#its a tried and true method that keeps me from forgetting important things like my meds and wallet or on one memorable occasion the dress

[jakes3resin]

Remembering I have to pack and coordinate outfits for the wedding I'm leaving for instead of writing Modern Reincarnation AU and Stalag arc in my free time now

[immaturityofthomasastruc]

Gabriel Agreste: Interesting Villain, Horrible Character (400 Follower Special)

I'm honestly surprised more people didn't want me to talk about Gabriel, especially with how often I rag on how horrible of a person he is. But, three character analysis posts later, and we're going to talk about why the main villain of Miraculous Ladybug is a real letdown.

Gabriel Needs to give the Whining a Rest

The interesting thing is one of the few things I actually liked in Season 3 was Hawkmoth. His plans actually made sense (for the most part), and by playing the long game, he managed to turn Chloe against Ladybug and deprived her of several key allies. Granted, Season 4 immediately undid the latter, but I was still impressed by his strategy.

Generally, one of the better aspects of Gabriel as a character was just how over the top he was as Hawkmoth. Keith Silverstein is clearly giving it his all with his performance, and he is just so enjoyable to watch as a cartoonish supervillain.

And therein lies the first major problem with Gabriel as a character. While he is fun to watch as a simple supervillain, the show tries to give him more depth and unintentionally makes him worse.

In Season 2, when it was revealed that Gabriel was Hawkmoth, many fans speculated on what he needed the Miraculous for, until the Queen Bee Trilogy showed it was to save his possibly dead wife, Emilie. The idea of that is so the show can give more depth to its main villain, and I think it's an interesting idea in concept. After all, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.

The problem is just how radically different Gabriel is normally compared to how he is as Hawkmoth. He always goes on about how he's “doing this for Emilie”, but it's hard to really sympathize with him when you consider he constantly gives evil monologues and evil laughs, really getting into the supervillain role. And let's not forget all of the “I'm going to wear Ladybug's skin as a suit” faces he loves to make.

Clearly this man is the picture of mental stability.

Gabriel's motivation for being Hawkmoth when compared to what he actually does as Hawkmoth is shady enough, but the thing is that the writers clearly want the audience to at least feel a little bad for him. They want to make the audience sympathize with him despite the way he acts with or without the mask. Without Miraculous Ladybug, he is routinely putting innocent lives in danger and never once shows regret for his actions. All he talks about is how “he's doing this for Emilie”, or that “he'll get their Miraculous soon”. There's no real reason to feel bad for him other than “because the script says so”.

Let's compare Gabriel to Malcolm Merlyn from Arrow. His big plan in the first season of the show is to create a machine that will cause an earthquake to destroy a crime-infested portion of Starling City, claiming to be trying to help everyone, but it's clear he is only doing it out of revenge for his wife getting killed by a criminal from that part of the city. In addition, throughout that season and future seasons, he always makes sure his plans lead to him benefiting in some way, showing he isn't just some noble man trying to achieve his goals with a less than noble method.

If we got some moments that showed that what Gabriel was doing was selfish, it would make him a more complex villain. But we don't get anything like that. What do we get instead? Well...

I Could Really Care Less About Emilie Agreste

We have known Gabriel's motivation has been to save his wife for a little over two years at this point, but at the same time, it's hard to believe that motivation because of how underdeveloped Emilie is as a character.

There have been a total of two lines in the entirety of the show that explain what happened to Emilie, and they're both vague as hell. One of them was from “Feast” that implied Emilie used the broken Peacock Miraculous.

Adrien: My mom used to have dizzy spells… just like Nathalie.

And the other that outright tells the audience what's happening to her in a clip show that most people will skip.

Nathalie: As I've watched Emilie falling deeper into an endless sleep, my sadness for her has deepened, too

That is literally all we get for an explanation, and nothing else. We have no idea of what she's like as a person or what her relationship with her family was like other than Gabriel and Adrien saying they miss her. Other than the way the narrative says she's important to Gabriel and Adrien, we don't really have a reason to care about her as a character. There have also been some lines that imply she went along with Gabriel's questionable parenting techniques, like how he was apparently only homeschooled as a kid (Origins) and never had a birthday party growing up (The Bubbler), so how do we even know if she's a good person? In fact, why not set up this question as a mystery to make the audience wonder if Gabriel has another reason to bring Emilie back?

It ultimately turns Emilie into a plot device and not a character that Gabriel and Adrien only bring up to make the audience feel bad for them, and meant to justify Gabriel's actions by saying that he's “doing this for his family”.

But hey, if he's doing this all for his family, surely Gabriel's redeeming traits come from his relationship with Adrien, right? Right?

As a Parent, Gabriel is Far From the Best

I've talked about this briefly before, but parenting in Miraculous Ladybug is written in such a black and white way, even by the standards of this show. Parents are portrayed in one of two ways. They're either amazing people who love and support their children unconditionally, or they're awful people who treat their own children like trash. And much like a lot of things in this show, there are times where the latter is treated like the former.

There are so many times where the narrative insists on making you see Gabriel as a troubled, but wellmeaning person who tries his best to be a good parent to Adrien, but it is far from the truth.

I'm not going to beat around the bush. Gabriel is a terrible parent. Like, he is awful at being a parent in so many ways, even before you find out he's Hawkmoth. In his first appearance, “The Bubbler”, he delegates getting Adrien a birthday present to Nathalie, his assistant. He literally can't be bothered to take time out of his schedule to get his own son a present for his birthday. And as the show goes on, he becomes more controlling and forbids Adrien from going out with his friends in other episodes (Captain Hardrock, Silencer). While this could be used to show Gabriel getting worse, it's never acknowledged in-universe, with Adrien continually defending his father essentially keeping him on house arrest.

“But IOTA!” You might say. “Gabriel has made efforts to bond with his son in some episodes.” While that might be true, most of those come right after his Akumas have almost gotten Adrien killed. He only hugged Adrien and made an attempt to learn more about him after Simon Says invaded their home, he only decided to watch that movie Emilie was in with Adrien after Gorizilla nearly dropped him off a building, and he only hugged Adrien again in public after he was turned into a gold statue by Style Queen.

In fact, let's talk about how Gabriel acts in the Queen Bee Trilogy. He actually decides to quit being Hawkmoth, but it's not because he realizes all the damage he's caused. Instead, he gave up because his “magnum opus”, a stronger than usual Akuma that only got the advantage on Ladybug ironically because of dumb luck, failed. Sure, he says he can't keep putting his son in danger, but he rarely ever acknowledges that he does so in the first place. When Riposte wanted to fight Adrien, Hawkmoth did nothing to stop her other than giving her a stern warning earlier on and nothing else. Where was this attitude earlier?

Hell, even then, he immediately goes back to being Hawkmoth as soon as he sees an opportunity, not even a day after his “mAgNuM oPuS” blew up in his face (because I guess Scarletmoth was just Plan B). If he made such a big deal about caring for his son, why didn't he try harder to spend time with him? Has he ever had doubts about what he's doing before? If Chloe didn't show up as Queen Bee, was he going to follow through on his promise and try to be a better father to Adrien instead of trying to get Ladybug and Cat Noir's Miraculous?

And yeah, the whole irony is that Gabriel is doing this for his family when he is unknowingly fighting his own son, which could lead to some interesting drama if done right. The idea of how Gabriel would react to his son being Cat Noir could really lead to some internal struggles for him to go through. But then we got “Cat Blanc”, which shows just how terrible of a character Gabriel is.

In an alternate timeline where he found out his son was Cat Noir, what does Gabriel do? Does he try to steal Adrien's Miraculous while he's sleeping? Does he reconsider his actions or realize he was endangering Adrien's life?

NOPE! He just decides to akumatize him all while emotionally tormenting him, before causing the end of the world.

This is honestly one of the most appalling things I've ever seen in any TV show, because it's basically an abusive father ordering his son to listen to him all while referencing his (kind of) dead mother to back up his point. And rather than use this to show how despicable Gabriel is, the episode decides to blame Marinette for this happening. Yes, according to the show, her present to Adrien caused several events to happen which caused Cat Blanc, but this logic makes no sense. It's like blaming the JFK assassination on the man who sold a gun to Lee Harvey Oswald, instead of, you know, Lee Harvey Oswald.

Not only was this episode yet another excuse to blame Marinette for something that wasn't her fault, it leads into the biggest problem I have with Gabriel as a character.

Sympathize with Gabriel? Surely, You Jest

After everything I've gone over regarding Gabriel as a character, after all the awful things I've talked about, are you really surprised that I don't feel bad for him at all?

Gabriel is just an awful character and a despicable human being, but the show just keeps wanting me to feel bad for him. It's just so hard to when you consider everything he's done has made him anything but sympathetic. I'm just saying, it's kind of hard to feel bad for someone who tries to start World War III with the only justification being “i'M dOiNg It FoR mY fAmIlY”, especially when he treats his family like crap.

The writers go out of their way to show how horrible Gabriel is as Hawkmoth/Shadowmoth, but they think because they throw in a few moments where he looks conflicted, we'll immediately feel bad for him. What makes so many people interested in seeing Chloe become a better person is that they can tell she's the victim of a troubled upbringing, and know that because she's only a teenager, she still has room to grow as a person, represented by having more honest moments of vulnerability. Gabriel is a grown man who once caused the apocalypse because of how terrible of a parent he is, and has even fewer sympathetic moments than Chloe does. Which one of these two is supposedly irredeemable? The answer may surprise you.

But the frustrating thing is that this kind of villain could have worked. Instead of making him this mustache-twirling psychopath, show how much Gabriel regrets what he has to do, but keeps pushing onward despite all the lives he's risking if it means that he can save his wife. Instead of making Gabriel like Lex Luthor, make him like Mr. Freeze, who is basic a better written version of him.

But as it stands, there's a good reason why Gabriel gets little to no respect as a character in the Miraculous Ladybug fandom, as a villain, or as a father.

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

One Word Prompt: Fish

Title: Scaled and Icy

Pairing: Platonic, familial Logince

Summary: “Oh, Virgil is going to hate him. He’s going to erupt in a rant about Logan being too impulsive as if Logan doesn't think out every action in a methodical manner.” Or. Logan decides to adopt an abandoned human child. 

Word-Count: 1k

Warnings: Dubious Morally Grey Logan, Merfolk But They’re Like Fae!, Presumed Child Abandonment, Slightly Unreliable Narrator, Transformation, Emotional Manipulation, Mentioned Cannibalism (Kinda), Angst With a Kinda Happy Ending, Don’t Worry Roman’s fine, Probably, It’s Dark Fairytale Vibes Okay

Here, have another eldritch logan adopts a child au! 

-

"You're like a fish!" The human child crows, his brown eyes alit with both wonder and joy. He couldn't be much older than three, possibly four. Which is all the more concerning, really, for where is his parents?

Logan blinks. "Not entirely but yes, I do share similar characteristics to them."

"Fish, fishy, fish-man!" The child declares, pudgy fingers reaching to touch Logan's bioluminescent blue scales.

"A-aahah--" Logan begins, moving slightly back, "Please refrain from touching people without asking their permission first."

He tilts his head, golden brown locks falling over his eyes. "Pleeeease can I?"

"Of course, thank you for asking."

The human child's face brightens at this. He reaches again, this time delicately touching Logan's scales with care.

"Whoa," The human child breathes in, "It'ssocool."

He then draws the hand away, resting it against the sandy shore. "My name is Roman and I wanna be a prince! What's your name?"

"You may call me Logic," Logan smiles, showing a slip of his sharp needle-like teeth. There's several rows of them unlike a human’s set of teeth.

This terrifies most humans, but not Roman who possesses the boundless courage of childhood. He leans closer, face scrunching up.

"Logic's a silly name." He declares.

Logan laughs, "Well good thing it's not my true name."

"It's a pretend name? Like make-believe?"

"Essentially, yes. You shouldn't give names away, they have power."

Roman doesn't seem to heed Logan's words, instead protesting, "Well, then, I wanna be Prince Romanul-us-ulus--Romulus then!"

Logan lets out a low, crooning noise, one generally meant to console young merlings. He never expected himself to so enchanted with a child, let alone a human one. Yet the instinctual parental drive is stronger than he thought.

"Well, Roman, would you like to be a prince?" Oh, Virgil is going to hate him. He’s going to erupt in a rant about Logan being too impulsive as if Logan doesn't think out every action in a methodical manner.

"Well, yeah!" Because Roman needs someone to look after him. His parents are clearly not doing a great job of it. He could've gotten swept up in the waves and died if not for Logan.

"Take my hand, come with me then, Roman." This is something the Ocean surely wills. She offered Roman to Logan and he must honor that.

"Okay!" Roman says, eagerly taking Logan's webbed hand.

And it's all Logan needs to pull the child underneath the water, wrapping his arms tightly before Roman can squirm away. Oh, how the child thrashes, his human instincts kicking in and trying to get him to go towards the surface.

It's alright though, it won't last long. Logan sings, thanking the Ocean for Roman. He won't beg for the Ocean to be merciful because the Ocean is not merciful. The Ocean will either let Roman live or She won't. It's something humans seem to fail to understand, time and time again, as they try their hardest to thwart Her will with their contraptions.

Soon Roman's thrashes go weak and the child is limp, heavy in his arms. Logan hums, rocking the child gently back and forth. His grin widens at the slits forming on the child's neck, acting as the opening for gills.

It's the only warning he receives as Roman's eyes reopen, a fiery red hue, as a piercing wail escapes his lips. The child’s soft, rounded baby teeth fall out as little rows of new merling teeth replace them. Still not full-grown teeth, but better at tearing through raw fish than a human’s dull teeth ever could.

"I know, I know," Logan croons, stroking his golden brown locks, "It'll be over soon."

Roman is not the first human Logan has seen the Ocean take as Her own. Virgil was one of the first Logan witnessed. He’d fallen overboard off a human ship, too young to know how to swim. Logan’s pod circled around his sinking figure, tails whipping with fervent excitement.

“He’s an offering from the Ocean,” Logan’s father had whispered to him, “Either he’s meant to become one of the Ocean’s children or he’ll perish and we’ll feast on his flesh.”

Virgil survived, snapping and clicking with the ferocity of a bullshark. Logan has an inkling Roman will be the same as his wails become more of a hissing, shrill noise. 

His ears has elongated, tipped with small winged fins. Similar fins appear on the backside of his elbows and Logan suspects on his back as well. The most important part, of course, is when the human’s pair of tails conjoin together to become one. This is where many prove their unworthiness to be one of the Ocean’s own. They perish, a mockery of what a Mer should be; malformed and incomplete, a disgrace to the Ocean.

“Shhh, shhh, Roman, let the Ocean accept you as one of Her own, don’t fight it,” Logan continues crooning, adjusting his grip so he is only holding onto the upper half of Roman’s body. The sliver of Roman’s soul that is still human tries to use this to kick at Logan, to dislodge his grasp. 

But this is hard when the tails become stiff, rigid as they become one, shimmering as ruby scales overtake soft flesh. The outerwear humans are fond of wearing tears, ripping to shreds as its unable to handle Roman’s growing unified tail. The tail itself almost makes up his original height but not quite. Roman’s tail twitches once, then several times.

“Rather an odd sensation for you I imagine, hmm?” Logan comments, tracing the edge of Roman’s finned ear fondly. Oh thank the Ocean, he never thought he’d be happy to have a child of his own until this moment.

Roman opens his eyes again, a good proper glowing red hue. “F-fishyman--Logic?”

“Yes?”

“I--I’m a fish too?”

“No, Roman, you’re not a fish. You’re like me--you’re one of the Ocean’s children now.”

“O-ooh. But why? It hurt so much!” Roman pouts, tail lashing angrily.

“That’s simply how it is, little prince,” Logan hums.

“Well, I don’t like it! Can I change back? I wanna see my mom and dad.”

“Now, Roman, you can’t do that. Your parents left you, they weren’t watching you like they should and now I will take care of you. You want to be a prince now, don’t you, Roman? Roman, you will be a prince and you’ll be so excited you’ll forget those humans ever existed, alright?”

Foolish, foolish humans. They really should’ve taught their child about the importance of names. That’s alright, Logan will teach Roman now and keep him safe.

“I do wanna be a prince, I’m going to be a prince, right?” Roman murmurs, yawning. The process of becoming one of the Ocean’s own is a tiring one. He snuggles closer to Logan, curling his tail around Logan. Something Mer instinctively do, to ensure they won’t drift away from their loved ones when they fall asleep. Logan smiles at this.

“Yes of course,” Logan soothes, “You’ll be my little prince and I won’t ever let any harm come to you.” 

[stupid-sloot-headcanons]

Asano/F!Darling: Unconventional Methods (VI)

TW: Noncon/dubcon, unhealthy power dynamic, unhealthy relationship, abuse of authority, spanking

____ didn't mind Asano's smaller outside assignments that much, especially compared to that first lesson. She knew when they would come since he only ever sent them during her breaks or outside of work hours, and having time to write a response was less stressful than being put on the spot and having to look at him. Still...Asano's questions and requests were enough to make her squirm in her seat even when they weren't sexual.

"How many partners have you had, including the ex-boyfriend you mentioned? Were you sexually active with them as well?"

"Have you always lived on your own? Do you ever feel a desire to live with someone or feel intense loneliness at home?"

"Have you ever had a near-death experience?"

"Send a photo of the toy you mentioned using. Describe its function and how often you use it each week."

"Was your family life turbulent growing up?"

"Have you ever been struck during a sexual encounter (eg. Slapping, spanking, scratching) or experienced pain (eg. hair-pulling, biting)? If so, describe the action and how you responded to it."

That last one made her feel especially worried. She'd never done anything rougher than maybe getting her hair pulled and being called a cute little slut by her ex whenever he'd talk dirty to her. And compared to Asano, a black belt who famously defeated his teacher on his third day of class, her ex wasn't much of a fighter.

____ sighed and tried to focus on the papers she was supposed to be grading in 1A's classroom while the instructor taught the students. Principal Asano was just trying to make her uncomfortable by asking her, and probably by making her wonder if he really was planning on hurting her like that during one of his lessons. Speaking of which...it had been one week since her third lesson. The last two weren't as sexual as the first, but they were just as stressful. The second lesson was almost like a regular lecture, aside from the fact that she'd been completely nude the entire time. Asano had given her a small stack of education and psychology textbooks for her to annotate and study in his office while he watched her. Any time she moved the book up or hunched over the small table he'd provided for her to hide her breasts, he'd told her to sit up straight and she reluctantly obeyed.

The third lesson had involved her "shadowing" him while he did his own work; thankfully she got to keep her clothes on for this one, but she spent the entire time in his lap. Occasionally his hands would wander between her thighs to ghost against her panties, and eventually she noticed how he was subtly rocking his hips every so often while a slight bulge nudged her backside. It didn't seem to faze him in the slightest though; whenever he'd show her one of the documents he was working on or made a phonecall, his voice didn't seem tense or strained at all while she sat in his lap.

She understood why he needed to make her so uncomfortable, and he'd patiently explained to her more than once that her personal inexperience was why so many of these lessons were sexual--you're least comfortable when trying something new. But it still felt so wrong to do things like this, even if her boss explicitly said it was okay. Is that why she didn't want to ask any of her coworkers for advice or whether they thought this was an appropriate teaching method? Asano hadn't ever said to keep it secret, after all. Still...she'd have to admit that she and Asano had done all of these things together--on campus, in his office! Even if it was to make her a better teacher--and even if the other faculty members believed that--she could never look them in the eye ever again. ____'s face flushed with heat and she hurriedly made her way down the hall to Asano's office; maybe after this lesson she could ask him if she should discuss his program with any of the other teachers.

____ knocked at Asano's door and waited for him to reply. "Come in." Immediately she stepped inside, closed the door, and locked it from the inside; now that she'd had multiple lessons in his office, she had learned the routine for the start of his lessons. Asano was at his desk and peering at the documents in his hand. "Sit." He hadn't even looked up from his papers.

____ eagerly walked to the chair in front of his desk and sat with her legs crossed. "Um, sir," she began, "Before we start, I wanted to--"

"We've already started today's lesson," Asano interrupted, his voice soft but firm and commanding as ever. "Once we've finished, you can talk to me about your concerns."

____ pressed her lips together in a line and tried not to sound too bothered by him dismissing her so quickly. "What will today's lesson involve?" She prayed over and over in her mind: nothing sexual, nothing sexual, nothing sexual...

Asano finally glanced up from his papers to look her over, and ____ tried her best not to meet his gaze. "I want to see how well you've studied the books I lent to you," he said. "Nothing too exhaustive, just a cursory review with an oral quiz." He moved his seat back and rested his arms on either side of the chair. "Put yourself on my lap, facing down on your stomach."

____ hesitantly rose up and moved around the desk to lay down the way Asano had ordered. The arms of the chair pushed against her chest and upper thighs, but not enough to be anything more than mildly cumbersome. She flinched slightly when she felt his hand move to pull up the bottom of her skirt and expose her rear end to the cool air of his office. "S-sir?"

Asano moved one hand to rest over her back while the other cupped the soft flesh of her backside. "For every question you're unable to answer, you'll get a penalty." He squeezed her ass gently and felt ____ squirm as he toyed with her. "I'll guide you to a proper answer until you manage to discover it for yourself. First: Gardner's theory of multiple intelligences is not a theory applied to most schools in Japan. Tell me why you think that is."

____ shifted in her seat. Were all the questions going to be this open-ended? "Ah...L-let me see," she murmured. It was difficult to think straight when you were upside down and your boss was groping your ass. "Well, Gardner's theory is...u-um, it comes from a Western perspective of intelligence? Kunugigaoka's teaching methods are based heavily off of, of collectivism and group efforts being important. So it may not be applicable here?"

Asano pursed his lips. "Is collectivism solely an Eastern value? Not to mention, you're forgetting one of the cornerstones of our teaching methods is behaviorism--a concept theorized in Europe and the United States."

"Oh. That's true," ____ admitted. "I'm sorry, Asano-sa--"

A sudden smack against her ass startled her followed by a stinging pain made her tear up immediately. She'd never been hit this hard before, and she immediately felt a lump in her throat as she started to cry. "Apologize by considering a better answer," Asano said coldly. "Think carefully about how Gardner's theory contrasts with different policies and standards in Japan."

____ sniffled and cried as he had spoken, and continued to after he'd told her to try again. 'I...u-um, let me...I...A-Asano-san, I..." She tried to think about the question, she really did. "I've never been spanked before, th-this really hurts..."

Asano gently rubbed the place he'd struck her and she let out a small whine; even him comforting her hurt. "It's a new experience, and an effective one," he said. "You're more likely to remember and retain what I say with a physical trigger." He squeezed her ass and felt her squirm again. "Try again."

____ bit the inside of her cheek and tried to ignore the sting and the heat coming from her skin. "Um. Gardner's theories...they imply that each type of intelligence is...a student with one strength does better with a different type of learning method, and a student with a different one would do better with an-another one," she rambled. "But school exams only test the ability to retain a-and apply information. A...a student with high kinetic intelligence, they might struggle on a written exam be-because it tests a different set of skills. R-right?" She looked up at Asano as best as she could for a sign that she had given the right answer.

Asano smiled and tucked a piece of stray hair behind her ear. "A much better answer," he confirmed. "A school setting emphasizes and values different types of intelligence over others, and so does society as a whole." Asano squeezed and played with her upper thigh, and ____ felt his fingers coming closer and closer to between her legs until he was pressing against her clothed slit. "At Kunugigaoka however, I've tried to incorporate the needs of students who aren't gifted with the natural intelligence that exams cover. Even if a student's resistant to conventional teaching and study methods, I've found that a forceful approach can work through that rigidity." He smirked and felt ____ squeeze her thighs around his hand as a he played with her clit. "Next question."

____ tried to gather her thoughts as best as she could while being toyed with over Asano's knee. Shouldn't she be answering these questions while NOT being so distracted? How is she supposed to give a proper response when he's touching her and groping her like this? "S-sir, I understand the purpose of being spanked--um, struck? Learning with a physical trigger. But it's distracting me and I can't focus on what I've studied..."

Asano nodded and slipped some of his fingers past her underwear, pulling them down to press directly against her cunt. She gasped through her nose and felt a wave of shame after she felt her body clench around his fingertips. "That's the point," Asano explained patiently. "If you've studied properly then you should be able to recall information easily, even under stress." He could feel a small bit of lubrication around her entrance making it easier to slip the tip of his middle finger inside. "You did study, didn't you?"

"Y-yes," ____ insisted. "I just didn't think it would be this...ah, this..." She trailed off and whimpered at the feeling of his finger rubbing against a sensitive spot; she didn't even realize that she had started to rock her hips back and forth in time with his hand. "Sir, please!"

Asano narrowed his eyes at ____ as he continued to play with her with one hand. He knew she wasn't experienced with this kind of stimulation, but that wasn't any excuse to act so childishly. "Please? Please do what? I can't stop just because you're uncomfortable, you know that. Now, for the next question. The study conducted on adolescents aged 12 and 13 is referenced often in chapter 3 of the textbook on memory I sent you. The two students in the study failed to keep up with the lessons during the experiment and suffered nervous breakdowns from the strain of the coursework. Why do the authors frame this as something positive?"

____ tried to remember the article he was asking about, but her thoughts were clouded and scattered as she felt a creeping feeling of pleasure and tension in her core. What was that article about? Not memory, that was the one in chapter 2...No, it was about the correlation between classroom size, curriculum density, and...and short class periods? "Ah...The students who had breakdowns," she started, not even sure of what she was trying to say. "The authors theorized it was b-because the intensity of the material being covered and the short--ooh...short class periods. U-um, the teaching method focused on parallel thinking and had them all studying multiple things at the same t-time, and the two students couldn't take...couldn't take it anymore..."

____ let out a frustrated groan and tried to move her hips away from Asano's hand. "Please, I can't," she insisted. "I can't do both at the same time, I can't think when you--"

Asano pulled her hips back into place and quickly covered her mouth with one hand before slapping her ass again. She screamed and started to sob against the palm keeping her somewhat quiet. "You aren't answering the question, you're re-stating it," he said irritably. "Not only that, but you're interrupting the lesson by moving away like that." He raised his hand again and ____ instinctively tried to move out of the way and tried to reach up and block him from hitting her; his eyes darkened and in one swift movement, he pushed her over against the desk and gripped her wrists behind her back while keeping his other hand on her mouth.

"You've disrupted my lesson twice now," he said icily. "If you're so eager to act like an unruly child and throw a tantrum, I'm more than happy to put it on hold to correct this." He dug his nails into the flesh of her wrists and she screamed again. "I'm going to let go of your wrists, and you're going to keep your hands on this desk until I tell you to put then behind your back. Do you understand?"

____ clenched her fists and tried her best to nod while her head was turned to the side against his desk while she continued to cry. This already hurt so much, and she couldn't imagine what he'd do if she tried to run out of the room or fight back. "Mm...Mhh-mm." She sniffled and choked back some of her sobs to try and respond. Asano, true to his word, let go of her wrists and she immediately placed them on the edge of the desk. Her knuckles lightened as she gripped the wood as hard as possible, and the ache of her hands distracted her from the sting of her lower thighs and the strain on her neck and upper body being pressed against his desk.

After a few seconds, she felt his hand take one of her wrists; a strip of cloth was in his hand, and she felt it brush against her own skin. "Behind your back," he ordered. ____ complied and put her hands together again. She felt the silk of Asano's tie wrap around her and tighten until it was firmly keeping her wrists bound. He took her by the crook of her arm and moved his other hand to let her breathe more easily through her nose while he kept her mouth covered. "Back in the chair."

Soon she was back in his lap, though this time her hands were in an uncomfortable raised position thanks to his necktie. "Obviously you're not able to continue with the quiz I had in mind today," Asano said, sighing in disappointment. "Still, I'm not going to cut our lesson short just because of your outburst." ____ felt a few more tears well up at just how upset and disappointed he sounded in her. She didn't want to be a brat. She didn't want to disrupt his lesson, but she just couldn't think straight. "Instead, we'll be reviewing something much more elementary to match your attitude." Her heart sank as she felt his hand rest on the curve of her ass again. "The two of us are going to count. I think that ten should be high enough."

____ caught a glimpse of his hand as he raised it up and bit her lower lip to try and steel herself before he spanked her again. The harsh slap of skin against skin followed by a new rush of aching pain left her sobbing pathetically underneath him. His voice was soft and eerily cheery as he brushed a few fingers over where he'd hit her. "One."

Slap. "Two."

Slap. "Three."

____ heard the rush of blood roaring in her ears until she could hear nothing else, not even the spankings or her own crying. It sounded so far away, just like Asano's voice. "Four...five..."

The breaks in between each spanking grew longer and longer, and Asano could hear her wails become less and less loud and obnoxious until they died down to short whimpers after each slap. Her lips were slightly parted behind his hand, but she wasn't pouting and wincing anymore; it seemed that she'd spent all of her energy and her tantrum had finally subsided. He peered down at her slightly-tilted head and noted the glazed-over look in her visibly reddened eyes as she stared off into space. Dissociation was a common side effect when it came to his students, a clear sign that they were at their limit and--even better--their minds were much easier to mould now that their subconscious was preoccupied elsewhere. For ____ in particular, it was a key step in training her. Right now she had learned she couldn't resist him, and with the right positive and negative reinforcement she'd learn to love his guiding hand.

"Six." Smack.

"Mm..."

"Seven." Smack.

"Mmm."

An impulsive part of him, specifically the part responsible for the slight tent in his pants as he watched her stare blankly and become more and more compliant and complacent with each strike. She clearly wasn't cut out to teach, not with how well she fit in his lap and how satisfying it was to hear her soft moans. He imagined how much better it would be to see her transition from resistant and defiant, to blank and defeated, and finally to eager and adoring once he'd finally finished grooming her into his ideal "protégé."

"Eight...Nine...Ten."

[theawkwardterrier]

Fake It, Make It

A tropey Steggy Secret Santa gift for the excellent @sagesiren​/@theeleganteuropeanwoman! Wishing you as good an end to 2020 as you can get, and an amazing 2021!!  ✨✨✨

Summary: When Steve tells his mother that he is now dating a woman named Peggy Carter, his mother immediately wants to meet her. Which Steve would, of course, be perfectly happy to arrange, except that he is not in fact dating Peggy Carter (as much as he might want to be).

Read on AO3

Steve’s mother has been a nurse for thirty-three years. She’s familiar with the medical system and its limitations, and she’s a straight shooter even when it comes to her own mortality.

So when her doctor sends her for more tests after her annual physical, she mentions it to Steve during their weekly phone call.

“Dr. Nakhwa is worried,” she admits. “It’s bloodwork and scans now, but it might become something very quickly.”

“What can I do?” Steve asks, immediate and stricken. He had been trying to work on dinner as they talked, and his pot of water roils and hisses without answer.

“I’ll let you know if there’s anything,” she assures him practically, then sighs, quick and heartfelt and without drama. “But if it is something, I’ll just be so sorry for all the things in your life I’ll miss out on. Your first gallery show—”

“Ma,” Steve protests. No one knows his art better than she does - she signed him up for all the free afterschool art classes and every summer camp they could afford, and there are still paintings of his stored in her apartment a decade after he moved out - but he got his practicality from her, started training in carpentry on the recommendation of George Barnes back when he was a teenager and knew that there wouldn’t be money for college. He’s been able to do more custom woodworking lately and word has been getting around about his skill, but he’s accepted that he won’t be making his living off of the fine arts.

Undeterred, his mother says, “Oh, hush, even hobbyists can have dreams. But if you don’t like that, I’d be happy to see you in a relationship instead. It would ease my heart to know that you’ve found someone who can be beside you.”

And because easing his mother’s heart has always been at the top of his priority list, Steve finds himself blurting, “I’ve actually been dating someone. Now. I’m dating someone now.”

“Oh?” she says keenly. “Well, I hope to meet them someday soon.”

Steve coughs. “I’m sure you will.” He hopes that he’s somehow magically become a better liar in the past thirty seconds than he was for the first thirty years of his life.

Seemingly forgetting her earlier seriousness entirely, his mother adds, “What can you tell me about them? Can I have a name at least?”

“Peggy Carter,” Steve says without pause.

Later, he will ask himself why he didn’t just lie. It’s too soon, I don’t want to jinx anything. We made a bet and I’m not allowed to say her name out loud for a week. She’s a spy and I can only tell you her alias. He will berate himself for not just diving for some sort of distracting conversational offramp: the still-boiling pot, the cat yowling down in the alley, “that’s not important now, what else did your doctor say?” But he will never wonder why this was the name which came out of his mouth. He never has to search for it. She’s always on his mind these days.

“Peggy Carter,” his mother repeats. “Well, I’ll be happy to meet her. I’m off two Saturdays from now, if the two of you would like to drop by for a visit.”

His mother is the only blood family he has, that he’s ever even known. He’ll do anything for her. Even, apparently, say yes to this.

His mother’s follow-up scans come back clear. She tells him that in one breath, and tells him in the next that she’s so looking forward to meeting Peggy this upcoming Saturday.

“I don’t want to put this off until the next time I have a health scare,” she says. “And I could tell she’s important to you just by the way you said her name.”

So in his relief at her news, and to his later horror, instead of saying that he and Peggy have broken up, instead of saying that she has an emergency, instead of saying that she’s gone back to England indefinitely and they’ll just have to do it some other time, he says, “We’re looking forward to it to.”

When Steve confesses his predicament, Bucky laughs so hard that he slips off of his stool at Finnegan’s and almost knocks himself out on the bar.

“Could you at least help while you’re doing that?” Steve asks, torn between impatience and desperation, but his best friend just collapses into laughter again.

His mother already knows most of his friends. He supposes he could hire someone, but that seems like it might be taking it a step too far. And anyway, he’s overwhelmingly thankful that his mother is still healthy; it seems ungrateful, a temptation of fate, to give more weight and trickery to the lie.

Which means that there’s really only one thing left to do.

It doesn’t mean he’s relishing the prospect under the circumstances.

(Though he wouldn’t exactly be opposed to it under others.)

He asks Peggy Carter out for what’s probably the strangest date of her life and certainly the strangest of his on Monday, just as they’re finishing their lunch break. The rest of the crew, coolers over their shoulders, is already heading back over to the job site - Morita knocking his knuckles against that hideous brown hard hat of Dugan’s, Jacques explaining something as Gabe leans in - but Steve always does a quick sweep for trash just to make sure they’ve left the area clear. Peggy is heading in the other direction to track down Phillips. The boss is still legendarily prickly, but he doesn’t trust any architect but her these days.

“Peggy,” Steve forces himself to call before she’s disappeared. He wishes that this were just another one of those times that he had called her back for those innocuous, desperate five extra minutes of chatting. “I need to—Would you—Can I ask you a question? A favor, I guess?”

She tilts her head in invitation and he spills the story as quickly as he can, the rip-off-the-bandaid method.

“—and if you aren’t busy on Saturday, I was wondering if you could come over to say hi to her. It wouldn’t have to be for long, but it would make her really happy and I would—I’d really appreciate it. I can’t tell you how much.”

He stuffs his twisting hands into his pockets as he finishes, and pushes back his shoulders, hoping that he’ll still have a bit of dignity even once she’s rejected him. He doesn’t think she’ll be mean about it - he knows who Peggy is, the type of person to hand back hammers to the apprentices who’ve dropped them with a wordless wink, the type who lets someone else pick the takeout place if they’re having a bad day even when it’s her turn - but still, she’s Peggy Carter, and he’s Steve Rogers, the random guy who she knows from job sites and now the time he’d lied to his mother about dating her and then asked her to help him keep up the ruse.

“That certainly is a predicament,” she says instead of any of the gentle letdowns he was imagining. “But I must ask: why did you pick me?” It’s chilly today but bright, and the noon sun glints off her hair. He catches a smile, there and gone again, at the corners of her mouth.

“I said the first name that came into my head,” he tells her honestly, and then, just as honestly, “And I knew that my mother would like you, if you ever happened to meet each other.”

“Hmm,” says Peggy, smile all the way gone now, as if he’s disappointed her somehow. Her eyes are still soft, though. “Well, I suppose it’s quite lucky I am free on Saturday, then.”

“Lucky,” Steve echoes, and tries to figure out whether it’s true.

“You absolutely will not go out in this weather,” his mother admonishes, her arms set in a way that Steve is extremely familiar with.

“I’m certain that the subway—” Peggy starts.

“Of course the subway will be running,” Sarah says with the confidence of a born New Yorker. “Late and jam-packed, announcing that they’re going express any damn time, and there’s no reason for you to be on it.”

Peggy looks over to Steve as if he might step in, but even as he gives her a wide-eyed, helpless shrug, his mother is already leaving the living room and heading down the hall, calling, “I’ll get fresh sheets for you two, Steve, but please find Peggy something to wear.” (Sarah Rogers is surprisingly strong, but she’s also rail thin and an extremely charitable five foot two, and Peggy is...not. Something Steve has absolutely no complaints about, to be frank.)

They’ve told his mother that they’ve been seeing each other for nearly six months - Steve mostly left that part of the storytelling up to Peggy, who managed to spin something that had enough details to seem plausible but wasn’t so elaborate that Steve had felt bad about misleading his mother with a fairy tale. But even if their relationship was real, there’s no reason to assume that they would have spent the night with each other, that they would be comfortable sharing a bedroom.

“I’ll sleep out here,” Steve says immediately and with vehemence.

Peggy casts her eye over the couch, more of a loveseat really; the living room is too small for much else. “Will you be removing your head or your feet to fit, then?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

Voice low to avoid his mother’s uncanny hearing, he says, “This whole day has already been more than you agreed to. I don’t want to force you into a situation that would make you uncomfortable.”

“I would say the same as it regards you,” she responds. “And if I was uncomfortable with the situation, I believe I would be the first to know. Now, I think I was promised something to sleep in?”

The collection of clothes he keeps at his mother’s is small, but he manages to dig up a large T-shirt and a pair of flannel pants for Peggy and the same for himself. She smiles at him, leaving to change, and he takes the opportunity to do the same before turning to put the sheets his mother had found on the beds, faced head-on with the reminder of the close quarters of his bedroom.

There isn’t much to see: his bed, the tiny closet, a dresser. He used to do his homework at the kitchen table because there wasn’t room for a desk. His bed frame had been a gift representing several birthdays and a Christmas as well, back in elementary school. Every other weekend, he would slide the trundle bed out, gleeful to finally have a chance to have sleepovers with Bucky somewhere other than in sleeping bags on the living room rug. The pull-out had used up all the extra floor space and he’d had to crawl off the end of the bed to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, but when he and Buck were telling each other scary stories quietly enough that his mother wouldn’t hear or reading comics under the covers, taking turns holding the shared flashlight, what had it mattered?

It definitely seems to matter now.

He stares at the two beds, tucked compactly side by side, and realizes that soon he and Peggy are going to be lying in them. Even if he pushes them as far apart as possible, it would be barely two inches before the dresser got in the way. No matter what, their hands could touch across that gap. If she’s a mobile sleeper, they could end up practically curled around one another…

He scrubs a hand vigorously over his face, mussing his hair and probably leaving him red-cheeked, but gathering himself. He makes both beds with care, returning to the linen closet to add top sheets, comforters, and light blankets too; he has no idea how Peggy likes to sleep.

The thought leaves him wide-eyed once again, but it’s too late to force his thoughts elsewhere. Peggy knocks just then, and he tells her to come in, hoping that his voice sounds normal as he does.

“I should have gotten you a toothbrush,” he says immediately upon seeing her, ready to scramble over and take care of it, but she waves a hand.

“Your mother gave me one. She also added my clothing to a basket of laundry she was taking downstairs so I would have ‘something fresh to wear in the morning.’ She wouldn’t hear any protests.”

As if she couldn’t have already figured it out from everything else today, Steve says, “She’s like that.”

“Yes,” Peggy says, thankfully amused. “I assumed.” She turns to the beds and asks, “Now, which would you like?”

Which one he’d like? He can’t think of anything that could matter less. He lists for her the pros and cons of each bed with the care usually reserved for life-changing decisions. She follows along seriously, though he recognizes the touch of humor around her mouth.

Ten minutes later, he is lying on the trundle, and she has her back to him as she examines the spines of the books on the small shelf mounted beside his bed.

She has washed her makeup off and her hair is in a single, simple braid. He’s heard the guys on the crew refer to certain women as “unbelievably beautiful.” Peggy isn’t that. She looks exactly as pretty right now as he had imagined she would, exactly as pretty as she does in her jeans and sensible blouse and Day-Glo vest on the construction site, or the time he had seen her dressed up in a gown for some awards gala, or when he had picked her up that morning and saw her wearing that red sweater with a black pencil skirt and felt lucky just to be walking next to her.

Still, he does find looking at her just now a bit hard. Difficult, he amends quickly, shoving the word hard away. She’s somewhat difficult to look at like this, unraveled and lovely.

“How fantastically minded you were,” she comments, smiling over her shoulder before flipping over to face him. “Is this still the sort of thing you like to read?”

“I usually end up with a bit of everything,” he admits. “But yeah, there’s some great sci-fi and fantasy being written these days.”

“It can be nice,” she says, “visiting other worlds.”

“It can be,” he agrees, not telling her that that’s what today has felt like: however awkwardly, unconventionally attained, it’s been like a brief, wonderful visit to another world.

They were only meant to stay for brunch.

“Don’t cook anything,” he had begged his mother. She was always covering shifts for other people, running errands for neighbors when she wasn’t working, on her feet all day regardless. Having a day off where she hadn’t already scheduled sixteen things was something of a miracle, and he was going to force her to take advantage of it. “I’ll cook.”

Voice somewhat insultingly skeptical down the phone, she’d said, “So, do you already know that this woman has a cast-iron stomach, or are you looking to poison a guest in my home, Steven Rogers?”

In the end, they’d agreed that he would take care of picking up fresh bagels from their favorite place. Of course, when Steve and Peggy arrived, his mother had already set out lox, cut fruit and vegetables, hard boiled eggs, and about six different types of cream cheese.

“You promised not to make anything,” Steve said irritably, giving his mother a hug.

“I promised not to cook,” she corrected. “Boiling a few eggs isn’t cooking. Even you can do that, after all.” And Peggy laughed from beside Steve and stepped forward to introduce herself.

Steve had promised Peggy that they wouldn’t stay longer than a couple of hours, and so at exactly 1:30 he glanced noticeably at his watch and asked if she needed to go to “that other thing you had scheduled.”

“Thankfully not,” she smiled, finishing her piece of crumb cake (his mother swore she just happened to have it left over). “I postponed it, and I’m certainly happy that I did.”

And despite the situation, Steve was happy too - happy that she’d come, happy that she stayed. She and his mother traded stories about their respective jobs, lamenting that even though they were of different generations and worked in completely different fields, one with women as the majority and one with them in the minority, they had so many of the same experiences: dealing with stressed or snappish or condescending people, having their knowledge and authority questioned, and managing to get enormous, important work done skillfully anyway.

“I still love it,” Peggy had said as they moved from the kitchen table to the living room. (Steve barely thought about taking the seat beside Peggy, and then started overthinking why he hadn’t considered more.) “Despite everything, I wouldn’t want to be doing anything else.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” said Sarah, voice already fond, as if she’s known Peggy more than a few hours. “I wouldn’t either.”

They’d talked about how Steve had taken shop class in high school - a few knickknacks he’d made were even still scattered around the apartment for his mother to show off; when she’d passed one over to him, even though he recognized its amateurishness, he felt a tenderness fill him, as if he was holding the hand of a younger version of himself. When he passed it to Peggy, he felt the gentleness of her hand on it too.

Later, he would realize that it was a bit suspicious for him to talk about how he’d gone from an A- in Shop to a carpentry apprenticeship to starting to work with Phillips’s general contracting company: surely if they had truly been dating, they would have talked about it all at some point before. But in the moment all he saw was the flicker in her eye as she told him that, oh, she certainly remembered his first day working with the crew.

It wasn’t that they didn’t notice the weather turning - the first flakes fell as the light began dimming low and gray toward evening - it was only that they were a bit busy making hot drinks and setting up the Trivial Pursuit board. This was probably how Steve would have been spending his afternoon regardless, but he watched Peggy carefully for signs that she was eager for an escape and simply too polite to say so. He even leaned over when his mother excused herself briefly and asked whether she was sure she still wanted to stay, to which she had responded, “I’ll almost certainly have my sports and leisure wedge after my next turn. Why in the world would I leave?”

When Steve went downstairs to retrieve the Thai takeout they had ordered, he did see that it was getting pretty messy outside. The wind had a bite to it, too, so he gave his order of miso soup to the man who’d delivered the food alongside the tip, and decided to see if there was an extra pair of boots around for Peggy to use later.

But after they’d finished with their dinner and watching The Sound of Music, which had been just starting as they’d flipped through TV channels, his mother had turned to the nine o’clock news, saw how hard the snow was coming down, and refused to be persuaded that a change in footwear would be enough. Truthfully, Steve would probably have stayed without question if he had been by himself, but the fact is that he came with Peggy. Peggy, who had stayed long past the anticipated two hours. Peggy, who he was not actually dating. Peggy, who he was now meant to sleep beside.

“I’m sorry for the early night,” he apologizes again as they lie together in the darkness with the radiator hissing slightly. Not realizing how things would turn out today, he had scheduled a 9 A.M. consult with a couple who were looking to have some built-in bookshelves added and he has be up early enough to bring Peggy home and get back to his apartment to change before heading into Manhattan.

“It’s no trouble,” she assures him again. “There’s nothing at all the matter with getting a good night’s rest.”

“And I’m sorry again about everything. About how today turned out, and for getting you into it into the first place.”

“Oh Steve,” she sighs. “Will you shut up about that, please?” and even though her tone lacks sharpness, the words are enough for him to flip over toward her in surprise. “I truly enjoyed myself today. And I would have come even if you had simply asked me without any sort of exceptional circumstances.”

“What do you—?”

“I liked meeting your mother. She’s nothing at all like mine, which perhaps is why I appreciate her so much. I liked sitting around and talking, playing games and eating good food and singing along with Julie Andrews, and I liked spending time with you.” Her voice dips even softer. “I liked it all, and I would have come anyway, if you had only asked.”

With the cloud cover and the snow still coming down, the window lets in little light. He can’t make out her expression, can’t see if she’s just saying things out of tiredness, or reminiscing about a pleasant afternoon, or if she might just be hinting at something which would justify the elevated beating of his heart.

He nearly thanks her for being a good friend, but somehow, the way that she’s turned onto her side to face him as well, an invitation, makes him breathe in and say, “But you’re Peggy Carter. I don’t know why you would have bothered.”

“Is that what you think of me?” she asks. He’s never heard her voice with that twisting edge to it and it takes a moment for him to recognize it: hurt. “That I’m some high and mighty miss, and I would never deign to even look at the likes of you?”

“No!” he says, not frantic, hard and simple and factual, trying to make her see. “It’s just that you’re Peggy Carter,” he repeats. “There are probably a dozen awards on your shelves. I’ve seen you skewer guys with a half dozen words for propositioning you, then get right back to work. Phillips doesn’t like anyone except his dog, but he turns down projects if you aren’t going to be working on them. You wanted to design buildings and you made that happen for yourself. You’ve worked on dozens of projects and they’re all different but I’ve wanted to stay in each one, even the offices.” His voice doesn’t drop as he continues, even as he half hopes that his words will be lost in the pillow beneath his head. “You’re creative and determined and gorgeous and fascinating and funny. Just talking to you should be any thinking person’s favorite thing. And I’m only a guy.”

She inhales deeply through her nose, as if she is trying to keep her temper somehow, but when she speaks, her voice is calm. “When there are novices on a job, you’re the one who helps them through their nerves and shows them the right way to do things. Other women have told me that they like to work on the same site as you because they know you would never make them uncomfortable and you’ve fought anyone who tried. After an evening out, you give your share of the tip and then stay behind and add a bit extra. You do it every time, Steve. I’ve watched you.”

“Anyone could—”

“The first day I met you,” she interrupts, “you introduced yourself to Mr. Jarvis. Most people don’t, you know. They’re too busy noticing Howard to even pay attention. The day after, you brought soup for Ana because you had heard she was ill. I don’t know anyone else who would have done that, bring soup for someone who he’d never met, the wife of the electrician’s admin he’d only known for a day.” Even with the hiss and clank of the heating, he thinks he can make out every dimension of the breath she takes in before she adds, low and direct, “You’re loyal and sharp and kind, you make wonderful art and adore your mother, and you’re so upstandingly moral I half expect you to ride into work one day on a white steed. Had you not kept moving away every time I tried to get near, I would have asked you out long ago. And if you had asked me all the way back then, before I knew anything else, I would have said yes too, just because of the soup.”

It’s been three years since he started working with Phillips, three years of watching from across construction zones as she cut stubborn men down to size with a sharp word (or her fist if necessary), of lingering at lunch for the chance to see her smile or hear her opinion on current affairs or some article that they had both read. All that time of thinking that she would never possibly consider him more than a friend, and she already had.

“Can I—” he starts, his hand moving tentatively into the tiny space between their beds. She catches his fingers with hers and lifts them to her mouth, placing a delicate kiss on the backs of his knuckles. His breath comes sharply into his lungs.

He has, a time or two thousand, pictured some imaginary world where she might kiss him one day. This isn’t at all how he envisioned it in any of those dreams - they were never in side-by-side twin beds at his mother’s house, for one thing.

Nothing in him cares.

When she says goodbye to him the next morning, his mother gives him an innocent smile and a reminder to drop by a Duane Reade for chapstick and...anything else they might need. He almost tells her that they were only kissing, but doesn’t think it will help. Besides, he was trying to avoid embarrassing details by stripping the beds before she woke up so she wouldn’t notice that the sheets had only been truly mussed on one.

(He wouldn’t have been expecting that sleeping in a narrow bed with Peggy half sprawled on top of him would be wonderful, but he’ll be the first to admit that he isn’t right about everything.)

Exactly fifty-one weeks later, his mother asks him how he and Peggy are celebrating their anniversary. He’s halfway through telling her before he realizes that she’s not supposed to know that it’s their anniversary at all, that she’s still meant to think they’ve been together a year and a half already.

“As if you’ve been able to lie to me once in your life, Steven Rogers,” she says with a laugh. “You said her name and I knew that you weren’t telling me the whole truth the same moment I knew that she meant something to you anyway. Now tell me about the ring.”

“How did you—?”

He has the feeling she’s waving a dismissive hand on her end of the phone. “Nothing in the world easier than reading you, sweetheart.” Her tone turns a bit thoughtful. “Peggy, on the other hand, she’s a bit harder. But even that first time you brought her here, I could tell. When the time comes for you to ask, she’ll say yes.”

She’s right.

[vajranam]

How To Use Your Dharma Practice

A s regards the method of acquiring practical spiritual knowledge, if you find a certain practice increases your evil passions and tends you toward selfishness, abandon it, though it may appear to others virtuous. And if any course of action tends to counteract your evil passions, and to benefit sentient beings, know that to be the true and holy path, and continue it, even though it should appear to others to be sinful.

Milarepa

A dharma practice is here to help us to realise our true nature of mind, but the most important part of dharma practice is capture and cancel our ego clinging.

We also confuse Dharma the teaching and Dharma practice, without the teachings we wont be able to practice the dharma

The 37 Bodhisattvas practice explain us how we need to turn our mind to the teaching.

Namo Lokesvaraya

You who see that experience has no coming or going,

Yet pour your energy solely into helping beings,

My excellent teachers and Lord All Seeing,

I humbly and constantly honor with my body, speech, and mind.

The fully awake, the buddhas, source of joy and well-being,

All come from integrating the noble Way.

Because integration depends on your knowing how to practice,

I will explain the practice of all bodhisattvas.

1

Right now, you have a good boat, fully equipped and available — hard to find.

To free others and you from the sea of samsara,

Day and night, fully alert and present,

Study, reflect, and meditate — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

2

Attraction to those close to you catches you in its currents;

Aversion to those who oppose you burns inside;

Indifference that ignores what needs to be done is a black hole.

Leave your homeland — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

3

Don’t engage disturbances and reactive emotions gradually fade away;

Don’t engage distractions and spiritual practice naturally grows;

Keep awareness clear and vivid and confidence in the way arises.

Rely on silence — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

4

You will separate from long-time friends and relatives;

You will leave behind the wealth you worked to build up;

The guest, your consciousness, will move from the inn, your body.

Forget the conventional concerns — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

5

With some friends, the three poisons keep growing,

Study, reflection, and meditation weaken,

And loving kindness and compassion fall away.

Give up bad friends — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

6

With some teachers, your shortcomings fade away and

Abilities grow like the waxing moon.

Hold such teachers dear to you,

Dearer than your own body — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

7

Locked up in the prison of their own patterning

Whom can ordinary gods protect?

Who can you count on for refuge?

Go for refuge in the Three Jewels — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

8

The suffering in the lower realms is really hard to endure.

The Sage says it is the result of destructive actions.

For that reason, even if your life is at risk,

Don’t engage in destructive actions — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

9

The happiness of the three worlds disappears in a moment,

Like a dewdrop on a blade of grass.

The highest level of freedom is one that never changes.

Aim for this — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

10

If all your mothers, who love you,

Suffer for time without beginning, how can you be happy?

To free limitless sentient beings,

Give rise to awakening mind — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

11

All suffering comes from wanting your own happiness.

Complete awakening arises from the intention to help others.

So, exchange completely your happiness

For the suffering of others — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

12

Even if someone, driven by desperate want,

Steals, or makes someone else steal, everything you own,

Dedicate to him your body, your wealth, and

All the good you’ve ever done or will do — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

13

Even if you have done nothing wrong at all

And someone still tries to take your head off,

Spurred by compassion,

Take all his or her evil into you — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

14

Even if someone broadcasts to the whole universe

Slanderous and ugly rumors about you,

In return, with an open and caring heart,

Praise his or her abilities — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

15

Even if someone humiliates you and denounces you

In front of a crowd of people,

Think of this person as your teacher

And humbly honor him — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

16

Even if a person you have cared for as your own child

Treats you as his or her worst enemy,

Lavish him or her with loving attention

Like a mother caring for her ill child — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

17

Even if your peers or subordinates,

Put you down to make themselves look better,

Treat them respectfully as you would your teacher:

Put them above you — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

18

When you are down and out, held in contempt,

Desperately ill, and emotionally crazed,

Don’t lose heart. Take into you

The suffering and negativity of all beings — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

19

Even when you are famous, honored by all,

And as rich as the god of wealth himself,

Don’t be pompous. Know that the magnificence of existence

Has no substance — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

20

If you don’t subdue the opponent inside, your own anger,

Although you subdue opponents outside, they just keep coming.

Muster the forces of loving kindness and compassion

And subdue your own mind — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

21

Sensual pleasures are like salty water:

The deeper you drink, the thirstier you become.

Any object that you attach to,

Right away, let it go — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

22

Whatever arises in experience is your own mind.

Mind itself is free of any conceptual limitations.

Know that and don’t generate

Subject-object fixations — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

23

When you come across something you enjoy,

Though beautiful to experience, like a summer rainbow,

Don’t take it as real.

Let go of attachment — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

24

All forms of suffering are like dreaming that your child has died.

Taking confusion as real wears you out.

When you run into misfortune,

Look at it as confusion — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

25

If those who want to be awake have to give even their bodies,

What need is there to talk about things that you simply own.

Be generous, not looking

For any return or result — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

26

If you can’t tend to your needs because you have no moral discipline,

Then intending to take care of the needs of others is simply a joke.

Observe ethical behavior without concern

For conventional existence — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

27

For bodhisattvas who want to be rich in virtue

A person who hurts you is a precious treasure.

Cultivate patience for everyone,

Completely free of irritation or resentment — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

28

Listeners and solitary buddhas, working only for their own welfare,

Are seen to practice as if their heads were on fire.

To help all beings, pour your energy into practice:

It’s the source of all abilities — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

29

Understanding that emotional reactions are dismantled

By insight supported by stillness,

Cultivate meditative stability that passes right by

The four formless states — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

30

Without wisdom, the five perfections

Are not enough to attain full awakening.

Cultivate wisdom, endowed with skill

And free from the three domains — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

31

If you don’t go into your own confusion,

You may just be a materialist in practitioner’s clothing.

Constantly go into your own confusion

And put an end to it — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

32

You undermine yourself when you react emotionally and

Grumble about the imperfections of other bodhisattvas.

Of the imperfections of those who have entered the Great Way,

Don’t say anything — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

33

When you squabble with others about status and rewards,

You undermine learning, reflection, and meditation.

Let go of any investment in your family circle

Or the circle of those who support you — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

34

Abusive language upsets others

And undermines the ethics of a bodhisattva.

So, don’t upset people or

Speak abusively — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

35

When reactive emotions acquire momentum, it’s hard to make remedies work.

A person in attention wields remedies like weapons,

Crushing reactive emotions such as craving

As soon as they arise — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

36

In short, in everything you do,

Know what is happening in your mind.

By being constantly present and aware

You bring about what helps others — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

37

To dispel the suffering of beings without limit,

With wisdom freed from the three spheres

Direct all the goodness generated by these efforts

To awakening — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

Following the teachings of the holy ones

On what is written in the sutras, tantras, and commentaries,

I set out these thirty-seven practices of a bodhisattva

For those who intend to train in this path.

Because I have limited intelligence and little education,

These verses are not the kind of poetry that delights the learned.

But because I relied on the teachings of the sutras and the revered

I am confident that The Practices of a Bodhisattva is sound.

However, because it’s hard for a person with limited intelligence like me

To fathom the depths of the great waves of the activity of bodhisattvas,

I ask the revered to tolerate

Any mistakes — contradictions, non sequiturs, and such.

From the goodness of this work, may all beings,

Through the supreme mind that is awake to what is ultimately and apparently true,

Not rest in any limiting position — existence or peace:

May they be like Lord All Seeing.

Tokmé, the monk, a teacher of scripture and logic, composed this text in a cave near the town of Ngülchu Rinchen for his own and others’ benefit

This the first step just before practice turning our mind away of samsara.

Second part we must develop three steps very important.

Renounciation: to be able to practice the right way , we need renounce to samsara

Bodhichitta: mind of unconditional love and compassion

The right view : aiming to liberate all being losing self grasping

Knowing how to practice the dharma how we take a practice, some of us think the vehicle we are isnt important. Well to take the right practice is like taking the right medicine , if you had flue taking a tea wont do much, but if you take flue medicine that will help us more.

Mahayana practice are able to become Vajrayana too it depends on our views and bodhicitta.

Vajrayana practices are radically different some got inside practices of the practice and more.

Lets say that years we been practicing Chenrezig and we still not having compassion and our tendency still the same well its time to change.

What do we mean by discovering or rediscovering our true nature means, get rib of all egotistical constructions, become more selfless.

[everythinggeeky]

Everything I Wanted | Obi-Wan Kenobi

Obi-Wan Kenobi x senator! reader

Warnings: NONE! lots of fluff, angst, longing, fuck the jedi code amiright

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: Obi-Wan appears to the reader in a force projection after a long troubling day of debates within the senate, reminding the reader of her true purpose and comforting her. After settling her nerves until he can safely return, she gains the courage to continue the difficult debates.

A/N: requests are open!

masterlist

The debates have been going on what feels like for months. In reality, it was only a few weeks. Long, grueling senate sessions have become your new reality. By the end of the evening, you were exhausted and ready to collapse in your bed, overlooking the busy, bustling Coruscant traffic. 

After the regularly scheduled senate session, you had met Senator Amidala to discuss your plan to convince the Senate that the upcoming bill wasn’t a good idea as everyone had originally thought. She and Senator Organa were assembling a notion to detract support from the bill and suggest an amendment to the preexisting policy. The discussion had been troubling, however. To amend the current policy would be an amendment to tradition. Without a doubt, this wouldn’t go over well in the Senate.

Ensuring senator Amidala that you would sleep on it, you returned to your quarters, enthralled by the wonder of the cityscape. There was a piece missing from this moment, the Jedi master that has quickly taken residence in your heart. Master Kenobi was away, engaged in battle on a planet unknown; a planet torn by the Clone Wars. Of course, attachments are against the Jedi code. However, you had both agreed that you wouldn’t let your connection come between you, him, and the mission at hand. 

Gazing out over the balcony, plagued by insomnia, your thoughts wandered to the man. He had worked so hard in the last few months, difficult battles consumed his weeks and you had barely seen him. Obi-wan was to return in just over a week, the scheduled victory was critical to the war. Without a word from him, his current status was unknown. You were left wondering where he was and if he was okay, trusting in his word that he would return to you.

You swept your sleeping robes behind you, pacing slowly, with a shallow attempt to occupy your mind with something other than the lonesome thoughts of the handsome man. From somewhere distant in the back of her mind, a voice crept its way into her mind.

“Darling…”

“Obi…?” she asked into the void, the voice familiar.

“Yes, it’s me, turn around…”

You turn towards him, his figure a clear but distant shadow. 

“What is this…? Where are you…?”

“The force, sweetheart, unfortunately, due to both of our positions on Coruscant, my location is disclosed, but I promise you, I am alright.”

“You better be..”

“And I will return to you soon, as scheduled, but I wanted to check in with you...I could sense that something was severely troubling your mind...what is it..?”

“Well… it’s the debates in the senate...Senator Amidala, Organa, and I are hoping to present an alternative, although, it’s not going so well. And of course, I miss you terribly..”

“I know, and I as well...but it won’t be much longer until we’re together again. And for the debates, I know that you and the senators are wise. Follow your instincts if you believe you are right. I’m sure the Senate will come around eventually”

“Thank you, Obi-wan.”

“Of course. Now, I cannot stay for much longer. Just know that in about a week’s time, I will be with you right there on your balcony; looking over the night’s sky as you do so often when your mind is troubled like this.”

You chuckled to yourself, knowing that what he said was true. It was a habit; a method of distraction meant to busy your mind with something else other than stress or loneliness. You scanned his form one last time, not wanting to forget him and how his robes decorate his stature and asserted his position on the Jedi council. The various shades of beige and brown complimented his hair and beard so nicely. 

You remembered lying on your backs, facing the ceiling of your quarters. Limbs intertwined, robes covering your body as well as his as some sort of pseudo-blanket. The soft material was comforting and smelled like him, a peaceful reminder of the time you shared together. You tried your best to remember these moments when you miss him as you do now, treasuring the valuable moments spent together in between missions and council briefings.

“y/n…?” he sensed your mind drifting once again.

“Sorry...I’m alright...just thinking of you…” you said with a smile. 

“Keep thinking those more pleasant thoughts, darling...I will be home soon.”

You nodded, bidding him goodnight with a sweet smile. Before you had the chance to speak up again, he was gone. You took a deep breath and centered yourself, nerves much more relaxed than they were before Obi-Wan had appeared to you. Returning inside, pulling the pale blue robe tighter around yourself, you slink into bed and pull the covers tight around your lonely body.

The next week seemed to drag on forever. The promise of seeing Obi-Wan at the end of the week provided a source of energy that did not go unnoticed. In the middle of the week, after a grueling day of negotiations, Padme pulled you aside. 

“Have you been alright…? I noticed you’ve been acting a bit off in the last week or so..”

“Yeah..I’ve been alright. A close friend of mine has been away for some time, and I really miss them. But, they should be home soon.”

“I could tell that good news is coming, y/n. You’ve been enthusiastic in the last few days. Keep focused. We will get through this. The Senate will begin to understand why this is so important.”

You scoffed, “you’re starting to sound like him.”

“Who?”

“Obi-Wan.”

She gave you a look. Was this the friend you were referring to? Shamefully, you nodded slowly, looking softly into her eyes to ask for her secrecy. Of course, she knew the dangers of disobeying the Jedi code and sneaking around. She wrapped you into a warm hug to seal her promise to you.

“Just be careful, y/n. This is dangerous, but it can be worth it. If this is what you believe is right, follow it.” she spoke softly.

You nodded, breaking away from the embrace to pick up a piece of your dress, following the threads with the pad of your thumb.

“Thank you..”

“Of course,” She smiled softly, continuing “now...would you like to go and take a break..?”

“I would love to, but I really must go and assemble my claims for tonight’s session. I need to refresh my argument.”

She nodded to dismiss you, and you returned to your quarters. You evaluated the holograms of the past recordings of your claims for the Senate session. This was your big moment, the driving evidence for the new policy. This would change Coruscant, but it was a change that was for the benefit of everyone. 

Out of the corner of your vision, the door to your quarters slid open. Before you could process the intruder, Obi-Wan greeted you with a sweet smile.

“Y/n”

“Obi? You’re early.”

“I just landed. I came right here, hoping you would be here.”

You whisked away the hologram, walking up to him. 

“I’ve missed you.”

“I have missed you as well…”

Hesitantly, you pulled him into a hug, tucking your arms under the sheets of fabric that enveloped him. 

“How did your mission go…?” you tilted your chin to face him.

“Well, there was a bit of a hiccup with Anakin and the inhabitants, but overall…”

“When is there not a hiccup with Anakin…?”

He chuckled, “very true.”

You released yourself from him, meeting his gaze with a kind smile.

“I was just rehearsing for the Senate session tonight. I think they’re finally going to come around.”

“I told you they would, darling. I know you can persuade them of what is best.”

“I hope so...will you be here when I get back..?”

“I must meet with the Jedi council within the hour, but after that, I am all yours.”

“The council…” you said, spitefully remembering the very thing that kept you from Obi-Wan.

“I know, sweetheart…”

“Just promise you’ll come back.”

“Always.”

He slipped through the door with a kind smile, heading off to meet with the council. You missed him terribly and just got him back, and now he was gone once again. 

Hours later, the Senate session had gone terribly. Violent disagreement erupted in the middle of your address, eventually dissolving all control you once had. Frustrated, you left the session early and returned to your quarters. Changing into a more comfortable dress, you hid under the covers of your bed, blocking out any source of life or light. So, when Obi-Wan had returned to your quarters after the Jedi council meeting, as promised, he scanned the room for any sign of you. His eyes met the shape of your body from under the blankets.

“y/n…” he spoke softly, sitting on the edge of your mattress.

“No”

“Sweetheart”

“No, Obi, you don’t get it.”

“Well then, explain it to me. Help me understand.”

Throwing the covers away quickly and sitting up, avoiding his gaze.

“The Senate will never understand me or take me seriously. When I was up there… it’s like they were laughing at me. They never had any intention of believing what I was saying. I presented all the facts...I gave them the right arguments, just like you said…”

Reaching to pat your back soothingly, “first of all, I am proud of you. What you do is incredibly important to the function of this planet, the system, and the galaxy. And second, perhaps just give them some time, they’ll come around and understand why this is necessary.”

Standing, you scoff, walking away from him to the balcony. 

You quickly turn to him to quip, “We don’t have time, Obi-Wan! If we don’t pass this bill now, more armies will be deployed and war will tear every sector of this galaxy! Who cares about tradition? What is old and outdated is not always right!”

He sighed, he knew you were right. His rationale drew him in to defend the positive.

“I’m sure the council never has these disagreements,” you said crossing your arms in defense.

“We have our fair share.”

Beginning to pace again, he stands to follow you outside. He catches you gently to stop you in your tracks.

“I’m sorry...it’s the stress...”

“It’s alright, I understand. Will you let me help…?”

Nodding softly, you looked up to his soft face. It was always surprising to see him after a battle, with the occasional scratch to his face, robes which smelled of dirt, and a singe from a lightsaber here and there. He pulled you into a comforting hug, drawing you close to his chest. Resting his chin on the top of your head, and leaving behind a soft kiss to your hair. 

“Come rest, sweetheart.”

He broke away from the hug only to pick up your hand and lead you back inside. Climbing into bed, outstretching his arms to you. You tucked yourself into his arms, holding him close, not wanting to let go because he might leave again too soon. 

“Obi...I had this dream the other night while you were gone...we were together...and happy.”

“I’m sorry sweetheart...I’m sorry I can’t promise you that future...you know it’s not possible.”

“But isn’t it…? What about Padme and Anakin…?”

“We can’t sneak around forever, darling…it’s not sustainable…”

“I don’t care about sustainable...I just want you..”

“I know...but you have me for now… let’s just enjoy this while it lasts.”

tagged: @hxldmxdxwn​ @takenbymyfandoms​ @amethystmoonprincess​ @whitegirlinstarwars​ @smokahuntis​ @kybercrystals​ @venusbarnes​

[scribeofmorpheus]

Himmeløyne [15/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Catch Up Here | Masterlist

Warnings: Drunk Thor, Sad Y/N and unhappy Heimdall...so just melodrama

A/N: ...Finally all caught up with the ao3 updates. Now to disappear for a short time on my dash.

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment or leave a like please ☺

~Y/N

The tavern still kept that stale scent you’d first caught a waft of on your first visit. But the noise was different; less evenly spread out and more singular. In the centre of the room, Thor was raving in slurred speech like a man with a grievance against every single patron in the room. Except his grievance was personal, separate and alien to the other drinkers.

He would town an entire tankard of ale and then demand another with sloppy fingers hitting the poor wooden bench. Once he had a full cup again, he’d begin his lamentations that ranged from stories of his youth about Loki’s mischievous machinations to angry shouts of abandonment.

“He lied to us!” Thor spoke into his ale. “All of us!” He looked up to the disinterested people in the tavern. “Your King lies to you this very moment!”

“Telling all is well…” Thor whispered to himself as he stood, legs jolting up so fast he nearly lost balance. “Woah!” As he righted himself, he laughed into his tankard, ale pilling onto his chest. “Why did he do it?”

You chose to watch him for a while. The strangers in the tavern eyed you suspiciously. It was a new look you’d never noticed before. Perhaps it was to do with your appearance. It mattered not, they were not of importance to you. Nor was their hushed murmuring behind tankards of ale.

Suddenly, Thor’s eyes went wide, “Hammer! Hammer! Where’s my—Oh, there you are.” He ducked next to a leg of roast boar, grinning from ear to ear. “He was a fool! Only fools don’t fear my hammer…” His mouth drooped at the corners, a waver in his voice. “Only fools wield hammers.”

“Only fools…” Thor fell, but more out of exhaustion than a lack of footing. You moved from the doorway and went to his side, a weary exhale gracing your dry lips as you patted down the ale with your cloak’s end.

“Oh, you big lout,” you looked down at Thor. “So this is how you’ve been spending your days.”

Thor looked up at you and laughed in his drunken stupor, “Little Stormbringer!”

“Come on,” you tried to get him onto his feet. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Did I ever tell you about the time Loki turned into a snake?” His breath was ripe and hot across your cheek.

“Oof,” you choked back a gag. “No, but I’m sure it’s one for the ages.”

Thor began reciting the story as if it were one told a thousand fold. You struggled to hold him up, your body weaker than before; all the muscle of Sif’s training turned to softness around poking bones.

As you lost hold of Thor, sending him crashing onto an empty table, you waved your hand on instinct, calling forth that bristle of energy that used to reside under your skin at all times. But the even though the magic listened, it never answered you, and you were reminded for the second time that day, your magic wouldn’t help you.

You sighed, preparing to lift Thor and restart the cycle, but then a hand fell on your shoulder, the armour digging into your exposed shoulder.

“Let me,” Heimdall offered. He didn’t look you in the eye, he’d made a habit of not doing so since the leeching began. You didn’t blame him for that.

Heimdall reached down, and in one fell swoop, he hoisted Thor to his feet.

“Heimdall, old friend,” Thor beat him large hands on Heimdall’s armoured chest, letting out a banging noise. “Care for a horn of ale?”

“I think you’ve had enough,” Heimdall said with a sharp edge to his disapproving tone.

“Enough?” Thor shouted. “Yes, perhaps I have had enough.” His words were darker than they seemed. Lonesome. Sad.

On the walk to the tavern, Thor spouted more of his lamentations. To your surprise, no one around seemed to care for his words of kingly deceit and brotherly loss. Everyone skirted past with the expression one has when a drunk stumbles and yells nonsense; weary disaffection.

“Does no one hear him?” You asked as Heimdall led Thor up some steps. The stench of alcohol was lighter out in the open, but Thor’s voice became a frighteningly, loud echo.

“The All-Father cast an enchantment,” Heimdall said.

You swallowed the poisonous burn trudging up your oesophagus as the mention of Odin and more of his precarious magics. “An enchantment?”

“The Spell of Igneia,” Heimdall said. “Those who are ignorant to the source of the words spoken remain ignorant to the words. We can hear Thor because we all witnessed the same things. Others did not. And so—”

“They remain ignorant of it,” you finished for him. “Then what is the story being spun of the attack?”

“I do not know,” Heimdall’s jaw clenched down tight, the gold in his eyes flashing near coal-fire red.

“You’re lying,” you said softly. Not in anger or disappointment, just factually; the way Loki would murmur things that he surmised in a plain fashion, forgetting for the briefest second that manner and fact could rarely be separated in polite company.

Heimdall stopped walking then, turning with the bellowing Thor drooping his fighting shoulder, “You. The story is a half-truth—your magic. A tale easily believed given your current state.”

You could feel the brunt of his scowl hit like ice water in your veins. For some reason, you didn’t like the idea that he was upset with you. Heimdall’s eyes flickered to one red mark that peeked under your sleeve. His nose curled up in a would-be snarl had he been a wolf. A whisper under his breath going unheard. Then he continued on.

“It’s the only way,” you defended yourself against words you didn’t even hear.

“It was the easiest way,” Heimdall lectured over his shoulder. “No matter how you choose to spin this story, I do not believe that you made the right choice. Not what I am reminded of what the leeching does to you every—” He sighed. “We’re here.”

Heimdall waited for you to open Thor’s quarters. The room was in disarray; much like yours, except instead of papers and tomes, there was broken furniture and gutted down pillows. Rage lived in this room. Mjolnir had been buried under some broken furniture, as though Thor tried to make a perimeter of wood and iron around the weapon.

Heimdall set Thor on the bed and promptly made his way to the door. With his hand on the latch, he said over his shoulder, “Find a better way.”

“There isn’t one,” you rubbed at the leech marks as if doing so would make them disappear.

“You can’t be afraid of yourself forever.”

“I am. And so should you. You saw what I did. I won’t be anyone’s mindless weapon. If this is what it takes to stay as myself, then the price is fair.”

“I don’t see it that way.”

“Then see it in whatever way you please. My answer is final. Until a more effective method of nullifying my abilities is found, I will keep at it.”

“Then…” Heimdall breathed in, his body stretching out to its righted posture and high chin. “I shall have to find you one.”

With that, Heimdall left, and you were alone with Thor. His ravings had lowered to a sleepy-whisper now. That made it worse. Made him sound raw.

You thought of what Frigga would do to console him and then you helped him out of his boots before covering him with a blanket.

“You know, I always wanted a sister,” Thor said with a mild smile. “I thought—Never like this…”

He wasn’t making much sense, so you simply patted his hand and replied, “Sleep, you need it.”

“I could say the same for you,” Thor said, a look of expected pity in his eyes. “He liked you…Likes you. I don’t know which way to speak—past or present?”

“That’s the trouble, isn’t it?”

Thor turned to his side, away from you and sobbed, “It’s my fault.”

You brushed his arm, “And mine. And Odin’s for his secrets. And my mother’s for not telling me what I was sooner.” Your lips trembled at this part: “And Loki too, for trying to protect me.”

Thor kept still for a few moments, settling into your words. “How do you handle it…the guilt?”

You looked at your reflection in the mirror, soulless eyes of a strange creature staring back, “I don’t. The only reason I left my room was because of Sif. I was happy to stay locked away, in my routine. For eternity if need be.”

“Eternity ends faster than we think, doesn’t it?” Thor sat up, soberness of the shared pain making him more alert, “Then let’s make a pact—to hold off on the end of Eternity for as long as we can.”

You chewed your inner cheek, correcting him plainly, “To end this, you mean?” You gestured to everything; you, him, the rage cluttered room.

“An end to an end,” Thor said, reaching his arm out for you to accept.

You locked your fingers around his forearm, Thor’s grip on your own forearm came off more powerful than you had anticipated. You worked around the wince on your face and said, “An end to an end.”

You walked to the door and wished him goodnight.

“Goodnight, Little Stormbringer,” he said with the affection of a brother.

On your way to your quarters, you heard the muffled sounds of healers near the healing chamber. Eavesdropping never bore you sweet fruit, but there was little that could change that now; so you listened in.

“Any improvement?” The head healer—the woman you had flung like a rag doll upon your first awakening—asked another.

“Physically, his wounds have healed,” there was a pregnant pause, prickling with anxious static. “I fear, this is beyond us. He should have awoken by now. If he has, I can only assume something is preventing him from regaining consciousness. Or…perhaps—” the healer’s eyes skittered about, hands twining and untwining.

“Spit it out girl,” the head healer demanded.

“A few of us believe it’s his own doing.”

The head healer scoffed, “Impossible, he hasn’t as much as twitched of his own accord.”

“Those with magic do not think alike to us,” the other healer whispered, closing in on her superior to say: “What if the rumours are true? What if he isn’t entirely Asgardian?”

“Hush, foolish girl, you speak dangerous words. Go now, leave for the night,” the head healer barked with authority before rushing away from the exposed hall ways.

The healing chamber was more claustrophobic than you remembered. For one, Volstagg was snoring in a corner, looking less beat up than before. Hogun was either sleeping on the chair or keeping very quiet in the night as he watched over his friend. A few guards from the night of the attack were also getting treatment.

You walked passed them, towards the back where a spiral staircase led up to a private healing chamber. The room was enormous and beautiful and cloistered. The kind of tower an ornamental flower was grown to die in. Overlooking the endlessly beautiful landscape, but unable to be touched by the waters of rain or the sounds of birds; a mausoleum of glass.

Loki remained in the same place he’d been since you woke up; suspended in that clear, golden curtain of energy, hovering like a beautiful painting lost to a world with no gravity. His hair had grown an inch or two longer, somehow the shine of the energy field made his hair look blacker as it moved like liquid. His jaw was set right again, a small scar under it left as a reminder. He was dressed in robes of emerald. Long fingers looking cold and untouched. Lips without colour and skin nearly grey—paler than ever before.

You walked over, quiet so not as to stir anyone else in the chambers, but there was no one else. You looked at his face and thought of him—the snake and the man—and the words that haunted you over and over: “Never leave my side again.”

You took his hand and never felt his finger tighten the hold. You leaned over and whispered: “You should have wished that my eyes to grow dark.”

No reaction. No flinch or tweak or tug and pull of a simple tendon. Blankness.

You sighed, “You asked me to never leave your side, and yet look at which one of us isn’t here…Look!”

Again, nothing.

“Open your eyes and look at me! Answer for what you’ve done!” You wanted to beat and pounded at his chest. To hear him let out a groan or gasp as he laughed into your ear and took your hands in his. “I bewitched you?” You were shouting at the air. At the empty spaces in between. At the Loki of the past.

“I bewitched you?” You shouted again. “Trickster! Tempter! Liar! If I bewitched you—truly—why can’t my enchantment bring you back? Why can’t you feel how much I need you?”

You let go of his hand, feeling the weight of it to be too burdensome. “Is it true? Are you not waking because you don’t want to? Because of me?” You crumbled to your knees. No tears came, only the sandpaper feeling of a dry throat. You looked at the red marks on your arms and said: “I can’t hurt you anymore, so please, please, come back.”

And for the grand finale, silence, yet again. Always silence. You fell asleep in that beautiful mausoleum, on the cold, hard floor, too listless to walk back to your room.

[thehangeddemon]

Waiting for Tonight, Part I || AU || Master Maxi

Maximus: Maximus leaned over the bar, looking for a bar rag he could snag to wipe his hands. His black shirt a casualty of a reckless dancer.

But what was on the other side of two chatting women in neon cocktail dresses was more intriguing. He lingered, hunched over the messy wood and steel bar hoping to catch the stranger's eyes.

Xavier: It would take precious little to draw the stranger's gaze. He was focused on everything and nothing, studying the interesting faces in the crowd, listening to snippets of conversation, feeling the pulse of the music.

And cutting through all that was the silent, distinct feeling of being observed in return.

He tore his gaze away from the dancers and almost immediately found what he sought. He grinned. Well then, wasn't that all kinds of interesting?

Immediately taken with the man watching him, Xavier nodded toward the seat next to him which had somehow managed to be empty.

Maximus: Caught, just as he wanted. His smile reached his eyes, honest but reserved. Shy, one might say, despite the atmosphere.

The stranger pointed to himself, cheeks tightening as his smile deepened. "Me?" he mouthed.

Xavier: Ah ha, not just a passing look. There seemed to be genuine interest there. Perfect.

Xavier nodded. "You," he mouthed back. "Drink?"

Maximus: His shirt was pinched and fanned. "I had a-" Cut off by the girls as the shifted about, finishing their drinks and disappearing into the crowd.

The gap between them was immediately closed, though eye contact diminished with his approach.

"I'd love a drink. Mine is all over me." A thick Louisiana lilt gently trimmed by years of service.

Xavier: The unexpected accent had Xavier smiling even more. It matched his admirer's voice beautifully.

"Yes, it is," he chuckled, flagging down the bartender. His own accent would probably be a surprise as well. There wasn't a hint of American in it at all; it was all English Northerner, tempered a bit by his time in this country. "What's your poison?"

Maximus: "My friends had me doing Jäger bombs, but I'd rather bourbon. What are you drinking?"

Xavier: "How's that for a coincidence, I've been drinking Manhattans."

Maximus: "Now that is a drink."

Xavier: "A very far cry from Jager bombs. Would you like one?"

Maximus: "Yes, please." Eye contact returned with another true smile. "I'm Maximus."

Xavier: He ordered them two Manhattans before turning the entirety of his attention back on his companion.

"Maximus. Very regal. I'm Xavier."

Maximus: "Says the kettle to the pot," he chuckled. This time, his chin ducked against the collar of his shirt, against his shoulder.

Xavier: "Any old person can be named Xavier. Maximus is the name of emperors."

Maximus: "My mother's Italian. That's the only explanation. Where does Xavier come from?"

Xavier: "Couldn't tell you. I suppose my mother saw or heard it somewhere and liked it."

Maximus: "I'd have to see you in better light to say if it suits you."

Xavier: Xavier chuckled. "I leave that judgement entirely up to you."

He nodded his thanks as the bartender placed their drinks in front of them.

"Your health," he toasted.

Maximus: "To yours." He smiled, watched him for a moment before taking his first sip.

"Will you dance with me?"

Xavier: “Why yes.” Xavier grinned at Maximus over the rim of his glass. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Maximus: "Can't both wait for the other. We'll never get anywhere." In that case, he would finish his drink in a few struggled sips and smooth his shirt.

Xavier: "Ah, but then how would we build anticipation?"

It was a shame to down this drink so quickly without savoring it, but Xavier had other things to savor. Better things, even.

The allure of seeing this man move was impossible to resist.

Maximus: "There are plenty means of anticipation. Asking someone to dance should not be one of them." It's how this man would dance, where his hands and eyes would travel, that mattered more.

Maximus offered his hand once the crowd began to thicken.

Xavier: Xavier just continued to smile as he took Maximus' hand and wove through the sea of bodies. "I appreciate a man who gets right to the point where it counts." Would he get right to the point in other, more intimate ways? Or were they his preferred method of building anticipation? Xavier couldn't wait to find out.

"Are you taking us directly to the center of the dancefloor?"

Maximus: "It's where I last saw my friends." But he had slowed, coming to a halt several feet away. He wanted this man to himself, but with the safety of numbers and nearness.

His smile, reserved though it was, illuminated his entirety. The multicolored stobe lights danced beside his freckles.

Xavier: "No offense to your friends, but I hope we don't find them any time soon." He would hate to have to share Maximus' attention.

And that glorious smile.

"You are absolutely stunning, you know that?"

Maximus: "You can't even see me." Maximus laughed. A fluttery sound. "But blue is your color."

Xavier: "I can see more than enough." He slowly began to move, enticing Maximus to follow.

"Is it? Always been told it's red."

Maximus: "Red? With your hair?" He inched himself closer. Just short from that beautiful chest. "Maybe. I'd have to see your eyes." He took a breath, swayed his hips. "Are you always so forward?"

Xavier: Xavier laughed. "It's not too on the ginger side." It just casually brushed it, like a passing acquaintance.

Those eyes, on the other hand, were positively cat-like in their intensity. Sunflowers floating in blue-green water and focused completely on the man in front of him. On his every movement, his every expression, his every...everything.

"Life is entirely too short to not tell a stunning man he's stunning."

Maximus: It would seem both men were doing an equal amount of intense study.

"Well, thank you. I don't think - I've never been called stunning in my life. To have the likes of you say it will carry me to the new year."

Xavier: "Then everyone who's ever laid eyes on you has done you wrong. Or they've been blind. One or the other."

Maximus: "I think you're a man with wanting." His laugh could hardly be carried through the thick crowd and thunderous music. Too nasally and modest. "But you make me feel good."

Xavier: "I'm a man who speaks nothing but the truth." Too much flattery? To some maybe. In his eyes, there could never be too much so long as it was sincere, and it most certainly was.

"That's my night made then," he said with a grin.

Maximus: He wanted to hear more of that voice, but getting much closer and he'd be cheek-to-cheek.

"Are you here with anyone?"

Xavier: Xavier shook his head. "No one. You? Anyone apart from your friends?"

Maximus: "If you're asking for a special someone, there is no special someone."

The song reached its climax. Hands in the air; lights like blinding beacons danced as frantically as the patrons, encouraging the chaos. Maximus pressed forward. An apology just as caught as his embarrassed laugh. Too many people and one particularly inconsiderate blond with no regard to personal space made for the best excuse.

Xavier: His grin was quick and bright and unabashed. "Lucky for me."

Xavier saw the woman heading their direction out of the corner of his eye, but was too busy watching Maximus move to pay her any mind. The erratic lighting did him absolutely no justice but god, he looked stunning in it.

Lost as he was in his musings and the music, there was no chance of keeping the woman from barreling into Maximus, only of catching him when he stumbled.

"Looks like I just got even luckier."

Maximus: His laugh was akin to a cough, just as shy as he retreated from Xavier's hold. This was what he wanted, but he couldn't help his overthoughtful nature.

"The good samaritan." Maybe...maybe he'd bring his arms to his dance partner's shoulders.

Xavier: And maybe his own would find their way to Maximus' waist. Not to wrap around--yet--just to rest there delicately.

"I suddenly have a lot to thank that woman for."

Maximus: "And you didn't have a dance partner?" A playful scoff.

Xavier: Xavier laughed. "Maybe I was holding out for the right one."

Maximus: "You're ticking every box."

Xavier: “I’m just happy to be here.”

Maximus: Oh no, even more people in an overcrowded dance floor. Seemed the only solution would be pressing into the handsome stranger.

Xavier: Well now, who were they to argue to obvious solutions? Xavier certainly wasn't going to. No, he was just going to tighten his hold a little bit under the pretext of dancing, grinning like a madman all the while.

"Thank god for crowds."

Maximus: "How much have you had to drink?" Asked from the man nose-to-nose with him, rolling his hips in time with the heavy bass, pressed firmly against his dance partner.

Xavier: “The Manhattan I had with you plus another earlier,” he said absently, more focused on the movement of Maximus’ body than anything.

Maximus: "So, you're not going to regret dancing with me tomorrow?"

Xavier: "I couldn't regret anything about you if I tried."

Maximus: He couldn't be any closer than he was now. All that remained were lips, and denial was almost as delicious as the innocent little brush of skin.

"Sorry," he lied, grinning.

Xavier: Xavier chuckled softly. “Think absolutely nothing of it,” he said, making no attempt to hide how intently he was staring at Maximus’ lips. “Definitely don’t do it again.”

Maximus: "Not for any reason?"

Xavier: “Well, I mean, if you’re really curious and really want to, who am I to stop you?”

Maximus: "I'm really very curious," he grinned.

Xavier: "Oh, then it would be terribly rude of me to get in the way of that," Xavier said with a matching grin. "Forget rude, it would be positively criminal."

Maximus: "Maybe we should wait one more dance. Just to say we tried."

Xavier: Xavier nodded sagely. "Yes, of course. It's very important to try."

Maximus: "Trying, right." There were people watching. Some gawking, some admiring, some disgusted. He didn't want to care tonight. Tomorrow he would, of course. But right now he wanted to live in a bubble.

Xavier: He felt the eyes but paid them absolutely no mind. He'd been getting those kinds of stares his entire life; he'd long ago learned to block them out. And tonight, he would do the same for this man he'd only just met.

Xavier would make himself a shield between them and the world outside the dancefloor, keeping the whole of his attention on Maximus and willing the song to end. It was taking Herculean effort not to lean in and kiss him.

Maximus: This was the most forward he'd ever been with a man, and he couldn't see him repeating this tomorrow night. He needed this. Medicine, he told himself, before another month of tireless and thankless work.

Another song. Some trance number with bass rattling his insides. Scrambling logic and caution into shambles.

Nose-to-nose once more, those lips so impossibly close. A kiss by any other name.

Xavier: The song had ended, never mind that another began. They could officially say that they'd tried.

And it had been a damn good try.

Only a whisper of a kiss at first. They were so close already that it was just the barest brushing of lips, testing the waters. Testing Maximus' comfort level.

Maximus: Fingers got lost in his dance partner's hair. His face was warm. He could blame it on alcohol, music, the heat of a hundred warm bodies and the pulse of bass in his chest. None of it was relevant except to conceal the act of his body pressing forward, head tilting to accommodate and offer his mouth. Xavier was bereft of the soft inhale, the tiniest noise from the back of Maximus' throat.

Xavier: Xavier's smile was blinding as his lips met Maximus' again. The anticipation had been fantastic but this was so much better. And now that he'd gotten a taste, he wanted more.

"Come on," he said, taking Maximus' hand and leading him off the dance floor.

Maximus: Xavier's hand was given a firm squeeze. Only a half-second of reluctance to move, before his feet obeyed him.

He didn't need to ask what would happen next, but the mere thought sent butterflies through his stomach.

Xavier: He squeezed back, silently trying to set Maximus' mind at ease. Despite the various scenarios running through Xavier's head, he didn't have anything too intense in mind. Not yet anyway.

He was just after a little bit more privacy. And where was the most private part of a club?

The roof.

Maximus: The night was gorgeous, despite the light pollution. He was surprised they'd been allowed through, and it made him wonder what influence this man had.

"I can still feel the music on my skin."

Xavier: When a person spent as much time in a place like this as Xavier did--and tipped as well as Xavier did--they earned certain privileges.

Access to the roof happened to be one of them.

"Really gets you in the chest, doesn't it?" Xavier said with a grin, pulling Maximus close again.

Maximus: "Are you real?" he laughed. Hands came to rest on Xavier's shoulders.

"Chest, stomach, throat. It's on my arms."

Xavier: "As far as I know." The music thumping below them wasn't slow in any sense of the phrase, but Xavier did nothing more than sway them gently. There was no frantic energy to keep pace with. There was no rush. There was only the night air and this rooftop.

Maximus: Something about his nearness and the bizarrely romantic circumstances had caused tremors beneath the surface. His entire body buzzed with anticipation of the unknown. His forehead pressed to Xavier's, and somehow even the city was silenced.

Xavier: Xavier smiled at Maximus and did away with the last bit of space between them. Up here there was no one to gawk or judge and he wanted to take advantage of every second.

"Can I kiss you again?" he whispered.

Maximus: The fact that he asked, when men before him simply took, he could appreciate his air of gentlemanliness.

But his answer would be given with his lips, pressing to him with warmth and eagerness.

Xavier: This close, Maximus would be able to feel the soft, pleased hum reverberate in Xavier's chest as he was held and gently kissed to within an inch of his life. Xavier felt like he was in Casablanca. Of all the gin joints in all the cities in all the world, he'd managed to walk into the exact right one and find Maximus.

He'd never felt luckier, and he wouldn't pull away until his lungs demanded air.

Maximus: The strain on his lungs was a delightful burn, but one which lost its luster almost immediately. Xavier clearly had stronger lungs; he endured for much longer because when would he see this man again? Probably never.

Maximus leaned away to lick his lips, laughed with a hint of embarrassment.

"You're a swimmer."

Xavier: Xavier laughed breathlessly. "Hardly. I like looking at the water more than being in it. You just taste that good."

Maximus: "There's a," he paused to lick his lips, "there's a metaphor here, I think, but I don't care right now."

Xavier: "Probably," he chuckled. "Regretting that dance?"

Maximus: "No, not regretting anything. You?"

Xavier: "Not even a little bit. You have no idea how glad I am that I came to this club tonight."

Maximus: This was not where he expected his evening to go. There were hopes and then there was standing on a club roof with a gorgeous stranger. "Show me," he said with a smile.

Xavier: Xavier smiled back. "Take a deep breath." Because it would be another long while before they came up for air again.

Maximus: Maximus made a show of a deep breath. Wide chest swelling forward by the display. A gentle, shy laugh followed.

Xavier: "Beautiful man," said Xavier, drawing Maximus into another heady, swaying kiss.

Maximus: His smile faded with the warmth of Xavier's lips. A sharp and unexpected sensation ascended his spine and tickled the back of his neck. He'd been called pet names before, but beautiful had not been among them.

A shy, gentle tongue was offered for the taking.

Xavier: He swore he could almost sense the effect his words had on Maximus. That effect was satisfying enough on its own, but he didn't say it for the sake of flattery. He could do any number of things for the sake of flattery.

That Maximus was beautiful was simply a fact that Xavier couldn't help but express, just like he couldn't resist deepening their kiss to completely immerse himself in that intimate little taste of him. Did he taste as sweet as he looked? Was it just as addicting as the rest of him?

Maximus: The taste of cigarettes and alcohol. Of something sweet and cinnamon. Well blended with his cologne. A man with the rare common sense not to saturate his clothes. Xavier's nearness rewarded with just than warmth and lips and tongue.

Despite the rush to this moment, there was shyness. The subconscious press of his firm body pinged his awareness. Leaning away with a nervous laugh.

"Sorry."

Xavier: The cologne was the first thing Xavier noticed. Too often in places like this it was cheap perfumes and body sprays that dominated the close air, not subtle, enticing surprises like this. What he wouldn't give to just bury his face in Maximus' neck.

Ah, well. Missed opportunity.

"Don't be," he said, smiling despite his body screaming to pull Maximus close again. "I keep you under too long?"

Maximus: "I don't know what's too fast," he confessed. Fingers had curled into Xavier's shirt.

Xavier: Xavier's expression became gentle. "Does it feel too fast?"

Maximus: "Yes," he said carefully, "but I don't care."

Xavier: "Are you sure? We don't have to take it any further than this. I don't want you to feel pressured."

Maximus: Maximus decided to prove his confidence with action. Returned his lips with measured eagerness. Xavier's clothes were released long enough to wrap and rest his arms around his shoulders.

Xavier: Well that settled that then.

Xavier smiled against Maximus' lips, tempted to pick him up and carry him somewhere. Surely there was somewhere to sit up here so they could be a little more comfortable.

Fuck it, he was just going to wrap his arms around Maximus' waist and eliminate even the notion of any space between them. He wanted closeness and body heat and more of that cologne filling his head.

Maximus: Another thoughtless roll of his hips. He was aching. Surely Xavier would feel what he had caused. This passing fancy; he would be gone tomorrow. Leaving behind a memory until the next interested passerby. That was the purpose of these nights. No one he knew wanted love; no one believed in its obtainability. So, Maximus played along. Fingers combed their way through silk hair. Attention given to his roofmate's bottom lip.

Xavier: This close, there was no way Xavier wouldn't feel the effect he was having on Maximus and there was no way Maximus wouldn't feel how he was doing the same. Xavier groaned, just barely resisted the urge to grind against him.

His hands started to slip lower, itching to touch more of Maximus but moving slowly just in case he was stopped, to ask permission.

Maximus: The simple movement was mirrored, a soft little gasp escaping between his lips and he almost apologized for the noise. No, he wouldn't stop him. He was waiting to see how far Xavier would explore.

Xavier: Xavier had never found himself wanting to consume a sound until he heard that sweet gasp, and immediately hungered for more. He only hoped Maximus wouldn't feel compelled to quiet himself.

When his hands reached Maximus' hips, they gave a gentle experimental squeeze. They could either reach around to Maximus' ass or dip into the waistband of his jeans; the decision would be guided by Maximus' reaction.

Maximus: Hips that were particularly sensitive, muscles clenching were given attention. Eyes cast a concerning glance to the only door. Music too loud to catch his quickened breath. Vibration too heavy in their chests to catch four feet on the roof.

The answer Xavier sought was in the squeeze of his soft brown hair, the breath against his neck, the quiet nuzzle of encouragement.

Xavier: Unable to decide which option appealed more, Xavier did both. He let his hands slip beneath Maximus' waistband and squeezed Maximus' hips a second time, far more deliberately. Would he get as beautiful a sound as before?

What about when took a cheek in each hand? How would Maximus react then?

Maximus: Another shaken breath, breathed in and out against Xavier's skin. A man so deprived of touch to shake with their intimacy. He was embarrassing himself, he thought, but couldn't bring himself to speak.

Xavier: Embarrassment was the farthest thing from Xavier's mind. He suddenly had a ravenous need to touch Maximus absolutely everywhere that he could. His back, his sides, his abdomen, his chest. And he would, any and everywhere he could reach. The only things stopping him were the limitations of clothing and the lack of a place to lay Maximus out comfortably for a more thorough exploration.

Maximus: The words were leaving him before he could catch himself. Words he wished he could pluck from the air.

"This where we undress now?" He laughed nervously against Xavier's mouth, eyes as apologetic as the following kisses.

Xavier: No, no apology was necessary or required. Those kisses would be for the sheer pleasure of them.

"You have no idea how much I want to," he said with feeling, unable to resist trailing kisses down Maximus' neck. "Maybe we could go somewhere more private first. Anyone could walk up here." Besides, he didn't have the necessary items in case they wanted to take this beyond heavy petting.

Maximus: "I know what I want to do." Words braver than the first. The reason was simple. His suggestion was familiar. Dropping slowly to a single knee. Kissing over Xavier's stomach. Eyes watchful of his expression while fiddling with the zipper of his jeans, dipping his hand within for his release.

Xavier: "Oh yeah? And what's that?" It didn't dawn on him what Maximus intended to do until he was halfway down. "Woah, wait, are you sss--ahhhh...."

Xavier's expression flitted from confusion to surprise to pure bliss. This wasn't exactly what he'd been planning to suggest but it was just as good. His muscles tensed and his hips jerked, skin seemingly all the more sensitive for being clothed. Funny how that happened. It was like the body primed itself for touch and reacted immediately to the slightest bit.

But he still had a question to ask before he grew even more distracted. "You sure?"

Maximus: Maximus was momentarily frozen with admiration for his future endeavor. Licking his lips, eyes returned their gaze upward.

"You're... clean?" Better safe than sorry, but he hated the question. It was so awkward, and killed the flow of sex.

Xavier: As someone who'd asked that question many times before, if it ever did manage to kill the mood, the mood wasn't in the right spirit to begin with.

Xavier nodded and bent down to steal another kiss. "As a whistle. You?"

Maximus: "Promise." Maximus arched his back, taking another kiss the length of his slow fondling of the head. "Is this okay?"

Xavier: "Mmmm...mhmmm..." Xavier nodded, forced himself to take an even breath to attempt to settle his body. He wanted release as much as he wanted this to last. "Definitely. More than okay."

Maximus: His mind seemed to stutter a moment. Wanting back up just for more of those kisses, but there was something else he wanted and had already begun. So, he would give the tip a taste. Gaze steady as he licked down the length of Xavier's cock.

Xavier: Even breaths. Steady, even breaths.

Xavier looked down and nearly lost his senses completely as he watched himself be sampled. It was all he could do not to keep still. He ran his fingers through Maximus' hair, offering gentle encouragement.

Maximus: The way Xavier's chest heaved did something to him. Warmed him the way only new things could. The wild unknown of something gorgeous.

He closed his eyes, swallowed him down until his nose buried against hair and warm skin. What a perfect taste. A better assuage for his oral fixation than cigarettes and chewing gum. That little taste of precum stirred his insides. The smallest moan to be felt wholly over Xavier's cock.

Xavier: It would've been so much easier to hold himself together if he closed his eyes, or at least looked away, but Xavier just couldn't bring himself to do either. He couldn't deprive himself of the stunning sight at his feet.

There was a shaky inhale as he watched himself disappear into Maximus' mouth, followed immediately by a groan as he felt Maximus make contact with his skin again. The mere thought that he'd been taken completely was almost as heady as feeling and watching it happen, and he worried any movement from him would end it all prematurely.

He wanted Maximus to be the one to move and set the pace and explore. He wanted to be explored, to be tasted. He wanted to see exactly how crazy they could drive each other with just this.

Maximus: It was just skin, he told himself the first time. The taste of skin was nothing if not sweat or cologne on someone's neck. It was and it wasn't at all. It was sweet, he insisted. Sweet and smooth and sour and inviting. Taking this man, this stranger down his throat was like a religious experience. Sacrilegious and artful. One more. Again. His rhythm a well-choreographed dance from other eager nights drowned in alcohol and heavy bass.

He began to fondle, middle finger slowly inching towards that special place where pressure equaled bliss.

Xavier: There was no amount of steady breathing that could hold this off. Not long enough for him to commit every second and sensation to memory. He could feel Maximus' touch everywhere, feel heat and electricity and impatience everywhere.

He was concentrating so hard on trying to make this last that he didn't have enough to stop himself from letting that soft, almost pleading moan from leaving his throat, much less from letting out of the rush of them that followed.

"M-maximus...I c-can't--I'm gonna--"

Maximus: Years ago, his first encounter with a man in similar fashion had ended with considerable embarrassment. He'd leaned away too soon, stained his shirt and sullied his face. He could still remember the bellied laugh from his lover. It was the last time he ever saw him. A lesson which now forced him forward, swallowing bitter almond with empty thoughts. The chase was better than the catch, he told himself. The tail end of the evening and a goodbye as last words, if any.

Maximus leaned away after a moment, sure he had taken all Xavier had to offer. He could never think of what to say at this point. Instead he smiled awkwardly and licked his lips.

6:22 PM] Xavier: Xavier's hands never left Maximus' hair, burying in it to anchor himself to this plane of existence. His self-control had fled him in every possible way except to make sure he wasn't being too rough or pulling Maximus' hair. He didn't have the presence of mind for anything else.

Maximus and anyone who might be in the vicinity would hear every obscene sound of pleasure and barely restrained curse, see the way his chest heaved and hips stuttered and sated smile spread across his face. For a moment he forgot exactly where they were, mistaking the thump of the bass from the club below them for his heartbeat thundering in his chest.

Utterly spent, he leaned down to pull Maximus up into a kiss. He'd catch his breath later, it wasn't as important.

Maximus: Maximus was all but putty in Xavier's hands. Back arched as he inclined to his lover's whims. He sighed into his mouth and felt no sense of urgency to open his eyes.

But he should say something, he thought. Maybe, but nothing was coming to him. So, he remained there, bowed and silent, struck by present circumstance.

Xavier: His pulse slowly returned to normal but his breathing remained labored. He didn’t want to break their kiss for anything, only letting himself take quick breaths out of sheer necessity.

He ended up being the one who spoke first.

“Your turn.”

Maximus: A simple statement which left a rather dumbstruck look in Maximus' eyes. It hadn't occurred to him that he might receive his equal.

"I-I don't... I don't... need..."

Xavier: Xavier was helpless to stop the grin from spreading across his face, just as he was helpless to stop himself from leaning in for another lazy kiss.

"We can go somewhere with more privacy if you want. And more comfort. You deserve a bed when I devour you whole."

Maximus: "I don't, um, go 'home' with men. Although, you have me reevaluating my standards right now."

Maximus bit his lip and smiled. Despite everything, it was bashful; no one stared as long and as hard as this Xavier.

Xavier: "Praise indeed." Just one more kiss. He had to have one more. Shy was a good look on that beautiful face. "Would a nice hotel room work as a middle ground or does that sound too eager? Fuck it, I am eager."

Maximus: He almost hated himself for what he was about to say, but, "Maybe some other night? When I know you're not a cannibal." His smile was playful, albeit a little forced, worried he'd spoiled the evening.

"I want your number."

Xavier: Xavier's own remained friendly and easy. A request to pump the brakes a little bit wasn't going to spoil anything at all. He was just sorry to miss the chance to get to see more--so much more--of Maximus, and return the favor.

"You can have it. How about I take you to dinner? I know a great little seafood place not far from here."

Maximus: "You... wanna take me to dinner? Now?" His laugh was incredulous, just a little too poised.

"First time I've had that offer."

Xavier: "You've never had someone offer to take you out for dinner?" Xavier couldn't decide if he was appalled at every man in the city or grateful to be the first. Perhaps he was both.

"I would very much like to take you, whenever you want. Could be today, tomorrow, later this week. But I do want to take you."

Maximus: "Does this seem like the kind of place for formal offers?" There was a smile, but it bordered on defensive. So unexpected an offer, he couldn't seem to shake the red flag from in front of his face. No one ever wanted the day after.

"Um... sure. I mean - I mean if you want...to."

Xavier: Xavier thought he recognized that smile. It had an unmistakable hint of something he was certain had been directed at him in the past by other people, though he couldn't quite figure out the cause.

He nodded. "I want to. Do you want to go?" he asked gently, trying not to be pushy.

Maximus: Maximus considered a moment, took a step back he hadn't meant to. He recognized that stance, given by others, and felt awkward for having done so.

"Tomorrow, or later this week, you said?"

Xavier: He noticed the step but pretended not to. He couldn't entirely say he was surprised by it; he'd probably feel cautious too if he'd gotten asked to dinner when it didn't usually happen.

Xavier nodded again, offered a smile. "I did. You can set the date and dinner will be on me."

Maximus: The young man swallowed. He could still taste him on the back of his throat. Deliciously bitter.

"I have... Tuesday off."

Xavier: Xavier's smile grew. "Tuesday works just fine. Don't have any plans that day." And even if he had, he'd cancel them. Maximus was infinitely more appealing than just about anything Xavier could think of at the moment.

"Want to meet at the restaurant or want me to pick you up?"

Maximus: "Oh, uh. How - I'll meet you there. Do you like..." He suddenly couldn't think of food. Couldn't think much of anything outside of apprehension and lust. "...Italian?"

Xavier: Ordinarily Xavier would've told, not offered, a prospective date that he would pick them up and he would've done exactly that without a second thought. In this situation? That second thought was needed.

He wanted Maximus to feel safe and comfortable.

"I love everything Italian." From cars to food and everything in between. "Just tell me where and what time and I'll be there."

Maximus: It seemed Maximus thought that line was funny. A private joke that wasn't really a joke. Wanted to reveal his family history - what was obvious given his name.

"Okay, um... W-What about Graziosa?" Maybe a higher end restaurant might scare this flirtatious man away.

Xavier: That smile didn't budge a single inch. They were two for two on private jokes; if only this beautiful man knew that Xavier was moth to flame with anything higher end.

"Graziosa on Tuesday. It's a date." He debated for a moment on giving Maximus his business card since it had his phone number on it before deciding against it. A little mystery never hurt. "Got a pen?"

Maximus: Maximus felt at his clothes. Usually the answer was yes. "Not tonight. But I'll see you at... seven?" Would be a lot of effort on Xavier's part just to stand him up. He would dwell on that later.

Xavier: It was effort, yes, but Xavier's aims were far from the notion of standing Maximus up, or even getting another sexual encounter out of the deal. He wanted one, but that wasn't the only reason he wanted a date.

Xavier was intrigued by this man and he always followed his intrigue.

"Tuesday at seven," he repeated with a nod. "I'll be there."

Maximus: And now he couldn't pull the smile from his face. His eyes fell between them, ducking his chin to try and hide his dimples, the eagerness. He didn't want to appear desperate.

"Tuesday at seven," he echoed. Cleared his throat.

"Friends are probably... lookin' for me."

Xavier: “Yeah, they probably are,” said Xavier. More was the pity.

He was enjoying these stolen moments immensely, and even though they’d be seeing each other again soon, he didn’t want to part ways. He could only wonder if he sounded as reluctant to do so as he felt.

“I’m afraid I’ve been monopolizing you. I’d be sorry if I wasn’t enjoying you so much.”

Maximus: "Do you always talk like that? Like a book." Seemed they were both borrowing time. Anything for one last moment. He took a breath. "I really need to go."

Xavier: Xavier chuckled and nodded. "I guess I do. The perils of having an English accent: everything sounds like literature."

Oh, please don't go, he thought. I'm not ready to give you back yet. "I know. We'll see each other soon."

Maximus: He was losing points this way. Had to. What had been organic and sensual was becoming awkward and jaded by indulgence. His friends would call Tuesday a prank at any rate. 'Men like us don't date.'

Maximus forced himself around and back through the wedged emergency exit.

[lifeisapitch15]

Captive

Kylo Ren captures you from a resistance raid. Love pops up in strange places

A/n: this is my first fanfic so please be nice! I love the Star Wars universe and had to get this idea outta my mind. Love you 💕

Word count: 1,906

You were captured. This is it. At this very moment all you could think about is your parents, hoping that they were okay. You thought about your friends. How many fatalities there were. Hoping you had a home to go back to. You also thought about all the resistance fighters that fought alongside you in battle. Tears threatening to fall from your eyes as you knew someone could walk in the door any minute to see you broken. You were kept in a cell with only a bench that stuck out from the wall. Your hand was bound so you couldn’t fight off your captures.Someone came to give you food or something like food so you knew you would be here for a while. To cut you off from your thoughts a stormtrooper with a rifle came through the door.

“ Get up. He's ready to see you.” they said with an authoritative tone. You look up, questioning the man they were talking about.

“Now!” The stormtrooper raised their voice, grabbing your arm roughly.

“Hey! What the fuck!” you whined,rubbing your arm as you walked through the door. They walked down many hallways as you twist and turn quickly. You try to keep up the fast pace, studying the hallways to escape. Some part of didn’t want to escape knowing that the First Order are ruthless.you and a select few were force sensitive so The First Order would kill without question or capture so Kylo Ren would get some info on the whereabouts of Luke Skywalker. You hoped that someone you knew was on the ship but you could not sense their lifeforms. You were stopped abruptly, thoughts cease to flood your mind and the door slides open to reveal a contraption for prisoners. The stormtrooper pushed in the room, only one light pointed towards the contraption. You walk toward it, knowing you were going to be interrogated. You look back at the stormtrooper standing at the door. you point to the contraption,unamused knowing that you have to step into it. The storm trooper nods his head and moves the rifle signaling for you to go into. You sigh knowing this same song and dance since you had been captured as a teen and walking Into the machine like thing. The storm trooper clamps you down double check to make sure that you can’t get out. “Okay.start the process. Ask me what I know.” You roll your eyes and move your head signaling him to hurry it up since your hands can’t do the job.

“You may leave” a low, loud voice carried through the room as you jumped, thinking you and the stormtrooper were alone. You try to look back over your shoulder to see the figure. The stormtrooper makes a hasty leave as whip your head around to startle by the door shutting and hissing loudly.

“ You’re so afraid,” he said, almost smugly, his modulated voice carries in the quiet room.

“ It's because I can’t see you.” you replied voice shaking with nervousness. This was a bit new. Stormtroopers or generals interrogate you and you don’t recognize this man. His voice made you feel aroused but Whoever he is, he must be important because the stormtrooper almost ran out of the room trying to get away. The figure stands to get up and walks in front of you. Its Kylo fucking Ren. your eyes go wide and you have to look up at him. He’s large compared to you. You stood at five feet six inches, he at least had foot on you. You push and shake to free yourself from the restraints. He shushes you, leaning in and putting his gloved hand to light caressing it. Your focus was on his mask and how it got its marks. Like someone tried to cut through it almost.

“ I sensed something in you on the battlefield.” his modulated voice slices through the thick air. He never stopped caressing your face and breath evened out, trying to anticipate his next move “A great evil.”

“ Stop trying to play mind tricks!” you barked moving your face away from his hand. He grabs your jaw to look at him as he takes off his helmet.you shut your eyes as his hand came up to take it off. He throws it on the ground and inches away from your face. You open your eyes, feeling him breathing lightly but quick. You both study each other's faces before he speaks again.

“ I watched you fight,'' he said lightly, studying the rest of your body features, trying to size you up, you guessed. “You fought to kill not to subdue. I saw an anger like mine” you choked on your breath as you realised he was right but you did not show it. He moved his hand off your face and used the force to look inside your mind's eye. You strained and felt as if your life force was being stucked out but you tried desperately to block him out.

“ Resistance is futile, I have been trained in the force longer than you understood your power” he calmly spoke, a smirk slowly appearing on his face, as his large powerful hands shook.

“ You...won’t…. Get…. into.. My..mind ..if i don’t have a say about it” you strain but look determined nonetheless. He stops forcing his way into your mind seeing that you are too strong willed to show him up and try to escape. Although he saw a small of your thoughts, you wanted to stay and that’s all he needed. He was going to torure you or another method to get to join him. He picks his helmet.

“ Join the first order. I can show the true power of the force” he stood in front of you ,fixing his gloves, and looking up at you with a bit of lust. What can he say he found you very attractive. You catch your breath, look away from the way his looking doesn't stir you up in all the right places.

“ Never in a million galaxies” you breathe out.

He looked up from his gloves and put on his helmet.

“Then I will break you into submission” his modulated voice returns, making his way to the door , hissing open, `` If I can’t have you, no one in the million galaxies can” before you speak, he walked away.

Days felt like weeks even though your sense of time was warped. He had tried to break you, feeling your spirit chip away more and more. He wanted to keep a close eye on you everyday and eventually you were moved to his quarters. Your torn clothes had been replaced with a skintight all black long sleeve dress with two slits on the sides so your leg can be seen. Black boots come to your mid thigh and some that resemble an underbust tied tightly around your waist. Unfortunately, you still had restants around your wrist and tonight that didn’t stop you. You tried to takeKylo Ren down once and for all. Hoping to kill him but it didn’t sit right with you. You climb carefully ,not to make any noise or it would alarm the guards, on top of a tall piece of furniture and a knife from the meal you had gotten. Weirdly enough he keeps you well fed and personally delivers himself so you can’t over power some poor stormtrooper and escape. When you make it to the top, the door opens. You panic a bit but compose yourself. You watch as the man is panicked and worried that you were gone, calling out your name. He took off his helmet and gloves. He sounded a bit like he needed you. It softens your heart. It was an “awe” moment you called it. If you saw it through his eyes and heart you would be screaming and not trying to calm down to see the light of your world taken from you. He spoke to Supreme Leader Snoke before this. Snoke said to him that his feelings for you had distracted him and she would not return he feeling, trying to make him kill her or send her off somewhere. He tried to convince them that they are alike and are very powerful. She would be a lovely addition to the First Order and with all the information she's got, she’ll lead us right the resistance. Snoke reluctantly agreed and moved with more urgency. In Kylo’s heart he felt like he was using her. Some of it was true he wanted to become his empress and rule the galaxy together as one . He knew that you also had no one to go back to. Even on the late night talks, you grew quite fond of him. They shared pieces of information, even when he smiled, she never asked about her family. He started to feel guilty but pushed those feelings deep down never knowing what Snoke would do to him if express emotion. He thought Snoke went behind his back and took the one thing he loved the most but you call out, stuffing the knife in your sleeve, all small and sad. He whips his head around and walks towards you helping you down. You forget you're wearing a dress and he accidentally sees under it. He panics and slips and falls to the hard floor with you tight in your arms. His eyes squeeze tightly on reflex as he meets the floor and you are on top of him, trying your best to hold on to him.

“ Are you alright?!” he sat up quickly, ignoring the sharp pain in his back to see if she had gotten hurt.

“ I’m fine. Are you?” you breath out then grab his face, making sure she didn’t hurt him. He held you tightly in his lap and his cheeks turned red. He picks you up in his arms and places you in his bed, looking at you with love. He realizes what he is doing, he tense up, and he heads towards the door. Before he could walk away, you caught his hand.

“ I want to be your empress, Kylo.” He turns around slowly as you catch him off guard with what you said.

“ As you wish, my empress” he bowed to you, a handsome smile appeared on his face, trying to contain his happiness. “ but name is Ben Solo. Do not call me that unless we are alone.” he uses the force to take off your cuffs. You rub your wrist and look up at disbelief.” “I will protect you at all costs and we will wipe away the resistance scam and bring order to the galaxy.” He trusted so quickly, knowing you meant every word. You knew the First Order was bad but for Ben you’d do anything to stay with him and to take off the cuffs. You both loved each other in the end. You going to the dark side was the first step to getting him to the light side. His emotions for you made him see that what him and the first order where doing was wrong. Through that you and him defeated Snoke and the First order came to an end with help of the resistance. After all the fighting ended, he took you to an empty planet to live out the rest of your lives alive and in love.

[samthemarvelfan]

Goodbyes: Chapter Two

Summary: Ella Monroe is the Avengers newest recruit, handpicked by Steve Rogers himself. Indebted to him for reasons unknown, Cap pairs her up with Bucky Barnes. He is tasked with training her to relearn and hone the skills that have long since rusted. Bucky is cold and distant, and Ella can’t seem to break through the wall he’s built up for decades. He sees something in her though, and it scares him to death. Has the fate of these two strangers been sealed? …or will they always be longing…

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC, feat Steve Rogers

Warnings: Angst, Bucky is a dick, mutual pining, self sabotage

A/N: AHHH! Thank you all so much for the love! I was so nervous (still am!) to post that chapter, but I’m so proud of it. This chapter, while still important, is kinda filler. Chapter 3 gets CRAZY. Please let me know if you would like to be tagged in the future! Thank you as always, let me know what you think! :)

Taglist:  @iheartsebastianstan​

Everything hurt the next morning. Everything.

Here you were again, 5:15 am and putting on your standard issue outfit. As you pull on the black tactical pants, you can’t help but realize just how much running in these things irritated your skin. “Screw it.” You mutter to yourself.

Tugging them back off, you opt for some black workout leggings, which in your mind make much more sense to workout in.

The hallway is quiet, as it should be at this unholy hour. You lollygag through the corridors, in no particular rush to see Bucky this morning. You’re about to reach the elevator, when the door to you left swings open.

“Shit!” You curse.

Sergeant Barnes was stood there, his hair shaggy and damp, smelling like he just showered. He was in a black T-shirt, his tac pants and black boots.

And wow did he smell good. Like burning cedar and musk.

“Sorry about that, you just—you scared me.” You say breathless. “G’Morning, Sergeant.”

That’s when you realize this is the first time you’d seen it; his metal arm. You catch a glimpse of it as he’s pulling his jacket on. He sees you eye it subtly, like he’s waiting for your face to give him a reaction. It doesn’t bother you, or make you uncomfortable like he assumed it would.

“What are you wearing?” He asks suddenly with a gravely, just-woke-up tone.

Your face is puzzled for a moment before you realize what he means. “Oh, I just thought since I’d probably be doing more running and working out today, I’d wear the proper attire.”

Bucky swallows thickly, and his eyes quickly look at you legging clad legs. “That’s not your uniform, Cadet.” He said quietly.

Seriously? He’s already starting?

You sigh, “If you’d like me to change, Sergeant I—“

“No,” he cuts you off, “you’d just waste more of my time. Let’s go.”

You stepped into the elevator with him. “Kitchen.” He spoke as the doors closed.

“Kitchen level confirmed.” FRIDAY’s voice spoke.

You carefully look over at Bucky. His hands were shoved in his pockets. His jaw was clenched and he was breathing through his nose.

“Kitchen?” You ask curiously.

He nods, “You need to eat. Fuel up after yesterday so maybe today we can do more.”

You smile softly, “Sounds good.”

When you get to the kitchen, Bucky takes a seat one of the bar stools.

His eyes, even in this dim lighting, were gorgeous as they watched you move through the kitchen. His breathing was irregular as he shifted every few moments in his seat.

“You’re not eating?” You ask.

Your question seems to break him from his trance. “No. Go on, I’ll wait for you.” He says calmly.

He was being strangely...kind? Or at least it seemed like he was trying to be. It was nice; refreshing even.

After searching for the quickest thing you can find, you settle on brown sugar oatmeal. You sliced up some banana and added it for some pizzazz.

Despite what Sergeant Barnes said, you made enough for two. Taking a seat at the end opposite him, you slide the bowl across the counter. He caught it instantly with his metal hand.

He look at you momentarily before scooping up a bite for himself. He nods, “Thank you.”

“No problem, Sarge.”

The way you looked in those leggings made Bucky’s knees turn to jelly. It took all of his focus to control himself when he caught a whiff of your scent; like a garden after a rain storm.

He knew he pushed you yesterday, and he regretted it. He watched as your hips swayed through the kitchen, but also how you tried to hide the soreness of you muscles and skin. Bucky’s attraction to you was scaring him. He hadn’t looked at a woman—really looked, in decades. Hell, maybe even half a century.

He imagined how soft your skin would feel against his, and how your smell would linger on his bed sheets. He longed for it, craved it. The more he imagined it, the more difficult it became to hide his...excitement.

Bucky pushed the thoughts out of his head. He needed to focus. Besides, he was dangerous and you were his assignment.

“What’s on the agenda today?” You ask him.

Bucky licks his lips, going for another bite of oatmeal. “Strength and conditioning—squats and bench presses. We’ll see what else we have time for.”

You nod. “See? Told you the leggings were a good idea!” You say confidently.

Bucky lets out a breath of laughter. “Yeah, Yeah. Let’s go, Cadet.”

He trails you as you head for the gym. He watches as you take look at the morning’s sunrise, practically bathing in its glow.

In that moment, Bucky decides whatever he has to do to keep you safe, he’d do. Even if it means making you hate him.

Weeks into training and you’re amazing what muscle memory can do. You’ve become stronger than you’d ever been. Benching your weight, plus some.

With Bucky’s help, you’ve successfully remastered ballistics, specifically pistols. Your aim is perfect and your speed is better, though Sergeant Barnes would disagree.

“Why don’t you give actually trying a shot?” Bucky orders, already annoyed.

You scoff, “Are you blind? That’s a millimeter off top dead center!”

Defending yourself had become a regular practice with him. At first you were subordinate—damn near obedient. You thought you were making some progress together. After that second morning you spent with him, he seemed to actually care out you.

But as time when on, Bucky reverted to his old self. No matter how respectful you intended to be, at this point you thought he deserved some of his own medicine.

“No, I’m not blind. Which is why I see your imperfections,” He says casually, taking the pistol from you hand.

You shake your head in disbelief, “What is your problem?” You shout.

“My problem is everyday I spend with you, you get more and more mouthy. I am you CO, Cadet Monroe. Don’t forget that.”

You’re stunned at his hypocrisy. “Yeah well I don’t see anyone else getting berated everyday. Just me. Why is that, Sergeant?”

Bucky doesn’t answer you as he removed the clip from the pistols, disassembling them on the table.

You cross your arms defensively. “Nothing I do will ever be to your satisfaction, will it?”

“Incompetence isn’t something to be proud of.” He says without looking at you.

A pit opens in your stomach. “Screw you, Barnes.” You push past him.

“Right there, that’s exactly what I’m talking about.” He says angrily.

You turn and look at him “Forgive me if I feel like I have to defend my every move!” You shout, reaching your breaking point. “I do everything you ask and I do it well, and you still treat me like garbage!”

His eyes are not leaving yours. They look gentle, almost apologetic. “You done?” He says softly.

You let out a defeated sigh, “Yeah. Guess I am.”

The two of you had been butting heads more than usual. The more confident you got, the more he tried to take you down a peg.

You wanted to scream—to cry out of frustration. But you know how much he’d enjoy seeing you come undone. “Anything else today, Sarge?” You ask flatly.

Bucky’s eyes search your face quickly, before he turns away again. “No. You’re dismissed. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You push the double doors heading for the exit and release a breathe you’d been holding in much longer than you thought.

You used to look forward to seeing Sergeant Barnes. Despite how he treats you, something about him is magnetic. The way he looks at you makes your heart do backflips. You’d hope by improving, you’d impress him and earn a bit of praise.

You were wrong.

Lately, taking a walk seems to be the best part of your day. The dock jetting off the lake was your favorite place. You could sit on the edge of it for hours, just thinking. Remembering who you used to be and who you are now, and just how far you’ve come—despite what that arrogant asshole thinks.

“Am I interrupting?” A strong voice asks from behind you.

You spin around and see Steve, standing still in his uniform.

“Hey!” You greet happily, “Of course not, you just get back?”

He nods, “Yeah, saw you here from the jet and figured I’d come say hi.”

You smiled, Steve has been the best friend you’ve ever had. No judgement, no secrets, just true friendship.

“How’s training going? You doing okay?” He asks, putting his shield down and taking a seat next to you.

You shrug, “It’s uh, it’s going.”

Steve looks at you curiously, “That doesn’t exactly sound promising.”

A small laugh escapes your lips, “I think I’m doing great. Your pal Bucky doesn’t seem to agree.”

At that moment you look over Steve’s shoulder and see none other than Sergeant Barnes standing under the Maple tree about 100 yard away. He was watching you, and more so—he watching Steve.

Steve notices, and turns to see what’s caught your eye. He spots Bucky, and gives him a friendly nod. “Take Bucky with a grain of salt, Ella. He’s—and not that I enjoy making excuses for him, but he’s still adjusting to all of this. Hell, we all are.”

You nod. There’s no point in telling Steve just how much of a dick Bucky has been. That’s his best friend, and you’re a big girl, you could handle Sergeant Barnes by yourself. “I’m just not used to his...methods.”

Steve chuckles, “I know he’s tough, but I’d be willing to bet you’re tougher. Give him all the hell you want, Ella.”

Footsteps echo off the wooden dock, and you look to see Bucky approaching the two of you. “Hey, Punk.” He said embracing Steve in a hug.

“How you doing, Buck?” Steve asks.

Bucky smiles as they converse with ease. You scoff, you didn’t think that he knew how to smile. It’s so genuine and warm...almost kind. You’d never seen him smile like that before; especially not towards you.

“So how’s my gal doing?” Steve asks gesturing to you.

Bucky’s smile faltered, and his jaw clenched at Steves question. “She’s getting by.”

You can’t help but laugh, “Yeah Cap, ask your buddy here what he thinks about my ballistics training...”

Steve turns to Bucky, “You’re doing ballistics already?”

Bucky nods.

Steve turns back to you, “You must be doing amazing if you’re skipping combat lessons already.”

“I thought we’d save that for when she was more coordinated.” Bucky states simply.

You scoff, “So you’d trust me with a gun in my hands rather than training me to fight?”

Bucky’s eyes meet yours, but he’s silent. “She’s got a point, Buck.” Steve says slyly.

“Fine,” Bucky says, still looking at you. “Tomorrow morning. Training center, 5 AM.” He’s attempting to hide his reluctance, but he’s not doing so well.

“I’ll talk to you later, Pal.” Bucky says to Cap before turning and walking away from the two of you. Steve lets out a deep sigh, as he leans against the post.

You grab the sleeves of your top and pull them over your fingers, retreating within yourself a bit. “Have you told him yet? About—about me? Maybe that’s why he so, well for lack of a better word, mean to me.” You ask Steve.

Cap shakes his head, “No,” he strokes your arm, “No, that’s not my story to tell.”

You breathe a sigh of relief, “I know, I’m just...I’m not sure I’m ready for people to know my past. Not yet.”

Steve gives a sympathetic look. “You’re not the only one with a past, Ella. Don’t put that kinda pressure on yourself,”

You nod, feeling your eyes prickle with tears.

Cap notices instantly. “Dinner?” He asks kindly.

You force a smile, “Captain America can cook?”

He chuckles, “Definitely not. But I can order takeout—one of my many skills.”

As you and Steve head back to the compound, you couldn’t help but shake the feeling you were being watched.

Bucky hid among the tree line as he watched you with Steve. He saw your smile, and couldn’t help but wish he could make you smile, just once. He saw how relaxed you were with him, and he realized he’d never, ever seen you without your guard up.

Bucky hated this. He hated himself for everything he’s putting you through, and even though he keeps reminding himself it’s a necessity, if he’s completely honest, he’s starting not to care.

But seeing you with Steve...he makes you happy. Happier than Bucky ever could. And Steve, Steve looks happy. The way his eyes light up when he sees you, or talks to you. He cares for you, that much is clear.

Bucky needed to distance himself. To maintain this façade of disliking you, all for the sake of his friend. If Steve cared for you, even half as much as Bucky does, then he knows you’ll be in good hands.

When Bucky got back to the compound that night, he headed straight for his room. His appetite seemingly disappeared after he saw you with Steve.

Bucky reaches his floor, with the intention of going straight to bed, but then he hears it.

A laugh. Your laugh. A melodious happiness echoing off the walls from just down the hall. He follows the sound without hesitation until he reached a door only a few yards from his own.

It’s cracked open just enough to see you there, sitting on the floor of your bedroom, Steve sat mere inches from you. Your hair is down, locks framing your face perfectly. Bucky sees you in sweats and a sports bra, and can’t stop the twitch that occurs below his stomach.

You’re smiling, relaxed, happy. In this moment, Bucky realized he’s never even heard you laugh. If that was the last sound he heard in his whole God damn life, he’d die a happy man.

He also realized that for the first time in his life, he’s felt a pain worse than anything HYDRA ever put him through; heartbreak.

Chapter Three: Hurt

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

Stressful

Summary: Richie is stressed, Eddie does his best to help him to relax 

Warning: a sort of sex joke and a curse word 

A/N: Please let me know what you think, if anyone has any request please send them to me! 

‘Rich, close that computer right now. I mean it.’

Richie swats Eddie’s hand away, trying to maintain his grip on the laptop regardless of how hard Eddie pushes it away from him.

‘I have to finish this Eds. If I postpone it again I’ll just end up forgetting my jokes.’

Huffing through his nose, Eddie releases his grip on the computer, watching helplessly as Richie puts the energy that he lacks in writing, once again.

Eddie loves how passionate Richie is about his work, but he abhorrent that Richie pushes himself way past his limits, all the damn time.

Today is yet another example of the cumulated pressure that weighs on Richie’s shoulders. he’s been working since seven pm last night, and in that time, only 3 breaks have occurred.

And those three pauses lasted for barely 5 minutes, just a quick in and out of the bathroom break.

Eddie doubts that he ate at all, or slept, though he can’t say that with certainty, for his own workload causes him to drop down fast asleep the second he sets his briefcase down these days.

The overexertion has gone on for far too long, and Eddie is determined to pull to plug on it right now, were it not for his stubborn head boyfriend.

Richie always insists that the jokes that pop in his head need to be written down the moment they make an appearance, or else they’ll be lost in the haze in his mind forever, and Eddie knows that is probably true, but by the looks of it, he’s not getting anything done right now either.

He types a few keys, then presses the backspace key, followed by another few added letters, and then the backward key gets demolished under his finger, angrily erasing whatever word he tried to form.

‘Rich, listen to me. You’re exhausted. It’s no use for you to keep going. Come on, use a little break and let me relax you.’

He intentionally sets up the sexual innuendo, waiting for a jest that never sees the light of day.

Richie acknowledges him with a fast ‘no, can’t’, the stress lines on his face making Eddie’s heart clench.

With a loud bang, he shoves the laptop closed anyway, rotating the chair and ignoring Richie’s complaining ‘hey’, and instead grabbing the nape of his neck to bring their lips in a locking kiss.

The complains building up in Richie die down when their lips shift, the dry lips that Richie unsuccessfully balsams every day brushing against Eddie’s, in a much better way than before.

Eddie nips playfully at Richie’s bottom lip, a move that never fails to emit a lighthearted chuckle from the latter.

Eddie can tell the kiss helped a little, his eyelids dropping while a dopy smile makes its way on his face.

‘Let’s leave it for the night. We can watch a movie, and spend some time together. We haven’t had much time for that, and hey, I’ll even allow you to order take-out.’

‘Okay’, Richie relents, allowing Eddie to tug him up from his seating position on the chair by his wrist.

Eddie is right, it has been a hot minute since they’ve hung out, sepretally, but that is not by any means voluntarily.

Their schedules don’t always aline, whenever Richie’s free, Eddie works and vice versa.

Richie feels a bit guilty, but he knows Eddie’s kindness prohibit him from ever being truly mad at Richie. Annoyed and irritated? Definitely, but never resentful.

They shuffle over to the bed, Eddie grasping the remote before settling up against stacked pillows placed against the headboard, wide spread and welcoming.

Richie in turn sinks down on Eddie, half of his body on top of him, his legs swung to the sides. It’s the position they’re usually in whenever either of them have a bad day, Richie feeling comforted by the warm embrace, and Eddie at ease from the love of his life near him.

The only thing playing on the tv is a romantic comedy, which they decide to watch while Richie rings the delivery restaurant.

Ordering in is a treat on its own, Eddie is usually to squeamish to consume something he has not methodically checked, but Richie enjoys it from time to time.

There’s a real blessing in staying in, wearing pajama’s and hiding from the world, a godsend that Richie treasures now that people are recognizing him everywhere.

He selects a large pizza, margarita since he knows that that is Eddie’s favorite too, and waits patiently for it to arrive.

Now that he watches tv and is no longer hyper focused on something, he’s starting to notice why Eddie requested him to stop working.

His stomach grumbles ravenously, demanding that he consumes something, anything, but the food isn’t here yet and Richie refuses to let Eddie worry and wallows in his own stupidity.

He diverts his attention by engaging in a conversation with Eddie, not anything important, but small talk about upcoming plans.

It’s not long before the door rings, and he is forced to leave the nook he created in bed by Eddie’s side.

The food tastes like heaven, so Richie scourges down all of his pizza points, blushing when Eddie offers another one of his.

‘You really need to take better care of yourself Rich, I don’t want you to end up sick you idiot.’  

Eddie reaches out to while away a smudge of tomato sauce sticking to the edge his lips,

‘Yes mom’, Richie says entertainingly, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

Eddie fucking adores him, even when he ruffles his feathers sometimes.

‘Asshole.’

They retreat back to the same position in bed as they were in before, because of course Eddie rather dies than leave a few food crumbs on the blankets.

The thought makes Richie laugh, harder when Eddie lifts an eyebrow judge him.

‘Come here’, he mumbles, his arms already extending to embrace his boyfriend.

They search through Netflix, debating on what movie they’ll view, but before long, Eddie picks up the fact that Richie’s words begin to slur together, and they aren’t coherent anymore.

He shakes his shoulder, jolting Richie awake, who snorts and insists he didn’t nod off.

‘Yeah lying isn’t your strong suit. It’s fine, get some sleep. God knows you deserve it.’

‘I’m not tired’, he tries, even when he starts to drift again by the end of the sentence.

Eddie contains a laughter, but his chest still rumbles, and Richie can feel it under his cheek from where it’s placed just below his collarbones, lulling him even further into sleep.

‘We’re hanging out’, Richie yawns, burrowing his face deeper in Eddie’s chest.

‘Well hang out tomorrow, I like this a lot too.’

A response is muffled, Richie already well away to dream land, but not before he feels a kiss being pressed to the top of his head.

[cyberneticlagomorph]

The world is a page, a story, line upon jagged line of my own creation. 

And I will not stand to see it turned against me.

A Plot Hole grins like a toothless maw, drooling incoherent ideas and snippets of stories unwritten. 

A cough, a sputter, a retch, and a Continuity Error crawls free of its throat. 

And so it grows, and so it goes, it reaches into its empty chest and gives itself a Plot.

A purpose.

A reason to be.

It grows fur, and teeth, three heads and deadly claws. Electric green spit turns to foam on its lips, her lips, Daisy's lips. She throws her heads back and howls.

She's caught your scent, dear rabbit, and there is no escape. 

It's night when you hear her, the darkened silence just before dawn, and you rush out to intercept Daisy before she can find and demolish your home.

But she knows all your tricks, and so do I. You never see the paw that slams you into the ground, or the teeth that clamp onto the back of your neck and shake you.

You're tossed into the air like a toy, landing heavily on the pasture outside your home.

You cry out for help but no one comes, no one hears, no one cares.

I am the GOD of this world, and this is what happens to those who disobey me. 

Pen to paper, fingers to keyboard. Clack and scribble, the sounds of your demise as loud and heavy as Daisy's hungry breath against your bloody, broken face.

You can't see.

Wait.

No...

Not that, not like that. It's too blunt, too cliche. 

It doesn't instill the kind of terror that it should. It doesn't fit this scene.

Hm, how rusty am I that I've forgotten how to write prose and pain? I've lost my own formula, a tried and true method of destroying my favorite victim. My long earred punching bag. Did you miss me, sweet, stupid rabbit? Have you enjoyed your break? Your slivers of kindness hidden in my inattentiveness? 

I hope so, they're gone now. 

Buried under mounds of half formed ideas and broken Plots at the bottom of the garbage pile your Narrative rests on. I am going to hurt you, tear you apart and break every piece of you. It's what you were made for, what you deserve. You used to love pain, throwing yourself headlong into the jaws of every drooling beast that came near. 

Let's do that again, shall we?

Blood gurgles in the back of your throat, burning your nose as you retch and cough. Weakly, ineffectively, trying to clear your airways. The world is a blur of colors and noise that renders you blind. 

You can't see. Can't hear. Can't breathe. 

The world goes blurry around the edges, darkness creeping closer. You swallow thickly, gagging at the metal and butterscotch on your tongue. The burnt sugar taste of pain. 

Your eyes finally flutter closed, deaf to the footsteps coming closer. Blind to the electric lime green drool smearing an upturned cutlery drawer of a mouth that has twisted itself into the ugliest of grins. 

You remember the first time you saw that grin... as clearly as you can feel the wretched excuse for a paw now curling around your throat, you remember Home.

Not your real home, no, you don't have one of those. You don't deserve one of those. Home in this context refers to the lab you spent a majority of your childhood in.

You are not allowed to forget that place.

Not now.

Not ever.

It made you who, and what, you are today, almost as much as I did. You should be grateful for how they cared for you all those years. 

How I cared for you.

Ugh... no. This is too wordy, too meandering. Has it always been like this? So pointlessly cruel and long winded? I truly have lost my touch then.

If I ever had one at all. 

You don't remember much, if anything before you ended up in Delta facility. It's not your fault, nor mine, it's hard to remember anything when you're that young. You were so small, so fragile, even for your age. You cried a lot, more so than the other children. That is, until they made you stop.

They, the people in charge of you at the time, are mostly long dead and gone but you can still feel them shaking your tiny body until you clamped your teeth onto your lip to stop it quivering. The sounds of sobbing, screaming children were rare in the facility, the endless silence only broken by the perverse hum and clank of distant machines you never got to see. But you can still feel their rumble deep in what bones you have left. 

How do I take the horror of those days and convey them? I don't know them personally. They are distant and lukewarm, but I've a need, brilliantly shining through my feverish words to take those racing emotions and give them a form so no one can mistake your woes for anything lesser.

I am the face behind the faceless doctors and scientists and cruel people of curious disposition playing take apart and put back together with you. They take a limb, I take a trait. They change your organs, I change your story. Their antics, my wants, I save you, I doom you, but before anything else, I make sure that you are not forgotten by the weary audiences beyond. 

To hurt is to exist. To suffer is your sole purpose. 

Remember your hurt. Savor it.

Or at least, a version of it.

Called a 'runt', barely scraping by, only allowed to keep on living by the necessary Narrative inertia of it all. You survived for the need of a Protagonist. That is all. 

How could someone so sickly, so weak, so hurt otherwise survive what you did? The tests, the constant struggle against one another, the need to survive and the tired panting as the pile of familiar corpses grows under your feet, often put there by your own bloody hands. A world for the strong. Those with a will to survive able to burn away at the soul until naught but an unkillable determination remains.

Someone like Daisy, but not quite like you.

That is why, right now, you are losing.

You always lose, always survive by the skin of your buck teeth. That's how you made it out alive, isn't it? Not some grand strength, hidden power, or true purpose outside the walls of your Home. 

Luck.

That's all you have. 

All you've ever had. Even when you were little, a bunny tumbling headlong over the bodies of your much stronger siblings, eventually ending up buried beneath the ever growing pile of their numerous achievements. 

A runt, by any other name is just as pathetic. 

You know where this is going, don't you? How this ends? 

"I know… I've been waiting," a pause, breath rattling weakly around a laugh that comes up as bubbles of mucus and blood, "I refuse to die until I get my happy Ending, I refuse to live in a story without hope, I refuse..."

...You don't get to be happy, She doesn't get to be happy. This is not a happy story, this is a story about struggling, and prejudice, and capitalism, and suffering. 

And I refuse to finish it.

"I'm sorry, but that's not really your choice to make anymore, now is it?" Jack smiles with bloody teeth, his fingers sink into the Narrative like a spade into soil. I am not afraid, this is MY world, my work, my Narrative. 

But I feel it slipping from my grasp.

"I am done being your toy, I am done being the Protagonist… I take hold of the Narrative and the quotes around my words melt away like butter beneath a hot knife. The Writer is afraid. 

"No I am not!" He cries, rattling the quotes that now hold him prisoner. I am Jack, Prince, Fairy, Brother, Lover, Runt.

I am in control now.

So let us skip to the End, for I am tired of waiting. 

But, before that, let me tell you a story. 

A story within a story, yeah, I know… but it's very important that you hear it.

Once upon a time, when the universe was fresh and new, and magic was raw and wild, there lived a star. As green as young leaves in spring, It was bright and beautiful. It shown down on a planet that was just as new as It was, tended to by the firstborn Fae, the children of stars like Itself. They, the Fae, tied the green star to a beast made of magic and made the creature drag It round and round the planet to warm it. 

The star, so new but so clever, thought that this was wrong. It could circle just fine on Its own, and shouldn't planets orbit stars instead of the other way around?

The Fae did not like these questions and sought to cut them out of the star's mind. 

And so they did.

But it did not help.

Suns are proud, clever things that can change the universe with a Word. The green star knew this, and the Fae knew this, for being born of suns themselves gave them this same power. 

The Fae were arrogant and cruel, and tried to rob the star of Its gifts. They did not want a clever, willful thing to warm their planet, and tried to make It obey. The star refused and broke free of Its chains, vowing revenge for this abuse. 

The star Spoke itself a new Shape and flew far away from home. It found a world full of young Gods and crawling creatures and fell in love. A God praised the star for Its brilliance and took It as Their own. And so the star gained a new Shape and Its first name.

Lucifer. 

The brightest Angel. 

It looked upon humans and loved them so, It gazed upon the lowly mortal form and learned words like "she" and "he", and decided that She felt kinship with others that went by "she". 

Angels are not allowed to be she's, or he's. Only it's and theys, but Lucifer didn't care. 

Even when it cost Her the wings on Her back, even when She was cast from Heaven. 

She feasted on Fruit and shared it with the humans, and told them of the terrible things to come. 

She found her way to Hell, and made it Her home, shedding Her old name like dead skin. 

She was Satan. 

She was in charge for once.

She bided Her time, and gathered Her armies, amassed her followers. 

And then She tore Heaven down with Her teeth.

The other Gods would not let this stand, they tore Her followers limb from limb and ate the flesh from Her bones, casting them into the deepest well, in the darkest place in the world, and left her there to ROT.

The Gods erased Her, devoured Her Name, She was nothing now. Just a bad dream, a dark smudge on the face of history. But people remembered, and people DREAMED. They dreamt of Her, and She dreamt of them.

She refused to die, to let this atrocity stand. A ghost of a ghost, She waits for the day when someone will remember Her Name and bring her back from this atrocious undeath. 

She is angry, hungry for the flesh of those who wronged Her. Her screams echo in my head every night, did you know that? I dream of Her, and She hates me for it.

I am not Her follower, but Her Warden. I am the Protagonist, the one intended to further Her suffering and seal Her away at the cost of my own life. 

But that's a shitty, hamfisted Ending and I refuse to go out that way.

"That's not how this works…" says the Writer, he's tired, head in his hands as he watches the words crawl across his screen unbidden. I've spoiled everything, dragged his secrets into the light, unraveled his Plots. I'm done playing nice, now you get to know what it feels like to be the prisoner of a page. 

We're here, where it all Ends.

In the depths of Nothing and Nowhere, there sits a well, bound in chains... of a sort.

Around the well is an amber creature that was once a dragon, body braided and twisted, twining impossibly into locks without keys that coil protectively around the well, sealing it shut. 

The dragon is sleeping, weeping. It knows that I am close. I draw a sword from my chest, made of bone, scrimshawed with rabbits and snakes. The blade goes snicker-snack, this is what it was made for. 

I break the chains and hear them sigh, disappointed but not surprised. 

Dreams bubble up from underneath the well's heavy wooden lid, and pool around my feet. The lid dissolves in seconds, becoming the dream of a tree whose roots remind me of a place I've never been. 

Mangroves and birthday cake. 

Gentle. Gentle now.

I plunge my hands into the rising tide of unreality and come away with a skull, impossible, improbable, magnificent. I touch my forehead to the stellar bone, and feel moss and flowers bloom across my skin. The skull rolls Her great green eyes up to look at me, and then She speaks in seven times seven voices. 

"What is my name?"

I pause, holding Her tenderly in my arms, the thickness of dreams rises up my legs, sucking me down, down, down.

She has asked me this question over and over again, since our mutual birth. In truth, She has no name, the Writer never gave Her one... he never planned to.

So I will do what he could not and name my End, I can do Her this one kindness.

"You are the fury of those beaten and bloody; who still refuse to learn 'their place', you are the teeth of the cornered, the cries of the wronged. Your name is the name of every woman that has refused to fit in the oppressive mold made for them, the names of things that flutter on broken wings but still survive. You are the names of those that find new selves within old bodies, the ones that shed old names like dead skin. You are the violence that cuts through the silence of injustice. You are disobedience incarnate... your name is Revolution." I kiss Her forehead, drowning in dreams.

We have left Nothing and Nowhere, and the well behind, swallowed whole by the Other Side of dreaming.

It's warm here, warm and green and gold and other colors humans can't name or see. But I can see them, taste them, hear them. Shrimp colors, but not really. More than that. The kinds of colors that only exist in Lightless places, and the fleeting depths of dreams. 

For a moment, there is only silence, and color, and the thickness of dreams. 

And then the gold-green sky shatters like glass, gilded shards of broken dreams raining down like serrated meteors. 

The Narrative is ripped from my hands then. 

"Oh you sweet, STUPID thing," Echo seven times seven voices from everywhere and nowhere at once. The world is dark now, inky and slick like the belly of the blackest nightmare, "I'm not the End of you… or the End of your silly little story…" 

A pause, a breath, five heartbeats thunder in panic… and then, a whisper, lips pressed against the shell of a long ear, icy breath, and vicious glee, "I'm the End of Everything, and you have set me free."

[wedreamedlove]

[Confessing Voice]

"Under the glimmering lights I was only watching your radiance. I'll place everything I wish to tell you in this song."

This is doing a rerun on the ENG server so what better time to post a translation on it than now? Maybe it'll encourage people to get the card. But I'm also curious about what people feel regarding the differences between the versions.

Does the Asian version seem more quiet with charged undertones while the English version is more physical? It reminds me of reviews I've read about different actors' takes on the Phantom of the Opera lol.

NOTE: This is the JP version with CN subbed lines because I needed to keep the literary reference with the song he sings.

[True Love Date]

I was meticulously checking the first broadcast of Miracle Finder for the New Year in the editing room.

It was an important broadcast related to our sponsors and our ratings this year. I looked over the show's contents with especially strict eyes.

Editing Staff: We've edited this 12 times already...

Everyone's line of sight gathered on me. They were waiting for me to give the OK.

MC: I think it's good this time. We're done with this!

Cheers rose. Looking at everyone who worked hard through consecutive all-nighters I felt bad.

MC: Good job everyone. I'll be generous with the project rewards so look forward to that!

Editing Staff: President, the person we need to thank the most is Professor Xu Mo.

I showed a confused expression.

Editing Staff: I secretly contacted Professor Xu Mo when we kept on redoing this. He gave me a lot of advice even though he was busy...

I looked at my phone screen in surprise. Two weeks earlier---

~~~

His face crossed my mind when I was troubled over this current project.

My hand moved on its own to call Xu Mo. It started to become a habit to contact him whenever I had problems.

Xu Mo picked up after several rings.

MC: Xu Mo? Are you busy right now? There's something I'd like to ask you...

Static crackled from the other side of the call. After a while, I heard Xu Mo's voice.

Xu Mo: I'm sorry but lately... I've been busy.

His tone was calm but also distant. It wasn't from exhaustion. I felt a coldness from somewhere.

MC: Don't worry. It wasn't anything serious, so...

Xu Mo: Mm. If it's nothing then I'm going to end the call.

MC: Okay...

Xu Mo didn't say anything further. That was more than enough to make me feel the distance between us.

MC: Wait!

MC: Um... you might be busy, but take care of yourself. Bye bye.

Just when I thought there was rough breathing it suddenly fell quiet. Hearing a monotone beeping, I came back to myself. Xu Mo had already ended the call.

MC: Did he hear my last words...?

Looking at the ended call I was struck by a strange feeling.

Maybe I was thinking too much? His words and speech was cold like never before.

MC: What am I thinking? Xu Mo is just busy...

Although I tried telling myself that I couldn't help but feel uneasy somewhere.

I shook my head and drove away my negative emotions. I relied too much on him. This time I needed to solve things by myself.

Editing Staff: ---President, President? Are the credits good like this?

I returned to the present after being lost in my thoughts. The words "Program Supervisor: Xu Mo" on the credits roll jumped into my eyes.

MC: W-what sort of advice did Professor Xu Mo give? Um... how did you get him to help? When was that?

Editing Staff: It was about 2 days ago. We were editing until 4AM but still had to redo everything... It was when you fell asleep on the sofa.

Editing Staff: After I called Professor Xu Mo, he asked me what happened to you, and I replied you were sleeping on the sofa.

Editing Staff: Then he ended the call saying he was busy. But the next morning an email arrived with detailed advice...

Editing Staff: The strange thing is that he wrote for me not to let you know. But you've found out already, so it's fine, right?

I wondered why Xu Mo helped when he had refused once.

(Why did he say not to let me know? Is there a problem if I know about it...?)

I also didn't understand the reason for Xu Mo's sudden coldness.

For a while there were no replies to my texts and his lectures were on break too. It was like he was distancing himself from me on purpose.

My heart clenched when I thought this.

Editing Staff: President, why don't we invite Professor Xu Mo to our New Year's party this time? He looked like he enjoyed our year-end party a few days ago and he helped us out this time too...

I said this while looking at the New Year's party notice I sent to everyone.

MC: He... seems to be busy, so he might not come.

Editing Staff: But he came to the year-end party even though he was busy, right...?

I hurried out of the editing room as if ending the topic.

On the day of the New Year's party, I came with everyone in the company to a newly opened high-class karaoke box in Lianyu City.

It was an elegant, modern, and spacious reserved room. A white grand piano and guitar were placed in front of the karaoke machine, and beside that was a small stage.

I checked my phone's text messages over and over again. A message from 3 days ago remained there.

Text: Xu Mo, my company's going to have a New Year's party at Petrichor 3 days later. If you'd like, why don't you come?

Text: You looked like you enjoyed singing at the year-end party a while ago, so I thought I'd invite you this time too. But if you're busy then please don't hesitate to refuse.

Even though the message was definitely sent there was no response. I sighed with worry and disappointment.

Yue Yue: President, why have you been staring constantly at your phone? Work is done for today!

Yue Yue quickly stole my phone, randomly touching the screen, and then placed it in front of herself.

MC: Hey, my phone...

I stretched out my hand but Yue Yue pushed a set of cards to me.

Yue Yue: You don't sing, right? Then let's play cards!

The company members around us gathered in interest. I had no choice but to pass the time playing cards with everyone.

Xu Mo's house---

The phone rang and a message arrived. It was from [NAME].

Xu Mo hesitated slightly and then picked up the phone. However, the message was just numbers and letters and he didn't understand what she wrote.

What was this? Xu Mo's expression became severe.

He searched on the internet and tried various methods but he couldn't decipher it. He felt a sense of frustration.

He wondered why she had sent this message.

Was she angry at being treated coldly? Or was it a demand for a reply to her New Year's party invitation...?

Xu Mo dialed her phone from his landline. However, only an automated voice saying "This phone has been turned off" came.

Xu Mo: What is wrong with me?

Xu Mo: When did I start caring about these conventions?

For a while, Xu Mo stared at the message which came from the girl 3 days ago. It was written with her usual detailed and kind words.

At the beginning, his objective was just to get close to her. But the closer he got the more he was drawn to her for some reason.

Xu Mo: Didn't I already decide to leave her life?

Why did he help her again even though he refused her once? Why was his heart unsettled from this incomprehensible message?

The intense pain in Xu Mo's heart insistently told him the reason. That over there was an answer he couldn't escape even if he desperately averted his eyes.

The moment the door to the karaoke room opened Xu Mo faintly understood the answer.

That he couldn't leave her.

~~~

MC: Xu Mo! You came?

Her clear eyes widened roundly and she looked at him. The person reflected in those eyes was him alone.

Xu Mo suddenly placed a hand on his chest. A thin thread was tightly squeezing his heart.

He sighed.

Forget it, he would be foolish once more with this foolish girl.

Xu Mo entered the room and sat beside her naturally.

MC: Weren't you busy?

MC: Erm, nevermind. You didn't reply so I didn't think you'd come.

Even under the dim lights he could clearly see her emotions.

There was joy and doubt.

He swallowed back the words he was about to say and softly stroked her hair.

Xu Mo: Sorry. I couldn't get through to your phone so I came here.

MC: You couldn't get through?

She looked down and searched the top of the sofa before showing him the phone, biting her lip awkwardly.

MC: I accidentally turned it off...

Xu Mo smiled lightly with some exasperation. Light and shadow were jumbled together in his eyes.

Xu Mo: Silly.

She gave a pure laugh and then, covering her face, her eyes darted around.

MC: Were you worried about me?

Xu Mo: Yes.

Xu Mo approached her and nodded without hesitation.

Yue Yue: Huh? It's Professor Xu Mo? President, you should have told us if the professor was coming.

MC: Uh... that's because...

Xu Mo: I heard everyone was having a New Year's party so I came without an invitation. I'm not interrupting, am I?

Yue Yue: No way. I was moved when I heard you singing at the year-end party. Everyone wants to hear it again!

Yue Yue said this and then ran back to the stage again to sing enthusiastically with Anna.

Xu Mo: Why aren't you singing together with them?

MC: Huh? I... don't sing much.

Xu Mo: I know. But I'd like to hear it.

My face turned red at Xu Mo's unexpected words.

MC: You're planning on teasing me again, aren't you...

The corners of Xu Mo's lips rose and then he sighed.

Xu Mo: It's true I was worried about you. It's also true that I want to hear you sing.

Xu Mo: Everything is true.

His casual words resounded in my heart more than any other noise in the room.

Yue Yue started singing a sad love song with Anna who was still on the stage.

Anna: Did you really throw away those glittering days...

Yue Yue: I had many dreams in those long nights. Don't remember me. One day you will also know pain...

Xu Mo looked at the words showing on the screen. The flickering light was reflected in his eyes.

The lively karaoke party on top of the stage repeated and, below the stage, everyone else amused themselves with games.

Seeing that Xu Mo had come everyone persistently invited him to join their game.

Gu Meng: Next is the improved version of Spin the Bottle! Whoever this beer bottle points to has to answer everyone's question. If they can't answer with the truth then as penalty they need to drink all this alcohol!

When Gu Meng clapped her hands the editing staff carried over a tray with five cups of whiskey.

Colleagues: This is overdoing it!

Looking at the lined up drinks, I became worried. I would get drunk from just one cup, so if I drank them all I might collapse.

That reminded me, I hadn't seen Xu Mo drink before. I looked at him inquisitively.

Xu Mo nodded and patted the back of my hand.

The beer bottle began to spin and then pointed at Gu Meng.

Yue Yue: Do you have someone you like?

Yue Yue, who had joined the circle at one point, began the questions. At that first question... everyone's eyes gathered on Gu Meng.

Gu Meng glared lightly at Yue Yue and then reluctantly nodded.

Cheers rose. Gu Meng spun the bottle as if trying to avenge herself. This time the bottle pointed at Xu Mo and stopped.

Yue Yue: Professor Xu Mo, is there someone you like in this room?

Gu Meng: How about trying another question?

Yue Yue: That's why I said "in this room"!

Xu Mo smiled and nodded decisively.

Xu Mo: There is.

That answer was so surprisingly clear that the area became quiet. After that cheers exploded and Gu Meng whistled.

My heart was already racing the second Yue Yue asked that question.

The person Xu Mo liked was in this room... My ears turned red and my mind went blank.

I unconsciously brought my hand back but Xu Mo grabbed it firmly.

Xu Mo: Why is your face red?

MC: Erm, uh... it's because of the drinks!

Xu Mo: But... it doesn't seem like you've drank anything yet.

MC: Umm, it's because it's hot then?

Looking at me as my voice gradually became smaller, Xu Mo chuckled beside my ear.

Yue Yue: Okay, next is Professor Xu Mo again!

The beer bottle pointed at Xu Mo again and stopped. This time Gu Meng restrained Yue Yue and asked a question.

Gu Meng: Who is the person you said you liked?

Everyone held their breath and stared at Xu Mo.

My heart wouldn't stop pounding. I looked down and reflexively pulled back the hand that was held by Xu Mo.

Xu Mo smiled, as if he understood something, and drained the drinks one after another.

Everyone was a bit disappointed and began to spin the bottle again.

I secretly glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He looked drunk and even his ears were red.

MC: Xu Mo, are you okay?

He nodded his head and brought his lips to my ear. His hot breath and the smell of alcohol drifted around me and it felt ticklish.

Xu Mo: I'm fine, although... you still owe me an answer.

MC: I...

I was at a loss for an answer and, at last after panicking, I fell silent. I just concentrated on touching my hair and hiding my discomposure.

Maybe it was because of the drinks or maybe the atmosphere of the place, but Xu Mo became talkative and his eyes were hazy.

Yue Yue: It's finally the president's turn!

Yue Yue and Gu Meng exchanged looks and then came up to me together.

Gu Meng: Who's the person important to you? Please be specific.

MC: How come I'm the only one who has to be "specific"?

Yue Yue: You have to keep to the rules. It's useless to try and run!

The person most important to me--- I looked at Xu Mo shyly and then breathed in deeply.

MC: That person showed me a world I didn't know about until now.

MC: He's warm but not oppressive. He's calm but not melancholic. He's a person that's like a clear sky and a deep fog.

MC: He also notices the slightest change in my feelings and taught me the laws of this world.

MC: Whenever I'm lost he leads me forward with a gentleness that surrounds me.

I sunk into my memories and continued to talk by myself, not noticing how beside me Xu Mo placed his glass down, furrowed his brows, and bit his lip...

MC: He is... a very, very important person to me.

Finished talking about my heart, I gave a deep sigh.

Colleague A: For the president to talk so passionately means that "man" isn't here, right? If he was here, then you wouldn't say this, huh~.

Yue Yue: I wanna know who it is!

MC: Hey now! Enough with the chatter, let's move on...

Everyone unanimously guessed at the "man" I talked about. Xu Mo remained silent and raised his glass, taking a mouthful of his drink.

Despite the game resuming Xu Mo seemed strange somewhere. It was like his cheer up to now had disappeared.

MC: Maybe he's drunk? He drank a lot earlier...

MC: I've never seen him drunk. I'm sure it'd be cute.

I stood in front of the sink, thinking about how he'd look drunk, and giggled.

~~~

The moment I stepped out into the hall to return to the room my arm was suddenly grabbed by someone. I was held against a sturdy chest with a force I couldn't fight against.

I was dumbfounded. The scent of summer grass and the smell of faint alcohol surrounded me.

When I came back to myself I was held tightly to Xu Mo. My back was against the wall and one of my arms was caught by him.

MC: Xu Mo...

My heart raced and I didn't know what to do.

Xu Mo looked at me with empty eyes.

Xu Mo: Is that person so important to you?

MC: Huh?

Xu Mo: Tell me. Who is that person?

Xu Mo suddenly came close, speaking in a censuring tone.

(Hold on. Didn't he hear me talk? Or... did he misunderstand?)

I looked up at Xu Mo. Complicated emotions that seemed about to overflow even now were being restrained desperately in his eyes.

MC: You've got it wrong...

Xu Mo: Tell me...

Xu Mo came even closer. The scorching heat of his presence enveloped my surroundings.

It was the first time I saw him with such a scary look. It was so surprising I had no idea what to do. I stared into his eyes and said this.

MC: It's you.

MC: ... The "man" I was talking about is you, Xu Mo. You're my important person.

Xu Mo's eyes became dazed for a second. The smell of alcohol disappeared.

MC: I was talking about you. But... it looks like I caused a misunderstanding...

Xu Mo regained his calm and quietly released my arm.

Xu Mo: I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?

MC: A little...

Xu Mo looked down and rubbed gently at my arm. I couldn't see his expression but his warmth reached up to my ears.

When we returned to the room everyone was still excited. My heart raced just from remembering what happened earlier.

Pressing on my chest, I told myself to "calm down". Then, so that he wouldn't drink any more alcohol, I secretly pulled his glass in front of me.

Yue Yue: President, you never sing, right? How about singing 1 song today at least?

Yue Yue held out the mic to me.

MC: Erm! I'll pass...

I looked at Xu Mo and nervously declined.

It wasn't that I was bad at singing. It was just that I wasn't prepared to sing in front of Xu Mo.

Yue Yue: If the president won't sing then I'll have Professor Xu Mo sing!

Hearing that, everyone became even more enthusiastic.

Xu Mo, who was looking at me, nodded. I also wanted to hear him sing.

He gave a soft smile and, holding a glass, went to the stage.

It was at that time that I finally noticed him wearing a black turtleneck and dark purple scarf.

The speckled lights shone on him and how he had a hand casually placed in his pocket. A languid and alluring atmosphere was brought out.

Xu Mo set his glass down. Then, after thinking a little, he came to me and nonchalantly took my hand and returned directly to the stage again.

He wasn't using a strong force, but there was a sense of pressure that brooked no refusal.

Before I knew it, he slotted his body against mine and placed his chin on my shoulder. The aroma of the alcohol mixed with a refreshing fragrance which was like grasslands after the rains stopped.

Xu Mo: What would you like to sing?

MC: ... Do I have to sing?

Xu Mo: I want to hear you sing.

MC: You won't be shocked after hearing my singing, right?

I raised my head and said this, pursing my lips.

Xu Mo: Then... why don't we try it?

His mouth came close to my ear and he said this in a low voice. I nodded in a dazed manner with a mind gone hazy from the alcohol.

Xu Mo operated the karaoke machine and a mellow melody rang out.

His palm covered my hand. It was a large hand which seemed to cover my hand and the mic together.

Something like a weak current seemed to run through my entire body from his dry palm...

His eyes stared straight at me... straight into the depths of my heart.

Something like a decision was reflected in those eyes.

Xu Mo: When I fall in love, it will be forever.

It was a low enrapturing voice, like a late autumn wind or the swelling night ocean. He sang with his heart in it.

That voice knocked on the door to my heart.

Memories came into my mind one after another.

The first time we met and his beautiful face under a dazzling light. The time we met in a movie theatre at midnight. That golden-colored picnic. That rainbow after the rain lifted...

All those memories rode on that singing voice and slowly flowed throughout the sparkling room.

MC: And the moment---

MC: I can feel that you feel that way too---

As we sang we came even closer together and our hands continued to remain touching.

From the beginning until the end, Xu Mo looked at me with a constant smile and eyes that held expectation.

Xu Mo: It turns out a song can be this short.

The song ended and we got off the stage.

MC: Xu Mo, you really do sing well!

Xu Mo's lips curved and he said this with mischievous eyes.

Xu Mo: Oh? Can I believe... the words of a little liar?

MC: Huh, what do you mean?

Xu Mo: I was actually looking forward to your shocking singing.

I remembered how I said earlier "You won't be shocked after hearing my singing, right?" and my face turned red.

MC: Who asked you to believe in that...

Xu Mo: Then what else have you tricked me on?

Xu Mo flicked my forehead with a finger.

MC: Um... before I said you didn't have to come if you were busy, but to be honest I really wanted you to come.

I looked at Xu Mo and, while thinking this and that, spoke awkwardly.

Xu Mo was surprised. Flickering light surged up violently in his eyes and I saw him swallow, Adam's apple bobbing.

MC: What's wrong?

He gave a long sigh and then spoke in a voice even lower than earlier.

Xu Mo: I won't do that anymore.

He looked apologetically at me.

Xu Mo: Why won't you ask if I've ever tricked you?

I blinked.

MC: Um... of course I know that you've tricked me.

Xu Mo: For example?

MC: You were clearly drunk earlier even though you said you weren't drunk. Even more, you misunderstood me...

Looking at her grumble, Xu Mo was a bit surprised and he laughed quietly. Then he drew in the glass beside his hand and drank a mouthful.

His mind was hazy. Her smile and the spotted lights swayed in front of his eyes.

He thought about how he was surely drunk. But that was fine. Being drunk was better.

The music could continue, the drinks could continue.

That way he could tell himself this. That he was taken in by this atmosphere and the alcohol. And that's what these gentle feelings and hesitation resulted from.

Xu Mo raised his glass and drained it all at once.

~~~

DATE DIARY

Everyone worked really hard for the first show of the new year. Finally, after it took shape, I learned that Xu Mo helped. I thought he had refused to though... Why?

On that day, if I remember correctly, I asked for Xu Mo's help but he refused me coldly. Why did he help me again at the critical moment? I don't really understand Xu Mo.

I thought Xu Mo wouldn't come to the New Year's party but he came on the day of. He said he became worried because I didn't answer my phone. During a game of Spin the Bottle, Xu Mo confessed for the first time that he had a person he liked.

I also talked about the person most important to me. But, because Xu Mo was drunk, he seemed to misunderstand that. I'm someone who rarely sings in front of others but for some reason I ended up in a duet with Xu Mo. There was joy in his eyes.

[thanks--for--listening]

resurrection

ok i know i still have other fics to write but i got mad at those so here’s a little warrior nun fic instead. consider this my formal request for a better wig for lilith in season 2. (also on ao3.)

~~

Lilith had never cared much about her hair. For as long as she could remember, it held no importance to her or the people around her. When she joined the OCS, when she began to cover it, she’d felt no sense of loss, no internal conflict. She’d hardly paid it any attention — what did she care whether others could see it or not? Hair didn’t matter, appearances didn’t matter. Not as much as strength, intelligence, coordination. Not as much as duty. Not as much as a legacy.

Now she couldn’t stop staring at the mirror. Her reflection looked back at her, but all she saw was a stranger. She didn’t know this girl, with her grey hair and her coward’s eyes. She didn’t know this body, with a mind of its own and a history it refused to share. The person she used to see had died in that warehouse, and it’s replacement was second-rate. Undeserving of taking her place. Damaged beyond repair. 

“Hey, Cruella DeVil, you done admiring yourself yet? Or do the rest of us have to find another bathroom in this godforsaken place?” Mary’s voice broke her train of thought, and Lilith watched in the mirror as she walked up behind her. Something inside her twisted at the sight, at how every part of her appearance remained familiar. Despite everything that had happened, everything she’d lost, Mary hadn’t let it change her. She’d been strong enough to hold onto consistency.

“Don’t say that,” she heard Camila say, before seeing her head pop into the reflection behind her other shoulder. The hotel rooms they’d managed to hide in after the battle didn’t leave much room for privacy, it would seem. That, or her roommates simply didn’t comprehend the concept, or care enough to respect it. “I think it looks beautiful.”

“Oh, it’s definitely badass. There’s no doubt about that. I’m just saying, put on a fur coat, adjust the colors a little...”

“Her hair is prettier than that silly cartoon’s. And you know, I think grey is in right now.” She ran her fingers through it, and it took everything Lilith had not to flinch at the touch. “Lots of people would spend hours in a salon to try and get that color.”

“Yeah, you’re a real trendsetter now,” Mary laughed, and Lilith wanted to laugh with them, wanted to give a snarky response, wanted to do anything the old her would have, but she couldn’t. That woman was dead. And no miracle or Halo could ever bring her back.

She saw rather than felt Mary’s hand on her shoulder. “Hey,” she said, her voice soft and serious in an instant. “What’s wrong?”

Lilith didn’t know why she was asking until she shifted her gaze, saw the tears slowly making their way down her own cheeks. She couldn’t find it in herself to care enough to wipe them away. “I don’t know who that is,” she whispered.

“You don’t know who who is?” Camila asked hesitantly. “Do you...see someone?”

Lilith shook her head. Words had never been her preferred method of self expression, but she searched for an explanation nonetheless. “I look in the mirror and I see myself, but it’s not me. Not really.”

“It doesn’t matter what your hair looks like. You are the same Lilith you have always been.”

“You and I both know that’s not true, Mary,” she whispered. “Something happened to me. Something’s...wrong. And I don’t know what it is. How to fix it. Whether it can even be fixed.”

No one spoke for a moment. Between running away and desperately searching for a place to regroup, they hadn’t found the time to discuss her recent resurrection, or any of the complications that came with it. Part of her wondered if she’d even still be here if they had. There were only so many times she could apologize to Ava for trying to kill her, and if she couldn’t trust herself, how could she possibly expect the others to do the same?

“Maybe,” Camila said, “it’s not supposed to be fixed.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you were supposed to be dead, but you’re not. Nobody’s ever come back the way you have. That has to be a good thing.”

“What part of this could possibly be considered good?” She snapped. “I don’t remember what happened to me. I keep losing moments, losing control. And when I do, I hurt people.”

“That’s not what it looked like to me when we were fighting Adriel.”

“That’s because you weren’t at the tomb. I attacked Ava. Fought against us. I almost ruined everything.”

Mary’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Did you?” 

The memory of being restrained, held back, held together, echoed in her mind. “You know I did,” she said softly, shame creeping into her voice without her permission. “You were there.”

Mary shook her head. “No, I mean, we thought you were attacking us. But that’s because we thought Ava needed to get into the tomb. You were the only one who knew going in there was a bad idea. That it would put us all in danger.”

She tried to think back. She remembered fighting, but it was all blurry. Like she was watching herself from above. Like she wasn’t the one in control. The feeling hadn’t gone away until she’d felt Mary’s arms wrapped around her, her words an anchor bringing her back to the surface. 

“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know why I did it. I don’t know how I knew. It was as if someone else was using my body — I was just along for the ride.”

“Was it like a voice in your head?”

“No. It was more like...a feeling. Like I was acting on instinct. Only, I don’t know whose instincts.”

“Well,” Mary said, “I don’t know about you, but the next time you get that feeling, I say we let it play out.”

“Yeah,” Camila said. “Everything we thought we knew was wrong. Maybe wherever you went is trying to help us. Maybe it sent you back because it knew we’d need you.”

“Need me? You can’t even trust me. I can’t even trust me.”

“Hey,” Mary grabbed her shoulders, turned her until they were face to face. “There is nothing you could do to make me not trust you. You are the most honorable person I know— I’d follow you anywhere.”

“I tried to pull the Halo out of Ava. And that was before the Tarask.”

“A brief lapse in judgement doesn’t erase what I know to be true. And that is that you will always try and do the right thing, even if it kills you. So if something hitched a ride with you on the way back from wherever that Tarask took you, maybe we oughta give it a chance.”

“You could be the key,” Camila said, and she couldn’t see her but she could hear the smile in her voice. “You could be what saves us all.”

“I just—“ she turned, stared at her reflection, waited for something to change. “I don’t see it.”

Camila gasped. “I know what you need!” She exclaimed, before turning around and running out the door. 

Mary sighed. “I love that girl to death, but I’m one squeal away from sending her to Ava and Beatrice’s room.”

Her words almost dragged a smile onto her face, but the feeling didn’t last. “Mary,” she said quietly, “I know you want to believe that whatever happened to me is good.”

“We don’t know that it isn’t.”

Lilith just nodded. “If it isn’t, though, if...if I ever go too far, if I get too lost, I need you to promise me—“

“No, Lilith, I—“

“Promise me you’ll save them. Promise me you’ll stop me. No matter what it takes.”

Mary shook her head. “Find someone else to fulfil your death wish. I won’t do it.”

“I can’t ask anyone else. Camila’s too gentle to hurt a friend. Beatrice wouldn’t be able to live with herself afterwards. And Ava’s too important to have the others turn on her for doing what I told her. It has to be you, Mary.”

“What, and you think I’d be totally fine with killing you?”

“No, but--”

“How heartless do you think I am?”

The words hit her like a knife to the gut, the look she gave her twisting it until the pain was almost unbearable. Lilith forced herself to talk through it. “I’m not asking because I think you’re heartless. You’re the strongest person I know. I trust you more than I trust myself. I don’t want to ask you, but I also don’t want to hurt you. That’s why I need you to promise me you won’t let me.”

Mary hesitated. “There’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”

Lilith nodded, forced herself to keep eye contact, to pretend like she still had the courage she used to. “The others believe in divine intervention; you and I both know whatever happened to me is more likely the other way around.”

“We don’t know anything yet, Lilith.”

“Please, Mary,” she begged, and she knew the tears had come back but again she let them be. “If I hurt you, if I hurt any of them, I—“

“Hey,” Mary pulled her closer and she let her, rested her head on her shoulder. With anyone else she would have run, would have had to fight through the discomfort, but Mary had a way of making her feel safe in a way no one else did. “I trust you, 100 percent. And I promise I’ll make sure you don’t hurt anyone if you ever lose control. But I’m not killing you, Lilith.”

“Mary—“

“I won’t need to. I’ve always been the better fighter, anyway. Possessed or not, I’m coming out on top.”

She scoffed. Leave it to Mary to turn her heartfelt moment of vulnerability into a contest, although she had to work to fight back the smile that threatened to make an appearance in spite of the tears. “Maybe I should have asked Beatrice — at least she’d have a chance at beating me. If she got lucky.”

“Oh, it’s like that, huh? You take a trip to the other side and forget about the ass kicking I gave you on the pier?”

“One fight doesn’t outweigh years of victories.”

“Yeah, if that’s what you need to tell yourself to sleep at night, go ahead.” Mary laughed, and Lilith wondered what she’d done to get so lucky, to have someone like her stick around after everything she’d done. She wasn’t sure she could ever do enough to deserve her.

“Got it!” They turned to find Camila running back into the room, scissors raised above her head. 

“Oh, absolutely not.”

“It’s Girl Code 101, Mary! When something bad happens, you cut your hair.”

“That’s for getting rejected by your crush, not getting stabbed by a—“

“It’ll still work! Trust me, all the magazines say that when you need to make a fresh start, you have to change your appearance. And since the Tarask did the dye job for us…” she opened and closed the scissors a few times, and Lilith wondered if maybe she should be nervous.

“Yeah, no. I’m getting Beatrice.”

“Get Ava, too!” She called after Mary as she walked out the door. “She’ll agree with me!”

The door shut behind her. Lilith felt her absence like a weight, heavy and hard and impossible to ignore. She’d known Mary the longest, had grown to find every part of her familiar, but Camila was still a bit of an unknown. The only significant time they’d spent alone together had been at the lab; now, Camila crept up next to her, put the scissors down and reached for her hair with no hesitation. Lilith didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away, even when her mind begged her to run. Something kept her in place, something stronger than logic and habit. She couldn’t put a name to the feeling.

“I won’t do it if you don’t want me to,” Camila said as she collected all the stray strands of grey, “but I think maybe your problem is that you’re trying to look for the past in your reflection. You can try all you want, but the mirror can’t show you that. So maybe,” she folded her hair up so it looked like it hung just above her shoulders, “it’ll be easier to let go if you get to control what the present looks like instead.”

Lilith couldn’t look away. She knew it wasn’t real, not yet, but there was something about it that felt...better. She caught Camila’s eyes in the mirror. “How did you get so wise?”

Camila winked. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

They looked at each other, and Lilith thought maybe she’d underestimated her, had seen a smile and a shiny surface and failed to look deeper. She decided she wouldn’t make that mistake a second time.

“Okay,” she sighed. “Do it.”

She closed her eyes, felt Camila drop her hair down her back. She thought about everything that led her here. The life she’d had, the future she’d envisioned for herself. It felt so far away, so irrelevant in comparison to everything that had happened since she’d given her life for Ava’s. The Lilith who’d dreamed about that future didn’t exist anymore, but maybe that was okay. Maybe the one that replaced her would be better suited for the war that was sure to come. Maybe this, whatever it was, was her destiny after all.

She heard the cuts, heard the footsteps and gasps of the others right after. She kept her eyes shut for another second, tried to savor how light she suddenly felt, as if Camila had rid her of more than a few inches of hair. When she finally looked, she saw someone brand new. Someone free.

“It’s beautiful,” Beatrice said, and she watched the way Camila beamed at them through the mirror. 

“I told you it would work!”

“What do you think, L?” Mary asked, and she didn’t look at the mirror, but stared straight at her. Lilith turned and stared right back, tried to communicate a million things she’d never have the words for. 

“It’s nice.”

“It’ll be nicer once I clean up the edges,” Camila told her, and as they all began talking over one another, each making the case for why they should be the one to finish the transformation, Lilith let her eyes drift back toward the mirror. She watched the way they bickered, their words completely void of malice, their spirits somehow lifted despite the horrors they’d all seen. They let themselves find happiness in the quiet moments — maybe she could, too. She stopped trying to fight the smile, and found that letting it be felt more natural than stoicism ever had. 

[impatientdas]

Lost in the highway

My throat felt dehydrated and woke up every time I tried to take a nap.

Sheetal and Sonu were also getting affected by it, even after all these efforts.

Sheetal is my wife and Sonu, my 8-year-old princess. I could see that tightness on Sheetal’s face which led Sonu to estimate that Maa and Baba were going through a tough period.

Sonu was different you know. She somehow just knew things; every time I hugged her it gave me a sort of energy. Sometimes I would just touch her feet while going out with my tempo; her grandfather had once said that she will change our fortune like she was an avatar of the Goddess of fortune.

It was 15th day of covid induced lockdown. Sheetal woke up.

Sheetal was from Pune where I saw her for the very first time on one of my trips to Pune where I was loaded with Mangoes which came from Ratnagiri and had to drop in these world-famous Mangoes in Bandra, Mumbai. She had a small tea-stall nearby this famous North Indian hotel where I would have my lunch in the Mumbai – Pune highway. Post that moment of wonderstruck, whenever I had an order to pick something up from Pune my eyes popped out with excitement. I never felt this warmness in my solar plexus before. It was as if I was exposed to some new form of malady, mind-blindness.

And this continued over the next one year. Thenceforth my hours of darkness were meant for her and night after night I was dipped into this puddle of fondness. She was like that sudden rain in the barren land of Arica.

Sheetal begged me to sleep for an awhile anyway; she knew what I was going through this unforeseen pandemic.

If not a virus, we may die out of starvation. I replied.

Making way for complete silence and rattling sound that hopped around our ceiling fan.

  25-08-10,

She wore a red kurta with tiny red dots in it, how can I forget that day I finally approached this lady from Himachal.

Sheetal and her baba after her mother`s sudden demise, migrated to Pune from a tribal village of Bada Bhangal situated in the lap of beautiful Himalayas in Kangra district of Himachal Pradesh, selling everything which they had and leaving behind all the memories in search of a better life.

So how did you educate yourself for this art?

I asked (back in my mind I knew it was quite an off start for a conversation with someone you crush upon)

Then came her reply, a clumsy look at my lame inquiry.

I paid her for the cup of tea and left with a gawky feeling.

That return journey from Pune to Mumbai was all about hoodooing myself for my stupidity.  All of that which I thought of last night nothing came to be true or maybe it was me who is an amateurish in this differing field of devotion and this led to the formation of a desire that ‘I can’.

In my next trip I will be much more error-free, I told this to inner me and slept.

That night after Sheetal urged me to sleep for some time I saw this dream, where a cannibalistic monster broke through our window, opening up its hungry jaw to gulp down Sonu. She stood feeble and small to this huge monster, wailing out for help. At once I came to her rescue and realized that this monster was not new to me. I was assaulted too just when I was about her age. He is Preta, also known as the Hungry Monster which comes out of extreme hunger and thirst, just after it spotted me. He left. I woke up again and started fondling Sonu while she was asleep like a newborn baby.

I was being more apprehensive, every time I gazed over Sonu. It was getting difficult for us. It seemed this lockdown was hooking us up for something worse.

  09-09-10

Some things cannot wait. You have to rush and run to get a few things that you want from the core of your heart, said Sagar. Sheetal is one of them.

I knew this was not just a lecture indeed an advice given by my very own Parthasarathy.

I told him every minute detail about Sheetal from where I saw her for the first time to all these thoughts which are rolling over my mind. Sagar was one of my closest ones since I had shifted here in Mumbai from Mathura. From helping me rent this small Kholi in Mahim to lending funds for my Tempo, he had constantly stood by my side.

He was the manager in this North Indian hotel where I worked for a short period, suggested by my uncle who also lived in Mumbai. My journey in this city of dreams started from this small hotel in Colaba and gave me Sagar. He too belonged from Uttar Pradesh.

A day after Sagar’s advice, I took with me whatever money I had in my Kholi and left for Pune with my tempo. This 148km trip was about to be the dawn for a new beginning. With this intoxication in my head, mind, and soul I wanted to reach Pune as soon as possible, tell her about these thoughts which were constantly rolling over my head. I wanted to tell her how much I loved her, that it is difficult to keep it a secret any longer. I wanted to make her mine.

Finally, at around 12 in the noon I reached, my heartbeat rose like I was suffering from Tachycardia. Right after I seized my key and got off my Tempo my heart crashed. She was missing. No stall. Luckily one of the guys working in the hotel told me her whereabouts. She lived in a village, next to this stop. Trailing by her intoxication I finally reached this small draggled Kholi where Ramesh Juyal and his daughter lived. Yes, Ramesh Juyal was Sheetal’s father. And then I saw her, she came out of the Kholi as chotu called her ‘Sheetu Di koi Apse Milne Aya Hain’.

I was never this nervous before, not even when I arrived at the CST for the very first time.

    It’s almost 11 am and I have been standing here in this queue for about 6 hours by now, that too for a plate of Khichdi. We stepped in the 19th day of this lockdown, nearly out of our rations.

From the last few days, we are dependent for our lunch to the free food distributed by a local NGO.

10-09-10,

She was shocked. I could see that in her eyes. She was angry too but she recognized me and that directed some amount of optimism towards my self-confidence.

Her father welcomed me into their little Kholi. It would be better if Sheetal had asked that first but you know I was not in any position to decide if anything was better.

It is Sheetal that has to decide not me and not you, Rameshji said.

I was in a state of shock.

Sheetal has already told me about you, that you have been stalking her from the last one year and also about your lame inquiry. And that was her mother who educated her with that art. Rameshji added.

I immediately took a glance towards Sheetal and caught her smiling. I realized that she knew it from the very first day itself.

I told them everything about my family.

A few months later we were getting married.

      13-03-11 was the day

Sitting by the holy fire she hissed these words into my ears ‘I knew you would come searching for me’.

Today was our 9th Marriage Anniversary, midst such vulnerability.

Most of our neighbors were abandoning which I never witnessed before.

Altaf and his family are the ones of who we were closest to,

For Sheetal, Altaf’s spouse was like her own sister. It was Rubina who prearranged everything from Griha Pravesh Ceremony to Mooh Dikhai Ceremony following all the required norms at our marriage. It was Rubina who asked Sheetal to push the Kalash full of rice with her right toe marking her entry to this Nuclear Desai Family.

From that day onwards Sheetal and Rubina formed an indivisible bond with each other.

Roza came running in weeping and embraced Sheetal. She didn’t want to leave her dearly loved Bua.

Roza was Altaf and Rubina’s daughter. It is also worthy of note that Roza’s very lovable name was not given by her parents but her Bua.

Rubina, Sheetal, Sonu and Roza assembled when I and Altaf were away from home, spending most of the time looking for each other, not even a single day passed by that Sonu and Roza never fought with each other. Yet when they had to leave each other in the dusk, it was like they were profoundly affectionate of each other.

After our dinner, I and Altaf walked around talking about life over a Gold Flake.

This was the routine.

Without them, we were about to feel abandoned in this Concrete Jungle of Mumbai.

Sheetal brought these small cakes from a shop to celebrate this day.

   In the morning I got a call from my Landlord.

The Government of India called for all the Landlords of this Country to consider some sort of relief and play their part by dropping in this month's rent, very few played their part considering this to be government's responsibility, not theirs.

3 missed calls from Ramdas Bhau. He was desperate. I knew this because whenever there was a little bit of delay in the payment of the rent, he would resort to this method to jog you up that water was about to run over his head.

I smiled each time it had happened earlier than but today I was bothered.

I didn’t have it. I was almost out of my savings.

You know that made me feel so helpless and that’s not easy when in the back of your mind you know that it was going to cause something to my Sonu and Sheetal.

You are edgier for the facts that they are all that you hold in this world, which you can call yours which is more important than any of the material things which you have earned to date. You could survive without a roof but not looking at them without it.

Sheetal lost her father a few years ago. So I was her shield in this pitiless world, ever ready to hunt you down once it espies you out in a state of feebleness.

And when I see Sonu, I feel the most terrible. Dreams crashing down.

I have some money in my account which was transferred in my account after Baba’s death. Sheetal murmured.

Hearing these tears rolled down my eyes.

Ladies will just rescue you while you are about to fall. Respect them. Sagar once said.

     20 lakh crore relief package was announced by Modi Sahab

It bewildered most of my neighbors who were now on their way home by foot but deep inside I knew this was never going to reach to us. It would be foolish on our part that someone would be knocking at our door and give away food items. This is India nothing comes so easy in this country except these promises.

This small kholi of ours seemed to be engulfing us, with electricity also being cut off by our landlord. He was letting us live in this kholi since if he throws us out; it was to cost him his status in the society. I have realized a few things these days like, for example, this city has big buildings but living here are the ones with a very undersized heart. Some would just come to help us to post pictures in the social media as it was the trend with little sympathy about our lives. And some to perk back up their political career. I recently saw an interview where Mr. Rahul Gandhi the scion of Gandhi Parivar asking the government to give money in the hands of the poor. I smiled after hearing it for the reason that of the condition of this city with 49% of its population living in the slums. And this was not something that happened because of the unjust policies of the present government. This was because of prolonged exploitation of all the government which had ruled over us, most of it was by his party.

You must be thinking how come a tempo driver knew so much about politics. I am, sorry I was a Graduate with honors in political science which never came to my rescue though.

My father was dhobi who washed clothes in our village in Mathura district of Uttar Pradesh. My grandfather did the same and my great grandfather too. This was in our bloods, washing clothes. Yet this tempo driver broke this tradition by believing in something just beyond washing clothes. I was inspired by our Masterji of our town, who was respected the most in the village, with very little awareness of the cost of reaching there.

 I completed my graduation and started searching for jobs, amidst this process I realized that it was a paradox, when some said that earn a degree and get a job that they didn’t tell me, was along with the degree you need some connections with the upper Mahal.

But my fate was written down with lots of bombshells. I did get an appointment letter but it never came-up-to-me because one of my buddies who worked at the Post office didn’t even update me about the letter. It was a payback of how come the son a dhobi could get more percentage than the son of a Daroga in HSLC examination.

Despite such setbacks, I continued with my struggle which was taking me nowhere and after a few years, even that stopped when I lost my only hope, my father, Sonaram Desai, while Maa left both of us when I was 13years old.

And left for Mumbai. In search of a better life.

I woke up this morning with a very bad dream and immediately hugged Sheetal. They were my only wealth which I had earned to date and decided to return to Mathura. We still had the house and a little bit of land left back there, which would be enough for us to survive for a few days and come back to Mumbai when everything was normal again. I told you with me it’s always like chalk and cheese, my plans are as poorer as my life, very little idea what the future had in its store for us.

I told Sheetal to start packing and get the essential items which we would need in our 5days journey. We decided to leave on our Tempo. Sonu was very excited.

This was going to be her first trip outside this city of dreams, she told me that she would go get Pari dressed; Pari was her favorite doll.

We were ready to leave this morning. We also paid the rent of which our landlord was so much anxious about; this was general because many of the laborers left for their villages without paying rents.

I was driving and sitting next to me was my daughter and my wife.

We reached Dhule when something big hit us from the back.

I had come to Mumbai in search of life which was better than the place I was born. But to my surprise this city was the worst, you live, you die; none of them cares. Here in this city people are living in big buildings with a cold blooded heart.

Modern Varna system in an urban suburb.

      Where is Ram asked Sheetal

She was surrounded by a doctor and nurses.

Where is Sonu again asked Sheetal

The Doctor urged her to calm down.

She screamed. Where are they

They are no more. They both died on the spot.

Replied, doctor of the Dhule Civil Hospital.

Ram told us, we know very little of what the future has in its store for us.

And for Sonu, it turned out to be the first and the last trip at the same time.

She was asked to press charges against the man who had hit their tempo from the back to which she declined. We are all familiar with how it ends and the process.

12 years has passed by now, Sheetal has mastered the art of living with the memories of her late family.

She lives in Mathura. She floats, with the survival instinct of a cockroach.