#no home's characters are....so perfectly flawed and have gone through so much and i love them all

[lunarwednesday]

No Home has filled my heart with so much warmth and sadness at the same time -- they're a family!!! a family that lived in a creepy old house in the woods 😭

[gisellelx]

Twilight Advent, Day 4

Masterpost/prompts

Dec. 4 - Pick a Twilight couple (canon or AU) and tell us/draw their favorite way to snuggle.

Well, that intriguing parenthetical opened up a rat's nest of intertwining (and kinda nsfw? and also slashy--you've been warned) headcanons, here, so, sorry, please buckle up. I've been meaning to write about the role headcanons can play in fic writing for awhile, and at some point an even longer writing meta is due, but today I'll get straight to the point even though this will in no way be brief--I enjoy writing fic precisely because it lets me think about characterization in a deep and complicated way. I'm always writing fic to get at the characters first and the situation second. It's even embedded in the title of my tumblr.

When I write an AU, I don't consider myself to be writing a different version of the characters. I consider myself to be writing the same characters, with all the same personalities, motivations, concerns, and fatal flaws, just having gone through or going through different circumstances. Kairos Carlisle is "Sensitivity" Carlisle is Patroclus Carlisle is Ithaca Carlisle; same guy, different situations. It’s why all my AUs have a clear point at which they’ve diverged from canon—I’m experimenting with the character by changing their world and letting their world change them.

So the underlying headcanon. Carlisle is badly, badly touch-starved. His nurse cuddled him and snuggled him—and he was with her for a long time—but he eventually left nurse and went back to London and to his father, who was much more concerned that Carlisle be saved than that he feel loved. They had little to no physical contact. Just at the very moment when he might have married, become sexually active, and had children of his own to cuddle, he gets stripped of his human life and for his own safety, has to separate from humankind altogether for many years. Then, he finally finds friendship and companionship, but in a man whose touch violates every snippet of his privacy. And still he stays, far longer than he ought, before setting out again for another century and a half, until he brings home a seventeen-year-old boy and spends three entire days just holding him.

Carlisle craves physical contact with those he loves.

Edward does not care for this. He's turned at the very moment in his development in which he is perfectly primed to be absolutely mortified by parental physical contact (and there's no small amount of gay panic on both their parts about it anyway). So it's still mostly just the occasional shoulder pat; the joy and surprise when Edward hugs him on occasion.

It's not until Esme arrives, and after they navigate their collective fears and traumas, that he manages to actually be touched. To have someone who hugs him, and strokes his back, and runs her fingers through his hair, who kisses not just his lips but his head, his shoulders, his chest. Sexual intimacy is his first real physical intimacy of his very long life.

So. For this prompt, a canon snuggle, and an AU snuggle for this guy for whom touching those he loves is his source of highest joy:

He could lie naked with Esme forever. And he tries to, a lot. Although they know their children are a little squicked out by the idea of hearing or sensing them having intercourse, and of course that's one reason they go to great lengths (islands!) to be separate from them, a big part of the reason they often totally relocate in order to have sex is that Carlisle really wants to just lie there, with both their clothes off, for as long as he can possibly get away with it; days if they can manage it. So they leave so that nobody has to worry about having to scramble back into pants or a dress at an inopportune time, so that he can just place his head on Esme's breasts and they can interlock legs and he can just get lost in not being entirely certain where his skin stops and hers begins. In Kairos, he finally gets to have the physical intimacy with Edward he's always longed for. This AU takes place in a world in which he had a sexual partner for eighty-five years and so his intimacy with Edward takes a different form, not to mention that Edward is still quite bashful about it all. Their favorite snuggle is to sit on the floor, with Carlisle's back against the couch and Edward using him as a recliner as he sits between Carlisle's legs. Clothes, no clothes; doesn't matter as much to these two. From there, Carlisle can run his hands through Edward's hair, kiss the nape of his neck or behind his hear, and bury his nose next to Edward's scalp to inhale his scent. They're not altogether very different things than what he would prefer to do in a fatherly way in canon; the difference is that in the AU world, the chips have fallen such that this time, Edward is willing to let him.

[aminiatureworld]

Affection II

Characters: Childe, Ganyu, Kaeya, gn!reader

Word Count: 5,577

Warnings: None

Premise: Sometime we know something is impossible from the start. But still we walk towards it, even if we know it will hurt us. It’s only flirting, only a smile or a hug or some food. Even if nothing comes of it, there is nothing to regret. Even if it hurts.

In which the reader gives affection, expecting nothing in return.

Author’s Note: Evidently I’ve really missed writing these properly. I had such a great time writing, and I hope you guys enjoy these just as much as I did.

Also I’ve decided the version on Ao3 will now always be without bullet points, so if you prefer that format the link will be in the reblog.

Childe

You’d been floored by Childe pretty much since the day you two had met.

What had turned into the two of you meeting had started out a most unfavorable encounter. You’d gone to Lingju Pass, trying to survey some of the carvings of the old structure, and attempting to see the sort of methods used to construct such vast rocky complexes at the time. Unfortunately this goal had quickly turned into a goal of “don’t get caught”, as you’d found the Pass crawling with Fatui members. Though you weren’t nearly helpless, you’d also not come prepared for battle; and had spent most of the “fight” dodging around various blows while trying not to drop the expensive equipment that you’d borrowed from other Guild members.

Just as you’d come to the conclusion that the options were either drop everything and run or get thoroughly injured by a bunch of arrogant Snezhnayan soldiers there was a change in the air. The Fatui soldiers’ expression turned from one of glee to one of confusion, and then one of panic, as one by one a streak of blue began to throw them this way and that. As you regained focus of the terrain your realized that it wasn’t a streak at all but a person, a person who was wildly adept at sword play. Eventually the number of unconscious people had risen to five, and there was no one left but him and you.

“Need any help?”

The words might’ve been kind, had it not been for the smirk on the man’s face. Though you felt that the right answers would’ve probably been to scowl, you found you couldn’t, too wrapped up in the memory of this mysterious person darting this way and that, handling his water-made daggers with the grace of a ballet dancer.

“I’m Childe.” These words finally brought you back to the present.

“You’re a member of the Fatui.”

“I am.”

“Then why did you knock those guys out just now?”

“Boredom.”

You stared at Childe incredulously. Of course you’d heard his name, the man who, it was whispered, almost pulled Liyue into the sea. You’d formed a sort of mental picture of him completely divorced from the redhead now standing in front of you, bouncing slightly on his feet as he smiled cockily. He looked more like a rogue adventurer than one of the heads of a crime syndicate. Maybe that was why you found yourself infatuated, rather than afraid.

This infatuation only grew, fed by the encounters that you had with Childe. It seemed now you couldn’t avoid him, not that you wanted to. What had begun as a chance encounter multiplied into two, into four; soon enough you two had struck up a sort of friendship, one that baffled everyone else around you.

Of course you hadn’t lost all your sense, knowing quite well that the puppy love you were feeling could never be anything more. The way Childe talked about his work, about his duty to the Tsaritsa, made it very clear that he wouldn’t let a partner in his life or in his loyalties. And even if he changed his mind, why would he choose you? You were an adventurer sure, but you hadn’t even been able to properly defend yourself the first time the two of you met, and your oversight of that would’ve surely turned Childe away. Besides, Childe could probably make a partner out of anyone he wanted, if they were foolish enough. Why should that person be you?

Perhaps it was that knowledge that allowed you to be so free in your affection, spurred on by Childe’s own open nature. Hand holding, hugging, leaning one’s head on the other’s shoulder, it was the language of friendship that you two had adopted, and something that you greatly appreciated. There was something nice about a friendship in which one could be so open about caring about someone, without expecting things to go farther. Because you didn’t, you really didn’t. And though that might’ve been a bit painful, it was a small price to pay for Childe’s company.

“I’m going off to Mondstadt for a bit.”

“What?”

You drew away from Childe a bit to look into his face. The two of you were walking along the path towards Yaoguang Shoal, as Childe had taken a particular liking to the Starconches that lined its shores. Now he smiled awkwardly, squeezing your hand and shrugging his shoulders.

“I know, I know. There’s apparently this branch of the Fatui holed up there right now, and I’ve been asked to consult about something, though archons know what it is.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“I’m not sure, I think about two weeks? I’m not sure what exactly is going on, but the troops really must be in disarray if they need me skulking around for the next two weeks.” He let out a awkward laugh.

“I’ll miss you.” You replied, bumping your head into his shoulder and frowning. “It’s very boring without you.”

“I’m sure you’ll be perfectly capable without me.” Childe smiled, one eyebrow raised slightly. “After all, what would you do if I left someday, permanently. You’d have to find a way without me.”

“Let’s not talk about that.” You replied hurriedly, switching the conversation towards something more pleasant. Unfortunately however the words had already been said, and the damage had already been done.

It had been two weeks since Childe had left for Mondstadt, and though normally you might’ve been waiting at the city gates for his return, you found yourself on the familiar road towards Lingju. Childe’s words had been ringing in your ears for the past two weeks, and you’d found the more time passed the more you kept thinking about them.

What would you do if I left someday, permanently. Is that what Childe truly wanted? To leave? The idea made your stomach hurt, as you began once more to run all your interactions through your head, as if trying to find a flaw in the strips of memory you had of Childe. Was that what Childe truly wanted, or was it simply that he was sick of you? When he’d said “you’d have to find a way without me” did that mean he wanted to find a way without you? Perhaps you’d been too forward, too demanding. Perhaps he’d managed to realize your feelings and felt repelled by them. Had it been too much, meeting him almost everyday for some periods of time, eating lunch together and sometimes dinner. What about that time you’d invited him over to your house to play a game? Had that been too much?

You sighed, dragging yourself over the final ridge. Sitting down to take a rest you closed you eyes. You hated that your mind wandered this way, that no matter what you couldn’t help but ask yourself again and again, what had you done. What would Childe think about this sad person laying on the ground, the sad part was you couldn’t answer that question.

The sound of footsteps brought you back to the present, and you let out a suppressed groan at the figures in your line of sight.

“Don’t you guys ever get posted anywhere else?” You rolled your eyes, reaching behind your back to summon your polearm.

“You’re trespassing.” The voice that came out of the Electro Vanguard was so deep and distorted as to be hilarious.

“Lastly I checked you were neither a citizen of Liyue, nor Rex Lapis, so if anyone’s “trespassing” on public territory it’s you.” You sighed. “Oh well. Unfortunately you caught me on a day where I’m somewhat prepared.” With that you lunged towards the Hydro Legionnaire and the fight began.

Fighting when one is already frustrated is both a blessing and a curse. The fight itself was almost invigorating, the first Fatui hit the ground and with it you felt part of your worries fade away, if only for the small window of time which this fight offered. Was this why Childe fought so much? The though crossed your mind as you whirled behind the Pyro Bracer and pressed as much Electro as you dared into the back of his head, tripping him with the staff of your polearm on his way down.

Soon enough there was only you and the Electro Vanguard left. Unfortunately you were beginning to feel the other side affect of anger, that being misfocus. Being more versed in using your polearm as a sort of lightning rod your found the Vanguard much harder to deal with, more than once barely diving out of the way of the hammer he was swinging around, surprisingly light on his feet considering what the weight must be. Your anger was quickly draining, turning into something more akin to panic, and as you found yourself stumbling more and more you realized that today was really, really not your day.

The Vanguard was becoming aware of how fast you were tiring, a gravelly sort of laugh emerging from behind his mask. As you found your with you back to the slope you wondered if it was just worth it to make an escape. The Fatui swung his hammer once more, barreling towards you. Having nothing left to do you put your polearm out in front of you, hoping that your arms were strong enough not to recoil against the inevitable blow. Closing your eyes you thought of nothing, drowning in a sea of panic. If there was any coherent part of your brain it wished that you weren’t here, that you just stayed home, or swallowed you pride and gone to the gate. But it was too late now, and you were about to get hit.

However the blow never landed, instead a loud sound pierced the air. Whipping your arms open you saw the Electro Vanguard stumble, his hammer having been dropped on the ground. He was grasping towards his ankle, in which was stuck an arrow, glowing a faint aquamarine. Swearing the Fatui member glanced around, before stumbling away, dragging his weapon and his left leg behind him like dead weight.

“Some things never change, huh?”

“Childe!” You whirled towards your once again savior, face burning from embarrassment. “I took out the rest of them this time.”

“I can see that,” said Childe, surveying the area, a telltale smirk on his face, “very impressive. Although, if I may suggest, next time try to take out the Electro Vanguard first, especially since you don’t wield a weapon made for pure damage.”

“Is this turning into a teaching moment?”

“Absolutely not.” Childe laughed.

You found the sound catching, and soon a smile spread across your face as you let your polearm disappear once more. You ran up to Childe, and were about to throw you arms around his neck in a characteristic hug, when the thoughts of before came ramming back into your brain. Taking a step back you planted your arms firmly in front of you, hoping that maybe Childe hadn’t noticed what you’d been about to do.

However Childe approached you instead.

“You weren’t at the gate today.” He said coyly, lips drifting somewhere between a smirk and a frown.

“I’m sorry.” You lowered your head. “I just thought, well maybe that would be better. Since you said you might be leaving permanently and all, and since you were right when you said I’d have to figure things out without you, I don’t know, I thought maybe it’d be for the best.”

Looking up the expression on Childe’s face could only be described as one of complete disbelief. For a moment he stayed frozen in place.

“What in Teyvat do you mean I’m leaving permanently?”

“You said that! Remember… when we were going to pick sea shells you said that you were leaving.” You stepped back, cheeks flushed. “Or maybe you were just sort of sick of me or something.”

“Why would you ever think that?” Childe walked up to you, enveloping one of the hands at your side in his own and bringing it up towards him.

“I… I don’t know,” you replied, feeling very confused and very foolish, “I thought maybe that I was being too affectionate, or too clingy. I mean I know you don’t like me or anything like that. And I thought maybe that I was crossing the boundaries of our friendship.”

“I don’t like you? I’ve liked you since almost the first day we’ve met!”

“Not like that! I mean, like like, you know? As in… well, as in I… I love you.” You let your voice peter out.

“I love you too!” Childe let out. Shaking his head he smiled widely. “That’s what I’m trying to say. I’ve liked you since almost the first time we’ve met. I wasn’t trying to shoo you away.”

“What?” Your brain was short circuiting. Something had gone terribly wrong. You’d definitely been knocked out at some point, and was now hallucinating. There was no way Childe liked you, loved you. He could love anyone, why would he love you.

Childe stepped closer, moving so that your foreheads were almost pressed together.

“May I?” He whispered, voice almost shy. You nodded, a just as small “yes” escaping your lips before Childe cut off your ability to say anything more. It was a short kiss, sweet and chaste, and yet you felt everything around you suddenly come into sharp, almost lucid clarity. You weren’t dreaming. This was happening. This was Childe and he liked you. Childe like you. He liked you, he really liked you.

“Why?” You let out, when the two of you separated. Thankfully Childe remained close to you, being without his presence now would’ve been quite lonely.

“Why what?”

“Why me? I’m not, I don’t know, I can’t even knock out an Electro Vanguard without help.”

Childe let out a laugh, lovely as music.

“I don’t know,” he replied, eyes sparkling, “because you’re you. And I like you.”

And all of a sudden you found that that was enough.

 Ganyu

The days that you accompanied Ganyu on her various errands were the ones in which you were most aware that you were on a level utterly below her.

Of course humans could never really measure up to adepti, after all they made the world and humans simply lived in it. Still in terms of humans, well you weren’t exactly pushing exceptional. If Ganyu represented all that was exceptional about the adepti, well then you represented the average human who didn’t like their job and overall went about their day as unnoticeable as an ant on the road.

Of course Ganyu never acted in a way that would betray the imbalance between the two of you. Indeed Ganyu was nothing if not kind, sweet, and utterly without a semblance of hierarchy. It was one of the things that you adored about her, the straightforward honesty she carried with her, and the way that she appeared not to judge living beings on a scale, even if that was the right of those who were higher and didn’t have to worry about said scale.

“Can you carry this for me?” Ganyu’s voice was soft and somewhat hesitant. You smiled widely, knowing that Ganyu simply had difficulty asking other people for help.

“Of course I can!” Scooping up the package that was stretched out towards you, you saw Ganyu let out a short sigh of relief.

“Thank you.”

“Of course! I’m always happy to help you. Where are we taking this?”

“Over to the funeral parlor. It seems that there are some tiles in here that are being used for a specific ritual. Hu Tao said that the family wanted it, I hope she doesn’t actually mean she pushed them towards it.” Ganyu let out a soft sigh. “She once suggested advertising for cremation. Somehow I feel that won’t exactly be welcomed by the people.”

“No one likes to be reminded of their own mortality. Ah, but Hu Tao is doing her best, and if these tiles end up being insulators, I suppose we can’t do much about it. I’ll make sure not to drop them anyways. Getting on Hu Tao’s bad side feels like asking for a prank.”

“You’re probably right.” Ganyu chuckled.

You blushed slightly, loving the way her laugh sounded, soft and open. You knew Ganyu struggled sometimes; she admitted to you herself that it was very difficult to live an existence defined by liminality. Was she an adeptus? Was she a human? She was neither, and yet both would claim her and call her other. In understanding this Ganyu had retreated into herself. Perhaps that’s why her laugh meant so much.

As you strolled down the docks an angry voice cut through the air.

“Qixing!”

Both of you turning around you saw Bolai, heaving slightly, teetering his way towards you. His face was stormy, and for a moment you wondered if someone had stolen something. His words when he caught up however revealed a very different motivation.

“I demand justice!”

“What for?” Ganyu asked, voice deadly serious once more.

“What for? For what Huixin said in regards to me! For the Liyue Qixing complying with disgusting rumors as to the ways in which I conduct my business and my finances. As to the way that you promised to help me then turned on me!”

“I see…” Ganyu sighed as you wracked your brain, trying to remember what she’d told you about the time that she and the traveler ran around trying to detangle various examples of tax fraud. “Have you considered putting up a formal complaint?” Ganyu meanwhile was still trying to keep professional, something that you admired her for.

“How am I supposed to trust the Qixing after what happened? No! I demand compensation now!”

“Sir, I’m sure you’re quite upset, but there’s no need to act in such a way. If you wish to clear your name, then we can meet in private and review the testimony and documents we received. If not, then I’m afraid there is nothing I can do for you. I’m very sorry.”

Ganyu turned back towards the direction in which you two had been previously walking. Evidently too agitated to think properly Bolai let out a strangled cry.

“We’re not finished yet!” Reaching out, he seemed to be attempting to turn Ganyu around by the shoulder. Having been standing there unthinking you now moved to block the action, knowing that Bolai didn’t really mean anything by it, but not trusting the man who looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel. Bolai’s hand instead smacked into the box in your hands, which slipped from your grip and fell to the floor in a great crash.

Time seemed to slow down somewhat after this, as Bolai stepped backwards and Ganyu turned around, face one of evident horror at the scene. You felt your face begin to burn as you looked at the unassuming box, which now looked a little bit the worse for wear.

“What…” Ganyu trailed off. Bolai waved his hands about in a panicked sort of way.

“That wasn’t me! That wasn’t my fault! It was this person they… I don’t know what they were thinking, getting in the way like that. How idiotic! This is nothing but a mess, a disgrace!”

Normally you wouldn’t pay Bolai’s words any mind, but now they seemed to pierce right through, as you realized all the trouble you’d just caused Ganyu. Glancing over towards her you found you could neither look her in the eyes nor stay where you were.

“I-I’m sorry!” You stammered. Moving to pick up the box you found your hand hesitating. Fearing that you’d just make things worse you pulled yourself and dashed in the opposite direction, speeding up the docks and towards the outskirts of the city.

Normally the view from Mount Tianheng was one that stole your breath away. Today however the mountain seemed completely uninteresting, especially when compared to the thoughts racing in your head.

How had you gotten here, how had you messed up so much? Ganyu didn’t need your posturing, your attempt to help. She was an adeptus for Morax’s sake! And who were you? Someone who couldn’t even carry a box from Point A to Point B. And now you’d just caused more trouble for Ganyu, when she already had so much to do.

“I’m such a failure.” You groaned into your palms.

“You aren’t!” You lifted your head at the soft exclamation, already knowing who the voice belonged to. Ganyu sidled up to the ledge of the mountain silently, fidgeting with her hands. “May I sit next to you?”

“Of course.” You replied, grateful that Ganyu was even talking to you. Smiling softly the Qixing Emissary let out a soft sigh.

“I love the view of the city from here.” She spoke softly, eyes on the horizon.

“I do too.”

“There’s something so lovely about watching everyone go about their day, isn’t there? To see the people work in harmony to bring prosperity and peace to the city of Liyue. To see how everyone continues on the legacy of Rex Lapis.”

“That’s a lot to see.” You joked, still feeling a little uncomfortable, as if Ganyu might in a minute get up and leave.

“But can’t you see it?” Ganyu’s voice was earnest and her eyes shined. “It’s wonderful how people do it, how they continue to make this city thrive, to keep the contracts of Morax alive and within living memory.”

“Perhaps it’s just harder for humans to judge it themselves?”

“Perhaps.” Ganyu’s expression shifted into something, almost shy, not quite melancholic. “Just like how you’re finding it difficult to forgive yourself.”

“I’m so sorry Ganyu. I don’t know what I was thinking! I just… I just, wasn’t thinking.”

“You were trying to be kind.” Ganyu replied, something almost akin to blush coating her cheeks. “And I have to thank you for that.”

“But I just caused more trouble…”

“You were trying to be kind,” Ganyu repeated, “like I said, you’re finding it difficult to forgive yourself. But you have to. You didn’t truly do anything that needs forgiveness.”

“But I was doing it for completely selfish reasons!” You blurted out, embarrassment and doubt turning into the words you never wanted to utter. “It’s because I like you, and not just because I was trying to be nice. But because, because maybe I wanted to do something for you, and then maybe I’d be good enough maybe.” Realizing how odd that just sounded you turned your head away. For a moment your words hung in the air, and the longer the silence continued the longer you thought about how utterly selfish you were.

“Thank you.” There was a smile in Ganyu’s voice, and as you turned your head once more you could see it plastered across her face.

“For what?”

“For telling me you like me.”

“But… but isn’t it just burdening you? After all I’m not good enough for you.”

“You are!” Ganyu’s voice was firm. “You’re absolutely good enough for me. And what you did, you call it selfishness, but I don’t understand that. Being kind to people you like isn’t selfish, even if you like them. Because this time you were genuinely helping me. Besides, if that’s selfish then I’ve also been terribly selfish.”

“How?”

“By asking you to accompany me everywhere. Because maybe, maybe I like you too.”

For a moment you wondered if you hadn’t accidentally slipped off the cliff, so weightless did you feel. A bit lightheaded you leaned forward.

“Really?”

“Yes.” Ganyu smiled nervously. Reaching out she took your hand in hers.

The two of you watched the sun set over the city of contracts mostly in silence. Every once in a while there would be a spurt of conversation, but mostly there was nothing but the sounds of the birds and the cicadas, and the pounding of two hearts, hearts both a bit ragged from the events of the day.

For what a day it had been. And how wonderfully it had ended.

 Kaeya

If you could use anything as justification for your crush on Kaeya, he did flirt with you. Unfortunately he also flirted with everyone else in Mondstadt.

“How’s my favorite knight of Favonius?” Kaeya’s cocky voice was clear as a bell, and for a moment your heart flipped as the handsome knight came into view, smile as lovely as it had been the day before.

“Blessed by the presence of our beloved cavalry captain.” You replied in a singsong voice.

The first time Kaeya had used that line on you it felt like your soul had left your body and your heart had run a marathon. Unfortunately you’d heard him use practically the same line on Rosaria the next day, his favorite mysterious nun, robbing you of your fantasy in which Kaeya had any interest for you.

Your banter however was not without genuine feeling. You were utterly infatuated with Kaeya, having fallen for the handsome knight about two weeks into your own training. Originally having been an adventurer you’d joined the knights relatively recently after a series of Abyss attacks on the City of Freedom. As such Kaeya had by then already occupied an exalted position among the ranks, and the hours of being trained, teased, and flirted at by the mysterious cavalry captain had been enough to throw you head over heels.

Not that you’d ever expect things to develop more than they already had. Having a crush on the flirtiest man in Mondstadt did mean that you were praised every once in a while, but it also meant that the praise meant little more than empty words, and that there was always someone else who had heard them. Not that you begrudged those people, not knowing them or not caring. It was Kaeya’s right to be as he was, flirty and irreverent; and you’d never ask him to change that part of himself, or any other.

To do so would be to change the person you’d grown to love.

You trotted up the steps of the Favonius headquarters, opening the door with a slight “oof” before stepping into the cool building. Today was going to be a quiet sort of day for the knights, and you’d been assigned to pick up a few books from Jean’s office to be recorded by Lisa before being sent off to the Church. Going to open the door you paused at the voices inside.

“– saying it’s nothing.”

“And I’m saying that it’s becoming a distraction. I don’t want to control your actions Kaeya, but this pining has been slowing down your work, and we need you as one of our most crucial members to be on top of things.”

“I’m not pining.”

“What do you mean you aren’t pining,” Jean let out a snort, “as if it’s not obvious to everyone around you. Look, I’m not saying you have to break things off –”

“Good, because they haven’t even begun.”

“Then maybe that’s part of your problem. Maybe if you told them you liked them then you’d be able to get back on track.”

“I’m doing my best.”

“You aren’t doing anything. And that’s the problem.”

You didn’t hear the rest of the conversation, having made your way over to the library as to make sure that you were get caught, and to cool your head in regards to what you’d just heard.

So Kaeya liked someone. You shouldn’t’ve really been surprised. Kaeya was a wonderful person; intelligent, good with a weapon, polite, handsome. What person wouldn’t fall in love with him? And when everyone’s in love with you, well, it was unsurprising that eventually Kaeya would find someone who he loved back just as much. Then, why did it hurt?

You fought the urge to wrack your brain for the people Kaeya spoke most about, finding the act beneath you. Still, your mind wandered. Perhaps it was Rosaria after all, or maybe it was only because you remembered her. Perhaps it was the sword smith who came twice monthly to check up on the weaponry. Or perhaps it was the tailor, who could sew anything with the utmost care. Or perhaps it was a musician, or an archivist, or another knight. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

Your head swam and you found your eyes stinging. Now wasn’t the time to cry, not when you needed to honor your appointment with Jean, not when you were somewhere where any one of your colleagues might discover you. Not where Kaeya might walk in any minute and realize what you’d done. This thought finally brought you out of the spiral of your mind. Making sure that any tears that might’ve escaped were wiped away you took a deep breath, steadying yourself before you walked out of the library and into Jean’s office.

Evidently you must’ve looked much worse than you thought, for Jean took one look at you and ordered you home, grumbling about how much trouble there had been recently. You thanked her half-heartedly before making your way out of the Headquarters, heart heavy as lead. At least work would’ve been a welcome distraction.

Arriving home you saw what Jean meant. Though you weren’t particularly teary, your face had taken on an ashen pallor that made it look like you’d either just gotten a shock, fainted, or had suddenly contracted consumption. Letting out a sigh you collapsed on the couch of your apartment. You knew you should probably do something, should eat or work on some extra work or something. But right now you didn’t want to do any of that. You just wanted to forget.

The knock that sounded at your door was extremely unwelcome, and you bit back bitter words as you made your way over to the door. Any protest however was silenced at the sight of Kaeya, hair slightly tussled, expression opaque, on your doorstep.

“Kaeya.” You meant to sound more peppy, but the action felt too tiring. “What’re you doing here?”

“Making sure that you’re alright. Jean told me that you looked unwell, and we can’t have our best knight getting sick, now can we?”

“I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

You went to turn around, when Kaeya reached over and place his hand on your forehead. Freezing you let out a sound somewhere between a strangled cry and a shriek. Kaeya didn’t react to this however, or the red quickly spreading across the bridge of your nose. Instead he let out a sigh, before smiling, something which also caused your heart to seize up.

“Not running a fever. I’m glad. Do you know what’s wrong by any chance?”

“Yes. No! I mean, I think, I, I just need rest.”

“You can tell me if something’s wrong. I might not be able to help, but I can try. Consider it the duty of the Cavalry Captain. Have to keep up appearances, even among the ranks.”

“Really Kaeya, I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine.” Kaeya’s eye seemed to pierce through your soul. “You seem… upset, exhausted. Please, let me help.”

“I can’t…” Your voice cracked and you turned your head away, mortified by your inability to control yourself.

“What do you mean you can’t?” Kaeya’s voice was filled with sudden worry. “Is someone doing something to you?”

“No! No one is. I just can’t because, because it’d be selfish.”

“What do you mean?” Kaeya’s tone had become utterly perplexed, and for a moment you felt the crazy urge to laugh. As if it wasn’t painfully obvious why you couldn’t. This was so tiring. You were so tired.

“Because it’s not fair of me to take away your happiness just because of my own feelings.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I heard you talking to Jean,” you explain, face burning, “she said that you liked someone. Or maybe you did, I don’t remember. Anyways you like someone and it’s not fair of that to hurt me, I have no right to your feelings. But, but it hurts, it really, really hurts.”

The silence when you finished was miserable. You weren’t even looking up at Kaeya, not wanting to see the destruction of a friendship you valued so much.

“Have you considered that the person I’m so infatuated with might be you?”

When you looked up you caught a wave of emotions, similar in strength to the ones currently going through you, plastered over Kaeya’s face. Happiness, sadness, regret, relief; all these things danced in his eyes. In that moment you loved him even more for it, for knowing that he understood, and that he too couldn’t hide the affects of having someone you loved so close and yet so far.

Saying nothing you walked over and slowly stretched your hand out. Kaeya took the hand in his, and you reveled in the small intimacy, in his calloused fingers enveloping yours.

“I’m not good enough.” You pointed out, voice soft.

“You aren’t the one who decides who I love.” Kaeya replied, voice firm. “To me there is no one else worthy in the world. Only you. And I hope that I can be the same for you, that I can be worthy.”

“Yes. Oh yes.”

For Kaeya was more than simply worthy. He was the one you loved the most, as well as the one who’d now made you the happiest person you could ever dream of.

[marcspectrr]

A word or two on Kiara's mental health...

Before I attempt to summarize the 39 page slideshow living rent free in my brain, a preface! This will include spoilers for s2, as well as a few mentions of suicidal thoughts! Also. I love Kiara Carrera with all of my heart so if you're not a fan of her, you might wanna keep scrolling. If you don't vibe with her that's perfectly fine, but this post is heavy with Kiara appreciation, be warned, my respect for her runs deep. The choice is yours, of course, just understand that I'm writing this bc @yellowlaboratory among others have encouraged me to get it out there because it's all I've been thinking about since I watched s2. This is not to start anything.

(This is also not me hating on Pope because I genuinely like his character, he's just made some very questionable choices throughout the show, some I can forgive and some that still don't sit right with me.)

Deep breath, here we go.

It's no secret Kiara has been poorly handled by the writers and therefore the characters at times. We got little development in s1 compared to other main male characters, leaving us to fill in the gaps as far as her ambitions, motivations, family, overall interest in the boys, etc. While I do keep this in mind, I could rant about it for days so for this I'm going off of what we have as well as what's been implied.

Kiara didn't have the same upbringing as the boys but it's clear the Carrera's had/have their struggles. She's got her foot in both worlds, not quite 'rich' but not entirely 'poor', inevitably giving her a fragile sense of belonging and identity. 16 is a hard age even without societal pressures and growing up in a classist environment, but here is where we're assuming the boys come in. They give her a place to feel comfortable in her own skin, with shared interests and accepting her for who she is, which we know the kooks don't provide. Just being around them helps ease those deep insecurities, helps her form meaningful bonds. We weren't given an explicit scene where this was shown but over the course of the two seasons it's clear how she feels about them and what they do for her mentally.

Her relationship with the pogues, however, puts a rift between her and her parents. Mike and Anna clearly want what's best for Kie but it's also obvious they've struggled with her even before the pogues. Anna wants Kiara to have the things she never got growing up, breeding a disconnect since Kiara doesn't share in her mother's interests. This leads into my biggest problem with Kiara's arc in s2, which was how Anna and Mike were written. 

Yes, Kiara didn't/doesn't treat them the best but it went both ways -- they all failed at communicating. Instead of finding a common ground and compensating for the things Kiara cares about, Anna shuts her down and ignores her, leaving her to feel like a problem rather than a person, further perpetuating even less healthy communication. Kiara even says in s2 that's why she doesn't like going home, because it always means walking into an argument and not feeling accepted.

I sorta expected a little more understanding from Anna considering her own background with pogues but instead it backfired. And Mike...he didn't contribute much at all. They could've all done better and need some work. Kiara could be more grateful and Anna and Mike are the parents, the adults, they need to make the space feel safe to talk. Kie didn't just wake up one day and decide to act out and keep her parents in the dark all the time, that stems from not feeling listened to when she does try and open up.

Expanding on this with...the whole Blue Ridge plot. Moment of silence for the show neglecting to acknowledge the academy,  even though it clearly had a big impact on Kiara's life. In s1 we got a brief look into how her 'kook year' affected her and it was not good. More isolation, blurred identity, insecurity and this time suicidal thoughts, with no one to turn to for support, assuming she was not on good terms with her parents then either. I'm assuming this because for them to send her to the academy, hoping to give her better opportunities only for it to end with her wanting to cut her wrists, to then thinking the best option is to send her away again? At this point I hope they didn’t know how badly the academy affected her because sending her away a second time with that knowledge is such a hurtful and oblivious move.

Kiara already thinks her parents see her as a burden, hurting her sense of worth as is. I really wanted to like the Carrera's and I still feel like they genuinely love and care for Kie, I just need to see more communication maybe. And if they choose to include the Blue Ridge plot, which I'm leaning towards yes on that one, I hope it's handled somewhat well, preferably not a tool to create drama even though I know a lot of people want to see it be used that way. I'm very particular, I'm sorry I'm this way.

Things I've seen her being criticized for in s2 is her behavior. The thing that people have to remember is that she's 16 and teenagers are just not the best with navigating their emotions. She made questionable choices (the 'murderer' thing and 'abusing' Pope) but these are both things that fit the plot and her character. She was by no means the only one grieving so I don't know why she's being targeted for it (although I'm not surprised, the fandom treats her horribly). Some of her core characteristics are her high moral integrity as well as her headstrong belief in people and causes. She's never been one to make herself palatable for people and s2 shows a lot of this (calling out the Cameron's, going off in front of the court, etc). Even if it caused them problems and even if they are flaws, that doesn't make her an inherently intolerable character, it makes her realistic. She was not in a good place emotionally and it would've been wrong to shy away from depicting it any other way, especially in a show where the teenage experience is decently represented.

Now with the Pope thing. I think it was handled as well as it could've been considering the circumstances. It really should've never happened but to justify it, emotions are messy, relationships even messier and they were both spiraling at the end of s1. I don't agree with the way it started (why give Kie the line of literally telling him she wanted something different only to show them together next episode, I'm forever confused) but I'm not mad about how it ended. They were both in the wrong at times so only bringing up Kie's faults is just unfair.

I believe they both tried their best and even wanted to feel the right things but learned quickly that's not exactly how it works, which was how it was supposed to be shown. Not as this romanticized, idealistic healthy relationship but as one that has its bumps and was bred out of all the wrong things. All of their body language pointed towards this. Pope didn't deserve to be hurt but Kie clearly didn't intend for things to turn out how they did. She wasn't mentally comfortable enough for a relationship and I can appreciate them showing this in the ways the writers framed it. Even the conversation with Kie describing their night on the beach, I think it was perfect. It was awkward but it was honest, which is so important.

Overall, I think Kiara's gone through a lot mentally that the show could be better at exploring. It doesn't have to be big, obvious lingering shots, they can be subtle and still mean so much to people who relate to her. Seeing someone on screen grapple with real life struggles (even if the show walks a painfully fine line as far as realism), it means a lot. Especially when mental health (more prominent than ever) is so rarely portrayed to translate in any significant way in media now. It's definitely something I would love to see get more time and effort so until then, just know I'll be manifesting the screen time Kiara Carrera deserves.

[magicboytrash]

MHA: Save Rock and Roll

So I had this MAGNIFICENT realization today. Save Rock and Roll (Fall Out Boy’s arguable best album) lines up with some of my favorite characters. So I’m going to break it down. More below page break!

The album starts off strong, with The Phoenix. 

This song deals with an absolute shit ton of fire imagery, which initially drew me to the Todoroki boys. However, the motif of changing, and rising up from the ashes reminded me of a certain... dusty man. The Phoenix in my opinion symbolizes Tomura Shigaraki. Shigaraki is incredibly impatient, always pushing forward to reach his goal, and feeling like things are stacked against him. This song perfectly encompasses this

Symbolic Lyrics:  One maniac at a time we will take it back You know time crawls on when you're waiting for the song to start

The next song is a more mellow tone, Young Volcanoes

I was super torn between two very drastically different characters for this one, but finally settled on Tamaki Amajiki. This song feels like a dying summer, almost melancholically happy. It’s a song thats not full of words, but more-so feeling. Tamaki is quiet, with a shy happiness, much like this song.

Symbolic Lyrics: C'mon, make it easy, say I never mattered Run it up the flag pole

Next in line is Alone Together

When I first heard alone together, I knew it would be for someone with a troubled past. I settled on someone who I feel genuinely seeks companionship while overcoming their past. Shoto Todoroki is exemplified in this song 110%. He trauma dumps to anyone who listens, and is overcoming his past with friend/companionship. 

Symbolic Lyrics:  But do you got room for one more troubled soul I don't know where I'm going, But I don't think I'm coming home

Fourth on the album is Light ‘Em Up

This song could very obviously be about Dabi, but it felt more like a character who is fundamentally flawed, but hides behind a facade. Dabi owns his flaws, where as Keigo Takami. The hero commission is fundamentally flawed, of which Keigo is aware. Yet he still shows loyalty to a fundamentally broken system. 

Symbolic Lyrics:  My childhood spat back the monster that you see

Next up is The Mighty Fall

I immediately knew this character would be one to view falling in love as showing vulnerability. Vulnerability for them would be very rare to be shown, and it would be someone whose bonds are near unbreakable. Obviously for this, I felt Katsuki Bakugou was perfect. He is a character who would absolutely view it as “the mighty falling” when he falls in love. 

Symbolic Lyrics:  They say I got screws missing, well hell, only when I'm missing you And, hell yeah, I'm addict, girl, addicted to you

My favorite song on the album, Just One Yesterday

This song immediately read to me as someone who wants what other people have, and views themselves in both a self-hatred and self-deity kind of way. Essentially, they’re at the corner of God Complex and I Hate Myself Avenue. I felt this song reflected Hitoshi Shinso. This song deals with both a feeling of yearning and a sense of determination.

Symbolic Lyrics:  I don't have the right name O-o-o-or the right looks But I have twice the heart Anything you say can and will be held against you So only say my name

The coolest music video on the album, Where Did the Party Go?

This song has dance party, and vibes written all over it. Therefore it goes to resident party animal, Denki Kaminari. Denki has very relaxed energy when it comes to relationships with people, and this song definitely embodies that, set to a dance-type beat.

Symbolic Lyrics:  My old aches become new again My old friends become ex's again, yeah Oh where did the party go?

Next up is Death Valley

This song feels like someone holding on regardless of the circumstances, no matter how stacked against them they are. Eijiro Kirishima refuses to give up, regardless of how badly he is hurt. Death Valley deals with the feeling of giving it your all, even if it won’t be enough. 

Symbolic Lyrics: I'm either gone in an instant Or here 'til the bitter end I, I never know

One of the most complex songs on the album, Rat-a-Tat

This song is a call to arms. It urges the rejects of society to get on their feet and respond. It’s also an anthem to people wishing for a world they belong in. For me, that is Touya Todoroki/Dabi. Touya longs to have been accepted by his father, yet he never was. There are so SO so many lyrics that make sense for this song to be Touya. 

Symbolic Lyrics:

1.  To get on St. Peter's list But you need to lower your standards 'Cause it's never Getting any better than this

2.  Remember me as I was not as I am

3.  I'm the lonelier version of you I just don't know where I went wrong

Getting closer to the end, we have Miss Missing You.

This song (especially with recent episodes/manga) is heartbreaking when applied to a very specific person. Shota Aizawa has so many people he will carry with him, in his heart and memories. This song feels like Aizawa sitting down with Class 1-A and being honest with them about the hero lifestyle, and that the heroes do not always win. Its heartbreaking when you look at it through this lense.

Symbolic Lyrics:  Sometimes before it gets better The darkness gets bigger The person that you'd take a bullet for, is behind the trigger Oh, we're fading fast

The titular and final song on the album is Save Rock and Roll

One listen to this song and it becomes apparent that it is a hero who will defend his beliefs to the hilt. For us, that is Izuku Midoriya. Izuku understands the flaws of both sides of the coin, and has chosen to become a symbol of peace that truly everyone can unite behind. Save Rock and Roll deals with the resentment heroes feel towards those who helped put them in their positions of power, and their resentment of society for needing to be saved. Yet Izuku (and the protagonist of the song) still answer the call to heroism. They follow what is truly right.

Symbolic Lyrics:  Well, how'd it get to be only me (me, me, me, me)? Like I'm the last damn kid still kicking that still believes I will defend the faith

[alirhi]

okay. let's do this shit.

Guess what, bitches? Mama bear's back and angry all over again. Remember when I said I might dive into a ragepost about how Bucky's treated after completing the one about Loki? This is it. This is the post. Welcome to fucking Thunderdome.

I will actually try to keep it civil. No promises, but I'll try. and I will not be accepting "constructive criticism" about my rage. Just so we're clear.

Got it? Good. Let's dive in.

In case you don't want to read the whole thing (I know I get wordy) here's what this whole post will boil down to: BUCKY NEVER HAD A FUCKING CHOICE. NEVER. NOT ONCE IN HIS ENTIRE ADULT LIFE.

Now, quick reminder: I don't read comics. I know nothing about Bucky's comic canon, except what Sebastian liked to bring up as often as possible during TWS/CW promotions: at some point, Bucky boned Nat. XD Since Bucky only exists as a Marvel property, I won't be bitching about other source material being disrespected like I did with Loki. This is all MCU, my dudes. And honestly? That's enough, because though we don't see nearly enough of Bucky for my liking, we do manage to get a rich, deep backstory to him in the material we're given, partly thanks to better writing in the early days of the MCU, and partly thanks to Sebastian Stan's phenomenal acting. Unlike the writers of the Loki series, Seb knows how to show, not tell. And gods, what stories those eyes show...

Let's start with the army. In an old post illustrating what an absolute BAMF Bucky Barnes truly is, I mistakenly said he enlisted, and a kind soul educated me on the incredible attention to detail Marvel used to pay - in this case, Bucky's ID number. 32557038. As this kind, eagle-eyed soul pointed out to me, the first two digits of that number - 32 - signify that Bucky was drafted, specifically from the NY, NJ, DE area (that last part is rather obvious, as Bucky and Steve are from Brooklyn lol). Bucky didn't choose to go to war. He was drafted. He was forced to fight, or go to prison.

Bucky was born in 1917, which means - again, as someone pointed out to me a while back - he came of age during the Great Depression. As a child, he would likely have seen his parents living comfortably and able to shower each other and him and his sister with gifts and fun memories, and then POOF. Stock market crashes when he's only 12-years-old, and life becomes brutal and painful. He manages to have some fun with his best friend Steve, and spends his teens/early 20s chasing girls and keeping his stupid, stubborn, tiny friend from getting beaten to death.

Steve constantly has something to prove. He's absolutely got what my mom always called "little man's disease", and Bucky's just doing his best not to roll his eyes too much at this asthmatic chihuahua constantly trying to beat up Tibetan mastiffs. While Steve keeps lying on his enlistment forms (an actual crime) trying again and again to get into the army and prove what a badass he is (definitely not), Bucky's had enough trauma and upheaval in his life and he just wants his stupid friend to calm tf down and live. Enjoy the fact that he doesn't have to go to war and get his limbs blown off.

And then he gets fucking drafted. This sweet, resigned realist who knows exactly how dangerous the war really is, is forced to put on a uniform and go fight strangers alongside other strangers thousands of miles from everything he knows. And on his last night of freedom, when he just wants to hang out with his friend, see some cool gadgets, and dance with a pretty girl, his stupid angry chihuahua friend feels the need to lie and try to enlist again.

Okay. Gotta get back on track. Ragepost about mistreatment of Bucky, not how much Steve annoys me. Sorry. Anyway...

Bucky's drafted, accepts his shitty lot with a brave smile, and is shipped off to Europe, where he is captured by HYDRA and presumed by the Allies to be KIA. Instead, he's strapped down, tortured, and given the HYDRA version of the super serum against his will. Steve rescues him, and Bucky knows he can't leave his idiot friend to his own devices to get his head blown off, so he dives right back into the fray. And then he falls off a cliff, loses most of his left arm, and is declared dead...again. This one's pretty damn valid, though lol. Without the serum no one knew he'd been shot up with, there is no way he would have survived that fall.

Here is where Bucky's story gets truly heartbreaking: His autonomy, his ability to consent is stripped from him through electroshock torture/brainwashing. The trigger words are conditioned into him during this process, and boom. Ten words in Russian, and Bucky Barnes is gone. Even the confused, hurting shadow of him is gone, leaving only a perfectly obedient killing machine, with Bucky's pretty face. He's strong as all hell, though, so they can't keep him fully under their control for long, not without more torture, when the disorientation of being fucking frozen wears off on longer missions.

I cannot stress this point enough, guys: Bucky. Had. No. Choice. Not like the draft, where his choices (go and get shot at, refuse and go to jail, or dodge and run to Canada) just suck. No, he literally didn't have a choice. He had his ability to choose stripped from him. If that's too complex a concept to really sink in, try this: His brain was fucking raped. Repeatedly. For decades. Nothing the Winter Soldier ever did was Bucky's fault. Nothing. Ever. Not remotely, no matter how you fucking slice it. Bucky is not an assassin. I almost said "not a killer", but he was a soldier, and a sharpshooter. He definitely killed when he was himself, but that was in a war, not a series of assassinations.

So far, imo, so good. This is just a rundown of Bucky's pre-show backstory. I don't love what he had to suffer, but I do love how it was treated in the movies. People were afraid of him, but when they knew the whole situation, Steve, Nat, and Sam rallied behind him. Natasha had plenty of reason to want the Winter Soldier dead; he'd tried to kill her multiple times and almost succeeded. Sam had no reason to help Bucky at all; he didn't know him, didn't trust him, and again, TWS had tried to kill him. But he stood by Steve, and when Bucky showed the clear difference between himself and TWS, Sam stood by him, too, and fought alongside him.

And it's very realistic, imo, that Tony didn't give a single fuck that Bucky had no choice. He watched this man murder both of his parents on tape. If TWS had killed my dad and I saw proof of it, I'd try to kill Bucky, too. Grief wins out over logic. Most emotions usually do. And that's a very important point we're going to come back to in a few minutes.

Bucky was really only in like ten minutes at most of IW and Endgame, and for multiple reasons I hate those movies, so I'm just gonna skip them, kay? Kay. On to the main event!

Here's where I get pissed off. Even if I didn't have an unhealthy attachment to this character, or the depth of appreciation for his tragic backstory that I do, the lack of continuity between the movies and the show alone would still piss me off. It always does. Don't even get me started on Joss "Continuity? What continuity?" Whedon and his (iconic, but flawed) shows. Ahem. Back on track...

Let me just get one little thing out of the way real quick: I fucking LOVE The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. I love it. This show amazed me when I first watched it, and I still love it after many more viewings lol. I have only ever watched it all the way through without skipping over as much John Walker shit as possible the one time lol but I love how Sam and Bucky interact, and I fucking adore how Sam's arc was treated. I just wish they'd show the same care and attention to Bucky.

Because what they did to Bucky in this show is a fucking travesty. There was a tiny ray of hope in the pilot, when he called out Dr. Bitchface for being a terrible shrink. I thought that would be the start of him realizing he needed to find someone else and ignore the damaging shit that woman was telling him. But...nope. No such luck.

The show really had a strong start, I'll give it that. We see Bucky having nightmares of his time as TWS and struggling to hide how his traumatic memories are affecting him as he tries to live in the world again. He befriends the father of one of HYDRA's victims, which can't be good for Bucky (and we're shown it's definitely not when he sees the shrine in Yori's home to his late son) but it's sweet, how he's trying to connect and reach out to someone who's hurting and lonely.

They drop the ball a little with the whole... Bucky can hack a fucking car, but can't figure out Tinder thing. Had they just run with the fandom interpretation of the tiger photos line, that it shows that Bucky is bi and left it at that, I'd have been okay with it (and no, that is not because I ship Sam/Bucky. it's because Bucky is and always has been a certified nerd who loves technology and has consistently shown very little issue learning to use new gadgets). The outdated flip phone he handed his terrible court-mandated shrink was a burner; I liked that theory when I read it, especially since it's the only time we see him even holding a phone that old lol. This all could have fit the "Bucky is a sassy bisexual nerd" narrative and it'd be okay. Instead, the director was like "NOOOOOO that line was just to show how old he is and how he can't figure out all this newfangled technology!" Woman, you had him remotely driving someone else's vehicle with a tablet. That is NOT a man who can't figure out a damn smart phone!

But that's just a minor annoyance. What fills me with absolute rage is how everyone - not just the shitty therapist who lashes out at and purposely triggers her traumatized patients, but EVERYONE - Sam, Zemo, people who should fucking know better ALL treat him like he's a psychopath and a ticking time bomb. Like he chose to take the serum and he chose to kill for HYDRA, and he's just seen the error of his ways. *barf*

Bucky in the movies is established to be a victim, through and through. His guilt over what he was forced to do is natural, and that he sees himself as a monster makes sense... but that doesn't mean it's correct. The one and only thing I ever liked about Steve Rogers is at least he got it. He pointed out that none of it was Bucky's fault, he tried to show him that he was worth saving. That's the other reason I refuse to talk about Endgame. This post will get a WHOLE LOT LONGER and a lot fucking angrier if I open that door.

Zemo supposedly knows everything about HYDRA and super soldiers... So why does he treat Bucky like he's a corrupt serial killer? (this, for the record, is why I don't like Zemo) Why does he never point out that Bucky was given the serum against his will, or that his actions, when he had control of them, proved that he was never corrupted? Bucky never wanted to become superhuman. Bucky didn't even want to fucking fight!

Sam, despite constantly resisting the label, is shown very clearly to be Bucky's friend. By episode 3, he cares. He worries about how Bucky is getting lumped in with the other super soldiers in Zemo's speech... But he never really defends him. He says "what about Bucky?" but he doesn't point out that Bucky's a good man, he's fought so hard to help people, he does everything he can to avoid killing... And that fucking speech in episode 5. I was with him on "you gotta stop looking to other people to tell you who you are." I was like "YEAH! Tell him, Sam! Bucky, you're WORTH SAVING, boo! Your value does not hinge on someone else's opinion of you!" And then... Sam dropped the ball.

He not only continued the disturbing pattern of victim-blaming in this show, and in Marvel/Disney properties in general, but he gave really dangerously bad advice! No one in their right mind, mental health professional or no, would EVER tell a traumatized former assassin (whether he was responsible for his actions or not) to go confront his victims' families out of the blue with no warning and no one to mediate and keep things from going to shit. Yori already knew his son had been murdered because he was in the "wrong place, wrong time." How is it being "of service" to tell him you're the one who killed him?! Remember how I said Tony's reaction to learning the full truth about his parents' deaths was valid and would be an important point later? Hi! Welcome to later. THAT is the natural reaction to facing the man who murdered your loved one(s). And even if Yori didn't get angry and lash out, HOW IS IT "HELPING" HIM OR BRINGING HIM "CLOSURE" TO KNOW THAT HIS FRIEND KILLED HIS FUCKING SON?!?!?! This man befriended him, bonded with him, watched him grieve... And now he's learning this is the man who caused all his pain and heartache to begin with? That is so toxic and psycho I just... I can't even... UGH.

And then there's the equally toxic and damaging "deeply traumatized person just needed a stern talking to and a hug to be ALL BETTER AGAIN" ending. I loved seeing Bucky happy and socializing, but it was too soon, and it was unearned. And it sends a fucking awful message to people actually struggling with PTSD, and to their loved ones who don't know how to help them. Heaping more blame on them and then hugging it out is NOT helpful!

This show could have been damn near perfect with just two changes. That's all. Just two. 1) Someone, anyone, bringing up the reasons why Bucky was never a villain in his presence. Someone being in his corner and reminding him, like Steve did, that it wasn't his fault and he's not going to "snap". 2) More time devoted to Bucky's healing. Actual fucking healing, not the shit they tried to pass off as a magic fix-all. He can have his happy barbecue moment, just don't frame it as "everything's great now!" Healing isn't linear, and there will be both good days and bad. Some of the most fragile people in the world have the brightest smiles.

If we get a season 2, which this amazing show absolutely deserves, and they address this stuff, all will be forgiven in my book. Expanding on his story and his journey toward healing will help to reframe that "happily ever after" garbage as something more realistic. But as it stands now... Fuck Marvel.

[paenling]

no ones saying you cant enjoy daniil? people like him as a character but mostly Because he’s an asshole and he’s interesting. the racism and themes of colonization in patho are so blatant

nobody said “by order of Law you are forbidden from enjoying daniil dankovsky in any capacity”, but they did say “if you like daniil dankovsky you are abnormal, problematic, and you should be ashamed of yourself”, so i’d call that an implicit discouragement at the least. not very kind.

regardless, he is a very interesting asshole and we love to make fun of him! but i do not plan to stop seeing his character in an empathetic light when appropriate to do so. we’re all terribly human.

regarding “the racism and themes of colonization in patho”, we’ve gotta have a sit-down for this one because it’s long and difficult. tl;dr here.

i’ve written myself all back and forth and in every direction trying to properly pin down the way i feel about this in a way that is both logically coherent and emotionally honest, but it’s not really working. i debated even responding at all, but i do feel like there are some things worth saying so i’m just going to write a bunch of words, pick a god, and pray it makes some modicum of sense.

the short version: pathologic 2 is a flawed masterwork which i love deeply, but its attempts to be esoteric and challenging have in some ways backfired when it comes to topical discussions such as those surrounding race, which the first game didn’t give its due diligence, and the second game attempted with incomplete success despite its best efforts.

the issue is that when you have a game that is so niche and has these “elevated themes” and draws from all this kind of academic highbrow source material -- the fandom is small, but the fandom consists of people who want to analyze, pathologize, and dissect things as much as possible. so let’s do that.

first: what exactly is racist or colonialist in pathologic? i’m legitimately asking. people at home: by what mechanism does pathologic-the-game inflict racist harm on real people? the fact that the Kin are aesthetically and linguistically inspired by the real-world Buryat people (& adjacent groups) is a potential red flag, but as far as i can tell there’s never any value judgement made about either the fictionalized Kin or the real-world Buryat. the fictional culture is esoteric to the player -- intended to be that way, in fact -- but that’s not an inherently bad thing. it’s a closed practice and they’re minding their business.

does it run the risk of being insensitive with sufficiently aggressive readings? absolutely, but i don’t think that’s racist by itself. they’re just portrayed as a society of human beings (and some magical ones, if you like) that has flaws and incongruences just as the Town does. it’s not idealizing or infantilizing these people, but by no means does it go out of its way to villainize them either. there is no malice in this depiction of the Kin. 

is it the fact that characters within both pathologic 1 & 2 are racist? that the player can choose to say racist things when inhabiting those characters? no, because pathologic-the-game doesn’t endorse those things. they’re throwaway characterization lines for assholes. acknowledging that racism exists does not make a media racist. see more here.

however, i find it’s very important to take a moment and divorce the racial discussions in a game like pathologic 2 from the very specific experiences of irl western (particularly american) racism. it’s understandable for such a large chunk of the english-speaking audience to read it that way; it makes sense, but that doesn’t mean it’s correct. although it acknowledges the relevant history to some extent, on account of being set in 1915, pathologic 2 is not intended to be a commentary about race, and especially not current events, and especially especially not current events in america. it’s therefore unfair, in my opinion, to attempt to diagnose it with any concrete ideology or apply its messages to an american racial paradigm.

it definitely still deals with race, but it always, to me, seemed to come back around the exploitation of race as an ultimately arbitrary division of human beings, and the story always strove to be about human beings far more than it was ever about race. does it approach this topic perfectly? no, but it’s clearly making an effort. should we be aware of where it fails to do right by the topic? yes, definitely, but we should also be charitable in our interpretations of what the writers were actually aiming for, rather than reactionarily deeming them unacceptable and leaving it at that. do we really think the writers for pathologic 2 sat down and said “we’re going to go out of our way to be horrible racists today”? i don’t.

IPL’s writing team is a talented lot, and dybowski as lead writer has the kinds of big ideas that elevate a game to a work of art, particularly because he’s not afraid to get personal. on that front, some discussion is inescapable as pathologic 2 deals in a lot of racial and cultural strife, because it’s clearly something near to the his heart, but as i understand it was never really meant to be a narrative “about” race, at least not exclusively so, and especially not in the same sense as the issue is understood by the average American gamer. society isn't a monolith and the contexts are gonna change massively between different cultures who have had, historically, much different relationships with these concepts.

these themes are “so blatant” in pathologic 2 because clearly, on some level, IPL wanted to start a discussion. I think it’s obvious that they wanted to make the audience uncomfortable with the choices they were faced with and the characters they had to inhabit -- invoke a little ostranenie, as it were, and force an emotional breaking point. in the end the game started a conversation and i think that’s something that was done in earnest, despite its moments of obvious clumsiness. 

regarding colonialism, this is another thing that the game is just Not About. we see the effects and consequences of colonialism demonstrated in the world of pathologic, and it’s something we’re certainly asked to think about from time to time, but the actual plot/narrative of the game is not about overcoming or confronting explicitly colonialist constructs, etc. i personally regard this as a bit of a missed opportunity, but it’s just not what IPL was going for.

instead they have a huge focus, as discussed somewhat in response to this ask, on the broader idea of powerful people trying to create a “utopia” at the mortal cost of those they disempower, which is almost always topical as far as i’m concerned, and also very Russian.

i think there was some interview where it was said that the second game was much more about “a mechanism that transforms human nature” than the costs of utopia, but it’s still a persistent enough theme to be worth talking about both as an abstraction of colonialism as well as in its more-likely intended context through the lens of wealth inequality, environmental destruction & government corruption as universal human issues faced by the marginalized classes. i think both are important and intelligent readings of the text, and both are worth discussion.

both endings of pathologic 2 involve sacrifice in the name of an “ideal world” where it’s impossible to ever be fully satisfied. in the Diurnal Ending, Artemy is tormented over the fate of the Kin and the euthanasia of his dying god and all her miracles, but he needs to have faith that the children he’s protected will grow up better than their parents and create a world where he and his culture will be immortalized in love. in the Nocturnal Ending, he’s horrified because in preserving the miracle-bound legacy of his people as a collective, he’s un-personed himself to the individuals he loves, but he needs to have faith that the uniqueness and magic of the resurrected Earth was precious enough to be worth that sacrifice. neither ending is fair. it’s not fair that he can’t have both, but that’s the idea. because that “utopia” everyone’s been chasing is an idol that distracts from the important work of being a human being and doing your best in a flawed world. 

because pathologic’s themes as a series are so very “Russian turn-of-the-century” and draw a ton of stylistic and topical inspiration from the theatre and literature of that era, i don’t doubt that it’s also inherited some of its inspirational literature’s missteps. however, because the game’s intertextuality is so incredibly dense it’s difficult to construct a super cohesive picture of its actual messaging. a lot of its references and themes will absolutely go over your head if you enter unprepared -- this was true for me, and it ended up taking several passes and a bunch of research to even begin appreciating the breadth of its influences.

(i’d argue this is ultimately a good thing; i would never have gone and picked up Camus or Strugatsky, or even known who Antonin Artaud was at all if i hadn’t gone in with pathologic! my understanding is still woefully incomplete and it’s probably going to take me a lot more effort to get properly fluent in the ideology of the story, but that’s the joy of it, i think. :) i’m very lucky to be able to pursue it in this way.)

anyway yes, pathologic 2 is definitely very flawed in a lot of places, particularly when it tries to tackle race, but i’m happy to see it for better and for worse. the game attempts to discuss several adjacent issues and stumbles as it does so, but insinuating it to be in some way “pro-racist” or “pro-colonialist” or whatever else feels kind of disingenuous to me. they’re clearly trying, however imperfectly, to do something intriguing and meaningful and empathetic with their story.

even all this will probably amount to a very disjointed and incomplete explanation of how pathologic & its messaging makes me feel, but what i want -- as a broader approach, not just for pathologic -- is for people to be willing to interpret things charitably. 

sometimes things are made just to be cruel, and those things should be condemned, but not everything is like that. it’s not only possible but necessary to be able to acknowledge flaws or mistakes and still be kind. persecuting something straight away removes any opportunity to examine it and learn from it, and pathologic happens to be ripe with learning experiences. 

it’s all about being okay with ugliness, working through difficult nuances with grace, and the strength of the human spirit, and it’s a story about love first and foremost, and i guess we sort of need that right now. it gave me some of its love, so i’m giving it some of my patience.

[cruelfeline]

I’ve been thinking about various aspects of SPoP, as I am wont to do, and as often happens, I’ve settled on trying to figure out why I feel a certain way. Namely regarding why I, personally, am able to feel so much more compassion towards Hordak rather than towards the Princesses. After all, the Princesses are the ones being wronged throughout this show, aren’t they? Their lands are being invaded. They’re the ones having to fight to maintain their way of life. They’re losing ground because of Hordak’s war.

So... why do I find it hard to care about them? Why are their experiences in this conflict just sort of... well, meaningless to me?

And why, instead, do my tender emotional responses strongly favor Hordak, despite his serious role in starting a terrible war?

Well! As per usual, I’m going to try to talk my way through it. 

(and, as per usual, your mileage may vary!)

Let’s start with the Princesses. They range from children to young adults. Seem like reasonably nice girls, despite various flaws. They clearly did not ask for a war, had no hand in starting it, and are clearly on the side of good, seeking to protect innocents and simply return to a peaceful way of life.

They appear perfectly designed to garner sympathy and connection... yet I feel so little for them. I feel little because, despite the show telling me that they’re fighting for their lives, and for their home, despite them being the apparent underdogs in their battle against the Horde, I feel like their lives remain relatively stable. Pleasant. Even enjoyable. 

Essentially, I feel like despite everything, they do not truly suffer. Not in a way that is consistent or touching. 

The arcs the Princesses go through either deal largely with matters unrelated to the war and subsequently involve less arduous difficulties, or are handled in such a way that any real pain is quickly resolved and loses its impact.

Frosta and Perfuma represent the former. Both are parentless rulers of their kingdoms, but there is no real confirmation that their parents were killed by the Horde, and they themselves seem largely unperturbed by parental loss. They maintain control of their kingdoms throughout the series. Frosta never loses the Kingdom of Snows, while Perfuma, though in brief danger of losing Plumeria due to damage to the Heart Blossom, ends up... well, defeating the Horde with a band of untrained hippies. So while they fight in the war against Hordak, they never really suffer any significant, confirmed personal losses because of it.

In fact, the Plumerian conflict is... kind of played for laughs.

The other aspects of their arcs have largely to do with friendship matters, or self-belief, and are also dealt with quickly and with little fanfare. Frosta learns how to make friends. Perfuma learns how to play with cacti. Afterwards, Frosta spends the remainder of the story essentially being a violence-happy little kid; amusing, yes, but not particularly tugging at my heartstrings. Perfuma likewise settles into “sympathetic friend” and, though she’s involved in Scorpia’s story at the end, also does little to invoke any sort of significant emotion. 

we’re just going to skirt around the whole “leashing Entrapta” thing, as it’s not relevant to this discussion

(Spinnerella and Netossa barely even register to me, given their very bare-bones roles in the first four seasons and standard “chipped loved one” narrative (that everyone experiences) in the fifth.) 

So, let’s move on to Glimmer and Mermista.

Glimmer and Mermista are arguably the two Princesses who actually lose unique things in the war and suffer because of those losses. And yet, because of the way the show is written, even their pain is dulled in such a way that it just does not facilitate me forming any sort of consistent, compassionate bond with them.

Mermista is the only Princess to actually lose a kingdom. In Hordak’s most visible evil act, Salineas is burned and beflagged, leading to Mermista deeply mourning the loss of her home, her culture, her peop- oh. Hm.

She takes it oddly well, doesn’t she? Apparently, ice cream in a bathtub is how deposed rulers deal with the loss of their entire country nowadays. 

And once she’s done with her moment of moping, she’s back in the fight, fueled by Sea Hawk’s shenanigans and her own power ballad (and Bright Moon’s lack of ice cream). There is no extended mourning for her people, no real depth to the loss she has supposedly suffered. There’s not even a real sense of it: we never see the people of Salineas, never know them, never get to feel anything for them. And with them being all but theoretical, the show appears to have no issue quickly forgetting them: Mermista never negotiates on their behalf, or visits refugees, or... anything. She might use Salineas in her future battle cries and as an excuse for increased recklessness, but that homage is the extent of emotion that we see.

Kingdom gone, bathtub ice cream finished, she goes on living life as if little has happened. And, because of her royal connections, she doesn’t even experience a decrease in quality of life: she continues to live in luxurious comfort despite an apparently raging war.

Because of how the writing handles Salineas, and her character in general, I never feel connected to how Mermista feels. Whatever pain she experiences is there and gone in a few scenes, quickly dealt with so the story can continue. There is no exploration, no nuance, nothing to really make me appreciate any sort of depth to her experience. And so I feel little, if anything, for her plight.

Glimmer, then, is the last chance the show has to make me feel something for the Alliance Princesses’ suffering during this war, and while season four nearly does it, the series again ends up falling short. 

Glimmer loses her mother. The actual sacrifice is emotional... though that emotion, admittedly, comes mainly from Adora. Glimmer’s pain comes through at the beginning of season four, when she is clearly in mourning all while needing to take Angella’s place as queen. Afterwards, season four does a fairly good job of making the loss meaningful: Glimmer becomes more and more willing to commit dark acts due to a mixture of grief and desperation. It works well, and out of all of the Princesses, I feel for her the most... until season five comes along and pretty much erases Angella from character consciousness.

Angella’s death essentially plays no role in season five. Glimmer does not appear to think back to it. While it drives her actions during season four, it appears to have been all but forgotten now, a particularly glaring shift when Catra, the one who is practically responsible, joins the group without it coming up at all. Glimmer’s other parental loss, Micah, likewise becomes meaningless not because of questionable writing choices, but because he simply never died.

Glimmer’s other problem, her rift with Bow and Adora, is repaired within an episode and never spoken of again. That... falls quite flat for me. 

And so, by the end of the series, Glimmer fails to maintain a believable level of distress and thus doesn’t invoke any real emotion in me. The one thing that really mattered, that really hurt her? Suddenly irrelevant in the name of Catra’s redemption. Hm.

And while these are the specific character examples that come to mind, the general situation the Princesses find themselves also fails to carry much weight in my mind. They are in the middle of a war, yet they continue to live in luxury. Skirmishes carry a sense of light-heartedness and sometimes seem almost fun. Battle plans are developed via a game of DnD. There is just no consistent sense of urgency or severity, no believable sense of emotional depth to convey to me that these characters are in truly dire straits. Yes, there are moments... but these moments are so brief, and carry such questionable lasting impact, that they don’t connect with me the way that they should. And as a result, the plight of the Princesses just feels hollow to me. 

I just... I just find myself unable to care about them because, when all is said and done, I don’t feel like they are truly in danger of real harm, or that they are realistically affected by their losses. It all just feels so shallow to me.

Now, let’s pivot and look at Hordak. Hordak, whom I still cry over on the daily. Hordak, who has owned my heart for over a year now. Hordak, who invokes in me all of the emotions. 

What is the difference between Hordak and the Princesses, other than the glaring fact that he is the instigator of the Etherian war and thus a bad, bad man? What makes him snap my heartstrings in half, while the Princesses barely manage a gentle tug?

The answer is that Hordak legitimately suffers. Terribly. Consistently. Throughout the entire series. While the Princesses experience brief moments of distress that the show quickly sweeps under the rug in favor of witty banter and friendship problems, Hordak is the direct opposite: he experiences only the occasional breath of happiness while otherwise drowning in a constant sea of bitterness, fear, pain, and deep unhappiness.  

From the moment we meet him, Hordak is stern and humorless and angry, and while this initially appears to be a side effect of him being a Standard Ultimate Villain Who Never Smiles, we quickly learn that it is due to his struggle. Hordak is constantly struggling against his physical defect, battling an illness that causes him not only significant health problems, but incredible shame. He is likewise constantly struggling to earn the respect and validation and nonexistent love of his god-brother. His sour demeanor, with all of its anger and dourness, originates in the fact that, throughout the overwhelming majority of the series, he is gravely unhappy. He is in ever-present distress, both physical and emotional. 

And as the series goes on, does that distress lessen? No. No, instead, he is rejected by his brother, thoroughly humiliated, and brutally “reset” back into his life as an actual cult slave. Rather than having his difficulties minimized like so many Princesses do, he finds himself in ever-worsening circumstances, graduating from (supposed) “disgraced, disabled military veteran” to “enslaved cultist desperate to be loved by his loveless master.”

Any moments of happiness are not only relatively brief, they are taken away as quickly as the Princesses’ moments of difficulty are. Hordak experiences love and friendship for the first time with Entrapta, only to swiftly lose her to Catra’s lies and spiraling madness. He finally begins to win the Etherian War (which is bad, yes, I know), only to realize that his victories stem from Catra’s betrayal before the whole affair culminates in Prime’s nauseating violation of his personhood.

It does not stop. Physically, mentally, or emotionally: not until his triumph over Prime in the season five finale does Hordak stop hurting, and even that is marred by Prime taking control of his body in a final act of nightmarish control before, bless him, Hordak is freed and able to begin his recovery.

In addition to being a series constant, Hordak’s pain is conveyed. It is dramatically shown through facial expressions, through body language, through phenomenal voice work, through scenes that clearly depict real anguish. 

The purification ritual is one of them; what other character do we hear scream like that, over and over, due to such terrible agony? His reunion with Prime is another; I will never forget how deeply I could sense his fear, how watching him tremble and beg instilled within me a sort of breathless panic because the scene actually made me want to instinctively protect him... but I could not because, y’know: cartoon. 

Hordak’s suffering is not only ever-present, it is varied and developed and communicated to the viewer in ways that result in it making a lasting impression. It is never minimized. It is never ignored. It is painful and horrifying with little reprieve, and it has a deep, life-altering effect on him.

That, friends and neighbors, is why I think I find myself feeling so much more compassion towards Hordak than I do towards the Princesses, despite his less-enticing place on the moral spectrum. Hordak is in pain. Consistently, meaningfully. He suffers, and the story takes it with every ounce of seriousness it can muster.

The Princesses, on the other hand, either experience little hurt or, when they do suffer, do so briefly before the narrative shoves it aside in favor of Catradora other things. As a result, they fail to make the same impression. They fail to garner my compassion because, in the end, they just don’t seem to really need it.

Whereas Hordak does.

[damienthepious]

lalalala cuddles!!!

slowly a sunlit dream

[ao3]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla, Lord Arum/Rilla

Characters: Rilla, Lord Arum

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Established Relationship, Mild Hurt/Comfort, (like... INCREDIBLY mild), Cuddling & Snuggling, Hugs, Communication, (we love to see it!!!!), Sleepy Cuddles

Summary: It isn't always easy, asking to be held.

Notes: @skunkoon​ did this to me with Art. they draw good good Arum and good good Hugs. i'm still weepy about it!!! also sometimes the person in the throuple most likely to comfort everyone else is the one who needs a bit of comfort. hell yeah. Title from the song Sunkissed, by khai dreams!

~

"Arum?"

Arum startles, just enough that Rilla can catch the edge of it, his frill fluttering at his neck as the muscles in his arms tense, and then his frame and his expression both soften as he recognizes her in the doorway.

"Amaryllis," he greets, his voice steady though she can still see the surprise in his expression. "I thought you and Damien were long asleep, by now." He pauses. "I did not manage to wake you, somehow, did I?"

Rilla shakes her head, hazarding a few steps into his workshop. "No, nothing like that."

"So," he says slowly, "you are wandering the Keep in the middle of the night... why, precisely?"

Rilla scowls at that, though a little bubble of affection pops behind her ribs at his dry, lazy tone.

"Not wandering," she protests, stepping close enough that she can lean against the worktable next to Arum. "If I wanted to wander I would have gone down to the greenhouse. Plenty of space down there."

"So what are you doing, then?" he drawls, projecting patience over his obvious curiosity.

Rilla opens her mouth to answer, but-

It's a little embarrassing, isn't it? Or- she wouldn't be embarrassed if this were Damien, but- Arum doesn't always understand, instinctively-

His brow slowly climbs as she fails to answer, and Rilla isn't as good with words as Damien is, so she just-

She tips her body sideways into Arum's, knocking her forehead into his shoulder with a sigh, and Arum startles with a small whirring exhale at the contact.

His scales are cool and textured, soothing against her skin, and she sighs again as she nuzzles her brow into his shoulder.

"Ah- Amaryllis? Are you-"

"It's- stupid," she mutters. "This is stupid, I just- I didn't want to wake Damien, and-"

"What- Amaryllis. Clearly something is wrong, and I refuse to believe that it is stupid. Now, are you going to tell me, or do you expect me to guess?" He raises an eyebrow as she scowls, and then he tilts his head. "It is enough unlike you to hesitate that I cannot imagine that I would ever be able to pluck the correct answer from the air."

Rilla swallows, and then she lifts her head just enough to meet his eyes.

"Just... is it alright if I ask... will you just- hold me?"

Arum blinks, and then his brow furrows as his eyes flick between her own, checking- to see if she's joking, maybe. He turns, though, angling his body towards her, and he lifts a pair of hands hesitantly, his palms brushing her elbows on either side, skating up her biceps.

"Hold you?" he tries, sounding uncertain. "If- I suppose if you-"

Rilla shoves her face into his chest, folding her body against Arum's much larger frame, and the monster exhales a hiss of surprise. He stands perfectly still for a breath, and then he slips his hands further around her, one pair wrapping around her lower back, another hand curled around her shoulder, and the fourth he slips up the back of her neck, cupping her head with his claws careful in her hair.

"Amaryllis..."

Rilla squeezes her eyes more tightly closed, her forehead pressing against Arum's collarbone. "Just- is this okay?" she mumbles against his scales, and she feels Arum's breath catch as he scrapes his claws carefully up and down her back.

"Okay," he echoes, doing very little to hide how baffled he sounds. "Why- why would it not be? Are you- Amaryllis. Are you alright?"

"Just- tired," she says, and she knows she sounds unconvincing even as she speaks. "Just wanted- wanted this."

Pressed to his chest with all of his arms around her, Arum's body nearly envelops her, her head tucked beneath his chin, his scales smooth and gently warm against her cheek and her hands, his heart beating sturdy in her ear, his tail tickling at her ankle before it curls in a protective loop around her calves. His palm cradles the base of her skull, careful like he's holding blown glass, his other arm wraps sturdy and close around her shoulder, his lower hands lace fingers together over the small of her back, holding her, holding her-

She needed-

"Amaryllis," he says, even more quietly, and then he rocks his body just barely, almost imperceptibly, back and forth, swaying with her as if to some silent music. "If you are tired... should you not, perhaps, be sleeping?"

"Couldn't," she mumbles, and then she shakes her head against his chest. "Sorry. I wouldn't... I wouldn't bother you with this if-"

"You are not bothering me, Amaryllis," Arum insists, the arms around her lower back squeezing tighter. "I- I would be lying if I said that I understand precisely what... why you would- would seek me out, but-"

"I like the way you hold me," she says, and Arum's body goes entirely still for half a heartbeat before he makes a small, helpless sort of noise above her and his frame softens. His grip does not tighten, then, but he seems to ease into the embrace, softening around her like a cat settling to rest.

"How convenient for me, then," he rasps, his voice even rougher than normal as he whispers above her head. "Considering that I very, very much enjoy holding you."

He sways lightly, silent for a long moment as she just- presses against his chest, secure and sheltered, trying not to feel like she's imposing, because-

"M'not really good at this part," she admits, eventually, her lips brushing his scales and her eyes still closed, and Arum hums lightly, his throat rumbling against the top of her head.

"Experience suggests that you are quite good at nearly everything you try, Amaryllis," he says mildly, and after she breathes a dubious laugh he continues, "but... you believe you are not good at what, precisely?"

She swallows, blinking, too close to Arum for her eyes to really focus on the glossy green in front of her, and the next words... don't really come. She jerks her shoulder very slightly after a moment, the weakest of shrugs, and Arum hums again.

"Amaryllis... forgive me for asking... this is not..." he pauses, massages his thumbs gently into her lower back, and then he huffs and tries again. "This is not due to something that I have unknowingly done wrong in our-"

"No," she says, quick and firm. "No, this isn't- I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be obnoxious, I know you're still new at this-" he growls at that, automatic and entirely without heat, "and I'm not trying to make things harder. It's just- bad day, I guess. Bunch of difficult patients, and then Damien was so exhausted when he got home and then- I couldn't sleep but I didn't want to bother the Keep to bring me back to the hut to at least get some work done, especially because I knew Damien would be- be sad at me if I didn't at least try to sleep, and I just- I just wanted- but I didn't want to wake him up, and I thought- if you were still awake, maybe..."

Arum gives a low, rattling hiss above her head. Not shushing her, she doesn't think, just- a rhythmic soothing sound that she can feel in his chest as he sways with her.

"I..." he hesitates for a moment. "That sounds... difficult," he says, stiff and uncertain, but genuine. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well." She nuzzles her face into his chest, squeezing her eyes closed again. "You're making it better."

"Am I?" he akss, skeptical, and then he hisses again when Rilla places a kiss over his heart. "Amaryllis-"

"I'm not good at at being the one who needs- who asks for- for- for help or comfort or whatever," she mutters, rushing through the last few words, as if maybe that might keep Arum from noticing them.

He makes a noise, tilting his head enough that he can press his snout into her hair, a nuzzling sort of kiss.

"That- well, I should hardly think that-"

He pauses for a long moment, just... holding her, swaying, drawing his fingertips in soothing patterns across her skin, holding her.

"I... I love you," he whispers eventually, precious like a secret. "I want to be... I want to hold you. I want you to... to come to me, when you wish to be held. I'm- I am glad that you did, that you feel that you can. It is an honor, to be trusted so. One that I hardly deserve, I think."

Rilla scowls, poking Arum in the ribs, and the lizard gusts a startled laugh.

"I know that I am... unpracticed," he continues, his voice a little less heavy. "But certainly you know that I... you know how dearly I wish for you to be... happy. Content, and held, and..."

"Love you too," she says, and then she kisses the scales over his heart again.

Arum exhales, a pleased rumble, and then he tightens his grip, squeezing her in his arms.

"Are you... do you feel... better, then?" he asks, after a long moment.

Rilla nods against his chest, sighing. "Felt better as soon as you started hugging me," she mumbles.

"Hm, how curious," he says, the warmth in his tone belying the false dryness of his words. "So did I."

She laughs, light and breathy, and then she sighs and leans back enough that she can properly meet Arum's eyes again. "Alright, okay. I think I've bothered you long enough."

"Inaccurate," the monster grumbles, his tail squeezing at her ankle. "If anything... well, loathe as I am to admit it, I should have given up on the evening and joined you both in bed quite a while ago, anyway. You've given me a firm and well-needed nudge in that direction."

Rilla smiles. "Ooh, a rarity! The monster admits his limits-"

"A flaw we share, little doctor," he growls, and Rilla grins and pats her hands on his chest in a placating gesture. "Now..."

He shifts slightly, but then he pauses.

"Hm?"

"Ah," Arum murmurs, and then the arm curled around her upper back shifts, his palm caressing her shoulder as he slips subtly closer towards her again. "I believe I've discovered an obstacle."

Rilla blinks, then tries to angle her head so she can look up at his face a little better. There's an edge of playfulness in his eyes, familiar and just as comforting as his touch. "Wh... what. What is it?"

"I believe that you may have, unfortunately, entirely destroyed your likelihood of returning to bed, Amaryllis."

"Oh?" Rilla raises a skeptical eyebrow, trying to level Arum with as much of an unimpressed look as she can manage.

"You asked me to hold you," he purrs, two palms flexing against her back as he slips his other hand from her hair to caress her cheek. "I am afraid, Amaryllis, that I will be rather hard pressed to let you go anytime soon. I think we may be stuck."

Rilla laughs, leaning up at the gentle request of his fingertips, pressing a humming kiss to his smirking lips.

"Alright. An obstacle, admittedly, but one that I think we can work through. I'm fairly certain that we can get to bed without you needing to let me go. Don't you think?"

Arum laughs against her lips, then kisses her again. "An excellent point, my brilliant little doctor," he says, and Arum lifts her into his arms, easy and safe and warm.

[lectophile]

I Love Nesta Archeron

SPOILER ALERT for Sarah J. Mass's A Court of Thorns and Roses Trilogy.

With the newly-released title and release date of Sarah J. Mass's Nessian spin-off, A Court of Silver Flames, I have noticed that the YA fantasy community, or at least a good enough portion of it, has begun to become very vocal about its lack of fondness for Nesta and their displeasure at her being matched with Cassian, who they believe "deserves so much better". As the self-proclaimed number one fan of Nesta, I have an urge, that will not go unrequited, to dispel the idea that Nesta is a terrible person.

I have to admit, when I first read the series, I disliked Nesta, Elain, and their father an unfathomable amount. I relished in the idea that somewhere, later on in the series, they would each be served a mouthful of the crap they deserved. I would say, in terms of relativity, Nesta was highest on my dislike meter, Elain next, and then their father. Elain having bought Feyre the small tins of paint and Feyre's father telling her to never come back and live out her dreams were small redemptions in their favor. I admired Nesta's protectiveness over Elain, but disdained her for so easily having forgone attempting to protect Feyre, because, after all, she was the youngest.

After having read the series three times, and having deliciously bathed in gallons worth of putting-Nesta-and-occassionally-Elain-in-their-place, compliments of our wonderful, and even more scrumptious, winged friends: Rhys and Cass, I have come to the new conclusion about our dear Nesta. As the oldest, Nesta was able to receive the most education out of all three of the Archeron sisters. She learned valuable skills for women in society, making her a suitable match for eligible bachelors—but that was worthless when their family became poor. Nesta had no skills in surviving in a world where you had to fend for yourself. All she knew was which fork to use with salad and how to greet gentlemen. Feyre, on the other hand, had not even learned to read and write, making it easier for her to adapt to their new situation and assume the role of interim head of household while the rest of the remaining Archeron family pondered on a life Feyre had never had the chance to be a part of.

Nesta began resenting Feyre when Feyre successfully began taking care of their family. Nesta was being showed-up by a fourteen year old girl that couldn't even read, and all Nesta had succeeded at doing was mope around and wait to die. Nesta was ashamed of herself for this, blamed Feyre for her shame, and, in turn, wanted to make Feyre feel it as well—hence, abusing Feyre, I do not excuse it, but I don’t know when the book community decided to cancel characters for being terrible in the past and GROWING to become better people. Nesta also never looked after Feyre like you would hope an older sister would do for their younger sibling because Nesta didn't feel that Feyre needed taking care of. Feyre could hunt, make money, make food, and anything she set her mind to—she didn't need Nesta for anything. Nesta took this as a jab, feeling that if Feyre thought she was so good that she could do everything for herself, why should Nesta even lift a finger? Feyre was doing it all and seemingly handling it perfectly fine. Because of this, Nesta preferred Elain to Feyre; for one, Elain needed guidance and someone to follow, which appealed to Nesta's superiority complex; secondly, Nesta took care of Elain as she did because Elain gave her a purpose, to find someone for Elain to marry off to and care for her in the meanwhile.

Later on in the series, when Feyre shows up to their home as Fae and with part of the Inner Circle, Nesta feels a whirlwind of emotions, which makes her lock up even more than she always did. Nesta is scared of letting people see how weak and frail she is and how she has no real purpose in this world; and she is especially wary of letting Feyre see it because, even though she always resented Feyre, she liked that Feyre admired her for her steely exterior and unbendable will. For one, Nesta was shocked out of her mind because Feyre was Fae, something that all humans south of The Wall were taught to fear; Another thing Nesta felt with Feyre coming back into her and Elain's life was fear. Nesta feared that Feyre was going to disrupt everything Nesta had achieved while Feyre was gone: getting Elain engaged to Graysen. With Feyre gone and their father on his secret voyage, Nesta was finally the one in charge, the dependable one, the one protecting their family—even if that was only Elain—and Feyre was not only throwing off the balance, but threatening to destroy it altogether.

After having felt like we, the readers, had gone hand-in-hand with Feyre through everything, from the trials Under the Mountain to her neglect by Tamlin, we were angry and enraged that Nesta had the audacity to be so rude to Feyre, who had done absolutely nothing to Nesta all the months she was gone. For heaven's sake, Feyre hadn't even made contact with Nesta up until this moment. But, we have to understand, Nesta uses her anger to keep people out and prevent them from seeing how insurmountably weak and riddled with dark emotion she is. Feyre seems to have the world figured out: a mate, a close group of friends, wealth beyond imagination, and a beautiful home; and Nesta is upset that Feyre would want to take away the little her and Elain do have for, what she believes, is Fae business.

After having realized all of this, I loved Nesta with my whole heart—the most out of the whole Inner Circle, Az coming in close, close second. She reminded me of myself: flawed, jealous, wrathful, prideful, and resentful. Feyre seems to be some kind of unnatural super-being—ignoring the fact that she actually is for the sake of my argument—able to overcome everything in her way, making me want to be like her and making me resent the parts of myself that she overcame within herself. Nesta is Sarah J. Mass's way of letting us know, we can be powerful, strong, courageous women that surprise ourselves with our ability to do anything we set our minds to, as well as being flawed, broken, and distant. We do not have to be Elains: so kind that an other-worldly Cauldron gifts us power out of its sheer amazement at how lovely we are inside and out. We can be ferocious and take power for ourselves, just as Nesta had ripped power from the Cauldron with her teeth as repayment for making her and Elain undergo what they did. Nesta is devastatingly beautiful, graceful, collected, cool, intelligent, determined, curious, wrathful, prideful, resentful, and most of all, humiliated with herself for not being the strong person she wishes she could be. I love Nesta so, so much. I wish her all the luck and happiness in the world.

And, last but not least, something to remind everyone of. In A Court of Frost and Starlight, Nesta behaves outrageously—but this is her way of trying to cope, trying to get some sort of feeling back after having been turned Fae. Her transformation had occurred during the chaos of the battle to save humans from Hybern, and so there was no time for her to take for herself and understand what had been done to her. Once the adrenaline of battle and victory had faded, she was left with a hole within herself in a foreign body, leading an immortal life with an even more foreign power within her. Feyre also suffered from post-traumatic disorder, but in a different way—as all people go through trauma uniquely and individually. Nesta does not want to admit how broken, how weak, how confused she is, and all the Inner Circle wants to do is what they think will make her happy—but they don't get that she can't even feel. Personally, I find that everyone, except for Cass and Az, seems to have their own opinion of her behavior without really trying to understand why it's happening—especially Feyre. I think Feyre has always felt responsible for the well-being of her sisters, and so she does this the most. She has never truly understood Nesta, why she’s so closed off, why she’s so distant, and it hurts her as well, because Nesta is the only sort of mother figure—a strange one I know, but she was the oldest, wisest woman in her life for a long time—Feyre had, as their mother was basically absent and then died. Feyre is also young, so we have to understand that she does not truly understand how trauma can be different for each person, and so she tries to solve this by assuming that Nesta’s trauma may be similar in some way to that of what she went through in Under-the-Mountain. Feyre isn’t doing anything wrong, it’s just a younger sister trying to make her older sister as happy as she is—think Anna with Elsa. Also, Feyre is confused because she would have thought that the beauty and power of the Fae realm would have made Nesta feel better about being Changed, but, as I will dive more in depth below, the circumstances surrounding their views on being Fae are completely different, and frankly opposite for Feyre and Elain/Nesta. Feyre’s seeming misunderstanding and attempts at helping Nesta infuriate Nesta because she feels like some broken doll her sister wants to sew up new so that she can look pretty for the rest of them.

I also want to add that being Fae means completely different things for each of the Archeron sisters. Feyre loves being Fae, and I think it’s because she has associated it with the insurmountable happiness that has been brought into her life after she had Changed: she found Rhys, became strong enough to defend herself and anyone she cared about, was able to paint whenever, whatever, and however she wanted, found a family that truly supported her and loved her and required nothing of her, and was finally able to dream of a future that was only for her, not for her sisters or father. Elain hates being Fae, or at least hated it at first but seems to be adapting to it, because it took away the future she had always dreamed of. While Feyre never really had the chance to dream of anything for herself, Elain did—because, she’s sweet and I also love her, she really didn’t lift a finger until she shoved Az’s knife into the King of Hybern’s neck. Elain was raised in a society where domesticity are the best characteristics of a woman, and it is what she should strive for. She strived to be a loving wife, with a beautiful home to decorate, to have parties and socialize with everyone, and to be the sweet angel her husband came to after a long day’s work. She had that, and being Fae took that away because her fiancé hates the Fae. The man she thought would love her no matter what she was or looked like, hated her. I mean, if that happened to any of us, we’d all have been destroyed from within: she trusted this man with her heart, she trusted that he would always love and care for her—and for her to trust men was difficult because she had trusted her father to always look after her, but he failed her—and then he said he hated her for the abomination she was, for something she couldn’t control. Being Fae took away Elain’s dreams, and so it is not all the pretty, supernatural stuff that we, the readers, would love to be a part of—because, remember that the series was written in first-person from Feyre’s point of view, so obviously we’ll have some bias towards being Fae and her beliefs. Nesta hates being Fae. Nesta demands control over her life, she demands being the one in charge of it. If she’s gonna die, it’ll be because she said so; if she’s gonna eat, it’s because she said so. She will not let anyone or anything control who she is or how she lives her life, and then she was forced to be immortal. Imagine, feeling so lost, so insurmountably despairing, in an immortal body. While she was mortal she could at least wait for death to take her away from the tortures of being poor, cold, starving, and out of control, at least death was something she had decided on accepting, not forced upon her—but as a Fae, she would have to wait hundreds to even thousands of years for merciful death to take her away from all these feelings, emotions, and general environments that she has absolutely no control of and feels she could never truly be a part of. I have not ever been depressed or suffered from PTSD, but from what I have learned, I have heard that it feels like a never ending hole you fall into, where you are consumed by darkness and there is nothing else you can see, and anywhere you are within that hole, you are alone and no one can reach you. Imagine that, but feeling like you will feel that way for the rest of your immortal life.

Last, last thing: Nesta and Cassian are mates. If she had an instinct within her to call Cass from battle just in time to save him from the Cauldron; if her willingness to sacrifice her life so she could die with him because she could not live without him, didn't convince you of their status as mates, I *clap* do *clap* not *clap* know *clap* what *clap* will.

Anyways, thank you for reaching this point of my fanatic rant over Nesta.

[thirstystarkey]

BROKEN • JJ MAYBANK

Prompt: Y/N tries to run away from Outer Banks after feeling like no one cares about her and JJ stops her with a shocking confession.

A/N: no asked for this but the last couple of days have been a bit hard so i felt the urge to write my feelings out.

ONE thing Y/N had learn from a very young age was that no matter what the sun would still shine bright the next day no matter how ugly things got, it was like a play and everyone on earth played imperfect flawed characters which obligated the young woman to fake a smile every time people questioned how she was, but no one knew how she truly felt inside, no one was able to see through the fake laughs how much pain she held within her soul. Y/N felt like a side character in her own life, of course she had friends but they had their own lifes and struggles. She didn’t want to be the sad friend nor she wanted a pity party for her broken heart. So she faked and faked until there was nothing but warm smiles.

Outer Banks started to feel like an ugly prison to Y/N, she felt suffocated in her own home haunted by mean thoughts about her who led her into bad habits, like if she didn’t eat maybe she would finally disappear into thin air. The anxiety unbearable to withstand, the pain in her chest stinging like a broken bone or a gun shot.

Eventually Y/N kept her distance from everyone, even her friends who were too busy chasing the lost gold. That’s when she got the sad realization of how alone she truly was, no messages no calls and no invitations besides JJ’s strunbon attempts in getting her out of her room. It got to a point where if she didn’t made the smallest effort no one came to her, so she spend her days alone. Sometimes roaming in the sand sometimes crying alone in her room while her parents fought. Y/N felt trapped in her own life, like she was watching from above.

She had hit the point of no return, that’s when she decided to pack a small backpack with some clothes and her money with the mission to leave Outer Banks and her life behind, to finally break free from her chains. Her eyes full with tears during the whole process.

Her heart was tired from suffering, she felt like truly no one cared and the ugly truth about broken hearts is that no matter how she tried to fit the pieces back together they would never fit like they once did. Y/N accepted that but still she couldn’t help herself but to wish someone came to stop her, to hug her tightly, she missed it so much. Deep down that someone she wished was JJ.

The sun began to set once she arrived to the train station, the calm melody of Dream a Little Dream of Me filled her ears with nostalgia of moments that never happen, like memories from a past life, stil it warmed her a little more than her coat.

Time seemed to pass slower and slower in the empty station, so she grabbed her journal to write something, trying to distract her mind for a couple of minutes until it was time to leave for good.

“Today my forest is dark. The trees are sad, the birds don’t sing or fly and all the butterflies have broken wings yet here I stan with a shatter invisible heart that no one sees.”

Rising up from her seat she stood on her weak knees, slowly walking to the upcoming train, backpack on her back where she carried all her past to her new beginning not sure if she wanted to in the first place. That’s when she felt it. A slight yet warm tug on her wrist pulled Y/N back making her turn to see who was, surprised to see JJ stand in front of her eyes with a tiny shin of sweat in his forehead and rosy cheeks, his mouth apart out of breath and tears threatening to fall from his ocean eyes.

“Don’t go, please Y/N, don’t go.” JJ begged walking backwards with her.

“What are you doing here JJ?” She asked.

“I came to look for you, I looked everywhere, I ran here once I realized you were no where to be found.” He explained.

“I’m going JJ.” Y/N voice came shaky and unsure.

“You can’t...” He blabbed. “You can’t leave.” He said sure. “You can’t leave me Y/N.”

“It’s not like you care JJ, you’ll be perfectly fine without me once you find the gold and move to Yucatán.” Y/N tried to sound confident but she was far from meaning the words that came out of her mouth.

“That’s a lie.” JJ laughed briefly. “I don’t give a fuck about the gold if you aren’t there.” He admited for the first time making her mouth fall. “I can’t do this without you Y/N.” JJ stepped closer to her. “So please don’t you.” He grabbed her shaky hands. “Or at least don’t go without me.” He added.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean JJ, words can be dangerous.” Y/N warned looking straight into his eyes.

“I mean every single word I said.” JJ stated. “If you step a foot in that train I’m going after you.”

“You can’t.” Y/N said breaking the eye contact.

“I don’t even care where we are going, but you won’t go alone.” He laughed. “Where will this ticket take you young lady?” JJ asked pointing to Y/N’s ticket.

“I have no idea, I asked for the further possible.” Y/N laughed softly looking down.

JJ got interrupted by the loud noise of the train and all the rushing people trying to get a seat by the window. Y/N wiped her tears quickly and once a again she tried to leave, even if the destiny offered her what she wanted. Someone to come to her.

“Y/N!” JJ screamed at the top of his lungs. “I’m not fucking joking, don’t go.” He said feeling his throat burn and Y/N turned once again to him.

“Why do you care all of a sudden?” She screamed back crying.

“Fuck this.” He said pushing her to him, making her backpack fall in the ground. His arms wrapped around her like a safety blanket, creating a aura of protection around her. “I’ve always cared Y/N.” He whispered feeling his eyes water. “I care because I love you and you can’t leave me here alone without you, I’ll go whatever place you go because I fucking love you.” JJ finally broke down the courage to admit his feelings.

Y/N was left without words, it felt like her voice was long gone and the only thing she could do was to hang tightly to JJ’s torso crying out in his shoulder.

“JJ.” Y/N whispered after a few minutes. The train long gone and all the people who came to catch it leaving the pair alone. “I love you too.” She said softly in a sweet voice, it felt like a song to him.

[kyrievali]

I've been reading your posts and in one of them you mentioned that Iroh in fact is very shady and Azula has every right to hate him, may you explain why?

Sure, I’ll go into it. 

Let me start off by saying that I actually really like Iroh as a character. I think he’s great and well-written. I think the fandom tends to gloss over his flaws and label him as “perfect”, which is not true. One of his greatest failings (aside from making two teenage siblings fight each other for the throne...or really not intervening at all where Ozai is concerned) is his treatment of Azula, and him saying “No, she’s crazy and needs to go down” and essentially writing her off when, if you compare Azula’s personality with Season 1 Zuko, they’re really not all that different. Azula, people tend to forget, is a 14 year old girl who was as much a subject of abuse as her brother. Zuko and Azula were essentially pitted against one another to both gain Ozai’s affection and, more importantly, avoid punishment. The only difference is that she was rewarded and praised by Ozai for her power and cruelty, while Zuko was punished for his “shortcomings”. Zuko’s entire storyline proved how important it is to have a good, guiding parental figure in one’s life, and it’s tragic that Azula didn’t have that.

Now, let’s talk about why Azula probably hated her Uncle.

1. She thinks he’s a failure and, worse than that, weak

And I don’t mean weakness in terms of his firebending skills. Let me explain - Fire Nation citizens are ingrained with Nationalistic pride and complete loyalty to the Fire Lord from a very young age. Iroh, once upon a time, was the heir to the Fire Nation’s throne and the favored son of the notoriously cruel Azulon. He laid a 600 day siege against Ba Sing Se during which his son, Lu Ten, was killed. This tragic event caused him to withdraw his troops, despite having breached the outer wall.   

Upon his return home, his father dies under mysterious circumstances and decrees that Ozai will be the heir to the throne. Instead of contesting it, Iroh leaves the Fire Nation and ostensibly spends his time traveling the world, meeting with the Dragons, and getting in tune with the Spirit World. Doing so gives him the knowledge and wisdom to see the error of his ways, at which point he returns to the Fire Nation and serves as a General in the army. 

Let’s look at this from the perspective of Azula, or really any other citizen of the Fire Nation. Their country waged a nearly 2-year long siege against the Earth Kingdom - and right when they make progress by breaking through the first wall, the Crown Prince gives up because his son died. Countless Fire Nation lives and resources were spent on this 600 day campaign, and they end up with nothing to show for it. If you look at the philosophy of Sozin, Azulon, and Ozai, they likely would have used the death of Lu Ten to galvanize the troops and double their efforts, in an attempt to exact revenge against the Earth Kingdom for daring to spill royal blood - and so that their sacrifices thus far would not have been in vain.

And then, not only does Iroh withdraw from Ba Sing Se, he also abandons his duties and his country completely. Iroh had a reputation as a fearsome Firebender and cunning strategist - and he just leaves. So now not only is he a failure, but he’s also a deserter, one who abandons his nation while it’s reeling from a humiliating defeat and the loss of its Sovereign, Azulon (who, by the way, ruled for about 80 years).

In Azula’s eyes, all of this amounts to weakness, and as we all know from how she was raised by Ozai, weakness is unacceptable. 

2. She is parroting her father’s feelings of resentment

Given that Azula was the favored child of Ozai, it’s likely that she idolized her father and thought he was superior to her uncle, the Crown Prince (for the first few years of her life, at least, Iroh WAS the Crown Prince) and should have been the true heir to Azulon. We don’t see a whole lot of Ozai or his backstory/characterization, but it’s not unreasonable to assume that he, being many years younger than Iroh (it’s never officially stated, but Ozai is around 45 at the time of the show and Iroh appears to be in his late 60’s/early 70’s) had an inferiority complex growing up, and probably some form of sibling rivalry. After all, Iroh is already an adult by the time Ozai is born, and the Crown Prince, who has been groomed from birth to be Azulon’s heir. Ozai is an afterthought; an insurance policy, who at the very moment of Lu Ten’s birth, is outranked by an infant. 

Ozai probably resented Iroh his entire life, so it is not unlikely that Azula would probably feel the same way. 

3. He’s a traitor to the Fire Nation

Azula is a Nationalist and Ozai’s most loyal enforcer. Iroh’s a traitor, and as far as she knows, a corrupting influence to her brother, Zuko. She also probably thinks that he’s committing treason because (she doesn’t know any better) Iroh wants to be the rightful Fire Lord, and she is not going to stand for that. 

4. He reminds her of her mother

Azula is used to being the golden child - a prodigious Firebender, the favored daughter of her father, representative of everything the model Fire Nation child should be. And yet, her own mother does not appear to love her. Her Uncle has stated distaste for her. She thinks she’s doing everything right - because according to Sozin and Ozai’s philosophies and the emphasis of power and loyalty to the Fire Nation - she is; so why do two of her own family members prefer Zuko, the “screw-up” of the family - to her? 

It’s clear that Azula craves the love and adoration of others, but she doesn’t really understand it. I think as she grew older and saw more of the world and how people behaved toward her, she understood on some level that she was considered a “monster” and that people were afraid of her; but that’s how she was raised. Fear was power, and power was everything. And growing up, she was only ever positively reinforced for her ruthlessness and cunning by her father (of whom she is very much afraid, by the way...that is made perfectly clear in her attempts to bring Zuko home and also give him credit for allegedly killing the Avatar. Part of it is actually probably due to some level of affection she has for him, but part of it is definitely motivated by having someone else take the heat off of her in an abusive household) and she witnessed firsthand how perceived weakness was punished - so she did everything she could to achieve the ideal of perfection that Ozai, Azulon, and Sozin had proliferated. So she probably never really understood why her own mother and Iroh didn’t like her. And the fact that they both seemed to prefer Zuko, who she’s been taught to think she’s better than, would only further that resentment.

She thinks she can earn people’s affection by being a perfect Fire Nation soldier, because that’s what works with her father - and when it doesn’t work with Ursa or Iroh, two important adult family figures in her life - she doesn’t understand why and, even worse than that, it makes her feel inferior to Zuko. 

5. My final point is purely speculative, but...He didn’t do anything to directly stop Ozai’s rise to power

In the years after the war, after recovering from her mental break and maybe rehabilitating to become an advisor to Zuko (let’s be totally honest, a Nation whose entire economy for the past 100 years has been built on war and imperialization is not going to have an easy transition into peace, especially when they are expected to give up their colonies and play nice with an equally corrupt government that was controlled by the Secret Police force which has no qualms about brainwashing its own citizens...also the new Fire Lord is a banished Prince who is the apprentice of the Disgraced Prince and who returned to defeat the pride of the Nation, Princess Azula, Ozai’s Chosen Heir and the Conqueror of Ba Sing Se), Azula’s going to be pretty pissed that her supposedly wise and worldly uncle did not intervene in her megalomaniacal and abusive father’s rise to power. 

If my uncle, who never liked me, lost countless Fire Nation lives and resources in a battle that ended with him retreating, abandoned the Crown to go on a sightseeing tour of the world, returned and became a traitor to the nation by foiling the Admiral’s conquest of the Northern Water Tribe resulting in the loss of more Fire Nation lives, escaped from you multiple times and went on to become a tourist and small business owner in an enemy nation, turned your brother against you, did nothing to stop his own brother whom he knew was deeply abusive even after he came back after gaining all this supposed wisdom, and THEN also left you alone with your abusive father while taking your inferior brother under his wing and helping him become an extremely powerful bender who eventually defeats you with the help of a Water Tribe peasant...yeah, I’d be pretty pissed at him, too. 

To be fair, she probably never would have willingly gone with them because they were basically just sent on a wild goose chase at that point...but he never even tried to help her.

Anyway, that’s why I think Azula hates Iroh and honestly, she has every right to hate him. He abandoned her Nation and wrote her off completely, so there’s no reason she wouldn’t do the same.

[colonel-insomniac]

Symphony

Hey geeks, this is my first time writing for miraculous ladybug, but i think this is a good debut piece. This was written to the song “I Hear a Symphony” by Cody Fry, so do with that what you will. Anyways, this is dedicated to @pawsomelybuggy. Onwards friends.

TW: CHARACTER ILLNESS AND TERMINAL ILLNESS

“I used to hear a simple song…”

Sure, Luka was considered a “villain,” but he felt it was a classic “right reason executed in the wrong way” sort of thing. He wasn’t a villain because he wanted the Earth to shatter and crumble. And if people knew how guilty he genuinely felt when he stole the snake miraculous behind Ladybug’s back, their opinion on him might change.

He shoved his hands in his pocket, head downcast as the grey sky above released its crystal drops. Luka scoffs, because why should the universe even be surprised at this point? He would assume that the universe was detached from all the second chancing he’s done as Viperion. He hates the black suit he’s currently wearing, and the uncomfortable pointy shoes he walks the streets of Paris in. But for Adrien Agreste, he would do anything. Basically almost has done everything. Nothing’s worked.

Adrien had been sick for a while. At first, no one was sure what was wrong, not even Adrien, who brushed it off as a cold. But things progressively got worse, to the point where he was consistently fatigued and weak. He became a shell of what was the model of good health, frail and bony. It all came to a head when he was at the Couffaine residence, practicing in Kitty Section, when tiny red spots covered his skin, bruises littering the spaces in between. No one should be able to bruise that much unless something severe was going on. Everyone had thought maybe Mr. Agreste had overstepped a boundary and gotten physical in some fit of rage, so no one was prepared for the verdict they got.

“Leukemia.” The doctor said. Instantly, Luka felt as though the air was knocked out of him, and would have fallen to his knees if it weren’t for Marinette and Alya standing on either side of him.

He had both wanted to see Adrien, and desperately wanted to turn around and run, jump in the Seine, hide in his room. Something so that he wouldn’t have to face the fact that Adrien had this terrible sickness. Luka had resurfaced to hear the grim news—Adrien hadn’t been diagnosed in time to stop it. The doctor’s said the most they could do would be to make what time he had left comfortable.

Then came the one time Gabriel Agreste has probably ever been kind to his child. He immediately abandoned his work to come to the hospital, his face still stone cold and blank as he threatened the hospital if they didn’t at least try to help Adrien.

He thinks back to when Adrien started losing his hair. He had been so upset that he wouldn’t let anyone in the room, had his bodyguard see to it that that stayed true. Luka still doesn’t understand how he’d managed to get in that day, but he remembers walking in quietly, seeing the side of Adrien’s head, his hair nearly gone. A look of desperation was etched on his face, with a mixture of hopelessness as he stared out the window.

“That was until you came along…”

He’d been mad at first, and Luka had felt guilty about disrespecting Adrien’s wishes. But he knew, more than anything, that being alone was worse than disobeying what the boy wanted. Luka had given him his first beanie that day, the first of many to come. He’d also given Adrien a rose, white with a black ribbon.

Long after the rose had wilted and been thrown out, Adrien had kept the black ribbon, and had it tied to his wrist like a bracelet. The gesture had made Luka’s heart skip a beat, and so he kept bringing Adrien roses, if only to bring a smile to the boy’s face.

Through this, no one had seen Chat Noir, which on a whole was not an issue, Hawkmoth hadn’t really created any new akumas. Mostly, they had seen the return of Mr. Pigeon, who was an easy person to best, someone Ladybug could defeat on her own. Chat had attempted to show up the first couple times, but upon seeing his pale tone and unatural sweat plastering his hair to his forehead, Ladybug had promptly told him to go home and rest. He’d had to be pushed off the scene, but after the third or fourth time, had stopped showing up. Ladybug had voiced her concern to Alya as the author of the Ladyblog, but no one had seen any trace of the cat themed superhero.

“Now in its place is something new, I hear it when I look at you…”

Luka numbly walked on, not paying attention to his surroundings. There was no point, in all honesty, not when he knew where he was heading. It played out this way dozens of times now, so he figures he can afford to be absorbed by his thoughts, at least until he reaches… he shakily inhales, unable to admit even to himself where he was headed. The rain fell faster, the universe seemingly weeping with him, mourning the loss of a soul that definitely did not deserve their allotted fate.

Luka was barely able to bite back sobs, his brisk pace halting to a complete stop as he hugged his sides. The world felt permanently grey, endless and hopeless.

Those last days with Adrien the first time were the worst. They were cast in a golden glow, the spark that had always lived in Adrien’s eyes had dimmed. He seemed tired, but scared. Luka stayed by him practically 24/7, the boy leaning into the warmth that Luka’s body provided. “I’m scared.” He whispered, and Luka bit his lip hard enough to bleed. What were you supposed to say to someone who’s dying? “It’ll all be okay, except that it won’t because you won’t be here?” Absolutely not, instead he opted for “I’m scared too.” Days later, and Adrien would succumb to the cancer, leaving Luka in what felt like a vacuum devoid of all happiness.

Much to Luka’s torment, the boy had passed while Luka was asleep, and assumingly was asleep as well. At least, that’s what Luka had convinced himself so he could find some sort of peace. He had woken up to a voice, pleading for Adrien to not be gone, but when he opened his eyes, he couldn’t see anyone. He’d soon find out that Adrien was Chat Noir, and it was Plagg who had been begging for Adrien.

“With simple songs, I wanted more, perfection is so quick to bore…”

Plagg had loved the boy dearly, it was evident in the way he didn’t want to part with the boy, and would have rather been buried with Adrien over getting a new holder, Luka, having been Viperion previously, knew exactly what Plagg was, and scooped him in his hands, gingerly slipping Adrien’s ring off as nurses rushed in to try and resuscitate Adrien. Soon, Luka found his way to the roof, and sat dangling his legs off the roof, silently crying and sharing the pain with possibly the only other being to understand what fully loving Adrien felt like.

That’s where he first had gotten the idea to go rogue and steal Sass to save Adrien. Plagg was quick to discourage the idea, but his hesitance was enough to push Luka in the opposite direction. Getting Sass was easier than he thought it’d be, and that was when he rewound time for the first time. He was back to holding Adrien, and quickly rewound again, to get to a couple days before. This is where he’d start again.

For the first hundred times, he quickly realized he was dancing on a thin line of morality. Attended Adrien’s funeral about a hundred times. Rewound time dozens more. Nothing changed besides Ladybug realizing the missing miraculous and declaring Viperion an enemy. People grew to hate him time and time again, and not once had he bothered to try and clear his name, he just took it. Over and over again, publicly fighting Ladybug at one point and barely hanging onto his sanity through the fight.

“You are my beautiful, by far, our flaws are who we really are…”

And now he walks again, failed again, Plagg and Sass peeking out of his breast pocket with sad eyes. By this time, he’d told Adrien several times that he was in love with him, kissed his cheek dozens of times, and just held the boy to comfort him many more times. Nothing ever changed and Luka was getting to a point in his frustration where he wanted to throw something, and being a generally mellow person, that was saying something.

Getting lightheaded at the thought of being in that field again, he sat down, putting his head in his hands and trying to regulate his breathing. Luka glanced at his wrist, at the snake miraculous ready to pull him back again whenever he decides to. Normally, he’d rather stand and get through this feeling, but he simply just does not care anymore. If it’s going to rain on him let it rain. The only thing that matters anymore is saving Adrien. And that’s all he can think of doing anymore.

He can’t make it to the funeral, he knows that now. He might have forced himself through the torture of it several times before, but it’s worn him down. Luka looks down at the kwamis, mutters a monotonous “sorry,” and pulls the bracelet.

“I used to hear a simple song, that was until you came along…”

The feeling of light ripping through his body is impossible to get used to, but he soon opens his eyes to find himself in the middle of a hospital courtyard dappled in sunlight falling through the trees. Adrien sits beside him, had begged Luka to let him sit in the grass and not the wheelchair, so now the both sit in the grass. The blonde haired boy leans against the tree behind him, eyes closed and a peaceful smile gracing his face. It brought Luka a hollow joy to see his love smile, if only for a little.

“Luka.” Adrien cracks open an eye, a hint of a mischievous glint residing in them. He patiently waits for Luka to muster the courage to respond. When he does, Adrien swiftly pulls two blades of grass to his lips and blows, creating a piercing whistle. Luka jumps, startled, but mulls over the resonating melody that it creates in the world. Perfectly descriptive of Adrien as always, and that never ceases to baffle Luka.

Adrien laughs, the sound pulling a smile from Luka. Later, he gets scolded for giving into Adriens pleas to sit in the grass. “What harm can it do,” he snaps. “He’s dying and we all know it. Why shouldn’t he be able to enjoy what little time he has left.” That gets the nurse to stop and nod. Maybe it’s just the tears in Luka’s eyes coupled with the desperation and sorrow in his voice.

Adrien holds Luka’s hand in his after the blue haired boy convinces Adrien to eat some food. Luka has some bright green nail polish on the bed tray per request of Adrien, who had conveyed to Luka he at least wanted to be rebellious in his dying moments a couple days prior. Luka had withdrawn after, much to Adrien’s displeasure, and had then found how affected Luka was from all this. Breaking out of his trance, Luka feels the weight of Adrien’s head on his shoulder, and Luka turns to press his cheek against his head.

Luka stares at the bottle of green polish before raising his knee to put Adrien’s hand on it. “Hold still so I don’t mess up,” he warns Adrien, but has a feeling the other boy will do something to mess him up anyways.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Adrien responds, just minutes before he jerks his hand, resulting in a bright green streak across his hand.

“You took my broken melody, and now, I hear a symphony…”

Days later, and the outcome doesn’t change. Luka resets time again.

Adrien cups Luka’s cheek in his hand, his cool palm causing a stir in Luka, who subconsciously leaned into the embrace. “You look tired, dear.” Adrien mumbled. Luka squeezed his eyes tight so Adrien wouldn’t have to see him cry.

With a shaky inhale, Luka leaned down, resting his head against Adrien’s shoulder. ‘I’m so tired. Please, stay with me this time.” He pleads, knowing it’s not up to Adrien to decide.

“I promise I won’t.” Adrien whispers, wrapping his arms around Luka.

Many times later, and the doctors finally find a viable solution.

“And now, I hear a symphony.”

[anjanettexcordonia]

Ties That Bind

**Trigger Warnings** 

DARK DARK DARK 

-NSFW/Mental Health/Violence/Rape Minimal fluff if any at all tbh. 

***If you are sensitive to any of these please do not read. 

Pairing: Liam x MC, Liam x Riley, Drake x Olivia 

Word Count: 4,189 (I know its forever long but its worth it in my biased opinion) 

This is my first time writing any kind of fiction. I was inspired by all of you amazing writers! I received positive feedback on this chapter so I’m hoping you all like it too! Its very dark and very very twisted. I can not emphasize it enough. 

**READ WITH CAUTION**

Excuse any grammatical errors or misspellings. 

This will be a six part series. I do not have a timeline for when I will post. (I’m a mom & work full time) 

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Pixelberry.

“Riley it’s time to go, My Queen.” Liam yells from the first floor of their quarters. “Drake & Olivia are already almost to Lythikos with our children and we are still at the palace! Let’s goooooo my love!”

Riley & Liam were preparing to head to their Valtorian Estate for a night before heading to the United States for a week long excursion at their Biltmore Estate in North Carolina. The Biltmore was their American private residence. Left to her after the death of her mother. They went twice a year just the two of them. Their children had never stepped foot on the property. Much less America. Riley hated America. She used the country only to satiate her needs. Her father and sister never visited the Biltmore Estate. Her father primarily lived in his penthouse in New York. Her sister never left their childhood home in the Hamptons. The Biltmore was hers to do with as she pleased. 

Riley and Liam make their way down to a blacked out Cadillac Escalade waiting for them in the Royal private exit of the garage. 

“Liam, let’s call Drake & Olivia one more time before we get to Valtoria. You know after tonight we won’t be communicating with anyone for a full week.” Riley winked at Liam. 

My God this woman is my everything. How did I survive without her? Liam thought. 

Liam pulls out his iPhone and scrolls to Olivia's name and hits call. 

“Yes your majesty,” Olivia purrs into the phone.

 “Hello Liv, just checking on the kids. You and Drake know Riley and I will be incognito for a week. Remember if it’s an emergency reach out to Hana and Maxwell. Do not contact us unless it’s literally life or death.” Drake yells through the phone, “Li we do this twice year every year since the first little squirt you two brought home. We got this. By the way what exactly do you guys do in America that you’ve never told us?” 

“This trio is a joy. They are perfectly fine. Uncle Max is on his way with Auntie Hana. This should be a Mary Poppins nightmare.” Olivia chuckled.

“It’s just our special time. Not as King and Queen of Cordonia but as husband and wife. That’s all.” Riley replies. Liam squeezing Riley’s thigh at her smirk, knowing full well that wasn’t exactly true. 

“Tell our babies we love them, and take care of and protect them while we’re gone. Don’t let Max feed them too much sugar. They will never sleep!”

Always,” Drake softly spoke, “Uncle Drake and Aunt Livvy are going to show them how fun we really are!” Ellie squeals in the background at her Uncle. 

Liam & Riley end the call with a sigh of relief. This trip was going to be catalyst. They both knew they were coming back to Cordonia forever changed. 

Three hours later Valtoria came into view. The sun was beginning to set over the cascading waterfall behind the large castle. Riley and Liam had been catching up on last minute emails before they arrived. They had an understanding between each other that during their two weeks a year no work was allowed. No cellphones other than 1 for emergencies only. No laptops no tablets of any sort. They completely unplug. 

Bastien stopped the suv in front of the large estate. Liam hopped out running around to hold the car door open for his wife. HIS Queen. 

Gladys met them outside the door. 

“Your majesties” Gladys dipped into a low curtsy. 

“Hello Gladys” Liam replied. Is everything ready for our stay tonight and departure in the morning?” 

“It is.” Is there anything else Your Majesty requests?” 

“No thank you Gladys.”  

As they walk towards the entrance of the large French Gothic style castle, Liam scoops Riley into his arms bridal style and walks her across the threshold. 

“Good night everyone. Gladys have our usual chicken tangine, apple butter bread, balava & chocolate cake left in the kitchen. Everyone is excused for the rest of the night.”

Gladys nodded her head at her King’s command and curtsied as he walked up the grand staircase. 

“Thank you, Gladys!” Riley yelled down at her. 

Gladys and Bastien both knew what that meant. Get out now. Do not come back until sunrise under any circumstances. Gladys and Bastien were the only two who knew. And also who knew why. 

Liam carried his bride to their suite. Their bedroom at Valtoria was protected. They had it modified during their engagement. No one was allowed entrance. Gladys was the only person granted entrance for 2 hours to clean after each visit. And only under the watchful eye of the Queen herself. This belonged to them. They maintained this room. Not staff. Not like the palace. 

The entrance of the door was built almost as a panic room. A large heavy blast proof door protected the entrance. A Handprint scan of both the King and Queen were the only way of access to their master suite. That entire room was reinforced. It was safe. Nothing and no one was coming through to hurt them. If they ever needed protection, this is where they would bring their family. For now, it wasn’t for their family. It was a source of healing and triumph. It was terror and torture. It was love and pain. 

Most of the other service members believed they were simply paranoid. Ruling a country you had a right to be paranoid, is what they told themselves when they walked by the master suite. Some were curious about what was behind that heavy steel door. No one ever attempted to sneak peek. They knew better. No one could explain it, as the king and Queen were very kind and fair people, there was a vibe or an energy that everyone could feel from them. It was uncomfortable. Sometimes there was no emotion from either of them. Hollow blank stares & flat monotone voices. That rarely happened. And when it did, their week vacation was close. Whatever they did during those 2 weeks out of the year made them better each time. 

🍈

Liam flashes his million dollar smile down at his wife as they enter. His manhood already dancing in its confines. They enter their bedroom and swiftly close the door.  Their bedroom in Valtoria is for them. And them only. No one including their children are granted access. And for good reason. The master suite of Valtoria has a large four-poster bed. Above the bed hung a large medal bar suspended from the ceiling with leather arm straps. arm and ankle straps hung from each corner of the bed. The walls were adorned with shelves of Belts, gags, riding crops and rope. There were shelves of weapons large & small daggers and swords. 

The walls were a deep maroon. It was still exceptionally regal but with a darker contrast. This is not a place most people would be comfortable walking into. Most people except the King & Queen of Cordonia. 

Liam kicked the door shut with a force that made the door trim rattle. He tossed his Queen on to the bed, climbing on top of her. He pulled her full lips into his mouth and breathed her in. He could never get enough of her. How did he survive without her? Without her touch? Her voice? Her scent? He never needed anyone except her. Only her. Forever her. No one could calm him like she could. She was his safe house and his haven. He could do things with and to her no one else could understand. Her crystal blue eyes darkened into the depths of the ocean only for him. He knew her. He was her. They were one. Not only in marriage but spirit and soul. They were connected. 

Riley stared up at her husband taking in every perfect feature and every invisible flaw, only flaws she could see. Only flaws she could love. She understood him. She never had to ask why. She was never afraid. It was Game, Set, Match the first time she locked eyes with his deep dark painful eyes. She could sense him before she ever knew him. Her long honey blonde hair pooled around her head as she sank into his fiery kiss. He was the only man she ever willingly kissed. The only man she allowed to ever touch her body. He worshipped her. He was her breath. She couldn’t breathe without him filling her lungs. He filled the deepest parts of her. Parts only he knew existed. Parts that were created not born. Evil. In every sense of the word. 

Fourteen Year Old Riley. 

“Mother, why are you crying?” Riley watches her mother standing in her large walk-in closet pouring herself another drink. 

“Just go away Katherine Riley.” Ashley sighed. Riley could her the sadness in her voice. Usually her mother just ignored her. 

“Mother I..I.. I think it’s best we all stay at school for the summer this year.” 

“I SAID GO THE FUCK AWAY! WHAT DONT YOU UNDERSTAND ABOUT THAT?”

Riley felt the sting of tears in her eyes and she quickly turned to walk away. 

“Wait Katie” Ashley sighed. “It’s time we had a conversation. You're old enough now & after the things you’ve seen and heard throughout your life, it won’t come as much of a surprise to you, I believe.” Riley turned around. Eyeing her mother not sure what to make of this conversation. 

“Your father & I had what you would call an arranged marriage per se. People of our status in life, it’s not uncommon. We dated some. A short while I suppose. Coming from the families that we do it’s important to ensure that our wealth will always continue to grow, we married after a few months of dating.” Ashley took a long sip of her gin & tonic. “To our parents' delight. Not ours. Not mine.”

“Immediately after we married things changed. I was a virgin & I wasn’t ready yet. I wanted to love my husband first. He stole that from me in the most horrific of ways. And you were the product of that. When I look at you, that’s all I see. I see violence, blood and stolen innocence. Each of your siblings were the products of the same. Violent and brutal attacks. Each time left me broken. After the last assault he shattered my pelvis and ruptured my cervix. I can no longer bear children. That’s all each of you are to me. Your father is evil. An evil which you’ve never known. Next time he will kill me. I’m leaving tonight.” 

Riley stood stunned. Trying to wrap her mind around what this woman in front of her has told her. She couldn’t understand. She knew her father tortured her mother. She had her the screams and the slams at night. She saw the blood stained carpets and walls in the stairwell in their Hamptons beach house. She knew her father was evil. All too well. Ashely has no idea the hell her children had been going through. He tormented them as well. He would sneak into her room in the middle of the night when the screams finally ended and watch her. Her brothers never spoke of their trauma but she knew it was there. 

“Can we come with you Mother?”

“No.”

“Can you wait until after my birthday? It’s tomorrow Mother?” 

Riley wasn’t sure why that memory had flashed through her mind. She furrowed her brows in confusion. 

“What is it Riley?” 

“I was thinking of the night before he killed her. Random I guess.” Liam leaned down and kissed her forehead. 

“My King” Riley sighed, holding his forearms in her grasp. 

“Yes My Queen?” 

“Are we prepared for our return to the estate?” She asked, leaning into to bite his shoulder as he hovered over. 

“We are. Our gifts are already waiting for us. They were delivered this morning. They are being fed and groomed as we speak my love. I’m ready for our warm-up before the real work begins.” 

Riley’s stomach groaned. 

“I’m ready. We can eat when we’re finished.” 

🍋

Liam pulled Riley to her feet. He tugged her top above her head. He was thankful she wasn’t wearing a bra. He leaned down taking a taut pink nipple in his mouth, swirling his tounge until it was a hardened peak. He showed the same attention to the other nipple. Riley pulled Liams t-shirt over his head. She always worshipped her playground. She licked her way between each sculpted ab. Liam gripped her hair as she slid his sweatpants to the floor. She leaned on her knees engulfing his engorged length in her mouth while she swirled her tongue all the way down his shaft.  She slowly eased him out of her mouth and stood back up. 

“Fuck Riley” 

“I just needed to taste you my King.” 

Liam bit his bottom lip as he pulled her sweatpants down. Leaving her lacy black thong on her hips. 

They walked hand in hand to the large bathroom. The bathroom sleek and modern. Liam felt the warmth of the heated floors on his feet as he lifted his Queen into the tub. He grabbed a bottle of baby oil off the counter. He poured a generous amount into his hands and covered Riley’s body in oil. He gently lifted her from the tub carrying her back to the bedroom. He climbed the small steps on to the bed standing on the mattress. Riley lifted her arms into the arm straps suspended from the high ceiling. Baby oil kept her skin protected and also made it more of a challenge for them. 

Once she was firmly secured into the arm and ankle restraints with only the medal bar for her to grip onto, Liam stepped off the bed. 

“My Queen, what pray tell interests you tonight?” 

“Torture me Liam” 

“As you wish my Queen, safe word?” 

“Celeste My King” 

Liam smirked at her chosen safe word. Oh Celeste will know who her king is too when we’re finished with her. Won’t she my Queen? 

Liam grabbed a riding crop from the wall and smacked Riley hard across her bare ass. Thong still in place. Riley winced as she heard the crack of the crop against her slick skin. 

“Please my king” 

“Shut up, you don’t speak until I tell you to open your filthy mouth for me” 

Smack. Smack. Smack. 

Liam pulled a small dagger from the bedside table. The handle adorned with red rubies in the shape of W & K. King William Constantine Rhys & Queen Katherine Riley Vanderbilt Rhys. 

He ran the dagger along her torso up to her neck tracing old subtle scars. 

“Open your mouth baby” Liam whispered. 

Riley opened her mouth. She could feel her core pooling. Moisture threatening to drip down her thighs. 

Liam slid the dagger over her flattened tongue flipping it over in her mouth. He slid the dagger down her chin to her throat. He pressed the dagger more firm into her skin causing her blood to bubble to the surface. He sliced gently to her belly button. Riley wincing in pain but loving the feel of cold dagger dragging down her flesh. 

Liam knelt to his knees and clasped his mouth around her nub. Still holding the dagger against her thigh as he gripped her. He dragged the knife across her sex and sliced her underwear in two. 

Liam delved his fingers into her sex as hard as he could. He swirled his tongue around clit. Liam pumped and curled his fingers in out of her fast and hard. His rock hard length dripping precum. 

More Liam Don’t stop.” Riley screamed. 

Hearing Riley scream made Liam abruptly stop completely. Fingers still inside her, Liam pulled his head back to look up at her. 

“Did I tell you to speak?” 

Sliding his fingers out, Liam grabbed the crop and slapped it hard across her dripping pussy. 

“You speak when I say. Next time I won’t be as calm with you.” 

“Fuck you Liam” Riley screamed, Venom dripping from her lips. She was seething at his refusal of her release she so desperately needed. 

Riley covered in welts from the crop and dried blood across her torso, Liam unhooked each restraint. 

“What the fuck Liam? We aren’t finished playing.” 

Liam slapped her hard across the face with the crop. Riley’s head falling to her shoulder. Fire burned in Liams eyes as he watched the blood drip down the corner of her mouth. Riley reached for the dagger as Liam crashed his mouth onto hers. Riley could taste a mixture of copper and salt on his tongue. 

Riley dragged the dagger across Liams thigh drawing a bit of blood. She reached the hair on the nape of his neck and pulled hard. Liams neck snapped as she slid the dagger across his jugular. 

She dragged the dagger across his chest, ripping his chest open watching the blood drip down his chest to his abdomen. 

Liam has enough. He needed her now. He had everything he needed from her. He pulled her into his taking the dagger from her and throwing it on the floor. The slight scabs that had formed from the congealing blood on her sternum ripped open with friction of their bodies rubbing together. Liam slammed Riley into the bed. He grabbed her ankles and spread her as far as apart as he could before slamming his hard cock into her waiting center. 

Riley screamed in pain and satisfaction. Her manicured nails digging into back as deep as she could grasp him. 

“I’m not holding back My Queen.” 

Liam pumped into her hard and fast. He put one hand on her stomach pressing down, the other hand securing her leg as he continued to massage her walls. 

Riley ran her fingers across the dripping blood mixed with sweat. She slid her bloody fingers into her mouth eyeing Liam. 

Liam leaned his head down and licked the blood pooling between her breasts and crashed his lips into hers. He felt Riley’s wall fluttering knowing she was close. His cock tightened as she came underneath him. Liam wrapped his hand around her neck and squeezed as his thrust became frantic. Riley’s eyes were wide seeing the power and fire in his eyes. 

Riley tried to say Celeste. She couldn’t breathe. He was choking the life out of her without even realizing it. He was pumping hard concentrating on his thrusts as his cock disappeared in and out of her glistening walls. 

“I. can’t. let. go. Riley.” Liam spoke between breaths. 

Riley understood. He physically couldn’t let her go. Even if he did kill her. It wasn’t malice or hate. This was raw pure love. This is what he needed from her. From his wife. And this is what she needed. She needed him to bring her to the brink of life and pull her back at the same time. This was them. 

Liam found his release deep within her. He released her neck right as everything went black. Riley’s eyes fluttered open with a satisfied grin on her face. 

“I love you so much my Queen.”

“I love you Liam.“

They laid together on their white silk sheets breathless. Both of their minds running towards the following week. 

“We should get cleaned up my love. We’ve made quite the mess I suspect.” Liam whispered. 

They both slowly rose from the cloud like confines in a state of stupor.

They made sure to always have white sheets to see every drop they spilled from each other. They’re bodies marked from each other’s carnal pleasure. A release unlike any they’ve shared with anyone else. 

“My King you did well. Let’s leave the sheets for tonight.” 

“Very well my Queen. I’m not finished with you yet. We will have a week before our next release.”

The dawn crept through they’re tightly drawn curtains. Riley stretched reaching for her husband but found his side of the bed cold. Riley slowly rose from the bed. Still naked and marked from their endless night. Riley made her way to the shower to find Liam soaking in the tub. 

“Join me?” 

Riley slid in front of him feeling the sting from her open wounds that covered her body. 

“We have a long flight to states in an hour. Are you ready for this Riley?” 

“Liam It’s time. It’s time to take off our masks and savor the tastes of revenge. Of freedom.” 

“This is our last time. We need to take our time with them. Please don’t make it too quick like last time with Madeline.” 

“My king, I take offense.” Riley huffed. “I gave you the release you craved with Madeline. Her life was a sweet release for me.” 

An hour later the King and Queen bordered their private jet to American hand in hand. 

Biltmore Estate

“I can’t believe I’m doing this for these twisted fucks. Fucking monarchs just get to do whatever they want with whomever they want.” Anthony muttered to himself. 

Anthony was the groundskeeper. He took care of everything for his King and Queen during their stays. And they paid him handsomely. He primarily resided at the estate to maintain the grounds as well as the estate itself. The estate held many secrets that he was tasked to solely hold. 

“Please” a raspy voice called out. 

“Shut up Celeste. Your King is on his way.” 

Celeste let a muffled cry as she heard the bars slam shut. 

“I’ll be back to get you cleaned up when I’m finished with Ashley and Amelia.” 

The private jet landed at the airport in Raleigh North Carolina. Liam and Riley made their discreetly to an SUV meant to take them to their estate. 

“Your majesty King Liam” Anthony bowed. 

Liam rushed in. “Hello Anthony, you are dismissed. I’ll need the keys to the Bowels please. Our gifts are secure and ready I presume?” 

“Yes your majesty, they have been cleaned, fed, and await you. I will take my leave now.” 

Riley waited in the suv until Anthony left. She couldn’t maintain a stoic facade during their times away. She spotted Anthony’s car pull away from the estate headed to the servants quarters. Riley rushed out and straight to Liam pulling him into a lustful kiss. They made their way to the nicknamed Bowels, a cellar that has been retrofitted with cells. They hold Liam and Riley’s victims as well as their aggressors. 

“Wait Liam, why is Anton here?” 

Riley looked on the computers outside the cellar doors in the security room. They were only supposed to have 3 women. She didn’t understand. What was Liam up to? 

Liam smirked. Suddenly a loud knocking was coming from the front doors. They glanced down at the monitors. Riley’s eyes widened when she saw the fiery red hair standing in front of the cameras. 

“Liam uh where are our children? Please...” 

“Riley. They are with Max and Hana in Lythikos. Leo will be there soon to help with them as well.  Don’t worry my love. Now to explain about Drake and Liv. They needed to see the truth. About them, about us. I’m ready to share parts of our true selves with the family we created.” 

Riley nodded. She was not in a teaching mood. 

“Private now Liam.” 

“What Riley? What’s the problem?” 

“The problem? How can we be US with them? I’m not here to teach them how to become sociopaths like us Liam. Fuck.” 

“Relax baby.” Liam only used the baby pet name when he was confident in his prowess. 

“Fine. They better not fuck this up and I’m not holding back.” 

The two couples made their way to the cellar door. Liam held Riley’s hand while he unlocked the door. The electronic key and palm scanner both sprang green in sequence. Drake and Liv quickened their breath. 

“We have a ritual guys if you don’t mind standing back. And you can join if you like.” Riley calmly stated. 

Liam and Riley stripped naked. Liam pushing Riley against the cellar door in a hungry kiss. Liv admired the marks and scars the two in front of her were covered in. Some old, some new. She was intrigued. Drake’s breath quickened. They joined their best friends in the nude. Liam and Riley glanced behind them noticing Liv and Drake in the same fashion. None of them faced with the pain they had felt at sometime or the other. The abuse. The abuse that twisted them into who they were. Not who they had become. 

The door opened. Celeste gasped seeing her half brother, sister in law, the scarlet duchess & the commoner walking through the door naked. Celeste had no idea what circle of hell she was about to enter. Nor that there were others destined to meet the same fate she would soon come to meet. At the hands of her King and his Queen. 

“Hello Cece” Liam laughed in a voice unrecognizable to the others in the group yet all too familiar to his wife. 

The demons have come out to play.

[clinioelerrante]

The house elf

Lovingly dedicated to the director  @divagonzo  and participants of romioneficfest 2021 ( @romioneficfest ) posted on Tumblr.

Finally, in English.

 All my appreciation to @headcanonsandmore, without whose help the realization of this translation would have been impossible.

He did an OUTSTANDING job revising the original, something I can never thank him enough for. Any errors or inaccuracies in the text will be my fault, not his.

 Even after reading @headcanonsandmore's annotation and, because the text is basically the interaction between a male character and an elf, I will using using he/his/him would perhaps have given the text a lack of freshness, as it was continually making 'notations' to clarify which of them is speaking.  I hoped this would make it easier for the reader. I apologise if this may offend anyone in any way.

 The home elf

When the first rays of sunlight broke through the windows of Grimmauld Place, the sapphire eyes of Ronald Weasley greeted them open.

He hadn’t slept much that night and there was a good reason for that.  In a few hours Hermione, Harry and himself would infiltrate the Ministry to try to obtain Slytherin’s locked.

The first of the Horcruxes they must locate and detsroy brought with it the real meaning of what they were getting into and the terrible dance that they would be facing from them on.

Not that he had been unaware of it before, but he had always felt protected under Dumbeldore’s magic and presence. It was the attack on his own home that reminder him what that protection was over.

Just once, he had felt like this. So exposed, so vulnerable, so insignificant, so useless and scared. It was when Hermione had been injured in the Department of Mysteries. If it were up to him, he would have hidden Hermione with her parents on the other side of the world. This was a nice dream to find solace in but he was aware that without her, the mission would be doomed to failure.

The night when the first lights of dawn were coming to an end had been a constant succession of lucid nightmares in which he had envisioned the thousand and one dreadful fates they might face once they passed through the Ministry’s atrium, and all but two of these nightmares had as their protagonist a witch with thick bushy hair and chocolate-coloured eyes.

For a moment, resentment against Harry nested in Ronald Weasley’s heart.  He had no problem sharing the fate of his best friend.  If Harry asked him, Ron would be able to go down to hell with one hand tied behind his back, which in fact was exactly what he was about to do! Ron wasn’t stupid.  The experience of previous years had given him a realistic perspective of the war.  The price that was paid day by day and the price that was still to be paid, but that price should not include a stubborn witch who was wise, crazy and with a mouth he wanted to kiss.  Harry should have insisted and forbid her to endanger herself by traveling with them.

As if you or he could have stopped her! A voice whispered in the back of his head causing a hint of a smile to play on the redhead’s lips as images of a platinum blonde ferret getting a superb punch to the nose replayed in his mind.  

Besides, you know that if it weren’t for her, you’d both be perfectly dead and He-who-not-to-be-named would be walking the land of Merlin long before.

A brief growl escaped Ron’s smile at the thought that the little voice seemed to have the echo of a too familiar ‘I told you so’.

Even so, he could not refute that claim.  Had it not been for Hermione and her prodigious beaded bag, their situation at this very moment might have been very different.  They would not have had the supplies to survive until they had reached the Sirius’s residence and had been able to carry out all the surveillance of the ministry...

A thunderous grumble from his stomach put an end to all that introspection.

"I wonder how she’s arranged the food thing? She’s been reminding me of Gamp’s laws for six bloody years," he muttered as he sat up.

Knowing that he was unable to stay in bed for even minute longer, and hoping to calm his nerves and nightmares with a good cup of tea, he started towards the kitchen when he found the light leaking under the door of the room in which he had left Hermione the night before.

This had not ended in one of their famous arguments because he had preferred to bite his tongue rather than go to bed with both of them angry at each other, but he had been very close to grabbing her by the hip, throwing her over his shoulder, and throwing her over the nearest bed to force her to sleep, when she insisted on staying awake, going going over the details of infiltrating a Ministry dominated by Voldemort to the point of exhaustion. The rage he had barely managed to control returned with full force when he realised that she had to keep working on it.

With typical Weasley outburst, he burst into the room ready to end this madness and force her to rest for the few hours that remained, when he froze in the doorway while all the anger that had once made his blood boil evaporated as if it had never been.

Under the flickering candlelight, a sound-asleep Hermione, rested her head on a book on the theory of magic and a countless number of scrolls scribbled with diagrams and plans of the Ministry.

Ron needs to lean against the doorjamb when he feels his legs turn to jelly as he watches the flickering candlelight catch infinite shades of copper from the petite witch’s hair, how, despite the small trickle of drool that escapes from between... Oh, merlin; her lips! They look softly pink and absolutely adorable. The long lashes, blessing eyes that would be able to get anything from him just by looking lovingly at him, and the seven little freckles she has on her nose. He never told her, but he learned the configuration of the constellation Orion when he saw it perfectly represented on that little nose. But above all that, what touches his heart is to see the look on her face completely relaxed, as if for a moment, sleep has blessed her with a few hours of peace, oblivious to all the madness that has been raging around her.

For a moment he tempted to take her in his arms and take her to a bed where she rest properly. H is arms tingle at the mere thought of touching her, but he knows that if she wakes up, she will insist on continuing her crazy review, losing the little rest she so desperately needs, something he will not deny her.  Although a part of his heart cries out for the set image of indulging in what has so far been only one of his craziest dreams like taking her to a marriage bed like a bride, the rest of her whole being makes him close the door slowly while casting a soundproofing spell her to prevent any noise from disturbing her sleep.

Only then, as he resumed his journey to the kitchen, does he allow himself to wonder. When she became so important to him? What at point did she become his whole world?

Surprisingly he couldn’t find a specific moment. Somehow, Hermione had been infiltrating his heart without him being fully aware of the stealthy invasion. Evidently, he had realized that what he experienced in the fourth year was a storm of jealousy, so big!  That seemed to have turned his brain into jelly and incapable of thinking.  But only when he faced the possibility of losing her at the end of fifth year did, he realized the “the sheer extent” of emptiness his had inside if she wasn’t in his life.

And while his mind is lost in the memories of a bossy little girl who scoldes him for having a dirty nose, with a young girl who looks amazing meanwhile she glides majestically through the great dining room with the hand of a pumpkin-headed arse with a ridiculous goatee; Ron finds himself in the kitchen just as he sees the old Sirius’ home elf, stirring between pots and pans, probably anticipating the housework of the day that begins with breakfast for the three tenants of the old Black House, while the Regulus’ locket hangs around it neck.

Well. Not ‘Sirius’’. It’s Harry’s elf now, he rectifies in his mind as he remembers that Harry’s godfather had been the biggest victim of that fateful night...

“Good morning, master”, the broken voice of the old servant interrupts the thoughts that again caused a shudder in his spine.  “Perhaps Master Weasley woke up too early?  Can Kreacher help his lordship with a cup of tea? ”

“Yes, Kreacher. Please.” He thinks he’ll never get used to the elf’s sensitive ears. Somehow, the little servant always seems to sense what is happening around him, even if it was turning its back on him at the time.  Ron’s heart still comes out of his chest when he remembers the time he sneaked into the kitchen looking for something to eat at midnight, and when he closed the cupboard door, he found a pair of bulging eyes within an inch of his face staring suspiciously at him.

“Master would like something more substantial to go with his tea?”

Ron has not gone unnoticed by the change that had taken place in the Elf’s attitude since Harry had given it the Regulus’ locket. Its previous hostility towards Harry had turned into a quasi-devotion after that small act of kindness.  He wondered, what would have happened to Kreacher, if all of Hermione’s ideas about S.P.E.W. and dealing elves with dignity and kindness had been applied by Sirius?  Perhaps the tormented elf wouldn’t have found the flaw that allowed it to alert the Deatheater.  In a twisted way, the last of the Black had forged his fate by treating his servant miserably.

Then, perhaps, he thought, Sirius could have stayed alive and Harry could have had a real family, where he could have felt the love and warmth of a real home.

“Master?”

“No Kreacher, thank you very much”, he replies kindly and with a smile when he returned to the present.  Here is another one of Hermione’s crazy ideas for the magical world and which, however, she is right; he thought.  “Tea will be enough.”

"As Master Weasley wishes. Should I to prepare breakfast for the other guests, perhaps?" A furry eyebrow rose with doubt.

“I don’t know. Have either of them woken up?” Ron wasn’t about to let either of them lose moments of sleep, so he considered finding out what his friends’ current situation was first before the elf mistakenly interpreted that it was time to wake them both up.

“Master Potter is still asleep, though he hasn’t stopped hanging around in bed and grumbling all night,” Kreacher seemed to know where Ron’s thoughts were headed, “as for the mudblood...”

“DON’T EVER! NEVER! YOU WILL NEVER CALL HER THAT AGAIN, KREACHER. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME? DON’T EVER!”  

Ron was not even aware of his reaction, until he saw the terrified eyes of the elderly elf as he lifted his arms in an attempt at self-protection.

He was unaware that the chair on which he was sitting slammed against the wall when he stepped abruptly, nor of his agitated breathing, nor how his fist looked white like snow leaning on the table, nor of how he had projected his body towards the elf like the wolf that stalks its prey.

Ron had not been aware of any of it, until he saw an elderly house elf, trembling with terror and with the certainty of supreme punishment in his eyes.  That’s when a cascade of revelations is triggered in his mind, like if they had always been there, only now they seem to fit perfectly together.

To see how a being, with a magic infinitely more complex and more powerful that human wizards is so shackled by his social conditioning and fear, to the point to be unable to react even only to save its own life or the lives of its own, to become less than vermin in the eyes of it oppressors. And as he gazes into the terrified eyes of the elf, before her mind’s eye is the image of other eyes. The sweet chocolate eyes full of love and compassion for any living thing of a girl with big front teeth, who wears a hideous S.P.E.W. badge on her chest and that makes him feel so vile, unworthy and miserable that he feels nauseous of himself.

“Kreacher,” his voice sounded harsher than he intended with the try to control the gags that haunt him, causing the elderly shudder before him.

“Kreacher,” he repeated, this time with much more warmth. “Please, have a seat.”

The elf is so scared that it went like the victim of the ‘Imperius’ curse, to the nearest chair to sit, ignoring all the social conditioning that prevents it to sitting under the presence of a wizard.

“Kreacher,” Ron took a deep breath, as if he wanted to draw from the air the inspiration he needed to face the task before him. “I’m sorry; please forgive me. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, or frightened you.”

If previously the elf’s expression was one of absolute terror, it was replaced by one of utter shock.

“Is… Is Master apologizing to Kreacher?” Its voice sounded like a frog’s and his eyes seemed to pop out of their sockets as the thought finally pierced its skull.

“Yeah. You see,” the redhead graded his hair trying to focus.  He had a difficult problem before him.  On the one hand, he couldn’t put into crisis all the old servant’s beliefs at the stroke of a pen.  That would only cause the elf to close itself to listen to him, but on the other hand, he had to make it see or at least consider, the abomination of belittling the mere existence of a sorcerer for the simple fact of his magical origin. “I didn’t mean to hurt or frighten you. Just don’t use that word again when you mean Miss Granger.  She really doesn’t deserve it. ”

The elf’s stupor had not disappeared, but a glimmer of curiosity appeared in its gaze.

“Look, I know how all that purity of blood crap goes, but I’m asking you to disregard it for once, okay?” Kreacher’s face implied without a shadow of a doubt/beyond a shadow of a doubt that it wasn’t understanding a word Ron was trying to explain.  

“Kreacher. Imagine for a moment that you didn’t know Miss Granger’s origin.  That you didn’t know her at all, and that the first time she had set foot in this house, instead of appearing in Muggle clothes and accompanying a handful of outlaws and bloog-traitors, she would have come at the hand of Master Regulus, dressed with fop’s elegant tunics and looking absolutely beautiful and relaxed, as if this had been her social environment all her life.”

“Master Weasley,” the elf looks absolutely desolate, “Kreacher can’t do that.  Kreacher can sense the magic of the wizards.  Its origin, its intensity.  It is impossible that Kreacher would not have realized that she had been a charlaton.”

Ron felt his jaw clench and his back tended to stiffen with pure stiffness as he heard it refer to Hermione as a fake. Getting his point across seemed like an impossible mission. The elf’s behaviour seemed to be conditioned by the first impression of perceiving the origins of a wizard’s magic in conjunction with all its training. Once the conditioning of a lifetime, nay, a whole dynasty, intervened! There was no room to look at anything else....

“… Anything else…” he whispered, “Anything else. There is no second chance.”  Ron’s eyes opened like plates.

“Is Master right?“ Kreacher had left the chair and cautiously approached the wizard who seemed unconcerned.

“There is no second chance,” he whispered again, and on his face appeared the smile and glow in her eyes that her opponents in chess they knew so well. “KREACHER! ”

The unsuspecting elf jumped backwards so much that stumbled upon the chair it had previously occupied and began to stumble with its own feet until the fall proved imminent, only to be taken in scooped up and gently placed on its original chair by freckled and plenty scarred arms.

“Are you okay, Kreacher?  Ron’s voice had genuine concern.  It was not only because of the continual jolts to which he was subjecting the old heart of the weak elf and the fear of destroying any bridge of understanding that might have been created between the two, but that he might have really suffered some injury.

“What did the master just do?” The elderly’s eyes were locked on Ron’s.

“I... I, I’m sorry Kreacher.  I’m not good at mastering my impulses.  I didn’t mean to scare you again.”  Ron’s eyes turned to the ground as shame flooded him again.  It was the second time he had frightened the elf. It was only logical that it would never trust him again.  Any chance to make it understand the human greatness of the curly-haired witch had gone out the window thanks to his blatant and never well-measured combination of stupidity and impulsivity... “Shit!“ He moaned.

“Did Master help Kreacher?” its eyes widened like saucers. “Master protected Kreacher!”

“Errr...? “ Ron’s face was the manifestation of absolute astonishment.

“Master protected Kreacher!  He didn’t forbid Kreacher to punish itself, no. He protected it.”  Ron’s face clearly showed that he still did not understand what the servant was telling him.  “Only Master Regulus did something similar once.”

“Hermione does it all the time” Oh Merlin! If that’s not a good opening, I don’t play chess.

“What?” Poor Kreacher looked as if it was being carried away by a stream of revelations that prevented it from being able to structure its thinking properly. It had been days since a half-blood Master who it hated had given it the treasure that had belonged to the best Master a house elf could wish for, at the same time forbidding it to punish itself even when it had betrayed him and alerted his enemies. Kreacher knew that it was a mere technicality that it could justify its actions on the basis of Master Harry’s vague instructions. Kreacher was aware that any action taken by a house elf that could directly or indirectly harm his master, could be severely punished, even with life and, in any case, a master did not need much justification to punish his servant if he chose to do so. Now a pureblood had used his own body to protect it, he had apologised for his action and was now letting it know that a mudblood was in the habit of protecting other house elves all the time. Its brain could not quite take it in and the question had slipped from his lips unconsciously.

“Ms. Hermione does it all the time.  She loves every magical creature.  She’s not worried about its origin.  She always says it’s the actions that give greatness, not the origin.  Kreacher, is it true that you can sense magic?“ He asked hopeful.    

“Kreacher can, master.”

“And is it true that you can feel the intensity of a wizard’s magic, Kreacher?”

The elf nods.

“Then: How do you perceive the power of Miss Hermione’s magic?

The elf blinked, as if had never stopped to properly evaluate that point.

“Magic is very strong with her. Kreacher can remember only one witch with such intense magic, though the muggleborn witch’s might be stronger.”

“Who was the witch, Kreacher?”

“IS. Lady Lestrange, Bellatrix.”

An icy finger runs down the Weasley’s youngest son’s back cutting off his breath.

“She’s nothing like Bellatrix, Kreacher,” Ron can feel, almost physically, as if his heart is being squeezed out of his life. “Hermione has sweet eyes, full of curiosity and affection. They don’t exude hatred and madness like that motherfucker,” there is a dull anger growing in Ron. A roaring fire of anger, fear and hatred.

“It was she, the one who tortured Neville’s parents to madness. Two purebloods whose only sins were to defend innocents people who had never harmed anyone or anything from her madness and hatred. It is people like her who are responsible for Neville and Harry not having parents. It is people like her who drag sensitive people like Regulus down a path from which there is no return Kreacher. It’s people like her who bring pain and suffering into the world just because they think they are superior to everyone else,” he says as he tries to pull himself together.

“The point, Kreacher, is: Hermione...” there is genuine passion, there is a palpable devotion in every word that comes out of his mouth... “not only she is the most brilliant, studious and beautiful witch of this generation, but she is the best person you can imagine.  That she’s a witch is a fucking blessing because, instead of the Muggles being the ones who have the opportunity to benefit from her privileged intelligence, her bravery, her desire for justice and her infinite love for any creature, it’s the magical world that has that opportunity because of “He-who-must-not-be-named” and People like Bellatrix, we’re being assholes refusing to accept that gift and all that magic that far surpasses the rest of the three of us and...”

“That’s wrong.”

“Excuse me?”

“Her magic is not the most powerful of the three of you.” The elf’s narrow eyes remain nailed into the ocean of the youngest of Weasley’s men, like if they were contemplating something only they can see.

“Right.  Obviously Harry has to be a hell of a wizard if he has to face the Dark Lord”, he says, looking away from the elf as he feels a pinch of envy in his heart for not being good enough and losing missing the surprised look Kreacher gives him, “but I’m sure her magical power must be very much like Harry...”

It is then when the emotional teaspoon that is Ronald Weasley is aware of how this crucial game of chess is unfolding.

Kreacher himself has just breached its own defence when the idea of a muggleborn can be as powerful as the most abominable Deatheater in the host of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. But that is not enough. That may have shocked its brain, but to win the game, to truly win it, Hermione must win the heart of the tormented being.

“She’s the smartest witch I’ve ever met, to the point where not even that smug git Snape, someone who enjoys making everyone look like fool , has been unable to keep her from scoring less than Outstanding on all his tests.” He proudly recalls all the times Hermione managed to get a pure curl of irritation out of the pitiful professor. One for every time she gave him the right answer even when that wasn’t the lesson of the day. "Continuously defeats any pureblood by doing a magic they aren’t even capable of dreaming of. By sheer intelligence she solved a lethal riddle in her first year and in her second she brewed an NEWT level potion that only master alchemists are capable of performing, discovered a fucking basilisk crawling through the castle’s pipes and survived an encounter with the damn thing using a simple hand mirror."

Ron can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine when he remembers the image of a little girl in a bed too big for her, stiff, limp and cold as snow. It was then that he realized there was something different about Hermione. He didn’t know what it was, but something was bloody wrong with him if she got hurt.

“You should see her when she’s studying, Kreacher. She’s quite a sight to behold. When she’s studying a particularly difficult subject she frowns adorably, her eyes sparkle with determination and she leans over whatever she’s reading so hard she looks like she wants to get inside the book and when she’s about to master all that new knowledge, she bites her bottom lip so hard I sometimes fear she’s going to hurt herself, but there’s an immense joy in her gaze. Just like when she is reading something she particularly likes. Then, she starts playing with one of her crazy curls by twisting it around her finger. I think she must be the only person in the world who flirts with a book while reading it,” there have been so many times watching her study in the library that Ron doesn’t even need to concentrate to conjure up such images. They are so deep in Ron’s heart that they are already a part of him, and the memory of them brings a smile to his freckled face.

“She is also courageous, determined, and just, like the day she shook a superb punch at the ferret’s nose in her third year...”

“Did she hit a ferret?” The elf’s jaw dropped as listened to the redhead.

"What do you mean...?" Ron’s initial surprise is quickly replaced by wide eyes as comprehension washes over him, given way to a thunderous laugh. "Not at a ferret, Kreacher. ‘The Ferret one.’ She gave a fucktastic punch to the only and genuine heir to Malfoy’s House," he completes with a chuckle meanwhile he watches the poor elf’s eyes pop out of their sockets as it imagines how she attacked a renowned pureblood with something as mundane as a punch to the nose. "Oh come on, Kreacher! That was great and she looked awesome. Besides...” his face suddenly turns serious as he looks at the elderly servant who still doesn’t seem to have come out of its stupefaction. “She was only defending an innocent creature from a spoiled child willing to gloat over its death just because it hurt his self-centred pride. She spent sleepless nights searching through old treatises of magical law for some way to save the life of a creature that wasn’t even human. Only because it was the right thing to do. Only because it was innocent.” A weight settles on Ron’s soul when he remembers that she was alone all those nights and he wasn’t there to help her.

“I’ve seen her support for her best friend and almost lose her life for it even knowing that he was wrong,” the lump in his throat threatens to keep him from talking.  “I have seen her risk losing that same friendship just to protect him, and I have seen her be taken for eccentric or crazy just to defend that creatures like you, should be treated with dignity, regardless of race and origin.”

In his troubled speech, Ron feels the moisture flood his eyes and he wipes it away by running his sleeve over his face, unaware of how the elf has cocked its head slightly to one side and is watching him intently.

“She is also kind, sweet and loving.” The weight of his heart disappears when a warmth envelops him. “At eleven years old and not knowing him at all, she helped the shyest, most insecure guy look for his lost pet. Even if she wasn’t a prefect, she was always willing to take first-year tadpoles under her wing, to look after them and guide them when they were stunned by how great Hogwarts is. She helps them find their way around the castle, helps them complete their homework, hugs them when they miss their parents and tells them incredible stories that only she knows from the thousand and one books she has read,” she says as her eyes sparkle with pride in her best friend, “and she will do it with each and every one of them. To all of them she will give her incredible intelligence and her boundless love regardless of any other condition”.

That’s when he realizes that Kreacher is staring at him with its eyes and mouth wide open, like if it can’t believe what it’s seeing.

“Errr... ahem... This... This doesn’t mean she doesn’t have flaws, she does. She has a temper worthy of an explosive potion,” he says as he rubs his tingling arms, “So many times she’s so convinced she’s right, she forgets that the people concerned also have a say for themselves. Like that time when as prefect she sent extra homework to the OWLs students because she thought they weren’t preparing them,” a smile creeps onto his face. “Kreacher, you should have seen when McGonagall found out. She asked her if she wanted her position as head of Gryffindor house and Hermione turned so red she looked like a real Weasley.”

He doesn’t know why he said it, but as soon as he finishes saying it, the image of the most beautiful Hermione, dressed in a flowing white satin robe at the beginning of a hallway and holding a small bouquet in her hands, suffices that her heart seems to have lost the ability to beat properly.

“Kreacher”, he says softly looking at the elf with the intensity of one who is trying to convey the most important message of his life and fears that his words will fail him, “It’s not that she wants to offend you.  Not you or the rest of the house elves when she wants to give you freedom.  Freedom is a divine gift, yes, but it’s like a good roast rib.  It may be tasty and crunchy, a fucking delight to the palate, but you can’t force it through a baby’s gullet. That way all you can do is to kill him with almost complete certainty.”

“It is simply that she loves you too much. She loves you so much, she loves every creature in Merlin’s green fields so much that, she cannot wait to give you what you all deserve. That is why she is wrong. She does not yet see that you are not ready for freedom, “he says to the servant’s curious gaze.“ No... I don’t mean to belittle you, the house elves, I mean, “he completes in a stammer, raising his hands in peace. But it is true nonetheless. Freedom frightens you, it breaks the scheme of things and the rules of your world. She cannot see it yet, Kreacher, but in time she will, and you will have no better ally and no better friend than she.”

“Is that her greatest flaw, Master?" It seems impossible, but Ron would be willing to swear to Merlin that the elf is leaning towards him as he looks deep into his blue eyes, as if it wants to discover something hidden deep within the troubled red-head.

“Well, not really," a sad smile creeps across his freckled face. “She has a pitiful interest in pumpkin-headed wizards with horrible accents and pompous nasties too full of themselves, as long as they’re great quidditch players."    

“Still, Master is very impressed by Lady Granger.” The elf’s eyes are practically flashing before him and yet Ron can’t find a shred of contempt, mockery or hostility in his voice, if anything... recognition?  And then something breaks in Ron when he realizes that the little bastard has just called her ‘Lady’ for the first time.

“So much that I would gladly give my own life so that she would have a full and happy magical life.  Away from all the horror and war, away from the absence of her parents and the fear of being killed at any moment just because they are Muggles.  Even if she was married…” his voice breaks,” she was married to either of those two bloody gits and their kids were...

Maybe it’s from years of involuntary training trying to save his life or their other two very best friends, maybe it’s from the keen senses of a quidditch keeper or maybe it’s just instinct, but Ron feels a tingling on his back on his neck, a feeling of a presence behind him just before he hears the crackling of the wood of the floor behind him and  Ron can see how, for a moment, Kreacher’s eyes abandon his own eyes and turn to the space behind the redhead to open like plates when they focusing one specific point behind him. It may be again for all those years lurking around death, for all the trainings that have sharpened your reflexes or just warrior instinct, but without waiting to the command of his brain, he right hand goes to his wand, his body shrink to minimize as target and he moves around looking for a twist to shield midway between the servant and the place where the sound came from and, when he does, he does it in such a natural way, so instinctive, that seems that protecting a little body was often his only goal in life.  And it’s when his head is close to complete the turn that will lead him to face the threat, when he feels a rough hand holding his wrist tightly enough to unbalance it and stop the rotation of his body. Even so, the arm with his wand continues its trajectory to point to the space that a few moments ago was behind him and one nonverbal ‘Protego’ unfolds from it while her eyes search for the owner of the hand that has stopped his movement to meet, face to face, with other eyes.  Bulging, wrinkled eyes, gazing intently at him and glowing with the light of understanding.

“Master loves her.”  

“With all that I am and with all that I will be, Kreacher.  With so much intensity, it hurts.  It hurts as much as hell itself.”

It is not a question. It is a truth revealed and as such it can no longer be shrouded in the shadows nor can it be denied, but needs to be proclaimed because it can no longer be contained.  

And the elf nods.  Once again, her eyes turn to the space behind Ron as he feels that the prey that the little character exerted on his arm gives way, allowing him to regain full mobility.  That’s when Ron turns his head to face whatever is behind him just for his eyes can see an empty door.

“This damned house and its creepy noises are going to drive me bloody mad”, he says as his shoulders sink as all the tension he has been building up escapes from him.

“She didn’t know”, he murmurs.  “Master hasn’t told Lady Granger.”  Kreacher ignores the insult to Black’s ancestral meanwhile its inquisitive eyes turn to the tormented redhead.

“No, Kreacher.  Not yet, and I can’t do it now.  What’s at stake is too important and much bigger than us”, he says, shaking his head, as if he was trying to get some thoughts out of his brain and clear his own ideas.  “When I confess to her and she tells me she doesn’t share my feelings, I’d have nothing left to fight for except to keep them both safe and sound, and leave if we win them.  And if by some miracle she shared them, I couldn’t fulfill that mission.  I could endanger Harry because when it came to protecting them, she would always be my priority.”

It is when the rays of sunshine flood the old kitchen that Ron realizes how far the morning has gone and the dreaded moment has come.  It’s time to complete the final preparations to infiltrate the Ministry.  With a snort of resignation, he heads for the door to wake up her friends when he feels the elf’s hand again on his arm, only in this case it is a gentle grip.  Very similar to the touch of a friend who’s just trying to get your attention.

“No”, he says in a calm but determined tone. “Kreacher will take care of waking up the rest of the wizards.”

“No.  Kreacher must to insist.  Master Harry and fellows have a long day ahead.” The little servant surrounds the tall figure of Gryffindor’s old guardian while gently pushing him towards a chair in front of the large kitchen table.  “Master Weasley will finish his tea and then Kreacher will return so that all of them can have a proper breakfast.”

Resigned to the now familiar elderly elf’s stubbornness, Ron nods and takes a seat in the chair as he lifts his cup of tea to his lips and watches it leaves the kitchen.

As soon as it has crossed the threshold of the door, the last servant of the ancient and honourable Black House turns towards the bedrooms, passing by the figure who leans against the wall, tries to keep herself hidden into the shadows while holding her hands over her face, trying to silence the desperate sobs that make her small body shake all over.

“Now Lady Granger knows”, it whispered as it turned to face the young woman.

Between sobs and shudders, a slight nod of her head is her only response.

“Perhaps it is time Master Weasley knew too."

The elf’s voice sounds firm, but there is a decided edge of pleading in it.

A head full of curls sharply denies, sending the wild locks flying in all directions, while the hands covering the face wipe away the tears that run down it.

“It is not possible, Kreacher.  Like Ron said, the stakes are too high. Much higher than the two of us, and I can’t let Harry stop being Ron’s priority.  Without Harry, there’s no future for anyone.  Without Harry there’s no future for both of us.”

“Master Harry is not the most powerful magician under the roof of this house”, says the elf as if it had not heard the prodigious witch’s answer as its eyes turn to the kitchen door.

“I know,” she says in a sob as a sad smile insinuates over a face that is once again, streaked with tears and whose eyes focus on the same point the elf is looking at as if she expects to be able to see the redhaired man on the other side of it at any moment.

“However”, Kreacher’s eyes now turn fixedly to Hermione’s eyes, “he is not the most self-confident wizard either.”

“I know that too, and I curse myself every day for what I have contributed to his self-loathing.” The girl’s eyes briefly meet the elf’s and then search the threshold of the kitchen again, like has unwittingly become the border between the will and the duty." But we’ll both have to wait Kreacher," and her eyes, now full of fire, meet the elf’s again. "Though right now, my whole being is crying out for the desire to walk through that door and on the kitchen table, make him my own like only a woman can make a man her own to seal the deal. Because I’ve been his, forever.”

“That’s not fair to him.”

“Nothing in this war is fair, Kreacher.”

It nods in understanding and just when it seems that he is going to resume its path in search of its rightful master, it stops and looking carefully at the muggleborn, makes its fingers snap making Hermione feel a rejuvenating freshness running through her red eyes and her eyelids swollen by tears.

“Master Weasley doesn’t need any more worries at this time.”

“Thank you, Kreacher”, she smiles, “and thank you for not giving me up earlier”, she says, pointing to the treacherous loose piece of wood on the floor, just outside the kitchen door.

And for the first time in its long life Kreacher, the last proud servant of the ancestral, noble and elitetist pureblood House Blacks, gives a genuine smile to a muggleborn witch.

“It will be our secret Lady Granger”, it says as it completes a graceful bow and leaves the place to look for its rightful master, even though it feels that something inside its has changed forever.

 Months later:

“Hang on a moment!” said Ron sharply. “We’ve forgotten someone!”

“Who?” asked Hermione.

“The house-elves, they’ll all be down in the kitchen, won’t they?”

“You mean we ought to get them fighting?” asked Harry.

“No,” said Ron seriously, “I mean we should tell them to get out. We don’t want any more Dobbies, do we? We can’t order them to die for us —”

 It only takes a moment, but for Hermione Granger it’s as if she’s been hit by the ‘Arresto Momentum’ spell.  A lifetime of feelings and images flashes through her privileged mind so real, so sharp and clear, it’s as if she were reliving her own memories in a pesieve...

Terderness

A beautiful boy with a stain of dirt on his nose...

Loyalty

A rough stick falling over the head of a mountain troll...

Nobleness

Slugs vomited in a bucket...

Courage

Badly wounded, covered in dirt, sweat and blood, standing, with a broken leg, like a bulwark between two teenagers and a serial killer…

Jealousy

The broken arm of an action figure at the foot of a bed...

Devotion

A male figure with horribly scarred arms, who watches over her when she wakes up with a terrible wound in her chest...

Excitement

The smell of parchment, freshly cut grass and a soap with scents of wood and clove when hug that glorious body...

Hope

A broom that materializes in front of the burrow driven by a metamorpagus witch...

Confort

Hands joined, just before sleeping at Grimmaud Place...

Love

Blue eyes that watch over her when she wakes up at Shell Cottage...

Fear

A small boy, with a large head wound on a chequered floor...

Panic

A freckly face, as white as a sheet, on a bed surrounded by a bunch of redheads who look scared...

Terror

A mangled arm that bleeds so much that it is impossible to believe that a human being can contain so much blood...

Desperation

A soaked figure, with his face crazed with pain and anger, just before disappearing in the pouring rain on an autumn night...

Everything is a stormy maelstrom that consumes her, takes her breath away and threatens to blow her head up incapable of bringing together so many emotions at once, and that’s when a picture emerges above all that emotional explosion. A scene watched sneakily from the half-light, under the threshold of a door in an old manor house.

The image of a humble old house elf listening Ronald Weasley’s confession of love for her.

And the feeling that neither can, nor wants to be hidden any longer, breaks through.  The imperative need, greater than breathing, to take what is rightfully hers and which she has been denying herself for far too long.

She is barely aware of what is going on around her, drunk as she is, of the emotion that envelops her. She does not hear the sound of fangs striking the ground, nor does she see a lightning-shaped scar warp as the eyebrows above green eyes rise as they widen, nor the movement of her own legs, nor the surprise reflected in a freckled face. Her heart is all she feels, the love overflowing from it and then the trembling of her own body and the feeling of to be at home when she jumps up and embraces the impressive hunk before her. The tremor in the core of her belly as she attacks lips that seem to have been made just for her. The vertigo she feels when Ronald Weasley, "Ron", her first, one and only true love, makes her flutter like a schoolgirl in the embrace that envelops her as he kisses her back with such intensity that she feels her toes curl and the shudder of her centre becomes so intense it burns. It burns like the very fires of hell within her.

He loves her.

She loves him.

And both will fight like hell, against any power in heaven or on earth that tries to separate them again.

The End.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33865393

[kayteewritessteve]

Perfectly Perfect

Description: After a long few days at work, the love of your life helps you unwind. (A slightly Modern Office AU)

Masterlist HERE.

Word Count: 7,780 ish.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader.

Rating: 18+ (is smut)

Warnings: Horrible smut. Be warned. No minors allow. Keep scrolling if you aren’t 18 years or older. Oh, and ‘unprotected’ sex, though reader has an IUD and mentions it. So you’ve now been warned.

Requested: Nah, this is my first ever attempt at smut. It’s long-winded and cringey as hell. Soooooo read it if you want, but be aware that it’s not very good at all. But I’m trying, and slowly learning, and the fact I finally managed to actually write any smut at all, even horrible smut, is huge for me. Baby steps.

A/N: I sadly don’t own any of these characters. And no beta reader, so I do proudly own all the errors and this story, so there’s that.

Final warning y’all. Turn back now. This isn’t good. It’s basically horribly written, long-winded, comfortable fluff with a slight hard fucking, if you reeeeally squint. So yeah. Ugh. I’m so damn awkward. Aaaanywho! Good luck! May the odd be ever in your favour, and all that jazz!

You released a deep, exhausted breath as your eyes dropped down to read the time on the bottom right hand corner of your monitor's screen. 7:02pm. Only 2 hours passed your ‘normal’ end time, though over the last few months, you’d been putting in a lot of overtime. Far more than was normal, and it seemed lately, like 7 was the new 5.

You sigh as you lean back in your chair, bringing your hands up to rub the heels of them into your eyes. No longer worried about your mascara, as it was probably long gone by now, what with how many times you’d rubbed your tired eyes today, already. You decided it was probably time to head home, your brain was done for the day, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to accomplish anything more tonight. At least not without lots of errors, and then having to just waste more time tomorrow redoing most of that very same work. Work smarter, not harder. That was the motto you lived by.

So with that last thought, you leaned forward and powered down your computer, clicking the soft button on the side of your monitor to put it to rest as well. Then you pulled open the bottom drawer of your desk, retrieving your purse from within and placing it on the top of your desk, as you slipped back into your heels. The ones you’d removed hours ago to give your poor feet a much needed reprieve.

Once they were firmly, and achingly, back in place, you stood up and removed your jacket from the back of your chair. Slipping it on and pulling your hair out from within it, before hitting the forward to voicemail button on your desk phone. If anyone were to phone after you left, it would go straight to voicemail now, saving them the moment or two of just useless ringing.

You then grabbed your purse and phone off your desk, and made your way towards the office door. Opening it once you reached it and flicking off the overhead lights, as you slipped into the hallway. Promptly closing the door behind you once you fully reached the hall. Your eyes instinctively glanced across the corridor, seeing that Steve’s door was slightly ajar, and his lights were still on, so clearly he’d been working late, just as you had been. But that was nothing new.

If you had to pick any words to describe yourself, hard-working would be near the top of that list, if not at the very top. You always took your job seriously, and did everything in your power to be efficient, reliable and focused. But yet, that man, he always seemed to one up you. You thought you were a crazy workaholic. Ha! Perish the thought! That man, he was the very definition of the words. You’d never met anyone more hardworking than yourself, until you walked through these office doors for the first time, and were introduced to the enigmatic Steven Grant Rogers.

Though he didn’t stay a mystery for long, after only a week, you had him pretty much entirely figured out. Or so you thought at the time, at least. Sweet, thoughtful, charming, hard-working to a fault, intensely intelligent with a quick wit and the deep voice of an angel, all things that had made your knees weak and your heart flutter just from being in the same room as him. But then having his full attention on you, and only you, made your whole body heat up, your mind turn to mush, and your palms clam up, instantly. Every time.

It took a few more weeks after that to level yourself out around him, to just acclimatize yourself to the sheer force of being in the presence of this perfect specimen of a man. And you hadn’t even mentioned his exterior yet, you’d only vaguely touched on what he was packing on the inside. His outside was, well shit, it was also sheer perfection in and of itself.

He was all hard lines of pure stone wrapped deliciously in tantalizingly unmarred golden skin. He was a beautiful tall, broad and rippling form to behold. What with his wide shoulders, trim waist, and thighs that could draw most people's eyes and keep them trapped for eternity. You being the owner of one of those mentioned set of eyes.

So yeah, he was utter perfection in a lovely and large package. It was wholly unfair, if anyone asked you, that a man could look, act and just be that flawless, that sublime. You instantly needed to find some fault in him, you begged the God’s above to have given him some sort of flaw, there was just no way anyone could be that unequaled. That utterly perfect. It was not fair to the rest of the human population. Not even a little bit.

No one could, or should, be that glorious. But over the last 5 years of working here, with him, you’d learned early on that he was perfection in the human form. And even when you did finally track down his faults, his ‘flaws’, they weren’t even that bad. They didn’t even nick the lovely shell around him, they couldn’t even scrape or mar his lovely exterior, in any way, shape or form.

The contradiction of that, if you’re honest. His flaws made him even more perfect to you, made him even more sublime than he’d originally appeared at first glance. Because they made him more relatable, more human, just all around more. And knowing he had a few little flaws did nothing to quell your thoughts towards the man. They stood to only heightened them actually.

You shake your head, banishing the warm belly and heart pace inducing thoughts, knowing you couldn’t walk into his office to say your daily goodbyes, with the dang heart eyes your latest thoughts had evoked in you. That man could read anyone like a dang book, and after 5 years of being his personal assistant, you couldn’t hide a single thing from his all-seeing eyes. He just knew you too well now, too fully and completely.

You venture across the hall, towards his slightly ajar door and knock lightly as you push it open. And the heart eyes nearly returned as you are graced with the image of his large form wrapped to perfection in his dark grey suit. The suit appearing as if it was a second skin, tailored to his whole form perfectly. And damn, you sure do use that word, in all its forms, a lot in regards to him. But he is ‘Perfect’, and there just isn’t any better word to use in his case. There is no other words better suited to him, then just pure perfection.

He sits behind his large dark wood desk, reading glasses rested effortlessly upon the straight bridge of his perfect nose. His brows furrowed just so, in perfectly focused thought, as he types rapidly upon his keyboards keys. Most likely finishing up a report, or replying to an urgent email, either or, it doesn’t really matter. Nor does it take away from, or effect, the beauty of the image before you.

The first time you ever saw him with his black framed reading glasses on, you damn near swooned yourself into a puddle on his office floor. Something about a handsome man of his caliber, wearing glasses as he focused his attention on a computer monitor or the papers clasped within his large, tanned and veiny hands, just did things to you. Made you a fluttery and warm mess of a thing.

Ugh, you really need to focus here. You came in here to say your goodbyes, not eye fuck your oblivious boss from the shadows of his doorway.

“Hey,” you softly say, not wanting to startle him as you take a small step further into the room. “I’m heading out now, did you need anything else before I leave for the day?”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, and he gives you that gloriously perfect half smile he’s become so famous for. It isn’t a broad or large smile, by any means, it’s subdued and just a quirk up of the corners of his perfect lips. Did you forget to mention his pump and pillowy lips in your rambling internal exposé on the man before you? Oh, well, that was your bad entirely, as his lips were the second best feature upon his perfect face.

They were only second to those stunning deep blue eyes, the ones that currently held you trapped, and showed more emotion and compassion within them than you ever thought possible. You’d always heard or read about being able to read one's true feelings through their eyes, but you’d never been able to relate to those sentiments before, at least not until you met the Adonis before you. He didn’t hide a thing, and you believed he had not one damn thing to hide, even if he’d wanted to. He left it all out in the open where his eyes were concerned, it made it all the more easier to get to know him. To figure out his true being and personality. To determine what he liked, disliked, and found amusing. His eyes told every tale, used more words then his lips could even fathom. Everything personal you knew of this man, you’d learned from the beautiful blue gateways to his soul.

“Uh,” he hummed thoughtfully as he glanced down at his watch momentarily, and you didn’t miss the slight widening of his perfect blues when he realized the time. His eyes flicked back up to trap you once more as he leaned back on his seat and gave you his full and undivided attention. Just as he always did with everyone. He always made his employees and coworkers feel like the center of his little world, for however long they were gifted the pleasure of being in his presence. “I didn’t even realize how late it was,” he said before he bestowed upon you a small taste of his gloriously deep chuckle. “I’ll be heading out shortly myself, so everything else can wait till tomorrow.”

“Okay,” you nodded, a small chuckle leaving your lips now, “try not to overwork yourself too much. You need to eat and get at least a few hours of sleep tonight, as you have an 8:30 am conference call tomorrow.”

His smile grew just a fraction, as he crossed his large arms over his broad chest. He always got a small kick out of you mothering him. “I know, and don’t worry, I’ll set an alarm for myself and leave the second it goes off.”

“Please ensure that you do,” you smiled sweetly to offset the slight commanding tone that you’d just used on your boss. “You can’t push yourself too hard, or you’ll be dead on your feet tomorrow. And then you’ll be no use to any of us.”

He chuckled again, a little louder this time, and your mind tried desperately to lock the lovely sound away for your enjoyment for all of eternity. Then he unfolded his arms, picked his phone up off the desk and gave it a few moments attention, before you heard the distinct click of it being locked, and then he placed it back down on the desk and glanced up at you once again. “There, the alarm is all set.”

You valiantly fought the giant grin that wanted to show itself to the cheeky but perfect man before you, however you only managed to contain it to the form of a small uptick of the corners of your mouth. “Good. I swear you work too hard sometimes. You make the rest of us look bad.”

He mimicked your small smile, “I don’t think I could ever do that.” His words made your heart flutter, but only just a little, and you’d never admit it aloud. A soft ping sounded around the quiet room and his eyes drifted back to the monitor’s screen for a few seconds before looking back to you. “Okay, get outta here before we both start living in this office,” he said sweetly, with a slightly stern edge. You both knew far too well how easily you could lose track of time and space, and end up here till midnight, or even later, before either of you even realized it. “And thanks for staying so late again, Y/N.” His smile turned slightly knowing, “I’m sure you have better things to do with your time than be here finishing off reports for me.”

You swatted away his concerned words as if they were a pesky fly in the air. “It’s fine. Really. All I have scheduled for tonight is making dinner for the man I love, and then I plan to happily sleep the night away.”

He nodded, a small smile upon his lips once again as he leaned forward and his eyes focused back on his monitor. “Sounds like a lovely night. He’s a lucky guy.”

“That he is,” you hummed in agreement, biting your lip to suppress your chuckle. With one nod of your head, you turned and stepped back towards the door to the hallway, “Goodnight, Boss.”

And just as you reached the door, his voice drifted into your eyes once more. “Goodnight, PA.”

Those were the two nicknames you both joking called each other. The nicknames you’d started using years ago, after he’d insisted on you calling him Steve early on in your job, but calling him by his first name just hadn’t seemed appropriate at the time. You couldn’t get over the unprofessional feel of using his first name as if you were his friend, or something of the like. He was your boss, but he hated being called ‘Mr. Rogers’. He said it made him feel like an older man in a sweater, talking to dolls on a train.

So, you’d jokingly called him Bossman one day years ago, and over time it shortened to just ‘Boss’. But he wasn’t really a fan of that either, so in return, just to joke back with you, he’d referred to you as ‘PA’, and that nickname had just sort of stuck as well. Though he only ever used it in reply to your use of ‘Boss’.

You giggled quietly to yourself as you exited the office, pulling the door back to it’s slightly ajar spot as you did.

You step through the front door into your quiet apartment, the one you share with the only man you’ve ever truly loved. The lights are all off, and there isn’t a sound anywhere within the still space. But you knew he wasn’t home yet, and you preferred it that way. It gave you a moment of quiet time to yourself, to get out of your tight work clothes and start in on dinner before he walked through the very same door you were closing softly with a click of the lock.

After removing your coat and hanging it on the hooks beside the door, you remove your heels to allow your achy feet a much needed break from their confines.

You wiggled your toes, and stretched your feet out before planting them upon the cold hardwood floors and making your way through the quiet apartment. Reveling in the few moments of peace it awarded your mind, before your love got home. As once he did, he’d fill the quiet space with his soft recounts of his day, the goings on in his little world, and his inquisitive questions about your own day.

Moving into the kitchen, you flick on the soft pendant lights above the island and place your purse atop it, before turning to set the stove to begin warming it to the proper temp. Then you move to the fridge and pull out the premade meal from within, the one you’d put together at the beginning of the week for this exact day. Pre-prepped meals at the beginning of every week, usually made on lazy Sunday afternoons, was the only way you’d ever be able to continue to eat properly, and not just succumb to quick junk food on the fly.

Your work hours, just as your boyfriends, were always a little crazy and long, and so spending hours prepping a meal every night was not an option for either of you. Instead, you both picked a few meal ideas on Sunday, and then together you’d get everything prepped and packaged and put away in the fridge, before spending the evening cuddled up on the couch and watching a movie with a glass or two of wine. Needing that relaxing few hours to prepare you both for the craziness of the work week ahead.

After placing the packages for tonight's dinner on the counter, you quickly send off a text to your boyfriend, to inform him of your safe arrival home. Then you made your way to the bedroom to change into something more comfortable and wash off any remaining makeup. Whatever was even still left after the countless rubs and presses of your hands throughout the day.

You pulled out a pair of comfy pj shorts and a fitted tank top from your dresser drawer, placing them on the made up bed before moving into the bathroom. You quickly took a makeup removing wipe to your skin, thoroughly cleansing the surface before lathering on your nightly moisturizer and heading back into the bedroom. You pulled the dress shirt up and out from the waist of your pencil skirt and started in on the buttons, going from top to bottom in an effortless and perfected way. One that could only come from years of doing this exact action, over and over and over again.

Once the shirt was open, you slipped it down your arms and placed it neatly atop the bed, before moving on to the zipper on the back of your dark grey fitted pencil skirt. But just as your nimble fingers grasped the dainty zipper, two large warm hands met yours and you jumped a little at the contact.

But then a soft and soothingly deep voice whispered into your ear, warm breath caressing the cooled skin of your neck as it washed over you. “Here, let me.”

You smiled as you glanced over your shoulder at the beautiful man behind you, the one you loved more than anything or anyone else. And the very one that despite his sheer size, always managed to sneak up on you. You hadn’t even heard the door unlock, nor it being opened and closed to allow him entry into the suite. Nor the sounds of him removing his jacket and shoes, or even hearing the telltale sounds of his keys and wallet meeting the bowl on the entryway table.

He was always a damn ninja, and you really shouldn’t have even jumped at the initial contact. You should be entirely used to him sneaking up on you by now, but yet, you weren’t, and you believed you never would be.

You nod your approval of his offer, as your eyes drink him in, in all his end of the busy work day glory. His deft fingers make short work of the task, and you realize that he is just as familiar and perfected in the action of undressing you, as you are. Maybe he is even a little better at it than you, having found yourself at the mercy of his lustful and enraptured hands many times. All the times he’d expertly and delicately—though sometimes, on special occasions, they were fumbly and forceful as they—removed every article of clothing keeping your full form hidden from his heated gaze.

Once the zipper met the end of it’s line, his fingers hooked into the waistband and slowly pushed the stretchy material down your hips where it then plummeted unchallenged to the floor below. Leaving you just in your matching black lace bustier and panties, only a few small areas of your body still hidden from his view. But as his large, warm hands found your hips and turned you to meet his intense eyes fully, you instantly realized those small areas wouldn’t be hidden for much longer. Not if the hungry twinkle in his eyes was anything to go off of at the moment.

His hands slipped behind you, his arms encompassing your waist as his gaze drifted down and back up, before he pulled you towards him, and gently crushed your small body into his much larger, more robust one. “New?” He asked in a deep and curious tone.

You smirked knowingly up at him, “they are. What do you think?”

He leaned back a little, just enough to check out the newly acquired delicate lace set once more. And as he did, your hands landed on his pecs, loving the warmth of him and using it to take the chill out of your fingers. Once his eyes had finished their thorough re-inspection, they flicked up to meet yours and you nearly shivered at the immense desire pooling within them now. “I think you should never wear anything else, ever again.”

You chuckled, your hands sliding up his chest to delve into his lusciously soft locks. “I don’t think my boss would approve of this as appropriate work attire around the office.”

He smirked down at you, nodding slowly, “mmm, you’re probably right about that. I’m sure he wouldn’t approve at all. Especially with all the people you have to meet with throughout the day.”

“Yes, and he’d probably even force me to remain hidden away in my office, the whole entire day,” you gasp playfully. “How will I live without being able to get a coffee from the break room?!”

He chuckles, “I’m sure he’d willingly bring you a coffee whenever you needed one, if it meant he could witness the masterpiece that is you in this damn set.” His finger hooked into the elastic waist of your panties and pulled it away from your skin slightly before he released it, causing a gentle snapping sound to play out in your ears. As if the noise was to affirm the words he just spoke.

“No, he isn’t like that. He’s a completely respectful and professional man,” you grin up at him. “I’m more willing to bet he’d offer me his suit jacket, just to ensure my modesty stayed at least slightly intact.”

“I dunno, that might make it worse,” he hums, as a small smirk plays on his lips now. “I’m picturing you in just this and a large suit jacket, and the image alone is killing me. He’d probably die on the spot.”

“Should we find out?” You playfully question as your hands slip from his hair and back down his chest, moving under the edges of your boyfriend's suit jacket and slowly slipping the material off his broad shoulders and down his arms. He assists you as you go, helping to fully remove the jacket and then you take it in one hand and step back, his hands reluctantly drifting from your skin as you go. Then you flip the jacket around you, and slide the sleeves onto your arms, before settling the jacket on your shoulders and gripping the lapels to adjust the placement.

Once it’s all set in place, your eyes flick back up to meet his from below your lashes and find they aren’t looking into yours anymore. His eyes are hungrily roving over your entire form, and that fact alone causes your belly to warm up and your heart to pick up its pace. The things just having this man's eyes on you, can do to you, is wholly unfair.

His eyes finally meet yours, and you notice instantly that they have darkened dramatically now. Looking more black than their usual perfect colour at the moment. “Yup, just as I thought,” he nods, and you don’t miss his thick swallow, his Adam's Apple bobbing from the sheer force of it. “This is much, much worse. He’d never be able to keep his hands off of you, and then we’d really have a problem.”

You glance down at the floor between you both, tucking a few errant strands of hair behind your ear coyly, as you whisper, “maybe I don’t want him to keep his hands off me.” Your eyes flick back up to his, giving him the best doe-eyed look you can muster, as your voice comes out a little louder, but yet, just as soft, just as sultry as before, “maybe I want him to touch me, everywhere. Anywhere.”

A soft groan echoes in your boyfriend's solid chest, so soft you almost didn’t catch it. And at that sound, he surges forward, his hands pushing the jacket from your shoulders before they find your hips again, as he effortlessly lifts you off your feet. Your legs quickly go around his waist, to rest on his narrow hips and your arms encircle his neck, just to help him hold you up. Though it’s not like he actually needs the help.

His lips crash into yours, and you couldn’t miss the neediness of the action, even if you tried. You meet his need head on, returning it in full force to show you are feeling the exact same way he is at the moment.

He takes a few stumbly and blind steps to the bed, and before you know it, you're being deposited upon the pillowy surface with a small gasp. He chuckles quietly at your reaction, and then his large hands grip your waist and pull you forcefully towards the edge, before he places a knee between your legs and leans over you just enough to slip one large hand behind your back. As the other presses into the bed beside your head. His deft fingers make short work of your bustiers clasps, thanks to you arching your back to help his hasty endeavour.

His hand slips around to the front of you, his fingers caressing your ribs as they go, before he grabs the front of the only thing covering your upper half, and pulls it away from your chest and down your arms, then discards it somewhere over his shoulder. It’s final resting place being the very last thing your mind cares about in this moment. As now his hands are moving down your sides, his fingers slipping into the waistband of your panties and helping them go the same way as the bustier; slipped from your form and flung carelessly over his shoulder to the floor behind.

Once you are fully bared to his intense gaze, he stands back up and gives your whole body another once over. His eyes only darken more as he goes, and you didn’t even think that was possible. He keeps his eyes slowly moving over you, as his fingers undo the belt around his waist, then the button and zipper of his suit trousers. And once that is accomplished he pulls the white shirt out, and you prop yourself up on your elbows for a better view of what’s about to come.

You only catch a small glimpse of the smirk on his lips, before your hungry eyes are all too focused on the slow movements of his masterful fingers. Oh the glorious things those thick digits can do. You know first hand how truly spectacular they really are, at both unraveling clothes, and you.

Just as he finishes off the last button, you can’t hold yourself back any more. Just watching him, as he undresses before you with his eyes locked on your naked body is driving you insane. He is just taking too damn long, he is thoroughly teasing you right now, and the smirk still on his lips tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

You push up off the bed and move to the edge, grabbing the waist of his pants and yanking him forcefully towards you, mumbling, “get over here already,” as you do.

He chuckles and obliges to your hasty demand, but you only know that because if he didn’t want to move, there is nothing you could do or say to change that. He is like a damn brick wall when he wants to be. Your fingers take no time at all to slip into the waistband of his pants and boxers, grasping them both and pulling them down to free him from their confines. He barely manages to get his dress shirt off his upper half, before you’ve completely exposed his entire lower half.

Your eyes drink in his newly naked form, starting from his face, moving down his broad shoulders, his defined chest, his chiseled abs, the glorious V lines leading directly to his—you gasp quietly the second your eyes land on his perfect cock, all hard, upright and entirely ready for you. Yes, you’ve seen it hundreds of times before, but yet you always manage to forget just how large and intimidating it truly is. Even after many, many times of having it deep within your walls, you still have a slight moment of hesitation at the sight of it. Fear that maybe this time, it won’t actually fit.

But you know it will, you tell yourself it will at least, and that it will feel heavenly as it does. You swear, up and down, that he was made to fit you perfectly. In every single way.

You quickly stand, grabbing his hips and spinning him before you push him down to sit on the edge of the bed. Exactly where you just were, and once he is settled down, you drop down to your knees and rest your hands upon his. Your eyes finally, reluctantly, leave the impressive appendage between his thick thighs, as they flick them up to lock with his. You hold the direct contact as you slowly, so damn slowly, move your hands up his powerful thighs, to his hips, then inwards and slowly up his rock solid stomach, over the groves of his abs, to his defined pecs and then to around his neck.

You slip your fingers into his hair again and pull him down to you, molding your lips to his, perfectly. His tongue traces the seam of your lips and you are all too willing to grant him access to any part of you that he so wishes. You part your lips and his tongue delves into your mouth, causing a soft moan to echo in your throat. And the sound only stands to spur him onwards.

His arms wrap around you, and you had planned to taste him, to get him entirely ready for you using just your mouth alone, but his patience seems to be gone now. He doesn’t want to wait any longer as he pulls you up to straddle his waist. One of his large hands grabs the back of your neck, to keep your lips glued to his, while the other splays out on your lower back, pressing your aching and needy core down onto the solid and hot product of his arousal. The very reason you’re core is even needy to begin with.

You grin into the kiss as you get a wicked idea, and begin to move yourself against him. Which causes him to inhale sharply, before groaning out at the delicious feel of you rubbing yourself thoroughly along his entire length.

“Fuck,” he breaths out, gripping your hair a little tighter, and helping your movements with strategic presses on your lower back. “You have no idea how badly I wanted to do this all day, today.”

“Oh?” You question innocently, as you pull back enough to look down at him. “Thought about this a few times today, did you?”

He gives you a pointed, but still completely heated look. One that reads of his need to have you, his need to claim you entirely for himself. His craving to make you his once again, just as he has many, many times before. The same craving needs you are all too aware are probably playing upon your features, as well. Mirroring his deep desires right back at him.

“You know I did,” he says in such a throaty tone, it sends a shiver down your spin, as he shakes his head. “You wore that damn pencil skirt today to tease me, didn’t you?”

You fight the smirk begging to form and shrug your shoulders instead, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But you do, you totally do. Because you totally did wear it to tease him.

He narrows his eyes knowingly at you, and before you can even comprehend what is going on, your entire world flips and you find yourself pinned to the bed. The larger than life form of your boyfriend hovering over you now.

“I’m sure you don’t,” he hums lowly as he grinds himself roughly against you, ripping a loud moan from deep within you; about as deep as you’re hoping he’ll be soon enough, if he would just hurry the hell up already.

“Steve,” you whine breathlessly.

And that is met with that damn smirk again, the ass. “Yes, my love?”

“Hurry it up already, I still have to put dinner,” your words abruptly end there when he grinds the length of him against you once more.

He chuckles, but then one large hand cradles the back of your head, gripping your hair tightly, as the fingers of the other dig deliciously into your hip. But only for a moment, before his fingertips slide delicately down your thigh, to grip the back of your knee, and pull your leg up to hook onto his hip. And then in one smooth, but hasty movement, he thrusts himself deep within you.

And you gasp at the sudden intrusion, the overwhelming feeling of being entirely too full and filled. A glorious shiver rips up your spin, as he stays perfectly still for a moment, giving you a chance to settle around him, around his sheer size. Your mind reminds you that your earlier fears were, once again, entirely wrong. Of course he’d fit within you perfectly, he always did. You were made to fit him, just as he was made to fill you.

“Fuck. You feel so fucking good,” he praises, his voice hoarse and thick with his desire.

Your arms wrap around him, as your hands grip tightly to his shoulder blades. And when you can’t take the lack of movement any longer, you begin to rock your hips against him in any effort to increase the pleasure you’re currently feeling. He gets the hint quickly, and pulls back, almost leaving you entirely, before he snaps his hips forward and buries himself deep within you once again.

You clench your eyes shut and moan at the delicious sensations starting to take over your entire body from his knowing and thoroughly practised and perfected movements, and before long he is picking up his pace. Driving into you at an alarming rate, but it’s exactly the way you like it. And with every tantalizing drag of his hard cock along your inner walls, every delicious push and pull of his long and girthy length, the coil deep within your lower half begins to tighten. His hand grips your thigh, searching for any purchase he can find, and alternating between forcefully firm squeezes and gentle caresses of his fingertips along your flushed and heated skin.

“Open your eyes, Doll. Look at me,” he commands.

And he doesn’t have to tell you twice, your eyes snap open and lock with his, as you scrap your nails down his back, before your hands settle on his perfectly round ass. Gripping the plump globes firmly on every inward thrust, helping to push him deeper within you with each one. You want more—no, you need more.

“Faster, baby,” you plead, smacking his ass just enough to create one sharp cracking sound to echo around the room, and to help spur him on further. He loves when you do that, almost as much as you do.

His lips crash into yours, now claiming every part of you that he can with his hand, his lips and his cock. Turns out the smack worked exactly as you’d hoped it would, as he picks up his pace even further. Slamming into you relentlessly now, and causing your muscles to begin to tighten up as you near your first peak, and the free fall to follow it.

He groans, as his lips leave yours and begin to travel down to your jaw, then to your neck, leaving a hot trail of marks in their wake. And you are so close now, so fucking close.

“Oh God, almost there,” you mutter breathlessly, the words barely above a whisper. Even in your hazy mind, you know there is no point in telling him that. He knows your body well enough by now to know how truly close you actually are.

With a few more powerful thrusts, you are sent tumbling over the edge as your entire body locks up and you let out a loud moan followed by just muttering his name, over and over and over again. As if he’s fucked you so good, so thoroughly, that it’s the only word you know now, the only one you will ever say again.

“Fuck,” he groans, as he continues to pound into you mercilessly throughout your release, shaking slightly as he battles to fight himself from joining you over the cliff’s edge. And you know as your walls flutter and squeeze around him, fully and entirely, that he has to put a solid effort into fighting the urge to finish with you. But his continued movements only stand to drag this all out for you even longer, only stands to make this all that much better just for you. And as you finally start to come down for the high of the feelings he just instilled within you, you instantly feel empty, and cold.

You almost whine until he presses one more deep kiss on your lips and then you feel him forcefully flip your dazed form onto your stomach. Gripping your hips and pulling them up into the air, as he positions himself behind you. He rubs himself against your folds a few times, teasing you just a little before he slides fully back in, in another quick thrust.

And before you know it, he’s picked up the pace once more. You thought he was relentless before, but oh boy, how wrong you were, that was nothing compared to his forceful movements now. Your hands grip the bedding as you bounce yourself back into him, matching him thrust for thrust.

“Oh shit, Steve,” you gasp. “Right there. Right fucking there.”

His fingers dig into your hips, as he leans forward over you, and kisses between your shoulder blades. The action not hindering his pace in any way, shape or form. “God,” he groans again. “The things you fucking do to me.”

“The feelings fucking mutual,” you quickly say between shaky breaths, and you meant every damn word. The things this man does to you, the feelings he evokes within you, it’s all too much and yet, not enough. You feel that delicious coil deep within you start to tighten up once more, and you can’t wait for it to snap all over again.

His thrusts start to get a little sloppier, as his fingers dig further into the skin of your hip, and you’re positive there will be marks there for at least the next few days. But you don’t care. You can’t bring yourself to give a single fuck at the moment. You just want to feel his release, to experience your second one of the night.

One of his hands leaves your hip, and slips between your legs, his experienced fingers locating your little bundle of nerves, and making quick work of finding the perfect pace that gets you every damn time. Then with a few more powerful and deep drags of his full length along your walls, partnered with the delightful circles on your clit, you are shoved off the cliff's edge once again.

A loud cry rips from your lips as you feel him release along with you, filling you up so damn perfectly, and sending a shutter through you at the feeling of his hot spurts deep within you. Thank God for your IUD, as this is one of your favourite feelings in the world and you can’t do the condom thing with him anymore. You just can’t. Nothing beats the feel of his bare skin within yours, or of his warm release filling you so fully and completely. Just as his cock always does.

He groans deeply in your ear before he slumps to his side, bringing you along with him as he stays buried deep inside your core. His arms wrapping around you and cuddling you up against the heated and tacky skin of his chest. You both take a moment to come back down, allowing your heart rate and breathing to slow.

After a few moments his hand moves the disheveled hair from your shoulder, and his plump lips meet the soft skin below your ear. “You aren’t allowed to wear that damn skirt to work ever again,” he whispers against your skin.

“Oh, and why not, Boss?” You ask innocently, knowing full well exactly why, but wanting to hear him say the words.

He nips your skin lightly at the use of that silly nickname, “because I can’t handle the way it fits you like a second skin. Every time you enter my office, all I want to do is rip the damn thing off you, and take you on my desk, but I know I can’t.”

“You can’t?” You inquire playfully, turning to glance over your shoulder at him. But you know full well that you both agreed to keep your relationship entirely out of the office. From an outside and unknowing eye, no one would be able to tell you both had been together for years. You agreed in the very beginning to keep your relationship to non-work hours only, and being the workaholics you both are, it’s worked perfectly for you ever since. Most of your coworkers don’t even know you are a couple, or that you live together, and let alone that you own this apartment together for the last year and a half.

“You know exactly why I can’t,” he says knowingly behind you. Then he slips out from within you, leaving you with that depressingly empty and cold feeling once again, but you ignore it as you shift to turn around and face him. Pressing a soft kiss against his lips once you do.

You hum, nodding, “that I do, but don’t expect me to never wear that skirt again.” You pull back and grin up at him cheekily, “It’s one of my favourites, and the way you look at me when I’m wearing it is just far too enjoyable to stop.”

He groans, playfully, shaking his head, “tease.”

“I may be a tease,” you agree, shrugging as nonchalantly as you can, but the growing grin on your lips gives away your cheeky next words, “but I always make up for it after hours.”

“You do have a point there,” he agrees and gives you a beautiful smile, before leaning in to kiss you once again.

But just as his lips meet yours, a loud buzzer goes off and you jerk away from him. “What the hell was that?”

He chuckles as he pecks your lips once more and reluctantly pulls himself out of the bed. “Dinner. I put it in when I first got home and set the timer.”

You chuckle at the knowledge that you’d missed a bunch more noises upon his arrival home. How the hell hadn’t you heard any of that? Damn, might be time to get your ears checked out soon. You glance up at him, “you’re utter perfection, you know that?”

“I know,” he smirks smugly, before he laughs at himself, shaking his head at his antics as he picks up his discarded boxers and heads towards the bathroom to clean himself up.

“And oh so very humble too,” you playfully reply with an eye roll, before you watch his glorious ass move into the small room, not missing the light red outline of four little fingers on his right cheek. You giggle softly to yourself before you release a deep contented sigh as you just continue to lay there, in perfect after sex bliss.

When he reemerges, only wearing low sitting boxers, you almost drool all over yourself. He walks over to the dresser, grabbing a fresh pair of panties for you, and then collects your discarded pjs off the floor near the end of the bed, before he heads to your side and places them down next to you. He leans over you, kissing you sweetly and then whispers, “though if either of us is utter perfection here, it’s definitely you.”

You giggle again, gently pushing him away by his shoulders, “flatterer.”

“I only speak the truth,” he hums and quickly pecks your lips once more, then he takes your hands and gently helps you out of bed. “I’ll go deal with dinner while you get cleaned up.”

“Sounds perfect,” you smile, stealing one more kiss before you collect your clothes and head for the bathroom, desperately needing an after sex pee. Because, ya know, nobody wants a UTI. You laugh to yourself softly at that last thought as you slip into the bathroom, your eyes glancing over your shoulder to catch one more glimpse of the perfect man you love. And your breath hitches at just the mere sight of him half naked, just like it has many, many times before. And probably will many, many more times in the future.

Because regardless of what he says or believes, he is the true perfection within this relationship. Even with his flaws, faults and blemishes, you wouldn’t change a damn thing about him.

Because he is just so Perfectly Perfect.

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

Tagging my errythang list, not sure if all of you will be interested in this. So just ignore this is you aren’t down for horrible smut 🤣🤦🏻‍♀️

@caps-lockdown @itsstillnotwhatyouthink @tfandtws @boxofteenageideas @wangdeasang @giggleberts @strawberry-gothchild @theonelittleone @agentbadbitch @ratwrites @starrystellars @bandsandanimefreak @rockyroadthepastryarchy @lovvliies @cuffski @icesoccerer @alwaysright4 @lilsthethrills @steeeeverogers @zombiepotterfour @mu-mu-rs @ledandan1244 @straightforwardly @denzmallows @xremember-me-notx @gwynethjodie @lollipopdomination @capstopavenger @jemimah-b99 @rcvenqers @justkending @alagalaska @silent-loucidity @sabertooth-potato @pies-wands-and-more @gabriella69816 @phantom-soilder @wordlesscaptain @captain-hammer-of-asgard @starstucknature @viarogers @pixieferry @kaithezaftig @the-kinkiest-goblin @hysterically-original @badassbeckettswan @heyiamthatbitch @zlixlle @capsicledoll @givemehopenfandoms @pretendingandpreposterous @frozen-phoenix17 @emotionallysalty @saturngirlz @atomicsludgedonutbiscuit @ivannagotthebeat @bohemian-barbie @marvelous-capsicle @steverogersxreader @cjhorseback @jasminecalia @secondstar2disney @jessiedaeum @betsynodak @capricornprince118 @just-ladyme @pinkleopardss @drayshadow @sister-of-stars @wiserebelpartypie @dark-night-sky-99​ @patzammit​ @cs-please @troublermalik @bratstopmom @anika-ann @wxstedhexrt​ @rynabarnesrogers @ab-baybay @scentedsongrebel @captainchrisstan @kelbabyblue @fckdeusername @murdermornings @dreamlesswonder86 @intricate-melody @fiannaofficial @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @nomadics-stuff @hufflepuffvs