxed as her eyes flickered to mine. "So, I should keep it?"

I spluttered, "Duh!"

She laughed, before approaching me and sitting beside me. Leaning her head on my shoulder, she pulled her legs onto the sofa and sighed contently. I wrapped an arm around her, resting my cheek on her head.

"I'm glad you'll finally get the recognition you deserve, milaya (darling)," she said, lifting her hand to intertwine it with mine over her shoulder.

With an entertained smile, I held her hand firmly. "Maybe, love. I haven't said yes."

"Oh, you'll say yes."

I pressed a kiss to the top of her head, revelling in the warmth her body created as it pressed to mine. We had no concerns that somebody would catch us since nobody was home and the servants knew not to bother us.

"So, what was the book actually about?" she asked, playing with my fingers.

"Huh?"

"The book," she repeated. "I've heard Y/B/N's take on it, but what about yours?"

At the mention of my brother, I rolled my eyes. We still hadn't spoken since our argument and I wasn't exactly in the best place with him right now.

"It doesn't matter," I mumbled into her hair.

She used her elbow to nudge me gently in the stomach before grabbing my other hand and wrapping it around her waist.

"I like hearing you speak," she said softly. "And I love the way your mind works."

My cheeks flushed at the compliment, but I appreciated her words. She always had such an effect on me and I'd come to only care about one opinion nowadays – hers.

"Okay, I guess..." I sighed, subconsciously pressing my fingertips to hers. "The book is about a man who loses his wife to his own ignorance, right?" She hummed in agreement, so I continued. "Y/B/N always talks about how it's about a man failing to appreciate his wife, but that's not how I intended for it to be perceived."

Interest piqued, she sat up straight and turned around to face me, leaning her head on my chest and looking up with curious eyes. I smiled down at her, pressing a kiss to her nose, making her scrunch it up adorably.

"It's supposed to be about the wife discovering that she's her own woman and that she doesn't need her husband to be okay," I continued, holding her gaze. "It was her own self-discovery that pushed them apart, as well her husband's stupidity."

Wanda's lips curved into a gentle smile. "I like that interpretation a lot better than his."

Licking my lips, I breathed out through a smile. "You're biased, dear."

Her eyes flickered to my lips. "Maybe."

I chuckled before closing the gap between us, connecting our lips in a short, sweet kiss. She relaxed against me before smiling as we pulled away.

"Ya lyublyu vas (I love you)," she whispered.

I always loved when she spoke in her native tongue. She sounded so at peace when she did and it warmed my insides.

"I love you, too," I whispered right back.

She grinned, carefree, before turning to lean on my shoulder again. I held her, enjoying the silence that formed between us. Her presence was always enough and I never wanted anything more. But I knew Wanda and I knew that she couldn't stay quiet for too long, so something was definitely up.

"What are you thinking?" I asked quietly, not wanting to startle her in case she was too deep into her thoughts.

She sighed. "It's stupid."

I smiled. "I doubt that."

It went quiet and I assumed she didn't want to share, but then she played with my fingers again as she spoke.

"I was wondering what it would be like if we were able to get married," she murmured. "With the dresses and walking down the aisle and the rings."

I laced my fingers through hers, the thoughts having crossed my mind at times, too. It was nice to think 'what if', but it was also a dangerous game.

"The wedding cake would have to be chocolate," I played along, not wanting her to think she couldn't talk about it.

She snickered, loosening up in my arms. "Of course. And the colour scheme would have to be red."

"Definitely," I agreed, knowing she wouldn't have it any other way, "...it could be somewhere small but comfortable. Surrounded by nature, maybe."

"Yes. With flowers all around us and the sound of birds tweeting in the trees."

A comforting smile crept on my lips as I closed my eyes, imagining it in my mind. What a beautiful day it would be.

"I'd force Pietro to be the ring bearer," she added as an afterthought, and I laughed, chest moving up and down with her on it.

"He'd hate that," I pointed out.

"Exactly," she said with a mischievous hum.

I rolled my eyes playfully. "What about afterwards? Where would you want to live?"

She scrunched her face up before settling with, "Somewhere remote. Away from people. Maybe a nice cottage somewhere."

Nodding in agreement, I said, "We could have a beautiful garden in the back. I'd do my very best to make it perfect for you. And you could paint whatever you wanted there."

A considerate smile tugged at her lips at the thought. "Yes! And we could get a pet. I've always wanted a pet."

"I guess we could... what pet do you want?"

With no hesitation, she said, "Chickens."

I looked down at her, quirking a brow. "Chickens?"

Looking up at me, she stared like it was self-explanatory. "They're cute and they lay eggs. Think about it. Fresh eggs for breakfast every morning."

God, she was so cute. I smiled, squeezing her hand. "Chickens it is, love."

She got excited as she tugged on my hand. "You can finally get a study of your own!"

"And you can get your own studio," I added, making her grin.

"And I'd keep it sparkling clean."

I laughed, shaking my head. "Don't lie, Wanda."

She rolled her eyes, though wore a humoured expression. "Okay, maybe not..."

"You can keep it as messy as you want," I promised her, as if it was actually going to happen and we'd get what we wanted.

The dream was so vivid in my mind that it could have been a memory. Wanda and I living together, peacefully and without hiding... if only we weren't in the wrong lifetime.

"I like to pretend that you gave this to me," she said after an unsettling silence fell upon us, raising her left hand for me to see. She wiggled her ring finger, the silver band and emerald gem glinting in the light. "It makes me feel better."

I swallowed hard and forced a smile, intertwining my fingers in hers and bringing them to my lips to kiss gently.

"Technically I picked it," I reminded her to lighten the mood, but it didn't work.

A sad smile appeared on her face. "Maybe in another lifetime, we could have met in a world that allowed this."

My smile faded into a frown at her words. Like I said, considering the 'what if's' was a dangerous game, and we'd already played too much of it.

"You're going to marry my brother soon," I said quietly, the realisation hitting me. "This– us, will have to stop."

She sat up and turned to face me, eyes looking between mine as she shook her head. "It doesn't have to."

I rested a hand on her cheek and she leaned into it, kissing my palm. I savoured the feeling of her lips against my skin.

"What we're doing isn't fair on either of us," I said reluctantly, afraid to say what we'd avoided for as long as our relationship lasted.

She frowned. "I'd rather have you like this than not at all."

My heart ached because I knew she was being genuine, and the truth is, I felt the same. But that brought me to our next dilemma.

"It's not fair on Y/B/N either."

She tensed her jaw. "The world doesn't want us together, Y/N. They're the ones who forced us to be like this."

"Like what?" I asked with knowing eyes. "Cheaters?"

Her eyes glossed over and it broke me to see her so hurt.

"Is it really cheating if I never wanted to be with him?" she asked with a shaky voice. "If I'm only acting out of duty? If I never loved him?"

Realising I'd saddened her, I moved forward and pulled her in for a hug, running my hand down her hair and to her back. "Sorry... I didn't mean to make you upset."

She sniffled and I felt her tears soaking my shirt. "Don't talk like that... I don't want to lose you."

I swallowed hard, nodding into her shoulder. "I don't want to lose you either, Wanda."

But I knew that deep down, we couldn't hold onto everything we wanted to in life. Deep down, she must have known that, too.

—

"...and this is where we write up the contracts. It's where we'd write up yours if you say yes."

Pietro grinned cheekily as I gave him a knowing look. He was showing me around the publishing house – a proper tour, not just me lurking around on the few visits I'd been here for Y/B/N – with hopes of convincing me to sign a contract with him.

"Pietro, you said you wouldn't be biased," Wanda warned, and I gave her a grateful smile as Pietro chuckled.

"I'm sorry, I can't help it," he apologised, though he definitely didn't mean it. "I just really think you'd be a great fit here, Y/N. I already have editors willing to work with you based on the few pages they've seen of your work."

I raised my eyebrows, startled. "Wow, seriously?"

He nodded. "Most definitely. As I told you the other night, you're talented. And with my help, you can be successful, too."

A smile fell on my lips uncontrollably. A real editor wanted to work with me. Woah.

"I'm gonna get some coffee," Wanda said, squeezing my shoulder. "I'll get you both some, too." She wagged a finger towards her brother. "Don't pressure her whilst I'm gone."

He raised his hands in defence. "Okay, calm down, sestra (sister). I'll be fair."

She lowered her finger, shot him a final look, then smiled at me before leaving for the café next door. I chuckled at how cute she was and how much she cared before returning my attention to Pietro.

"I won't pressure you," he said to me, perching on the edge of an empty desk. "I just want you to know that you'd be well looked after here. I wouldn't let anyone talk down to you, nor treat you with disrespect because you're a woman. I don't condone that here."

I relaxed at his words, offering him a grateful smile. "Thank you, Pietro. That really means a lot."

He returned the smile before his gaze moved over my shoulder. Smile fading, he cleared his throat awkwardly and looked away. I turned around, curious to what had caught his attention, and then I saw Y/B/N standing in the doorway, looking around for something. His eyes eventually fell on me and he perked up before heading our way.

I hadn't spoken to him since two nights ago after dinner. He'd actively avoided me, too and I wasn't complaining, having still harboured an unexplainable anger for him. What was he doing here?

"Y/N, hey," he said awkwardly, stopping before Pietro and I. His eyes flickered to Pietro before he asked me, "Can I speak with you?"

Instinctively, my jaw clenched and he seemed to notice as he shook his head quickly.

"Not to argue," he clarified. "Just to talk."

His eyes were pleading and I couldn't find it in myself to deny him. He was my brother after all, we couldn't argue forever. Nodding wordlessly, I smiled apologetically to Pietro before following Y/B/N to a quiet side of the room. My eyes ran along the many employees working away at their desks before falling to my brother before me.

"What is it?" I asked, maybe a little too harshly, but there was no going back now.

He frowned, eyes flittering around nervously. "I want to apologise for my behaviour the other night. I shouldn't have acted how I did."

I hugged myself as I shifted my weight between my feet. "Okay."

"You were right," he continued, finally meeting my eyes. "You deserve this. You've always been there for me, helping me with my writing when I needed it. I should have reacted better, but I let my jealousy get the better of me."

My mouth opened, surprised at his apology.

He offered me a sad smile. "The truth is, Y/N, we both know you'll be the more successful of us both. And you'll be so preoccupied with your own writing that you won't be able to help me anymore. And it was selfish of me to think that first, but I did. And I shouldn't have. I'm sorry. I'm your big brother and I should've been better."

Chewing on my lip, I let go of waist and straightened up, nodding slightly. "I– thanks. Thank you. For telling me that."

His shoulders relaxed as he nodded. "Also, you were right about what you said about Wanda. And I'm going to apologise to her first thing."

My expression softened at the mention of the girl who'd only ever been good to us. "She's seriously talented, Y/B/N."

"I know."

I nodded, stepping forward and resting a hand on his shoulder. Looking between his eyes, I only saw regret and I knew he was being genuine with his apology.

"You're forgiven," I told him with a small smile, before pulling him in for a quick hug.

He returned it and I felt relieved to know he was supportive. I didn't see a reason to not accept Pietro's deal now... everybody I cared about was okay with it.

"Wanda is here by the way," I told Y/B/N when we pulled apart. "She's just getting some coffee for us."

He nodded and we returned to Pietro, who gave me a concerned look. I smiled reassuringly and he relaxed before looking to my brother with a smile.

"Hey, Pietro, sorry for what I said last night," Y/B/N was quick to say. "It wasn't cool. I know you're not like that and I shouldn't have even thought it, let alone said it."

Pietro was one of the chillest people I'd met as he offered his hand out to my brother. "No worries, mate. Bygones."

They exchanged a handshake before my brother glanced to me.

"She's really good," he said to Pietro. "You'd be lucky to have her here."

My face heated up as Pietro nodded in agreement. The two of them looked to me with proud smiles and as uncomfortable as I felt with the attention, I was grateful to have their support.

"I know," Pietro said. "All she's got to do is say yes."

"You haven't said yes yet?" my brother asked with disbelief, before slapping me on the arm playfully. "Y/N! This is your chance!"

"And it's a big decision!" I reminded him.

He looked like he wanted to say something, but then I caught sight of Wanda over his shoulder and perked up. She smiled my way but then noticed Y/B/N's presence and proceeded with caution.

"Hey, I got you both a coffee," she said, giving Pietro his and handing me mine, but her eyes were searching mine with worry.

My hand brushed hers as I accepted my coffee and I squeezed it reassuringly. She seemed to believe me as her lips twitched into a small smile before looking to Y/B/N.

"Hey," she said to him quietly, biting her lip.

He glanced to me for encouragement and I gave him a subtle thumbs up. This seemed to help as he wiped his hands on his trousers before looking to Wanda hopefully.

"Hey," he finally spoke. "Please can we talk in private for a moment?"

She nodded, humming in response, and followed him to talk.

"Match made in heaven those two," Pietro said sarcastically, and I tried not to laugh, but damn was it funny.

"Look, I think I've made a decision," I said after a moment, feeling my heart speed up at the realisation of my next words.

"Oh? And what is it? Will you let me publish you?" Pietro asked, quirking a brow and watching me with an excited smile.

Well, there was only the future to look forward to now.

I grinned. "Yes."

[scuttle-buttle]

Chapter 11

WC: 2077

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: full on angst, discussions of emotional trauma, mild depictions of blood/gore, mentions of self h*rm & su*cide, mentions of child abuse, discussions of physical disabilities, institutionalization, some dialogue & plot canon to TV show, hurt/comfort

🧠

The rest of the conference went by much like the first day did. Both you and Laszlo bought a few books for your collections. An ease had settled over your conversations with the help of Sara and John's presence; you spoke more freely with each other. You tell yourself it is not because he's going soft on you or vice versa, but rather that you have found yourself in this imaginary bubble where you happen to get on well. It's inevitable that it will pop once you’re back at school and Laszlo will revert back to his usual callous state.

Laszlo. It still felt odd to think of him like that, rather than by his title. You couldn't lie, it gave you a sort of thrill. Even in your dreams you had only called him by his honorific. Thankfully you didn't have another dream after Friday. You couldn't escape the feeling that you'd said something incriminating in front of the man in question. So you chose to pretend it didn't happen.

Monday morning came and you headed to the train station. Once again he had secured a private cabin for the journey. This time you came prepared with a book since you had yet to replace your broken phone.

"Thank you again for inviting me to this, I really enjoyed myself. It was really nice of the department to foot my travel expenses, the hotel was really fancy. I may have helped myself to a mini-bottle or two," you joked.

"There is no need to worry about the department's finances; they were not involved."

You pause. He paid for you? Laszlo did say he would take care of the arrangements; but the four-star hotel, the private compartment train tickets, the admission to the conference, and every meal? Shit, that must have been a fortune, hundreds of dollars at least.

You don't know what to say, so you settle for an awkward "oh." A moment passes before you add "I appreciate that, um, I can pay you back. Might take some time but I can."

The professor is flippant in his reply. "There is no need, it was well spent for the research and knowledge acquired." He opens his book signaling the conversation is over.

You lick your lips. Fine then, I'll just consider it payment for emotional suffering and damages of the last eight weeks.

The first few hours of the journey were spent reading one of the new books you picked up at the convention. Occasionally you would peek over the pages at the professor. He was engrossed in his own selection; sometimes he would pause to write down a thought.

Around the seventh hour of your journey you had given up on reading anymore in favor of looking at the fields outside. The silence was comforting.

Laszlo had trouble concentrating on the book in his hand. He saw you as a conundrum. One minute you could be sociable and teasing with your comments, then next you were biting at his throat with your quick wit and fierce ideals. He decides that he wants to know what made you into who you are today. Now is as good a time as any.

His eyes on you cause a tingle up your spine but you ignore it. Laszlo breaks the silence; "may I ask a personal question?"

"You just did," you answer, still peering out of the large window. He huffed once, amused. At his following silence you face him. You raise your eyebrows to signal him to go on with his question. Curiosity grows at the thought of what he intends to ask.

"Twice now you have made implications of a traumatic past," he begins.

Bubble popped.

Interrupting, you snark "is this the part where you psychoanalyze me, doc? Because trust me, I've been through enough of that." You pick at the lint on your jeans.

Laszlo tries to choose his words more carefully the next time he speaks. "What I mean to say is, the first afternoon in the classroom where you defended that student you implied you had been witness to a trauma. You then displayed signs of anger and embarrassment before leaving prematurely. Yesterday you mentioned having entered a psychiatric facility. As an alienist I can't help but find myself curious about your experiences."

You slide your eyes to meet his from across the cabin. Your face is devoid of any emotion. "We all have our demons. Even you can't argue with that."

Your jaw clenches. Everyone had warned you. They all said he would try to worm his way into your head to figure you out. All the reviews, the gossip, everything. It was a big fat 'I told you so'. You give a pitiful laugh at the situation. "You know, everyone told me that you would pull this stunt."

He seems confused by your statement. "And what is that?"

"That you'd get inside my head and try to figure me all out or whatever. You already know I googled you beforehand, what everyone says about your methods. By now I assume you've done a little research yourself. I promise you there is nothing exciting here," you scoff and point to yourself.

"You would be correct in your assumption." You chew at your cheek as he starts. "I do know some of what happened in your past. Yet I also know that society likes to dilute the truth into something either more palatable, more entertaining, for people to consume greedily. What I want to know is what you have faced. How you have not allowed the experience to overcome you so much so that your humanity is erased like the characters I lecture on."

Eyes closing of their own volition you are thrown back in time to that night so many years ago. You didn't talk about it anymore. Bitsy knew of course, but that was the extent.

Laszlo waits. He knows this is likely to push you over the edge if your history with him means anything. Quite frankly, anyone would be tossed to their limit at his interrogation had they gone through what you had. John always told him that he needed to work on his bedside manner; that he had a habit of coming on too strong in his pursuit of learning the intricacies of the human mind. But your earlier comment about being sent to a so-called 'nuthouse' rubbed him the wrong way. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He needed to know. He needed to understand.

Laszlo can imagine the reprimand that he would receive from John and Sara for this. Just as he considers apologizing for his intrusion you open your eyes.

"She was fine. None of us suspected anything was wrong. I came home from having dinner with some… boy, and she had locked herself in the bathroom. She- she must have started over the sink and moved to sit on the side of the tub. She was hunched inside it when I got the door open. I pulled her out. Blood was… everywhere." Your voice is clinical as you explain.

"After, I shut down. So I checked myself into a psych ward a few days later when I couldn't get the feel of her blood off my hands. It's slippery, you know. And it smells. You wouldn't think so but it does." You clear your throat. "I did the therapy, took the meds they prescribed, all the standard treatments. Later I started watching true crime documentaries. I'd heard about exposure therapy so I figured the more I saw the gore, the less the image of my dead roommate would bother me. And it did help. The nightmares stopped after a while, I came back to school. I was better, just not the same.” You had watched the passing landscape as you explained. Turning to face him you speak again. “That's why those pictures didn't bother me. They weren't anything I hadn't seen before."

He contemplates you. The discovery and subsequent loss of your friend in this manner would no doubt cause lingering effects to your psyche. A stain that would forever remind you. "I offer my sincerest condolences. I do not presume to know what that would be like to experience, but I am glad you sought help afterwards. To make the choice to alleviate yourself of your own suffering where possible.”

As he says this he realizes that your anger towards the idea of being enslaved to unconscious impulse makes perfect sense. It explains why you focused so much energy on defending your belief in free will. That you have the power to choose how you carry your joy, your anger, your healing. It reminds him of how he held onto his own guilt and hurt, ignoring how it festered within him for so long. He feels as though he needs to share a piece of himself with you.

“I played piano as a child, quite well too. My mother hoped I would someday make a career of it. I vividly remember playing Mozart’s Concerto for Piano No. 20 in D Minor at a holiday party when I was seven years old. It was my favorite to play.... It requires two hands." You finally look at him. "My father...” He pauses to gather himself.

Now it is the doctor that cannot meet your eyes. As you listen you feel your confusion grow. How could he have been a talented pianist if he only had full use of his left hand? Unless..., the realization dawns on you just as he continues, his words slow.

“My father had two sides. One loving and the other brutal, the two often coexisting. It was something as trivial as putting me to bed, I recall... A game of tug of war. We were laughing…” He inhales a sharp breath. Already you can feel the tears begin to blur your vision. “I don't remember if he was drunk or if I said something that offended him. He must have pulled my arm behind my back.” Laszlo exhales shakily. “In small children, fractures can often affect…” he trails off, unable to finish. You can hear how he barely holds himself together.

Your heart aches for the broken man that sits in front of you. He never let on how much his arm bothered him, at least not within your presence. Suddenly you don’t see him as this rude, insufferable, obsessive man, but instead as someone that spends his life trying to protect himself. He projects his own anger and hurt so that he may, just for a minute, forget about his own demons. He wants to help others even when he feels he cannot bear to help himself.

But unlike you, he has to live with the physical reminder of his past every day of his life.

You stand and move to sit on his right side. Before allowing yourself to think too much of your actions, you place your hand atop his own, curling your fingers around his palm and squeezing delicately. You don’t bother wiping away the tears on your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Laszlo;” the whisper is barely heard above the sound of the train. A second passes where you fear you have overstepped and offended him by touching the affected limb. When his thumb tightens against the backs of your fingers you know he is not. He holds you in place.

“You asked me how I kept my humanity. How does anyone really? We learn to take what we get and we carry it in a bag. Sometimes you have to drag the damn thing behind you. But eventually the weight gets less and less if you allow yourself to move forward, even if it’s still there with you all the time. I dealt with what happened years ago and it does still haunt me. It’s easier now than it was, but… I- I suppose I’ve learned from you too. Sitting in those lectures and hearing you talk. We can either let it haunt us for the rest of our lives… or we can accept it… and use the memory of our pain to help ourselves and others.”

“I’m not sure the choice is entirely in our hands.” His tone is mournful.

You turn to smile at him through your tears. His own eyes are bloodshot. “I disagree. If it weren’t, if we didn’t have the freedom to choose that, we’d all be murderers.”

Tag list

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[amoristt]

Just a Dare | Nathan Prescott x Reader

@trueloveknifefight asked, Also can I request Nathan asking you out?

here u are! i love writing convos w nathan UGH i adore his character.

as always, replies and reblogs are greatly appreciated1 i check all tags and comments <3

wanna support me for just $3? here's my ko-fi!

The lights were bright, vivid. Almost blinding. They dance LED accents into the reflection of your drink- a dull plastic cup filled to the brim with one part whiskey, zero parts mixer. The taste could bring a tear to your eye but you would be damned to water down such fine alcohol, provided by none other than Nathan Prescott himself.

Music reverberated along the pool rooms walls, laughter and hollers distantly rising with the tempos. Your foot absently tapped to the beat- you were never one for dancing. Never one for parties, either, actually, favoring drinking in the solitude of a small friend group.

If not for Nathan you wouldn't be here at all. Some would say it's a privilege to slip past those heavy doors, entering the dully lit world of the Vortex Club. You mostly just felt like it was all for show. Somehow securing a place among Nathan's friend group, and a good friend at that, it was almost duty to show up. He insisted on it.

So, here you were. Leaning against a wall in a suffocatingly warm, cramped pool room surrounded by a sea of faces you hardly recognized.

That was, until you saw Nathan's face peer through the small break in shifting bodies. You knew him all too well.

Strikingly handsome, equally strikingly pompous. Funny, crude, an absent minded party goer just as much as he was a fireball with racing, incoherent thoughts. A drinker, a druggie. Takes the edge off, he says, but you think he does it to take away his thoughts completely. You felt like his entire life was all edges, never sacred ground.

The poor bastard.

He lures your attention in as he saunters over with squared shoulders, narrowly avoiding spilling his drink when a random student cuts it a little too close. Normally Nathan would make a bigger deal, give him what for, but this time he just shoots the poor kid a menacing glare and grumbles, 'fucking watch it'. He's walking with purpose and intent, you can see it on his face. You must have a target on your forehead as he darts straight over.

When he comes to your side, his own alcohol dripping down the sides of his cup onto his wiry fingers, you raise a brow.

"Something wrong?" You ask, as he takes a spot leaning against the hard wall right next to you.

"Just wondering why you're being so fucking lame over here," He shouts over the music, taking a sip of his drink, grimacing at the taste. "We're all having a good time over at the lounge and you're over here acting like all the other wallflower nobodies."

You roll your eyes with upturning lips. "Maybe I like being a wallflower. I like people watching. I see things no one else does."

"Yeah, okay, fucking weirdo."

"I mean it," You push off the wall and grin. "Look-" You point to a student obviously wasted, drink held high over head while he lets the music take him away. "That guy is clearly trashed- he's having the time of his life. He's gotta be seeing double."

Nathan whistles at his state, taking in the guys goofy smile, half lidded eyes. "I'll bet it's the triplets. I could breathe on him too hard and he'd fall over."

"You should go try it." You tease. He shakes his head and takes another drink.

"Nah, he'll get it himself. Guarantee we'll be dragging him out by his feet by the end of the night." He shrugs. "Or, at least someone will. I sure as fuck ain't staying that long."

You snicker. "What, got a hot date?" Nathan glares at you. "Oh don't tell me," you cup your hands to whisper, a secretive gesture, "homework?"

"Fuck no," He scoffs, and you can just barely see that he's a little more than tipsy now. His pale cheeks dusted with red, the tip of his nose ruby under the harsh lighting. It's also then that you realize he's a little more tense than usual, even despite the drinking. He's standing straight upright, his right hand gripping his cup like a crutch and his left now shoved hastily into his pocket.

He hasn't looked at you dead in the eyes yet.

"So what is it then?" You ask curiously. He shrugs and stares into his cup. You frown. "Bro, are you like, good right now? Do you wanna leave?"

For the first time since he'd wandered over, Nathan looks up at you. His eyes are unreadable, but his composure seems stressed. He shrugs again. Before you can even open your mouth to ask him about his state, he sighs and downs an entire mouthful of burning whiskey. It makes you cringe just watching him.

"Fuck it," He huffs. "Look I got some stupid ass dare to come over here and put the moves on you, okay." He sounds almost annoyed, like it's a hassle for him, or maybe embarrassing. You cross your arms. "I was dared to come over here and try to get you like, to fucking, you know, leave with me, but now that I'm over here I'm starting to think maybe that was a dumbass idea."

"Leave with you?" You say incredulously, a brow already lifting. "You were dared to come over here and try to sleep with me? By our friends?"

"No, no, fuck," Nathan seems agitated now, rushing. "Like a date sorta bullshit. Ask you out." He manages to get it out in almost the worst delivery possible, meanwhile you're just trying to pick out who would put him up to this. Hayden? Victoria?

A laugh forces its way out of you. "Aren't we a little too old for that game?"

Nathan shrugs. "That's what I said but they insisted. Fucking babies. At least make the dare a little more fun than just asking some bitch out. That's like elementary level shit."

Your eyes widen, you scoff. "Excuse me?"

Nathan sputters. "You're not some bitch, I didn't mean to-... Fucks sake, I'm clearly a little drunk right now okay, if you could cut me some fucking slack that'd be awesome."

"Hey man I didn't ask to be a victim of bullying," You tease, and he can't help but laugh. You soften. "Never expected it from you, though of all people. As ironic as that sounds."

"I'm not even bullying you, come on. Don't be a bitch. I even admitted it and everything."

You grin. "Yeah. Gotta say though, I'm a little disappointed."

"Oh what, you wanted to see my moves?" Nathan hums. "You wanted some Prescott action?"

"Shut the hell up." You shove his shoulder, an action that would be a mistake to so many others, but for you, it was welcomed. "I'm disappointed that it was just a dare. I'd probably have said yes if it wasn't. But, oh well."

Nathan doesn't answer for a long moment. First, he stares into his drink, processing. Almost like he hadn't heard that right, or like you were messing with him. It's rare to see Nathan Prescott stunned into a momentary silence. He's thinking, wondering what he should say next. Suspicious that you're just playing with him, hopeful that maybe you aren't.

And, you hadn't been. Truth be told if given the chance you would allow him to take you out for the evening. Show you fancy things, try out something a little more intimate than just laughter and poking fun at classmates together. You enjoyed his presence, looked forward to it at times.

A small part of you had hoped that he felt the same, maybe. Somehow. While grateful that he respected you enough to cut the crap before it even began, you couldn't help but feel a little... Disheartened at the prank. You'd saved your pride by denying him beforehand, but, if it had been genuine...

"So if it wasn't a dare," He began, quietly, barely audible over the booming music overhead. Eyes barely visible in the sea of vibrant lights crashing like waves. "You'd have said yes."

You shrug, trying to play it casual to save your own feelings, just in case. "Probably. I mean, we're already friends. We have fun so it couldn't have been that bad." He nods along to almost every word.

"Well what if we did it anyways." He blurts.

"Did what?"

"Go out tonight. Like, you know ditch this lame ass party and have some real fun."

"You love this lame ass party, and plus," You shake your head in feigned annoyance. "I'm not sleeping with you, Nathan."

He glares at you. "Fucking duh. I'm just saying we can go and hang out somewhere else. This party happens all the fucking time so it's not like we're missing anything."

"But, wouldn't that make me the butt of our friends joke?"

He shrugs. "Fuck em. It was a dumb dare anyways."

"Now it seems like you're trying extra hard to convince me to say yes." You state, and he's frazzled, running lines through his brain to try and save the absolute failure of asking you out. You decide to spare him, take a little leap of faith for yourself. "But, alright. I'm in."

Nathan gapes at you. "You're in?"

"Yeah, why not. I'm not busy right now and if you're not either than," You smile. "Why not. You better wow me though, Prescott. I'm talking a night to remember. Fireworks, dinner by candle light, a serenade. The whole package."

Nathan's eyes light up, but he tries to hide it, rolls those beautiful blues. "Well considering I've had like no fucking time to prepare how about we instead go to the roof and chill out."

You toss the idea around in your head for show. You already knew the answer the moment he asked if you were being serious.

"I mean I guess that would work," You say. "I was looking for fireworks but I suppose that will suffice. Feel free to go tell our buddies their joke may have backfired on them."

Nathan shakes his head. "Nah, don't even bother. They're all drunk and probably don't even remember daring me in the first place."

"Alright then," You push yourself off the wall, feeling your cheeks warm. A flutter takes wing in the base of your chest, your heart picking up just a little faster. You can't stop the smile that graces you as you say, "Lead the way, Prescott."

Nathan does lead the way. He takes your hand into his own, your fingers tracing over his boney knuckles as he drags you through the sea of bodies, out to the school hall and up winding stairs.

You giggle like a child when he struggles to find the correct key on the janitors ring he'd snatched weeks ago just in case, tease him when he almost spills his drink all over himself. Nathan's hands are almost shaking, but you chalk it up to the alcohol. You chalk everything up to the alcohol- his trembling fingers, his red face, a shy, albeit goofy smile resting upon his lovely, angular face.

The night was cool and crisp, a stark contrast to the smoldering heat of the Vortex Party.

He looks amazing out under the stars, and underneath the scope of the vast, black sky dotted with trillions of perfect, twinkling lights, you feel at peace.

Looking at him, you feel like this may be the start of something you'd denied yourself the chance of ever even imagining.

Out there, alone but together, hearing the echoes of music mixed with the livelihood of crickets in the darkness...

it truly was a night to remember.

-----------

Days later, you sit atop your desk, feet tapping rhythmically on your chair, typing away at your phone.

"Love the top," A familiar voice pipes, and you glace up to find Victoria standing before you, books pressed to her chest. She takes in your shirt, a nicely fitted long sleeve with a rather low cut v-neck. "Why haven't I see that one before?"

You shrug and set your phone down. "Never got around to wearing it I guess. Not a big fan of V-necks."

"It fits you," She sets her books down at the table beside you and brushes a hand through her hair, making sure every strand is in line. "I'll have to get one myself."

"You know what, you can have it after today," You say, and she perks up in disbelief. "As a thank you for what happened at the party."

That disbelief soon turned to confusion. "...Meaning?"

"Y'know, making Nathan ask me out. He made a whole huge deal about it- said you guys were drinking and playing Truth or Dare of all things. Gotta say, I was a little surprised."

Victoria's brows knit. "We hardly drank at that party, and I wouldn't be caught dead playing Truth or Dare. That game is for kids."

It almost knocks the wind out of you.

They hadn't even been playing in the first place.

As the teacher walks into the room, the first period bell blaring annoyingly over the speakers, you climb off your desk and prepare for the day, hardly able to contain yourself. It hadn't been a dare, after all.

And, you and Nathan's official second date was merely a day away.

[anotherwritersblog]

Title: So It's You

Chapter {1} - Body Like a Back Road

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.2K-ish

Author's Note: This is supposed to be a multi-part series. It's been sitting in my Wattpad drafts since mid-September. Figured I'd pull it out and spruce it up a bit and actually post it somewhere. It was inspired by those TikToks of soulmates being connected by music I loved that idea and wish it were real 😂 Mine would be like wtf are they listening to? I originally had this swapping POVs per part, but we’ll see how things go 🤷🏻‍♀️ Any mistakes are my own.

Warning: this one's really just fluff, Reader enjoying time with her boys even if it's earlier than she'd like, Bucky being a flirt

Any and all reblogs/likes/comments are appreciated.

In no way, shape, or form, do you have permission to post this anywhere.

____________________

One of the craziest things about our universe, as I’m sure there are thousands, if not millions of others out there, is that we have an idea who our soulmate is.

Well. Sort of.

When we turn eighteen, we are automatically linked to our soulmate by the way of music. It’s not what they sing aloud, but what they sing in their mind. Many high school sweethearts were lucky enough to find out right away. For some, it took them a few years before they crossed paths whether it was college, work, or even something as simple as a coffee shop. But me? It’s been ten years and nothing.

By nothing, I mean I haven’t met them yet. Since I turned eighteen, I’ve heard their songs. They’ve been interesting choices to say the least, and I’ve definitely added a few to my favorites because of them. But no matter what, I can’t seem to find this person.

🎶 Got a girl from the Southside Got braids in her hair First time I seen her walk by Man I 'bout fell up out my chair Had to get her number It took me like six weeks Now me and her go way back Like Cadillac seats 🎶

It was your average, early morning Saturday run, except this time I was pulled into it by a few friends. Steve had the bright idea to get up before the sunrise, while Sam at least had the better idea of stopping by our favorite diner afterwards. Of course, Bucky had to throw in a little bet. The person who couldn’t keep up for the hour we would run, would have the pleasure of paying for breakfast

I think he was hoping Sam would fall out first.

I was jogging with Sam as Steve and Bucky were continuously passing us, lap after lap. "On your left!" Steve would yell, as Bucky accompanied him with "On your right!" It was cute the first nine times, but Sam glanced at me with annoyance each time after that.

"So, Y/N. What's your soulmate singing, today?" Sam questioned, as we rounded the corner. "You've been humming a song and I can't quite put my finger on it."

"Body like a back road," I replied.

"Ah. So, they must be nearby," he grinned, looking down at the concrete.

"Shut up. They are not!" I countered, hitting his arm.

"I'm just saying. They’ve gotta enjoy the way your body is looking this morning. Your leggings and tank top are hugging everything quite nicely," he laughed. I’m pretty sure I rolled my eyes so far back, that they would’ve gotten stuck if I hadn’t taken notice of the boys passing us again. Fortunately, Sam left me to my thoughts and tried to catch up to them.

🎶 The way she fit in them blue jeans She don't need no belt But I can turn 'em inside out I don't need no help Got hips like honey So thick and so sweet Ain't no curves like hers On them downtown streets 🎶

I stepped off to the grass and leaned against the tree to catch my breath. I glanced down at my watch and saw that I had already ran five miles in the last hour. I glanced back up to see the boys complete one more lap. The super soldiers let Sam know that they were passing him one last time. You could see the frustration in his face as they fist bumped after passing the slower of the three. Once hitting the last corner, they waited on Sam to catch up and they started walking towards me.

A smile crept onto my face as they were walking. I absolutely adored these three, as they were some of my best friends. The question What would I do without them? always popped into my mind when we hung out together, as I knew my life would not be nearly as entertaining. As I watched the three make their way over, Sam's comment from earlier made its way back into my mind.

So, they must be nearby.

The thought that one of them could be my soulmate crossed my mind for a split second but was just as quickly dismissed. Sam has always filled in that older-brother-I've-never-had figure, Steve stepped in as my new-mentor-turned-best-friend when I was welcomed into the Avengers, and Bucky. Well. Bucky took some warming up to, but he too became a best friend, just not in the same way as Steve. With Bucky, we can be crude and crack jokes around each other that Steve might not enjoy as much. We can engage in harmless flirting with each other and it not mean a thing at the end of the day. He became more open to me about his nightmares (albeit I have to pull it out of him sometimes) and I became more open about my mental health (which he has to pull out of me every once in a while so that I’m not bottling all my thoughts and feelings up).

These three will always have a special place in my heart, because I love them more than life itself sometimes. I'd do anything for them. But the possibility that any of the three are my soulmate?

As if.

🎶 We're out here in the boondocks With the breeze and the birds Tangled up in the tall grass With my lips on hers On a highway to heaven Headed south of her smile Get there when we get there Every inch is a mile 🎶

"Couldn't hang today, Y/N?" Steve asked as the boys came within earshot. A smirk made its way to Bucky's face, as Sam wiped the sweat from his. "You know what that means!"

"Yes. Breakfast is on me, but only AFTER everyone showers! I am NOT taking anyone anywhere with you lot smelling the way you do!" I laughed, pointing to the three men in front of me.

We start walking back to the compound when Bucky puts his right arm around me. "So, we gonna save time and water, and shower together, doll?" he whispered into my ear, as the other two walked ahead of us.

"Nice try, Sergeant. But that's not gonna happen. Not today," I shook my head, grabbing his hand with mine and squeezing it before pushing it away.

"So, another time then?" he teased. I felt his hand run down the small of my back and rub it gently before taking it away. I tuned back into Steve and Sam's conversation about what they were ordering for breakfast at the diner. It was a fairly peaceful walk back...until the four of us got into the debate about pancakes versus waffles.

[obae-me]

Hi! If your inbox is open, I'd like to request a scenario with all (or any) of the demon brothers, + undatables reacting to a blind MC? Like, none of them expected to have a blind human and Devildom and they have to revamp everything to make it as safe for MC as possible. Can be she/her or they/them pronouns for MC. Bonus points if MC is extremely talkative and won't shut up lmao. Thank you!

I’m still learning how I best want to write the Undateables, so I’m sorry if they’re a bit lacking. This was really wholesome to write, thank you for your request! 💜

Lucifer

When first summoned down to the Devildom, MC looked more disoriented than he would’ve expected. “Where am I? Who are you guys?” They hadn’t managed to look at Diavolo yet, even while he was speaking to them. They already put him in a bad mood.

“Didn’t you learn its bad manners to ignore the people that are talking to you? Look at Lord Diavolo while he’s speaking.” Lucifer growled, leaving MC with an exasperated expression.

“I’m BLIND.”

Error.

They were blind?? Humans were so fragile that they could just lose their eyesight?? Permanently?! He’s already got several new grey hairs. He’d have to entirely change up the house, he’d need to have someone with them at all times. How would they read? How would they get school work done?

MC has to explain to him that they’ve been this way for a long time, so they can handle themselves. They’ll have to tell him about things they use to help them out, like a cane for starters. They’ll tell him later how they best do schoolwork, but he’s already busy contacting someone about a cane.

It doesn’t matter what MC says, he now feels obligated to keep them under his watch as much as possible. He’s responsible for keeping them safe after all, and he can’t feel relaxed until he can confirm that they’re okay.

Although he did find out that MC was as talkative and feisty as a human could be. If things went too quiet they’d quickly fill up the empty space with chatter. Not to mention anytime he, or any demon for that matter, went into demon form, the intimidation factor was lost. MC never budged. They didn’t mind standing up to him, which annoyed him greatly, but absolutely blew his mind. How such a tiny human, who didn’t have a major part of functioning, could easily stand up to a demon was beyond him.

When MC first asked if it was okay to ‘see’ him, he had no idea what they meant, but was curious to see where it would lead. He wasn’t aware that MC knew any magic. He didn’t expect MC to come over and gently touch his face, running their fingers gingerly over his features. MC politely asked if he could show his true self, and he agreed. MC drifted their way up to his horns, feeling the texture and shape. They had an expression of awe on their face, probably because they now knew that it was real, he wasn’t human. They struggled to find these supposed wings of his, and with one of his gloved hands, Lucifer took their wrist and guided MC along. They made a little gasp as the feathers brushed against their skin.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen, his demon form was supposed to strike shock and fear into people. He was supposed to be respected. He was supposed to be above this. So how was it he was sitting here, MC running their hands all over him, and he was the one who was shocked and speechless. He hated how MC had lost their eyesight, but in this one moment he was grateful that they couldn’t see his reddened face with such an embarrassing expression plastered over it.

Mammon

“What do you mean they can’t see? It’s not that dark in the Devildom. Oi, human, just open your eyes, don’t you know how seeing works?!...Oh...Oooh...”

He had a less than grand first impression when he first met MC, and to be honest, it kept getting worse before it got better. He didn’t know when to shut his mouth. He tried asking Lucifer if they could get a different human, one that wasn’t broken. He must’ve somehow thought that whispering from only about a foot away would keep MC from hearing him.

He didn’t get a different human, he was stuck with them, and he was going to receive a particularly severe punishment that night for how poorly he treated MC. He was in a bad mood, not to mention out of his mind with panic.

“I don’t know what to do with people who can’t see? Can we fix ya? Surely there’s some magic here that’ll make you good as new!”

He tried spells, he tried potions, he even paid a fortune to one of the Devildom’s best doctors. None of his antics worked, and out of all the brothers, Mammon took the longest to process that this was how MC was. It was a part of them. They would be like this forever.

He’ll stay by their side constantly, escorting them by the arm and hand, talking their ear off about this and that to keep them distracted. It causes MC to laugh about it every time. Who needs a seeing eye dog when you’ve got a wonderfully trained seeing eye Mammon. Sometimes he would even pick them up to go up and down stairs if he felt they would be too dangerous.

Anytime they’re at any sort of store, MC will have to touch almost everything, and if their hands brush across anything they like, even if only for it’s tactile nature, Mammon will buy it for them at the drop of a hat. It’ll drive Lucifer a bit crazy over the fact that MC won’t ever have a need for most of the things Mammon buys, but he’ll not bother them about it if he sees it makes MC happy even just to hold it.

MC is super talkative, but it’s typically just to fill empty dark space and make things seem more comfortable, but when they’re with Mammon, they don’t need to say a word. He does all the talking, and MC’s grown accustomed to the sound of his voice. It’s so different from his other brothers, the mannerisms he uses and the slight accent to it. Mammon still doesn’t realize that, for this reason, MC can single him out among the crowds at RAD, or how Mammon can never seem to sneak up on them. MC loves how loud he is. No matter how quiet he tries being, MC can always pick him out of the darkness, for them, he’s always there. Mammon will never say it, but he loves how his human knows him apart from everyone else.

Levi

“Huh, so you don’t watch anime, what a typical normie.”

“I actually can’t watch anything, just for your information.”

Fatality.

He knows the concept of blindness from anime and manga, but it almost seemed as foreign to him as magic seemed to MC. Typically in the stories he saw, it was never permanent, always the cause of some curse or spell or even a fight! MC had gone through none of that, it was what it was.

He almost found it relaxing for a moment, because he felt a bit more confident in himself. MC couldn’t see what an ugly shut-in looked like. However, his moods were quickly dashed when MC tripped over an empty can he had lying on the floor. He caught them from falling but quickly went into a state of despair. He was a dirty trashy shut-in. Lucifer would later find that Levi now had his room clean of trash at all times, his floor spotless.

Levi would absolutely cry, and I mean cry, over the fact that MC would never be able to fully enjoy anime or manga or video games. They could maybe enjoy some Dubbed shows but it wouldn’t be the same. If MC hangs out with him, Levi will give them the full commentator experience. He’ll explain what’s going on in his games or shows in hopes MC can still enjoy his favorite form of entertainment.

The first time in his Demon form, MC stepped on his tail in attempt to get to his wings. He yelped in shock. MC was vastly confused. What was that? Where was his wings? Lucifer and Mammon had wings so where were his? He hated being compared to them like that. He couldn’t fly, he couldn’t look nearly as intimidating. No he didn’t have wings, he just has this clunky ugly tail. MC grabbed his tail, making him turn bright red. They ran their fingers over his scales, petting it, pulling it out to see how long it was. MC endlessly talked about how cool it was, and how it felt amazing to touch. Lucifer and Mammon didn’t have a tail. Levi never felt envious of not having wings ever again.

Satan

He can’t believe his brothers didn’t know that humans were capable of being blind. They were extremely fragile creatures but somehow were heartier and more stubborn than they looked, capable of thriving despite everything they go through.

He didn’t know everything about being blind, since it never seemed to come up often enough for him to need to learn about. So you can bet that in just the first few days MC was there, he thoroughly studied up on anything he thought would help him.

He was surprised to find that there was a form of reading available for people who had lost their sight. He had never heard about Braille before this. As a demon who wanted to learn as many languages and reading forms as possible, he was angry he missed something like this. 

He wasn’t as angry, however, when MC offered to help teach him how to read Braille if he helped them with their schoolwork and studies. The Devildom school was surprisingly accommodating but until Diavolo and Lucifer finished sorting things out, they couldn’t read any of their schoolwork.

He usually preferred silence, but he didn’t mind when MC would come in his room and feel comfortable enough to talk in detail everything that had happened that day. In return, he liked when MC would listen intently as his narrating voice filled up the room while he would read his favorite stories to them. He loved the way their face would crinkle when he’d attempt to voice a particular character. They put their hand on his chest and would beg him to do it again with a laugh. He’d attempt the line again, MC feeling the deep rumble in his chest. Reading would now not be the same without them. 

The more he got to know them, the more the heat in his chest over their blank non-focused eyes grew hotter. How could they not see? How could someone like them be deprived of something like that? He couldn’t show them art, photographs, the beauty of the Devildom’s stars. MC assured him that it was alright, anytime they wanted to know what something looked like, they would ask him. Anything he described sounded like poetry. With him around, his words would be enough. 

Asmo

Blind, as in they couldn’t see anything, see him?! His radiant shine? His picture perfect features? His allure? They wouldn’t see any of that? He was astounded. He was upset. He was dramatically depressed. He got over it pretty quickly, though, he’s very attractive yes, but all of his other qualities were just as attractive.

He’ll help tweak their uniform, he’ll buy them clothes that not only feel amazing, but look amazing. If touch is important to them, he’ll get them lotions, skincare products, anything they wanted to keep them well taken care of. Their hands will never worry about being dry. 

He loves when MC touches his face to know what he looks like. He’ll use this as an excuse. “How do you know it’s Asmo? I might have put a spell on my voice, double check.” He’ll put his hands over theirs while they amuse him and feel the details on his face down to the bridge of his nose.

One particularly pleasant evening for Asmo, he goes on and on about new clothes he bought, and then brings MC into it. 

“Right right? I think it’ll look ravishing on me, the color matches MC’s eyes.” MC smiles and states that they had forgotten their eyes were that color. Asmo sits there for a moment before shrieking, standing up so fast his chair falls over. “You don’t even know what you look like!”

Of course MC had a pretty general idea of what they looked like, but yes he was right for the most part. They didn’t understand why Asmo was so shocked about it. However, Asmo refuses to let this go, and he takes them to his bedroom describing MC down to the bone. He’ll tell them what their eye color reminds him of, the particular way their eyelashes curl, how their complexion looked under the moonlight. He’ll go on and on and on, not realizing that he’s never ever spoke so long about someone else before, so MC lets him continue. They’ve never cared about appearances before, but the way Asmo talks about them makes them cozy on the inside. He made them feel like the most gorgeous thing on earth.

They’ll then change it up, making Asmo close their eyes as they talk about all the things about him that they love. The way the air smells around him when he comes into the room. The way his tone raises up when he’s excited about something. The way his footsteps sound on hard surfaces. They adore how one side of his hair is longer than the other. They love his presence. Asmo is dumbfounded, no one has ever described him in that way before. He’ll melt and might call a doctor for this strange new feeling in his chest. 

Beel

They can’t see anything? Can they at least eat?? Well then it’s not the end of the world. If MC had somehow been deprived of taste, he would’ve really been upset. Food doesn’t have to look great to taste great. Still, the fact that they couldn’t see made the Devildom even more dangerous, and he didn’t want anything to happen to them. He couldn’t let anyone get hurt around him, not again. 

He’s among the most considerate of the brothers even though he’s not used to being around someone that can’t see. He’s real worried he’ll hurt MC, so he’s always extra careful. He’ll announce that he’s beside them even though they heard his footsteps near them and could feel the heat coming off of his body. He’ll always ask them first if it’s okay to touch them so he can help them out. He’s even extra wary about hugs at first, what if he just...breaks them even more? As time goes by he learns he doesn’t need to walk on eggshells.

He finds it a fun game to let them try to figure out what stuff he made for them before they eat it, more times than not, they figure it out. Then he’ll eat it with them, unnecessarily guiding the fork to their mouth.

If Mammon isn’t by their side, it’s usually Beel who’s next. If he’s not busy with sports or working out, he’ll stick around by MC wherever they want to go. However, it’s usually MC who stays by him whenever he sees something tasty to make sure he doesn’t run off.

MC knew he worked out, but had always envisioned him to be like a big teddy bear. It wasn’t until MC asked to feel him until they understood just how strong Beel was. Under his soft clothes, they felt his tough muscles. He was built like a brick, no matter where they felt him, his arms, his sides, he was completely different than they had expected. His face was soft at least. His hair fun to play with. In his demon form adored touching his horns, exclaiming that they were perfect for fitting doughnuts. He didn’t need to know that, now Lucifer’s going to have to question why in the world Beel has doughnuts stacked on his horns. His wings felt silky and surprisingly fragile despite how strong he felt everywhere else. They were sure they weren’t as weak as they felt, but it let MC know that Beel was still soft. MC couldn’t stop gawking over how big and strong Beel was, pretending to punch him in the gut even though they could probably punch him for real and he wouldn’t feel it.

All Beel wanted was to tell MC how strong he thought they were.

Belphie

At first, he couldn’t believe that, somehow, they had chosen someone who couldn’t even see to be a part of the program. He felt like this supported his idea that it was a terrible idea to begin with, but fortunately, he thought, this made it easy for him to manipulate MC’s actions. How guilty this made him feel, afterwards.

He’d stay silent and sneak around MC, feeling that it was best if they didn’t even know he was there. They knew where he was, no matter how hard he tried. They could follow his dragging footsteps as he lazily walked through the house. His sighs and breathing were also very distinguishable.

They didn’t start getting to know each other till MC was wandering through the house, trying to still burn the number of steps in their mind in this massive place. Their cane found a strange obstacle in the middle of the floor, something that wasn’t usually there. They poked it, it was surprisingly soft. They got down on their knees and reached over, feeling cozy clothes and skin. They found a face and traced it over. It wasn’t anyone they had memorized, so it must’ve been Belphie. Made sense that he was the only one crazy enough to sleep in the middle of the floor. They loved how soft he felt, softer than any of his other brothers. Even his hair was like a velvety down you’d find in a pillow.

They knew he had woken up from his nap. The little muscles in his face were twitching, and his breathing was strained. He was trying to pretend he was asleep, but MC just kept going. They traced down his slender arms to his hands. They were free of any callouses or cuts. They took his hand and grasped it firmly in their own.

“I forgive you, you don’t need to avoid me anymore, or pretend that you’re asleep.” They heard his breathing go still, and then he sat up.

“You knew?”

“I’m not as stupid as people think I am. I may not be able to see, but I can still figure things out just fine.” They gently whacked him with their cane. “So I know you’ve been sneaking around me.”

Belphie didn’t think they wanted him around, after everything he’d done. He was still surprised his brothers kept him around at the end of the day. He just sighed. Emotions were exhausting. 

MC felt for his waist and then gave him a tight hug. They knew what it meant to be ashamed of you you were, of the things you’d done, but it didn’t matter. They wanted bygones to be bygones, and they wanted to learn about Belphie for who he really was, not what grief had made him out to be. 

MC now finds a new lump in their bed every so often. A lump that moans when you lie on it apparently. Naps are pleasant with him around. MC loves sleeping with their hands in his hair. 

MC can’t dream, not in the same way other people do, so Belphie does enough dreaming for the both of them. He’ll share stories of rippling meadows and drifting clouds. He’ll make sure they hear all sorts of pleasant things before they fall asleep. He hopes he can make it up to them.

Diavolo

Figuring out MC was blind didn’t come as a shock, he knew they were after all. He wouldn’t choose someone without knowing the important things about them, and having no eyesight definitely checked out as important. 

Knowing him, he did this as a test. He was testing out how the brothers would react and if they indeed could keep MC safe. If a blind human could make it through an entire year in the realm of demons, it would be more than a major success for his program.

The more he got to know about MC, the more he grew close to them instead of just treating them like a test subject or a campaign plan. He loved how they weren’t intimidated by him in the slightest, and he also loved how he could spend hours with them, MC talking the entire time. It drove Lucifer wild, but Diavolo found it fascinating and fun. 

“Is this what having friends is like? Amazing.”

He’ll have things all set up for them in a matter of days, having whatever accommodations they need to make their school life as easy as possible. Of course, this supposed ‘special treatment’ didn’t go well over demons who opposed the program. Some demons who disapproved didn’t have the courage to defy him directly at first, but now they were starting to scurry out of the sewers like rats. They headed straight over to Diavolo’s new ‘pet’.

They would abuse MC’s lack of sight to mess with them, stealing their things, purposefully knocking them around since they wouldn’t be able to tell who they were, but any demon who thinks Diavolo doesn’t see everything is sadly mistaken. MC tried standing up for themselves, but they could feel a tremendous and overwhelming presence behind them, larger than anything they had felt before. The demons would gasp, and the bullying would stop. Diavolo would put a hand on MC’s shoulder and they’d never be bothered again.

MC knew that this was the Lord of Demons, but they wanted to feel him in his demon form anyway, should he permit. He did permit, and at last MC was able to figure out this terrifying form of his. In his human form he was large, yes, but in demon form he was even bigger, impossibly big. Demonically big. His horns and wings were sharp and decorated in all manner of jewelry. The skin that stretched over bone to serve as his wings were littered with veins, and even just touching them allowed MC to feel the power pumping through them. He was intimidating yes, but after running their hands over his features, they were able to see how beautiful he was in his frightening glory.

Diavolo won’t tell them this, but they’re the only human who has ever laid a hand on him without immediately perishing or being subjected to torment. He’ll let MC do it again too, if they ever ask him.

Barbatos

The fact that he could’ve chosen a timeline where MC wasn’t like this is irrelevant. MC remained relatively the same throughout the different branches, blind or not. He does have control over time but mostly he’ll let time decide for itself, and he’ll take whatever MC the thread of fate decides to give him in this universe. No matter who shows up, he’ll take care of them.

He’s their secret shadow. MC’s working eyes. Diavolo always has him keeping tabs on them, keeping them safe whenever the brothers can’t. MC at first didn’t understand the whisper in the wind that told them to move to the side right before a demon blazed past. They were confused about the phenomenon of something wrapping around their leg to pull them down to the floor before an object whizzed above their head, causing something to explode behind them. It took MC until they finally heard Barbatos’ voice before it clicked.

When they asked to associate a form with that soft voice, he accepted, the normally even and calm tone just slightly more enthusiastic than normal. He had very wide shoulders and strong hands. Serving hands. Hands that felt almost familiar in a funny way, almost like they were hands that had pulled them away from an problem or two. His hair was longer on one side than the other, and they loved that. Even his demon form was intriguing. In every way that Diavolo’s presence boldly screamed, his aura clearly there, Barbatos was subtle. His horns were different than any horns MC had felt thus far. They were slender, bony, like two skeletal hands were reaching around his face to rest just above his forehead. Even his tail was different, splitting off near the bottom to have two controllable ends. He almost scared MC more than Diavolo. 

Sometimes MC will talk to themselves alone in their room, filling up the silent space with their voice so it’s not as dark, not as dismal. Occasionally MC will feel like there’s someone there. Like there’s something nodding along with their ramble in the darkness as shadows quietly tidy up their room. MC will find their clothes folded in distinguishable piles. The floor clear of any potential obstacles. Their cane is easily accessible right near their bed.

“Thank you, Barbatos.”

Sometimes the shadow will answer MC back, quietly drifting across the room to touch MC’s cheek before disappearing like a whisper. The darkness doesn’t seem as lonely anymore.

Simeon

He’s definitely going to be the kind of person who says “There must be a reason if God intended it.” MC had heard that throughout their life too many times. Religious or not, they hated when someone took their life and their disability and summed it up to God’s works. Their life was theirs alone, it belonged to no one else. They have a hard time around this angel at first.

Like Barbatos, Simeon can be impossibly quiet, which makes it hard for MC to be able to tell if he’s moving around. The only giveaways are the sounds his cloak makes, the little diamond shaped decor making slight clinking sounds as he moves. It’s melodic in a way, which MC sums up to angelic grace.

He’s not all bad, though. Yes he does believe God has his hands in all things, but that doesn’t mean he pities MC. That he thinks any less of them as a being. It doesn’t mean he’s chalking up their life to a charity case. He’s actually very sweet and fun. He’s one of the only people besides perhaps Solomon who believes MC is stronger than what they seem.

MC will admit sometimes they absolutely love how much the demons coddle and pamper them, but it can get too much too quickly. So sometimes they’ll run off and hang out with Simeon. He treats them like a person, not like a disability, not like a fragile little flower, but...normal. 

“Hello, Simeon here...yes, MC is here...stop screaming, they’re fine...we’ve just been talking.”

He’ll let them talk and talk and talk. He’s quiet himself but he loves to hear MC’s voice. How happy they sound when they share stories and discussions and things that happened during their day. 

MC can’t get enough of him now, they love hanging around this angel. There’s no sun in the Devildom, but anytime they’re around Simeon, they feel the same rays of warmth the sunshine gives. 

Simeon will never call MC ‘human’ sometimes God’s Miracle, sometimes a Godsend, more often than not, a blessing, but never just ‘human’.

Solomon

Yes, MC is blind, and? He doesn’t care what disability they do or do not have, he still finds them intriguing, and they’re his sole human companion in this place, a kindred spirit.

He’s also mischief wrapped in mystery, so he does his best to teach MC some simple spells to make their life a little easier down in the Devildom. Letting things they drop come right back into their hands, giving a shock to anyone who touches them that they don’t know, simple things like that. He did underestimate MC’s power, though. He may or may not have had seven demons at his door the next day when he learned that MC had accidentally dragged all the furniture in the living room towards them at a disturbing pace after they dropped a schoolbook. He did find it very funny, but taught them how to control their powers better. 

MC also doesn’t realize how much magic Solomon uses for their benefit. Objects they feel around for sometimes drift towards their hand. They will magically walk over holes in the ground. If any little pesky demon even dares try to mess with them, they’ll find themselves cursed. He knows that MC has nine powerful demons and two angels looking after them, but he does his part. 

When he finally does let MC touch his face, they’re disappointed to find that Solomon is very much in control of his expressions. They can’t get a reading off of what he’s feeling at all. They love anytime the brothers can’t help but let their lip quiver or their eyes flutter. Solomon stays blank, maybe letting them feel a smile on his face, nothing more. However, they are pleased to find not even Solomon can control his temperature, they can feel his cheeks get warmer by the second as they caress his face. 

They run their hands though his hair and find that touching him gives them a strange sensation. It’s something akin to static, but without the shock. It’s wonderfully addictive and strange. It leaves their fingers tingling and their nerves vibrating. 

Because of this sensation, MC has to touch him anytime they meet. Solomon doesn’t mind, in fact he lives for this. He’ll look over MC’s shoulder and give a small smirk to any of the demon brothers standing behind them. The expressions they pull make everything so much better. 

Luke

He’s ready to fight every demon in the Devildom when he learns they’re blind. Everything bad comes from demons, so it had to be one of them, not even hours they had been there before they took MC’s sight!

MC had to calm down the small yapping angel and tell them that they had been this way for a very long time. It just happened, it was just life. He has a very hard time dealing with this.

“But you’re so nice and sweet and wonderful, why can’t you see?” Was he crying?

MC has to promise him that it is okay, there’s still plenty to enjoy in their life. Humans don’t have it easy but they learned to move on anyway. He still doesn’t understand how MC’s not an angel. He suddenly shakes off their supporting words because he’s supposed to be the protector, not a human! He swears to protect them no matter what, no demon will stop him!

He loves to hang out with them, making sure they’re away from demons every now and then for the sake of their soul. He makes sure they’ve been treating MC okay. Even if the answer is yes, he doesn’t care what MC says, he cannot trust demons. So he brings MC the sweets he made to make sure they get plenty to eat. (No, he doesn’t know they can’t live off of sweets just yet)

If he lets MC touch his face, MC cannot get over how soft and squishy this little angel is. He’s just as cute as he sounds.

[listless-brainrot]

Hi! I know you love Haru and I'd love to hear your thoughts on what his personality is like? Not his bending or his ships, but just what kind of person he is. He was super undeveloped in ATLA and I'd love to understand him better and write about him!

hey, i'm glad you asked!! super flattering to have you come to me in regards to this question, and i've analyzed this guy to hell and back over the course of nearly a year now, so i'd be more than happy to give you my characterization of him

granted, it's pretty lengthy, and is heavily based on canon, hence why a lot of it ties to his bending, but i'll try my best to make it so that it's more about haru as a person, rather than his service to the plot

also makes me super happy to hear that people do want to understand and write about him!! that really does mean the world to me particularly, so thank you <3

with all of this in mind, here's a collection of my (pretty lengthy, sorry about that) thoughts:

haru being super undeveloped is actually one of the reasons why i find him so compelling- there’s so much you can do with a character of his caliber because there’s not much canon/supplementary material that can discredit your characterizations. canon, however, does actually supply a characterization of him that i’ve managed to compile and accrue over the course of finding nearly every single little detail i can find pertaining to him. this includes his canon episodes in both book 1 and 3, the videogame he appears in (which is straight up called avatar: the last airbender), and even the silly shorts.

(mild disclaimer, i know full well that the latter two i mentioned are considered non canon, but i like incorporating little bits and pieces of what they have to offer, as i don’t really have any other options. also, the videogames are the only supplementary material where he’s treated as a part of the gaang, so it’s the most personality you’ll ever get.)

i’ll start with main characteristics i try to keep in mind when writing him, and then talk about smaller, more innocuous details that i just find particularly fitting for him.

haru is:

emotionally driven. a lot of his decisions are more driven by emotion, rather than logic. this ties in with his impulsivity and morality. he’s aggravated by his position in the village as the only earthbender left, and this culminates into him still bending discreetly despite the inherent risk. he does this not only for himself, but to preserve the (possibly only) emotional connection he has to his arrested father. this is a similarity he shares with katara, who’s emotionally tied to her mother due to losing her, and haru is the one to understand what that loss really means in this interaction: “this necklace is all i have left of her.” “it’s not enough, is it?” by saying this instead of an apology or some other response, he shows that the feeling of loss she’s experiencing is mutually understood in a way that goes beyond just sympathy. there is nothing that will replace who you’ve lost other than the person themselves, and he understand that more than anyone. it’s also implied that haru doesn’t know if his father is still alive, as no one knows where the prisoners go, but it’s clear that he still holds a sort of hope that he’s somewhere out there, and that keeps him going. it just takes a little bit of outside influence for him to fully believe in that, as well as being reunited with his father again. in general, he’s also pretty receptive of other’s emotions, and is quick to come to their aid.

impulsive. not just impulsive, either- he’s got anger and resentment lying beneath his quiet composure. it’s not as bad as characters such as zuko’s, but it’s still worth mentioning. i’ll mention the impulse part first, though- generally speaking, haru reacts faster than he thinks. upon being spotted practicing his bending by katara, he runs away without pausing to consider the harmful repercussions of being found out (nor followed home). he not only runs away from danger as a first instinct, he also runs towards it in some cases, ironically enough- he’s the first one to notice and immediately run towards the mines once he hears/sees the explosion and suspects that someone’s in trouble. he does this without any prompting by katara, even if the act of actually saving the old man needed some egging on from her in order for him to accomplish. his impulsivity comes to a head in the form of his most dangerous act- him attacking the warden. i’ve already elaborated on that specific interaction here, though i will once again emphasize that haru had absolutely no plans past attacking the warden based on his body language, further fueling the idea that this was just a split second decision, one made on nothing but complete and utter impulse. to bring the anger aspect into this, he’s also unable to hold his tongue and insults the fire nation soldiers and even his town once the former leaves, and his instincts swing wildly between running and fighting on a dime with little in-between.

adaptable. instead of completely shutting down in the face of such a negative situation (and over the course of five years, no less), he brings it upon himself to practice bending, accept his role as man of the house and work in both the shop and on the farm, and other responsibilities that go unmentioned, especially when taking into account that his father is apparently the leader of his village. this is where you could start paralleling him well to sokka, which i have done before, but i will make this more haru-oriented. there is definitely a lot more to be inferred with this particular aspect of him, but i will say that it takes someone of strong will to adapt to the situations presented in his episode, and learning to live with the grim reality of fire nation occupation. to run down what we see again- soldiers freely patrolling the villages, soldiers overtaxing the villagers, soldiers entering wherever they wish unannounced, soldiers stealing away people in the night without much resistance, soldiers forcing villagers to work in the coal mines to gather the coal needed for their ships, and soldiers forcing captured earthbenders to build fire nation ships. this is all off of the top of my head, so i could be missing a lot, but again, seeing haru still be as morally oriented and determined as he is after all of this, it’s pretty impressive and telling of his adaptive capabilities. to take this one step further, he’s also extremely adaptable when it comes to working with others, as in the games he fills his role as a necessary component of the gaang without conflicting sokka or other preexisting roles, and in book 3, he finds his place amongst teo and the duke, taking the most initiative amongst the three.

lonely. a snippet from his personality bio on avatarspirit.net calls him “lonely and brave”, and i think that’s especially fitting for his character. he only had his mom for five whole years after every other earthbender was taken away, and this is without mentioning the ostracization he faced simply being one, given how the fire nation constantly demoralizes his country’s benders and likens them to savages. the village he lives in also appears to be full of old folks, so it’s not very likely that he had friends his age that were even in town, especially if we consider the circumstances of following book 2 episodes with the earth army recruiters. (it’s also unlikely that his friends are alive if they did join the army- take a gander at this line from zuko alone: Gow: Just thought someone ought to tell you, your son's battalion got captured. You boys hear what the Fire Nation did with their last group of Earth Kingdom prisoners? Soldier: Dressed them up in Fire Nation uniforms and put them on the frontline unarmed, way I heard it.  Then they just watched.) furthermore, it’s not likely that haru could’ve left his little village prior to its occupation- the games imply he’d been to omashu previously, but the circumstances of the war make this unlikely, unless he was super young. given his not always pleasant attitude and sullen expression we sometimes see him with, it’s not hard to imagine that the effects of him being so alone without the connections he needs has affected him deeply.

some other things:

-he’s horrible at lying (”they’re crazy! i mean, just look at how they’re dressed” is that really the best excuse you could’ve come up with??). -he doesn’t like keeping his hands/arms still (arms are usually crossed, sometimes gestures as he talks, hands usually balled as if expecting a fight). -he’s pretty outwardly expressive (for someone who’s supposed to be hiding most of the time, he tends to wear his emotions/intentions on his sleeve). -he can’t bite his tongue (especially when it comes to something that goes against his personal beliefs). -he doesn’t know how to react to touch (katara hugging him takes him by surprise both times, and he doesn’t reciprocate often, if anything he reacts stiffly) -he’s particular about his appearance (notably in the games, he makes negative comments about people touching his hair, and there’s also. sokka’s comments in book 3. sigh.) -he’s considered dangerous/sensitive by others (note sokka’s comments in book 1, and katara’s comments in the school time shipping short) -he lives a busy personal life (works both in the family shop and on the family farm, and has probably had to work in the coal mines at some point, though this is speculative) -he’s not above poking/having fun (in the games, he’s not above making fun of sokka and his comments about benders, and jumps at the opportunity to ride the omashu mail chutes) -he’s family oriented (count how many times he talks about his parents, it is many times i assure you, it’s important to note that he’s one of the few atla characters to actually have both parents as well as a decent relationship with them) -he has a tendency to idealize. he talks about his father fighting against the fire nation even when horribly outnumbered. it wouldn’t be surprising if he idealized the ideal of rebellion (which would later bite him given that:) -he’s a part of the first successful earth kingdom rebellion. this is mentioned on the wiki, and is unfortunately not shown in the show. it should’ve been, though. -he’s dramatic. he has an entire cliff he brings katara up to just to be dramatic and spill his sad backstory. he needs to be encouraged to save the old man, but he does it in the most dramatic way possible- he really didn’t have to stop the entire avalanche AND push it back into the mines. drama king. -he is very lucky. this can apply to anyone who encounters the gaang, but honestly, given his personality and a few things i’ve mentioned above, it’s a miracle that he’d survived as long as he did without detection nor suspicion. -he’s creative. (this one is much more speculative, but he does create huge statues of katara and ty lee pretty quickly, maybe he’s done similar things before)

to summarize: he’s a lonely impulsive idealist who isn’t afraid to throw hands if necessary and is also very attached to his dad <3 his connection to his dad makes up at least 75% of his personality

[wenellyb]

hey! every now and then i've seen random posts about sebastian's comment/s on colin kap kneeling among other things, but i've never seen any source material or hard facts. do you have any posts about this or deconstruction of your own? i'd be very interested, ty!

Hey yourself😉!

So I've found the screenshot of the post (at the bottom) and just so you know he also posted an apolology but that one I couldn't find a screenshot of.

There are plenty of posts talking about this but I think most of them are old so it would take some time for me to find them.

If you want my opinion. The whole thing was f*cked up and I remember being extremely surprised and unfollowing him after that post.

And he did apologize, which is good and I do think he understands that that post was not great, but it wasn't my main issue.

When the whole story with Kaepernick happened it was a real eye opener and exposed a lot of racists even among celebrities. I'm looking at you Christopher Meloni. But not only him.

So Colin Kaepernick was to kneeling to protest against police violence and racism.

And a lot of people reacted like a lot of White people react when the topic of racism arise: deny everything and get defensive "How dare he protest blablabala" "He's so rich and he's saying White people are priviledged..." "How dare he say there is racism in this country". You know the usual.

But the thing is to me, the way he protested was the most respectful, and most peaceful way to protest and also so impactful. And some people had still a problem with it...I don't understand how ANYBODY could have a problem with it ... unless they were racist in one way or the other. That was the bar for me... I could not have respect ANYBODY who had a problem with him kneeling, because their message was clear “just sh*t up and play football”.

To me, anybody who had a problem with Colin Kaepernick taking a knee... was automatically problematic and the worst.

For other forms of protests there can always be arguments against it, lousy arguments, but arguements nevertheless: "They're blocking the streets" "There was violence during the protest",... etc... But what is your argument with having a man kneel during the National Anthem, to call out something as serious as police brutality.

To me it was clear that they just wanted Black Americans to shut up, and stay in their lane. "Sports have nothing to do with politics blablabla"

And unfortunately history proved Colin Kaepernick right, and I don't think anybody could voice bad opinions about him today, but at the time, a lot of people were criticizing him, calling him names, insulting him, and even some celebrities were talking about how disrespectful he was.

They cared more about the way he was voicing his protest, than the fact that racism was a real issue.

And because of the protests last year, I think a lot of people tend to forget about that time, but Kaepernick faced A LOT of backlash, A LOT and for what....??? Absolutely no justification. With the way some people reacted you would have thought he burned the American flag on a daily basis, or used it as toilet paper.

So having that in mind, it was really disheartening to see an actor you respect take part in that...

And just to be clear, this is my personal opinion, but I don't think Sebastian had any bad intention with that post (not like other celebrities who were outright criticizing Kaepernick, for some reason I only remember Chris Meloni lol). But the timing, and the content, even as a joke, even as a promotion tool for his movie was extremely bad. You also have to understand the context, and how there were a lot of people rooting against Kap.

Worst case scenerio Seb’s post was racist and best case scenario it was tone deaf.

I can only assume Sebastian watches the news in the US, so he must have known what the caption "take a knee" meant and still decided to post it... So maybe he wasn't ill-intentioned, but to him the topic was light enough that he could post it on his social media...

My main problem isn't even with Seb's post, it was a weird way to promote his movie, or a joke I don’t know. Artists do problematic stuff all the time, and it's up to the fans who support them to decide if they keep doing supporting him or not.

My main problem was and still is the reaction of the fandom, where White Seb stans think they know and understand racism better than anyone else. And honestly this is not me saying that Seb is racist, this is me saying that we should be allowed to voiced our opinions without being silenced or accused of trying to villainize him or cancel him blablabla .

But the Seb stans don't understand that and prefer to turn a blind eye.

I make difference between stans and fans. The Seb fans are the ones who are willing to listen, understand why some people might be offended and admit that their fav f*cked up. The stans are the annoying ones who yould rather keep their head in the sand.

And nobody is even asking to stop supporting Seb... If I cancel an actor, I will stop consuming his content, supporting him, paying to see his movies etc... But I'm not forcing anybody else to do it... But I would like to be free to voice my dislikes especially if that actor was being problematic... without the stans complaining about how "I don't know their fave"

I haven't cancelled Seb btw, I just don't feel like finding him excuses and glossing over the words and if I think that something he did was racist, I will say that it was racist, not "problematic" or "tactless" or "clumsy"...

I think that a lot of people are confused about what racism is, and think it is only White Supremacists who want to harm all non White people.

But it's not only that and in my opinion, there are many layers to racism. If you have "nothing against Blacl people" but there is a part of you that believes you or White people are better than Black people, well you are racist... If not hiw would you describe it? I have already told this story, but I have a friend who swore she wasn't racist and we even had a big debate about racism, and a few weeks later, her boyfriend told me that during a family dinner, she had talked about a common Black friend of theirs saying "She is pretty for a Black girl"... But if you ask my friend, she will say she isn't racist.

If you try to silence people calling out racism, you are contributing to it instead of fighting it.

Another example, I received a lot of "problematic" comments at work from coworkers on my hair, my origins etc, but when I talked about it to my friends and said those comments were racists.. they said that I was "overeacting" that those comments were harmless or just my colleagues being "ignorant". But one time, I was done with it and I wrote to HR about it losting all the comments I had received and the HR director called me and told me that those comments were racist full stop, he didn't try to minimize it or act like I was exagerrating.

And that's how I see the reactions of Seb stans whenever something from him re-sufaces, like my friends who just act like it is nothing.

Just so you know you are not helping when you do that.

They act as if we're suppoosed to accept that because "it's not that big of a deal". Who told you that? How do you determine what is a big deal or not? Especially when you have never dealt with racism?

Fandom behaves as if people who were hurt or offended by that post were overracting. "It was a joke" "It was a long time ago" "He would never do somthing racist"

How hard is it to say " I can see that my fave did something problematic, or that what he did was racist, and I would still like to support him but I understand that people were hirt"??? How hard is it to continue to stan your fave WITHOUT trying to silence people who call out the behavior.

And also the way they refuse to use the words is annoying... it's always "I'm sorry if anybody was offended", never "What I did/wrote was racist and I know better now". If no one wants to admit it when they do racist stuff... nobody will never get anywhere... Like my friend who is convinced that she isn't racist but goes around thinking that White Women are more beautiful than Black Women, and even says it when surrounded by her family. 

And people act like the people who were hurt have no reason to be hurt because he apologized, but I hope those people realize that it doesn’t work that way. An apology is great of course, but it doesn’t take out the hurt, or the feeling that if he was comfortable enough sharing this on social media, what is he comfortable doing in the safety of his close circle?, or remove the idea that maybe an actor you adored, and respected doesn’t view Black people struggles as a serious matter.

I personally don't hate Seb, far from it. And the reason why I have so many posts about him, calling him out or not, is that he is one of the very few White actors I'm interested in. I don't know him personally, but I enjoy his interviews with Anthony and enjoy his movies. But I'm not about to act like he is perfect like some of his stan do and also I have absolutely no issue with people who have "cancelled" him because of his past behavior, because I understand them and it's their choice, it's what works best for them... I don't want to force them to root for someone who maybe wouldn't root for us.

Last point, that I won't elaborate because I have already written way to much. There's a difference between people actively trying to be racist, and people who are racist and maybe don't realize it, or people who have prejudice but are working on it...

I hate it when White people act like the worst thing in the world is being accused of racism when the actual worst thing in the world is being racist. Because it shifts the conversation from... "Oh how can I improve myself and stop this racist thing I'm doing, or how can I work on this prejudice I have?" to "How dare you call me racist!!! I would never" all the while they continue doing the racist thing they do.

TL:DR: His Instagram post was f*cked up, and he apologized. And it's up to each person to decide if they still want to support him or not, but it would be great if thise who still support him stopped pretending that those whose don't are overreacting or had no reason of being offended.