#in fact i'm about to write a scene like that

[darlingshecried]

First of all, I am so incredibly grateful that you decided to take my idea into consideration and made complete magic out of it ✨✨

And I will be writing in bullet points bc I have so much to say hehe

When I saw 'peace' by tay, I just KNEW you were going to eat. I love that song so much and I feel like you perfectly described it in the fic, so aligned with what Tay sings about

The way you created the initial atmosphere just does sth to me. Also Theo and hers dynamic from their childhood is so sweet and fitting

And aaah the delusion when they lay down in Matty's bed🤭🤭🤭 I am IN LOVE with how you pictured the relationship, so innocent, yet hopeful, yet alluring

And I love how you can see Mattheo's mental health and his self esteem ….."She just wants her brother. And I'm the next best thing." Bc I feel like there isn't enough emphasis on the fact that he actually isn't the most cheerful, joyous person on his own and I feel like out of the boys, he’s the most likely to have mental health problems

“Do you want a hug?" Yea so. I'm not really sure when, but somewhere along the way, my heart felt so safe and fulfilled it kinda overflowed 🥹🤍

“…at knowing that he was able to bring you peace.” Okayy I see you 😏😁🤍

The pace at which you were building their relationship was so beautiful and felt so natural, I enjoyed it sm <3 the quiet moments, his nightmare, how they lifted each other up, and the breakfast shenanigans 🤭☺️✨

Hihi and the way Theo found out exceeded my expectations. Ofc I imagined it but yours was even better. Theo basically beating Matty up was just phenomenal 😂

And I loved the little reunion, Teddy’s reluctance and then approval of them being together

Oh and the scene with the grumpy boys and ice packs in the infirmary was just priceless 😂✨

Overall, I liked it *being so nonchalant rn*

— GIRL THIS IS SUCH STUNNING WORK I CANNOT EVEN 🫶🫶

The wait was worth the while (while the worth, worth the wait?? I forgot to speak English for a sec lol).

I just hope you know we appreciate you so much in this community, and even if you had 0 fans, know that that’s a lie bc I’ll always be cheering for you on the sidelines 💗💗💗

… the silence that only comes when two people understand each other… 🎶

fears & fantasies - mattheo riddle

⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ summary - mattheo is your brother's best friend and your biggest crush so surely when he offers you comfort it's purely platonic...right?

word count: 3k

soundtrack: peace - taylor swift

a/n: requested by the lovely @darlingshecried - thank you love for this fun and adorable concept ♡ and special shoutout to @cipheress-to-k-pop's mattheo fic beauty and the beast which inspired theo's gf's name (#thevangeline forever).

Your bare feet padded quickly against the cold flagstone of the dungeon floor.

You held your arms around yourself, shivering as you tried to avert your eyes from the long shadows in the corners that looked like ghosts, like dementors, like your nightmare.

You focused on putting one foot in front of the other as you swiped the tears out of your eyes. It was just a dream, it wasn't real, it was just a dream you repeated in your head, a mantra. But what you knew to be true in your mind and how it made you feel were two completely different things, and you weren't able to shake the cold terror from your bones. No, at this point you knew there was only one solution, one thing that could make you feel better, your brother, Theo.

Your entire childhood he'd watched out for you and tried to shield you from the darkness that had swarmed your family. But he was barely a year older than you, he was just as much a child as you were, and he couldn't defend you from everything all by himself; you were left riddled with nightmares, something he consistently blamed himself for.

He could hear them come in the thin walls between your rooms, the way you'd mumble quietly and then louder, panicked and fearful and you lost count of the number of times you'd woken up, just before the very worst of them to his gentle whispers, as he held you.

"Stellina" he'd whisper quietly. Little star. "You're okay, it's okay." And it would be, instantly. As long as he was there.

You pushed open the door to his dormitory and padded quietly past the other four poster beds, careful not to wake the boys that dozed beside him.

But when you got to his bed, your stomach dropped in dread as you realized it was empty.

No, no, no you thought as you looked around like the shadows would reveal him instead of closing in on you as you tried unsuccessfully to catch your breath, your panic rising.

"YN?" a voice whispered and you turned quickly, nearly tripping over yourself in fear.

"Whoa, hey, hey you're alright."

Through the narrow slice of moonlight coming in through the window you could see Mattheo leaning out from under his covers, curls askew, eyes barely open as he peered at you.

And your heart continued to race for an entirely different reason.

You'd known Mattheo since first year, since he and Theo became inseparable, because in many ways you'd become inseparable too. But growing up alongside him as he went from a reckless boy to a troublesome teenager to the unbearably hot guy in front of you was it's own sort of torture, because you knew he never looked at you as anything more than his own little sister.

"T-Teddy?" you asked shakily.

"He's with Evangeline."

His girlfriend. You nodded quickly, understandingly, even as your heart sank and you wound your hands together nervously.

"Right, yeah" you said shaking your head as you tried to calm yourself.

"Did you have a nightmare?" he asked patiently.

You met his eyes and nodded slowly as you gnawed your bottom lip, trying to bite back your emotions, even as you realized he might be the only other person to really understand you, knowing he had terrible nightmares too.

"C'mere" he offered, waving you over to him before making room in his bed.

You hesitated.

He had never once intimated anything with you. But then you realized that while your mind was running rampant at the vision of him shirtless in his rumpled sheets inviting you to sleep with him, he was only doing what any good friend, any older brother would do. Surely he didn't see you any other way.

So you moved to his bedside and crawled beneath the thick, warm covers.

It's the right thing to do.

It's the friendly, brotherly thing to do.

Theo would have asked me to do it Mattheo thought.

But Theo would not have asked him to stare at the dips and curves of your figure in your barely-there pajama set nor to selfishly revel at the idea of you in his bed.

No, for as careful and intentional as Mattheo was around you, if Theo knew half the things Mattheo thought, he'd push him straight off the astronomy tower.

He knew he was tempting fate, tempting himself to have you next to him like this, but you were scared, you were vulnerable and there was no way he was going to leave you like that, shivering, teary eyed, and alone.

She just wants her brother. And I'm the next best thing.

You met Mattheo's dark brown eyes that glimmered in the dim light.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, his voice gravelly with sleep.

You shook your head, gnawing at your lip again in a way that drew his attention there, that made him want to run his finger, his lips over it to get you to stop worrying.

"Do you want a hug?"

You paused only a moment before nodding.

He reached for you and gently pulled you into his arms as you wound yours around him, your head falling to his bare chest.

He held you gently but in a way that made you feel like nothing could touch you and it was like all of your shadows melted away as you let out a wobbly sigh.

He could feel you melt against him, could feel the way you physically relaxed in his arms, and he held his breath, overcome with the scent of your shampoo, at knowing that he was able to bring you peace.

His mind raced as he tried to think about anything other than the way he could distinctly feel every place your bodies touched, the way you always smiled at him big and wide and carefree, how you knew him better than nearly anyone else and still loved him unconditionally, the way you said his name with just the slightest hint of your Italian accent, the way the vowels rolled off your tongue in a way that let you taste every letter.

And subconsciously he squeezed you a little tighter as he reconciled those thoughts with the fact that even though he'd spent years pining for you, you were the only girl he could never have.

You were asleep instantly, exhausted by your emotions, and the way your fear was followed so quickly by the feeling of Mattheo's strong arms, the scent of his sheets, of him, evergreen and cedar, the smell so familiar and enticing it felt like home.

You dreamt of him, in shades of your own memories, of swimming together in the lake, of watching the stars on a summer night, of him giving you a piggyback ride, and handing you a messy bundle of wildflowers for your birthday. Theo was there too, of course, but he was blurry, faded in the background in a way that left just the two of you in focus.

Warm you thought, and smiled.

You were so warm and cozy and peacefully rested as you came to in a space tinged in shades of green from the curtains of the four poster bed around you.

And then you felt the pressure of a weighted blanket that you slowly realized was actually a very large arm around you and memories of the night before came flooding back.

You were tucked firmly in Mattheo's grasp, your back to his chest that you could feel rising and falling in time with his warm breath at your neck.

This is heaven you thought as you sighed, your eyelids fluttering, until you were surrounded by mumbled voices of the other boys waking up which in turn caused Mattheo to stir next to you. He slowly unwound his arm from you and you could have groaned at the loss of his touch as you turned to face him to see his cheeks pink.

"You alright?" he asked sleepily as he rubbed at his eye and yawned widely.

No, I think I am hopelessly in love with you you thought.

"Yeah" you mumbled. "Sorry about last night, I just–"

"–Don't apologize. I get it, trust me. The shit we've seen? Fucks with our heads" he said as he stared at the top of his four-poster before looking back at you with a resigned smile.

You smiled back as you heard the others shuffle out of the room, taking that as your window of opportunity to follow suit.

"Sooo, maybe we don't tell Theo about..." you started, gesturing between the two of you as you sat up to leave.

Mattheo's brow furrowed. You never kept anything from your brother... Unless...there was something more here than he'd thought?

"Wouldn't want him to worry!" you clarified quickly. "You know how he gets."

"Right, right, yeah no, understood" Mattheo agreed.

But he saw the blush on your cheeks, the way you averted your eyes as the covers moved to reveal his bare chest, his boxers and he couldn't stop himself as he leaned forward after you as you stepped out of his bed.

"M'always here if you need me" he said, smiling at you in a way that was both boyish and devastating and you were at a complete loss for words as you nodded and shuffled out of his room.

It happened three more times that week.

You wanted to be angry at Theo, but you couldn't deny that you craved Mattheo's comfort and were getting all too used to sliding into his bed, to fitting yourself in his arms like they were meant for you. Each time got easier, each time got more familiar, each time your defenses dropped a little more and each time Mattheo was convinced he was right, that maybe maybe his forbidden crush was reciprocated.

He knew he couldn't ask you outright, you'd deny it out of principle. But he was determined to find another way to confirm his theory.

It started small.

When you crawled into bed last night he'd reached and tucked your hair behind your ear and let his fingers linger at your cheek and he'd felt the way you squeezed him just a little tighter.

Then it was drawing lazy circles on your back, languid and slow against the soft cotton fabric of your pajamas that tortured him and he felt you hum in appreciation, the soft sound enough to make him strain against his boxers in a way that was about to make his efforts not-so-subtle. And he smirked, because he was certain he knew exactly how you felt, now he just needed to figure out what to do about it.

But then the unexpected happened.

You had drifted off to sleep in his arms, your weight heavy against him, your soft breaths a melody that caused his own eyelids to flutter shut.

And then he had a nightmare.

Of you, scared, screaming for him, but he couldn't reach you despite how hard he tried, his strides stuck in quicksand. He called for you over and over but he couldn't get to you, couldn't have you.

A soft voice responded, calling his name, pulling him out of the vision to see you, awake and whole, leaning over him, your hair curtaining your face which was fixed in tender concern for him.

His heart raced and he struggled to catch his breath as you cupped his face. 'Hey, hey, bello, Mattheo, you're okay' you murmured sweetly and he reached to place his hand over yours, holding it there as he breathed heavily and met your gaze.

"You're okay" he repeated after a second, as much to himself as to you.

"I'm okay" you replied slowly, smiling in confusion.

He scrunched his face and swallowed, eyes closing as he tried to gather himself. "Sorry, you–you were in my dream. S'stupid" he muttered as he wiped a hand over his face. A pause. "I guess I was just...worried about you."

"So you're looking out for me even in your dreams now, huh?" you asked teasingly.

He smiled before letting out a breathy laugh, the sound reassuring you enough to lay back down next to him as he turned to face you.

At this distance you were close enough to see every detail of his face highlighted in the sapphire blue of the night, the smallest freckles on his nose, the curve of his lips and the twinkle in his eye as he reached and brushed his thumb over your cheek in a touch so delicate you sighed and leaned into it.

He just wanted to feel you, to know you were real, that this wasn't part of a dream where you'd disappear in his grasp but then your eyes fluttered to his lips, lingering there, like you were lost in thought as you rolled your bottom lip into your mouth, and that was his breaking point.

He leaned in slowly, closing the distance between you and pulled you towards him as he pressed his lips to yours.

And thank Merlin you didn't pull back or hesitate, no, you reached for him, pulling yourself further into his arms as you kissed him fervently in a way that had him muffling a groan against your lips as his hands wound into your hair.

He pulled himself on top of you as your legs and limbs tangled and you grasped for each other, submitting to every temptation you'd had for days, for years as you immersed yourself in him, rolling your tongue against his as he squeezed your side, his fingers finding the warm skin at your ribs under your shirt and his hips rolling against yours until you let out the quietest, sweetest sound that had him pulling back in panic.

"Fuck" he sighed, slamming his eyes closed and turning his head at the sight of you beneath him, breathless and flushed.

"Don't say it" you cautioned. "Don’t you dare say it."

He paused.

"Theo's going to fucking kill me."

"UGH!" you replied, moving to cover your face with your hands. "Why did you have to bring him up!?"

Mattheo pried one of your hands away as he peered at you and you frowned up at him.

"He's going to kill me either way" he said as he laughed, "at least let me make the most of it."

You pushed his chest playfully.

"I'm serious!" he said. "Do you know how long I've wanted to do that?"

You moved your other hand from your face as you looked at him.

"Fuck YN" he sighed, shaking his head.

And just the idea that Mattheo wanted you perhaps a fraction as badly as you'd wanted him made the thought of Theo's wrath fade into the background as you strained to press your lips to his. That will be a problem for tomorrow you thought as you lost yourself in him again.

Tomorrow came far too quickly for either of your liking.

You'd agreed that you needed to tell Theo; you didn't keep anything from him and Mattheo didn't either, so when Theo plopped into his seat beside you at breakfast Mattheo caught your eye nervously across the table.

"Stellina" Theo said by way of greeting, as he reached for his food.

"Ciao orsacchiotto" Big bear you said, falling into your childhood nicknames for each other.

But regardless of how many times Mattheo nodded encouragingly towards Theo and tangled his foot with yours under the table you simply couldn't find the words to tell him what you'd done.

"Hey, I made out...and then some… with Mattheo for over an hour last night three feet from your bed." "Hey, I want to date your best friend who you've blindly trusted with me for seven years." "Hey, let me give you a mental image you can never unsee."

Yeah...

There was no good way to say it.

And before long, breakfast was over and you and Mattheo were trailing after Theo on the way to class.

"Why didn't you say anything?" he whispered nervously.

"I wanted to, I'm just ... scared."

"YOU'RE scared?!" he hissed.

"You're his best friend, you tell him!"

"You're his sister!"

"What's up with you two?" Theo asked as he turned to look at you.

You looked up at Theo and then back to Mattheo and cleared your throat.

"Teddy... Orsacchiotto" you said sweetly, smiling at him as his eyes narrowed, knowing far too well when you were trying to butter him up.

"I-I've been sleeping with Mattheo—"

And the moment the words left your mouth, you knew they were the wrong ones.

"—Wait! I mean!—"

"—WHAT?!" His eyes flashed to Mattheo. "What the fuck is the matter with you!" he asked, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and slamming him into the wall.

"No! Teddy! That's not what I—"

Crack.

Blood splattered as his fist connected with Mattheo's nose and you continued to shout, grabbing for Theo as Mattheo howled in pain, grabbing his nose.

"Teddy, stop!!!—"

"—She's my fucking sister!!—"

"—I didn't!! That's not!!—"

Theo tackled him to the ground.

Merda you thought. Shit.

You sat outside the infirmary between the two of them, one holding an icepack to his nose, the other to his knuckles, refusing to look at each other as you sighed and rubbed your temple.

"There wasn't any other phrase you could have used?" Mattheo asked, his voice muffled behind the bloodied ice pack as he looked down at you. He looked awful but he was smirking.

"I'm sorry, I just—"

He reached for your hand and winked at you, clearly teasing you as he wound his fingers in yours.

"I'm sitting right here" Theo mumbled in response to the gesture.

You moved to pull your hand away but Mattheo held onto it.

A few people walked by and you all quieted for a moment.

"My fucking sister, dude. Really?" Theo sighed as he carded his hand through his hair, still refusing to make eye contact with either of you.

Two minutes passed. Three.

"Look. If you hurt her—" he threatened.

And your face broke into a smile, giddy, knowing that that warning was the closest thing to a blessing either of you could hope for.

"—I would never" Mattheo said quickly, matter-of-factly, in a way you knew was true even before he'd said it as he pulled your hand to his lips and kissed it.

You glowed up at him, your cheeks pink with the anticipation of exactly what this would mean for the two of you before you turned and wrapped your arms around Theo's stiff shoulders.

taglist: @kenjikishimotoswifey @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @darlingshecried @girllblogging777 @foivetimesacharm @clar2aa @broadwaybaby123 @slytherinscreamqueen @loverliner @smut-anarchy @locknco @wybieivy @itznotsophia @cipheress-to-k-pop @aur0ral1ghts

[destinysbounty]

I think I wouldn't mind Zane's NPC-ification quite as much as I do, if it didn't feel like they were also retconning the fact that he was ever a person to begin with.

Like, sure, I totally understand. Dragons Rising has a huge ensemble cast, and the RGB trio + new ninja are the clear focus. And I don't mind that! Everyone who does get proper narrative attention is written so wonderfully and I adore what we have. But...sometimes it feels like they're just kinda divvying up everything that makes Zane who he is and giving it to everyone else, and never even briefly acknowledging Zane's ties to those traits.

Remember when Zane used to have prophetic dreams foretelling future events? Me neither. Hey Lloyd, how are your visions coming along?

Or, y'know how one of Zane's most integral plot lines, character details, and motifs is his struggles with memory and identity? Remember that time he got amnesia and was then both manipulated and magically corrupted into being a villain? Nah that never happened, anyway check out what Jay is up to now

Or, does anyone recall how Zane is a canonically really good cook with pies so delicious they made Jay cry on screen? No that's Arin's thing, actually

Heck, we even have our quota of ~Silly Robot Beep Boop Bop~ jokes fulfilled by Lobbo!

Don't get me wrong, I'm not hating on any of the other characters for having these traits. Nor am I arguing that Zane should have a singular monopoly on these types of storylines. But when they take traits that have for so long been primarily associated with Zane, like cooking and visions and amnesia, and share them with someone else without even briefly acknowledging Zane's prior involvement...idk. It just feels like they're trying to repackage all the things that make Zane interesting while still writing him out of the narrative. It feels like they're going "whaat? Zane, have personality outside of being a generic robot character?? That never happened!" Like they're just trying to have their nindroid and kill him too.

And I mean, to some extent I can understand their hesitation. It's the same reason the Mr. E/Echo reveal got scrapped in s8 - theres just way too much going on right now, and the narrative load required to explain somwthing this complicated during a reboot/sequel would just bog down an already very complicated story. Zane has a very convoluted backstory that, for new fans dropping in to the sequel series for the first time, may be difficult to explain. How do you recap Zane's history with amnesia in a neat an tidy way for the next gen story, when there's already so much going on?

Like i said, i get that. But they could at least make, like, brief blink-and-youll-miss-it allusions, yknow? Like how they played the Ice Emperor theme during Zane's existential crisis during drs1, or when Zane told Zanth not to follow dancing birds in drs3. Tasteful, subtle, doesn't require much insider knowledge and newer fans could easily interpret it as a noodle incident comment without losing out on their comprehension.

Maybe after Jay gets eliminated from the Tournament, Zane offers to go after him saying, "I've lost myself once or twice before. If anyone understands what he's going through, it's me." And if you want to preserve the plot unobstructed, maybe you can have it so that either Zane fails to get through to Jay or Jay is gone without a trace before he can get to him. Maybe there's a brief scene of Zane making a pie to try and cheer Sora up, but she can't eat it because it reminds her too much of Arin. Or maybe Lloyd has a panic attack over his visions and Zane is the one to offer him the advice about not fighting the vision and letting it come naturally.

Don't you see how easy that is? You would change literally nothing about the story at large, and you're not detracting from the main plotlines or character arcs that are quite validly dominating this series. But you're also throwing a bone to the people who actually like Zane. Like???? I'm not even asking for much here, man :/

Idk. Maybe I'm just bitter and need to touch grass, who's to say

[hvacfucker]

Miscellaneous Hector Headcanons! SFW!

A short list of me contextualizing Hector in the real world versus the object world. Please feel free to comment your thoughts! Also, I haven't explored anything beyond Hector's romance route, (yes, I'm talking about [ ] which I don't yet know the details of!!) so please keep things spoiler free if you'd like to comment!

🎭 Hector lived, breathed, slept Shakespeare as a child/teenager. Like ugh, he'd never seen such beauty in poetry before! Every lesser-known sonnet, every underrated play, Hector studied them all, agonizing over Shakespeare's wit and mastery of iambic pentameter, hoping to one day emulate even just the faintest shadow of his literary prowess. In fact, so enamored with the mystique of theater, Hector secretly longed for the stage.

🎭 It probably comes as no surprise those dreams were never realized.

🎭 God, it took him ages to recover from his Hamlet audition. (Or, did he ever?) The hours he spent practicing his lines, the paragraphs upon paragraphs of dense analysis searing his retinas at 3AM. To think it amounted to nothing? Hector still cringes at that particular chapter of his youth.

🎭 He can still see his taped mark from behind the cover of red velvet. Feel how his legs turned to lead, willing them to step up, but they wouldn't— couldn't move. Oh and the sounds of the drama directors shuffling through their clipboards, somehow taking the driest sips of water as they conferred their watches over the winding minutes? Don't remind him. (Sorry Hector)

🎭 Yeah, turns out stage fright and acting exist as such irreconcilable antipodes it's simply possible for them to find any common ground. Let alone cease their vying for control over Hector's autonomy so that he might dare to try again. Life lesson swiftly learned.

🎭 Although, he makes for an excellent stagehand! Working behind the scenes, that's much more Hector's speed anyway. He's content to spectate from the shadows, wistfully mouthing Juliet's lines as she laments her dear Romeo, Hector's arm maneuvering the industrial-grade fan so that her curls gently dance in the synthetic moonlight at just the right rhythm.

🎭 Outside drama club, crew work is thankless, but it's something Hector takes pride in. Without stagehands, there'd be no production to enjoy, after all! (To me, Hector makes so much sense as a theater kid lmfao)

🎭 Side note: I used to live in the heart of a city that had Shakespeare fests/ren faire parades/events. I feel like Hector would attend those?? Fair-goers would even wear those feathered, masquerade-style masks and get allll dressed up. So maybe he'd utilize such costumes to help with his shyness? I could see him taking advantage of the roleplay pretenses to get out of his shell and embrace a crowd of like-minded people!

🏰 Hector also gives me the vibe of someone who adores The Princess Bride. It's familiar, humorously fantastical, oozing romance with juust the right amount of cheesy, and unapologetically sincere. It's so... safe, and brings him unrivaled comfort when he finds himself yearning for a romance a fraction of the fairytale of which Buttercup and Westley have. (And yes, I feel like he'd love Phantom of the Opera and V for Vendetta for obvious, masked romance related reasons)

💝 Speaking of romance, ohmigod, he's so corny when it comes to Valentine's day. The chocolates, the roses, the oversized, overpriced pink-furred teddy bear. Hector bought them all; tolerated the knowing looks as he waited in line at the grocery store, afterwards writing the most heartfelt card his lover has ever read. (Hector's the type to make someone cry with how personal his letters are.)

💝 If his partner were to reciprocate in kind? Well, he could cry too — wait, he is crying! This is the extravagant display he's longed for: the one where someone isn't afraid to show-off how deeply they're in love with him; how proudly they're committed; to the point they're even willing to endure a bit of social heckling, just as he did. Of course Hector's moved to tears. He just loves them so much! To think his lover could match his affections, he's elated and made humble all at once.

[alexanderlightweight]

Hi!!!! I'm absolutely obsessed with your vampire malec and arranged marriage malec, and I'd love to read more if you ever feel up for it! sfw/nsfw hope you're having a good Wednesday<3

yeah i got way into writing this scene because it's the morning after they marry and this is where the drama starts to build. so i hope you enjoy. i say drama, i mean. like besides the heavy themes it's more like... mutual misunderstandings? but not in bad ways. i have no fucking clue how to describe this fic ever. it's like... both the misunderstandings and the truth lead to the same place so it's fine? and like the angst is... 'oh no i adore him and i can't trust him. i have to keep him so close that when he betrays me i can just cauterize the wound and keep him' and 'i'm going to prove how much i love him if i have to destroy the clave and also if i make him sad i will die' kind of angst.

<3 lumine

the bitter trap of truth

Magnus wakes with a nephilim in his arms.

It shouldn’t be a shock considering he married one less than twenty-four hours ago, but it’s still not something he expected.

The sex was supposed to be ritualistic.

In fact Magnus would have been fine just fucking on the floor — after all, hate fucking didn’t need a bed — or if things were civil enough he had a… well not a guest room perhaps. But a room prepared separately from his own for his nephilim spouse.

Except they did not fuck on the floor, or at least not yet.

And the sex they had wasn’t hate sex.

It was actually some of the sweetest, eagerest and most tender sex Magnus has ever had despite how enthusiastic and at times rough it got. And that’s not even considering how —without any effort on his part—  he had Alexander’s begging him constantly simply to keep touching him and kissing him and talking to him and well… Magnus has some thoughts to put in order.

Eventually.

Because currently, he’s not leaving Alexander here in his bed, alone.

Not because Alexander shouldn’t have access to his room unsupervised — monitoring magic has already been threaded through the entirety of Magnus’ lair — but because he doesn’t want to.  He wants to see Alexander wake.  He wants to see what those hazel eyes show during those first moments of rare unguarded emotions and the truths Alexander’s sleep-vulnerable body will tell him.

It’s obvious when his shadowhunter wakes up.

Alexander stiffens, he goes cold and hard in Magnus’ arms and just as Magnus is about to give up and let go and realize that last night was probably just Alexander being relieved at not having sex with a woman, his shadowhunter relaxes. 

It’s because he sees Magnus’ hand where it rests low on Alexander’s belly. With Magnus’ ringed fingers digging into the skin with a possessive intensity.

Long, calloused fingers cover Magnus’ own as Alexander gives a little sigh of content relief and then, pets his fingers over Magnus’.  He wriggles back too, gently and stealthily but he’s trying to get more skin-to-skin contact and the moment Magnus just gives in and pulls Alexander completely flush against him, his boy sighs with pleasure.

“You slept deeply.” Is the only thing Magnus can think to say, because aren’t nephilim supposed to be alert and wary and often go days without sleeping in enemy and hostile territory?

“You wore me out.” Alexander doesn’t sound upset, if anything he sounds gleefully pleased. “And I can’t imagine having trouble sleeping when it’s in your arms.”

Magnus really needs to get a handle on this.

Soon.

Because he’s about five more sentences from Alexander and marrying them the warlock way as well. Which would be incredibly irrational and foolish and irresponsible yet Magnus doesn’t want to let this go.

Whatever Alexander is planning. 

Whatever is going through his intelligent, beautiful mind, Magnus is going to figure it out. Whatever threats are the deadly thorns hidden by Alexander’s beauty, Magnus will neutralize them and he’ll keep Alexander.

Because he doubts very much that he can give this up now that he’s had this and it can’t all be faked.

Nephilim are hardly good actors and Alexander — despite his stoicism — is fairly easy to read.  Which makes it all the more confusing and harder to truly trust him.  However what Magnus can trust in is that Alexander is attracted to him.

That was clearly not something the Clave had planned and well, Magnus will use it to his advantage.

However he needs to and can.

—

Alec really doesn’t want to wake up.

He’s never felt this rested or this content and small moments of joy almost always mean something terrible is about to occur.  It’s about at that moment he registers another person in bed with him and his mind blanks in a blind panic.

It’s bad enough that he had to get married and drug himself into sleeping with a woman but to sleep peacefully and restfully next to her as well? Alec is about to bite off his own tongue because clearly, the aphrodisiac was more powerful than he thought and he is not dealing with this, until he takes one final inhale.

The scent of sandalwood and sex and sweat confuse him, because those scents comfort him even if they’re only newly familiar.  Like the memory of a dream and then fingers flex on his belly and he looks down with a sigh of desperate relief.

Magnus.

Some part of Alec’s sleep-muddled mind had thought he’d been a dream.

— how else could someone so amazing be possible? —

Magnus is the culmination of the desperate tangle of Alec’s deepest desires and hopes and it’s with euphoria that Alec tries to soak up as much of Magnus’ skin against. Sharing in the warmth of his husband — Alec is married and to a man — and he delights in it.

Magnus’ fingers twitch under his own, digging deeper into his skin as Magnus pulls him back, flush against him and so close that he can feel every exhale and inhale Magnus makes.

Magnus may be teasing him — Alec isn’t stupid, he can tell Magnus is confused and wary.

Except Alec is serious.

He doesn’t know how to get Magnus to trust him either.

There is no reason whatsoever for Magnus to trust him and it seems like the best way for Alec to prove his sincerity  — and just who he considers to be his priority — is simplyto be the best husband he possibly can for Magnus.

Alec might need a little while to get used to the sex. However that’s not a complaint. He just has a feeling it’s going to take some repetition before just being held by Magnus is no longer so overwhelming that he can’t think during it.

Eventually, he’d like to actually be able to form coherent thoughts while Magnus touches him. Instead of the puddle of pleasure that he’d been turned into.  Alec’s pretty sure his legs are still trembling when he shifts and somehow, that just makes him grin into a pillow that smells like Magnus.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Magnus asks, fingers petting over Alec’s skin and Alec is… Alec is frankly shocked that Magnus thinks Alec can think about food when Magnus is touching him.  Despite the fact that his mind is very aware of his priorities, his body betrays him as his stomach growls and Alec lets out a sigh and turns without thinking.

Magnus is beautiful in the afternoon sun and his eyes glow gold but as awestruck as Alec is, it’s all he can do to mutter a soft ‘wow’ before burrowing his face into Magnus’ chest.

It’s warm and comforting and he can hear his husband’s heartbeat and yes, fine.  Alec is hungry but he’s hungrier for this. It doesn’t have to be sex, just the warmth of Magnus’ body against his own and the relief of being married to a man seeping into his bones.

“Alexander?” Magnus asks a few moments later and Alec means to answer, he really does but he just nods his head against Magnus’ chest and finds that he very much likes the feeling and continues to do it, nuzzling Magnus until fingers are tangling in his hair and he’s being pulled back. “Don’t give me that look.” Magnus tells him, voice firm but not angry.  If anything Magnus seems bemused and his eyes are darker, the pupils larger than a moment ago.

—

Magnus really isn’t sure what Alexander is anymore.

He’s clearly not just a nephilim.

Magnus would assume he’s some highly trained honey-pot except, he’s quite frankly terrible at the pot part.  Oh, he’s sweet as can be and Magnus is going to savor him, but he also clearly has no idea what he’s doing and is more than happy to let Magnus not just take the lead, but direct everything.  If anything, he seems delighted by just being told what to do.  Except now, when he’s pouting at Magnus as if wriggling all up against Magnus wasn’t a clear attempt to delay both a meal and conversation.

Except when Alexander pouts at him, it’s hard to imagine that Alexander has any plan.  He doesn’t need one. His face is devastating enough that Magnus is sure wars would have been fought in his honor once upon a time.

“Food, darling.”

The pet name is an accident and Magnus has a feeling he’ll be making quite a few of those with Alexander but it earns him a pleased smile and the flutter of sleepy eyelashes when Magnus tugs on Alexander’s hair in reprimand.

Alexander doesn’t seem to be particularity picky.  Magnus had planned to leave his spouse to fend for themselves except… none of this is going as he’d expected and he wants Alexander close.  Not only for surveillance but well, he is a delectable view so Magnus isn’t complaining.

It’s when Magnus has finished summoning a decent spread of food that Alexander looks around the table and offers a polite thanks but there is little gusto in his appetite. If anything, he seems a little perturbed and while Magnus had made sure to summon some of the heartiest and heavily laden with meat dishes that he could think of, Alexander still seems dismayed.

Magnus would assume this is where the complaints begin — because every shadowhunter spouse has thrown a fit about their dietary needs being met — except Alexander’s not actually saying anything.  In fact he compliments almost everything he tries and even when it looks like he hates it, he still finishes it.  To the point where Magnus is beginning to feel like he’s torturing his boy rather than just, having a meal.

“Alexander, is there something else you’d enjoy eating? These are most of the dishes requested by nephilim spouses. I did do my research, but I realize that personal preference can vary.”

Magnus isn’t sure if he’s trying to comfort Alexander or remind him of who is in control.  At his question Alexander’s expression twists and then he pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

“This kind of meat and nutrient dense diet is the same kind of diet a nephilim keeps to when they’re in enemy territory or at war, Magnus. It’s to help ensure all nutrients are met but with as little comfort or excess as possible. It’s to ensure we stay properly fit and in shape and without letting our guard down.”

Magnus isn’t surprised by the explanation.  If anything, it’s makes sense in the most ridiculous of ways.

“I however, would like waffles. The ones with chocolate and fruit, please.”

Magnus blinks. 

“That doesn’t sound like fare for war.”

“I’m married, Magnus." Alexander gently taps his bare knuckles against Magnus as if Magnus needs a reminder. "I’m pretty much retired from the Clave. My position as your spouse take precedent over my rank and by my vows, I answer to you. I'm on my honeymoon at this point. As considerate as it was of you to prepare what you thought I needed. Why would I eat my weight in boar when I could eat twice my weight in strawberries and waffles?”

Well… despite the fact that it’s still confusing and definitely not an argument any other nephilim has made, it does make a strange sort of sense.  Especially because the moment Magnus snaps away the food and replaces it with food from one of his favorite Belgian cafes, Alexander’s entire face lights up.

It’s like watching a chum being set out for sharks.

Alexander devours half a bowl of berries before he seems to remember to breathe and then, despite clearly wanting to eat the rest he offers them with a pout — a pout! — to Magnus.

Magnus takes one just to see how Alexander’s mournful expression turns into a different kind of hunger as he watches Magnus eat the berry and then, Magnus takes another and this time offers it to Alexander directly.

There’s no hesitation.

There’s no moment where Magnus has to wonder ‘why am I doing this? What the fuck am I thinking?’ because before his hand finishes reaching out, Alexander mouth is meeting him. His lips are soft around Magnus’ fingers and his teeth are gentle as they tease Magnus’ skin.

Magnus is left flushed and wondering how his thoughtless action backfired so spectacularly, only to find Alexander looking hopefully at him.

Magnus isn’t about to turn Alexander down. 

He’s just confused, because Alexander is the byproduct of two Circle members. He's only here because of his parents own sins and he has no reason to play nice despite it being a relief that he is. However not long ago, Magnus was at a political dinner when every piece of tableware a downworlder touched was destroyed after their use.  The assumption that the taint of them could not simply be washed away a slap to the face during an already tender time.

Magnus realizes that he’d half expected his hand to be slapped away but Alexander is waiting there, eager and excited and he’s waiting for Magnus to continue to feed him.

So Magnus does, reveling in the fact that Alexander seems to care for nothing more than each bite of sweet berry and the brief taste of Magnus’ skin against his tongue.

“Do you plan to only eat fruit?” Magnus manages to ask, offering another berry because well, what a way to go?

“Honeymoon.” Alexander tells him firmly, lips stained from juice and he’s quite tame like this.

All sleep soft and hair tousled and he’s Magnus'.

Magnus isn’t sure how to handle it at all.

“I realize you don’t intend to restrict yourself to the same meals of the other nephilim, but surely you need to eat more than berries and chocolate?” The waffles Alexander had requested are barely touched and it’s with a gleeful suspicion that Magnus cuts a piece of his own, eats it and then offers the second bite to Alexander. Who eats it with a tired sigh of contentment, though his eyes still wander to the fruit.

But by Edom he is going to successfully keep Alexander if he has to dismantle the entire Clave to do it.

AN:

and we start to see some of the layered context here.

Alec woke up thinking Magnus was a dream and he was in his own personal nightmare and yes, he was about to bite through his tongue before he realized it was Magnus. like he was about to say 'screw the clave i can't deal with this' and then he was like 'oh.. oh. well thats fine, we're still screwing the clave. or well, messing with them. since i'm only screwing magnus'

-

magnus: this is a trap, i want to figure out the truth so i can make it real. he's mine. that's the rule. he's mine. i'll just spring and neutralize the trap but either way i'm keeping him.

alec: hi. i just met you. and this is crazy. i'm your husband, i love you maybe definitely.

magnus: ... he's been drugged. clearly. but also he's adorable and pretty and i'm both lucky and doomed.

-

alec: okay. i have to be polite... this is so awful. why is he feeding me wartime rations? like... what did i do? does he hate me? is this because i fell asleep during sex? does he think i need better stamina? because i think having more sex will lead to better stamina over this awful food

magnus: ... you don't like it?

alec: ... uh no. it's fine? it's great? i just you know, want comfort honeymoon i'm celebrating party food? since this is the happiest time i've ever spent in my life? the war rations are kinda killing the mood

magnus: i feed you a berry, haha you probably wont even let me what was i thinking-

alec: okay. so now you have to hand feed me. the rest of the meal. this is a couples thing. i distinctly remember reading about something like this.

(Alec is convinced magnus is being romantic. Magnus now thinks its a kink thing. Alec is just really intimacy starved and Magnus is his husband? what's wrong with being romantic and intimate with his husband?

also in my headcanon alec is autistic. all the verses. so you have to remember that even as a nephilim, he's a super unreliable narrator for even his own race because the way he interprets stuff might be completely different to the typical reality/knowledge. Alec thinks he's doing the best job flirting and wooing his husband. like, he's trying so hard.)

magnus mentally: is he a baby bird? how bird like are nephilim? i'm confused and concerned.

Magnus five seconds later: oh... oh it's a kink thing. oh he didn't know this about himself either. okay. this is delightful. im pleased. i'm so fucking pleased.

Alec: this is like, pure euphoria. i'm getting attention and care and he's so sweet to me even though he has no reason to be. i have to be the best husband for him. forget raziel, my mission is to be Magnus Bane's Husband.

Alec finding the 'spare guest room' at one point

magnus: this is... well it was. it's supposed to be... at one point it was. well it's your room, technically.

alec: ... oh. do you want me to start sleeping in here then?

magnus: ...

alec with a blank face: its a nice color? the bed looks comfy? ... oh it even has its own bathroom. (the implication for him is that he will no longer get to bathe and shower with magnus)

magnus: NO I DO NOT WANT YOU MOVING INTO THIS ROOM. I WANTED YOUR OPINION ON MAKING IT A WORKOUT ROOM.

alec: oh well, i'm fine just using the roof, Magnus.

Magnus: Alexander. you need a space. of your own.

Alec: *sad eyes*

Magnus: ITS FOR YOUR OWN GOOD!!! YOU DONT HAVE TO STAY IN IT JUST YOU NEED IT.

Alec: but then you might think i'm hiding things from you?

Magnus: ... alexander. darling. my very strange and still confusing husband whom i adore but also do not trust through no fault of your own... i'm giving up. *snaps fingers and dissolves the room into the magic of the lair*

-

Magnus seeing Alexander sneak over to his jewelry box only to watch him just try on rings.

but only on a specific finger.

Magnus realizing Alec is fantasizing about wearing one of Magnus' rings on his ring finger... his wedding finger.

Magnus: oh no. oh no. no, magnus. magnus be strong. be strong magnus.

3 hours later

Magnus: Alexander, this is just a little something i made in some spare time since i've last seen you... on a whim.

Alec staring at the little initials of MB on the ring with little catseye gems and just kind of, sighing. that dopey kind of grin he gets like when he first met magnus in canon? and just offering his hand, like excuse me. the finger is still empty? magnus this is mean if you're being slow on purpose.

Magnus putting the ring on and then finding himself sitting on the couch with Alexander on his lap admiring his ring as he forces Magnus to equally admire it and then very deliberately takes a picture,t transfers it to his tablet and sends a very long and detailed email about the symbolism of the ring and how much is means to him and that he hopes the clave appreciates his hard work and efforts in furthering relationship with the downworlders.

(Magnus nearly chokes on his drink twice before he just chugs it and waits to make another until alexander is done with the email).

Alec is like... half serious and half fucking with the Clave. he's not wholly honest about all of the symbolism in the ring. just the obvious ones. and he also adds in code (which magnus can also read)

tonight is going to be better than my wedding night

Magnus breaks two lamps with magic he laughs so hard, because 1) thats true and 2) the clave is going to be horrified by the entire thing.

no,. magnus still does not trust alec. because alec has to have some kind of an agenda but he's also... starting to let more of himself thaw. there is this huge push and pull because it's hard for magnus to trust (for good valid reason honestly magnus is being unreasonably generous with his trust and faith in alec) and alec gets that.

like yes, sometimes alec will sulk or be sad because it sucks that magnus doesn't trust him. but hes not going to get mad because if he were in magnus' position, he wouldn't trust himself either. and he likes that Magnus is competent and smart, as much as it sucks for him, it's also part of why he admires magnus and alec knows magnus cares for him. he can't tell how much, like he's very unsure of his place in magnus' life besides the fact that magnus likes to fuck him and talk to him and sometimes pamper him and protect him and also is pretty possessive of him and likes to take care of him.

(alec is a bit oblivious but to be fair, while he has hope for the future he is not going risk assuming magnus likes/loves him because alec knows trust is a part of that and that rn, it's still impossible for magnus to trust him)

-

Magnus to Cat: look i know you said that people need their own space for privacy and that if i want to be able to trust him or figure out what he's hiding i need to let him have the space to fail, but it's like he doesn't know the words exist

Cat: uh-huh

Magnus: he added my thumbprint to his phone and clave issues tablet

Cat: ... wait, what?

Magnus: he doesn't even try to hide doing things i shouldn't know he's capable of! he just does them and then waits for me to mention it and then what am i supposed to do? scold him?

Magnus: apparently all nephilim who marry out are supposed to send two correspondences. one in code and one normal. he TAUGHT ME THE CODE BECAUSE AND I QUOTE 'SECRETS ARENT HEALTHY IN MARRIAGES'

Cat: ... i can't even argue with that when your spouse is the literal enemy and i don't know why i'd want to. is this a new tactic?

Magnus: ... i'm not sure but i'll call you back later. alexander takes champagne and strawberry dates very seriously and he's currently handpicking them from the roof and he just finished.

Cat: how much surveillance magic do you have on him?

Magnus: what do you mean 'how much'? you think there are limits? oh no, he's going to think i'm ignoring him. he knows i'm watching him dammit. i cannot handle his sad eyes again. bye.

Cat to a silent phone: i think i need to call Ragnor

[mentalbreakdownsarenormal]

"The carefree shamelessness of a kid." That... entirely recontextualizes her relationship with Lancer in chapter 1, doesn't it.

(Long rant about the two under the cut)

I mean, consider what chapter 1 must have been like for her. The human freak she hates has just caught her eating school property, and if they report it it'd be the last straw that gets her expelled. Considering what she said to them in The_Newist_Girl post, they will probably do so immediately and remorselessly. It is only because of their mother and her kindness towards her that she doesn't cause a major incident on the spot. She begrudgingly agrees to just get some more chalk and head back to class.

(She also drops the line "If you haven't gotten it by now... Your choices don't matter" which uh. Speaking of internalization.)

Of course, it isn't that simple. The closet is both impossibly dark and impossibly big. And when the two of them go to leave, the door is slammed in her face and locked. The floor collapses under her and she falls through. The drop is impossibly far.

She wakes up in a new world that does not make sense. The first person (barring the freak) she sees starts shooting at the two of them. She finds an entire abandoned town, complete with a castle. And, perhaps the strangest thing of all, she meets a hooded figure who tells her about a prophecy. One she is a part of.

One that calls her a hero.

She doesn't believe it. When asked to accept her destiny as one of the Delta Warriors, she refuses. The hooded guy is knocked away by a kid on a bike. And he's the first person to finally give her a clear answer when she asks a question.

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'm... The Bad Guy!"

This is the first and only thing she has understood in the last few hours. He's a bad guy. He's getting in her way. Someone's getting beat up. After the fight, two facts make themselves clear. One, she needs to go east. Two, people are gonna try and stop her.

So she goes, alone, and makes herself a menace of the enemies. Beats them up, steals their stuff, and other sorts of things you would do in a normal RPG. That's what the enemies are for, after all. Why would she be nice to someone trying to kill her. Eventually, she's blocked by a door she can't open alone until the other nerds show up. She needs to follow them, but like hell she's actually gonna help them or change her behavior at all. There's no point. Kris and Ralsei are good and she's bad. They fell right into their roles, being all nice and stuff, but she's not like them. She can't think of anything good to say about someone trying to kill them like they can. She isn't delicate. She isn't skilled at anything. But she can smash things. And so smash things she shall. Just like she always has, and just like she always will. Don't know why anyone's expecting anything else.

She won't, she can't grow as a person like they can, not now not ever.

Susie's arc where she grows as a person begins after two rooms. It's the scene where Lancer mistakes Susie trying to intimidate him as advice on how to be scary and thanks her for it. His praise surprises her and having someone who appreciates her motivates her to become better. That's the basic reading anyway. But in hindsight...

Lancer is a child. A young child. Why? Lancer's age, for the most part, is irrelevant to his character. If you wanted him to parallel Susie, why not write him to be the same age as everyone else? How does the relationship between the two of them benefit from Susie needing to babysit the kid half the time they hang out?

She's his mentor. The one she never had herself. Lancer is bad at being scary. His evil laugh sounds like a baby Santa Claus. He has no idea what he's doing, he's just trying to be "scary and badass" like his dad. And it just so happens being scary is one of the few things Susie knows how to be "good" at. And with that in mind, Susie's words suddenly take on a whole new meaning.

Susie interrupts with a single word. "Stop." What Susie says next, about wannabe tough guys and bitten faces isn't her trying to scare him. It's her trying to crush him. The same way she was when she tried to play. You need to stop because you're bad, now here's someone who can do it better. But unlike back then, the person who told the kid to stop was the better person. The kid got the chance to see it be done properly and was told what exactly needed improvement.

And the next time they meet, Lancer acts far more intimidating. He's still not good, to be sure, but he did improve. He then immediately asks for feedback to try to improve more. He doesn't even have guys, he just wanted to practice.

And this shatters Susie's world view. This kid, this young, carefree kid who's just playing around improves. The kid who's the only person around she could understand or relate to, the kid who introduced himself as "the bad guy" *improved*. Whatever was wrong with this kid that made him a bad guy, that made him an outcast, didn't end up mattering. The support around him did.

In the very same scene Lancer shows improvement, he realizes your team doesn't have a name. To fix this, he asks everyone to drop a name in his bucket to be randomly selected. Kris doesn't and they "look like they don't care." But Susie does add a name. She might not put a lot of effort into it, but she plays along. Susie, who walked through puzzles, who disobeyed commands, who left the party behind, who repeatedly complains about you being slow, who refused help stop the very world from ending, put a name in the bucket.

And in every following scene the two are together, she encourages everything he does.

She expected to be able to play it because she was. She wasn't trying to be good: she liked the piano and she wanted to play it, so she did. Playing for the sake of playing with the carefree shamelessness of a kid.

But because someone thought she was "bad", they told her to stop. It's a role she's been assigned all her life. Without explanation, without justification, without fault, something as inherent to her as her voice, her claws, her skin.

So she internalized it. "Good" must be a role too, right? No one's ever cared enough to teach her about practice or training or perseverance. "Good" is something Susie would simply never get to be.

[theriverspath]

Well, it's been 0 days since David Tennant made me ugly cry.

My birthday is coming up, and I've treated myself to a month of Marquee TV as a little gift. I was particularly looking forward to David's Richard II. I've never seen a production of it, nor read it. So, I was going in fairly blind. But, I'd seen clips of The Kiss on youtube, and even an interview or two about it. So I thought I was ready for the level of heartache it would evoke.

I was wrong.

Y'all. That scene within the greater context of the story ripped my queer little heart right out of my chest. First of all, David's delivery of

I live with bread like you, feel want, Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus, How can you say to me, I am a king?

in a previous scene floored me. Here is a individual struggling with the isolation and loneliness that comes with power. They have the natural human need to be seen, to have honest emotional connections, to have a safe space in which to be vulnerable. But, they are at the top of a social structure that does not reward vulnerability with safety. In order to be king, they have had to sacrifice a measure of their humanity.

It's only when Richard comes to accept that the end of his reign will also mean the end of his life, that he affords himself the freedom to reach out to someone he obviously cares deeply for. I mean, he's asking the man if he can lay by his side in death. There's no mention of wanting to be with his wife for all of eternity. It's Aumerle that he trusts to witness his anger and fear about his impending death, and it's Aumerle that he turns to for comfort.

And, The Kiss is lovely. It really is. The longing on Richard's face, the hesitation as he decides whether or not he's really going to go through with it, the tenderness of it all. It's beautiful.

It was what Richard did after The Kiss that opened up the ugly cry flood gates for me, though. It's when he places the crown on Aumerle's head. It's played for a little laugh, to break the tension of The Kiss. And again, I'd seen it done on youtube, but it hadn't made sense to me. It had seemed like an odd gesture, and I didn't understand the motivation behind it. This time, the meaning of it came crashing down on me.

In this play, the crown is the focus of everyone's love, devotion, and desire. The one who wears it is the most powerful, the most precious person in the land. And for one brief moment, Richard crowns Aumerle. Richard cannot say aloud that Aumerle is the king of his heart. But, that almost playful exchange says it for him.

And then Richard begins to fold all of that back inside of himself. The crown returns on his own head. His face starts to set into the stony mask of the divinely appointed ruler. But before it's done, there's The Look. It's all there: pining, hope, confession, regret, grief. A wistful sigh and brief brush of fingers against Aumerle's face and he walks away, not human but king once more. It broke me.

If this isn't an analogy for the closeted experience, then I don't know what is. Historically, if someone wanted financial and social stability, then they had better act straight. Their true feelings were a real danger to themselves and to those they loved.* Add the fact that David has said in an interview that they were going for a "slightly androgynous quality" just piles a whole 'nother layer of gender stuff on top of the sexuality stuff. Like, I could write a paper on this.

*I wrote that in the past tense, but it is still true for the majority of the people on the planet.

I know I'm a million years late to this play, and there's probably already a ton of analysis from the queer perspective floating around out there. But, I just had to get all these feelings out somewhere. Thanks for reading.

[redd-blushing-roses]

Lies About You (It's Fear Pt. 2)

word count: 5.7k

pairing: (winter soldier)Bucky Barnes x Reader

summary: as your plan to take down HYDRA begins to play out, the consequences of your insubordination begins to weigh on you. The Winter Soldier's relationship to you is twisted and strange, but now more than ever you have to work to free him.

warnings: violence, abuse, Rumlow and Pierce being evil as always, a bit of angst. there isn't too much of Bucky in this one (just as a heads up. But stay tuned for the next part! It's pretty much all Winter Soldier centric)

notes: you guysss. it's finally finished! this covers part of the first half of the 'winter soldier', although the blocking of some scenes are different to accommodate adding another person into the mix (and also, I don't like copying a movie beat for beat). I have another part coming out tomorrow and then I will be writing some more. I'm aiming for four parts in total, but maybe five for better pacing (no promises ;))

the first part is linked here if you'd like to read it (It's Fear Pt.1)

enjoy reading :)

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

It’s cold beneath your bullet proof vest, the dark wind of the open sea biting your cheeks and blowing through your hair. You hold onto the ledge above you, leaning out of the large SHIELD chopper as it inches toward the ship bobbing in the waters below.

You catch a glimpse of red beside you, Natasha’s face coming into your peripheral.

“Nice night for a swim, huh?” Her voice playful, nudging you with her shoulder. “Think if you miss the boat our Captain here will save you?” You smile.

“I don’t know, maybe I should find out.”

You both turn to look behind you at Steve, his face serious as he tightens his gloves. 

“She’s not one to miss her shot Natasha.” Natasha turns and folds her arms, smirking.

“Unlike you. How many girls have you missed the chance to ask out?” Steve rolls his eyes, though you can see he’s enjoying her jest despite his protest.

“It’s not that simple.”

“Come on, any girl you ask out would be at your whims. You’re Captain America!” Natasha gestures at him. 

You nod in agreement, carefully moving from the open door to the weapons rack, fingers sliding over each gun until they land on a small pistol. That feels right. You slide it into your thigh holster.

“Maybe that’s the problem.”

“What, too scared? Shy?” Steve moves past Natasha as the STRIKE team assembles in a huddle. 

“Too busy.”

Natasha rolls her eyes and stands on the other side of the huddle, raising her eyebrows at you as Steve takes his place beside you, arms crossed.

“Is she always like this?” He whispers. 

“Usually. But if you ask me, she’s just deflecting. She’d rather push you away than ask you out herself.” 

Steve makes a face, opening his mouth to protest when he’s cut off, Rumlow entering the huddle by Natasha.

Your hands clench besides you and you have to keep your face neutral. It was easier to be in the same room with him knowing you weren’t alone. Steve and Natasha were always a comforting presence. 

But you couldn’t help but feel like a sheep in a wolf’s den. Rumlow was always watching you, waiting for you to make a wrong move. 

In fact, he had made sure to pull you aside in SHIELD’s hanger, whispering in your ear threats of what would happen should you compromise this mission. 

“The only thing left for you to do is pray your Winter Soldier has any ounce of pity on you.” 

An impossible feat considering he didn’t remember you. Pierce had made sure to keep you both separated after the last mission, keeping Rumlow watching you like a hawk. 

Pierce had made up some excuse about how the Soldier was needed elsewhere and your “project” with Steve Rogers needed to be a priority. But you suspected he was growing suspicious of you.

You had begun to follow Steve around like a lost puppy, taking him to the Smithsonian, the Monuments and various coffee shops he all said were overly loud and served too sweet coffee. 

Pierce had at first presumed you were following his orders, finally dedicating yourself to HYDRA. But then you had visited the Winter Soldier without permission.

You hadn’t done anything, hadn’t said anything to the Soldier. You just wanted him to see you. To recognize you. To make sure they hadn’t left him to rot in the cell.

And you also wanted to see if it was true.

If the Winter Soldier wasn’t just a nameless face to you anymore. 

If he really was the ghost you thought he was. 

James Buchanan Barnes. 

Captain America’s best friend, thought long dead. 

When you had taken Steve to the Smithsonian, it had been your first time visiting his exhibit. Steve hadn’t even known about it. 

“Fury didn’t tell you about this?”

“Fury doesn’t tell me a lot of things.”

You had laughed watching Steve try to avoid the gazes of the crowd, pulling his hat lower over his face as you moved from display to display, his face and name plastered on posters and placards.

And then the smile on your face had fallen, the large sip of coffee practically choking you as you stared into the eyes of the Winter Soldier.

Only they weren’t the same eyes. The man on the display had more life in him than you had ever seen in the Soldier. As you had stared at the display of James Barnes, you realized this changed everything. 

There was a man behind the killing machine. Someone real, tangible. Caged. Trapped.

You just needed the right key.

And it was all the more reason you doubled down on your mission to befriend Cap-

Rumlow’s voice jogs you out of your thoughts. 

“Alright gentlemen. Ladies”, he nods at Natasha and you. You look away. “We go fast, we go hard. In and out. Nothing we haven’t done before; a simple hostage extraction mission.”

He goes over the plan. Steve would touch base first, followed by the STRIKE Team, Natasha and you after he gave the all clear. 

As they took care of the hostages, it was supposed to be your job to access the upper level of the ship, taking out any other pirates who may have straggled from their posts. 

At least that was what Rumlow had told the group. 

You weren’t looking forward to having to face the Pirates. 

As Rumlow finishes up, Steve leans over to you.

“You don’t have to be nervous,” he whispers.

“What?” you whisper back. His finger taps your hand, balled into a fist at your side. 

“I know you don’t particularly like fighting.”

“Oh.” You unclench your fists, bringing your hands up to your elbows, crossing your arm.

“Thanks but I think I’ll be okay.”

“Well, I’ll be just an earpiece away. Rumlow too.” You nod, eyes distant as he says the man’s name. You’d rather get yourself killed than ask Rumlow for help. 

You look up and see Rumlow watching the two of you, as he concludes, a look of satisfaction on his face.

“Thanks Steve.” 

He smiles and settles his helmet on his head. As the huddle disperses Natasha moves towards you, holding back a frown.

“What’s that about?”

“Nothing. Why, you jealous?”

“No.” She looks away, pulling out her gun and checking the cartridge. 

“Liar.” 

Natasha just rolls her eyes and grabs a parachute, sticking her tongue out at you as she moves over to Steve. 

You shake your head, sliding on your own parachute pack, trying to pretend like your hands weren’t fumbling with the clips. You can feel Rumlow breathing down your back.

Rumlow fiddles with his own parachute, closing in on you until he’s standing right next to you.

“You know your job?” He says it in a low voice, barely above a whisper.

You try to ignore how his voice raises the hairs on your arms. You nod.

“Clear the top level, wait for your signal and head down to delete the information for Pierce.” 

He nods and leans in closer to you, his breath hot against your ear.

“Be a good girl now. No funny business.” You look him in the eye, raising your brows with emphasis. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

As you move to look away, Rumlow grabs your face, pulling it back to look at him. The move is subtle enough to look like he’s encouraging you, but painful enough to remind you that you were on HYDRA’s time right now. 

“I mean it. Don’t think Pierce won’t wipe him again and send him after you.” Your eyes widen. Wipe him again…

They didn’t just wipe him every few days; the process was too strenuous on both his body and on the machine. If they had wiped him again,

“He remembered-”

“Don’t let it get to your head Myshka.” He squeezes his fingers and lets you go, leaving your teeth burning from the pressure, your cheeks aching. 

The Winter Soldier had remembered. You didn’t have the time to think about what that meant. 

Natasha was already coming by your side, her eyes laced with concern.

“What was that about?”

“Nothing,” you look away, watching as Steve jumps out of the chopper. “Just getting the boss’s orders.” 

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

The moment your feet land on the ship, quiet and quick, you rip off your parachute and pad up the stairs. You nod to Natasha as she runs in the opposite direction, down into the long corridor of the ship’s interior. 

The pirates, the ones who currently had multiple SHIELD (HYDRA) members hostage, were scattered at the top deck of the ship.

To be honest, you weren’t sure Fury would believe you- well he didn’t know it was you.

A week ago you’d sent him an email, anonymous and untraceable, with implications that Project Insight wasn’t all he presumed it to be.

It had been a long shot, but knowing the distrustful nature of the SHIELD Director, he was the only one you could rely on to dig into it. You had expected him to send Natasha after the info, maybe Cap as well.

Why he staged a pirate coup and hostage situation to get the information?

You could only guess. The man had a thing for theatrics.

Which was fine. It kept the STRIKE team busy. 

You crouch, peering over the top of the stairs at the pirates gathered on the deck. There were two right above you, one large and burly, covered in tattoos. The other was lean and tall, a scar running across the top of his bald head. 

They both cradled machine guns and you could see multiple knives strapped across their chests. They talked quietly in French and a third man came into view from afar, gesturing to the two. 

Three total. Maybe five; you could hear voices from across the deck, behind the pipes and captain’s house, which were blocking your view. 

Fighting wasn’t your strong suit, although Natasha once said you packed a powerful punch. 

“You know, if you really put your mind to it, you’d be able to kill someone with a swift kick to the jaw.”

You had held your tongue when she told you that.

You’ve seen enough killing to last a lifetime. People you’ve helped track down, target’s you’ve accompanied the Winter Soldier on. You wouldn’t want to make your own contributions to that long list. 

All that death you’d seen. All the fighting. All the lies.

All for the glory of reshaping the future. A future where HYDRA thrives.

And they would if you didn’t do something.

You reach for the pocket at the back of your belt, gently removing three tranquilizer disks- a Stark invention; small, round disks the size of a checker piece. They were able to latch onto the skin with a suction grip and upon pressing a button, injected enough drugs into the person’s system to knock out a black bear. 

They were discreet. Useful. 

More covert than using a gun. Although the pistol strapped to your thigh remains slightly pulled out, the safety already off.

The three men are now congregated further in on the deck, and you sneak up onto the top of the stairs, skirting around a pipe and taking care to remain in the shadows. 

The closest man, the one with the tattoos is right in front of you. You throw a disk at the back of his exposed arm, the disk latching on. Even as the Pirate’s hand swipes at it, as if he’s swatting away a bug, it doesn't budge.

You hear him grumbling. The third pirate, with an earring dangling from his left side, dreads falling into his face, laughs and takes out a knife, flipping it. 

You creep closer to the second pirate, throwing another disk with perfect aim, this one landing on the top of his bald head. 

He turns around with annoyance, scratching his head. His eyes flit from the stairs to the pipe you’re crouched behind, searching the shadows and darkness.

Your earpiece crackles, Steve’s voice echoing your name too loud for your liking. 

“Is the top deck clear?” You don’t answer, too focused on not making a sound, hiding behind the pipe.

The pirate stares for a moment too long, and you turn around too soon, his eyes locking with yours as you peek from behind the pipe. 

“Hey-”

You leap, shoving your body into his legs, knocking him down. With quick movement, you throw the last dart at the third pirate, the disk latching onto his head with a pop.

 You roll off the lean man as the other pirate throws his knife at you, the blade lodging itself into the deck. His fingers try to rip off the disk from his forehead, but it’s no use. Stark had designed the suction grip after octopus’ suckers; the disk wasn’t going anywhere.

You're on your knee, taking out the dart’s activator, finger moving to press the button to inject the pirates when the burly one pulls you up by the vest, throwing you across the deck.

You yelp, back cracking as you hit the pipe with force.

“Ow,” you groan. 

The activator has been thrown from your hands, and you see it lying off to the side. The three pirates are now inching towards you and you scramble despite the pain, diving for the activator as the lean pirate closes in. 

You dodge him and grab the activator, finger quickly pressing the button. Each disk lights up red, the pirates all falling with a loud thud, the drugs pulling them into a deep sleep.

You pant, slipping the activator in your pocket as you hear shouting.

“What’s going on,” two more pirates move in from the other side of the deck. You jump over one of the pirates you’ve sedated, their bodies splayed out on the deck. Now it was just the last two.

One of the new pirates swings and you dodge, crouching down and punching his knee. You roll away as he grunts in pain, attempting to grab you.

Your legs push out to kick him down when his friend grabs your pant leg, lifting you upside down. 

You grunt in pain, sweating as the blood rushes to your head. 

Your comm crackles, a voice saying your name again, but you miss who’s speaking.

The pirate’s fist makes contact with your gut, sharp pain blossoming up your side and across your ribs as he punches you twice more. You start swinging your body, using all your energy and momentum to throw yourself upright, leg wrapping around his neck.  

A move the Winter Soldier had shown you. 

You try to ignore the pain of your leg, twisted uncomfortably by your new position. As you fumble for another disk, the other guard grabs your arm, leaving you trapped. 

You pant, trying to free your wrist when you hear the soft sound of a sniper gun, two bullets whizzing past you. You're thrown off the Pirate as his head is blown back, the other falling to the ground in succession. 

You look up to see Rumlow, his gun lowering at the top of the stairs. He pushes his earpiece, calling out the top deck as clear.

“You didn’t call for help,” he cocks his head. You glare. 

“Well, your track record in protecting me isn’t great.” He moves closer, holding out his hand to help you up. You swat it away, pushing yourself up with a groan, hand supporting your side. Rumlow just shakes his head.

“I don’t care if you get hurt. Hell, you can break as many ribs as you’d like,” He presses into your side, fingers digging into your vest. You hiss and move away. But Rumlow moves closer, eyes like daggers as he stares at you. “I just care if you’re dead. Can’t have Pierce’s favorite toy die on my watch.” You shake your head. 

“I hate you.”

“You can hate me later,” he presses a flash drive into your hand. “You have a job to do first.”

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

Pierce is furious. You can tell from the moment you exit the elevator into the basement; Rumlow follows you out, his boots loud against the floor. You hadn’t expected him to pin it on you so quickly. It had barely been two days since the mission.

Pierce stands in the hall, his arms crossed, brows furrowed. 

“You want to tell me why Fury is questioning Project Insight?”

You stop just in front of him, fingers pulling at a thread on the sleeve of your sweater. You weren’t even given time to change; Rumlow had knocked at your apartment door in the early hours of the morning and grabbed your arm, hauling you into a car. 

You stare blankly at Pierce’s chest- not his face, never his face. 

“Why would I know that information Mr. Pierce? Fury isn’t my boss-” “No. I am.” He leans down, his eyes meeting yours. You mentally curse. He really was pissed. “And it seems you can’t be bothered to follow my orders.” 

Rumlow shifts besides you, and from the corner of your eye you can see him biting his cheek. He must have gotten chewed out too. 

“Sir, how was she to know Romanoff had been sent to collect the information? If we had any idea, we would have moved her to the second stage of the plan faster. Forgo the theatric cover.”

Your eyes dart to the floor. Rumlow was only covering for you because he wanted to save himself from repercussions. 

Although he was higher up on the food chain than you, you had seen Rumlow get his fair share of punishment. He had the scars on his neck to prove even he wasn't free from HYDRA's hell.

“I didn’t know what Natasha was going to do sir.” And it’s the truth. Sitting in the hull of the ship, setting the computer data to self destruct, you had hoped Natasha would come in time to download the information before it was lost to the abyss of the internet. 

And when she saw you leaving the computer room, her face darkening with question, you had shaken your head, telling her it would have to wait. 

She had to trust you. 

Hard to do for a spy with trust issues. 

And because your statement was the truth, half of it at least, Pierce seemed to believe you. They always did. You found gathering information wasn’t really about hiding and trying to catch someone giving things away. It was all about trust.

“Alright. I’ll tell you what’s going to happen now. You’re going to stay away from Romanoff. You’re going to stay away from Fury. Don’t talk, don’t engage. Focus on Steve Rogers and making sure he doesn’t get word of any of this.” 

You flex your hand, eyes shifting worriedly. 

“What?” Pierce glares at you. 

“Well, I think he already suspects something.” 

Pierce sighs, running a hand down his face. 

“Fine. Keep him distracted and away from Fury.” A man in a lab coat comes up from a room down the hall and whispers in Pierce’s ear. Pierce nods and pats the man on the shoulder, whispering back. 

“Hail Hydra.” “Hail Hydra.” 

They part ways, and Pierce turns back to you and Rumlow. 

“How do the two of you feel about a little show before you go?” He smiles in an eerie manner; white, perfect teeth stretch wide, but his eyes remain dull and dark. 

You look at Rumlow who looks just as confused as you are. But he doesn’t say anything. He just follows Pierce as the man makes his way up the hall, waving his hand for you to follow. Rumlow wears a look that indicates he doesn’t want you making any more trouble for him.

You step into the room and feel a wave of dread. Doctors are milling about the floor, a large machine on the wall, and a chair beside the blinking machine. Pierce is standing one side of the room and gestures for both you and Rumlow to join him.

“Care to explain what we’re doing today, Doctor Petrov?”

A tall, skinny man looks up from his clipboard, adjusting his glasses. 

“Of course. We’re conducting tests to see how the new mind wiping program affects the brain.” Your stomach drops, your eyes growing wide as multiple guards file into the room, the Winter Soldier marched alongside them.

The Soldier looks at you, his eyes on your face a moment longer than they should be, before he turns, tensing as he sees the machine. He stops and the guards have to push him forward, forcing him into the chair. 

“I thought you said you couldn’t wipe him successively?” you question Pierce. 

He smiles at you, arms crossed with ugly satisfaction. 

“We’re testing a little theory I have today. One you’ll find very interesting, I’m sure.” 

Rumlow scratches his cheek as he looks at the Winter Soldier.  He leans down to whisper to you as the doctors fuss over the Soldier, checking his vitals and prepping him for the machine. 

“You would think he wouldn't have anything left in that brain after being melted so many times. And yet did you notice how he looked at you?”

You glare at Rumlow.

“That’s because unlike you, he’s forced to be a weapon for HYDRA,” you spit out. Rumlow shrugs. 

“Maybe. We’ll see if they finally manage to erase you from his brain.” You don’t want to think about that. 

Pierce claps his hands, rubbing them together with anticipation, as if he was about to order a hot dog or settle in for a baseball game. 

“Alright. Let’s begin with the first test, shall we?” The doctors nod, yelling something in a foreign language, and they all back away from the Winter Soldier.

The guards are on you before you can even blink, large hands grabbing you by the arms and putting you into a headlock. You try to break out of it, but it’s no use. Whoever has you is too strong, and your energy quickly dwindles as a gun is pointed against your temple.

Rumlow asks what is going on, but Pierce raises a hand to silence him.

“Don’t worry. We’re just running an experiment here.” Pierce looks at the Winter Soldier who is sitting glaring at the guard holding you.

If looks could kill…

“What are you going to do, Soldat?” Pierce’s voice rings out in the room, egging him on. The Soldier remains motionless, only his eyes darting between the gun at your head and your face. 

You try to shake your head, trying to tell him not to give in, but the guard presses the gun harder into the side of your head. You wince as the cold metal digs into your skin.

Pierce sighs, snapping his fingers and giving the guard a cold look. You feel the guard move his position and he shifts you so your arms are now trapped in his, the front of your body fully exposed with no way to protect yourself. 

Pierce takes a gun from one of the guards and hands it to Rumlow. He does it as if he’s handing off a drink, bored and tired; as if he’s going through the motions of a disappointing round of golf.

“Hit her.” 

Your breath catches and the man steps toward you. Rumlow looks hesitant, fiddling with the gun. Rumlow chuckles darkly.

"Sir, is this really necessary." Pierce shoves him forward, the Soldier tracking their movement, ever the hunter.

"Hit. Her."

Rumlow gives you a sympathetic look, almost apologetic.

The butt of the gun hits your cheek with a loud thwack and you cry out, your head falling forward limply. You don’t cry, refusing to let the tears stinging your eyes to fall. 

You breathe through your teeth and look up, shooting Rumlow a dirty look. 

Rumlow reels his hand back again, and you catch something moving out of the corner of your eye-

Rumlow is thrown into the wall, the gun clattering from his hands. You blink and the Winter Soldier is ripping the guard off of you, his metal arm snapping his neck with a sickening crunch.

The guards surrounding point their guns at him, another reaching out to grab you and pull you away from him. The Winter Soldier is faster, pulling you behind him with force, his foot kicking the guard into the wall with such force you see the splattering of blood before you hear it.

“Don’t touch her”, he snarls, staring down the guards as they point their large guns at him, ready to take them all on by hand. 

He had never been this violently protective over you. It was as if the emotions they had programmed into him had been dialed to ten; the instructions to protect you emblazoned into his brain. The only thing that stuck beside his innate ability to kill. 

It was all the programming had collected itself in his mind, each wipe adding another layer to the already intense feelings. And when it was triggered, well... let's just say there wasn't anything the Winter Soldier wouldn't do for you.

Pierce is looking at you intently and you realize this was the test. 

It has to be. This moment, here, was what they wanted to erase. The programming, the protectiveness. 

They were trying to get you out of his head.

And you had to let them.

The grip the Winter Soldier has on your wrist is painful, and you’re afraid if he pulls you again he might snap the bone. You gently touch his shoulder, your wide eyes trying to reach his.

“Soldat,” you whisper gently, urgently. He finally looks at you after a moment, glancing at you before returning his stare to the guards. It was a signal he was listening, even if his attention wasn’t on you. “Let go, please. You’re hurting me.” Your Russian is broken, not as good as his, but he gets the message. He lets your wrist go.

You walk around to face him, settling him when the guards point their guns at you. 

“Stop, stop,” you hold up your hands, glancing back at them as the Soldier begins to move. “It’s okay, they’re not going to shoot me.” 

You don’t know that, but you have to get him to calm down. 

Your hands are on the Soldier’s chest, on his metal arm, his tense muscles visibly relaxing beneath your fingers. 

You swallow thickly. You know what you have to do, know what Pierce expects you to do. But can you do it? 

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t afraid of the Soldier. You’d seen what he could do. You’ve even felt it, when you had first met him. His knife thrown into your shoulder to get you to fall back on a mission, to warn you to retreat. It was a backwards protectiveness, but it had developed into something so much more. 

Here, now, you could see it. The attachment he had to you, the connection.

It was why you had visited his cell, why you had risked punishment to try and get him to remember you.

Because while you feared him, while you were tense every time he was in the same room as you, you couldn’t help the attachment you’d grown to him. 

You’d come to know his fight patterns, his focus, his attention. 

His quietness, his loyalty. Even though he had done terrible things, even though you knew he was going to do more, there was something shared between you, something you couldn’t ignore.

In some twisted way, he was yours. Even if you couldn’t have him. 

Your eyes grow warm and wet with tears, your bottom lip trembling as you speak again.

“I need you to do something for me, Soldat.” 

The Winter Soldier looks at you, and it finally brings a sob out of you, tears streaming out of your face. His cerulean eyes are sad, so unlike his picture in the museum. 

You try to look for James Barnes within him, a glimmer, a hope of something more. But James is so buried beneath the Soldier, you’re not sure how he’d ever resurface. 

The Winter Soldier is waiting for you to speak, waiting for you to instruct him. It pains you to have to do this, your heart burning at the thought of what you were about to do. 

But the quiet part of you, the selfish part which keeps you up at night, tells you it’s necessary. 

If not the Soldier, then you. The fear which had been instilled in you overriding your senses. 

The Winter Soldier brings up his right hand tentatively, brushing a tear off your face. 

“Anything,” he whispers.  You swallow, and look at Pierce. He nods, his eyes dark and intimidating. 

“I need you to sit in that chair,” you point to the one by the machine. His eyes flicker between the chair and you. He shakes his head. 

“It’ll hurt.”

“I know,” you say, hands gently pushing his body toward the chair. “I know, but it’s better for the both of us if you get in.” Your eyes are pleading, remorseful, and he doesn’t protest as you push him into the chair, his body falling into it with a thud. 

A doctor comes from behind you and quickly straps the Winter Soldier in the chair, another attaching electrode wires to his head and chest. For a moment, he looks like he’s going to throw himself at the doctor as they prick his arm with needles, his eyes flashing with anger.

But it quickly dies when you throw your body on his, his hand from coming up to choke out the doctor. Your arms are wrapped around him, touching him in a way you never have. It kills you that this has to be done here and now, with an audience and with the sense of awful betrayal running through your body. Your hand moves his long hair covering his ear and you whisper again, softly, in Russian. 

“I’m sorry moya lyubov.”  (my love)

It doesn't exactly encapsulate your connection, no title or word ever could for something so complicated. But it's the only comfort you have to offer.

His eyes are glassy as you move away, your fingers lingering a moment too long on his cheek. Rumlow is the one to pull you away, bringing you to the other side of the room beside Pierce. Your gaze doesn’t leave the Winter Soldier as they place the mouth guard in his mouth, his fight leaving his body as he looks at you. 

“Didn’t know you had that in you.” Rumlow whispers. You refuse to look at him.

The machine starts up, whirring loudly, the mechanical parts creaking as the metal instruments lower down to his face.

You turn away when the Winter Soldier starts screaming, tears streaming down your face. Rumlow grimaces besides you, and when Pierce tells him to do so, he forces your head back to watch.

To take in the horrifying image. To face the consequences of what you had done. But Pierce is too busy watching the Soldier, engrossed in this awful display of his power.

He doesn’t note the way Rumlow covers your ears, blocking out the haunting screams. He doesn’t see the way Rumlow's eyes are also pained at the sight of the Soldier.

Maybe it's because Rumlow knows one day it could be him. Maybe it's because somewhere, buried deep, a part of him cared. It's a crack in his facade which makes you partially grateful, despite the hatred boiling in your gut.

To know it wasn't just you suffering.

Even if it was just to keep you from growing hysterical, to keep you calm for Pierce. No one likes an agitated lab rat. But it makes you wonder...

The screaming finally stops. The machines' loud whirring coming to a grinding halt, its different parts raised by the doctors. 

The Winter Soldier sits slumped in his chair, Pierce grabs the little red book, the one whose very sight made your heart beat faster, the dark star embellished on its front.

This was it. He begins to speak the words, the only Russian you could perfectly understand. 

Longing, Rusted… 

The Soldier only looks up when the final word has been spoken, his shoulder twitching, jaw tight as his teeth grind. 

Pierce looks down at him, hands behind his back. Expectant.

“Ready to comply.” The Winter Soldier’s voice is hollow. Empty. There’s sweat running down his temple.

Pierce nods with approval.

“Good. You’re going to observe and copy what you see. Understand, Soldat?”

The Soldier nods once, looking at Pierce with obedience. 

Pierce nods to the guards who pull you front and center again, their hands gripping your clothes tightly. Rumlow sighs and takes out his gun again. He clenches his teeth and cringes, shrugging, as if to say ‘sorry. If not you, then me.’ 

He hits you. Not as hard as the first time. Your teeth still rattle with the impact, a groan escaping your mouth.

“Now, your turn.” 

The Winter Soldier stands without hesitation, taking the gun Rumlow holds out to him. You look up at the Soldier slowly, tentative. Afraid. 

He stands there for a moment, watching you squirm in the guard’s arms. You plead softly, but his eyes are cold as he stares. 

With the gun in his right hand, he brings it down on the side of your face, and you can feel the metal tear away a layer of skin. There’s a ringing in your ear, blood dribbling down your cheek, warm and wet. Through your tears, you see the Soldier, sweating, staggering back as he looks at you. 

“Good,” Pierce pats the Soldier on his shoulder, gesturing to the guard holding you. He lets you go and you crumble, breathing heavy as your knees fall to the hard floor. The Winter Soldier closes his eyes and you can see he’s about to pass out. 

The machine was always hard on his body; the toll it took to wipe a mind was exhausting, both mentally and physically. Not to mention the hypnosis process. The Soldier lowers himself to the floor, not looking at you, closing his eyes as he slumps fully onto the floor, passing out. 

Pierce kicks at him like a broken toy, closing his eyes in disappointment when the Soldier doesn't get up.

Pierce calls your attention, “You and Rumlow are dismissed. Let’s not allow this… attachment to get in the way of your work anymore, alright Myshka?” 

You nod, a tear sliding down your cheek, knees still pressed against the hard floor. You don't get up.

"Now, don't let the Captain see you cry," Pierce leans down, as if you were a small child in need of comfort. "You keep him distracted today, alright? The Winter Soldier will take care of Fury. I don't need you getting involved."

The guards carry out the Soldier, his body held up by four men, head lolling and limbs dragging on the floor as they throw him into a cell in the hall. 

You follow Rumlow out into the hall, watching, hand clutching your face painfully. 

The elevator is slow, too slow for your liking and you shift uncomfortably as you glare at Rumlow in front of you. He sighs, glancing at you in his peripherals.

“You know, I’ve seen a lot of things in my time here. But today…” Rumlow turns to you, his eyes hardened with concern, “Just don’t do anything stupid with the Soldier. Next time they have to erase you, they’ll have him shoot you after.” 

“Don’t try to sympathize with me. You’re just as bad as Pierce.” Your eyes remain trained on the floor. Rumlow shrugs. 

The elevator dings and he steps out. But before the door fully closes behind him, Rumlow sticks his head back in. 

“Who knows. Maybe they'll finally figure out you just won’t leave his head. Then they’ll make him kill you first.” 

He was right. They were going to kill you eventually. No matter whether the Soldier - whether James- remembered you, your time in HYDRA had an expiration day. You might as well be dead already.

And they were going to have him kill Fury today...

An idea pricks the back of your mind. But to do it.... you hated the thought. You didn't even know if he'd help you out. If he wouldn't shove you into one of SHIELD's incinerators at your request. But if he could help...

Rumlow backs out of the elevator, the doors closing and it's your turn to stick your head through the doors.

Rumlow turns back, surprised. You lip quirks in disgust, hating the words which were brewing on your tongue.

"Yes?" he says, voice lilted with amusement.

"Rumlow... I need a favor."

[directdogman]

Hi I just wanted to say that you have inspired me a lot.

I have always wanted to write stories for a while now, I have big dreams and I hope to one day accomplish them.

Dsaf originally inspired my first oc, which to be fair I did just steal from dsaf (don't worry they are different now) it also inspired my Phone headed sona.

Your games, dsaf and dialtown are an inspiration for me, and I also was wondering if you have any advice for someone trying to write a massive project.

Sorry if I bothered you with this, have a nice day or night dogman

Ayyy, glad to hear my writing's inspired you!

To be frank, I mightn't be the best person to take writing advice from. I'm still a student in the grand scheme of things and any lesson I teach you would likely make you more like me as a writer, when you should always wanna aim past me! You should never settle for being as good as me when you can be so much better!

The only surefire creative advice I can give that might be useful to you now, which I know works because every successful artist I know has learned it, is to start small. However small you're thinking of right now, half it. Then half it again. Then half it AGAIN, and so on. Your first project should, if anything, just be a single scene. I know that might seem small, but trust me, that's always how it starts. When you're confident you've gotten the scene where you need it, then you work up from there, a few scenes, to a few more scenes, to a small game. It's better too if you don't just keep adding to the same game and start over each time for a reason I'll elaborate on now.

If you try to make a single project that's as large as the ones that inspired you, you will have a truly frustrating time. Aside from the fact that it's very difficult to organize a large project before you learn the skills that you'll pick up gradually as you make smaller projects, you also improve a lot as you start out. It's very common, especially at the very beginning of your journey, to constantly revise and remake your work as you go because every now and then, you'll improve so much that everything at the beginning is noticeably worse than what comes after.

This happens to all developers, to be clear, even ones with years of experience under their belts. It's the reason Fez took years to get out, by the developer's own admission. If your project takes a few days or even a week to make, you only have a small length of time to get better and want to scrap everything. Getting something, anything out there, getting feedback, being able to reflect on a finished product is an essential part of your creative journey and I know many developers who are more talented than me who've never gotten that far due to their tendency to set targets for themselves that they can't hit yet.

This lesson took me a much longer time for me to learn than I'd like to admit. I have about 4 long-term projects that never saw the light of day that I worked on for most of my teenage years (which I could make now), but couldn't then. If I'd made smaller projects during that time and honed specific skills, I'd likely be even better than I am now!

You'll get there if you stick with it. Learning any creative skill from scratch is an incredibly frustrating and at times, completely disheartening process. You'd be surprised how many times I almost quit doing this. But, nothing good's ever truly easy. Start tiny, work your way up! Through self reflection, feedback, added experience, you'll figure out your own style, your own workflow. And then... I am TOAST. Best of luck!

[birlwrites]

How goes Bloodfinch! Are you at the stage of writing parts yet? Is there a particular area of writing (dialogue, point of view etc) that's particularly fun with it?

And another hopefully answerable but somewhat generic question (to give you the power of surprise yet if you want it!): what person and tense have you gone for? or have you varied it according to a pattern of your own design?

If there's stuff to say about the process of writing concerning what brings you joy (and not further worldbuilding/plot details necessarily that I'm sure time will reveal) it'd be interesting to hear it!

Also, as a side note, you said you very much identified with the sliding meme of your opinion on your skills varying. Hence, I desire to communicate that I think you're consistently brilliant! I am curious why you feel that way though, as I was shocked it was somewhat widespread (I have days where things don't go so well writing, naturally as consistency isn't quite how it works as an area, but find my faith in my skills is rather solid and veers only between "I'm fine at it I suppose?" to "oh yes, it's an area of skills I've worked on that I'm good at" with more sporadic bursts of "I'm a genius! I'm so great at this!" never reaching more despairing "I'm hopeless, utterly hopeless").

it goes well!!! i'm having fun!!! i'm nearing 2.5k now - i had a longer draft, but had to frog that since i decided to start the story in a different place. i'll probably grab and reuse snippets of it later on though. and the outline is complete!! i'm hoping that it'll be similar to lachrimae in terms of time it'll take me to write, although unlike lachrimae i'll then do at least one round of editing once i have a full draft, plus then i'll need to do like. layouts and get cover art and stuff

finch, the pov character, is a singer, and i'm having a WILD time being able to write a very highly trained singer - her tutor (dulceis) definitely has. some traits in common with. certain singing teachers i've had. just wrote a line about dulceis standing on the opposite side of the room from finch yelling 'WHERE ARE YOUR CONSONANTS I CAN'T FIND THEM' and. yes

it's first person present tense and it'll stick to that - normally i'm a third person present tense writer by default, but i'm going for first person here because a) we are VERY deep inside finch's head and b) that was the best way for me to make clear that despite her calling herself finch, that's not what other people call her

i also just created yet another saint today, the sea-saint, who's associated with the sea (duh) and those who make their living from the ocean (sailors, fishers, etc), AND ALSO rhetoric, poetry, and all of the word-arts. the sea-saint is associated with fluidity (duh), impermanence, but also a certain type of control - navigating uncertainty. there is a story about the sea-saint calming choppy waters just by speaking to them and persuading them to settle. they're represented with a wave, a seashell, or a siren (this tends to be the less positive side of the saint, representing fickleness, hunger, and misleading appearances)

oh and i also just wrote up a little story about the origins of bloodfinches, because i was going to type up my handwritten notes but writing up notes was boring and writing up a story that conveyed the same information was far more interesting - so perhaps i'll post that! in a different post though, so it can just be its own thing instead of being buried in this response

naturally from finch's pov i also get to go wild with the auditory imagery which is fantastic, and i'm also having a great time with introducing original characters - even though i work with very, very, very, very, VERY minor characters in hp fanfiction, so minor that in many cases i am inventing characterization out of wholecloth, people still already have certain impressions about characters' appearances, personalities, and general vibes. that is not at all the case with completely original characters and figuring out how to introduce them and convey impressions of them is SO MUCH FUN i forgot how fun it was

i think that the reason my perception of my own writing tends to swing back and forth wildly is because i associate it with ease. words are flowing? plot details are blooming? everything feels great! but if i am not living up to my own expectations, if trying to write feels like banging my head against a wall, or if a scene isn't coming out the way i imagined it and i don't know what the problem is, or i DO know what the problem is and it's going to be a shitload of work to fix, or if it's not connecting with readers the way i thought it would, then i do have a tendency to spiral

logically, i am a fairly confident writer, but emotionally, i'm of course more inconsistent, and emotions tend to rule the day when it comes to how i'm feeling about my skills at any given moment. fortunately, i'm at least aware of that, and i know that feeling like it's hopeless means a) it's not actually hopeless, my brain just likes to latch onto worst-case scenarios, and b) it is well past time for a break

a central issue here is that i often expect very high levels of productivity from myself, and so then even if i know it's time for a break, i then am fighting a separate battle in which i have to convince my brain not to beat me up over needing Break Time, and it all leads to me staring at the wall wishing i could put my brain in a washing machine

[nellie-elizabeth]

This was the first full episode of the show I watched, and I'm really excited to get back to it as I watch through chronologically! What I was so impressed by in the whole episode was the details of their intimacy, the cleverness and subtlety of the writing. Like, not to over-explain what's happening in this moment, but I kinda want to break this down.

Starsky says "You got any plans after this is over?" and the premise of the banter, as it were, is that he's making "small talk," saying the same kind of thing he might say casually at work, akin to "what are you up to this weekend."

And Hutch, he matches his energy but he tosses the ball directly back to Starsky to hit the punchline. He doesn't answer the question with a jokey fake small talk answer. Instead he says "it's up to you."

Which works on like, so many different levels for me? For one, it's Hutch just being sweet, telling Starsky that his plans are with Starsky, whatever they are. He could have deflected, but he affirms that he wants to spend his free time with Starsky. For another, he's implicitly referencing the fact that being here in this restaurant where things have gone so catastrophically wrong, was Starsky's idea, and affirming that he'd still defer to him to make plans. And then on the more serious level underneath the premise of the joke, Hutch is serious: what happens after this is wholly dependent on if Starsky is okay or not. If he makes it through this, if they both make it through this. Hutch's plans, both immediate and long-term, are completely up to Starsky in a very real sense.

And then Starsky hits us with the Butch & Sundance reference, which, you know, famously queer coded, along with being a response to Hutch's statement: Starsky, too, plans on doing whatever comes next with Hutch. The plans they make, they make together. And Hutch gives the sweetest little laugh, such open affection on his face! Starsky makes jokes because it's his only way of taking care of his partner when he's in this vulnerable state, and Hutch is being so terribly gentle with Starsky while still participating in their back-and-forth. If the banter stops, that's the sign that things are actually dire.

The bit at the end of this episode when Starsky makes a joke about Hutch getting his teeth capped, and then retracts the joke just before Hutch goes out to confront the armed baddies alone, is a good continuation of the rhythm they have going on in this ep. They keep things light and superficial in order to keep each other calm, but by the end of this episode shit is dire enough that Starsky can't keep the banter going.

When I first watched this episode, I didn't know these characters yet. I was (and am) still so new to the show. But even on that first viewing I remember being impressed by the economy of storytelling and relationship building that was happening in little moments like this. The whole show is built out of scenes between the two leads that work this way, multi-layered and performed with an impressive amount of subtlety and power. Obviously it's the domain of fandom to overthink the media we consume, to pick at little moments and dissect them beyond any possible intended meaning. But this show... man, it holds up under that scrutiny, in so many ways big and small.

[altschmerzes]

seen one too many snide posts about this in the last week or so but did you know that if you don't enjoy scenes in smut establishing consent or checking in then you simply don't have to read them and you don't have to go online and whine about how they're Consent Posturing and Purity Culture and Sanitizing Everything and God Just Kill Me Now. like you can have a preference without making it into a three act morality play, which is ironically what you are accusing other people of doing.

the same goes for like, detailed content warnings on fics. or content warnings at all. you can just skip those. they're not a sign of Purity Culture Gone Too Far or Those Damn Puriteens or whatever. you can dislike things without being an asshole about them or implying they're Taking Away What's Good And Correct About Fic Or Creativity.

[sysig]

You're still standing off to the side. Somehow, center stage has shifted from under your feet without you realizing, and you're standing in the wings, performing to no one.

Starring Role (Patreon)

[doubletroubletag]

i got almost all the next month's updates sketched! i'm not doing the last one simply because i am feeling the burn out of composing these pages. (each have at least 6 pages, a good amount have the max 12!)

that said, these are all just sketched. i want to do it in this order: backgrounds -> lineart -> transcript. i got other projects i need to work on (winning hat and NightFell) so I can't really guarantee when Tag will start to update again.

[sunflowermp4]

not to be crass but i need this scene distilled into a pill so i can take it

[luvo27]

Should i like. Be plugging my fics here? Because to be honest i kind of was of the mind that everyone who would care to read the things i write had already seen them

[flyingwide]

I am so sorry for the absolute essay I'm about to write but Syril and violence is possibly my favorite subject simply because it's so multilayered.

Syril's relationship with violence doesn't start in s2. It starts from day one because it is inherent in power and it is inherent in the Empire. The Empire's whole thing is “safety through strength,” this is the line it's been selling since the dying days of the Republic when COMPOR was pushing propaganda. Syril wants power so so badly, not for nefarious reasons but because he fully buys into that ideal, that with strength, with power, he can be the hero he imagines himself to be. This is part of why he's so taken with Dedra immediately but we'll get there.

He goes to Ferrix to enact violence but he absolutely does not see it that way. That is SO outside his vision of himself as someone who is pursuing justice. Which, to be fair, he is. Cassian murdered two people; bringing him to trial for that would be justice. Did that guy suck? Yes. Did Cassian shoot him in the face? Also yes. People who commit violence (outside of the state, which is necessary violence and Different because power makes violence ok) have to face consequences. That's Justice and Beauty and Truth, as far as he's concerned.

And then he enters his victim period for the next few episodes. He becomes a victim of Cassian and Luthen's violence, along with men under his command. Strength was supposed to protect and it didn't. He had power, inappropriately seized, and could not save the people who followed him. Then the Empire comes in and essentially tells him, “You will never hold power again.” So he goes home because what the hell else is he going to do? And there we meet Eedy.

Her first action in her first scene, the first moment we have with her, is one of violence. She slaps him. And then she hugs him. This moment tells us that violence and love/affection exist in the same space for him. There is no hard line between these two concepts in the defining relationship of his young and formative life. When his mother hurts him, she still loves him. When the Empire hurts him, it still loves him.

And because it's Syril, who will take a mile if you give him an inch because the Audacity on this man should be studied, he attempts to create avenues to power that did not previously exist and tells himself that it's about justice. So then everyone's favorite attendant yoinks Syril out of his cubicle (a display of real power and the violence that it is entitled to) so Dedra can ask him what the fuck his problem is.

Syril is besotted immediately because she actually cares about Justice and Truth and Beauty and she is power. And if she is power, then she is the only thing that matters. Kyle Soller has a really good quote about Keero and power:

Dedra becomes an object of his fixation about power. He was like, "Oh my God, you're a member of the ISB, I want to be you, but I also think I want to be with you, and I also kind of want to be inside you?"

He is physically attracted to her (we don't need to talk about how Kyle's phrasing made me blush), he does eventually have very real feelings for her, but he immediately wants to be her because she is power in a way that he has been told is inaccessible to him. But she is right there in front of him and very accessible.

So it's from this victim period (of Cassian, of the Empire, of his mother, of the Empire again) that he ambushes Dedra and physically accosts her, which sounds way worse than the scene actually is because of the power differential. She holds very real institutional power over him and does not hesitate to remind him of this fact but that does not stop him from physically stopping her from leaving. It's important that he's still mentally in his victim period here because with victim now part of his temporary identity, mixed with his belief in his own morals and principles, it makes the idea of himself as potential victimizer completely inaccessible. Does not compute. 404 Error. That is not something that is not even in the realm of possibility for him.

Even as he gains power (through her, as intended, which is what she throws back in his face in Ghorman), he still hangs on to this idea of himself as someone incapable of... barbarity essentially. He is a Hero like he always wanted to be. He saved Dedra on Ferrix. He protects the interests of the Empire, and therefore its people, in his work at the Bureau of Standards. He is convinced that he is saving Ghorman Front from outside agitators like Cassian. What Rylanz and Dedra steal from him, as far as he's concerned, is his self-image of an upstanding, righteous man. He is not just overwhelmed, he is afraid of losing his identity, and that fear flips in a moment to violence.

One of my favorite things about Syril and Dedra is that he thinks of himself as a Good Man and she thinks of herself as holding power and they are both disabused of these notions by, what? Oh, right. Violence.

So fascinating to me how Syril’s gut reaction when he’s incredibly overwhelmed and in great distress is to be violent. We see it with Rylanz, as Syril begins to feel his entire world falling apart. He cared a lot about the Ghormans, and had spent lots of time with Rylanz in particular—and yet when Syril finds him in the street, the first thing he does is forcefully grab him and slam him into a wall. We see it with Dedra, when Syril first screams at her, then grabs her, then chokes her, and then threatens to throw her out of a window. We see it when Syril sees Cassian, and every single inch of his being becomes consumed by rage.

It’s just fascinating to me. Syril was—extremely understandably—overwhelmed, to a degree that most of us probably won’t ever feel. The thing he built his entire life and worldview around became a monster (and in fact the Empire had been a monster since it’s creation, but Ghorman is what lifted the veil over Syril’s eyes). And Syril’s first and most visceral reaction to this is violence.