#i just. hope this is all an illusion or an alternate reality because GOD i can't deal this was so laaame

[emsylcatac]

Pls did gabriel really sacrifice himself for Émilie???

It 😐😐 looks like it 😐😐😐😐

[buckets-and-trees]

Talk

Title: Talk Fandom: MCU Characters/Pairings: Pleasure Dom!Bucky x Female!Reader Word Count: 2k

Summary: He's ready to give you everything you want and things you don't even know you need yet.

Content/Concept Warnings: BDSM AU, discussion of BDSM themes, oral female receiving, praise kink, dirty talk, overstimulation, forced orgasm

Notes: TRIPLE THREAT SUBMISSION for @buckybarnesevents WEEK TWO of Hot Bucky Summer: "What Should I Call You?", my fourth square of @buckybarnesbingo K4 "Kink: Forced Orgasm, and my second square for Connect4 Alternate June-iverse: C2 "BDSM." Also, @biteofcherry, you totally called the BDSM vibes from that little last line tag game sentence I posted the other day - it was this, mwahaha!

Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You sat sideways on the couch, your arm draped over the back, legs tucked up comfortably beneath you. He mirrored your position, though with just one leg brought lazily up onto the couch, leaving his impressively thick thighs spread wide, teasing your fantasies.

Indulging fantasy was why you were there in the first place.

And you almost felt like this was any normal kind of Saturday afternoon with the new boyfriend you were eager to crawl into the lap of and be devoured by for the first time.

The setting fit – cozy living room of a sophisticated man’s apartment with leather furniture, modern art on the walls, small but sufficient kitchen, floor to ceiling windows along one side of the room that led to a private balcony, and a door that you knew would lead to the bedroom.

But it was just a little too tasteful to be real.

And he didn’t live here.

It was all designed to make you feel comfortable, an indulgent illusion of reality.

“You’re sure you’re not thirsty?” he asked.

He hadn’t offered anything alcoholic – strictly against policy so you were both sober – but you declined again with a shake of your head.

“Okay,” he said, “but remember it’s my role to make sure you always feel safe and taken care of, and that includes the small things like getting you a drink, and you can change your mind at any point. You’re not a burden. We are here for you and what you want.”

Warmth bloomed through your core – tinged with desire, but mostly just heat that was part comfort and part reticence. You had never taken such a bold measure of self-indulgence or self-care or self-discovery or whatever this could be called. It had taken almost two months for you to get from scoffing at the suggestion to sitting in the room on this couch across from the brunette Adonis who had said to call him Bucky (a nickname – you were asked to give a nickname as well when you registered and had gone with Rio).

“The last thing we should discuss, if you’re ready to move forward, is your safe word.”

“Brazil,” you responded without hesitation.

He smirked, but it was in no way unkind. “Rio and Brazil – I’m sensing a theme.”

“Another thing on the list of dreams to finally indulge,” the words tumbled out of your mouth.

“I hope that’s another thing you’ll choose to pursue.”

You laughed. “God, it’s so weird just how normal all this conversation feels. We just spoke at length about my kinks and limits and now I’m telling you my hopes and dreams. I’ve rarely shared this much of myself to anyone, and certainly not after only knowing them for less than an hour.”

“Well, part of that is that we all feel a little safer exposing ourselves to strangers because they’re not part of our routine,” Bucky said, “but there’s some trust that’s established by the mere act of us talking about your boundaries. It’s certainly a foundational part of the process. This only works when you feel comfortable with me, if you trust me – otherwise you cannot truly submit to me as your dominant in this arrangement.”

You nodded.

“Trust, strong communication – without them, there’s no way I can expect you to reasonably let go of your inhibitions either,” he soothed, moving his hand forward to brush his fingers over yours.

“The world of BDSM and kink is vast, but it shouldn’t be overwhelming. I never want you to feel like you’re an Alice who’s fallen down a rabbit hole and exposed to and expected to navigate the wonderland on your own.”

“I appreciate that. There’s…” you hesitated, but his rapt attention helped you feel like you could continue the thought on the tip of your tongue. “There’s a lot on the internet – a lot that I thought I knew about this stuff, but even just the registration and profile of preferences I had to fill out was pretty illuminating.”

After the basic registration you had been directed to complete an Experience and Curiosity Checklist that walked you through over 250 different activities and indicate whether you had tried it before or not, your pleasure during that activity if you had, and then a ranking of if you would like to try or do it in this setting – from never to need, if each activity was something you would entertain in a consensually forced situation, and if you would give, receive, or were up for both.

“Illuminating, huh?” Bucky grinned.

You felt just a touch of heat rise in your cheeks.

“You’re incredibly smart, and I like that,” he said, his grin turning to a softer smile. “That long and thorough profile? It’s the key to all of this – it’s not only for you, but also for me. I was matched to you ahead of anyone else on our staff. I’ve been preparing for you.”

“Like studying up?” you interjected.

“Of course, and the time we’ve spent up until now talking is for both of us, as well. You have a question you want to ask, something that wasn’t fully clear to you through your own research and filling out the profile. Ask it.” He tapped gently on your fingers, another motion of reassurance, connection.

“Forced orgasms.”

“I’m not surprised you would want to know more about that particular aspect.”

“I get the general concept, but I guess I don’t understand how that translates into practice,” you admitted.

Bucky nodded. “Sex should be engaged in for intimacy and pleasure – sometimes only pleasure, but not all the partners we are involved with are people we would trust to push us beyond our limits – either because a relationship is new, it’s a one-time thing, or because we don’t know how to communicate the limits and boundaries. Just like anything else, sex is a part of our experience as humans that we learn and grow and change with. A forced orgasm is a way to explore pleasure and power dynamics, but there must be that established trust. They can be both physically and emotionally intense because it could be exploring something new or pushing you past limits – you would give up power and be subjected to my whims.”

You took a deep breath and nodded.

“You give up power, but not safety – that’s important for you to remember. You always have your safe word or tap me three times if you can’t speak, I’ll always stop immediately. Forced can also be a specific part of roleplay scenarios. We can discuss it more, but I think you ought to experience it. Do you think we’ve built enough trust for us to begin?”

“Oh, now?”

“Yes, now, or we could talk more before we begin, we could talk and do nothing more tonight, or you could leave now and go think before your next appointment.”

You bit your lip, but only out of concentration for deciding, not out of nerves.

“What do you want?” he asked patiently.

“I want to begin the physical experience.”

“That kind of specificity will be rewarded, Rio.”

You grinned.

“You didn’t mark this very high on your profile, but I think you’re going to find out you have quite the praise kink.”

You half-gasped and half-giggled, surprised that he would say something so bold and yet also not.

“Strong independent woman like you? High achiever, determined. You’re not vain, and you don’t chase it, but you like recognition outside the bedroom, right?”

“Well, yes.”

“You’ll love it here, too, doll.”

You pressed your thighs closer together. A slow undercurrent of desire had been present since the night began, but as things began to transition, your core was beginning to thrum with anticipation.

“Bucky?”

“Yes?”

“Before we get started, I – well – just – thank you for not asking me why I decided to come here.”

“You didn’t ask me why I chose this profession. It might be oversimplification to say we’re both here because we want to be, but that’s the bottom line, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Know there will never be an ounce of judgment here – not for your desires, your kinks, your fears, your motivations. Don’t worry about doing anything wrong in there – we’ll be learning what your body wants together. You need to stop, we stop. You need to pause, we pause. You want to go slow or try something again or from a different angle, you tell me. Deal?”

“Deal.” God, he made you feel like the world was at your feet even though you were surrendering to him.

He stood up and pulled you with him. “One more thing.”

“Hmm?”

“In there, you call me ‘sir,’” he said. He brought your hand up and placed a whisper of a kiss on the inside of your wrist.

Everything in you melted instantly and you had to remind yourself to breathe.

“You got that?”

“Yes, sir.”

He smirked.

You knew he was going to ruin you.

You knew this, you knew you were ready and eager, and yet you also could tell nothing in your life had quite set you up for what you were about to experience if he had you pliant and nearly pleading for him after that mere gentle touch.

“Why don’t you head to the bedroom, I’ll give you a few minutes to get comfortable, and then I’ll come in.”

Two hours later, you were a writhing mess on the mattress, completely naked and splayed out for him while he was still fully clothed. His head was buried between your thighs, your hips firmly in place by his left arm pressing down on your pelvis. The fingers of his other hand were buried in your cunt, stroking the sensitive spot on your inner wall slowly and torturously – because every sensation down there was too much now.

He had traced his fingers over every inch of your limbs, teased your nipples, stroked your neck, ghosted his hands over your hips, teasing until you were pleading for him to touch your pussy.

He had told you once he started, he wouldn’t stop.

You knew he wasn’t lying, but you had never known an experience like this.

He had edged and denied your first orgasm until you were desperate and crying. The ultimate bliss had been blinding. He had praised you, told you your first orgasm with him had been truly beautiful, and your back had actually arched at his words, an inner keening. He’d been right about that kink.

And then he’d been nothing but relentless, bringing you to the edge and back again, then hurtling you over numerous times, with only brief moments of reprieve before torturing you with his lips, teeth, and tongue, with his hands, and with his words. Filthy promises of things he would do, dangled your fantasies in front of you, teased out admissions from you of even darker desires he as he presented new options you’d never considered, all the while pushing you into orgasm after orgasm. You keened and cried.

It was too much, and you told him so.

He disagreed, coaxing that you could give him another, and another.

“Sir,” you sobbed, “sir, stop, I can’t.”

Now the crying was continuous, and those were the only four words you seemed to be able to utter. When it devolved to only hitched breaths and sirs, Bucky slowed and stopped.

“Do you remember your safe word?” he asked.

“Yes,” you rasped.

“And?”

“I didn’t say it.”

He chuckled. “Just checking, Rio.”

“I know it’s Brazil! Break over, keep going.”

“It’s the endorphins – even though the overstimulation is there and it’s uncomfortable, the high with the endorphin release through the pain is its own trip, isn’t it?”

“Yes, yes, now keep your word and don’t stop until I’m utterly broken,” you whined, wiggling your hips as much as you could manage.

His low laugh made you shiver. “You’re going to be one of my favorites, I can tell.”

And then he pressed firmly on that spot inside of you and sucked hard on your clit in one sudden moment and ripped another orgasm and scream from you as you twisted one hand in the sheets and tugged his hair with the other, not ready to stop yet. He was as addictive as he was relentless, and you were not going to leave an ounce of this unexplored, and this was only the beginning.

Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

End Notes: I feel like I knew some of the basics when it comes to BDSM and some of my fics have had BDSM elements, but I did a fair amount of research because I didn't want to do any disservice to the what a healthy relationship exploring BDSM might look like. This is one take. I found some very helpful insight at theduchy.com (specifically their BDSM Experience and Curiosity Checklist) and an article Bustle published by two sex educators that took a very straight-forward approach in discussing some of the basics. I'd go so far as to say there things that I learned or had reaffirmed or got better language/theory about by studying about BDSM that I think should just be base safe sexual practices (around consent, boundaries, exploration, trusting your partner, etc).

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

heyy, at first I wanted to say I love your works so much! You're so talented with your writing...

Anyway could you write something like G!PDonna x maid reader where y/n was a girl from the village who ran away but got lost and Donna saved her, y/n started working for her for free just to have a place to live and gradually they got closer until Donna realized that she was so in love with her And she starts to be very possessive, but she doesn't show it because they still are not dating and one day Some young vampire comes to visit to pick up something and starts flirting and Donna goes crazy.

They end up in a big fight and Donna ping y/n against a wall and feelings will be revealed....maybe some vanilla smut at the end...

Thanks! And also sorry for my English...i'm still learning<3

Yess!!!! Thank you for you kindness and for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!!! :))))))))

To be her maid

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem, Maid! Reader

Warnings: G!P Donna, smut, Minors DNI, slightly dark themes, possessive Donna

Word count: 8,793

Summary: To leave and die, to stay and love, what a decision...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :))

Your parents were right: no one could ever leave the village.

Wandering through the forest was always a risk, getting lost in that tangle of trees and snow would be easy even for the bravest of explorers.

But you were not brave, nor an explorer. You were just a villager, an ordinary girl who lost everything, who had no reason to stay in a place like that. Your family was gone, the Black Gods, who Mother Miranda defended, had abandoned you.

With nothing to fight for but your own life, with nothing to thank the Gods for, your only way out was the most risky: escape.

You didn't know what leaving that sinister village could bring you, what a girl like you could do in an unknown world. But, finding out, was much better than waiting for the darkness to consume you.

A small backpack and a desire to escape was your only luggage. Not even your old home had had mercy on you. The outside world offered itself to you as an alternative you couldn’t refuse, or rather, as your only alternative.

A few more hours of walking, and you would be free.

But your illusions outweighed reality, your desire to live outside that darkness eclipsed your situation. You couldn't escape, and deep down, you knew it. Turning around wasn't an option, guiding yourself by the dark lights of the village would only bring you more suffering, you had to continue.

Some growls behind the bushes made you stop and look around. It could be a dog, a forest vermin, something totally harmless. You swallowed as your eyes danced through the forest, looking for a different pattern in the movements of the branches, something that would tell you where those growls were coming from. Everything seemed so calm that it could only be that calm before the storm.

“Calm down, (Y/N), it's just the wind,” you whispered, forcing your legs to walk again. Your reassuring words wouldn’t take long to lose their effect.

One step, two, three... Footsteps in the snow that sounded closer and closer petrified your body again.

“Okay,” you whispered again, taking a map out of your pocket, one that indicated the path to freedom beyond the domain of the dark deities, of Mother Miranda, of the Lords...

The snow made it difficult for you to orient yourself, but your movements resumed automatically, moving away from the noise and deviating from the path. The faster you walked, the faster those footsteps in the snow seemed. Reality was stalking you, although you refused to believe it.

A furious roar diverted your gaze from the bushes. It was not a man, nor a wolf, it was a monster. One of those chosen by Mother Miranda to protect the village, to protect your insignificant lives, stood before you with a bloodthirsty gaze.

Lycan, that was its name, the name the Gods gave to that poor villager whose blind faith drove him to become a beast.

You breathed heavily, but fear made you back away. Those bloody eyes stared at you as the cold steam came out of its jaws. You didn't want to go back, but you had to find an alternative route.

Behind you, more monstrous creatures waited to devour you, to punish you for your audacity. They only growled, watching you, waiting for the best moment to attack you.

Your voice dried up and your body trembled with terror. You had nothing to fight for, but many reasons to live, to not let fear consume you, to flee, to escape, to earn that freedom.

With your eyes you looked for a corner, a gap in the bushes that you approached slowly. The growls of the beasts confirmed their displeasure, and they were the signal you needed to start running.

You fled without a destination, unable to look back.

Your strength weakened after a short time, they didn’t get tired of chasing you. You seemed safe, but you still heard their roars. After taking a breath, you continued running forward, until the path became rocky and then, nonexistent.

Your feet found no ground to support them and your body fell into the void. You rolled down a steep slope, covering your head. No, you couldn't end up like this.

With a thud, you fell to the ground. The creatures roared, but apparently, they couldn't see you.

“Oh...” you lamented, getting up from the penetrating cold of the snow, looking around. “I think I have lost them...” you whispered, scanning the clearing with your gaze. There was only an old tree surrounded by rock walls.

Not managing to recognize the place, you took out the map again, looking for something similar. You didn't find it, you were lost.

“What is this?” you asked, approaching an object hanging from the tree, something that looked like a hanged person. Of course, it wasn't, it was just an old doll. “A doll?”

 Before your reasoning could begin to draw conclusions, a cloud of snow came down the wall you fell down. You hadn't lost them. The lycans would never stop until they got their prey.

With no time to react, you ran again, the roars were getting closer. In front of you there was only one way out: an old wooden bridge. You couldn't even stop to take a look at the map, even though you were convinced you had seen that bridge somewhere.

It didn't matter anymore. The wolves were chasing you even through that unstable wood. The other side was anything but a safe place. Not even the heights or the instability seemed to those beasts to want to stop.

Your clumsiness caused you to stumble again, falling to the ground. You felt claws pulling at your leg, the satisfied growls of those beasts dragging you into their jaws. (Y/N) had met her end.

“No!” you screamed desperately, kicking that lycan in a last attempt to save yourself, one that you knew was useless. “No, no, no!”

You could already feel the breath of that monster, that anxious panting to devour your flesh but, suddenly, your leg was released with a gasp of pain.

You opened your eyes to check what had happened. The four creatures that were chasing you had moved away, looking at you with impossible, terrified eyes. Agonizing cries came from their jaws as they slowly retreated across the bridge.

“What…?” you asked in a sigh, crawling backwards through the snow, watching how suddenly the monsters seemed to fear you. Fear a villager? No, it couldn't be possible.

The beasts growled again, retreating faster, more frightened. At your side you saw a black shadow, one that passed by you without paying attention, that stood at the end of the bridge, looking at the lycans.

A black dress, a black veil, a stoic figure standing before you. It took your frightened head a while to understand, but not long enough to not be able to react.

There was only one person, one woman who could fit those characteristics. The lycans were not the most dangerous thing in that place. In front of you, with her back turned, was one of the Lords, the youngest, surely the most feared: the doll maker, Donna Beneviento.

The beasts retreated even further, fleeing in terror from that imposing presence. They feared her, those beasts feared her, and so did you.

Since it seemed that the lady in black had ignored your presence, you decided to take advantage of the opportunity to retrieve your backpack from the snow and back away slowly, without attracting attention.

“That's it, that's it! Get out of there, you rude mutts!” a shrill voice made you shrink in place, but you couldn't stop, you had to get out of there as soon as possible. “And don't come back! Donna, Donna, what are the lycans doing here?”

The lady simply shrugged, emitting what seemed like a sigh. Unintentionally, you had stopped in your attempt to run away and when you realized, it was too late.

“Hey, hey! You!”  The lady turned to your position and that sinister puppet pointed at you effusively.

You shook your head, finally reacting, standing up and running away again clumsily.

“Hey! Where do you think you're going, stupid?”  the doll shrieked while you looked at it terrified.

Fear made you do something stupid, made you look back, at that woman in black instead of at the path ahead of you. The worst mistake of your life.

Your body collided painfully with a tree, causing you to get seriously dizzy and fall to the ground.

“Ow…” you complained, looking at the cloudy sky, your head throbbing in pain and slow steps in the snow getting closer and closer.

That dark figure came closer, looking at you from above. She didn't say anything, she didn't do anything. She just watched you.

“Hey, stupid! Were you trying to go through the tree with that big head of yours?” the doll said, putting itself in your range of vision, harassing you with that sinister look.

You turned around scared, leaning your back against the tree, running as far away as possible from those two dark figures.

The doll, whose name was Angie, returned to the arms of its owner with a comical movement, looking at her curiously, and then at you, repeating that gesture several times.

“What are you doing in my territory?” the doll spoke again, but with a much deeper, much darker voice.

You were terrified, you couldn't move and the words didn't seem to want to come out of your mouth.

“What are you doing in my territory!?” the puppet shouted again, without losing that different darkness in its voice. It was the lady who spoke, you had no doubt.

“I... I...” you murmured, hurt and scared, raising your knees to your chest, like a protective shield that you knew didn't exist.

“Don't you know what happens to stupid little girls who dare to come here?” Angie said again, with that voice that wasn't Angie's, while the lady bent down to look at you more closely.

“Y-Yes I do, my lady,” you were able to say, looking away from that black veil, from that dark figure, the figure of death itself.

“Oh, so you know…” Angie murmured, as the woman stood up again. “Then you must be stupid.”

You shook your head, closing your eyes, awaiting a fate even worse than death.

“Do you know who I am?” she asked again, in a darker tone. “Answer!”

“Lady Beneviento,” you said in a small voice, lowering your head, burying it between your legs. “Please have mercy on me.”

“What are you doing here? Speak!” she shrieked, enraged by your lack of communication, one that it was due to the fear you felt.

“I didn't want to come here, my lady… I…” you sobbed, joining your hands to beg for forgiveness. “I, I, I was being chased by some lycans and I ran, I fell and… I didn't know I was in your territory, I swear.”

“Did you get lost?” she asked, in a confused tone. “Are you lost?”

“Y-yes…” you sighed. “I fell down a hill and ended up here… I didn't know where I was, I was just, I was just trying to escape and…”

“Why were the lycans chasing you?” she asked in a calmer tone, without letting the doll go from her arms.

“I-I don't know, my lady,” you said uncertainly, knowing that it was not possible to deceive her.

“Perché menti?” a different voice asked, hoarse, a whisper coming from that black veil. You opened your eyes and shook your head again, kneeling on the ground.

“I didn't understand you, my lady, but please. Don’t, don't kill me... Please...” you begged with a sob, clasping your hands tightly together.

“Mm,” the lady murmured, looking curiously at the doll. “What do you think, Angie?”

“That she's stupid!” the doll shrieked, this time, with her real voice. “She's lost because she's a fool.”

“Please...” you sobbed again, trying not to open your eyes.

“Get up,” the doll ordered you, again with that dark voice. “Get up!” she shrieked, when she saw that her words had no effect on you. “You're coming with me.”

Unwillingly, with your whole body shaking, you obeyed.

You followed the lady through the forest until you reached a small clearing, one where you were forced to go up in an elevator, in absolute silence. Once up there, the vision in front of you made you shudder. A beautiful waterfall gently ran down a cliff, guarding an old mansion, one you had seen before, the Beneviento House.

“Come in,” that dangerous woman whispered, not needing her doll to talk to you, pushing you roughly inside that dark house. “Come on, move,” she insisted, seeing how your body seemed to want to stick to the dusty wooden floor.

You were so scared that you didn’t even bother to scan the house with your gaze. You simply sat down on the indicated sofa while the lady did the same, in front of you.

“Now, silly girl, we’re going to have a conversation,” Angie explained, in that shrill tone. “My Donna is going to ask you some questions and you are going to answer them, is that clear?”

You shifted on the sofa, nodding cowardly, trying not to look up.

“And don't try to lie, stupid, stupid... We'll know,” the doll threatened, leaning on a small coffee table and pointing at you in an unpleasant manner.

“What will happen to me if I lie?” you asked nervously, looking for somewhere to hide, somewhere to escape.

Neither the lady nor the doll answered directly, but rather let the silence enhance the tension of that conversation.

“You don't want to know, fool,” Angie sang, getting down from the table when the lady gestured towards her, directing the doll to her lap.

You lowered your gaze again.

“First question: what were you doing in my territory?” the doll asked, with that strange distorted voice again.

You weren't sure whether to look at the doll, or on the contrary, look for the hidden eyes of Lady Beneviento. Either option seemed dangerous.

“I've already told you,” you said, knowing that at least in that, you could be honest. “I was being chased by lycans, I tripped over a cliff and fell.”

“Mm,” the murmur came from the black veil. “Why were the lycans chasing you?” she asked, again, through her doll.

“Because…” you stammered. That was a dangerous question, too dangerous. “Because…”

“Stop stammering and answer me,” the lady growled, in her own voice.

“It's okay,” you finally said. After all, there was nothing that could save you. “I tried to leave the village.”

“Leave the village? Perché?” the woman in black asked, not needing the doll. Maybe she was just as nervous as you, although it seemed unlikely.

“Per, Per…” you repeated confused, scratching the back of your neck. “Sorry?”

“Why, you fool? Oh, Donna, just kill her, she's even dumber than she seems,” the doll protested, moving from her lap and walking towards you.

“Because…” you said, letting your nerves go aside, preventing the lie from showing through your words. No, there was no need to lie anymore. You were in the house of death. “I had nothing left, my lady.”

“Explain yourself,” she murmured, crossing her arms, ignoring the tugs the doll was giving on her black dress.

“My, my parents died three years ago and…” you began to explain, somehow, a little more calmly. If you didn't lie, you would be safe. “They, they were devotees of the Black Gods, but they never listened to their prayers.”

“Continue,” Lady Beneviento insisted, with a clearer, more understandable tone.

“We lost our crops, the animals died of hunger, my mother got sick and... My, my father couldn't bear it,” you explained, feeling a shiver from those bad memories.

“But you're still here,” she corrected, with an impatient, melodic voice, just like those strange words.

You shook your head, sighing, looking at the grey sky through the window.

“A storm destroyed my house a week ago. I no longer have a family, a home, or anything,”  you said sighing, remembering out loud your miseries, what led you to risk yourself, and escape.

The lady nodded with disinterest. At the moment, nothing you said seemed like a lie to her.

“Is that all?” she asked, after another tense moment of silence.

“Is that all? I think that's enough reason to want to get out of here,” you answered, annoyed by that insinuation.

“Enough reason to want to die?” she asked again, with a haughty tone, leaning slightly towards you.

“I don't want to die, my lady, I just want to get out of this place,” you said with a softer voice, repressing any impulse to scream, to protest at that apparent incomprehension.

“Let me tell you something, you unfortunate girl...” Beneviento murmured, getting up from the chair with that same dark elegance. “Getting out of here only means dying.”

“What else could I do?” you asked with a frown, with anger beginning to run through your veins.

“I don't know. Maybe instead of complaining, you could have looked for a solution,” the woman in black rebuked you, with that same hoarse, cocky tone, one typical of what she was, a Lord.

“A solution? Excuse me, my lady, but I think you haven’t understood my situation,” you said nervously.

“Mm, a girl like you…” she sighed, getting closer, with a slow step. “Do you know how to clean?”

“Yes,” you answered confused, blinking rapidly.

“Cook?”

“Yes, more or less,” you said with your voice getting weaker and weaker.

“Mm, then… Why don't you look for work instead of throwing yourself to your death? The castle always needs maids,” the lady asked, with a tone that seemed to hide some contempt for your sorrows.

“I don't like the castle, my lady,” you said, lowering your gaze, moving your legs nervously.

No, you didn't want to end up there, you didn't want to end up serving that lady in white, you didn't want your fate to be the same as your friends, some who, once they entered that place, would never return.

A sound like laughter escaped from the lady in black as she shook her head.

“Oh… But the castle sure likes you,” Angie commented, absent until that moment.

“Mm, okay, silly girl…” the woman in black sighed. “I'm tired of hearing you talk…”

“Can I go, my lady?” you asked, standing up hastily, not believing that you could get out of that place alive.

“Yes, go away, but I warn you…” she hissed. “If you try to escape from the village, you will die. So I recommend that you return to your ruined cabin. This time I won’t be there to protect you.”

Those last words entered your mind, unlocking a truth that you were not yet aware of.

You were about to die, those beasts had already caught you. They were ready to devour you. But they didn’t, Donna Beneviento appeared and the monsters fled. You thought she had barely noticed your presence, but you were wrong. Whether you wanted to or not, that woman had saved you from dying in a horrible way, she had saved your life.

“My lady,” you said thoughtfully, already walking towards the door, turning around slowly. “I haven’t thanked you.”

“Mm? Cosa?” she asked, crossing her arms again, moving a leg impatiently.

“Thank you, my lady,” you stammered, relaxing your expression. “You saved my life.”

A mocking laugh came from the doll, who tilted her head to mock you. The lady didn’t move, she simply nodded almost imperceptibly.

“Well, anyone can make a mistake,” she murmured, looking away. You couldn’t help but smile at those words. “Go away, you are disturbing me.”

You nodded, biting your lip and turning around again. The doll maker's words bounced around in your mind.

Yes, she was right, she didn’t have to lie to you, dissuade you from your attempt to escape. She only warned you of the danger you would have by doing so, why would she bother to warn you? What did Lady Beneviento care about the life of a stupid villager like you? Maybe it was not as terrible as everyone said.

Escape and die, stay and live. Two options that traveled dangerously through your mind. Staying could mean death too, dying of cold, of hunger… Escaping was just the prelude to a quick, but more painful death.

The trembling of your body and the inevitable death you would suffer with either of those two options forced your brain to work hard, looking for a third, one you didn’t think about too much.

“My lady,” you said, before crossing the door, with a frown. “I could stay with you.”

“What do you mean, silly?” Angie asked, with an exaggerated gasp of surprise. “Stay here?”

“Yes, I…” you said hastily, leaving your small backpack on the floor. “I could, I could be your maid.”

“Maid? I thought you said you didn't like being a maid,” the lady asked, with a curious tone, not too startled by your proposal. You didn't know if that was a good sign.

“No, I... I said I didn't like the castle,” you corrected with a nervous smile, you didn't know why.

“Do you like this house?” she asked, with a voice that betrayed distrust.

“I don't know, but... I think, I think it would be a better option than dying,” you sighed tiredly, making use of your last resource, your last desperate option. “You don't even have to pay me.”

“Don't you want money?” the lady asked, tilting her head curiously. “What kind of stupid maid are you?”

“I'm not a maid, I'm just a desperate girl who needs a place to live,” you said confidently, sounding as sad as possible, thinking that, if inside that dress there was something resembling a heart, maybe it would soften.

“A desperate girl,” Lady Beneviento repeated, darkening her posture. “Idiota.”

“There's no need to insult, my lady,” you said in a small voice, risking yourself again.  

“Do you think your life is a disgrace, stupid?” she asked nervously, approaching you and grabbing the collar of your dress, making you gasp in fear. “Do you think you're the only one who has lost everything?” she rebuked you, with one hand tightly grabbing your clothes and the other traveling to her black veil, pushing it away with a brusque gesture. “Look at me... Look at me!”

“My, my lady,” you complained, finally discovering one of the biggest mysteries of the village, what was behind that black veil.

No matter how many times you looked at it, nowhere on that beautiful face could you see anything resembling a monster. Donna was a beautiful woman, really beautiful. You didn't even know why that was your first impression. You should be scared.

“I lost everything too, my family, my life! Don't think you're special, stupid girl…” the lady growled, letting you go in an unpleasant way. “Now get out of here, you don't want to work for a monster like me.”

“You're not a monster,” you said without thinking, letting your voice speak as it wanted, not how it should. “You, your face is fine, you have a very… beautiful eye…”

“Are you laughing at me?” she asked with a deranged look. You quickly shook your head.

“Um, Donna, Donna…” Angie interrupted, tugging hard at her dress, gesturing for Donna to pick her up from the floor. “Maybe it's not such a bad idea for this fool to work for us… Think about it, it's free…”

“Mm…” she murmured, fighting her own demons, some of which you had already heard about. “Va bene…”

“What?” you asked nervously, putting on your clothes, that were disheveled by her grip.

“What's your name?” she asked, breathing nervously, not bothering to cover her face again. You didn't know if it was because she was going to kill you, or because she liked your reaction. “Your name…” she hissed impatiently.

“(Y/N),” you said in a small voice.

 She turned her gaze, nodding nervously, pointing at you with her finger.

“Fine, (Y/N) you will work for me. But don't expect me to thank you, I'm the one doing you a favor and I warn you,” she hissed, darkening that beautiful look. “Try to play me and you'll wish the lycans would devour you.”

You smiled in relief, nodding profusely. At least you wouldn't have to escape anymore. At least your life would start to make a little more sense.

At first it was difficult for you to adapt to this new life. Your dreams of going out into the outside world were still very present in your mind. Little by little, as time went by, they were only faint memories.

Living with Donna Beneviento was complicated, but bearable. You were able to see her delicate mental health, her crises, her anger without reason… Miraculously, you began to stop them and comfort that lady in black even though she didn't ask you to.

You were nothing but a maid, for you there were no more words than a thank you from time to time, or a whisper that you couldn't understand. Little by little, you also began to relax, to get used to that language that you didn't understand, to feel the presence of the lady in black as something comfortable and not threatening.

You would always be grateful to her, even though you were afraid to show it, to tell her. To her you were just a nuisance, but at least a useful one. Fortunately or unfortunately, the Angie doll fulfilled the social needs of a human being, giving you the opportunity to talk to her, even if it was just nonsense, or mockery of you.

Donna's mysterious gaze was always on you, you could feel it when she thought you weren't aware. She was always vigilant, always attentive to your movements. What at first you considered as a slight uncomfortable harassment soon became routine, soon your head turned towards her, outlining an increasingly sincere smile.

A smile that was not difficult for you to emit, the same smile you slept with every night, under the shelter of those rickety walls, under the shelter and protection of a Lord, one increasingly present in your thoughts, in your feelings.

“Excuse me, my lady,” you said entering the workshop with a hurry, carrying a tray with a steaming cup of tea. The lady didn’t turn around, she simply gestured for you to come closer. You weren’t expecting a greeting either… “Your tea.”

“Grazie, (Y/N),” the brunette murmured, seeming to be concentrating on two small garments, surely for one of her hundreds of dolls.

“Is everything okay, my lady?” you asked curiously, looking, as for some time now, for an excuse to stay by her side, even if it was only a few more minutes.

She just nodded, comically scratching her head. She seemed distracted, more thoughtful than usual.

“Go away, you're disturbing me,” she whispered, without looking at your face. You sighed in defeat and obeyed, turning around with a soft bow. “Wait, wait, come here.”

Her voice sounded hurried, nervous, while her hand again indicated you to come closer. You avoided smiling shamelessly, but obeyed elegantly.

“Can I help you with something, my lady?” you asked kindly, with a calm face, hiding the strong beating of my heart.

“Um, sì…” she murmured, getting up from the work table and abruptly grabbing a chair, placing it next to her. “Sit down.”

You nodded and did as she asked, intrigued.

“Tell me, (Y/N), what do you think it is?” she asked with a frown, extending what looked like a porcelain body towards you. You took it nervously, examining it in detail.

“A, a doll, my lady,” you said in a low voice, returning the object to her. She smiled mockingly, shaking her head.

“Una bambola… No, (Y/N),” she said, with a tired sigh, rubbing her eye and leaving that porcelain body standing on the table. “Dolls have clothes. Do you see any clothes?” she asked somewhat nervously, as if she was frustrated in some way.

You shrugged, trying to keep that kind smile.

“I'm sorry, my lady,” you apologized in a low tone. She suddenly looked at you and then looked at that lifeless doll.

“I always try to sew a suitable outfit for each of my little dolls, but with this one… With this one it's more difficult to choose,” she explained with a calm voice, looking at that doll from all possible angles. “I can't decide.”

“What are the options, my lady?” you asked, looking at a pile of fabrics that the lady had on the table.

“What you see,” she commented, crossing her arms. “Tell me what do you think.”

“Mm…” you murmured, taking each of the fabrics, looking at that empty doll to compare it with them. “I think gray would suit it well, my lady.”

“Gray…” she sighed, taking the fabric from your hands and comparing it to the doll's red lips. “Yes, it will do.”

“I hope I've helped you, my lady,” you said in a friendly manner. “Do you need anything else, my lady?”

“I'd like to ask you some personal questions, if you don't mind. I want to get to know you better,” she said, thus revealing the only reason for you to stay there.

You couldn't help but blush and bite your lip nervously as you nodded.

“Of course, my lady.”

“Do you like to read?” Donna asked, placing the fabric in the old sewing machine.

“Yes, my lady, I did,” you said, watching mesmerized as the lady sewed. Your heart was telling you strange things, too strange.

“It's funny, I haven't seen you pick up a single book in all the time you've been here. You can read the books you want, (Y/N),” she said, without taking her gaze off the cloth. “You don't have to ask for permission.”

“Oh, well, thanks, I…  I didn't want to do anything without you… Well, nothing that could bother you…” you said nervously, moving your hands erratically.

“I don't mind if you read,” she whispered, barely paying attention to you. “I'd rather you do it than become one of those brainless maids at the castle.”

“Brainless?” you asked curiously, giving the woman in black the objects she pointed at with her gaze, without your presence being bothersome to her, something that made you smile more and more.

“Mm,” Donna nodded, cutting the cloth. “Unlike my sister, I value intelligence over pretty breasts.”

“Oh, um…” you said, laughing nervously. She looked at you with a serious face, as if she was surprised by your shock.

“Did I say something funny?” the lady asked, annoyed by your nervousness.

“Well, yes, my lady,” you said among laughs. She looked at you with her eyebrow raised, shaking her head.

“Although I don't know if you're really that intelligence... You wanted to get out of here...” she murmured cockily, with a haughty smile on her face.

“I had nothing to keep me here for,” you murmured a little more seriously.

She stopped, sighing.

“I feel you,” Donna whispered with a weak, different voice, as if her mood had suddenly changed, something that didn't surprise you. “I was also as stupid as you, you know?”

“My lady?”

“Before Mother Miranda adopted me, I thought the same as you, why stay in this horrible place? I had no family, no friends... I was completely alone,” she explained without you asking for explanations. You listened interested. “But I understood one thing, (Y/N), if you run away from your problems, they will follow you wherever you go.”

“That's very wise, my lady,” you commented, nodding slightly, agreeing with her.

“Donna,” she said in a brusque tone. “I can't stand you calling me that, I have a name, you know?”

“D-Donna, I'm sorry...” you apologized in a low voice, blushing. “I just mean to be polite.”

The lady stopped again in her work, looking at you with a sincere, almost embarrassing smile. That smile would give you a lot of trouble tonight.

“You were right, gray is the right color, (Y/N), maybe I need your good taste more often.”

“Oh, of course my la, Donna, you can count on me,” you said with an elated tone, one that you tried to calm down.

“I have to admit that it was not a bad idea to you to be my maid,” she commented with a lower tone, looking away from you strangely. “I don’t regret it.”

“Thank you,” you sighed, resting your elbow on the table.

“What about you, (Y/N)? Do you regret being with me?” she asked with a different tone, a more somber, looking at you out of the corner of her eye.

“No, of course I don’t, Donna.”

“Mm,” she murmured, sighing and returning to that gray dress that was slowly taking shape. “You can go.”

Before leaving the workshop, you turned your gaze towards the lady in black, who did the same, with a serious expression, looking at you briefly without saying anything before turning her head again.

A strange sigh came from your lips. Your legs trembled as you exited the elevator. You couldn't, you didn't want to feel those things, you wouldn't allow your heart to be wrong for the joy of having a place to live to mixed with those feelings that you shouldn't feel.

“Hey, maid!”  Angie shouted, startling you as always, interrupting the rambling of your mind, of your feelings. “Come here!”

“What do you want, Angie?” you asked in a more casual tone, one that you knew the doll tolerated, maybe too much.

“I'm bored,” the puppet complained. “Come, play with me.”

“Play? Angie… It's five in the afternoon, I'd like to rest before making dinner,” you said in a tired tone, but walking inevitably towards the doll.

“Evil, boring maid!” she protested in her shrill voice. At least those shrieks blurred the thoughts about the lady in black.

“Oh… Okay…” you sighed defeated, putting a hand on your forehead. “We'll play, but just for a while, okay?”

A while, how naive.

Time passed while the doll and you played cards. It hurt you to admit it, but spending time with the doll was quite entertaining, even if she always, always cheated.

“21, I won again,” the satisfied doll said, taking all the buttons you used as currency.

“You're so lucky,” you commented amused, shuffling the cards again.

“I'm the luck,” the doll joked. “Hey, you're very funny, maid.”

“Oh, really? Is it funny to see me lose?” you asked ironically, shaking your head.

“Oh, yes, very much so, but… I'm actually serious,” Angie commented, dealing the cards with a comical gesture. You raised your eyebrows with a curious smile. “My Donna and I used to play… But lately she's being a boring fool.”

“Donna has a lot of things to do,” you commented, coming to the brunette's defense.

“Nonsense, she's boring, she never wants to play cards. She's always with those stupid dolls that are much less cool than me,” she said amused.

You couldn't help but laugh at those comments, but your laughter died down as soon as you looked up.

“She’s always: leave me alone, Angie, I don't want to play, Angie, I'm a boring fool who only wants to be with her dolls and…” the doll continued mockingly while you, amused, gestured with your head towards the lady in black, who listened to the doll's complaints in silence.

“Boring, huh?” the lady in black murmured, crossing her arms and causing an amused gesture from the doll.

“Oh, Donna, I hadn't seen you,” the puppet said, fleeing subtly. “I was talking about… Another Donna, an uglier and dumber Donna, not about you…”

“Donna, I…” you said getting up from the floor and shaking off your dress. “I'm sorry, I forgot dinner time and I...”

“No, stay,” she said, stopping you with an arm on your wrist. “I think you should know something,” she commented in an unsettling tone, bending down to the white veil of her doll and taking out a card from it.

“Hey!” Angie protested when her owner revealed her cheat.

“Hey, what a cheater,” you joked, frowning, but not really upset.

“If you're going to cheat, at least try not to do the same thing,” the lady in black commented, sighing and handing you that card. “Besides, who are you calling boring?”

“You, silly Donna,” Angie whispered, in a threatening tone.

The lady laughed unexpectedly, shaking her head and getting down on the floor, gesturing for you to sit next to her.

“Silly? We'll see about that... (Y/N), give me cards too,” she said amused, thus starting a different time, completely different.

“Good, good! Donna plays too!” the doll celebrated.

After that fun afternoon of games, things in the mansion changed completely. They weren't just whispers, just words of gratitude. Questions began to come out of her lips, doubts about your tastes, your concerns. Lady Beneviento had changed, and you didn't know why.

Talking to her was easier for you, just as it was easier for her to talk to you. It was an unexpected connection, two souls that seemed predestined to meet each other. Considering her a friend was too bold, but the feelings in your heart were worse.

It could be her beauty, her voice, her lavender scent, her smile… It could be many things, but what was certain was that you were attracted to her, a lot. At first it just seemed like a silly thing, a feeling of gratitude to the brunette. But, after months, after a long time exchanging smiles, thoughts, interesting conversations, you realized that it wasn't like that.

You were in love with her, hopelessly in love.

You thought about her all the time, even doing the most boring tasks. The smile that formed on your face when you imagined her beauty, her words, accompanied you day after day, even in something as boring as sweeping the old porch.

“Mmmm…” you hummed while you cleaned, with those thoughts always sailing through your head. The impossibility of the reciprocity of her feelings was still far from your mind, too far to start breaking your heart.

“Shhh. The maid's going to hear you…” a voice interrupted your delirium, a voice that seemed to come from the old path to the mansion and that you didn’t recognize.

You frowned to try to discover its origin but, after failing, you continued with your tasks. That place was certainly perfect for you to confuse sounds with sinister voices.

“Hey, you!” Angie's shrill voice interrupted that sinister calm.

The lady in black, covered with her black veil, holding the puppet in her arms, left the house in a hurry, walking away from you, as if she had seen something dangerous.

“Donna?” you asked without being heard, seeing, to your surprise, two boys coming out behind some bushes.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” one of them said, backing away as the lady approached.

“We just had to come here due to a stupid bet!” the other said, walking backwards.

“Get out of my property!” Angie shrieked, in that dark voice. “Porca puttana! Get out, get out!”

“Yes, yes we're leaving now,” one of the boys muttered, running towards the elevator, terrified.

“I'm sorry, my lady!” the other yelled, disappearing into the darkness.

You watched in astonishment at that scene, how the lady in black growled furiously, approaching where you were again.

“You, haven't you noticed that they were watching you?” Donna told you, freeing herself from the veil with a furious gasp.

You opened your eyes wide and shook your head, confused.

“Um, no, I... I was just, I was just... Sweeping,” you commented, nervous due to Donna's abrupt attitude, one that had become more frequent for some time now.

 “Sweeping…” she muttered mockingly, breathing heavily and looking you up and down, suddenly grabbing your arm. “What is this? What are you wearing?”

“A, a dress…” you said, blinking nervously. “I asked the Duke for it the other day, don't you like it?”

“Mm yes, I like it…” she whispered, nodding, seemingly calmer. “Do you know who likes it too? That pair of vermin who ran away, (Y/N). They couldn't take their eyes off you.”

“Oh, really?” you asked amused, blushing at the idea of ​​looking attractive to another person, something you weren't used to.

“Do you find it amusing?” Donna asked, with a stern tone again. “Cazzo, cover yourself up!”

“Should I cover myself up? I…” you said confused, looking at your cleavage. “Oh, well, it's a bit provocative, isn't it?”

“A bit?” the lady questioned with a frown and a dark look. “I don't tolerate anyone looking at you like that, understand? If you're going outside, cover yourself up.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know it bothered you,” you apologized, tying a button to be less… Provocative.

“It doesn't bother me as long as I can see you, understand? Only me,” she said nervously, playing with her hands.

“What do you mean?” you asked nervously at those words, ones she seemed to regret immediately.

“Ugh… Don't you have to sweep?”

You nodded with wide eyes.

“Then sweep, (Y/N),” she said, pulling you into the house. “But do it here, do you hear me? Where I can see you and…” she stammered, running away hastily, as if she had gotten into a mess of words. “Cazzo!”

“Well…” you sighed, scratching the back of your neck and looking at Angie. “What's wrong with her?”

“I don't know,” the puppet answered, leaving you with more questions than answers.

That attitude could seem like something isolated, but it wasn't. As time went by, those little meaningless outbursts began to be more frequent. It seemed like something in her head was telling her that she had to protect you, to keep you away from any danger, or at least that's how you saw it.

It seemed like a duality, an internal struggle with herself, a change of sad and dark looks, of smiles and threats that you couldn't understand, at least until that day.

The door rang, interrupting a quiet moment. Donna was reading and you next to her, in silence, exchanging the usual shy glances, ones that were always accompanied by a smile.

“I'm going,” you said, sighing, closing the book and walking towards the entrance. You weren't expecting the Duke, or anyone really, but still, you were the maid, although you seemed less and less like it.

“Hello... What do we have here?” a young woman, covered by a black cloak greeted you with a purr. You knew her, she was one of the three Dimitrescu sisters.

“Hello, Miss...”

“Daniela,” the girl said, interrupting your formal and elegant greeting. “Who are you?”

“Oh, I'm, (Y/N), Lady Beneviento's maid,” you explained with a fake smile.

You knew what they were capable of, but you didn't know she could leave the castle. Well, it was a nice day, the sun was shining, maybe that was why.

“Maid? Aunt Donna has a maid? What a surprise, she hadn't told us anything although... I understand why...” she whispered, looking you up and down uncomfortably, forcing you to step back.

“Well, here I am,” you said, faking another smile, without losing your composure. “Did you want something, Miss?”

“Oh, yes, I came because my mother had to pick something up...” the young vampire commented, entering the house as if it were hers. There, behind you, Donna was waiting for you, covered in her veil and in a nervous pose.

“Aunt Donna!” the girl exclaimed, putting her arm around the brunette, a gesture that Donna, of course, rejected. “Why didn't you tell me you had a maid?”

“It's none of your business, Daniela,” a nervous voice came out of the black veil as she pushed the fly girl away from her.

“Oh, please...” the young Dimitrescu joked.

“What do you want? I'm busy,” the lady in black asked, with an impatient tone. The girl smiled, winking at you.

“Of course you are...” Daniela mocked, circling you like a carrion bird. “I'm sure you're very busy...”

“What do you want?” Donna asked again, with a rougher tone, shaking every time the girl got too close to you.

“I've come for my mother's commission,” the vampire explained. “Although well... Surely if we put a bow on this beauty...”

“Don't touch her,” the lady said, roughly pushing the vampire, who laughed in amusement.

“Well, well... Calm down, Aunt Donna...” Daniela mocked. “Sharing is good manners...”

“Vaffanculo...” the brunette hissed, turning around to search for something in the drawers and hand it to the vampire roughly. “Your blanket, now get out.”

“Oh, why the rush? What's your name, sweetie?” Daniela asked, approaching you and putting her arms around your shoulders in the same way, with a sensual voice that made you shiver.

“(Y/N),” you said with a trembling voice. You could feel Donna's gaze staring into yours, and it wasn't a friendly one.

“(Y/N), how about we go for a walk? It's a beautiful day to enjoy good company...” the young Dimitrescu whispered.

You didn't even have time to answer.

Donna growled furiously, pushing the vampire out of the house.

“Hey, hey! Don't be selfish, Aunt Donna! Hey, at least let my mother…!” the girl protested, silenced by a loud slam of the door.

“Ugh, thanks, Donna, I was getting a bit nervous,” you sighed, with a relieved smile.

The lady in black turned around, furiously pushing the veil away from her face. There was anything but a smile in her face.

“Nervous, you say?” she asked in a dangerous whisper. “I didn't see you nervous.”

“Well, I…” you stammered. “I didn't really know how to act.”

“That's why you let that stupid girl touch you?” she asked, approaching you dangerously. She seemed out of her mind again, acting in a deranged way. “Hey, come here!” she shrieked, grabbing you by your dress when you decided that running away was the best solution to that strange behavior.

You, frightened by that look, tried to struggle with her, but you couldn't do it. With a growl, she pushed you against a wall, preventing you from running away.

“How long are you going to keep laughing at me?!” she asked, hitting the wall with a fist, making you shrink in fear, totally confused and scared.

“Donna… What are you talking about?” you asked with a trembling voice, with your eyes shining with terror.

“Don't play dumb… Cazzo… Are you interested in her?” she asked, pointing to the door. “Are you planning to flirt with all the girls and boys in this fucking village?”

“I don't know what you're talking about! I'm not interested in her, Donna,” you said in your defense, shaking your head. She laughed nervously, making the same gesture. “You're, you're very nervous… Calm down, please…”

“I don't want to!” she squealed, too close to you. “I've tried, I really have, (Y/N), but I can't, I can't stand it…”

“What are you talking about?” you asked in a small voice. “Donna, you're scaring me.”

“You’re scaring me, (Y/N)…” she hissed, with a dark look, putting a hand on your cheek, a shaky and warm hand. “Every night you appear in my dreams, I see you in the dark, in the light, even when you're not here… I see you…”

“Donna,” you sighed, seeing in those words something like a confession, one you didn't think possible.

“You… You're… You're mine… You're my maid… You can't leave me. I can't let anyone take you away from me…” Donna murmured, sobbing too, adding another hand to your face. “Don't you see how much I’m suffering for you?”

“Yours?” you asked confused.

“Yes… Mia!” she screamed furiously again. “No one has the right to touch you, not even look at you! You are mine, and only mine! I, I, I, I, I…”

“Donna…” you murmured again, ignoring the screams, keeping her words.

“I'm… I'm in love with you…” the doll maker finally confessed, making your eyes open in surprise and your words get stuck in your throat. “I don't care that you don't feel the same… You are mine and… No one… No one has the right to…”

Unable to do anything else, your body reacted in a desperate, risky way, bringing you closer to her lips, closing the distance with a messy kiss, one that would silence her complaints, her stupid paranoia.

 Yes, you were hers, but for a long time, and you knew it, you wanted it.

 “I'm yours…” you whispered on her lips, tasting the salty tear that ran down her cheek. Her breathing was still labored, but her screams stopped. “Donna, I'm in love with you too…”

“What?” she asked surprised, not being able to control the impulse to kiss you again, to pin you against the wall and run her hands through your hair. “But…”

“I don't want anyone else, I'm not interested in anyone else,” you said among increasingly wild kisses. “I love you, I love the wonderful woman who saved my life, your beautiful smile, you, Donna, only you, that wounded heart that reminds me so much of my own…”

“That… That's… Nice,” she said, with a calmer smile, with a subtle blush on her cheeks as she pushed the hair out of your face. “Do you feel that way about me?”

“Yes,” you said nodding, caressing the soft skin of her hands. “You don't have to be like that, darling... No one will take me away from you...”

“I'm like that because I love you, because I don't want to lose you,” Donna whispered, finally explaining that strange behavior, that latent possessiveness that was slowly becoming evident.

“You won't lose me, I promise,” you said lovingly, comforting the lady with your sincere words.

Donna smiled, but it only lasted a moment. Suddenly, her gaze darkened, pushing you back against the wall, filling your mouth with wild, out-of-control kisses. You couldn't do anything else but accept them, enjoy her lips on your skin, on your neck, feel her hot hands moving down your dress.

“It's not enough...” she whispered on your lips, her breathing as agitated as yours, running her nails down your legs, her gaze getting darker and darker, with a spark of lust shining in her eye. “You have to be mine, now…”

“Donna… What…?” you asked, when the onslaught of kisses resumed, when her body stuck to yours irremediably, when her hips began to dance with yours. You couldn’t complain, you didn’t want to.

The gasps came out of your mouth, your hands traveled over the black dress, caressing, scratching everything in your path. You couldn't and didn't want to refuse, not even when her slender fingers pulled at your underwear, when she lifted your leg and her gaze was locked on you again.

“I won't be able to bear you saying no to me, (Y/N),” the lady hissed in your ear, scratching your leg as she played with her dress, releasing her own arousal and rubbing it against your wet entrance, surprising you. “I disgust you…”

“No, no… I love the way you’re, I love your body…” you said immediately, starting to feel how her erection was getting closer to its destination as, in an improvised way, she entered you, stealing your innocence in an unexpected way. “Donna!”

“Taci…” she whispered, moving her hips abruptly, taking you wildly against the wall, without you being able or willing to do anything to stop it.

The pain only lasted an instant, the pleasure came soon after, a pleasure you had never dared to feel, the pleasure of seeing how your wet walls were conquered, how her shaft claimed you anxiously to the sound of hurried moans, just like her movements.

Clumsy kisses replaced the moans, those obscene sounds that echoed in the old hall. You were in paradise, right where you wanted, in her arms, with her inside of you, being part of her body, part of her, not wanting her to leave.

An unknown cramp tensed your body, forced you to scream, to hold on to the lady, to scratch her back, to lose control.

Well, it wasn't what you could define as something romantic but... When with an agonizing cry, her seed ran through your body, flooding it with a pleasurable heat, you didn't care at all.

“Mine… You are mine now…” Donna repeated over and over, pulling you down from the wall and kissing you erratically, pulling at your waist, at your shamefully wet body.

“Donna… I love you… I love you…”

[swampstew]

Oh shit I can make requests outside from the event? Oh golly okay uh first HAPPY 200 CONGRATS!! You deserve each and everyone of them and more because I'm sure those 200 people are so happy to your blog name on their notifications like I am

But yeah um 👉🏽👈🏽 am in love with your Kid and I want to see more of him so if you like the SOUND of this feel free to give it a try, you know how Kid's like is music? Usually this lead to uh metal band Kid pirates? Yeah cool I love it BUT Kid with a partner with Auralism(me. It's me I have an auralism kink) but just imagine the possibilities!

(I am so high while writing this so sorry if it was rambly lmao)

Hiii @sluttyseaslug ~ thank you so much, that's so sweet to say<3<3<3 I'm in love with him too<3 also I see what you did there, lmao. I am high writing this so I hope I hit those notes you were listening for, or else Kid says I'm in treble (jfc i'm so sorry) :)

WC: 686. Spicy - M!n0rs DNI YOU WILL BE BLOCKED, A Kid Pirate metal concert, Kid being a little shit, CW: suggestive, auralism.

You never thought you would ever see the sight before you and yet here you were, standing in the crowd of your crewmates as you all watched your Captain, Vice-Captain, and a handful of pirates performing a show on the deck of the Victoria Punk.

You knew that Killer played drums. You knew that Kid liked to listen to music but you never knew he liked to sing too! And damn did he sing.

Belting out lyrics song after song made you feel like time had stopped entirely. An alternate reality where all there was, was him singing. His voice was jaggy, rough, like metal screeching when it was attracted to his body and molded around him on his whims; it made your blood rush, your heart race, and your brain reduce to goo.

They queued up the next song and Kid's bright, golden eyes found yours in the crowd. You offer him an excited smile and thumbs up and he winked at you!

"Oh fuck," you whisper to yourself, suddenly feeling hot and bothered. Your pants now suddenly feeling restrictive and...damp.

Here I lay Still and breathless Just like always Still, I want some more

Time was an illusion, Kid was hardly moving and yet you felt like he was everywhere all at once: on the stage, right in front of you, behind you and surrounding you as if he was singling you out with his performance. Was he? He had a mischievous look in his eyes, that bastard.

You adjusted your clothes and posture, cheeks blushing as you try to play it cool. His voice and the music were absolutely not making you aroused. Not in the middle of all your friends and crewmates. He winked at you again. Suddenly, you're too hot. Spreading from below and engulfing you.

How did he sound husky and angelic at the same time? The way his voice fluidly transitioned from breathy, raspy to sounding almost otherworldly. Was he really a punk rock sex god? A deity of sound sent to...you shake the thought. This isn't about me, you mutter to yourself. Trying to shake the horniness from your system.

Let the whole world look in Who cares who sees what tonight? Roll these misty windows Down to catch my breath and then Go and go and go just Drive me home and back again

The way the music flowed with striking notes and mellow tones, the sudden intrusion of high, sharp chords making your breath hitch, throat dry as a desert. The way he wailed the chorus vocals had you grabbing at your neck, trying to ground yourself. Desperately trying to stay in control of your emotions, your whoremones, and losing miserably. Was your Captain always this hot?

His eyes met yours again, and this time he licked his lips and then his upper teeth as he eyed you up and down. A leer suddenly on his face and your face is burning. Dumbly swiveling your head around to see if anyone else was seeing this or maybe he was eye fucking and teasing someone else? Nope, its just for you, cool cool cool cool cool.

Don't let me Go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go Take me to the edge

Each go making your sex pulse and chest heave. He barely whispers the last lyric as he begins headbanging to the heavy guitars and rushed melody, making your adrenaline rush.

He leaps down from the stage as the instrumentals fade out and he struts right up to you, placing a large, hot hand on your shoulder. A shit-eating grin on his face as he takes in your flushed reaction. He knows, that bastard knows.

"You down to fuck?" Not letting your flustered and "civilian-caught-in-his-direct-path" reaction stop him, he throws you over his shoulder and marches to his cabin. Dropping you down on the bed, grin still on his handsome, asshole face.

"Yeah or?"

"Yeah," you pout, arms crossed over your still rapidly beating chest. He laughed at you, stepping back to strip off his clothes. You forgot he wasn't a gracious or kind god.

[sburbian-sage]

Hey there sorry for the anonymous ask but I've found myself in a strange predicament

Upon reading the glitch FAQ I came across the space chapter and I believe I figured out something that happened to me?

Im a god tier knight of hope currently (second run, the first i was ironically also a knight of hope) but my space player (lord of space) happened to go berserk over the death of a adopted consort, and having not read the guide at the time, and being good friends with them, i attempted to comfort them with a hug

Upon doing so I experienced a significant amount of lag (I didn't even know this game could lag) and found myself hurtling through deep space

Considering the appearance of the stars in the distance I do believe I am experiencing sburbs equivalent of a floating point error? (At least that's the best I could come up with)

I can't reach anybody back in my session and I've been out here for just... An absurdly long time, although the clock on my phone is permanently set to 00:00 and the calendar function has seemingly stopped working all together so I can't say exactly how long I've been out here (not totally sure what's causing this considering it wasn't an issue back in the session)

I do know I am still moving at a decent click because I've flown past a handful of what seems to be low res flat images of stars (perhaps sburb doesn't render this far out?)

I don't know if I completely skipped over the furthest ring or what but as far as I can tell I'm not corrupted in any way and ive yet to encounter any others

Although none of my abilities seem to work out here

I'm also not sure how I'm getting signal this far out

Any advice?

Oh, you must have gotten [Space Prankster]'d. Get pranked lmao This is a bit concerning. I don't imagine you've actually left the Medium. Once you leave the Medium it's just the Furthest Ring, and I don't imagine you got teleported far enough to exist outside of that either. Space abilities follow at least some law of reality, even if they're tweaking it with a wrench and some attitude.

By the way, the "stars" you see in a session are just the Other's eyes. So I hope you are not actually in the Furthest Ring, or that those "stars" are just optical illusions from moving at insane speeds.

If you have a signal, I would recommend hitting up your Space player and asking where the hell you are, and how to get back. My current theory is "circling the drain around the Medium at light speed", in which case another Space ability should be able to get you back. The bad news is that even if teleporting saves you, you seem to be going fast and your Space player might need to do some finagling to extract you safely. The good news is that if you do die, you're probably going fast enough that you won't even know what happened. If God Tiered, this is too pathetic to count as Just or Heroic. If not God Tiered, your existence as a pile of gore should remove the instinctual revulsion of kissing a dead friend or stranger on the lips.

The other alternative I can think of since you mentioned stars is that you're somehow stuck in the animation for Space Prankster. That makes the Space player look like stars, which means you might be inside your friend. 1) Sus 2) Teleportation is 50/50 here. It could finish the teleportation and get you somewhere. It could function like a Broken Gate and put you anywhere in the session (including inside a solid). If you have access to the Hope ability [Dreams Never Die], that should cancel out the effect. With unpredictable results. Look, I don't really have any reassuring words here, you're getting smeared against a wall at some point, just collaborate with your players so they know which wall and will smooch it up as fast as possible.

[hargreef]

Ohhh really? Could you do five having sn anxiety attack and deigo helping him out? (Because hes helped with klaus before)

Btw i cant wait to read so be it, im just waiting for it be finished!!

hello!! thank you so much for the prompt :)

i hope you enjoy ;) <3

There often comes times where Five can’t catch his breath.

Sometimes, on the rare occasion, he can identify the reasons, and therefore overcome the irrational sensations of smog dusting his lungs, of phantom fingertips picking at his throat, of pipes puncturing his airways where he has been completely succumbed to the depths of suffocation.

Other times, not so much.

Other times, it’s a trigger out of nowhere, a blurred line that can’t decipher the distinctions between reality and make-believe, a cross junction with roads leading to nowhere but the sour stems of his hurt. And then it becomes so loud and overbearing and the thrums of his heart and the beats of the corrupted sun become the symphony of his soul and he can’t hear the real world anymore.

It happens more now than it did before. He isn’t so sure if it’s because he has more time to fall apart like this, the lack of focus towards an impending apocalyptic future catering to his spare schedule to stop and consider the destruction of his own mind.

It could be that. It could be his brain rotting and eating the leftover flesh of his sanity, pulling apart the thinnest of strings that ties the box of stability together. His own justification for his madness sounds almost as absurd as the experience itself, and yet there isn’t an alternative that exists sensibly even within the coherency of his intellect. Nothing of what else he can come up with rationalises these ridiculous episodes, and so dedicating the root of his issues to the matter of simply having too much time on his hands, will have to suffice.

Except, now is one of those times. One of the other times. The kitchen, where shards of glass have scrambled out of his twitching fingertips and scattered across the floor, has become the new host of his latest delusion, sharpening the edges of the table to carve out the illusion of burning rubber and flesh. He’s standing, he thinks, amidst the flaming chaos, the once intact cereal bowl translated into glinting green-bottle waste at his feet.

Five can’t see past the ash-filled fog and everything smells like death. He’s moving—should be moving—or is he standing still in place, breath caught in his lungs and heart gasping for a slower motion, thrusting against his chest from where it begs for redemption.

“Five?” A voice sings in the air, a faraway echo just distinct enough to be understood.

Something touches Five’s arm, something solid; warm.

“Five,” the voice calls again, urgently this time. “Hey, buddy, you listening to me?”

Five chokes on his own spit in a feeble attempt to respond, swaying softly on his toes from where they’re buried in the soils of his siblings’ putrid corpses. “Wh—go’way.”

“What’s that?” The voice, the body, the warmth is nearer, closer, bigger. “Hey, hey, you’re hyperventilating, alright? Can you hear me at all, Five?”

“Buh—hel—h’lp.”

“Five, bud, you gotta look at me,” darker, huskier tone. Croaky, sort of. “See my face? Can you—fuck, okay, I’m gonna touch you, okay? ‘Cause I don’t think I’m getting through to that big brain, alright?”

Something—something—soft, solid, warm—hands, on his face. Large and kind, gentle pads scrubbing the tender flesh of his cheeks. The haze begins to fade, the scent begins to wane, the wilt of his body enriching with the sag of his bones, and he is exhausted. Oh, god, he’s exhausted.

“Can you breathe with me, Five? In and out, count with me, okay? One . . . two . . . ”

In and out, slower, slower, slow, slow down. Slow down. Slow down.

“That’s it, buddy, slow it down, easy, easy . . .”

“M’,” Five burbles, reaching out suddenly to latch onto the soft-warm-safety in front of him. “M’Sorry, I can’t—I can’t—”

“Of course you can,” Diego, Diego, whispers. “Of course you can, Five. You can do anything.”

I can do anything.

“Gentle, gentle, easy,” Diego instructs, calmly, quietly. Five blinks his vision back to reality, the materials of his make-believe evaporating into the mists of oblivion as he refocuses on his brother—authentic, alive, big brown eyes and hands on his face, on his hair.

“F-fuck,” he gasps, a choked baby-wheeze that whispers rows of his woes, decades of devastation and grief uttered through the face of a boy who has seen too-little, too-much.

“You’re okay,” Diego murmurs, so close, so warm. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

“Nuh—” Five pants, and then he howls.

“Five,” Diego’s voice cracks, eyes flashing with the kind of heartbrokenness that is too big to disguise, his entire face twisting into an expression that no amount of pain could ever describe.

Five’s wails are loud and unforgiving, sailing beyond the seven seas of his suffering, where the ship that sails him home lies in a sunken wreck down in the depths of the green-blue Atlantic. His heart is descending to the pit of the oceans, finding a disastrous habitat amidst the rotting ship-wood—accepting his new home upon the remains with the once-upon-a-time wind filled pillows of white anchoring his heart to the seabed.

“Five,” Diego whispers, the slightest tightening of grip manifesting through his fingers. “Five, it’s okay, it’s okay buddy, you’re okay.”

“M’not,” Five mumbles, through a series of choked breaths as he desperately attempts to collect himself. “M’not.”

Diego adjusts a hand cradling his cheek to cup the back of his neck, bringing their foreheads together. “Maybe not,” his voice stays low, gentle. “But you’re gonna be, okay? We’ve got you. I’ve got you. And I’m not gonna let you go, alright?”

Slumping into the hands of his brother, Five’s knees buckle as he gives away to the floor, fully permitting Diego to catch and steady him as he lowers the two of them to rest on the kitchen tiles. He’s propped doll-like in his brothers lap with a vision too blurred to really care, head positioned securely beneath Diego’s chin to fit into place above his heart, where Five can hear it thump-thump-thump.

“Alive,” Diego murmurs, once he grasps the notion of what his brother is doing. He cards his fingers through Five’s hair, simultaneously shocked and a little disorientated at the fact he’s allowing himself to be held like this, to be vulnerable like this. To be comforted, like this.

“Mhm,” Five says, opting to close his eyes, soothed from the steady, soft breaths withdrawing from Diego’s mouth. “Alive,” he repeats, as a confirmation for himself.

“That’s right,” Diego says, slowly starting up a gentle, rocking motion from where he’s flat out against the counter, swaying them side-to-side. “Right here, kid.”

Five nods again, drifting off to the kind strums of sunshine spurting from Diego’s soul, engulfing him in a striking warmth that he certainly hasn’t felt for a while.

“Got you,” Diego repeats, to his mop of hair. He presses his mouth against the crown of Five’s head, a tendered kiss left to linger long after he’s gone, a phantom touch of mellow comfort to be remembered during these times, where hopefully, Five can wrap this moment to store away for later. A touch of the simplest form of love, to be reminisced and recognised and understood.

“I love you, Five,” Diego says, then, just in case he forgets.

And the words hang in the air, skinless and delicate and openly raw, left to process by the littlest Hargreeves in a memory Diego hopes he keeps forever.

“Love you too,” Five murmurs, after a beat, and Diego knows he’s been heard loud and clear.

[ohmygoodnessgraciouss]

could I request a story where Loki and the reader are both magic time variants captured by the TVA, and they become closer and plot to escape together, but even though the reader wants to help him they're afraid of getting too close or opening up about their past because in the past they had been really hurt by the alternate Loki in their timeline? I'm sorry that's very long, you don't have to write it if you don't want to I just love your work so much and Reality Check is so perfect :')

I'm sorry this took forever! Honestly, I should've just made this a whole miniseries to really flesh it out, but with MOM I wasn't sure if I wanted to dedicate all my time for that. Hope this is alright! <3

You watched the man before you smirk once he recognized who you were. "Y/N L/N, I never expected you to wind up here," He commented, scanning you. You scoffed, turning your head away to look at Mobius.

"You expect me to work with him?" You asked, pointing lazily. Mobius nodded.

"You two are the best of the best. He never seems to die and you have the ability to control him. Not many can say they can do that," He responded.

"I don't want to work with him," You replied, sharply.

"And why is that? I want a better explanation than he hurt your feelings a while ago," Mobius said. You rolled your eyes, knowing Loki must have grinned at his statement.

"No hard feelings, promise! I'm not the same Loki you knew after all," Loki said.

"No, but the sacred timeline forces it to be exactly the same. I know you haven't done it yet, but you will. Eventually. If you ever decide to stop being a little shit and go back to your timeline." You walked closer to Loki, trying to seem intimidating.

"Ouch," Loki winced, stepping forward, "I see Midgard taught you some vulgar language."

"Seemed only appropriate for a man who killed 80 people in a matter of two days," You suddenly realized how close you were to him, eyes widening as you backed off. Loki rose an eyebrow at this.

Mobius chuckled. "This is going to be interesting."

~

"I need you two to go to a small town in Oklahoma from a few hundred years ago to inspect something," Mobius said, pulling up a file on the desk in front of you. You sat next to Loki (Though it was not willingly) and waited impatiently to hear more about the mission.

"Oklahoma?" Loki questioned.

"It's on Midgard. It's a lot of farmland. Prone to tornadoes." You briefly stated.

"Seems like you know the place quite well."

"I lived there for a while. Until the TVA decided that I messed up something in their precious timeline. I mean, really. Do you guys think another war would happen when most people don't even know this place exists?!"

Mobius chuckled. "See, that's why I like you. You're realistic. But, unfortunately, rules are rules, and the timekeepers aren't ones for breaking tradition."

You shook your head in response, leaning back in the chair. Loki leaned forward towards the desk to get a better look at the file. It had several reports scattered across it, all describing the deaths of several minutemen from the T.V.A. "What happened?" He asked.

"Someone supposedly time traveled to the 1800s and broke the timeline. When our minutemen arrived at the scene, they set fire to the surrounding grasses and burned them all to crisps. We suspect the variant is another timeline's you, Loki." Mobius explained, showing several photos of the scene.

Your eyes widened. "Another timeline of him is running rampant and you imbeciles can't catch them?" You asked.

Mobius shook his head. "Loki is hard to catch. This one," He pointed to the man before him, "Not so much. The other one? Different story."

"And you expect us to just find Loki and bring them back?" You asked, leaning your head against your hand.

"It's either that or being reset by the woman who wants your heads on a silver platter."

Both you and Loki looked at each other for a brief moment, nodding slightly. Looking back at Mobius, you spoke at the same time.

"We'll do it."

~

You arrived in Oklahoma with Loki, taking a look at the burned farmland around you. Several bodies laid around the area, their weapons scattered. "God, these men didn't stand a chance," You said, crouching down to take a closer look.

"And neither do we if we can't find a trace of myself," Loki replied. He used his magic to trace where the fire started. "Over there," He pointed.

You looked over, seeing nothing special. "Looks just like everywhere else," You said.

"No, it's an illusion. I must have cast an illusion to make sure only those with magic would be able to find it. Or, well, another me did it. Why would he have done that though?" Loki asked, contemplating it for a moment. You walked up to him, showing him the collar and remote you had stolen from the agency only moments before arriving in Oklahoma.

"If anything goes wrong when we see them, I've got backup."

Loki grinned. "You're always so dependable. That's why I love you." You knew it was a weak attempt to make you soft. You shook your head, walking away from him.

"Not the same Y/N you know."

"The Sacred Timeline makes you the same."

"The same to an extent, but for me you're in the past. A lot changes in the upcoming years." You mentioned.

"Oh come now, old feelings can't die that easily, can they?"

"No, but you sure can."

~

You made your way to the Loki pointed to. The spot seemed to be as burnt up as the rest until Loki unveiled the illusion. It didn't take much of his magic to lift it, probably because the universe recognized it as the same signature. When it was revealed, the area hadn't been burned by the fire at all. The grasses were tall, reaching up to your shoulders at times. One spot was completely flattened though, with a singular note on the ground.

You picked it up, unfolding the paper carefully. Loki stood directly behind you, looking over your shoulder. "What does it say?" He asked.

"Meet me where we once called home," You read it out loud. The note crumpled as you tightened your hold on it.

"What does that mean? Once called home?"

"It means this Loki is in fact my Loki."

"Please tell me I don't have any hard feelings that you clearly harbor for me."

"That depends on whether or not you forgive me for the incident."

Loki quirked an eyebrow at this. You shook your head. "Not here. Let's find a place to stay. I know where home is. We're not far from it."

"Then shouldn't we go there first?" He asked, placing a hand on your shoulder to ensure you didn't walk away. You shook your head.

"No, I can't go there yet. There's a lot to explain before you see Loki."

~

You found an inn close by and decided to rest there. Because it was the 1800s you had to be careful about what you did. In a different century they wouldn't have minded you being in a TVA shirt and jeans. Now, they would.

Luckily for you, Loki was able to cast an illusion so that only you two knew what you were wearing. He even had to cast an illusion on himself to blend in more. He used fake currency to buy the room, which was about as small and cramped as you expected.

With only candles to light the room, it would've been considered quaint and cozy by most. A single bed with comforters, a drawer and chest, and a small desk. It was all you needed for your journey after all.

You sat down at the desk as Loki sat on the bed, feeling the comforter. "Softer than I expected," He commented.

"You lived through the 19th century, you should know it wasn't as bad as history books make it out to be."

He nodded in response, relaxing slightly. "Well? You said you would explain it to me. I should know what's going on before we go face off against myself."

You sighed, fiddling with a pen you had found in your shirt pocket. "Time travel isn't as uncommon as people may think. You and I both know that."

"Of course. You've time traveled a few times yourself."

"Exactly. Well, in my timeline, after the events in New York in 2012, you went to prison in Asgard and were eventually freed during the Dark Elves attack."

"I know what happens there," He said, sharply. You knew he must've known what happened to his mother.

You looked down at your hand, placing the pen down on the desk. "Well, you know what happens in the Sacred Timeline. Remember, you're a variant in this timeline too. In this timeline, you ended up going back to the 1800s, to this time."

"Why would I do that?" He tilted his head.

"To see me."

"What were you doing in this time?"

"I was running. I got into some nasty trouble with not only the Avengers but the federal government as well. It was just easier to go back to a time where I wouldn't have to worry about it. Plus, I didn't know what I was doing, so I wanted to hang out in a place where I knew I would never run into myself. I didn't account for you finding out." You sighed, fiddling with your fingers.

"And what happens after that? We were just fine before I... Well," He hesitated, "Tried to take over Asgard and then Midgard," He said, sheepishly.

A soft smile graced your lips as you thought about what had happened next. "We shared a life together. We were married, secretly of course, but we were happy. We moved into an old farmhouse around here and decided we would start a family here. It was in the middle of nowhere. No one was going to find us after all. We could be happy here."

"What changed?" He asked, leaning in. He couldn't understand where it would've gone wrong.

"The T.V.A," A scowl corrupted your smile as you looked up at him for the first time in minutes. "We were variants. What happened between us should never have happened."

Loki shook his head. "I can't believe that's what divided us. What did they do?"

"You gave me a chance to escape. You kept them off me and I ran off. See, I ran off and you went into the T.V.A to be charged for your crimes. They were going to prune you. Unless you told them where I was," You scoffed.

"Did I?"

"You did. Because no matter what you would always do everything in your power to save your own skin. Even if it meant ratting me out when I was protecting the child we had just taken in." Your tone quickly turned to ice at the thought.

Loki stayed quiet at the revelation. He didn't know what to say. "What happened next?" He asked quietly.

You shrugged. "I went in, you got out. You were reset. I don't know how you became a variant again. I guess they couldn't wipe your memory if you were able to remember our home."

"I don't understand. I don't understand how I could do that," He said as he stood up from the bed, pacing the room.

"The version of you in this timeline is different. He changed after escaping. I just hadn't realized it until it was too late."

Loki stopped in his tracks suddenly, staring you dead in the eyes. "Is that why you're with the T.V.A? To get revenge?"

You nodded. "The T.V.A, while I despise them, are my one way of getting to him. I want to make sure the agency brings him in once and for all. I'll prune him myself if I have to. And then I'm out of there. I have a plan to escape."

"And what will you do after that?"

You looked out at the window, "Find my little girl, I suppose. Make sure she's okay."

"Then perhaps you would like a partner to join you," He grinned.

"No."

~

Making your way to the farmhouse, Loki decided to stay back a little. The plan was for you to make sure Loki was in a vulnerable state, giving you just enough time to alert the T.V.A. Then, your partner Loki could capture the criminal Loki using the collar and remote you brought. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was enough for you to feel comfortable facing off against him.

Loki stayed outside, watching from a patch of wildflowers that sat outside the house. They were your favorites.

The house was cold and creaking from weight and pressure it hadn't felt in years. It looked abandoned. No one must have moved in after you did. The sight sent shivers down your spine. All seemed quiet except for a single door opening across from you. There stood the man that ruined your life - Your version of him.

"Hello, darling," He greeted you, a small sheepish smile plastered on his face.

"Loki."

"I know these are probably not the circumstances you would've wanted for this-"

"Not the circumstances?" You interrupted harshly. "I never wanted this situation to ever happen. You're lucky I haven't tried to shoot you in the face with a magnum."

Loki raised his hands up in mock surrender. "What I had done was uncalled for."

"Uncalled for?! You exposed me which put our family in harm's way! I have no idea where Rose is! None!"

His expression softened at the mention of Rose. You knew it struck a chord in his heart. It had to. Rose was adopted just like he was. All he wanted was to be a better father to her than his own was. If he were a better person you may have cared about hitting a sensitive spot like this.

"That's unfair. I had no idea she would possibly be reset by them," He said.

"Oh come on! What else did you think would have happened?! They were after us and so they were after her too." You moved your finger slightly to the communicator in your jacket pocket, signaling for the T.V.A to arrive and for Loki to step in.

"I never meant for her to get hurt," He said, his voice shaking slightly.

"No, but you meant for me to get hurt."

"I never wanted either of you to get hurt. It's just that-"

"Just what?" You grit your teeth.

"I was scared. You know how I am. I'm a coward!"

"That's no excuse for what you've done," You glanced up, seeing your partner sneak up behind the man. He wrapped the collar around him and quickly backed away, holding the remote up.

"What are you doing?!" Variant Loki exclaimed.

"Getting justice. Revenge. Everything I've wanted for years from you," You glared at him. The other Loki smirked, proud of you for what you had done.

The minutemen from the T.V.A quickly stepped in, arresting Variant Loki as soon as possible. Mobius followed them, looking the man up and down. "So you're the one who's caused all this trouble. And all because of a girl you crumbled. Gotta admit, it's not a good look for you," He said. You nearly laughed. "Take him away."

The minutemen began to drag Variant Loki through the portals, though he didn't go through without one last word to you, "Y/N! I will get out of this!"

You scoffed. "Sure you will."

~

Mobius decided to allow you and Loki to stay behind, giving you a moment to examine the home around you. He trusted you two enough to have a few minutes of peace alone. "So what's the plan, love?" Loki asked.

"Mobius has given us this much. If we gain his trust for a little while longer then we'll be able to have far more time and perhaps even a way to travel through the multiverse on our own. I hate to say it, but I'll stick with the T.V.A a little while longer. The endgame is long-term here."

Loki nodded thoughtfully. "It's smart. But I'm smarter," He held his hand up, revealing one of the portal remotes in his hand. Your eyes widened.

"How did you get that?!"

"I stole it from one of the men as they went through. I'm sure they won't miss this, but if they find out we have this when we go back it won't be pretty," He said, walking up to you, grinning.

You stifled a laugh as you looked down at the remote in his hands. You shook your head looking back up at him. "You're insane."

"Perhaps I am," His grin widened, "But I know you want this as much as I do. So, what do you say?"

He held his empty hand out to you, waiting for your response. Instead of giving it a moment's hesitation, you held out your own, taking his.

And with that, you never looked back.

[vindelllas]

the beauty of ardra 💧🌑

💧margot robbie (ardra surya): upper photo

💧emilia clarke (ardra chandra): lower photo

🌑 the nakshatras of the nodes have a very distinctive appearance. the influence of the feminine rahu bestows ardra natives with the typical feminine features, such as delicate facial features, larger eyes, and a voluptuous body. the yin features of rahu gives natives a type of otherworldly and ethereal appearance, similar to that of saturn. this is because both planets are of the air element (for a better understanding of this go to my pushya nakshatra post). these natives typically have large and rounded eyes, dainty noses, and a lighter complexion (depending on the native’s ethnicity, i.e. if a rahuvian woman is of a darker complexion, she may have a slightly lighter complexion than her other non-rahuvian family members).

⭕️ let’s look at rahu’s most evolved state: the shatabisha nakshatra. this nakshatra is symbolized by the empty, yin circle. shatabisha is ruled by varuna, god of the rains, cosmic and terrestrial waters, sky and earth. in addition to the mystical healer, maya (illusion). the nature of shatabisha is also abundant in the other rahu-ruled vimshottari nakshatras (ardra and swati). this is because rahu is the utmost manifestation of the divine feminine. maya, being the embodiment of illusion, betows rahuvian individuals with the power of being an empty vessel for the divine collective; bending reality and transforming into the desires of others the native deems worthy. however, due to rahu’s rebellious nature, we see this powerful feminine force being steadfast and not easily influenced by others.

💧liv tyler (ardra surya): upper photo

💧emily blunt (ardra chandra): lower photo

🌧 ardra is the first rahu-ruled nakshatra. in order to better understand the nature of ardra, we need to take a step back and understand the previous nakshatra—mrigashira. mrigashira was the rejection of the garden of ignorance and the freedom to move on. in ardra, we see the process of forming the rational mind and free will. due to the intellectual nature of rudra, we see ardra natives preferring to study, understand, and learn about the physical world/plane. this often leads to a fascination with the physical plane and understanding the workings of everything that peaks their interest. with the mercurial energy of gemini (knowledge) and rahuvian influence of the vimshottari system (materialism and illusion), we can see the reasoning of ardra’s prevelance in dystopian, horror, and sci-fi films. this nakshatra’s fixation on understanding the world and finding freedom is the perfect combination for creating films with dark subject matter. rudra’s intentionally destructive nature also provides ardra natives with a niche ability to accumulate knowledge to understand the workings of the world and destroy what seems to not be fit. precisely how rudra represents the emotional release and purification that occurs after the storms of the plane or mind cease (more on this later!). this is similar to most character development in many horror/sci-fi films and the ever present devil/savior trope. if you’re interested in further looking into this dichotomy, i recommend “the exorcist” starring linda blair (ardra chandra), “bedazzled” staring elizabeth hurley (ardra lagna), and “supernatural” starring mark pellegrino (ardra lagna). this trope is also perfectly illustrated by lana del rey’s (ardra surya) music. in her earlier albums, “born to die”, “paradise”, and “ultraviolence”, the singer describes her natural love of the darker things in life (i.e. drugs, violence, guns). as her albums progress, we see her slowly become more aware of the dangers of her lifestyle and her slowly moving towards love and kindness instead—much like rudra’s symbolism of calming after the tumultuous storms of life. i highly recommend listening to her music to gain an understanding of ardra’s themes!

💧karen mulder (ardra surya): left photo

💧victoria beckham (adra lagna): right photo

🦮 ardra is heavily associated with animals. it is symbolized by the female dog yoni. this is indicative of ardra’s devotional, emotional, and knowledgeable nature. rudra is the ruler of this nakshatra. rudra desired to become “the lord of the animals”. this nakshatra also has the same animalistic dominion desire of uttara phalguni and revati. this is because the yonis of all three nakshatras are the female dog (ardra), female cow (uttara phalguni), and female elephant (revati). this may be indicative of the motherly, animalistic nature of all three nakshatras. this is also why all three nakshatras get along so well. the animalistic nature of ardra is why we see hundreds of ardra natives in animal prints, fur or leather, or animal symbolism via graphic tees or headbands; similar to the reoccurring cow print in uttara phalguni fashion!

💧vienna skye (ardra surya): upper photo

💧ariana grande (ardra surya): lower photo

🍀 another reoccuring style theme for ardra was the appreciation of 60s fashion, particularly the mod era of the 60s. time and time again, when doing my research for this post, i saw a multitude of ardra natives dress up/try to emulate 60s fashion. ardra natives such as ariana grande’s (ardra surya) 60s-inspired fashion in her most recent music videos (i.e. “34+35”) and chrissy tiegan’s (ardra lagna) multiple 60s themed events. i believe this behavior is due to rahu’s extreme prevalence in old hollywood and the 1960s’ modeling industry. for example, hedy lamarr (ardra lagna) was a prominent actress and inventor, jean shrimpton (swati surya) was an icon of swinging london and very popular model in the 60s, and pat cleveland (ardra surya) was a very well-known model who was the muse of every prominent fashion house in paris. i believe ardra natives try to emulate this era of fashion because of ardra’s appreciation of all things old and vintage, which appears to the nature of many of the rahuvian and ketuvian individuals. an additional thing to note is the prevalence of the color green in the ardra nakshatra. in hindu/vedic astrology, a particular type of color is dedicated to a certain nakshatra in which is lucky for the natives of the nakshatra to wear. green, being the color that symbolizes the fresh, succulent nature of rudra, is why the ardra natives shown above, vienna skye and ariana grande, are both wearing the color green. this also correlates to how many ardra natives have dyed their hair green shades or hues, i.e. gwen stefani (ardra chandra), nicole richie (ardra chandra), and rapper saweetie (ardra surya).

💧kaya scodelario (ardra chandra): upper photo

💧emma mackey (ardra chandra): lower photo

🎸 all nodal nakshatras tend to have a propensity for darker elements and themes in the media. this can be reflected in ardra’s love for grungy, smoky makeup; darker clothing; and vampy, vintage hair and fashion looks (much like the magha nakshatra). this darker aesthetic was also heavily popular in the 90s/2000s. most notably, lizzy caplan (ardra surya), who played janis ian in “mean girls”, her character was well known for her liking of punk subculture, heavy eye makeup, and band merchandise, a trait that was also common with the characters played by ardra natives: kaya scodelario (ardra chandra) in “skins” and emma mackey (ardra chandra) in “sex education”. this behavior is prevalent in the ketu and rahu natives because it reflects the smoky and tamasic nature of both shadow planets. by rejecting the more popular, mainstream trends for the purpose of embracing more expressive and alternative movements (such as grunge, punk, rock, alternative, etc.). this why we see the nodal nakshatras so prominent in those subculture musical genres (i.e. ardra natives kurt cobain of “nirvana” and jimmy page of “led zeppelin”).

as always, i am open to any constructive criticism! i tried to touch on both the appearance, fashion and nature of ardra and i hope i did well! this post took me forever to make and i truly tried to put so much effort into it! i just adore ardra’s emotional, purposefully destructive, raw and feminine energy its natives tend to reflect 🌩 if you are looking for more information about ardra, get to know the overrulers and supreme deities of rahu, durga (the goddess of power) and the serpent god, and mercury, vishnu (the maintainer) and narayana (the cosmic person)!! if any of my placements or information is incorrect please feel free to let me know! also, i am fully aware of the origins of vedic astrology and if i was in anyway disrespectful to hindu culture, i will take down this post immediately xx

* all of these placements were found using astrotheme/.com and/or astro-charts/.com. it is important to note that some chandra (moon) placements may be off by up to 6 degrees and lagnas (risings) as well, due to the fact that many websites do not have a 100% accurate birth time for the given celebrities.

* i take no credit for the invention of vedic astrology-based appearance profiles. please watch claire nakti on youtube or look into @/cn0bles, @/lovejustlied, @/dh4nishta, and @/vanillemercure on twitter for more in-depth analysis on vedic astrology xx

[zodiacrant]

What placements would make someone want to argue all the time/go against what other people think, go against the grain, be different etc?

I am not exactly sure whether you’re talking about someone argumentative, rebellious, or just wants to be different for the sake of being different, so I am going to do all three! 😂

Argumentative

Aries Mercury/Mercury in 1st/Aries in 3rd: People with these placements (myself included) argue and bicker all the time. It’s a way of getting the point across. At times, they can come off aggressive and brash while talking. People might hate talking to them because they know that the smallest of differences can turn into an all-out verbal war. In short, they say what they say without realizing how it may come off as abrasive, intimidating or authoritative. It’s all about the tone.

Sagittarius and/or Leo Sun/Mercury/Mars/Dominance: They got something to say and they’re going to say. They have an opinion about everything and everyone regardless of the circumstances. They can come off rude, inappropriate or someone that steps off their boundaries. Although they might not get how it’s not their place to say what they have said, they might stick to complete silence if told so. 

Fire Moons: They feel things so powerfully that they can’t express them otherwise. No matter how much they deny it, Fire Moons are super super super suuupppppeeeerrr sensitive to what others say about them. Fire Moons try their best to be in a good mood by making others be in a good mood, so when things don’t work out how they wanted, enter the BF (bitch fit) of life. Try and talk sense to a Fire Moon while they’re freaking out, it will go down like the Titanic.

Mercury/Moon Square Mars: This aspect brings the feeling of frustration and anger. These people are emotionally immature and almost everything comes off as a personal attack. They didn’t get to cross the traffic light in time, it was on purpose, they didn’t get that job, they got a vendetta against them, they were not given enough ketchup, it was a set up. They are quick to go off and don’t allow people to give any negative feedback. It’s hard to communicate with them in full honesty since they only like the good but never the bad. The lesson of the Square here is to pick your battles and be more mindful of yourself.

Sun/Pluto Square MC: These people got an issue with confidence, power, and dominance. They feel the need to be loud and in everyone’s face to be seen or heard. They place their worth on money, material objects and job titles. They will argue to win you up to put the focus back on them, they might even cut you down just so they can be higher. The lesson of the Square here is that confidence and assertiveness are silent but insecurities are loud.

Rebellious 

Aquarius in 1st/3rd/4th and/or Uranus in 1st/3rd/11th: These people were meant to stand out. The way they talk, walk, stand, how they dress, what do they talk about, and how they simply go out about their day is unique, to say the least, but that uniqueness comes from a strong sense of self and appreciation for freedom. They’re rebels by default.

Scorpio/Sagittarius in 11th: Here people are rebellious for their authentic self. They’re walking statements, non-conforming, and at times a lone wolf. They stand on their own for themselves and others, when people think of them they only see them not a group, label or a clique.

Gemini in 4th/5th: Being unconventional and eccentric is a different form of rebellion. Being proud of their work, art, and contributions, no matter how out of the norm and underappreciated it is. Truly an oddball.

Aquarius North Node: These people’s life purpose is to rebel, lead and be different. Having Leo in their South Node, they’re comfortable stepping into the limelight but as they realize their true calling is to use that to make people aware and break through the walls. 

Earth Moons: I know half of you are right now in shock but the case of the matter is that the Earth element is actually untamable. Because they run with facts and what actually is, many times you find Earth Moons fighting for the right thing and in the name of science.  A big part of their rebellious ways is to fight stigmas, misconceptions and void “facts”.

Sagittarius in 1st: People with this rising live life to the fullest. They want to see, feel, and be in every part of the world. Although their rebellion might be viewed to be juvenile, they still dare to live to feel alive.

Sun Square 4th/10th/11th: Rebellion in here is a natural state for these people. They cannot be controlled and won’t take orders. Sun (self) in Square with either the 4th (mother), 10th (father) or 11th (society) had a bad run as a child with these specific groups/people, which ultimately lead to their constant rebelling of anyone and everyone. 

Forced difference 

Lilith in 3rd/11th: I am not religious but god bless these everyday victims. People with this placement feel victimized by everyone. It is a constant battle between what they think happened and what actually happened. Lilith creates the illusion of people staring at you and living in constant paranoia of who said what and who did what. This makes them drive a wedge between themselves and their peers, cornering themselves, distancing and repeating the phrase “no one understands what I am going through”, creating a reality in which everyone hates them and is against them

Gemini/Aquarius Moon: Told to me by people with this placement that they HATE having a similarity to someone or being compared. I like to call them the mainstream indie group, where alternative is an aesthetic and being weird is a look. I had one Gemini Moon best friend that pretended to be possessed in church, and an Aquarius Moon best friend that learned things, like doing rubrics cubes, just to show off. Fun people but way too forced in proving their “uniqueness”. 

Venus in 11th: These are the people who are adored by the masses, and at times for no apparent reason. Ego is prevalent when the planet of love is the house of society. It brings a god complex on to the person and an impeccable ability to find 100 reasons that make them special. 

Neptune in 8th: I got two words for you, fake deep.

Pisces in 3rd: They love to lie and make up things about their life. But they’re good at it, they’re convincing. This gives them a sense of power, control, and importance, which in turn leads them to believe that they’re different.

I hope I answered your question, and sorry for replying late. 

Hope you guys enjoyed the post. Lova ya 💕

[stramberryparadice]

SHINGEKI NO KYOJIN #139 - THE IMPOSSIBLE FREEDOM ?

Here is the English translation of the post I wrote here in French.

I apologize in advance for my mistakes, I'm not good in English but I hope that will be understood.

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

Shingeki no kyojin is finished. A leading manga of the 21st century has just ended in tears, blood, mourning, disappointment, frustration… and love. So many emotions come to me when I read this final chapter, I needed to express them as clumsily as it is. I’m sure it’s going to get lost in the Internet, but whatever— it is necessary to remove both the joy and the frustration that I feel to pay tribute to Isayama who offered us a work as powerful as it is cursed.

As intense as it is uneven, as perfect as it is imperfect.. like his tragic hero Eren Jäger, who shows us that men are so weak and pitiful in the face of time and the cruelty of the world. How much even if this hero possesses in his hands the power of a God. My analysis will surely be clumsy, I apologize. And I will not fail to point out at the end the bitterness felt on the final development of some characters including that of Misaka Ackerman.

Eren like “CryBaby”

What a slap for the reader to witness such an emotional picture. Yes. Isayama reminds us to what extent Eren isn't a brave knight, not a charismatic hero, not the genocidal demon of this story but a child.. whose weight of Destiny is too heavy to bear. Scan 139 reminds us to what extent we have lost ourselves, just as Eren has in the way, forgetting the very essence of the story that has been told to us from the beginning. It’s not a story of geopolitical warfare, a biological parasite, titanic monsters, a northern deity, or a philosophical-esoteric trip. It's the story of a boy who wants to emancipate himself, to live for himself, tasted of the thirst for adventure, the tranquility of his loved ones but born in a cruel and alienating world that leaves room only for death, abuse of power, betrayal and despair .

A journey where the child becomes an adult at the cost of his or her life. Learning the most painful lesson… To be an adult is to renounce one’s dreams, to bend one’s knee in the face of the servitude of one’s mortal condition, to be content with one’s cage in order to enjoy the little that one can have at one’s disposal, to mourn those who may disappear from one’s life.

A young boy who dreamed only of freedom, surrounded by people who love him. A child whose inspirations, as impulsive, unreasonable and immature as they may be, will push him to his limits. A child who grew up too fast, who could not mourn his mother, aware of her physical and spiritual weakness, who was confronted with the violence of this world which reminded him of his condition of being insignificant, a pawn on the chessboard of the "Way".

A child whose powers worthy of a God then gives him the possibility to realize the unthinkable, almost the absolute fantasy of every Man : to shape a world in his image, to be as free as a bird flying above the clouds without reddish stain to touch the sky. Move forward, Move forward whatever the price… move forward for an illusion of freedom, for an infantile obsession.

And by assuming the role of the wicked “demon” of tales so that the brave knights can free this world from the evil that eats it.

Lost between the present, the past, the future.. time no longer makes sense. Only finality counts, annihilating its titans whatever the price. They have to pay for his mother. They have to pay for his fallen comrades. They must pay for reminding us of our pitiful helplessness as human beings.

But the Demon also has a heart, remorse, feelings, there are people who attach him to this world. Therefore, what to choose?

Divine Freedom or Mortal Love? The impossible equation... Although Eren may have travelled the road in search of the answer, how can freedom and humanity be reconciled? Free your people and protect your loved ones, though imperfect?

______

He will not find the answer— neither by searching the past of the goddess Ymir, not by consulting the other Titans carriers, not by creating the different alternative realities that led to the same observation… only death can free the bird from its cage, only the death of Humanity is able to reconcile the sublime and the hideous. Or rather, a common enemy that will crystallize all their ills. But who would be crazy, brave enough to accept being the victime ?

Like a Christic figure, Eren will assume this role. But not without having to confide his last wishes, his last secrets that can no longer contain… because yes, the demon is limited by his adult condition of 19 years. Yes.. the child has grown up. Recklessness, impulsiveness, daring in the face of death, the omnipotence of the child leaves room for a teenager who is now afraid of dying, who has succumbed to love, who doubts, who is aware of his weakness.

Eren has finally become a man...in pain. He finally accepts his feelings, his weakness in the face of death that awaits him.

He’s not a running child anymore. The plates are only explicit about this. The power of narration.. we come back to the fundamental of this history, which is human psychology. The feelings, the relationships that unite all people between them. Friends or enemies, men or women, child or adult, Eldien or Mahr... Despite our differences, our disagreements, we are all equal and weak in the face of death... but also in the face of the love we can bring to others.

Yes, Eren is a weak hero. Yes, he admits to loving Mikasa. He admits that until the very end, he didn't know how it was going to go. That he was himself a pawn in the divine game of Ymir. Another puppet at the service of a little girl who is also blinded by her duality, by her toxic love for her executioner. One cannot remain insensitive to this remarkable development of the character of Eren whose death was inevitable. For whoever plays with divinities can only lose his humanity, his freedom too. By the ultimate sacrifice of his selfish and human desires finally. Eren alone became the true savior of this world. He will also have kept his promise to his friends, to the beings he loves by offering them last memories through the “Way”.

Selfless Love or True Freedom

As Mikasa said: The world is cruel, but also … Very beautiful.

Whoever sets a glance without hatred on the world, with compassion, with love for his neighbor will be able to claim to touch with the finger this Freedom so sought.. a selfless love, not turned to satisfy one’s own selfish desires.

Because Love, like hate, takes different forms.

Love connecting us to our roots, our family of blood…

Love binding two beings who love each other, desire each other, cherish each other, seek each other….

Love that binds us to his comrades, his battalion, his family of choice, his heart…

Love that life brings to us in all its forms…

Love… this power that is unpredictable and uncontrollable.

And that can become the obsession of a lifetime. It is by becoming an obsession that love becomes as destructive as hatred, and sends us back to our condition as an alienated Man… locked up in his “Path”, in his cage.

It's by demonstrating resilience and self-sacrifice that man can taste freedom. We can find redemption in the love that others have for him, that we also have for him. For a few hours, a few years…

At the cost of a renewal of the cycle of hatred, because man remains selfish, not all are ready to make sacrifices. Therefore, Mikasa and Eren have made the greatest of sacrifices for the survival of their comrades and the world: they give up their chance to be happy together, sacrifice their desire to be together for the rest of humanity. As in tragedies, the main heroes are victims of Destiny, are those who will pay the price so that others can flourish and live. The children have become adults.

Just as Armin is no longer the whiny little boy to protect. Unlike Eren, he managed to learn from his mistakes, grieve, face his own fears, confess his love to the girl he loves. It is finally he who will raise the wounded little boy, who will comfort him.

The frustration

Mikasa is the main character of the story. It's through her that awakening is made, it is through her hand that she closes this long journey. In Eren’s memories, it is always central. It is the key, the final solution.

It's his psychological, his emotional journey that we will follow throughout the manga. Eren is only a complement, the character who crystallizes his goals. In a world where men are “dominant”, the woman must bend her knee, support her prince so that the light shines on him. Isayama knew how to play perfectly on this classic code of narration. Whether one agrees or not with the conclusion of certain female characters, the work often highlights the fact that men are only victims of their passions and obsessions.

-------

Only women seem to emerge victorious in the face of the cruelty of the world : they take up arms (Historia), continue to fight in the face of despair (Mikasa), enjoy life and bring joy around her (Sasha), support other women in their emancipations ( Ymir with Historia) question their education (Gaby) disobey (Annie), go against the “moral” principles to survive (Ymir Frizt who continues to love his executioner), sacrifice for the common good (Hanzi Zoe)… But of course… without also paying the price of sacrifice and making concessions.

Historia bears a child of a man whom she does not seem to like but assumes the role of the mother whom she would have liked to have while assuming the heavy attribute of the office of Queen in a country plagued by nationalist tendencies guided by fear. With Eren’s help, she did not give in to the temptation of self-sacrifice but decided herself who she would save or not, what path she wanted to follow. Her desire was to be a mother, a good mother. Whatever the father, it was an indestructible motherly love that she wanted to offer to a child. The one she never had.

Mikasa agreed to kill Eren because, if she had given him another answer, their life as fugitives would have been but a fleeting dream and Eren’s death was inevitable.

Despite her powerful love for Eren (as addicted as he may be, explained by the power of the Ackermans?), she will break the chains of her servitude by killing her only Love. She is the light. She accomplished the journey of a true heroine by demonstrating resilience, by giving of herself for the world.

She had only eyes for Eren.. was open to others, to show empathy, a desire to continue living for other comrades who are dear to him.

-------

Mikasa also leads the way in Ymir Fritz… you can love a monster, you can be a prisoner of a toxic relationship but you can free yourself from it. One can become free, but the price to pay will be to carry this infinite sadness, this frustration of having been able to live another story if things would have been different. By her kiss, she showed what true Love is.

Although the frustration is present, although we would have liked her to turn the page and rebuild her life, she must also pay the price of her “freedom”, of her “survival”: haunted by the sacrifice of Eren, guardian of her memories, from her grave as if to preserve her existence as long as she can live.

Once again, women show that they are stronger than we think. So Ymir was also able to free himself of his toxic link with the King by making the Titans disappear.

In the image of the bittersweet end of the chapter, which shows us that the disappearance of a monster, of a divine force “responsible” for the horrors, is not the long-awaited salvation.

The vices, the human fears will remain the poison, preventing us from reaching this illusory freedom. Men do not need deities to dig their own way to death.

-----

From "occidental" point of view, it is true that this is a blow to the “strong” women of the work still alive. Reduced to being collateral victims of Love, as toxic as this link may be (Ymir-Mikasa). Reduced to attaching themselves to winning or losing romantic figures depending on whether their love-interests is the villain of the story (Mikasa-Annie). Reduced to their role as mother-benefactor (Historia-Gaby).

It’s awkward, but I think Isayama wanted to show that no one is spared. That no character can claim complete tranquility and sweet freedom.

Everyone has had to sacrifice something to survive, and women and men are equal in this judgment. Women also remain victims in a world that remains dominated also by the cruelty of Men (the human race in general). They are not completely free, they are also trapped in roles.

Everyone carries the weight of his choice. That characters have a duty to remember, to pass on to future generations the horrors they have lived to try not to reproduce the same mistakes. Even if their new life choices are imperfect, disappointing for those on the outside.

Levi sacrificed many of his comrades to fulfill his promise to Erwin in his quest for truth and to continue the fight for Eldian freedom.

Armin and Mikasa sacrificed Eren: their friend, their love, the dearest being to fulfill their promise to discover the outside world and touch that freedom.

Like Levi Ackerman and his love for his battalion comrades. As for Mikasa and his love for Eren (because she saw the human behind the monster). She has been waiting for a sign for 3 years to see him again in order to follow up on “see you later Eren”.

Finally, a bird comes to give him his wrap. To encourage him to go forward again. To continue to live…

--------

The most free people are those who honestly and sincerely love someone. Those who are able to see the beauty of the world despite its ugliness. Who give without waiting for return. Those who continue to look at the world without hatred, those who do not succumb to its cruelty. Tears are running down…

[hongism]

the little things - c. jongho

↣ pairing: jongho x reader; mentioned poly ot8 x reader ↣ genre: sfw, fluff, hurt/comfort, angst, fantasy au, witch ateez au ↣ wc: 3.6k ↣ summary: when the winters seem to drag and last forever, you find yourself slipping a bit into murky waters of despair. jongho is your lifeline, your lifesaver, your lifeboat, determined to guide you back to peaceful shores. ↣ warnings: mentions of intrusive thoughts, depression, lots of Talking about depression/grief/mourning, mentions of death/talking about someone who has died

The air bites harshly at your skin, nipping the areas where you can’t be bothered to pull your blanket up over, and if you were in a different emotional state, perhaps you would find it in you to care more. Instead, you remain rooted to the spot — a small stump behind your cottage that overlooks the quiet and expansive forest just over the lip of the hill. It’s a beautiful sight, even in the midst of winter like this where snow has just fallen and left a white sheen to the tips of the trees below you.

It would be wise for you to be inside just in case someone decides to climb the hill to your shop and request a prescription, but you know you will sense them coming before they even reach the stairs.

So, you stay where you are, letting your blanket slip a little more from your shoulders. Your guest — even the loud and boisterous one as he works — sings along to a silent melody, painting your ears with the pleasant sound of his voice as he moves freshly chopped wood to your dwindling pile by the house. Despite your attempts to help, he simply told you to stay put and not move a muscle while he chopped and moved them. Arguing with him would be a losing fight anyway.

In all honesty, as beautiful and delightful as the forest below you usually is, you cannot find it in you to see that beauty right now. Nothing seems to be working. All your wasted and helpless attempts to feel some type of way about your surroundings have failed time and time again. Either that or they are drowned out by that lingering ache in your chest, the one that clenches your heart tight in its clutches and pins you to the ground in a state of numbness that sadly is not foreign to you.

You wish you had a better explanation for that tightness in your chest. Whenever Seonghwa or Hongjoong asks after you and how you’re faring, you scrape by and say you are doing fine. Because yes, you are arguably fine. Not bad but not particularly good either. Just a middle ground of fine. (Nothing is ever truly fine in such a world where the word has become a cloak for how one truly feels, and you know both Hongjoong and Seonghwa can see right through your ruse each time you utter the words ‘I’m fine’. Neither push you further than that, however, so you don’t say anything else). Part of you feels the tuggings of guilt on your heartstrings when one of the others tries to cheer you up — Wooyoung with his playful jokes and endless tickle fights on the couch that end with you exhaling an exasperated sigh and leaving him there alone, San who does anything and everything to help but is too clumsy for his own good so he accidentally makes things worse, Yunho who tries his best to sit with you in absolute silence without moving while you read but inevitably cannot sit still for more than five minutes without doing something. So you do feel guilty for not being able to cheer up when they try their hardest to break that emotional wall around you.

It must be frustrating for them to have to deal with you while in such a state of emotional distortion and confusion; you aren’t sure whether you could be nearly as patient as they are with you (god, they are all so endlessly patient — another thing to feel guilty about). Yet you must admit that it is frustrating for you as well. Because as much as you want to be more than just fine or okay or whatever variation of “I’m not good, not bad, I don’t know what the fuck I am, I just am” you are on a certain day, you cannot will yourself into pushing those negative thoughts and feelings out of the picture. Almost like the thing holding you down has an anchor tied to your ankle and causes you to sink deeper and deeper each time you try to fight your way out of it.

Maybe you aren’t paying as much attention as you thought you were after all because when a firm hand reaches down to clasp around your shoulder, you are more than a little startled.

The little jump in your body as well as the sudden gasp that tears through your lips catches your companion off-guard too, it seems. Although Jongho is always a hard book to read; he doesn’t wear his feelings on his sleeve the way people like Wooyoung and San do. The slight and momentary widening of his eyes tells you all you need to know before you let yourself relax under his warm touch.

That’s another thing about Jongho — he is always so warm. Now, of course, you are fairly certain that part of that relates to him being an elemental witch, so obviously he will carry some extra warmth in his body because of those energies, but he holds a different kind of warmth with him as well. One that makes you believe for almost a second that it will be okay.

The sun flickering at the edge of the horizon.

Two swallows flitting across the bright and clear morning sky.

The rolling forest that rests at the foot of your hill.

It’s green today. The snow caps the trees just enough to leave hints of winter foliage peeking through.

Green and alive and beautiful.

Then the illusion breaks, like the anchor around your foot let up for just that moment to let you gasp in a desperate gulp of air and beauty before dragging you back into its abyss.

What a cruel, cruel mistress.

“Too cold?” Jongho inquires as he squats down beside you. A smile twists his lips, gentle and effervescent. (“Love,” your mind helpfully supplies, “he looks at you with love”).

“It’s not too bad today,” you reply in a quiet tone. There lies an alternate meaning to what you said, something contained and locked away in the box you call your heart, and Jongho takes that box into his hands so carefully as always. Sits down on the snow-covered ground without complaint beside your tiny stump and lets his hand slip down to rest over where your thigh meets your knee. It’s careful. Your lip twitches in some direction.

“That still implies it’s a little bad.”

You hum in response. There isn’t much for you to say to that even though he is unfortunately all too correct in saying such a thing.

“I chopped enough wood to last you through February. Should be a harsher winter than usual, so don’t hesitate to send for me if you need more before then.” You reach down to cover Jongho’s hand, tracing pointless and unknown patterns into the back of his hand. The touch is more for you than anything else; a peace of mind that allows you to disconnect the brutal reality of your pained chest from what is sitting right in front of you. Love, joy, care, warmth.

Why does your chest only grow colder in the face of something that burns so hot?

Jongho’s lips move again, and you are almost certain that he is speaking to you but the deep waters clog your ears and make it impossible to understand what he’s saying to you.

Why does this anchor never find a place to rest? You want to rest.

When you fail to respond or even acknowledge whatever Jongho has said in the slightest, he takes it upon himself to stand back up and nudge you away from your little stump. You are understandably confused by the action but too …absent to reality to complain or fight back against whatever he’s doing.

So you opt to simply stand off to the side and watch as Jongho brushes stray pieces of snow off your blanket. He wraps it snug back around your shoulders. It’s a bit warmer this time. Then, he guides you to the back door, hand closing around the soft white handle and pushing into the cottage without a word. This is just another language you speak. Understanding. Push and pull. The complex nature of working with an emotionally stunted and constipated individual who does not know how to communicate what exactly they are feeling or thinking in the moment.

You prefer to just exist rather than bog yourself down with such detailed intricacies — it makes things easier for you in the long run.

Once inside, Jongho continues to push you forward until you reach the positively tiny dining table you have set up next to the kitchen. Hardly an excuse for a dining table since it’s barely bigger than your bedside table but then again it’s made to seat you and only you. That doesn’t stop Jongho from pulling a second chair up to slot into the space directly to the right of your chair. Again you do not fight him when he eases you down onto the soft ivory cushion.

Instinct causes you to shift and look out the window above your table, finding the first few flakes of the morning snow beginning to fall. You wonder if Jongho sensed the weather shifting or if it’s merely happenstance that brought you both inside before the snow started.

“Seonghwa went on a rampage and cleaned the house again,” Jongho murmurs. He follows your gaze out the window but doesn’t say anything more than that, leaving the conversation open and hanging onto a hope for your response.

“Is he worried over Hongjoong?”

“No more than usual. You know how he gets. Can’t sit still even when you ask him to.” You shift to look at Jongho, noting the smile that curls at the corners of his lips, and this time you return the gesture with a lopsided grin of your own. “All before sunrise too.”

“He always has to be the first to wake up, otherwise he doesn’t get to tell you that you’re his darling sunrise.”

Jongho’s smile stretches wider and shows off his gums and teeth. It’s beautiful, you think, somewhere in the back of your mind that remains untouched by that cold sadness. Happiness looks good on Jongho — warm, alive, and beautiful. You wonder if it looks the same on your features as well, if it were ever to come back to you.

“Shall I prepare some tea?”

“You’re beginning to sound like Yeosang.”

“Maybe all those naps on the couch are finally starting to have weird side effects on me.” Jongho shrugs then laughs under his breath, but the sound is still clear and bright on your ears. He pushes back from the table to step into your small kitchen nonetheless, not waiting for your answer to his question as he begins to rummage through your cabinets.

“That would make sense; you’re his favorite after all.”

“Hm, I think Seonghwa has me beat there.”

“Only because of their familiar bond. Otherwise, I’m positive you would take the cake.” You prop your elbows up on the edge of the table, leaning forward until your chin rests atop your clenched fists, and you simply watch Jongho move around the kitchen with little on your mind for a bit. He’s quiet again; this time, he doesn’t speak as he works, and it allows you to stew in the silence while you can. You have to remind yourself that sometimes it’s like this. Some days are harder than others. Some days are easier, and some are like today where you can’t even manage to pinpoint the source of your negative feelings.

You glance over at the wall, staring hard at the small chalkboard that sits there with your messing scrawling and intelligible handwriting. Then your stare settles on today’s date. The small red circle around the number placed in roman numerals there. You left no other note there, no indication of what the red circle means, but after several years of practicing said habit, the knowledge is deeply ingrained in your mind now.

“Ah…” you exhale without thinking. You don’t notice the way Jongho’s gaze flickers over to you, how his hand hesitates near the kettle, or how he follows your stare to the calendar. You’re far too engrossed in the swarm of hurt in your chest. Suddenly your shifting moods make much more sense. “Another year, another birthday passed.”

The day always feels so odd and cathartic to you. A day one is supposed to celebrate that has long since grown cold and lonely because the one you are meant to be celebrating is nothing present. Birthdays are almost worse than the other melancholy anniversary that hasn’t left your mind.

You force your gaze away from the calendar to look back at where Jongho stands frozen as a statue in the kitchen.

“Did you… remember?” You ask. Jongho doesn’t typically come over unannounced, but he rarely explains why he comes to visit either. He did neither again today. It is far more understandable now that you’ve finally realized what day it is.

“I did,” he whispers back before settling back into his routine of making tea. “I did not want to mention it unless you brought it up first.”

His tone is careful and wary, like he’s treading on broken glass and trying not to make the damage worse. You are almost grateful for it.

“It’s okay,” you say through a strained smile. “At least I know why I’m feeling this way now.”

Next thing you know, Jongho is abandoning his station at the stove, leaving the kettle behind to heat up, and he returns to your side within seconds. Although this time, he merely stands beside your chair and brings his hands down to cradle your face in his rough and warm hands. You can’t understand why until his thumbs brush something damp away from your cheeks. You don’t even remember feeling the tears spring up.

“It’s okay.”

You nearly snap back and say it’s not okay, why would it be okay if you’re crying like this? But then it hits you that Jongho is not implying the situation is okay or that it is not something to be upset over. Rather, he’s telling you that it’s okay to cry like this, to be affected and hurt and in pain. You wish you could believe it.

“I thought it would get easier as more time passed.” You keep your tone quiet, knowing that if you lift your voice any higher it will begin to crack and break.

“Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn’t. But I think you’ve made lots of progress as it is.” Jongho squats down until most of his weight is pushed onto his toes, sitting just beneath your eye level now. His hands don’t drift from your face for a second though, and right now, you couldn’t be more grateful for the warmth of his touch. “It’s not always about measuring the pain or comparing how much it hurts not to how much it hurt back then. Sometimes it’s about being able to see how you’ve grown and how you can look back at memories that were once painful with fondness now. And occasionally, it’s about being able to look at the calendar and smile because you know you get to celebrate a life and a soul that you still cherish.”

“What if one day I look at that calendar and don’t remember though? I don’t want to forget, but I want to be okay.” You suck your lower lip between your teeth and bite down hard on the skin. It doesn’t help with your sudden influx of tears (not that you expected it to) but Jongho wipes them away with each one that falls.

“Is that what you’re afraid of? Forgetting?”

“Y-Yeah. I get… I get upset because — I don’t know. Part of me feels guilty to even want to be okay when I know that he didn’t get to be. He didn’t have the chance to be okay, he was gone before he had that, and I’m here and I just… feeling a lot less deserving of that.”

Jongho shifts his weight to rest on his knees now, and he pulls you a bit further down to still comfortably hold your face between his palms.

“Would he want you to punish yourself for something out of your control? Or would he want you to rest in the knowledge that he is okay now? Resting easy after a long fight and at peace because he did well in his life? Even if that life did not last as long as we might have hoped, he still did well and worked hard and showed a life that was full of many beautiful things, no?”

“You’re right,” you murmur, eyes flitting away from Jongho’s ever so gentle ones. “I’m thankful for the time I had with him, even if it wasn’t as long as I imagined it would be. He’s at peace and he’s resting and okay now. Just the selfish part of me isn’t ready to let go.”

“You don’t ever have to let go, darling. Not completely. And if you don’t want to let go, then that gives me confidence that you won’t forget him or the memories of him. He will always be resting here.” Jongho’s left hand falls to rest over your heart, fingers barely brushing against the soft material of your clothes there. You instinctively reach over to cover his hand with one of your own and press him closer and closer until his palm lies flat against your chest. “He would want you to find the peace you deserve even if he isn’t here on earth anymore.”

“I’m trying my best to remember that,” you counter. The words come out a bit choked and thick thanks to your tears but you push through that and continue speaking nonetheless. “I’m trying to remember that he would want us to celebrate him and remember him fondly, not just the sad parts or the tragedy. He wouldn’t want to be remembered as something sad or a tragedy, and he wouldn’t want to only be remembered when times are sad. I just feel like I’m drowning in these feelings and can’t get out sometimes.”

“In times of grief, we often let ourselves sink because we lose ourselves in the feelings of pain and sadness. It’s easier to get lost in it than it is to fight your way out of it, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible. There’s always a way out. Sometimes you just need someone to hold your hand and help guide you home.”

“I want to go home,” you whisper. It sounds utterly stupid to say aloud since you are sitting in your own damn kitchen right now, you are home physically, of course you are, and you are more than well aware of that. Still, your heart feels like it’s torn from your chest and off who knows where with no hope of coming home, yet Jongho just twists his hand around and takes hold of yours. You cling to your lifeline harder.

“Do you trust us to stand by you until you find your way home?”

“Always.”

“Then I promise that’s exactly what we’ll do.” Jongho pulls your hand close to his face, then presses his lips to your knuckles. The gesture is soft and intimate, even moreso with the knowledge that Jongho isn’t one to typically engage in such physical affection often, and you feel some warmth creep into your chest again.

“Will you stay even after that?” You ask through a breathless whisper, bracing your hands on Jongho’s firm shoulders and offering a teary smile. Jongho pushes up, and his head bumps haphazardly into your shoulder as he moves suddenly. It causes you to tip back a bit, nearly falling all the way off the chair, but he catches you before you can slip. It’s not a verbal answer, nor do you need it to be because you’d like to think you can understand what Jongho means in the movements without hearing him say it. “Thank you for being patient with me. All of you are so patient and gentle with me.”

“I think this is where Seonghwa would say something grossly sappy like ‘that’s part of being in love’,” Jongho murmurs before his forehead finds purchase against yours. You let your eyes flutter shut and rest in the gentle embrace. “Thank you for opening your heart to me.” You hum back, not bothering with words in favor of just drinking in Jongho’s presence. “The kettle is boiling away, you know.”

“Let me have this for just a few moments more.”

“Always,” Jongho sighs against you, but it’s not a tired or exasperated sound, merely content in the peaceful space the two of you have created. You’re content as well — okay for now, fine for now, but maybe even leaning more on doing well and feeling good. Not perfect, although you don’t think it needs to be perfect as long as you have the hopes of reaching safe shores.

...

a/n: this came at an opportune time i think? april 7th/8th is always difficult for me and i know many people can relate to that well and understand that feeling, and i kinda unintentionally reflected those feelings into this part of little things, but i hope maybe that you can find comfort in this and understand how important and valid your feelings are, no matter what ❤❤

[twatshag]

♤ Sakusa kiyoomi's night terrors ♤

Unfaithful. Oh it was just a dream. But why did it feel so real...

Genre: fluff to angst and then back to fluff, smut

Pairing: TIMESKIP both characters!!!!!sakusa x fem reader (in dream atsumu X READER)

Warnings: smut in dream, you cheating in the dream (you wrong for dat sis😩)

M DNI!!!

HIS POV small glimpse of your pov as well

—----------------------------------------------—

What a day. I sighed looking at the clock it was only 5 pm. Y/n was going to be here at 8 pm. I cleaned and already bought groceries for dinner.

I'm quite satisfied with how things looked around the apartment. As of lately y/n decided to bring me some plants and decorations everytime she visited, because in her opinion my apartment looked lifeless and bland.

I smiled softly thinking about tonight. I'm going to ask her to move in with me today. I mean I hope she doesnt mind. Maybe she'll be taken back by my sudden request or oh god what if she rejects me.. ?

I gulped trying to focus on the show I was watching and pushing back all the negative outcomes. She told me about this show during one of our phone calls and told me that I'd definitely enjoy it. She knows me so well, god I can't wait to tell her how much I appreciate her today.

As of lately I've been gathering up the courage to finally tell her that I'm ready to have intercourse with her. She's been so loving and patient this whole time I can't imagine how sweet she is for waiting up 6 months for me. I couldn't imagine if there was anyone who'd be so willing to respect my very picky boundaries but there she was.

I can't help but think about how it would feel for me and her being so close together. And becoming one. I blushed deeply at the thought. After all there Is one benefit of her not living with me.

That's not seeing me blush like this tsk. I bet she'd give me that smug smile and ask if I'm okay. I rolled my eyes thinking about her smug smile.

I never really asked if she's had.. intercourse with someone before. What if I wasn't good enough to satisfy her expectations..? What if.. she rejects my offer? What if I hurt her during it ? Oh god I don't want that. My head plagued me with bad thoughts about the idea of trying to satisfy her and failing miserably.

Y/n is absolutely gorgeous, all my team mates seem to love her and hell I really hate the way that stupid setter of a team mate looks at her.

I can't help but get jealous because she seems so comfortable with him. Sometimes I even find myself comparing the alternative realities of her being with him instead.

He's easy going has no stupid boundaries and he probably has a ton of experience to satisfy her.. my heart clenched at the thought of her leaving me for him.

I pushed those thoughts back once again. I looked at the clock it read 5:30 pm. Maybe I can dose off and when she comes around I'll tell her everything that's on my mind. I can't keep on post poning things.

I closed my eyes long forgotten about the show playing in the background as I waited for her.

~~~~~\\~~~~~~~~~~\~~\\\~~\\\\\~~~~~~\\\~\~~~~

My eyes shot open as I heard muffled sounds in my apartment. Just what the hell was that?

I groaned as I sat up and looked at the clock it read 6:50 pm. Could she have arrived early?

The sounds were coming from the bedroom I smiled softly as I heard her beautiful voice. A voice that's so gentle when talking to me, so soft when she notices the way I slump from a long day of practice. Everything I've ever wanted in a woman. Was mine to keep and cherish.

I peeked through the crack and I noticed someone hovering over the bed. Smiling I opened it more to see what she was doing.

"Oh god yes yes tsumu right there." I felt my heart rip out of my chest. There she laid in my own apartment,in my own bed. With him. On top of her kissing her neck and thrusting into her.

She clung to him harder than she's ever clung to me.

Her mouth hung open and the so beautiful voice was now a curse I was hearing.

He kissed her neck hungrily.

"Ya feel so good angel-so fucking good." He quickened his pace while kissing her disgustingly his tongue gracing her so beautiful skin and infecting it. "Tsumu- aghnn mmhm yes-God fuck yes- yes y-ea-s." I wanted to scream, to move and tear them apart, to burn the whole apartment down hell even to avert my eyes but I couldn't.

Everything I've loved sat there being caressed by another man. That man was not me.

That man was someone better than I'll ever be.

Her gaze fell on me. Tears perked up my eyes looking at her stone lust filled eyes.

She gave me a smug smile.. That smug smile that was always so playfully displayed looked much darker than ever. No hint of playfulness or mercy. No hint of fake innocence as it once had.

"You've always been such a burden sakusa." I flinched at her tone and the mention of my last name, while that man was kissing her neck hungirly, thrusting into her as if I wasn't even there to begin with. That I ceased to exist in his world as of now.

Everything went silent for a moment, her whimpers became muted from the way the faux blonde thrusted into her as she spoke the next words.

"I never loved you. Sakusa. Me and you both know that atsumu was always the righteous man for me. You good for nothing replaceable freak."

And with that I was pushed back into the sofa my eyes shot open as I stared at her face above me cheeks flushed red from her shower she looked so beautiful but my heart it ached from what I saw. Did he see her like this too? She shrieked and stepped back.

"jesus christ kiyo! What the hell ?! are you psychic? I was about to wake you up!"

Kiyo... a name she always called me when things were serious. But the worry and softness that concealed her voice was not enough for me to accept what I just saw as an illusion.

I stood up pushing past her acting like she's not even there. I despised her existence with all my heart yet I can't help but repeat those words in my head. She's right I am replaceable. I'm a freak and I'll never be able to find love.

"Hey what the hell?! I'm talking to you, you know mister sleepy head!" She followed me into the kitchen trying to get me to talk to her, god her presence made me want to vomit.

I grabbed a glass and poured water into it and as I began to drink it to calm my nerve down before I lost my composure that was literally hanging by a thread right now.

I felt her hand on my back and to say the least i wanted nothing but to get her filthy hands and presence out of my life right now.

"Omi..what's wrong you kn-"

"Don't fucking touch me." I hissed, venom lacing my tone as I averted her gaze because seeing her made my heart clench.

Everything that I always wanted was in the arms of someone else. But why keep me around? Why hurt me like this?

I felt her staring at me wide eyed and from the corner of my eye I could see that she looked at her hand.

"I'm sorry are my hands di-"

"They're fucking filthy you disgusting bitch." This time I looked her in the eyes. Her eyes widened at my tone. She deserved it. She did this to herself what the hell was she expecting?

me to welcome her back after she just tore my heart apart ? After she was....with him? In my fucking bed? Infecting it and my life with the pain?

"Omi you don'-"

"Get out."

"W-what? Wh-"

"I SAID GET OUT!" I slammed my hand on the counter and she flinched "get the hell out of my apartment you filthy-" not even finishing my sentence I suddenly felt cold and wet

—----------------------------------------------—

YOUR POV

—----------------------------------------------—

If there's anything that life has taught me it's that whenever someone was angry DO NOT stay around them. For the sake of the both of you.

As I entered kiyoomi's apartment having a spare he was sleeping peacefully on the sofa making me smile softly. Deciding to leave him rest until I took my clothes off showering and then coming back to the living room to wake him up.

I couldn't help but notice that he was shuffling as if he was in pain i frowned and I decided to reach to shake him awake just as I was about to do so to my surprise he just jolted awake and now here we are.

He was being extremely mean and I think that I know what was going on he was shouting at me with a tone I've never recognised before.

The advise of leaving someone angry long left my mind and the glass of water now emptied in omi's face.

He stared at the ground with such pure anger and hate shocked that I had the nerve to even do such a thing after whatever the hell he saw or heard.

I sighed

"What ever dream y/n did just know that I'd never do to you. When you're ready to talk to me about it I'll be in your balcony. I'm sorry for.. throwing water in your face but you need to understand that I had no other choice." I scratched the back of my neck awkwardly putting the glass down on the counter in case he wanted to drink one more time before facing me. And with that I left and made my way to his balcony.

Whatever he saw must've hurt him deeply for him to react that way I thought I sat down looking at the beautiful sight of Tokyo breathing in its air smiling softly at the sounds of the lifeful city.

Whenever he's ready he'll come to me.

—----------------------------------------------—

Back to his pov

—----------------------------------------------—

She... threw water in my face. Suddenly I feel more awake. And guilty. God I feel so guilty. It was just a dream.

And I thought she'd... I have to fix this.

Panicking on how the hell i was going to word off 'sorry i had a dream where you cheated and I was so sure you did it so I screamed at you ' to her I filled the glass of water and drank it going into the bedroom sighing and letting a few tears spill while changing my wet shirt.

At times like this I'd truly begin to wish that I was like everyone else.

That I wasn't a very cautious man who was so blunt and had a comeback for everything but the man that could've made her life better.

I put on my slides and my hand hovered over my balcony door. Watching her city gaze smiling softly to herself.

At times where she would come over she always insisted on drinking coffee in my balcony at night.

At first it sounded so silly because I wouldn't get to sleep the whole night but instead i slept better and happier more fulfilled.

"Staring isn't nice you know?" Her sweet voice cut my train of memories and I opened the door clearing my throat.

God how awkward where the hell do I even begin to apologise i feel so guilty and dumb for even doubting you.

I sat next to her.

"You cheated on me.." she snapped her neck so fast it felt like it broke wide eyed. Before she could even speak I reassured "in my dream."Her expression softened she nodded listening to what I had to say.

"It felt so...real.. I walked onto you and atsumu.. and you told me that I'm a burden and you n-never loved me." I couldn't face her. I couldn't even look at her because of my ignorance and insecurities it truly was a pathetic sight for her to witness me this way.

Hot tears streamed down my face as I sniffiled.

"I know you always assure me that there's no need for me to be jealous or worry about him but it felt so real. I know that you'd be better of with someone who understood you better than I did. Act better than I did..hell even not doubt you because of something like this. "

my heart clenched at the next outcome. That being Her actually leaving me. I opened my mouth to speak only to be cut off by her "can I touch you?"

I looked at her nervously nodding like a small child as she pulled me into her arms hugging me while rubbing my back.

"I'd never dream of leaving you Kiyoomi. Yet alone be in someone else's arms.." I clung to her worried that if I didn't she'd leave me.

I cried softly against her repeating apologies while she rocked me.

"Hey hey Shh omi.. it's alright I know you didn't mean any of it. Besides I can't believe dream me cheated on you and with nasty ass atsumu out of all people" she fake gagged.

Making me laugh tearfully against her chest pulling away to look at her and she cupped my face in her hands making me look deeply in her so beautiful love filled eyes. Something dream her didnt have.

"There hasn't been a day that's passed where I don't thank god that you chose me out of everyone else omi. I'd be so stupid to throw away everything that you've given me." She smiled at me so sweetly it gave me toothache "i dont care if there are people out there who have no boundaries and arent afraid of germs and hell can touch me no matter what because those people arent you. I'd never ever lay in someone's elses arms kiyo..you're the one for me you know that right?" She looked back at me searching for a confirmation that I believed her so I nodded gently "It's always going to be you omi.. okay? I'm not going anywhere and you're stuck with me sadly." She giggled while a few tears were threatening to spill from her eyes my heart clenched this time because of her sweetness and care.

"I wouldn't mind being anywhere as long as it's with you y/n" I smiled at her as I brought my hand to her face and kissed her. The taste of her lips were always so intoxicating. So addictive.

And at that I knew it'll be okay. I loved her so much, with every muscle and bone in my body. But it was okay because so did she.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~\\\\\~~~~~~

"How do you want the pork chopped?" I looked at her from my counter while she confusingly stared at me "omi... I don't eat pork." Oops I forgot that. And now I'm embarrassed that I did. "O-oh yeah sorry." Fucking idiot.. I thought to myself.

She giggled and hugged me from behind and kissed my shoulder peeking from the sides watching me as I chopped the pork. Smiling at her so familiar warmth.

"No need to be embarrassed you're not the only one who forgets it all the time you know" I rolled my eyes at her observant habit still smiling at her warmth but I wont let her slide that easy so I'll tease her "says the big baby who's clinging onto me like a baby koalo." She giggled against my back sending shivers down my spine. "Yeah its your fault that you're so handsome and cuddly." I chuckled at her reasoning she hummed as if she was in thought. "Oh yeah, Omi you wanted to talk to me about something was it me cheating on you in your dream or something else ?" She teased.

I got a bit stiff At the thought of even asking her to move in with me. She backed away from me as I turned around.

"Y-yeah.." she raised an eyebrow at me "so which one is it?" She asked eagerly crossing her arms "I-uh,," why was this so freaking hard to ask I scratched the back of my neck avoiding her gaze. "Move in w-ith me...?" I mumbled softly I felt my face heat up as I attempted to ask her that half ass effort.

She smiled that one smug smile I loved to see so much but I'll never tell her that.

"Speak up I cant hear you omi" I rolled my eyes at her and turned my back continuing with chopping up the pork. "Guess you dont want to.." I mumbled earning a small gasp from her and to leech onto me from the side hugging me tightly "no no no sorry I heard you yes I'd love that, actually I've been dying to move in with you but I can't just ask hey I'm going to move in with you so make room for me in your closet" she giggled and kissed my cheek lovingly making me smile. I looked up at her as she smiled so hard at me teeth and everything. She leaned in to kiss me.

Now or never.

"I'm also ready to have sex with you." I moved away to the freezer to grab something I can make her leaving her hangingon thin air. She almost choked on nothing blushing immediately.

"YOU WHAT NOW??" I smirked at her loud voice and shock.

"Is chicken okay?" And now her face turned sour in disbelief. Possibly redder too.

"YOU CAN'T JUST ACT LIKE YOU DIDN'T JUST SAY THAT!"

"I guess chicken it is" I shrugged smirking at her.

"KIYOOOOOOMIIIII"

At the end of the day i always knew that home was always going to be right here with her around me. I'm one lucky man to have her around me. But I've hit bulls eye with her love for me.

—----------------------------------------------—

Kiyoomi made you chicken soup that day. And he decided that today was the day to give you his all let's just say.. his insecurities weren't right at all about him. Even saying that he totally satisfied you wasn't enough to describe the feeling you felt. Now sakusa has grown addicted to how you feel around him. My guy is whipped and extremely horny for you.

—----------------------------------------------—

A/N: I LITERSLLY FELL ASLEEP IN THE MIDDLE OF WRITING THIS AHAHAHAHA anyway I feel like this isn't my best work yet but I hope that you guys liked it ;(;( I feel like there's not enough his pov content so I decided to make it his pov also this isn't my best work so I'm sorryyyy im insecure rn pls I hope yall enjoyed this thank you so much for reading !!

-kira

[all-things-are-nothing-to-me]

The New Nihilism

It feels increasingly difficult to tell the difference between—on one hand—being old, sick, and defeated, and—on the other hand—living in a time-&-place that is itself senile, tired, and defeated. Sometimes I think it’s just me—but then I find that some younger, healthier people seem to be undergoing similar sensations of ennui, despair, and impotent anger. Maybe it’s not just me.

A friend of mine attributed the turn to disillusion with “everything”, including old-fashioned radical/activist positions, to disappointment over the present political regime in the US, which was somehow expected to usher in a turn away from the reactionary decades since the 1980s, or even a “progress” toward some sort of democratic socialism. Although I myself didn’t share this optimism (I always assume that anyone who even wants to be President of the US must be a psychopathic murderer) I can see that “youth” suffered a powerful disillusionment at the utter failure of Liberalism to turn the tide against Capitalism Triumphalism. The disillusion gave rise to OCCUPY and the failure of OCCUPY led to a move toward sheer negation.

However I think this merely political analysis of the “new nothing” may be too two-dimensional to do justice to the extent to which all hope of “change” has died under Kognitive Kapital and the technopathocracy. Despite my remnant hippy flower- power sentiments I too feel this “terminal” condition (as Nietzsche called it), which I express by saying, only half-jokingly, that we have at last reached the Future, and that the truly horrible truth of the End of the World is that it doesn’t end.

One big J.G. Ballard/Philip K. Dick shopping mall from now till eternity, basically.

This IS the future—how do you like it so far? Life in the Ruins: not so bad for the bourgeoisie, the loyal servants of the One Percent. Air-conditioned ruins! No Ragnarok, no Rapture, no dramatic closure: just an endless re-run of reality TV cop shows. 2012 has come and gone, and we’re still in debt to some faceless bank, still chained to our screens.

Most people—in order to live at all—seem to need around themselves a penumbra of “illusion” (to quote Nietzsche again):—that the world is just rolling along as usual, some good days some bad, but in essence no different now than in 10000 BC or 1492 AD or next year. Some even need to believe in Progress, that the Future will solve all our problems, and even that life is much better for us now than for (say) people in the 5th century AD. We live longer thanx to Modern Science—of course our extra years are largely spent as “medical objects”—sick and worn out but kept ticking by Machines & Pills that spin huge profits for a few megacorporations & insurance companies. Nation of Struldbugs.

True, we’re suffocating in the mire generated by our rule of sick machines under the Numisphere of Money. At least ten times as much money now exists than it would take to buy the whole world—and yet species are vanishing space itself is vanishing, icecaps melting, air and water grown toxic, culture grown toxic, landscape sacrificed to fracking and megamalls, noise-fascism, etc, etc. But Science will cure all that ills that Science has created—in the Future (in the “long run”, when we’re all dead, as Lord Keynes put it); so meanwhile we’ll carry on consuming the world and shitting it out as waste—because it’s convenient & efficient & profitable to do so, and because we like it.

Well, this is all a bunch of whiney left-liberal cliches, no? Heard it before a million times. Yawn. How boring, how infantile, how useless. Even if it were all true... what can we do about it? If our Anointed Leaders can’t or won’t stop it, who will? God? Satan? The “People”?

All the fashionable “solutions” to the “crisis”, from electronic democracy to revolutionary violence, from locavorism to solar-powered dingbats, from financial market regulation to the General Strike—all of them, however ridiculous or sublime, depend on one preliminary radical change—a seismic shift in human consciousness. Without such a change all the hope of reform is futile. And if such a change were somehow to occur, no “reform” would be necessary. The world would simply change. The whales would be saved. War no more. And so on.

What force could (even in theory) bring about such a shift? Religion? In 6,000 years of organized religion matters have only gotten worse. Psychedelic drugs in the reservoirs? The Mayan calendar? Nostalgia? Terror?

If catastrophic disaster is now inevitable, perhaps the “Survivalist” scenario will ensue, and a few brave millions will create a green utopia in the smoking waste. But won’t Capitalism find a way to profit even from the End of the World? Some would claim that it’s doing so already. The true catastrophe may be the final apotheosis of commodity fetishism.

Let’s assume for the sake of argument that this paradise of power tools and back-up alarms is all we’ve got & all we’re going to get. Capitalism can deal with global warming—it can sell water-wings and disaster insurance. So it’s all over, let’s say—but we’ve still got television & Twitter. Childhood’s End—i.e. the child as ultimate consumer, eager for the brand. Terrorism or home shopping network—take yr pick (democracy means choice).

Since the death of the Historical Movement of the Social in 1989 (last gasp of the hideous “short” XXth century that started in 1914) the only “alternative” to Capitalist Neo-Liberal totalitarianism that seems to have emerged is religious neo-fascism. I understand why someone would want to be a violent fundamentalist bigot—I even sympathize—but just because I feel sorry for lepers doesn’t mean I want to be one.

When I attempt to retain some shreds of my former antipessimism I fantasize that History may not be over, that some sort of Populist Green Social Democracy might yet emerge to challenge the obscene smugness of “Money Interests”—something along the lines of 1970s Scandinavian monarcho-socialism—which in retrospect now looks the most humane form of the State ever to have emerged from the putrid suck-hole of Civilization. (Think of Amsterdam in its heyday.) Of course as an anarchist I’d still have to oppose it—but at least I’d have the luxury of believing that, in such a situation, anarchy might actually stand some chance of success. Even if such a movement were to emerge, however, we can rest damn-well assured it won’t happen in the USA. Or anywhere in the ghost-realm of dead Marxism, either. Maybe Scotland!

It would seem quite pointless to wait around for such a rebirth of the Social. Years ago many radicals gave up all hope of The Revolution, and the few who still adhere to it remind me of religious fanatics. It might be soothing to lapse into such doctrinaire revolutionism, just as it might be soothing to sink into mystical religion—but for me at least both options have lost their savor. Again, I sympathize with those true believers (although not so much when they lapse into authoritarian leftism or fascism)— nevertheless, frankly, I’m too depressed to embrace their Illusions.

If the End-Time scenario sketched above be considered actually true, what alternatives might exist besides suicidal despair? After much thought I’ve come up with three basic strategies.

1) Passive Escapism. Keep your head down, don’t make waves. Capitalism permits all sorts of “lifestyles” (I hate that word)—just pick one & try to enjoy it. You’re even allowed to live as a dirt farmer without electricity & infernal combustion, like a sort of secular Amish refusnik. Well, maybe not. But at least you could flirt with such a life. “Smoke Pot, Eat Chicken, Drink Tea,” as we used to say in the 60s in the Moorish Church of America, our psychedelic cult. Hope they don’t catch you. Fit yourself into some Permitted Category such as Neo-Hippy or even Anabaptist.

2) Active Escapism. In this scenario you attempt to create the optimal conditions for the emergence of Autonomous Zones, whether temporary, periodic or even (semi)permanent. In 1984 when I first coined the term Temporary Autonomous Zone (TAZ)

I envisioned it as a complement to The Revolution—although I was already, to be truthful, tired of waiting for a moment that seemed to have failed in 1968. The TAZ would give a taste or premonition of real liberties: in effect you would attempt to live as if the Revolution had already occurred, so as not to die without ever having experienced “free freedom” (as Rimbaud called it, liberte libre). Create your own pirate utopia.

Of course the TAZ can be as brief & simple as a really good dinner party, but the true autonomist will want to maximize the potential for longer & deeper experiences of authentic lived life. Almost inevitably this will involve crime, so it’s necessary to think like a criminal, not a victim. A “Johnson” as Burroughs used to say—not a “mark”. How else can one live (and live well) without Work. Work, the curse of the thinking class. Wage slavery. If you’re lucky enough to be a successful artist, you can perhaps achieve relative autonomy without breaking any obvious laws (except the laws of good taste, perhaps). Or you could inherit a million. (More than a million would be a curse.) Forget revolutionary morality—the question is, can you afford your taste of freedom? For most of us, crime will be not only a pleasure but a necessity. The old anarcho-Illegalists showed the way: individual expropriation. Getting caught of course spoils the whole thing—but risk is an aspect of self-authenticity.

One scenario I’ve imagined for active Escapism would be to move to a remote rural area along with several hundred other libertarian socialists—enough to take over the local government (municipal or even county) and elect or control the sheriffs & judges, the parent/teacher association, volunteer fire department and even the water authority. Fund the venture with cultivation of illegal phantastice and carry on a discreet trade. Organize as a “Union of Egoists” for mutual benefit & ecstatic pleasures—perhaps under the guise of “communes” or even monasteries, who cares. Enjoy it as long as it lasts.

I know for a fact that this plan is being worked on in several places in America—but of course I’m not going to say where.

Another possible model for individual escapists might be the nomadic adventurer. Given that the whole world seems to be turning into a giant parking lot or social network, I don’t know if this option remains open, but I suspect that it might. The trick would be to travel in places where tourists don’t—if such places still exist—and to involve oneself in fascinating and dangerous situations. For example if I were young and healthy I’d’ve gone to France to take part in the TAZ that grew around resistance to the new airport—or to Greece—or Mexico—wherever the perverse spirit of rebellion crops up. The problem here is of course funding. (Sending back statues stuffed with hash is no longer a good idea.) How to pay for yr life of adventure? Love will find a way. It doesn’t matter so much if one agrees with the ideals of Tahrir Square or Zucotti Park—the point is just to be there.

3. Revenge. I call it Zarathustra’s Revenge because as Nietzsche said, revenge may be second rate but it’s not nothing. One might enjoy the satisfaction of terrifying the bastards for at least a few moments. Formerly I advocated “Poetic Terrorism” rather than actual violence, the idea being that art could be wielded as a weapon. Now I’ve rather come to doubt it. But perhaps weapons might be wielded as art. From the sledgehammer of the Luddites to the black bomb of the attentat, destruction could serve as a form of creativity, for its own sake, or for purely aesthetic reasons, without any illusions about revolution. Oscar Wilde meets the acte gratuit: a dandyism of despair.

What troubles me about this idea is that it seems impossible to distinguish here between the action of post-leftist anarcho-nihilists and the action of post-rightist neo-traditionalist reactionaries. For that matter, a bomb may as well be detonated by fundamentalist fanatics—what difference would it make to the victims or the “innocent bystanders”? Blowing up a nanotechnology lab—why shouldn’t this be the act of a desperate monarchist as easily as that of a Nietzschean anarchist?

In a recent book by Tiqqun (Theory of Bloom), it was fascinating to come suddenly across the constellation of Nietzsche, Rene Guenon, Julius Evola, et al. as examples of a sharp and just critique of the Bloom syndrome—i.e., of progress-as-illusion. Of course the “beyond left and right” position has two sides—one approaching from the left, the other from the right. The European New Right (Alain de Benoist & his gang) are big admirers of Guy Debord, for a similar reason (his critique, not his proposals).

The post-left can now appreciate Traditionalism as a reaction against modernity just as the neo-traditionalists can appreciate Situationism. But this doesn’t mean that post-anarchist anarchists are identical with post-fascism fascists!

I’m reminded of the situation in fin-de-siecle France that gave rise to the strange alliance between anarchists and monarchists; for example the Cerce Proudhon. This surreal conjunction came about for two reasons: a) both factions hated liberal democracy, and b) the monarchists had money. The marriage gave birth to weird progeny, such as Georges Sorel. And Mussolini famously began his career as an Individualist anarchist!

Another link between left & right could be analyzed as a kind of existentialism; once again Nietzsche is the founding parent here, I think. On the left there were thinkers like Gide or Camus. On the right, that illuminated villain Baron Julius Evola used to tell his little ultra-right groupuscules in Rome to attack the Modern World—even though the restoraton of tradition was a hopeless dream—if only as an act of magical self-creation. Being trumps essence. One must cherish no attachment to mere results. Surely Tiqqun’s advocacy of the “perfect Surrealist act” (firing a revolver at random into a crowd of “innocent by-standers”) partakes of this form of action-as-despair. (Incidentally I have to confess that this is the sort of thing that has always—to my regret—prevented my embracing Surrealism: it’s just too cruel. I don’t admire de Sade, either.)

Of course, as we know, the problem with the Traditionalists is that they were never traditional enough. They looked back at a lost civilization as their “goal” (religion, mysticism, monarchism, arts-&-crafts, etc.) whereas they should have realized that the real tradition is the “primordial anarchy” of the Stone Age, tribalism, hunting/gathering, animism—what I call the Neanderthal Liberation Front. Paul Goodman used the term “Neolithic Conservatism” to describe his brand of anarchism—but “Paleolithic Reaction” might be more appropriate!

The other major problem with the Traditionalist Right is that the entire emotional tone of the movement is rooted in self-repression. Here a rough Reichean analysis suffices to demonstrate that the authoritarian body reflects a damaged soul, and that only anarchy is compatible with real self-realization.

The European New Right that arose in the 90s still carries on its propaganda—and these chaps are not just vulgar nationalist chauvenist anti-semitic homophobic thugs—they’re intellectuals & artists. I think they’re evil, but that doesn’t mean I find them boring. Or even wrong on certain points. They also hate the nanotechnologists!

Although I attempted to set off a few bombs back in the 1960s (against the war in Vietnam) I’m glad, on the whole, that they failed to detonate (technology was never my metier). It saves me from wondering if I would’ve experienced “moral qualms”. Instead I chose the path of the propagandist and remained an activist in anarchist media from 1984 to about 2004. I collaborated with the Autonomedia publishing collective, the IWW, the John Henry Mackay Society (Left Stirnerites) and the old NYC Libertarian Book Club (founded by comrades of Emma Goldman, some of whom I knew, & who are now all dead). I had a radio show on WBAI (Pacifica) for 18 years. I lectured all over Europe and East Europe in the 90s. I had a very nice time, thank you. But anarchism seems even farther off now than it looked in 1984, or indeed in 1958, when I first became an anarchist by reading George Harriman’s Krazy Kat. Well, being an existentialist means you never have to say you’re sorry.

In the last few years in anarchist circles there’s appeared a trend “back” to Stirner/Nietzsche Individualism—because after all, who can take revolutionary anarcho-communism or syndicalism seriously anymore? Since I’ve adhered to this Individualist position for decades (although tempered by admiration for Charles Fourier and certain “spiritual anarchists” like Gustave Landauer) I naturally find this trend agreeable.

“Green anarchists” & AntiCivilization Neo-primitivists seem (some of them) to be moving toward a new pole of attraction, nihilism. Perhaps neo-nihilism would serve as a better label, since this tendency is not simply replicating the nihilism of the Russian narodniks or the French attentatists of circa 1890 to 1912, however much the new nihilists look to the old ones as precursors. I share their critique—in fact I think I’ve been mirroring it to a large extent in this essay: creative despair, let’s call it. What I do not understand however is their proposal—if any. “What is to be done?” was originally a nihilist slogan, after all, before Lenin appropriated it. I presume that my option #1, passive escape, would not suit the agenda. As for Active Escapism, to use the suffix “ism” implies some form not only of ideology but also some action. What is the logical outcome of this train of thought?

As an animist I experience the world (outside Civilization) as essentially sentient. The death of God means the rebirth of the gods, as Nietzsche implied in his last “mad” letters from Turin— the resurrection of the great god PAN—chaos, Eros, Gaia, & Old Night, as Hesiod put it—Ontological anarchy, Desire, Life itself, & the Darkness of revolt & negation—all seem to me as real as they need to be.

I still adhere to a certain kind of spiritual anarchism—but only as heresy and paganism, not as orthodoxy and monotheism. I have great respect for Dorothy Day—her writing influenced me in the 60s—and Ivan Illich, whom I knew personally—but in the end I cannot deal with the cognitive dissonance between anarchism and the Pope! Nevertheless I can believe in the re-paganaziation of monotheism. I hold to this pagan tradition because I sense the universe as alive, not as “dead matter.” As a life-long psychedelicist I have always thought that matter & spirit are identical, and that this fact alone legitimizes what Theory calls “desire”.

From this p.o.v. the phrase “revolution of everyday life” still seems to have some validity—if only in terms of the second proposal, Active Escapism or the TAZ. As for the third possibility— Zarathustra’s Revenge—this seems like a possible path for the new nihilism, at least from a philosophical perspective. But since I am unable personally to advocate it, I leave the question open.

But here—I think—is the point at which I both meet with & diverge from the new nihilism. I too seem to believe that Predatory Capitalism has won and that no revolution is possible in the classical sense of that term. But somehow I can’t bring myself to be “against everything.” Within the Temporary Autonomous Zone there still seems to persist the possibility of “authentic life,” if only for a moment—and if this position amounts to mere Escapism, then let us become Houdini. The new surge of interest in Individualism is obviously a response to the Death of the Social. But does the new nihilism imply the death even of the individual and the “union of egoists” or Nietzschean free spirits? On my good days, I like to think not.

No matter which of the three paths one takes (or others I can’t yet imagine) it seems to me that the essential thing is not to collapse into mere apathy. Depression we may have to accept, impotent rage we may have to accept, revolutionary pessimism we may have to accept. But as e.e. cummings (anarchist poet) said, there is some shit we will not take, lest we simply become the enemy by default. Can’t go on, must go on. Cultivate rosebuds, even selfish pleasures, as long as a few birds & flowers still remain. Even love may not be impossible...

[star-ting-over]

Fic: You were supposed to save me.

It was just him, Wrecker and Tech now.

First (1/2) possible ending to - You were supposed to love me.

Set 3 to 4 years after the end of that fic. READ THE WARNINGS

Read on AO3

Warnings - Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Child Death, Character Death, Blood and Injury, Corpses, Unreliable Narrator, Grief/Mourning

No matter what he did, Hunter always lost. One way or another, somehow the gods, the force, hell the damn universe itself would find a way to screw him over. There was a sort of morbid predictability to it now.

Hunter tells himself it's all the universes doing; it makes it easier for him to sleep at night. The idea that some cosmic force was out there pulling the strings, rolling the dice, stacking the deck made all the pain and hurt that he had felt and caused seem that little bit further away. But, unfortunately, it didn't do much to make the pain in his abdomen go away.

He hadn't spent much time considering how he would die. In battle, maybe, felled heroically in the face of some insurmountable foe. At the end of Crosshair's sniper rifle. Something poignant at the very least. On the wrong end of the dull knife, of a drunken oaf, on a seedy moon was not high on that list. Then again, the universe wasn't one for granting the mercy of a good death.

Omega certainly hadn't gotten one.

When they had been little, Hunter had thought there was nothing in the whole galaxy that Tech didn't know. The illusion had shattered years ago, but every now and then, Hunter had added something new to the list. Raising the dead had been added to the list. Tech might not know all there was to know, but Crosshair certainly never missed.

They buried Omega on a moon without a name.

Hunter thinks that the silence may be the worst part of it all. That wasn't true; the idea hurt less than the reality. The gunner's mount was stripped back to how it had always been; during the war, Lula resided as it always had at the end of Wreckers bunk and Crosshair's old comm had been stowed away with the rest of his gear in the hold until the whole lot was sold to pay for some repair or other, maybe it had been for fuel. Hunter couldn't recall.

All that remained was the little trooper doll, painted in their colours, to prove that she had ever existed at all. That the hole in their lives and in their hearts was real. It sat on the centre flight control console on the bridge to the Havoc Marauder, always visible out the corner of their eye. Sometimes, when they were deep in hyperspace, he would catch Tech staring at it from the pilot seat. The light from the streaking stars outside glinted off his goggles, obscuring his eyes, but Hunter didn't need to be able to see them know that they were full of tears.

Wrecker was uncharacteristically quiet these days like someone had drained the life out of him. The bond he had formed with Omega in such a short time was something to behold. It seemed he always knew what to say to her. It was funny; Hunter had spent his life helping Wrecker find the right words to say, to the regs, to the higher-ups, to Tech… to Crosshair. But with Omega, well, Hunter had been jealous of the ease with which their gentle giant had fitted their little sister into his life. It had seemed like every word that had left Hunter's mouth had been the wrong one, and he had no idea why.

"I guess kids aren't your area of expertise".

Crosshair was a spectre that haunted him mercilessly. In life, his voice had had a way of clinging to you that made even the most banal of remarks difficult to forget. Now that he was gone, Hunter felt like he was drowning in memories of his words. Even in death, his little brother had found a way to torment him.

Blood was starting to pool around him now, slumped in a forgotten ally way. It coated his hands, running up his wrist, over where his comm should have been if the low life that had stabbed hadn't taken it with him. Fear was beginning to claw his way up to his throat. The only hope he had was that one of the others would stumble upon him… before it was too late. He hoped they would still come back for him.

Crosshair had been left to rot in an abandoned warehouse.

Echo had gone back for his body, unable to retrieve it alone it before the rest of the Imperials had closed in. Hunter doesn't think Echo ever forgave the rest of the rest of them for leaving Crosshair; maybe forgive isn't quite right. On the other hand, maybe Echo realised something about the rest of them that day. Hunter can't bring himself to care.

Echo didn't stay long after that. He left to join Rex on his hopeless crusade to save the galaxy almost two years ago, with not a word since. Hunter sometimes wonders if he was dead too. Had he lost another brother, thousands of light-years away, without ever realising? Was that worse than the alternative, that Echo simple had nothing left to say to any of them?

Tech and Wrecker seemed to drift. The ridged orders of war, the focus born of being hunted, the need to protect, had gone, and its place had left a listlessness that seemed to be pulling them apart at the seams. In truth, Hunter blamed a lack of direction because it stung less than to consider the possibility that maybe something was missing. Tech and Wrecker had learned quickly that mentioning Crosshair's name aloud was not advised, not that either had shown any particular desire to discuss their late brother. They hadn't said a word as Hunter had systematically removed any trace of him from the Marauder, from existence. That last piece had been a spare scope attachment, but that disappeared around the same time as Echo.

It is getting harder for him to breathe now, and he feels cold in the bright sunshine. He's not so sure anymore if anyone will come for him. Hunter tells himself that he doesn't know where it all began to fall apart, but that's another lie.

"Every choice you have made since Kaller has been wrong".

[misskittyspuffy]

To a better future (15x20, alternative ending)

[Takes place in 15x20, alternative ending]. When Dean and Sam find out that Chuck has manipulated them once more, they decide to take control of their lives again. (Dean/Cas, Sam/Eileen, Dean & Sam)

Note: Like many of us, I was truly hurt, angry and devastated after the finale, that was a huge slap in the face. I decided to wrote my own ending, the one I was sure we were getting (if the show had followed its narrative). Feedbacks are more than welcome ♥︎

Please note that English isn't my mother tongue, if you have any remark or spot mistakes, feel free to let me know! :) This is a translation of my fanfiction "À un meilleur avenir".

Ao3 link

  Their saturday nights were usually made of binge-watching sessions in the Dean-cave. Beers and pop-corn were their driving force for the evening. They usually were sitting on the couch Dean had especially set up in front of the big screen. Some other nights, they were going to the movies —which they rarely did in the past.

  But that evening, duty was going to prevail.

  An empty warehouse, deserted thirty years ago, had some strange —their kind of strange— activity in the past few weeks and the eldest Winchester had decided that it was worth to take a look at what seemed to be a ghost case. Three rash people had died at the place and some survivors had reported violent attacks.

A year ago, they had regained their free will. As it turned out, Chuck hadn’t played his last card that day, near the lake. After turning him into a human —at least, that’s what they had thought— the Winchester brothers hadn’t realized that they just had been trapped in his last scenario.

To remove a threat, you need to make believe to your enemy that he has successfully beaten you. And that’s exactly what Chuck had done. He had made them believe they had won. And had largely benefited from it.

The trap had taken the form of an illusion that had led Dean to his death and Sam to the perfect family life he had once hoped for. There had been a shift in the way Sam was feeling though —when he had gotten married, when his son was born, he had felt that something was off, but he had never succeeded to put his finger on what.

Seven years had passed after Dean’s death when one morning, while Sam was off to his daily jog, he had found Jack on his porch, waiting for him. He was looking unusually worried, which had led the Winchester to believe that something very serious had happened. Little did he know, by this time, how much his life had been about to change. The Nephilim had then explained to him that he was about to break the divergent timeline Chuck had created and in which he had locked them in. The trick was ingenious, but Jack had been more clever. He had perceived a breach while moving from one world to another —he and Amara were rebuilding the parallel dimensions Chuck had meticulously destroyed, in order to preserve the Balance of the Universe.

It had taken a while for Sam to fully accept the idea that what had been his life for so long was a lie. The illusion created by the former God had become his new reality. Getting out of it was scary and had seemed impossible at first. He had spent hours contemplating the life he had built, watching the son that was born from his marriage —born from an illusion. But looking at him playing in their living room, he had felt very real. When he had called him “dad’’, handing him over a drawing he had just made of their perfect little family, his throat had tighten. In the next few days though, he had come to terms with the fact that Jack was right, and a deep feeling of gravity was now taking over. What was about to happen was probably one of the most painful things he ever had to experience. Losing what he thought was real did feel real, but intellectually, he knew something wasn’t right. It wasn’t who he was, it wasn’t his life.

  As soon as Jack had told him about Chuck, about the fact that he still had his powers —to some extent— and had only conceded a part of them to him, including Amara, Sam had known he was telling the truth. Seven years ago in that barn, it wasn’t the ending Dean had deserved. 

  It wasn’t them back then, it wasn’t him right now. Their lives had been taken away from them.

  He had finally put his finger on what felt wrong. Jack had then mentioned a certain Eileen, and at this moment, that name hadn’t even ring a bell. Donna, Jody, Charlie, Claire… So many people that Chuck had erased from their lives. People that were once family had become strangers. Sam had finally accepted Jack’s plan to restore his life and Dean’s life the way they were before everything went wrong. The bonds the youngest Winchester had formed in that illusion were left behind, and he knew it was a wound that wasn’t going to be easy to move on from. But he knew his brother didn’t deserve to die the way he did. It had been enough for him to find the courage to move forwards with Jack’s scheme to fix their lives.

  The natural order of things was back in the space of a few minutes, thanks to Jack. He had brought Dean back on Earth, had given them back their memories and —in the process— had restored their real personalities. Sam was again the same age he was before they fought against Chuck. The fallout had been truly hard to accept, for both of the Winchesters. They had been screwed, big time. Dean had fallen on his knees, right in the middle of the Bunker, feeling more numb and devastated than ever. Only a few hours had passed for him when he was in the fake version of Heaven Chuck had created, but it had been too much already. He had received a call from Donna and Jody, who had felt the need to talk to him, after feeling like they had gone through a fever dream.

  What a f*cking asshole, the eldest Winchester had yelled, while throwing his phone away.

  He wasn’t as expressive as his brother, but Sam shared the same state of mind. He was still processing, especially considering what he had left behind, but now that everything was back the way it used to be, the seven years he had spent in that illusion of life felt like a blurry dream. They were now in control of their lives again.

  Jack and Amara had been enough to overpower Chuck —for real this time. Using his idea of a lie, they had turned him into a real human being. He had quickly gotten a chance to learn that the Universe had a really strange sense of humor, and had died a few weeks later from an unknown disease.

  One year later, on a saturday night, Dean was getting ready for his hunt. Standing in front of the Bunker’s table, he was putting away weapons in his bag, making sure that they hadn’t forgotten something that could be useful : the EMF meter, pouches of salt, guns… At some point, he frowned and rummaged at the bottom of the bag, and finally found a nunchaku.

  “What the hell?!’’ he grumbled. “Damn it, Sam!’’

  A man’s hand appeared next to his, adding a blade in the bag, which the Winchester opened a little more to give his partner a better access to it.

  “You really like this one, don’t you?’’ he said with a smile.

  Cas shrugged. “You’re the one who told me that I was going to have my favorites.’’ 

  “Right,’’ he nodded.

  The former angel was standing next to him, dressed in a leather jacket, wearing jeans and a red shirt, that completely detonated with his previous usual wardrobe. Dean was partly responsible for this new looks, he had dragged him to a few shops after Cas had came back human. 

  “You think it’ll be enough?’’ the blue eyed man asked.

  The Winchester looked up and leaned on Cas, kissing him briefly on the lips. “Looks good to me.’’ 

  A disapproving look appeared on the former angel’s face. “Dean.’’ 

  Dean raised an eyebrow. “What?’’ 

  “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice the grenade-launcher?’’ he sighed.

  While he was speaking, Cas opened the bag again, pointing out the weapon in question.

  “So what?’’ the Winchester said with an innocent look.

  “Ghosts, Dean. We’re going to fight ghosts. The grenade-launcher’s usefulness will probably be close to nada.’’ 

  “Oh yeah, because your blade is going to have so much effect on them,’’ Dean said in return in a teasing tone.

  Looking a little bit offended, Cas squinted. If a look could kill… 

  “You being so cute when you’re mad really should be a crime,’’ Dean said with an affectionate expression on his face.

  The former angel was standing still and Dean kissed him again on the lips before grabbing his hand and leading them to the Bunker’s stairs, making him follow his steps. “Let’s go, you can still sulk in the car,’’ he said in an amused tone.

  Sam appeared in the hall, coming from the corridor. “Hey,’’ he said to the couple. An intrigued look appeared on his face. “What are you up to?’’ 

  Dean and Cas exchanged a look. 

  “Nothing big, a haunted place. You know, the usual stuff,’’ the eldest Winchester shrugged.

  Sam frowned. “You got a serious lead on that?’’ 

  “Yeah, three deaths. We’re going to take a look.’’

  “If you give me a minute, I could—’’

  “No,’’ Dean interrupted him firmly. “You and Eileen got plans for tonight. Go. Watch your dancers in tights, or whatever, we’ll take care of the dead.’’ 

  Sam rolled his eyes. “Really, Dean? That’s all you’re taking away from ballets? Dancers in tights?’’ 

  “Never saw one, but I’m fine with it,’’ he answered with a half smile.

  Cas grabbed his boyfriend’s arm, pushing them in the direction of the stairs. “Don’t pay attention to him Sam,’’ he said midly-amused, midly-exasperated. “Dean is right, we’re taking care of it. Enjoy your night,’’ he ended with a smile.

  While they were leaving, Sam realized his nunchaku was in the trash. “DEAN!!!’’ 

***

  What was supposed to be a classic hunt turned out to be more challenging that what they were expecting. A demon also occupied the Warehouse, and a second one had appeared during the fight. Cas’ blade ended up being useful. After killing one of them, he was projected on a bunch of cardboards. Dean killed the other one, and once it was over, he ran in the direction of the former angel, worried.

  “Cas, you’re okay?’’ 

  “I’m fine,’’ he answered while breathing heavily. He grabbed the hand Dean was giving him. “I didn’t expect this turn of events.’’ 

  “Yeah, two little surprises that weren’t on the program,’’ Dean said, looking down at the corpses. “You’re sure you’re okay?’’ he asked again, sliding his hand along Cas’ arm.

  Cas nodded and kissed him on the cheek, near the corner of his mouth. “Don’t worry that much for me. I can handle myself. You’re human too… and you’re still here.’’ 

  “I’ve been human a lil’ bit longer than you have,’’ Dean said. “I got my fair amount of injuries before properly kicking ass, you know. Takes time.’’ 

  “Our training helped me to improve.’’

  “Good, that’s what it was meant for,’’ he said firmly.

  Dean started remembering their first trainings and what had led them to this situation. Which reminded him how things went the year before, after they had gotten back on their reality.

  Flashback - A year ago

  After learning that Chuck had manipulated them once more, Dean had locked himself into his bedroom, on the edge of breaking everything that was in it. The person he used to be probably would have done it at this point. But Cas’ words still resonated with him. Love was the force driving his actions, he wasn’t made of hate or violence, and he wanted it to be the thing that would prevail from now on. He had every intention to honor that. 

  Once he had hugged his brother and catched up with him about the recent events, Sam had left the Bunker to meet Eileen, who he had been talking to for the past hour. They both had felt the need to see each other, considering how things had gone since the last time they had interacted, the day she disappeared. With Sam away, Dean had taken the opportunity to do what he knew his little brother would probably have dissuade him to try. He had went to see Jack, who hadn’t left the Bunker yet. The young man was quietly sitting in the library when the eldest Winchester approached him, a determined look on his face. 

  “Can you open a breach to the Empty? Do you have that power?’’ 

  “I know what you’re thinking,’’ Jack said, slowly closing the book he had in his hands. “I was expecting you to ask me that. Can I do it? Sure. But… the actual state of things with the Empty is not stable enough yet. I’m… negotiating with her.’’ 

  “I have to do it, you know I can’t let him over there,’’ he ended with a trembling voice despite himself. “I’m not asking you to bring him back for me, I know it might not be possible right now, this is something I have to do by myself. I’m just asking for a little boost.’’ 

  Jack quietly nodded. “You think you can win this? That you’ll have something to offer that the Empty will be interested in?’’ 

  “Let me handle this part,’’ the Winchester replied.

  A beat.

  “So? The breach?’’ he asked again, looking impatient. He had tried to cover it, but his voice had came out as a little supplication. 

  “Of course. It’s Cas.’’ 

  Dean’s throat tightened and he had a sudden difficulty to swallow. “Yeah… exactly. It’s Cas.’’ 

  “But if things go wrong… I don’t know if I’ll be able to step in. There is a new balance, I’m not the only one ruling on the Universe, and I have no power over the Empty. That’s why I didn’t have a chance to bring Cas back myself.’’ 

  The Winchester nodded, nothing would make him change his mind. 

  A few minutes later, the breach was open. A dark circle had taken place on the Bunker’s wall, undulating and growing second after second, the same way it had the day it came to collect Cas. Dean took an inspiration and with no hesitation, threw himself into it. 

  “Good luck,’’ Jack said once the Winchester had disappeared. 

  A smile took place at the corner of his mouth. 

  He knew everything was going to unfold the way Dean had planned it.

***

The Empty was a vast place, it really was doing justice to its name. The darkness was the only thing Dean could contemplate, with no beginning nor end in sight. He wasn’t even sure that he could actually see anything beyond fifteen or twenty feet. He was destabilized at first, didn’t know where to start, turning around and contemplating the void, trying to find any form of activity, a sign of Cas’ presence. Unsure of the direction he was supposed to take, he blindly started to walk around, and did the only logical thing he could do at this moment. He called Cas’ name. Once, twice, ten times, twenty times, fifty times —but for a moment, silence was the only answer he had gotten. He shout out his name until the Empty finally appeared right before him as Meg.

  “Cas! Cas!’’ she said in a mocking voice. “WILL YOU SHUT UP??!!!’’ 

  Dean took a few seconds to adjust to his new interlocutor, on his guards. 

  His jaw clenched. “Where is he?’’ he asked firmly. He wasn’t there to negotiate.

  “You’re here to get your sweet little angel back, that’s cute… but not enough. Your weapon will have no effect on me,’’ she said while pointing out the blade he held in his left hand.

  The Winchester looked briefly in the same direction and tighten his grip on the blade even harder. “It’s not for you.’’ 

  The Empty looked intrigued. “Really?’’ 

  “Where is he?!’’ he asked again.

  She sighed while crossing her legs, sitting on her throne. “Somewhere… between here and there… I saved him a seat at my best spot.’’ 

  A creepy smile distorted her face and she raised a knowing eyebrow in Dean’s direction. Cas’ treatment was probably one of the most painful she could inflict to someone. At this mere thought, the Winchester started to feel sick in his stomach. How long Cas had been here? How many days, months, years maybe had he been stuck in this place while him and Sam were living the scenario Chuck had planned for them? 

  The Empty hadn’t seen it coming —to be honest, Dean hadn’t either— but in the second that had followed, he had thrown himself to her and gave her a powerful punch in the face, that destabilized her for a second. She sent him away from a movement of her hand, he landed harshly on the ground. Dean got up pretty quickly, but the rage hadn’t left his face, his eyes were still dark and fixated on the Empty.

  “WHERE THE HELL IS HE??!’’ 

  “You and your angelic boyfriend are really insufferable,’’ she said furious, matching his own tone. “You wanna know where he is? He’s reliving his worst torments on loop. In which you’ve done many cameos, actually,’’ she added amused. “I’m not gonna pretend I’m not enjoying watching him suffer. Because I do.’’ 

  Dean clenched his jaw. “One last time, tell me where he is or I swear I’m g-’’ 

  “You’re gonna what? Yell at me to death?’’ she said mockingly. “You can do nothing against me.’’ 

  “Maybe. But I can get quite inventive, I’ll be the biggest pain in your ass. You like quietness? I can promise you you’ll never find peace again. I’m human, you have no power over me.’’ 

  The Empty’s face suddenly fell.

  “Tell me where he is,’’ Dean said, once more.

  She looked contemplative for a few seconds and a sigh escaped her lips. “Good luck, Dean. But remember… no matter what you do, Castiel is mine.’’ 

  With a snap of her fingers, she teleported him to Cas. Dean landed harshly on the floor of a cold room, only to find himself surrounded by four walls. There was no door, no way to escape. The place was dark and he had a hard time seeing where he was, but after adjusting his vision to the place, he discerned the presence of Cas, who was lying down, facing the floor, unconscious. He wasn’t physically hurt, but the pain on his face was very telling about the hell he was emotionally experiencing in whatever the Empty was putting him through in his nightmares. His face looked worried and scared.

  Dean kneeled next to him, hanging the blade at his belt. He turned him on his back and tried to wake him up, putting a hand on his face.

  “Cas! Hey, Cas! Wake up. I need you to wake up.’’ 

  It took a little while, but after insistance, Dean finally succeeded to bring him back to conscientiousness. Cas had a hard time keeping his eyes open.

  “Dean?’’ the angel finally said in a husky voice. He wasn’t sure if he was truly awake or if dream and reality had just got mixed up again. 

  “It’s me,’’ he said. “Hey, hey, stay with me, okay?’’ he added when he saw that Cas was falling out again. He tried to keep him in a sitting position.

  “You’re not real.’’ 

  “I am. I promise you. I’m sorry it took me so long…’’ His voice broke. He kept the angel’s face between his hands, looking deep into his eyes, trying to convince him it was really him. “I’m gonna get you out, okay?’’ 

  Cas seemed lost. “Where are we?’’ 

  “The Empty. You sacrificed your life to save me, remember?’’ 

  A beat. Cas’ eyes seemed to focus and find a semblance of consistency. “I remember.’’ His face fell. “Dean… what are you doing here?’’ he said in a worried voice.

  The Winchester was baffled. “You really thought I was going to leave you rot here?’’ His throat tightened. “You saved me, Cas. More than once. You really thought I wasn’t going to look for you?’’ 

  Cas frowned. “You might not be able to leave this place.’’ 

  “Oh believe me, I will. We will. You’re coming with me.’’ 

  The angel shaked his head. “I can’t, Dean, the deal…’’ 

  Dean stopped him. “The deal doesn’t matter anymore. I have a solution.’’ 

  He took the blade at his belt and showed it to the angel, who seemed lost in return. He didn’t understand.

  “But… you have to agree with my plan,’’ he added, nervous.

  “What do you mean?’’ 

  “The Empty can only hold angels and demons. If you’re human, she won’t have any hold on you.’’ He pointed out the flask that was attached to his necklace. “If we extract your grace, if you become human… you’ll be able to come home with me.’’ 

  Dean was anxious, he didn’t know how Cas was going to react to his proposal.

  “Do you agree with this plan?’’ Dean asked hesitant.

  The angel nodded, still feeling groggy. “Of course.’’ 

  “Awesome,’’ Dean said, relieved. “Look, I don’t know what the Empty is up to, we should hurry up, okay? You’re ready?’’ 

  As a sign of agreement, Cas extended his neck, giving free access to Dean. After a short hesitation, the Winchester cut him a little with the blade, placing the flask near the incision. The process started and only took a few seconds. The blue light, glittering, started its transfer to the container, making the angel feel suddenly weaker.

  “YOU HAD NO RIGHT TO DO THAT!!’’ 

  The Empty, still wearing Meg’s traits, had just appeared next to them. Furious.

  “Castiel is mine, you had no right!’’ 

  “We did actually, and we took it,’’ Dean answered in a defiant voice, while helping Cas to get up. “He’s human now, he doesn’t belong to you anymore.’’ 

  She was about to throw herself at them but the portal leading to their world appeared again on the wall of the room they were in. Dean put Cas’ arm around his neck and led them to the breach, which they quickly got aspired by. In the next second, they were on the Bunker’s floor, catching their breath. 

  “Excellent timing, kiddo,’’ Dean said to Jack while getting on his feet.

  He promptly ran to Cas’ side, helping him to stand. He was noticeably weakened, but seemed to be okay.

  “How are you holding up?’’ he asked to the former angel, his full attention on him.

  Cas leaned a little on him. “I think I’ll be fine,’’ he assured. Cas then realized who was standing next to the table. Jack. He fixated his look on him with a questioning look and the young man finally ran to his father and took him into his arms. “I missed you, Cas.’’ 

  “How long… how long was I gone?’’ he asked while they were breaking the hug.

  Dean and Jack looked at each other, uncertain. The timeline had been changed, distorted, rebuilt. What had represented a few days for Dean had been seven years for Sam. And they didn’t even know how it was for Cas. It was a difficult question to answer. 

  “We should save this for later…’’ Dean said, with a tap on his shoulder. “Let’s take care of you first.’’ 

***

  Ten days had passed and things were back to the way they used to be. Not everything was the same, of course, but their life had now found a semblance of normalcy again. Dean had rearranged everything in Cas’ bedroom, to adjust and adapt the place to his new needs. He had given him some of his clothes and they had gone shopping to complete his wardrobe. 

  Cas was feeling way better and, like he once had to do, was now adjusting to his new life as a human, rediscovering the pleasure of eating food that didn’t taste like molecules. 

  Things with Dean had slowly changed during the course of the last few days. At first, they had been all focused on his new condition, helping him to find a new balance, but now that things were pretty much coming back to what they were, the dynamic between the hunter and the former angel had slowly became awkward and a strange tension had taken place between them. Not that they were avoiding each other, far from it, but they were walking on eggshells —even Sam had noticed it. Cas was particularly cautious about the way he was acting around Dean. After his confession, which they had never talked about since he had came back, he was very attentive to not causing any discomfort.

  Little did he know about the inner battle that was currently raging in the eldest Winchester’s mind —battle he had lost many times in the past few days, actually. Hesitation, fear of doing everything wrong, of the unknown, of giving his life a new turn, of experiencing his feelings in a way he never had before… all of this was holding him back. The love thing wasn’t something Dean was comfortable with. Not because he didn’t felt it —he felt it too much actually— but he had never been good at expressing it. He was good at pretending things didn’t affect him, his nonchalance was preserving him. But Cas’ confession had changed everything, had made every single wall he had built around his heart shiver. He had been aware of his feelings for the angel for quite a while now, years even. He had slowly realized that there was nothing brotherly about the way he was feeling about him. Their relationship had always been quite unique.

  Every time he had lost him, Dean had known. The deepness of the hurt had been beyond reparable. When he had offered him that mixtape, shortly after he had almost died a few years ago, it had been his way of expressing it, even if he knew the angel wasn’t going to understand the true meaning of such a gift. He knew it was the love language that had made his parents fall in love, and in some kind of way, it had been the language he had chosen to use. 

  But he was tired of being silent. Tired of not being who he was. Of not following his heart.

  He had no reason to hide anymore. He couldn’t pretend Cas didn’t feel the same way. All his life, he had been solely focused on Sam’s happiness, because that was all what mattered. He wished for him to have the perfect life he had always wanted. Who would have guessed that one day, Dean Winchester would start thinking about his own happiness, would believe that he might actually deserve it too. Better days were coming. They were now free, a world of new possibilities was opening to them. Maybe, just maybe, he actually deserved something different than the life made of sacrifices he had always imagined for himself.

  It hadn’t taken that long for things to take a new turn. Cas had decided to come to his first hunt as a human, which had immediately activated in Dean his protective mode. The Winchester had tried to stay as chill as he could, but he had stay right beside him, not letting him out of his sight. Once they had been back from their mission, the former angel had complained about it, telling him that he did not want to be a burden for him, which had led to a grumpy answer from the hunter.

  When Dean had come to his door that night, to make sure Cas’ wound after their hunt didn’t need more care, their conversation had derailed incredibly fast.

  Cas had been shaking his head, not breaking eye contact with the Winchester. “You should stop worrying that much about me, Dean.’’ 

  A beat.

  He had then given him an earnest answer. “Can’t. Won’t.’’ 

  They had stayed silent for a moment, staring at each other from opposite sides of the room. Dean had felt his hands become sweaty, his breath racing. He had taken a new step inside the room, had closed the door behind him. He was now standing near the entrance, his eyes fixated on Cas, who was next to his bed. The silence of the room was only troubled by the sound of their respective breath, which added some kind of weight to the moment.

  “I’ll never stop worrying about you…’’ Dean said with a new intensity, tilting his head on the side.

  He had taken a new step towards the former angel, hesitant. His eyes had been fixated on the floor for a moment, before he had brought them back on him.

  “Cas…’’ 

  He had shaken his head, opened his mouth like if he was about to say something, about to speak his own truth, but no words had come. So he had decided to do the only thing he knew how to do: let his actions speak for him.

  Once he had reduced the distance between them, Cas’ heartbeat had incredibly increased. He hadn’t dare to hope. Never. But… what if? In the spare of a few seconds, he had gotten his answer. Dean’s face had come really close to his own, his green eyes never breaking the contact with his blue ones. There was so much left unsaid, but right now, he needed to show him how he felt. He had leaned closer to him, closed his eyes and their lips had finally met. Shyly at first, but when they had realized how good it felt, how it was everything they had needed, they had reinforced their embrace. There was no hesitation left. The Winchester’s hands had cupped Cas’ face, while the former angel had wrapped his arms around him. When they had first broke the kiss, their faces remaining close, a silent tear was running through Cas’ cheek.

  “I love you too, Cas,’’ Dean finally succeeded to say, like if he was reprising their conversation from weeks before. Tears were flooding his eyes and he was shaking. “We… never talked about it, since you came back. I never got a chance to thank you for… everything. Absolutely everything, Cas. Things went so fast back then. But I want you to know how much I love you. I have for years, actually. Everything you are… and I always miss you, so much. But I never thought… I never thought we could have this. And I’m sorry, so sorry, that it took me so long to say it.’’ 

  Cas’ throat had tightened. He had been physically incapable of saying anything in return. It was all he had ever wanted, but had convinced himself he would never get. He didn’t think he would deserve it. He had taken the initiative of the second kiss, which had started as tenderly as the previous one and led them to explore a physical and emotional intimacy neither of them had known before.

  From this day, every piece of the puzzle had started to fall in place. Their life had taken a new turn —but this time, it was one they had chosen.

Present day

  Dean had just parked the Impala at a gas station. Once he had turned off the motor, he had rotated his body to face Cas’, who was sitting next to him and was consulting his phone.

  “Claire and Kaia are coming by on friday,’’ he said, meeting the Winchester’s eyes.

  “It’s her birthday, isn’t it?’’ 

  Cas nodded.

  “We should get her something,’’ Dean suggested.

  “I’m gonna need your help,’’ the former angel said, a hint of panic on his face. 

  The Winchester winked at him. “Don’t worry, I got an idea of something she might like. She loves music, right?’’ 

  Cas sighed. “Yes, she… tried to make me listen to some of it, actually. It was… quite an experience.’’ 

  Dean bursted into laugher when he remembered the day he had found Cas listening to The Pretty Reckless. 

  Since the day he had become human, Cas and Claire had been more in contact than ever. They had talked on the phone and had met each other a couple of times. Claire was still living with Jody and Donna, but along with Kaia, they were now doing things their way. The young blonde was pretty invested into the hunting life, a choice Jody and Cas weren’t sure they were approving. But she wasn’t taking no for an answer and the only thing they could do was let her make her own experience. Everyone could see that Kaia had a good influence on her, though.

  “At least, we don’t have that kind of issue with Jack,’’ the Winchester said. “Well, when he comes by,’’ he then muttered to himself. 

  The former angel agreed. “I understand his questionings way better.’’ 

  “A Nephilim who became our new God and now juggles with multi-dimensions and handles existential kind of stakes… Yeah, makes sense for you,’’ Dean said with tenderness in his voice. 

  A half smile appeared on the former angel’s lips and he shrugged. “I’m a few millions years old, Dean. I mean, I was.’’ 

  “And you’re really not doing bad,’’ he added, taking his hand in his. “You’re doing a lot of good, actually.’’ Cas tightened his squeeze, intertwined their fingers.

  Adjusting to life as a human being had been a whole new challenge, Cas was still processing and learning, even though he wasn’t a stranger to this. But with the help of Dean, Sam and Eileen, he was getting more and more comfortable and used to it. A month and a half after he had returned from the Empty, he had decided to seek for a way to help and be active in this new stage of the world. He had joined social workers in a shelter and had offered his help for the place five times a week for the past months. He had gotten very invested, and Dean had joined him more than once, especially when some supernatural events had collide with the work they were doing there.

  “Offering guidance and protection to these kids seemed more appropriate than spending days in bed watching Netflix with you… even though I really enjoy Netflix,’’ he ended with humor in his voice.

  Dean raised an eyebrow, midly-offended. “What about being in bed with me?’’ 

  The former angel rolled his eyes, accentuating his grasp on the Winchester’s hand. “Like if you didn’t already know that I enjoy that part.’’ 

  An amused smile appeared on Dean’s lips, before he became serious again, looking at Cas lovingly. “We did a lot of good lately, you and I…’’ 

  They stared silently at each other for a few seconds, lost in each other’s eyes. Cas got closer and leaned into Dean to kiss him slowly. “We did.’’ 

***

  When they arrived at the Bunker, they saw that Eileen and Sam had returned from their night out. They were now comfortably sitting on one of the couches that were in the main room and were both looking at the youngest Winchester’s screen, laughing at what they were watching.

  Dean and Cas came down the stairs and walked in their direction.

  “So, how was it?’’ the eldest Winchester asked in a skeptical voice, while putting his bag on the table.

  “Amazing,’’ Sam said with an emphasis. “I know what to get you for your next birthday.’’ 

  Dean’s face fell. “Sam, if you drag me to one of your ballet things, I’ll never talk to you again, capiche?’’ 

  The youngest Winchester shrugged, side-eyeing the former angel. “Maybe Cas wants to see one.’’ 

  “Ha! Doubt it,’’ Dean said in a pretty confident voice.

  “Well…’’ Cas seemed to seriously consider the option. “Why not.’’ 

  “What?’’ Dean said incredulous, looking at his boyfriend with a look of betrayal. “Really?’’ 

  “Life is short,’’ Cas said with a shrug. “There is a lot of different forms of art, I don’t want to limit myself to only a few of them.’’ He smiled and teasingly nudged Dean, who looked disappointed.

  “You should consider it,’’ Eileen added, laughing a little. “We made pop-corn, do you want some?’’ she then signed, pointing them the bowl that was on the table. The moment she said it, she realized it had gone empty. “I’m gonna get us some more,’’ she added.

  “I’m coming with you,’’ Cas signed.

  He put his jacket on one of the chairs and while talking about his and Dean’s last hunt to the young woman, they left the room together. The eldest Winchester and the former angel had taken some sign language classes online, adding that learning to their almost daily practice, allowing the efforts to be split in two during conversations. 

  Dean watched them leave, looking contemplative for a few seconds, and then came to sit next to his brother, after grabbing one of the beers that was on the table. 

  “No bad surprises? During your hunt?’’ 

  The eldest Winchester was lost in his thoughts and he took a moment before answering. “Two demons, who came out of nowhere. But we got rid of them pretty easily. They were the ones responsible for the attacks and murders. The ghosts were harmless…’’ 

  “They’re gone too?’’ 

  “Yup, we did what we had to do.’’ 

  “Awesome, I’m gonna put the informations on the app.’’

  “Don’t worry about it, Cas did it on our way home,’’ he said while patting his brother’s leg.

  “Good. Hey, did you know that the app had now spread in Europe and Australia?’’ Sam said while showing him the screen of his computer. “Charlie took care of everything.’’ 

  Dean smiled proudly. “They would have been stupid not to do it. It’s a genius idea that you had.’’ 

  As soon as they had found their free will again, Sam had spent months thinking about what was going to be his next step. With the exception of his relationship with Eileen, which was the only thing he was pretty much confident about, the possibilities about his future, especially in terms of career, were very uncertain. The life he had in Chuck’s ending was now a fuzzy memory, but it had led him to question his ambition.

  After hesitating, he had decided to follow his gut and pursue his will to become a teacher. Law school was his past self’s dream and after years of fighting, he had realized that he wanted to pass on his knowledge and connect with other people. At the same time, he had developed an app with the help of Charlie, that was reuniting hunters in the same virtual place and allowing them to share precious informations about their hunts, the supernatural spots, informations and datas about the creatures they had fought, the places and dates of their hunts. Every case that was solved was signaled as such on the app. 

  It was a worldwide and virtual version of John Winchester’s journal, that had allowed him to unite thousands of hunters through the world and had facilitated the fight against ghosts, demons and other creatures. Sam had invested a lot of time in the making of the app, which was now the biggest database that ever existed on the subject. Rowena, as the Queen of Hell, had a better control over the demons than it was the case by the past, but many of them were still off her authority.

  Watching his little brother be so invested in his new missions had made Dean very proud.

  “You’re doing great, Sammy,’’ he said while looking at his brother. “The way you handled this whole thing… you made a difference.’’ 

  He raised his beer in Sam’s direction.

 “I don’t know if you realize it, but you’re not doing so bad either,’’ Sam said after a few seconds of silence.

  Dean shrugged. “Doing my best.’’

  “The bar is practically yours, Dean. There’s only some paperwork left, it’s a done deal.’’ 

  For the past month, the eldest Winchester had started to see his dream of possessing his own bar slowing become a reality. They had found it during one of their hunts in Lebanon, with Cas, Sam and Eileen. It was well located but the place had been haunted for years and the previous owners had much trouble selling it. In exchange for the Team Free Will’s services, they had offered to sell it to Dean at a very interesting price.

  “I guess,’’ Dean said with a proud little smile 

  “And Cas…’’ Sam added gently. “You seem to be doing great together. After all these years… you deserve it.’’ He tried not to push too much, knowing how bashful his big brother could get on this kind of topics.

  Dean was looking at his hands, but his face had clearly brightened up. He nodded. “From day one, he changed everything for me.’’ 

  Sam smiled. “Who would have believed it.’’ 

  “All those years ago, I wouldn’t have seen us coming this far.’’ 

  “Clearly, me neither…’’ 

  The youngest Winchester was hesitant for a second, looking nervously in the direction of the framing of the door Eileen and Cas had went through.

  “You know… I’m gonna propose to her,’’ he finally said.

  Dean’s eyes went wide open, even though he wasn’t exactly surprised, knowing his brother.

  “I’ve been thinking about it for a while now… I’m confident that what we have is what I’ve been looking for my whole life. Everything just… clicks, when I’m with her. I didn’t think it would happen again, after Jess.’’ 

  Dean bowed his head for a second, smiling. 

  “You’re… you’re not going to cry, right?’’ 

  “What?! Me? NO!’’ Dean replied in a defensive voice. He took a new sip on his beer, trying to hold it together. “I’m just very happy for you, Sammy.’’ 

  He took his little brother in his arms, gently patting him on the back.

  “Are you scared?’’ he asked once they ended the hug.

  The youngest Winchester sighed. “A little… I mean, I’m not really afraid that she would say no, even if this is a possibility, of course. But, I trust what we have and I know she’s sharing my dream of building our own family.’’ 

  Dean looked confused. “What scares you then?’’

  “Well… the last time I thought about marriage, it was with Jessica… and I lost her. In the worst possible way.’’ 

  “Our lives went pretty well since the day we defeated Chuck.’’ 

  “I know, but… a part of me is still afraid that everything is going to be taken away from me, you know? We lost so much since our childhood, I’m just… not yet used to things being so simple. I don’t know if that makes sense?’’ he said, looking at his brother.

  Dean slowly nodded, with an understanding look. “It does. I woke up more than once in the middle of the night just to make sure Cas was still lying down next to me…’’ 

  “We had our share of traumas and losses…’’ Sam sighed, taking the beer he had left on the floor. “To a better future,’’ he finally said, raising his bottle for a toast.

  “To a better future.’’ 

THE END

[anika-ann]

Grease and Pearls - Pt.3

Dreams Meet Reality

Type: One-shot turned three-shot (because does anyone really want a 17k in one go?)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader (main), Tony/Reader, Tony/Pepper

Word count: 3400 or 5100 (yeah, you read it right, see A/N)

Summary: An uptown girl met a downtown guy with a heart of gold. Oh, and he was handsome too. It inevitably leads to their relationship developping… but is there any chance for them at all?

For @cxptain​​ ’s challenge. Prompt: Uptown Girl by Billy Joel

Warnings: swearing (a lot), attempt at angst, ghosting, communication par excellence

A/N: We had fluff and smut. What are we missing? That’s right. Heads up, people! There is an alternate ending to my original one, the one sentence where it breaks is in italics. I hope that makes sense ;) Pick whichever or read both :D Enjoy!

Story Masterlist

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It was bound to happen – you knew as much – but deep in your heart, you had hoped it wouldn’t. You had hoped it would last longer. You had hoped that perhaps a miracle would occur and in some mysterious way, you would be able to convince your parents that marrying you to Anthony was a terrible idea.

You should have known better than that.

The very day you had fell asleep in Steve’s arms after making love – and God, you could still feel him, his touches on your skin, his mouth, everywhere, even in the most intimate places, a pleasant, almost ceremonial ache lingering exactly there, a memory of fire in your belly and your heart – you got caught.

Your parents had been waiting at Potts’ house as you reached it around eleven in the evening, a smiling mess, a sight to behold, and any illusion about the future you had been painting in your mind shattered.

Pepper had tried to take part of the blame, but your parents always believed that you were the faulty daughter in your household and such ways stretched outside your house.

Your father was furious. Your mother was deeply disappointed and even faked a few tears – or perhaps she shed them for real, mourning her reputation, one the family would fight tooth and nail to retain.    

You had literally fallen on your knees and begged when they found a drawing from a street artist, a souvenir of one of your trips to downtown which you had only craved to explore-- and by some miracle indeed, you were allowed to keep it and not to have it torn to shreds right in front of your eyes. Pepper’s teary gaze told you she knew you were making up things up as you went and that the drawing, the one that captured beauty you weren’t sure you possessed, meant much more.

You couldn’t even hope to earn forgiveness, so you only asked for it half-heartedly.

What you did earn was a damn chaperon.

In your age! In this day and age!

Her name was Maria and she was truly efficient and strict to a fault. Nevertheless, she respected your privacy and whenever you were to meet Pepper, she would stand just outside the door and wait if you asked for a confidential conversation… which was always, you didn’t need some goddamned stranger spying on you. What the hell.

But truly, all things considered, you had lucked out; as your parents didn’t fault Pepper for your actions, you were still allowed to meet with her at least and to talk her in private.

However, the marriage plans were sped up.

And naturally, you couldn’t even hope to set your foot anywhere near downtown. You hadn’t seen Steve for two weeks, you hadn’t even found his number in the phone book to explain yourself and you missed him.

Your heart seemed to fail in its basic function; when you were lying in your bed at night, wide awake, it longed after ocean blue eyes with a drop of green, strong hands holding you close, and it wouldn’t stop pounding wildly in your chest. In the morning, your heart appeared to be beating so slowly you had to place your palm over the area to make sure it was still there, that it still had enough strength to keep you upright all day ahead.

And it ached 24 hours a day. For you, for Steve, who must have been clueless on why you never showed up to your set date or any time after. You were hurting and your parents watched you suffer along with your sister, frowning at you and scolding you to stop acting like a five-year old who had a toy taken away.

They could never understand. Was that a curse or a blessing?

Pepper was the only person you could trust, only person you could talk to about your true sorrows and her patience never seemed to wear thin despite her own turmoil – after all, if your marriage was to be sped up… her hopes were being crushed as well.

“Pepper… I don’t want to marry Tony. God, I can’t marry him,” you whispered, a cup of tea in your hands, your palms and fingers curled around the warm ceramics, hoping for it to take away some of the ever-present cold your body radiated these days.

Your friend smiled at you sadly, an honest and heart-breaking lift of the corners of her lips.

“I know, honey.”

You chuckled bitterly at the irony. Here you were, stealing her dreamed man, on she loved, while yearning after another, after the one you loved. You looked up at the ceiling, blinking away the tears gathering in your eyes – again and again, barely a day without their presence. They were always there, ready for the dam to broke so they could run down your cheeks.

When you spoke again, you could barely force the words out of your tight throat.

“I… I truly love Steve. I dreamed tonight, about having a little boy,” you whispered, the image still vivid behind your now closed eyelids. He was so damn pretty, your sweet little boy. “Blond hair, pretty blue eyes full of mischief and such innocent smile with a front tooth missing and I was expecting with another--… I want that. I want to have Steve’s children one day and I want Steve. I need him. It feels like I can’t breathe without him.”

Tender hands reached for your shoulders and pulled you into an embrace, soft and careful, yet very unladylike, not proper for anyone to see in public – at least not here, not in uptown. God, you hated it here. You despised it now, truly. And if that made you an ungrateful brat, then so be it.

“Oh sweety, I know exactly how you feel. I’m so sorry,” Pepper replied in the same manner, comfortingly stroking your arm. She sounded on the verge of tears as well. “But you know what your family is like, they would never accept Steve. As much as it hurts you and me… I’m not sure you really have a choice.”

You swallowed against the lump formed in your throat and shakily breathed in.  

“Don’t I?”

You thought of your chaperon and wondered… just how heartless could she be?

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It was three weeks after his girl’s last surprise visit that had somehow resulted in her and Steve tangled in his sheets when he lost his faith in her and whatever the two of them had had completely.

Three weeks without as much as a glimpse of her or a word, two weeks of not going to bed without few bottles of beer to keep him company, Steve walked into the shop and instantly knew something was wrong.

The usually loud environment full of chatter and teasing was suspiciously quiet.

“Hey guys,” he called out, trying to sound casual. “What gives?”

“Nothing-“ Thor responded swiftly – and way too quickly. Steve rolled his eyes.

“I’m blond but ain’t that stupid. Who pissed in everyone’s cereal? Buck?”

Steve’s best friend looked up from his work, shorty meeting his eyes. The regretful gaze spoke volumes on its own, but the brunet still sighed, tossing the rag in his hands on the nearest hood.

Steve suddenly wasn’t so sure he wanted to hear the news whatever it was. Dread filled his stomach, a feeling that had his gut twist uncomfortably. The blue-grey irises of his friend hid behind his eyelids.

“I… I’ve been in town this morning, Steve,” he explained slowly, cursing under his breath when he took in Steve’s perfectly confused expression, awaiting a metaphorical punch. “Fuck, Steve—I-eh, I saw Carter with Stark and they were-“ The coil in Steve’s stomach tightened to the point of him thinking he might throw up. “-shit, I’m sorry, Steve, they were at jeweller’s, probably picking up a ring.”

A ring.

Right.

Because she was getting married. To Stark. He knew that—he had been, in fact, informed that it might happen at some point.

But no-- like a fool, he had painted an image in his head, stupid and naïve and even found himself thinking about his ma’s engagement ring – once or twice since he had met his stunning uptown girl –, one he had inherited and was planning to give a woman who would take his heart.

Funny how his mind had been purposely leaving out the fact that the very same woman he had given his heart to was the one who could stomp on it and let it bleed on the pavement.

Fuck, he was a complete idiot, wasn’t he?

Steve swallowed against his suddenly dry throat, nodding few times in acknowledgement of the information, lips in a tight line, one corner lifted in an ironic smile as his blood boiled.

“Well… we knew it was comin’, didn’t we?” he remarked and shook his head with a scoff.

God, he was so fucking stupid-

“Steve-“

He waved Bucky off, stalking towards his own station. He dropped his bag, always stashed with clean clothes just in case, to the ground by the counter, hand blindly reaching out. He grabbed the wrench on the top unmistakably, his fingers curling firmly around the metal.

One swift movement, one jerk of his bulging arm and the wrench was sent flying, hitting the momentarily empty chain with an ominous clang that could only hope to echo the mad rage he felt, sizzling in his veins, eating him up from the inside.

“Fuck him!” he roared, the ferocity of his voice startling even his mates who were familiar with his occasional temper.

His breathing turned heavy as he reached for another tool, flinging it the same way, this time hitting the wall, much to his irritation.

Jesus fucking shit-- he was so fucking mad – at her, at himself, at Stark, Stark who thought he could just take and take, greedy asshole, just like all of those uptown snobs that thought they owned the fucking world!  

“Fuck Stark and all of those privileged assholes! I hope they rot in- Fucking! Hell!”

Two more objects Steve didn’t bother to look at flied through the air and hit the chains, the harmless violence not providing him with half the satisfaction he hoped in.

By the time the boss stalked into the shop the check on what was going on – and to yell at his employees to stop fucking around – Steve had been long gone, taking the SHILED bike and driving away until all he could feel was the wind swishing around his head, loud enough to drown out his noisy thoughts.

“Rogers came in sick, we sent him home,” Pietro supplied helpfully, the deadpan expression on Fury’s face telling him that he had none of that shit.

Yet, the bossman sighed and headed back to his office.

“Good, wouldn’t want him to puke all over my fuckin’ garage.”

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She showed up in the shop on week four. Steve was just coming back from a short bathroom break, quickly taking a U-turn when he got a glimpse of her in the overhead door to the garage, wearing black and red elegant dress.

He leaned his back against the separating wall, closing his eyes at the painful jab to his stomach.

Logically, there was no reason for him to be so devastated. He fucked girls before—he liked girls before. So why did he have to be such a missy when it came to her? She was pretty, sure, but there were plenty of cute gals. Steve really tried not to think about the L word they had exchanged, because deep down it had dawned to him a while ago; he was so fucked up because he was in love and then he was dumped by a lady who normally wouldn’t look at him twice, which was something that his brain had been bullheadedly refusing to accept.

“Sorry, he ain’t in today,” Odinson drawled, traces of hostility in his voice.

“Oh,” she sounded surprised and he could picture the gentle confused frown, the slight pout to her lips—shit, those lips tasted like cherry-- "Uhm, do you know when he will be in?”

“Why do ya’ need to know?”

Steve was certain that her frown deepened at Bucky’s words.

“Well, uhm, I need to talk to him, it’s important. Should I come here in few days or-“

“Don’t think he’ll be ‘round here any time soon.”

“Is he alright?” she asked, genuine concern in her voice and it took all of Steve’s willpower not to bang his head against the wall.

Why, just why was she doing this to him? Why would she care?

Now he knew that was cruel to her – he believed that once, she had truly been interested in him – but he told himself multiple times that her looks were deceiving, that she only had been looking for a distraction from her uptight uptown world. Maybe if he told himself enough times, he would start to believe it.

“Ain’t none of your business, princess,” Thor retorted and Steve just knew she winced at the harsh tone, a soft gasp escaping her mouth, that sweet mouth he had  kissed over three weeks ago, sweet, innocent and sinful, the music of her short breaths filling his poor excuse of a loft, keeping him fucking going.

“Nice ring, by the way,” Bucky said nonchalantly.

Steve gulped at that. Yeah, he bet it was; but there was no way Bucky was being polite. The venom dripping from his words was a message on its own.

And she picked up on it, naturally. His –not his anymore, not that she had ever truly been – brilliant beautiful girl.

“Oh. Thank- thank you,” she whispered and Steve had to strain his ears like a creep, catching the crack in her voice; he almost ran out hearing it, ready to comfort her, because God, he couldn’t imagine her crying, salt tears rolling down her rosy cheeks - few had when they had made love, but she had been smiling too.

He was sure that seeing her cry without that smile… it would feel the world was ending. Her eyes were made for shining with happiness, her lips made for laughter-

“The fuck-?“

Steve’s head snapped straight when he heard his boss leaving his office, catching him chilling by the wall, very much not working and instead trying not to break and kiss the woman he loved stupid – no matter how stupid that made him. She was engaged. Promised to another, a much classier man… or at least much richer, Steve didn’t imagine his character being worth a damn penny.

On instinct, Steve put a finger over his own lips, wordlessly begging Fury not to rat him out. The man rolled his good eye – the one that hadn’t been hit by hot oil years ago – and crossed his arms on his chest.

“And—uhm, I see. Tell—please tell him I stopped by if he- and that I am sorry for not coming here for so long. He can leave a message with Mrs.Maximoff if he--- tell him I really need to-- that I would like to talk to him,” her voice trembled a bit as she stuttered, but it was clear she had been aiming for a firmer voice and missed by miles.

“Don’t see why he should want to know, princess, but sure, whatever.”

Fury gave Steve another annoyed look and stalked into everyone’s sight. For a second, Steve panicked – was his boss about to tell on him? – but the bulky man only walked in, a professional greeting on his lips.

“Good afternoon, madam. What can we do for you today?”

“Oh, good afternoon, sir-“

“My name is Nicolas Fury, I own the SHIELD Car Repairs. May I be of service?” he continued pleasantly, a businessman in his heart. And actor in his soul, apparently, because Steve was sure he figured out what was going on from the few words he had heard and from Steve’s cowardice and was now putting up a face.

“Mr.Fury, thank you for your readiness, however I was only just leaving. Your staff was most helpful,” she said, polite and respectful, almost a hint of a kind smile in her tone as if she hadn’t sounded on verge of tears only a moment ago. As if the guys hadn’t been jerks to her, standing up for him and his… ugh, his hurt feelings.

“Very well then. Have a pleasant day. Should I walk you out?”

“I actually already offered to walk Ms. Carter out if that’s alright with ya’,” Pietro quickly stepped in, a voice that hadn’t spoken since she had arrived.

“Thank you for choosing SHIELD Car Repairs, Ms.Carter,” Fury’s voice echoed through the shop, complete silence following for what felt like an eternity.

Steve gulped, knowing all too well Fury was waiting for him to come out of his hiding spot.

And sure enough – the boss’ eye found him the moment he returned. “Mr.Fury-“

“For fuck’s sake, Rogers, don’t pull shit like ‘dat in my shop. And all of ya’ – less chatting, less big-mouthing customers and for fuck’s sake, don’t go jerk into the bathroom now just because a girl in skirt showed up. Get your head in the game… and don’t drop anything on your fucking toes, accidents on a workplace are shit to deal with.”

Steve nodded with fervour, going back to his station, even when he couldn’t say that his head was in the game. No, his head was miles away, with beautiful pouty lips, the sweetest smile and a body to write sonnets for.

When Pietro came back, he didn’t say a word, but Steve could feel him burning a hole in his head with how much he stared.

That night, Steve switched from beer to whiskey, just once, hoping to drown out the sorrow that consumed him at simply hearing her voice.

Two months later, two months of Steve avoiding Maximoff’s diner like a plague and dodging Pietro Maximoff’s attempts to have a minute alone with him, a Good Samaritan left a newspaper on Steve’s doorstep. Steve, utterly confused and bone-tired from the long day at work, lifted it and started flicking through the pages absentmindedly as he went inside of his apartment.

And there, right among the obituaries, were marriage announcements, one single photo from a wedding.

She was stunning in her dress, the fabric appearing as delicate and soft as her skin when Steve had felt it under his rough fingers the day she had asked him to make love to her. A smile, crooked and melancholic, played on Steve’s lips at the memory, her breathless moans echoing in his ears.

In the photo posed a beautiful bride with her husband; and yet, Steve couldn’t make himself think she looked as pretty as she had been when sitting on his bed, misplaced, breath-taking and tempting, as pretty as she had been in the moments of ecstasy he had brought her with his loving; for the first time and for the last time at once.

He abandoned the paper on the counter and poured himself a glass of whiskey, bringing it up, hesitating an inch from his lips.

Eyeing the amber liquid, stirring it in the glass, he recalled a movie he had been to with Buck a long time ago. He had never seen people do it in real life, they certainly hadn’t done that at his ma’s funeral, but it would feel symbolic perhaps; the action of pouring a drink into a freshly dug grave was as outside his reality as the foolish idea of a relationship with her, after all.

Taking the newspaper to his hand once more, straightening the picture, he let himself feast his eyes on her. She was radiant, like sun, like the damn sunflowers on her dress the day he had met her.

Shaking his head, he threw the paper to the trash, picture up. Pouring half the whiskey on it, he buried the bittersweet memory of his untouchable uptown girl;downing the rest, he ignored the burn in his eyes and focused on the one in his throat.

As much as he hated himself for it, his last thought before he fell asleep that night was of her, a minute of wonder if she had ever truly been as affected as he was, at least for a moment; he lulled himself to sleep hoping that perhaps she had.

He dreamed of reaching out to Mrs.Maximoff as she had asked the guys to tell him to do. He dreamed of her being there the next time he came in, with an inviting and yet sad smile, a big-ass diamond on her finger… her cherry-flavoured kiss of goodbye lingering on his lips when he opened his eyes to a new day.

He took the trash out that very morning, adding a half-finished sketch he torn away from his book.

It was the last time he saw her.

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Thank you for reading! Scroll to the end of the fic for notes. ….Or? ;)

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That night, Steve switched from beer to whiskey, just once, hoping to drown out the sorrow that consumed him at simply hearing her voice.

In the night of week four turning to week five, Steve’s eyes snapped open to the darkness of his apartment. Momentarily confused, not remembering a nightmare or anything that would cause him to wake up so abruptly, he groaned when he reached for the alarm clock on his nightstand only to find out it was half past one.

He woke up for no fucking reason barely two hours after he went to bed.  

Furious knocks on his door made him jolt, his irritation only growing.

Not without a reason then – some fucker was-- ugh. People were fucking assholes. He was not getting up from his bed for sure.

“Fuck off,” Steve muttered, lying back down face first, determined to ignore-

His door rattled with the force of the next series of knocks and he growled, scrambling to his feet, shuffling to the door and wiping the sleep from his eyes.

“C’min’, comin’, Jesus, fuck.”

Unlocking and opening the door for a slit, Steve stared at the face of his night visitor, absolutely baffled.

“The fuck, Pietro? Do ya’ know wad time ‘zit?”

“No. Do ya’?” the blond retorted, his voice dripping sarcasm and Steve really wanted to shut the door to his face. It was too early – or late – for Steve to deal with that bullshit. “Pack your bags, Rogers, Natasha has a free room.”

Steve briefly wondered when the fuck the world stopped making any goddamn sense, but opened the door fully for his clearly delusional friend. For all Steve knew, Pietro could be having a stroke, he’d better hear him out.

“Huh?” he hummed, his palms massaging his bloodshot eyes. “Da’ fuck are ya’ talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Natasha? My cousin? Remember her?”

Why the hell was Pietro acting as if it was completely normal to stop by a guy’s loft to talk about his cousin, one Steve hadn’t even met?

Steve sighed, humouring the other man. “Yeah? Married some… general or somethin’? What’s ‘dat-”  

“Colonel, yeah. She’s the one who lives in Baltimore. She got a room for ya’,” Pietro repeated, still not making an ounce of sense.

“The fuck’d I do in Baltimore?” Steve asked tiredly, earning a look that told him that it was fucking obvious. Which it wasn’t really, not to him.

…was this a fever dream?

“Open your own shop, dumbass, or find a spot in some. Make money for that pretty gal of yours and that little cute as fuck babies you’ll make.”

Steve’s heart dropped to his stomach at the mention of you, fully prepared to rip Pietro a new one to wake him in the middle of the night to fuck with him—but  he caught a movement to Pietro’s right from a corner of his eye and his heart leaped right back, suddenly sprinting.

This was most definitely a fever dream. Steve felt his jaw drop, his eyes fixing on the vision in front of him as he entirely tuned out Pietro’s next words.

“She must like you real big if she’s willin’ to sell her family nick-nack to look at your ugly mug every day. And skip town and shit…”

And a vision his beautiful uptown girl was, a mirage his mind must have come up, because there was no way she was standing there, sheepish as always, but instead of her dress, wearing a pair of jeans and a simple red blouse, a denim jacket unbuttoned, hanging loosely over her shoulders. Her hair was in a messy ponytail, threw over her left shoulder.  

And shit, she talked too, which made it appear this was in fact real.

“Good evening, Steve. I am sorry to wake you,” she whispered, leaving him stare at her blankly, dumbstruck, breath stuck in his chest.

“I’ll drive ya’, Dr.Strange’s car needs a test ride. Fury’s payin’ for the gas, by the way, the ol’ bastard,” Pietro continued as Steve managed to only watch the woman he had been missing for the past weeks lower her gaze, her teeth anxiously biting on her lower lip, fingers toying with the edges of her jacket. Hers? “I’ll be back by tomorrow afternoon, even have an hour or two to spare. That’s if you start packin’ now, bud.”

The mention of packing snapped Steve from his trance, all the emotions hitting him like a damn truck. Anger, longing, more confusion, restlessness as his girl was standing only few feet away from him and he couldn’t take it anymore.

He took a hesitant step towards her, ignoring the smirking man clearing his path.

“What—what are ya’ doin’ here?” Steve asked incredulously, his inner turmoil reflecting in his voice. She hadn’t showed up for weeks and now-- what exactly was she doing here? “You- you’re engaged-”

Gulping, she looked up, her eyes glistening with unshed tears; yet, a hint of a smile spread on her lips as she shifted her weight from one foot to another. For the first time, Steve also noticed her shoes, a simple pair of sneakers looking bizarre on her feet.

“To a man who loves my best friend and vice versa, my best friend who has been covering for me whenever we were together before it blew to our faces,” she explained, not daring to raise her voice above whisper. Steve still didn’t understand – not fully, unable to comprehend what was happing on his doorstep. Pietro talking about his cousin, about driving, Fury paying for gas, the woman he still loved standing there as if ready to skip town- “She was too covering for me when I talked to Mrs. Maximoff when she helped me to plan this. Pietro said you would want this as well— but- but if you don’t, I will leave you alone. I-“

The day Steve had met the strange girl from uptown, Bucky hadn’t failed to mention Pietro was the fast one, clearly implying Steve was the slow one.

Bucky should have fucking seen Steve now when she hesitated, unsure of his feelings – he had never acted so fast in his whole damn life.

He crossed the distance in one long stride and his hands shot up to her, grabbing her by her shoulders unceremonially. Before she could react, he pulled her body against his with all he got, claiming her mouth like there was no tomorrow.

He swallowed her yelp of surprise, followed by her happy laugh, feeling tears springing from her eyes, causing him to halt just as she finally started kissing him back.

“But your family-“ he blurted out, interrupted by her shaking her head wildly, hair flying.

“Mr. Ross has an eye on my sister. He is from a good family, of good name, generations of lawyers. My family will do splendidly,” she said with a smile playing on her lips, sweet and watery as tears still rolled down her face – happy ones, Steve believed. He felt the same delight bursting in him, switching from a broody cynic back to the fool in love in no time. “And we might too. We will have each other and I have learned enough to teach—or-- or I can be a waitress if I can’t find another job, it doesn’t matter, just so you are not the only one to-“

God, he loved her. She was so adorable and sweet and was talking about being his and going from basically a modern princess to a damn waitress, because she was willing to be with him whatever the fucking cost, apparently--

And was there really anything else he could do?

He grabbed the back of her neck to connect their mouths again, a hungry open-mouthed kiss, his hand fisting in her hair, because holy fuck, how was this happening, she was here and she was his-

“Alright, alright, smoochin’ later, packin’ your friggin’ bags now, Rogers,” Pietro cleared his throat loudly, sounding only as annoyed as amused. “I have a long drive ahead.”

Later, bags hazardously full and piled up in the trunk and on the backseat next to them, Steve couldn’t stop smiling and yet he felt a pang of guilt, ruminating over everything she was giving up.

She was resting her head on his shoulder, their interlaced fingers in his lap and Steve revelled at the absence of an overpriced engagement ring on her hand, the one from his ma’s securely in one of his bags to take place on her finger one day. She was walking the fine line between the real world and the dreamland, breathing softly to the crook of his neck and she seemed content. For now.

He sighed and pressed what could be the hundredth kiss to her hair that night.

“Doll?” he whispered softly, the question burning on his tongue, the only one he could hope to actually have answered now and not after they would try and started a life together.

“Mm?” she hummed softly, nuzzling into him further, her lips brushing the exposed skin on his throat.

“Why me? You could have any of those-“ snobs “-high-class… uptown guys.”

The smile he felt against his skin had him melt into the seat as he chased away all the grim thoughts about what the future might bring, her regretting her decision and blaming him for her ruined life on top of that list.

“Because I love you, Steve, and you are worth ten of them. My amazing downtown guy,” she emphasized, filling Steve’s chest with the most delicious warmth, his heart swelling, feeling so full it might burst.

He knew she wasn’t just saying that – she meant it. If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t’ have been in his arms right now, heading to damn Baltimore with nothing but her bags, little money and few pieces of jewellery.

“I love ya’ too,” he whispered, this time pressing a kiss to her nose, drawing an exhausted giggle from her lips. Yep, his heart was about to burst before they even reached their destination. “Love ya’ so much. My sweet, sweet uptown girl.”

“Not so uptown anymore...”

Steve chuckled as rather than regret, her voice was filled with relief. “I’m willin’ to put up with ‘dat as long as ya’ stay mine.”

She squeezed his hand, tilting her head up, blinking up at him sleepily and softly pressing her lips to his.

“I think that can be arranged.”

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S.R. masterlist

cxptain’s challenge (check it out, prompts are still available - and who doesn’t like the 80′s?)

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Tags:

@wxstedhexrt, @comicshoplife, @elysianecho, @scentedsongrebel, @orions-nebula, @pies-writes-and-more​, @kayteewritessteve​, @murdermornings, @rinkashirikitateku, @queen-kass-the-writer

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….yes, in the first ending, there might have been a chance of our uptown girl planning an escape and Steve aka heartbroken dummy blew it. But hey, maybe not, perhaps she only wanted to say goodbye like he dreamed of… who knows. 

Aaaaanyway.

You are my hero if you finished reading this fic! Thank you so much for finding time to do that, this one truly was a beast – at least when I consider that it WAS supposed to be a one shot. 

Any feedback is appreciated, as always – good, bad (if constructive), coherent or incoherent, or ‘just’ a like if you enjoyed and don’t feel like putting feelings into words. Thanks again for reading!