#should i have written more? its inevitable i will in the future anyway

[smol-grey-tea]

What's your fav Nameless route (s2g this game is so underrated in the Cheritz fanbase)

Thank you so much for sending me an ask!!! This might be a long post tho ^^;;

My favourite route would by far be Red's, definitely :) he's my favourite character by far cuz I just identify with him so much and his route is so beautiful. I've been replaying the game from the start and I started Tei's route but I just couldn't help myself from going back to Red's route again and caught myself saying "oh my god why did I wait so long to do this, all the other routes mean nothing to me compared to you!!"... But that's an exaggeration really

Some of my favourite scenes from his route would include the scene from Misunderstanding where Red walks Eri home from Banjul, or the scene on the roof from You Are Still My Heroine, and of course everything from Come Back Home onwards. I've replayed this route so much I have a good chunk of it memorised, there's not much about this route I don't know 😅

Though I will give an honorary mention to Yuri's route because there are scenes in his route that hold a special place in my heart. Yuri's rain scene might be my favourite scene in the whole game, because there's something about it that's just so calming for me, especially with the music.

Yeah, in my opinion this is definitely the best Cheritz game, not just in terms of gameplay but in story too. I never finished Dandelion cuz I couldn't deal with how the game worked and both Mystic Messenger and The Ssum being timed and taking up so much space on your phone are difficult to deal with, not to mention the pay walls on those two. MysMes' story is good but after the popularity the V and Saeran routes got way out of hand, Dandelion never really got me in the feels the way Nameless does and neither did The Ssum,,

I've put over 480 hours into this game so it gives me a lot of emotions,,

I am working on other Nameless posts too so you can look out for those in the future as well ❤❤

[stargazer-sims]

The Art of Redemption

(part 16)

previous // next // story index

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This morning, Nikolai is seeing Beth-Anne, Brett and Brett's guardian Jordy off to South Korea, to the World Junior Figure Skating Championship.

Despite his initial concerns that he wouldn't cope well with this situation, he's doing all right. Admittedly, he was a little anxious about Beth-Anne leaving, and he's still slightly envious of Brett's opportunity to compete at one of the most important international skating events of the season, but neither feeling has proved overwhelming enough to prevent him from staying calm and behaving like a normal adult.

A few days ago, Nikolai suggested it'd make sense if he brought Beth-Anne, Brett and Jordy to the airport instead of Jordy or Beth-Anne having to leave their vehicle in the airport parking lot for a week. Beth-Anne agreed it was a good idea, and apparently Jordy had seconded her opinion. Brett, on the other hand, hadn't seemed quite as impressed with the plan as his coach and tutor were, but Nikolai suspected that had more to do with Brett not wanting to show any weakness in front of Nikolai than with any lingering animosity between the two of them.

In fact, Brett had offered him such a sincere apology for his outburst at the rink a few weeks back, Nikolai is inclined to believe there had never really been any animosity at all. He'd had to remind himself that Brett is only fourteen, and even the simplest upsets can seem enormous and insurmountable at that age. They'd both been trying to process some big emotions, and the combination of Brett's anger and frustration and Nikolai's pain and anxiety had the inevitability of disaster written all over it.

Brett understood that too, in hindsight. He said he'd been so focused on himself and his own feelings, he hadn't even considered Nikolai's, and he said he genuinely felt bad for hurting him.

Nikolai could forgive that. After all, Brett is still learning and growing, and no one is perfect anyway. He'd praised Brett for recognizing what went wrong and for acknowledging it. That had earned him a tentative smile from the teenager, and a promise that he'd try to do better in the future.

"I"m sure you will," Nikolai had told him. "I'll do better too. We'll try to do like Beth-Anne says; respond, not react. Okay?"

"Okay," Brett had agreed, and the two of them shook hands.

The handshake had been unexpected from Nikolai's point of view, and he'd guessed it was something Brett had seen his parents do with their business associates. Still, it felt significant to Nikolai, like he and Brett were making a pact of mutual support and respect. They might never become close, but at least they'd agreed that they shouldn't be adversaries, and Nikolai is more than satisfied with that.

Today, he has a feeling their agreement is about to meet its first test.

They took Beth-Anne's truck to the airport, and Beth-Anne drove on the way there. It's the sort of truck that has a small backseat in the cab, so there was adequate room for all four of them, but Nikolai hadn't considered that he and Brett would be the ones sitting in the back. Jordy is easily 190 centimetres, if not taller, and they decided that he should sit up front with Beth-Anne so he could adjust the passenger seat and have some legroom.

Brett's acquiescence was clearly grudging, and he spent most of the ride alternating between staring out the window and shooting annoyed looks at Nikolai. Nikolai didn't take it personally. When he was Brett's age and travelling to a competition, he's sure he would've preferred to sit next to Grandpa or Allison on a long drive rather than beside some guy he only tolerated.

When they got to the airport, Nikolai helped Beth-Anne carry her stuff even though she insisted she could do it by herself. Brett and Jordy each had a backpack, and Brett had his skate carrier, but it seemed they were sharing a suitcase. The thing Jordy heaved out of the back of the truck was huge, but he didn't appear to have any difficulty with it. The last item was a red garment bag that Nikolai knew would have Brett's costumes in it. Jordy handed that to Brett and took charge of the gigantic suitcase himself, and then the four of them trooped into the airport together.

At such an early hour, there wasn't much of a lineup yet and check-in was relatively easy. Nikolai waited for them. He decided he'd go with them as far as he was permitted, which was all the way to security. That's where they are now.

Standing in the large, open space near the doors to the security area, Brett looks terrified. There's no trace of his typical bravado. He seems far younger than his fourteen years, and he's clinging to Jordy like his life depends on not letting go.

The image of Brett as a frightened child is made even more pronounced by Jordy's physical size. The top of Brett's head only comes up to his broad chest, and his arms are nearly twice as big around as Brett's.

Regardless of Jordy's imposing stature, however, Nikolai is certain there isn't a mean bone in the man's body. He gives the impression of being a natural-born caregiver, and Nikolai can't help admiring his patience with Brett's behaviour.

But, just because Jordy doesn't seem frustrated or irritated, this doesn't necessarily mean he's tolerant of Brett's nonsense. When Nikolai starts to talk to Brett, to wish him luck, the teenager turns away from him and hides his face against Jordy's chest. Jordy's immediate response is to admonish him.

The big man leans in to speak quietly to the boy, the beads at the ends of his braids clicking together gently as he bends his head forward. "Brett, that's not how we behave. Your friend is speaking to you."

"Don't wanna talk to him," Brett mumbles into the fabric of Jordy's coat.

"Don't be rude, please," Jordy says. "There are lots of things we don't want to do in life, but we need to do them because it's the right thing to do."

"I just wanna go," Brett says. "Hanging around here is stressing me out."

"We'll go through security in a minute, Brett," Beth-Anne interjects. "Just let Nikolai say what he wanted to tell you."

"All I wanted was to say good luck," Nikolai says. "You're going to do great, Brett. It's always stressful beforehand, but you've been looking awesome in practice and you know what you're doing, so just have fun with it and the rest will fall right into place."

Brett finally looks up at that. "You actually think I'm worried about the competition?"

Caught off-guard, Nikolai stammers, “You're... not?"

"It's not the competition. It's the flying," Jordy explains. "He doesn't like it, and we can't give him anything to help with the airsickness because... y'know. Drug tests."

"Sorry." Nikolai says. "Yeah, I do know, actually."

"Oh, that's right," Brett ventures, finally letting go of Jordy and standing up straight. "Beth-Anne said you don't like flying either."

"That'd be an understatement." Nikolai says. "I'd call it a win if I made it through an entire flight without throwing up."

Brett wrinkles his nose. "Eww... At least I've never done that."

"Consider yourself lucky. Throwing up and crying on an airplane full of strangers is definitely not a good look, and nobody wants to be next to the guy puking on the plane."

"Gross," Brett says, but then he flashes a quick, cheeky grin. "So, I guess that means I handle flying better than you do."

Nikolai returns the grin. "Gold medal to you for that. And I meant what I said. Have fun, and I hope you kick ass over there. It's your last season at Junior level, so make it one nobody forgets."

“Don’t worry. I will. When I debut in Senior division next season, everybody’s already gonna know my name,” Brett declares. “Too bad you’re not gonna be competing. It’d be fun to challenge you.”

“It’s lucky for you I’m not competing. I’d polish the ice so thoroughly with your scrawny butt, everybody'd call you Zamboni afterwards.”

“You would not.”

“You don’t think? When my leg gets better, maybe we should find out.”

Brett turns to fully face him. He meets his gaze and holds it, and Nikolai sees the unmistakable gleam in his eyes of a true competitor who can't resist any challenge, no matter how big or small. “Is that an invitation to a competition? ‘Cause if it is, you’re on."

"Absolutely," Nikolai says. "Beth-Anne can be the judge."

"There’ll be plenty of people around the rink who can be judges for us, but I think we probably won’t need much help figuring out the winner.”

"You're right." Nikolai can feel his smile spreading across his face. “No question, it'll be me."

"We'll see," Brett says.

This is the point at which Beth-Anne intervenes.

"Okay, boys. That's enough." She gives each of them a stern look. "Nikolai, you should know better, and Brett..." She trails off, shaking her head. "No, you know what? Never mind. We'll discuss this when we get back."

Undeterred, Brett says, "Yeah, we can discuss how I'm gonna make him look like yesterday's news."

"Brett, weren't you in a hurry to get through security?" Beth-Anne asks. She waves in the direction of the wide glass doors. "Why don't you and Jordy go ahead? I want to talk to Nikolai for a minute, and then I'll catch up with you, all right?"

Brett looks like he might protest, but seems to think better of it when Jordy lifts their carry-on bags from the floor and passes Brett's to him. "Come along, Brett. It'll be hard to win anything in Seoul if you're not on the plane when it leaves."

They head off toward the security area, and Brett walks calmly beside Jordy for several steps, but then he puts his bags down and runs ahead. Once he's built up some momentum he does a neat little one and a half rotation jump that brings him back down to face in Nikolai and Beth-Anne's direction again.

He waves at Nikolai and calls out, "See you later... Zamboni!"

Nikolai loses it. He doesn't even bother attempting to stifle his laughter as he watches an exasperated Jordy gather up Brett's skate carrier and backpack and hurry after him. Brett is jogging backwards, probably so he can see Nikolai's reaction. Nikolai sticks his tongue out at him.

"Cheeky little shit," Beth-Anne says, but she's laughing too.

"I can tell you love him," Nikolai says.

"What can I say?" she responds. "Apparently, I have a thing for troublemakers."

Nikolai feigns innocence. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Like hell you don't," she scoffs. "You're the biggest goddamned troublemaker of all, Nikolai Pavlenko." But, a second later her arms are around him and she's hugging him tight. "Thank you."

He laughs as he reciprocates the embrace. "Way to send mixed messages, coach."

"Brett's probably going to be thinking about that ridiculous challenge all day," she says. "You know how reckless that was, challenging him like that? But, I'd much rather have him obsessing about how he's going to come up with a way to beat you than for him to dwell on how much he hates flying."

"So... what I'm hearing is that you think I can win the challenge?"

With her arms still around him, she swats him lightly on the back. "Fuck off! That's not what I said at all. And who says I'm even going to let either of you do it?"

"You mean... you can stop us?"

"Oh my God. I'm about to fucking disown you," she says, but no sooner than these words are out of her mouth, she's squeezing him once again. "For what it's worth though, I do think you'd win the challenge. I also think it's a fucking stupid idea, but it if motivates Brett and gives you something to look forward to, then I guess I'll agree to it."

"And you'll help me get ready for it?"

"How about I train the two of you together?" she says. "You can see up close how I work with someone at Brett's skill level, and I think he'll learn a lot from watching you. But," she adds, her tone suddenly no-nonsense. "All this is conditional, do you understand? If the doctor and the sports therapist fully clear you, we'll do it, but if they say no spins and no jumping..."

"I hope they don't say that."

"Do everything they tell you and keep your fingers crossed, and maybe they won't."

"You know what I want? I want to be able to do everything on the ice that I could do before. I wouldn't be able to keep up with a competitive training schedule, obviously, but... I want to jump again."

"I know you do," she says quietly.

"And I really want to do this challenge with Brett if I can, even if it is kind of stupid."

"I know that too." She's trembling a little, and he wonders what she's thinking. They stand together silently until she composes herself and lowers her arms at last. She takes a step back. "Okay, I'd better go. I'll give you a call when we get there."

"Okay," he says.

"You take care of yourself while I'm gone. Do your physio exercises, and don't forget about your appointment at the sports medicine clinic. Hang up your wet towels, and eat real meals, not just peanut butter toast all the time, and—"

'Beth-Anne, I'll be fine," he says. "If I need anything, I know who to call, and I promise I'll do all my exercises and go to my doctor's appointment and eat lots of protein. It'll be okay."

"Sorry. It's just... I'm not a hundred percent okay with leaving you. Plus, it's strange, being at the airport with you but leaving you behind."

"Yeah, but you don't really want to get on a plane with me and my delicate equilibrium."

"Delicate equilibrium," she echoes. "Well, that's one way of describing it. And maybe I don't love sitting next to you on a long flight, but it's being at the destination with you that I'm going to miss."

"Me too," he says. "But, you know what? Brett's not that much older than Eden, so maybe if everything goes the way we think it should, there'll be a day in the future when we'll be travelling to the same destinations again. You never know, right?"

"If I didn't already say so, it's good to see this side of you," she says. "I was beginning to wonder where my sunshine went."

"Just stuck behind a cloud for a while, that's all."

"Fucking clouds, always messing things up."

They always disappear eventually, though." He picks up her backpack and skate bag and hands them to her. "Here, you'd better take these. Not that I'm in a hurry to part ways, but you might miss your flight if we keep trying to have a long goodbye like this."

"Right," she says as she takes her things from him. "Christ, I'm fucking awful at goodbyes. I better haul ass before this gets any worse."

"I'll see you in a week. Good luck, and don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"That leaves it wide open, doesn’t it?”

"Go on," he says. "Brett and Jordy are waiting for you. You got this. Tell Brett I'll be watching on TV and cheering him on."

She offers him a grateful smile. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," he says, as he watches her rush off.

The drive back to town feels long and lonely. Even with his favourite classic rock music blasting from the radio and a beautiful early morning sky overhead, he can't help feeling a little sad. He hadn't wanted to say anything to Beth-Anne since it was clear she was already worried, but being left behind feels strange to him too. Naturally, Beth-Anne has travelled without him before, with her other students and for her own personal reasons, but this was the first time they'd been at the airport together without both having a ticket for the same flight. He'd gotten through the actual experience at the airport, but now that he's on his own, he's not at all confident about it.

I'm just going to have to keep myself busy while she's gone, he tells himself. That's what Beth-Anne would tell me to do. Keep busy, so I don't dwell on stuff.

With Beth-Anne away, her group classes will be cancelled for the week, as well as the individual lessons for Eden and the two Novice level girls, Ruby and Katie. It's highly likely that Mariah will come to the rink to skate on her own, and perhaps thirteen-year-old Ruby might do the same, but Nikolai isn't allowed to work with either of them without Beth-Anne's supervision. He can watch, but that's about it, and now that he's started helping with the group classes and with Eden's and Katie's individual lessons, he's not sure he'll be content to simply watch any more.

So, if I'm not going to the rink, what am I supposed to do?

He makes a mental list of the possibilities. He'll visit his parents, of course, and he'll probably have dinner with his sister and brother-in-law at least once. There's his doctor's appointment, his daily walks on the treadmill, his and Ginger's planned bowling and pizza night, and he's positive that Grandpa wouldn't mind if he came over to hang out.

At first, this seems more than sufficient to occupy him, but he quickly realizes it's not going to fill an entire week. He pictures himself doing a lot of reading and playing a lot of video games to pass the time.

Then, he thinks about Anya. He's seen her at the arena a handful of times over the past few weeks, but they haven't spoken, and they only text each other sporadically now. This week might be a good time to meet with her and discuss their relationship. Maybe later in the week, because has to talk himself up and somehow convince himself he's brave enough to do it, and that might take a bit of time.

Ginger might be able to give me a pep talk.

He pictures Ginger's reaction if he asked her to do that, and he wants to laugh. She'd probably tell him to march in there like there's no way he could lose. "Approach it like a competition," she'd say.

Oddly, this sounds like good advice even if it's only in his imagination and not technically from his friend. Maybe he can do it, even if he's scared. He's been scared before competitions too, but he's come out on top more than he hasn't, so there must be some merit in that idea.

By the time he gets home, he feels better.

He thought it'd be weird to stay at Beth-Anne's house without her, but the moment he walks in the door it occurs to him that he thinks of it as home just as much as he does his own place. Inside, the air is warm and smells faintly of the French toast he'd made for breakfast. Their empty breakfast dishes are still on the table, and Beth-Anne's blue oversized cardigan is slung haphazardly over the back of a chair. Elvis the cat is asleep in his favourite spot atop the fridge.

Nikolai shrugs out of his coat and tugs off his sneakers. The kitchen is going to need some attention, but it can wait for an hour or two. First, he wants to write in his journal and then take a nap.

He wouldn't normally nap in the morning, but his knee hurts and he thinks the best cure would be an ibuprofen and some rest. He can sort out the mess in the kitchen after that, and then try to find something to do for the rest of the day.

In his room, he changes out of his jeans and sweater and into a comfortable pair of sweatpants and his favourite t-shirt. As he's folding his sweater and putting it back into one of his suitcases, something at the back of the closet catches his eye. It's the cardboard box he'd noticed when he first came to stay; the one with his costumes from the Four Continents in it. He'd meant to go through it and see what else was inside, but he'd been so caught up in going to the rink with Beth-Anne, learning to cook and do his own laundry, doing physio, and working on his new blog that it hadn't crossed his mind.

Well, no time like the present, I guess.

He really is curious, now that he thinks about it. Slipping quickly into the room's adjoining bathroom, he downs two ibuprofen tablets with lukewarm water, and then returns to haul the box out of the closet. He places it on the bed and climbs up after it.

With a pillow tucked under his sore knee and another behind his back, and the cardboard box beside him, he takes a deep breath before grasping the flaps of the box and pulling them open.

[g0ttal0ve101]

Confession

Note: RIAM ATTACK 💥💥 ok but seriously I haven’t written anything in weeks bc I’m deathly ill soooo here’s this to make up for it! TW: domestic abuse, kidnapping, obsessive behavior.

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“You fucking anorexic whore!”

One more drink should cast the thought away for good this time. At least, that’s what Riley kept telling herself. Cup after cup, song after song, she found herself almost too drunk to even think straight. That was fine. It was better than thinking about him going off with another girl.

The booze took away from the pain of her bruise planted underneath her eye, but it didn’t help her escape from the looks she kept getting from the other guests at the party. She figured she must have looked awful — Many others would beg to differ. Even with that nasty purple wound on her pale complexion, she was one of the prettiest girls of Woodlyn High. With eyes that resembled a meadow after sweet spring rain and hair the color of ravenous flames, it was hard not to spare a glance or two. Although, Jordan didn’t seem to think that. And if he didn’t care to look at her, she knew that she wasn’t worth looking at.

“Hey.”

God, that voice was painfully familiar. Turning her head in the direction of the sound, she let out a soft groan. “Huh?”

There she saw Thomas Hall — The valedictorian of her grade and host of this party. He leaned over her like a hawk preying upon its next meal with a sick grin plastered on his face. She knew whatever was going to be said or done wasn’t going to be good. Trying desperately to think of a way out, she notably took in her surroundings again. He chuckled from the sight.

“You single?”

“Fuck off, Thomas…”

“No, seriously. Did Jordan break up with you?”

There was a pause for a brief moment or two. Putting the brim back to her lips and chugging down the rest of the alcohol contained within it, she prayed to God that she wouldn’t say something she’d ultimately regret.

It was almost inevitable once she opened her mouth. “For now, yeah…mmh, to go out with ‘nother bitch tonight. He’ll be back tomorrow…” Her words slurred together miserably as she became almost incomprehensible.

Thomas sat down beside her, presumably locking into the conversation. Only then did she see his three friends behind him; David Nixon, Freddy Brooks, and Charlie Allen. It seemed like her future was getting darker and darker as time progressed. It wasn’t a good idea to get involved with these guys. Once they have even a little piece of information to hold above your head, they’ll be able to control your every move. That must be what they’re trying to accomplish right now. Riley scoffed from the thought.

“Well, y’know…I’ve always had the hots for you, Riley.” Thomas hummed, grabbing her empty cup to pour stronger alcohol inside. She had almost forgotten she was sitting in the kitchen by herself where all the drinks were. However, she didn’t recognize this brand. It must be expensive. “My door’s always open.”

“Fuck you and your door.” She spat right back at him, snatching the cup from his hand and taking a hesitant sip. “I won’t fuck on a pussy ass momma’s boy. Skip me on that.”

That description he heard of himself made his smile widen. She rejected him. That made this even more fun. “Isn’t Jordan a momma’s boy? I figured you just had a type. Anyway though, wanna go bust him and that slut?”

Her eyes turned to saucers. “What…?”

“They’re fucking in her car right now.” The rasp in his voice grew thicker as he grew more eager for her reaction. “Don’t you wanna show them who’s in charge, Riley? Don’t you want him back?”

All those words rubbed her in all the right ways. If she were sober, she could’ve seen through his cunning tactics. However, she couldn’t even see straight anymore, so there was no way of indicating anything was astray. She believed him without a second of a doubt.

Standing up wasn’t so easy. Placing her weight on her feet and stumbling forward, she crashed into a chair immediately. It wasn’t until Thomas grabbed a hold of her that she managed to fix her posture.

“Get off me.” Riley snapped, shoving him away as harshly as she could in the moment. It felt like her body was moving in slow motion. The alcohol surely did numbers in her. Once she felt his hands on her again, she raised her voice. “I SAID GET THE FUCK OFF ME, YOU STUPID MANWHORE! GOD!”

His laughter indicated he got the reaction he wanted all along. It made her sick to her stomach to think about. The trek began shortly after without another word exchanged between them.

People. Lights. Music. Everything disorientated the drunk girl entirely. She made sure to keep her eyes on Thomas while navigating her way through the crowd, but every now and then she believed she spotted Jordan in the crowd and lost her focus. When that happened, Charlie continued to shove her forward. She was too tired to scold him. Besides, she knew that he was only doing that because he wanted Thomas’s approval.

“Where’s the car?” Her voice murmured as she nearly knocked into an innocent bystander. “Mmh…I don’t gotta nice knife on me…only this shitty pocket one.”

The back door opened. December air smacked against their faces as they stepped out onto the porch. Although it was so cold, Riley felt warmer and lighter than ever. The thought of killing this bitch became more prominent and exciting to the point she trembled a bit with each step. Bliss that overwhelmed her systems suddenly grew sour as Thomas turned to face her, clearly having some sort of ace up his sleeve. She was too drunk to care. All she wanted was to beat this girl’s ass for touching Jordan in ways Riley could never hope to.

“Okay, I’ll deal with the bodies after you’re done.” Thomas bubbled as the two of them started down the steps. It was only then that she noticed the other three guys weren't following along. It freaked her out a little but the alcohol in her system, again, drowned out the worries. “I mean, you’re gonna kill Jordan too, right?”

With a scoff, she flicked out the pocket knife. “No.”

That wasn’t the answer he was expecting. Raising an eyebrow and scanning the driveway area for her car, he pondered his thoughts out loud. “But he cheated on you and beat your ass. Don’t you think that's—?”

Sticking her index finger against his chest and getting in his face, she drunkenly blabbered. “Shut the hell up, Thomas! Having sex with some girl don’t mean shit! He still loves me! He still loves me...” Her voice trailed off as she desperately tried to convince herself that was the case. Thomas simply observed her behavior with a smug grin.

“No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t and that’s okay. I have a client who���ll be more than willing to show you the love you deserve.”

Her eyes darted toward him and in that second, she almost saw the look of empathy on his face. However, as quickly as that expression came, it went. David snatched her up from behind and shoved a cloth drenched in chloroform across her mouth and nose, tightly gripping her so she couldn’t squirm away. Thomas had thought she was pretty before but with that horrified expression, she looked absolutely stunning.

“It’s okay, don’t fight it! David’s not a pervert or anything. Well, at least not toward girls—!”

“Shut the fuck up before I knock you out next...” David grumbled, knowing damn well she might be acquainted with Lucian. (Which was more or less the reason why he was being so gentle with her.)

With a harsh shove to the back, Riley found herself being throttled into the backseat of a beat-up car. Only then did she understand that this was all a set up. Jordan wasn’t out here at all. In fact, he was probably at home with a bitch he found at the party already. Tears welled in her eyes from the thought. Although, it didn’t do her any good to cry.

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By the time Riley regained consciousness, she had forgotten what happened. She figured she was in her own bed, falling behind on making breakfast for her little brother. For that reason alone, she got up despite her rough hangover and began stumbling around the dimly lit room to get changed. She reached for her dresser only to see her reflection staring right back at her — A mirror.

But she didn’t have any mirrors in her room.

“You’re awake.”

Riley let out a sharp gasp and nearly collapsed onto the piece of furniture, trying to decipher the dark figure standing by the door. The sound of its lock sealing echoed throughout the room.

Her immediate response was to grab the pocket knife from her jacket. However, when her hand went to tuck itself away and search for it, she found that her jacket was missing. Not only that, but so were her pants and shoes. Her heartbeat rang throughout her eardrums.

“A-Are you scared?” The voice grew soft and shaky. All the fear that she felt once before became a bit muffled whenever hearing the silhouette’s tone. “D…Don’t be scared. I hope T-Thomas didn’t hurt you…” Approaching her, Riley finally saw his face.

“Or he’d be breaking the deal.”

Beyond confused, Riley’s shoulders drooped and her eyebrows furrowed. “Sam…? Sam, is that you?”

Sam, one of Riley’s only friends, stood before her. Grasping onto his sweater and swallowing against the lump in his throat, he nodded sheepishly. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s m…me.”

There was a brief pause. Sam’s mind spiraled in circles as he tried to muster out the words he wanted to assure her with. Even knowing that this could be Sam’s doing, Riley waited patiently for him to get out what he needed to say. And for that reason, he couldn’t help but feel more attracted to her.

“I-I want y-yuh…you to be m…” Clenching his eyes shut and lowering his head, he couldn’t bear to look her in the eye. “…my girlfriend! Please be my girlfriend, Riley!”

Her eyes widened like saucers. This was the first time she had ever received a confession like this. The only reason she and Jordan were dating was because she begged him to be her boyfriend. That’s why whenever she saw Sam like this, she couldn’t help but see herself.

“Sam…”

“I put poison in Jordan’s drink last night. He’s in critical condition at the hospital.” His voice went monotone, thick and dull. All emotion he once had completely drained away. “I’m the only one with the antidote. If you don’t break up with him I-I’ll let him fucking die. I’ll let him die, Riley, and he’s gonna hurt.”

Even when saying such horrible things, Riley was astonished by the glint of pure obsession embedded in his irises. He loved her. Even if they hardly spoke before this, even if this was the first time she truly locked eye contact with him, he loved her more than Jordan ever did.

“…Okay.”

“Wh…What?” Sam’s voice shook as he snapped out of his state of delusion. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. No, not even that — He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Riley was smiling ear to ear. She didn’t look hurt or upset or anything. Rather, she appeared to be in utter bliss from the threat. Laughter escaped her throat as she held herself tight. “Okay! I’ll break up with him and get with you. That’s fine. So, get the antidote to him.”

Blinking in utter disbelief, Sam took a step or two backward. “A-Are you ser—?”

“You have no idea how serious I am.” She hummed, closing her eyes and lowering her head. “I’d do anything for him. Anything at all. So if that means I have to break up with him to save him, I will. So, please. Please give him the antidote, Sam.”

That wasn’t the reaction he was expecting. Balling his hand into a fist instinctively, repulsion overwhelmed his system. “Do you really love him that much e-even after…all he’s done to you?”

“I do.” Riley murmured, almost ashamed. “Is that really such a bad thing? Everyone treats me like a whore because I let him do whatever he wants to me, but isn’t that what love is? To sacrifice and devote yourself to them? Wouldn’t you do the same?”

Sam blinked in disbelief for a moment or two before averting his gaze elsewhere. “I wouldn’t h-hit you, Rie.”

Those words sent a shock wave through her system. Even if he avoided her eyes, she stared through his soul and listened intently.

“I’d never hit you,” he continued while clenching at the ends of his sweater. “I’d never call you names, I’d n-never make you cry, I’d never abandon you, a…and I’d never let anyone hurt you! When was the last time he’s h…eld you, that he told you how p-p…pretty you are? Riley…Riley, that’s what love is!”

Tears rolled down her cheeks, although she wasn’t sure why. All she could do was laugh and wipe them away, knowing that what Sam had said was the truth. It hurt. But in the same breath, she was in pure bliss knowing that someone cared enough to answer her.

Wiping away her tears with the sleeve of his sweater, Sam leaned in close to her figure. “I want to show you th…that, Riley. Please let me treat you h-how he should’ve been treating you this entire t…ime.”

Riley couldn’t help but blush whenever he progressed toward her. If he kept it up, they’d be in kissing range sooner than later. She wasn’t opposed to the idea. Although, she was a bit nervous to be jumping from one man to the next.

Sparing a glance or two at his lips, she found her self control and took a step back. When seeing his stunned expression, he avoided his acid eyes at all costs. “Sam…”

Respecting her boundaries and laying off the pressure, he rewarded her with personal space and tried his hardest to keep the disappointment off his face. After all, he understood it wasn’t her fault. Jordan was the one to blame for her hesitance.

“Sorry. Sh-Sh…ouldn’t rush things.” Sam murmured, although his face told another story.

While she knew she wasn’t in danger, Riley couldn’t help but feel the heat against the back of her neck growing in size. Wanting to clarify her reasoning behind not indulging in his affection, she found herself stammering just as he does. “If Jordan ever found out…”

Jordan. Jordan, Jordan, Jordan. That’s all she ever wanted to talk about. Had he really captivated her heart that much? There weren't any redeeming qualities Sam could pick out for a reason as to why Riley would care for him so dearly; He had an average face, a horrible attitude, and no sense of loyalty whatsoever. So, why? Why did Riley love him so much?

Lost in thought, Riley remained quiet. It wasn’t until Sam grasped her face and caressed the wound underneath her eye that she snapped out of the delusion.

“You deserve so much more than that, Riley. Don’t you get it?” His voice was gentle and reassuring. Despite knowing that he wasn’t going to hurt her, she still couldn’t help but flinch from his words. “I’m sure you don’t. That’s why I’ll…I’ll…I’ll teach you.”

“T-Teach me?”

“It’s not as scary as it sounds.” Sam chuckled, releasing her from his grasp and gazing at his shaky hands. “As long as you trust me.”

[vaultofqueenorion]

Take Me To Olympus #22

We're continuing on the journey. I've got a couple of more chapters written out and I am super excited to post them.

Things are heating up (and GOSH I can't wait until you see what I have in store for the future. Who do you think is coming next? ^-^) and the deities are cracking apart.

This is one of my favorite cracks ngl.

The First Chapter

Previous Chapter

Next chapter (coming soon)

//

Bones of the Earth and Shoreline Shimmers

Hades only joined Harley on her little shopping trip to give Persephone some time with Julia, and he found himself wandering the more seclusive corners of the malls. Most people seemed content to avoid him anyway, and that suited him fine.

The night before kept replaying in his mind, the chaotic power that resided in this world filling him as he worked the ritual. He’d been obsessed with getting Persephone back - it had almost consumed him. 

Hera had been right, after all.

He clenched his fist, feeling the bones and muscles ripple with barely contained chaotic power. Shadows seemed to coalesce at his fingertips before dripping onto the white marbled floor.

Perhaps he should have listened to the Oracle. 

Hades stared at the splotches. They writhed for a moment before they sunk into the white stone, dissonant whispers fading from his head as they did. 

And yet. 

Something about what Miranda had said to them lingered. He went further into the empty corridor to the side, smiling slightly at the flickering light above him. 

You will face the inevitable, and you, in all your glory of being the Gods of Old, will fall.

More shadows dripped from his fingers, running down his hands in thin streams as he felt darkness coalesce within him. A whiplash of pain surged through him, thorns digging into his insides, and when his smile turned into a grin, he knew his teeth were coated in darkness. 

Persephone had cracked. 

He could feel the dark he shared with her try to escape through every orifice, his skin turning black with the oily substance that ran in rivulets down his neck, arms, legs. 

A puddle formed beneath him.

With each drop, he focused on the heroes of the past. Of how they mustered when the odds seemed against them - of their courage in the face of deities much stronger than themselves.

Perfection kills Gods.

Then let him become mortal.

A croaking laugh made its way out his throat, and with each second he laughed, the shadows disappeared from his voice. As if he himself became the sun, the shadows withdrew from him. 

Searing pain filled his body, and he fell to the ground, his knees hitting the stone with a crack. His body heated until it felt like he was being burned alive, the ice in his veins turning liquid and escaping through his pores. 

Hades clutched at the ground, laughing through clenched teeth as the unimaginable pain coursed through him, each second longer than the next.

He had chosen this. 

This was what they had all chosen by making this their home.

Breathing hard through his nose, Hades opened his eyes. Only to immediately close them again as he was blinded. Shuffling onto his back, he cracked them open again, marveling at his hands.

His alabaster skin had cracked, revealing glistening golds and silvers on his hands. As he twisted his arms, the flickering light above created dancing reflections of the walls around him, bathing them in soft light.

He fought to get up, ignoring the ache that permeated his body. Then he lifted up his shirt, wonder lighting up his eyes at the way his skin split apart to reveal shimmering greens, blues, reds and purples - his skin had become living gemstones.

Wait until he showed this to Persephone. She would marvel at him, and perhaps she could even make a flower after the artpiece that his skin had become.

“Oh no,” he said, a hand coming up to wipe his grin off his face. He had forgotten about Persephone. And he’d felt her - had felt the crack in his darkness as she wilted away, and-

“Damn straight ‘oh no’,” came the unbidden response from the mouth of the corridor. “What are you even doing in here? And what are those - did you buy a disco ball?”

Harley stopped dead in her tracks when she neared him, her eyes becoming the size of saucers. But it didn’t last long.

“Holy shit what is this?” She said as she rushed forward, holding out a hand. Hades obliged and gave her his own colorful one, and her featherlight fingers ran up and down his newfound skin. “You too, huh?”

At that Hades cocked his head, his eyes roaming over Aphrodite. They were standing just within the shadows, and yet too far away from Hades to properly see. 

“I guess we are nothing more than gilded porcelain in the end,” he remarked, all the while drawing up his shirt for Harley to see his colorful stomach.

“And yet, when we break, our cracks are lined with gold,” Aphrodite said as they stepped forward, putting on display the thorns and white roses that had melded with their skin like intricate tattoos. They held their head high, and Hades gave them a small smile. 

A warmer smile than he’d ever managed before around anyone but Persephone.

Aphrodite returned it, their teeth glittering in the golden light of the topaz that reflected onto them. 

“You get yourselves into just as many messes as I do,” Harley said, taking a step back and looking from one cracked deity to the other. “Now, let’s find the last lost duckling and get home.”

Poseidon had been pacing through the mall for far too long, each round becoming more agitated as he glanced at the displays behind the windows. Televisions displayed news channels where prim people were discussing who would take the blame for the most recent oil spill, horrific images of the tonnes of black liquid that tainted the oceans. 

He looked away from the dead eyes of the fish that lay on their side. He had left so many brothers and sisters of the sea behind in the past. There was no doubt - he hadn’t been able to contact any of them since he had arrived here.

The nymphs and water sprites and other magnificent creatures had perished to the greed of the human race that had evolved as they were unchecked by the gods.

Clenching his hands, he closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, trying to force the images of death and decay and pure artificial wrongness out of his mind. The ocean as he knew it had perished - and whichever creatures remained were dying at an alarming rate, all thanks to people who would never feel the anger of the sea upon their own bodies, instead sending workers to do their dirty deeds. 

A frustrated sound managed to worm its way through his teeth, the sound akin to the magnificent conch he had left at his home beneath the sea.

“Well, you’re a cheery sight.” 

Poseidon didn’t bother turning around - the ever changing voice was enough to alert him to Hermes, not to mention the anticipation of gossip that seemed to hang in the air.

“Why would I be?” He didn’t bother unclenching his hands as he whirled, finding Hermes leaning against a nearby wall. “They have enough pleasure as they rejoice in the destruction of a miracle older than life itself.”

Hermes snorted, never moving from his position even as his eyes twinkled. “You were content to turn a blind eye to the struggles of Olympus for millennia. I can hardly imagine that this is much different.”

Fury boiled up within him like a raging sea, a frothing wild creature that threatened to spill from his every cell. “You dare compare the two? There is a difference between the ecosystem upon which the world hinges, and petty squabbles among people who should know better.”

The light in Hermes’ eyes turned sharp, the colors upon his body shifting in sharper increments that had mortals around them scurrying a little faster away from their part of the mall, even if they seemed confused as to what was triggering their fear. 

“Do not act like you are above the rest of us. Do I need to mention Medusa? Minos? Demeter? The horrific things you put others through for your own amusement have put you far below the mortals you would readily call the scum of the Earth.” Hermes paused as if savoring the words before sending Poseidon a wicked smile that held no amusement. “You are in the mud along with the rest of us.”

If Poseidon had had the lightning bolt that Zeus was so fond of throwing around, he’d have obliterated Hermes immediately. Hell, if he had been at his full strength, he’d have flooded the mall with a tsunami that would tear Hermes apart.

As it was, however, he managed to step into Hermes' personal space, their noses almost touching as the nearby fountain flowed over, the water spilling onto the floor.

“Don’t presume to match my misdeeds to the rest of yours. Mine have been harmless pranks or targeted mortals, never with the intention of harming my family.” Poseidon’s snarl reverberated within his chest, nearly rattling his teeth as it passed through his lips.

Hermes scoffed. “Funny you should say that, because I seem to remember a rebellion against the big guy.” He pointed upwards, towards where Olympus would have been, would they have been home instead of this hellish nightmare. “And the atrocities you committed against the women you call family - and those who had been your loyal followers or even just the worshippers of other gods. Those women would call it the most atrocious behavior of all.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Poseidon said, his eyes flickering as he recalled the pain in their eyes.

“I know what they whisper to each other when darkness falls. It’s my job to know.” Hermes’ eyes were spinning in a kaleidoscope now, and Poseidon had to look away from the dizzying colors. “I know that it is a miracle that Julia and Harley are even tolerating being near most of us, and I know that you caused irreparable damage to the psyches of those poor women.” 

Hermes leaned further in, tilting his head to whisper in Poseidon’s ear. “The world will go on, the seas will restore themselves and the nymphs will return, stronger than ever before. But I wonder whether they refuse your call because they know that your power has diminished over them - because they know that you cannot harm them anymore.”

“I never wished to harm anyone,” Poseidon said, feeling the tips of Hermes’ fingers dig into his back. 

“Lies,” the God of Messages hissed and pain shot up through Poseidon from Hermes’ splayed fingers. “We have not been worthy of divinity for a long while - you have not been worthy. But it is time that you pay your victims the respect they deserve and then become better.

“And while you may not see it, people of this world are fighting for it - there are those who clean the lakes and beaches and the organizations scouring the seas for plastic.” Hermes dragged Poseidon back to the screens that rather than dead fish now showed people scrambling to remove the oil from the sea. “The sea is strong; it will endure. But humanity needs people who understand the deep dark abyss that covers this world - people who will willingly dedicate their lives to educate and improve upon their own lives and the lives of others as they clean up the ocean, piece after painstaking piece.”

Poseidon seemed to freeze for a moment, thoughts churning within his mind. Then he tentatively spoke, the words slow as they fell from his lips. “I have not been worthy of the title of protector. Do you think that it is too late for us to change?”

Hermes did not acknowledge the words that went unsaid.

Do you think it is too late for me?

Instead he forced his lips upwards in jagged smile that was more trickery than treatment, yet Poseidon felt something uncurl from within him at the breeze that carried the messenger God’s words. 

“You are as wild and wicked as the ever changing tide, never forget that. But you must learn to bring calm seas rather than storms to the people around you.”

As Poseidon blinked, the last light of Hermes disappeared in that gust of wind. The thing uncurling within him turned into a roiling sea, freezing and scalding his insides at the same time as he forced himself to relive the memories that he had attempted to banish to the back of his mind as ill-received pranks. 

Pain snapped at his bones and muscles, their strength eroding under the unrelenting onslaught as Poseidon fell to his knees clutching his sides. Water poured from his eyes as he allowed himself to feel the pain that they had felt, invisible hands leaving marks in all shades of ocean blue upon his body, staining his skin in the colors of the sea. 

The pain pulsed through him, wave after wave from the tips of his fingers and all the way through his neck as the tears sunk into his skin, leaving blue lines of brilliant blue. 

Poseidon stayed silent on the floor throughout it all, letting the pain wash over him. Crawling towards it rather than shying away from it, he allowed himself to become used to the ebb and flow of it, a reminder of the past that he had wanted to ignore for so long.

A past that he would work to fix and compensate for, in any way that he could.

Even if that meant he would never quite be done atoning for the things he’d done. 

“There’s the last one,” Harley said from somewhere behind him. It was as if he was listening through the roar of a raging ocean, her voice too far away to really reach him. “Come on home, little duckling, we’ve got a family to fix.”

A snort from Aphrodite, their voice hollow yet somehow infinitely lighter as they spoke. “You can’t fix what isn’t broken.”

“Reshape then,” Hades replied, baritone voice devoid of the crawling shadows that infested his every move. “We can make something new in its stead.”

It wasn’t until he was standing right in front of him that Poseidon felt the urge to raise his gaze. It wasn’t until that hand covered in the finest of marbling minerals was held outstretched towards him that he dared release the iron grip he held over the roiling sea that churned in his chest, threatening to spill out through his eyes. 

“None of us have been kind, brother.” Dark eyes met seafoam blue, and Poseidon reached out with shaking fingers and grasped Hades’ hand. “But it’s never too late to learn.” 

It was a warm and solid grip that Poseidon met in Hades, the unshakable, undiluted hope of the deity of the dead even as he cracked apart touched something deep within the chest of the god of the seas, and green tears sent crystalline traces down his cheeks as he allowed himself to hold on to his brother for long enough that the world around them fell away.

“A-hem,” came the too fake cough to even be considered an attempt at a fake cough from Aphrodite. 

Then there was the sound of a scuffle and an ‘ow’, and Poseidon allowed himself to smile, just a bit. 

To his surprise, Hades lips quirked upwards, his eyes glittering with the riches of the world. 

For the first time, Poseidon found himself not caring whether they returned to their own time or not.

[dribs-and-drabbles]

The Gifted Graduation ep 9

Hoo boy it's been a while...

Hej Donut, I've missed you 😍. Not you, though, Darin, I still want to slap you into next year.

Oh yes! Pang! I'm so proud of you for walking away. But it is so interesting that Supot is not refuting Pang's assumption that he's a bad guy. Why does he not explain how he's on the 'right side' and that what he's asking of Pang is because it will help their cause? Maybe that doesn't matter - maybe it's choosing to do the morally right thing even if it means you can't help out the 'right cause'...

Iiiiiiiinteresting...what was that device under the table and why did Punn look at it like that? But Punn has become so cold-hearted. Also, I wouldn't exactly say that Claire's ability was one of the most impressive.

Oh wait, scrap that. Wave planted that bug. And maybe Punn does have a heart still under all that frost.

And now for the comedy product placement interlude.

Gosh this piece of music is fantastic, and so fitting for this scene (all the friends leaving Pang and Wave alone).

Pang saying "If [Supot] ran the show himself, we'd have higher odds of winning" makes me think of how villains always make someone else do the job who then inevitably fails meaning the villain ultimately fails. I always wonder why they don't just do the job themselves. Anyway... Pom's response sounds very manipulative to me - "Because you are fighting for your future". It sounds more like "because you're the scapegoat we need".

This show never fails to surprise me. It's so well written. First it gets me thinking that Pang's stuck in this never-ending loop of being outwitted by Darin/the ministry but then they flashback to a flippant line to then use it to build the twist in the story. It's fantastic. Let's hope they don't get outwitted again.

Punn 'you're no better than the anti-gifted if you use violence': immediately strangles Third to get his way...

But there's something beautiful that at its core this conflict is about friendships and caring for others even though people change and ideals don't align anymore. It's poetic. It's fantastic.

Oh this doesn't bode well - Grace taking the NYX-88 samples to Time and therefore Supot - and after the minister says "Don't you know who our real enemy is?" Yet again this show playing with the audience's faith and doubt as to who we should be rooting for or wary about. Who's right? Who's wrong? Who is the good or the bad?

Ooof this scene...Darin tells Third not to let Supot or Pom have the virus and good for him that he tries to withhold it...but that metronome in the background makes me think Pom is going to use his powers on them... HA! I knew it! But does Pang know that Supot was going to do this?! Has Pang been outwitted yet again?! 😄😭

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13]

[citrinesparkles]

welcome home.

jason todd x gender neutral reader. 2,086 words. notes: requested by an incredibly flattering anon as part of my hundred followers celebration! thank you again for the feedback, and for enabling me :) also was subconsciously influenced by this piece. warnings: arguing, discussion of danger, reader gets accidentally threatened, patching up wounds, lots more swearing than my usual (but it's all mild language). angst and comfort, i think. super dialogue heavy. this is so long and a little (lot) messy just. prepare yourself

"man," a robotic voice echoed dangerously through the dark living room, sending chills through you. "did you pick the wrong apartment."

luckily, the voice was familiar. "um, the one i live in?"

he choked out your name, startled, and you flicked on the light switch to find him frozen in place with a gun in his hand.

"right." you said tensely, glancing at it- which made him jerk his hand down, shoving the gun into its holster as though it burned him- and looking back up at the eyes of his helmet. "so, uh, i'll turn a light on next time."

"you shouldn't be home yet," he said stiffly.

"i texted you like, three hours ago to let you know i'd be home a day early."

he swore quietly. "my phone's in the river."

"how did it- you know what, at least that explains the radio silence. you didn't think to have someone else- anyone else- let me know?"

"uh." he paused, tensing almost imperceptibly for a moment. "no. i was, uh, i was busy. i'm sorry."

"busy, huh?" something felt very wrong, and not just the fact that he had nearly shot you. "okay, i'll bite, busy with what?"

"nothing important."

the sinking feeling in your stomach intensified and your eyes narrowed dangerously. "important enough that you forgot to tell me you weren't dead in an alley somewhere, when you knew i'd be texting to check in anyway. leaving me worrying in a hotel room in another city."

"nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to worry about." you were really getting sick of the sound of his modulator, but he continued before you could say anything. "go back to what you were doing, babe."

"yeah... uh, no." you stepped forwards and he flinched back defensively, making you freeze. "seriously, what is up with you tonight?"

"noth-"

"jason, i promise if you say nothing one more time, i'm going to lose my mind."

he shifted his foot back slightly, and you took a deep breath.

"okay," you conceded, raising your hands up in surrender and moving backwards yourself. "respecting your space now. that wasn't my best decis-"

your voice cut out when something under his jacket caught your eye.

something red.

"holy crap, jason, what the hell?"

he winced quietly. "you weren't supposed to be home yet, okay?"

"take that stupid helmet off already, would you?" you snapped, already moving to get the first aid kit.

"i would've gone somewhere else if i'd known, okay?" his voice, now clear and crisp without the filter, followed you down the hall.

"that does not make this better!"

"can you please not yell at me right now?"

you dashed back into the room, shooting a vicious glare at him. "jacket."

he slid it off gingerly, dropping it on the couch next to his helmet.

"can you get the armor, or do i need to help?"

even despite the domino mask he was wearing, you could tell he was rolling his eyes. "if i couldn't do it on my own, why would i have come here if i didn't think you'd be home?"

"hm," you took the piece he handed you and carefully set it on the couch, "maybe because you're a stubborn jackass?"

he grunted, sliding his undershirt off and passing it to you. "i don't wanna stain the couch with that."

"your priorities suck."

"it's the nicest piece of furniture we own!"

"it's still a couch!"

"it was expensive!"

"oh for crying out loud-" you threw your hands up again, this time in frustration. "fine! fine. i'll go put this in the tub and get a soak going. you-" you shoved the kit towards him pointedly- "start washing that off."

"how come you're calling the shots?" he snapped back petulantly.

"because my torso's in one piece."

"i have way more experience with this, i should be making the decisions here."

"oh, of course, my apologies!" your voice was absolutely dripping in sarcasm. "what, pray tell, would you have us do?"

he scowled at you for a moment before reaching for the first aid kit and flicking the lid open. "whatever."

you turned on your heel, stomping into the bathroom.

the shirt got thrown into the tub and the tap got tossed all the way on, and as the water crashed into the gray fabric, you took the opportunity to squeeze your eyes shut and breathe deeply.

you opened your eyes a minute later, finding the water dyed a rusty almost-red from blood.

his blood.

you turned off the tap- gently pushed the handle, this time, the fire in your chest now largely extinguished- and made your way back to the living room to find him running a rag over the space below his ribs.

"may i?" you asked softly, stopping a few feet away and holding a hand out to him.

his jaw clenched and relaxed three times in quick succession, but he finally sighed and dropped his shoulders before holding the rag out. "yeah, c'mere."

you worked in silence, being as gentle as possible. jerking your hand back and mumbling apologies when he hissed.

"s'okay, comes with the territory."

you pressed the alcohol-soaked towel back against him, and he sighed.

"that was stupid, huh."

a small laugh escaped you. "it so was."

"can we..."

"try that again?"

"yeah."

you pulled back, standing up straight to meet his eyes. "only if i can take the dumb mask off of you."

"i thought you liked the mask," he teased, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

"jason."

he chuckled, wincing again when it jostled his wounds. "ouch. uh, yeah, mask. g'head."

you gently pulled it from his face, setting it neatly on his other gear before running your thumbs across the line of adhesive it left on his cheekbones. "hi there."

"hey." he leaned into your touch, vibrant eyes fluttering halfway shut. "so uh, welcome home."

"thanks. could've done without the gun, though."

a choking sound tore from his throat, his eyes flying back open. "holy shit, baby, i almost-" he jerked back from you, no regard for his side. "you almost- shit, shit, are you- i'm so sorry, i didn't-"

"okay, woah, hey-"

"i could have killed you."

it was a whisper, horrified and harsh, and while it was technically true, his tone teetered on the edge of a dark space you had seen before and really didn't want him falling back into.

"yeah."

you desperately searched for the right thing to say, rejecting variations of "but hey, you didn't actually", "maybe you should be more careful about waving a gun at people", and one particularly unhelpful "no shit, sherlock".

finally, you settled on a quiet, calm "but i'm still right here, okay?"

his hand flew up to cover his mouth, doing absolutely nothing to hide the near panic written on his features. "i could have killed you."

"okay, so, in the future, we'll... we'll uh, we'll come up with some kind of system for letting you know when i'm home, or something."

"oh, like a phone?" he asked harshly. "the one i was stupid and sloppy enough to dunk in the harbor?"

"that wasn't- i'm guessing that you had a lot on your plate." you waved the cold, bloody towel in your hand at his wounds. it made him curl in on himself slightly, stepping backwards again until his back hit the arm of the couch.

"no excuses. i could have killed you."

"i-"

"no, i almost shot without saying anything!" he exclaimed, brow furrowed and eyes stormy. "i thought someone had broken in, and i got so- i don't even know, damn territorial or some stupid shit- that i almost put a bullet between your eyes. i could have-"

"jason!"

he screwed his eyes shut and dropped his head, roughly tugging his fingers through his hair. "i almost-"

"but you didn't. okay?" every fiber of your being wanted to hold him, to tug him into you and put his hand against your ribs and show him you were okay and breathing, heart still pumping, but he looked enough like a cornered animal that you half expected him to bite you if you tried. "c'mon, jaybird. a life like yours, can you really afford almosts?"

"life like mine, i can't afford to let anyone close to me. apparently, if the goons and thugs don't kill you, i will."

"that's not-"

"what if i hadn't said something?" he snapped venomously. "what if i'd lost more blood and was loopy from it? what if i'd come home with a concussion- again- and didn't think past 'point and shoot'?"

"jason," you finally interjected. "you think i haven't thought about that?"

his eyes, grim and vicious and so full of emotion that you thought you could drown in them, dropped to the floor.

"because it's not a secret that your life is risky. you're risky. i know that. but you're worth every ounce of danger, okay? i'm choosing this, choosing you, knowing full well what i'm getting into, because you're worth all of it."

"i'm not worth any of it."

"that's not your call to make."

"it-"

"you think i need you to make my choices for me?"

"no, of course not."

"you think im stuck here?"

"do you feel like you are?"

"absolutely not." you inched forward again. "i'm here because i want to be."

"...i just... i don't..."

"don't want me to get hurt?"

he finally looked back up at you, eyes watery and jaw tense. "or worse."

"i know, baby. i know," you sighed. "but that's part of life, right? and if the hurt's inevitable, i want the rest of my time to be as nice as possible, and you make my life better. make me better."

"by putting you in danger?"

"it's gotham, handsome, i'm gonna be in danger either way. at least with you, i know i have someone looking out for me. right?"

"always," he said immediately.

"okay then." you took the last step between the two of you slowly, watching for any resistance. meeting none, you brushed your knuckles against his. "i can't think of anywhere i'd feel safer."

"you know that's crazy, right?"

you hummed quietly. "nah."

"i'm being serious."

"me too."

he studied your face silently. you smiled softly at him.

finally, a sigh escaped him and he scooted his hand forward, wrapping his index finger around your own and squeezing gently. "you're sure you want this? i can set you up with a place downtown for a bit. you'd never have to see me again, never have to worry about... all of this."

"i've never been more sure of anything." you said it firmly, confidently, letting the words hang in the air for a few moments before popping one eyebrow up playfully. "why, need to make room for a side piece?"

a startled choking sound escaped him. "excuse me?"

"i mean, when you were talking about being busy, it felt kinda suspicious."

"what is wrong with you?" he asked, exasperation and laughter coating his voice.

"listen, you were being evasive!" his head fell forwards, resting on your shoulder as he laughed.

"i didn't want you to know i was bleeding all over the place!"

"why, didn't want me to worry?"

"exactly!"

you reached your free hand up, gently resting it on the back of his head and playing with his hair. "then maybe, just maybe, you should have gotten someone to tell me your phone went for a swim."

"fair enough."

you stood quietly for a long time, running your fingers through his hair and enjoying the feeling of his breath against your collar.

"i..." he muttered, pulling back to look in your eyes. "i don't think- um. i don't think i'm..." he groaned, gaze darting to the ceiling. "i love you. but the minute you have enough of- of all of this-"

"i won't."

"but if you do, i'll... i'll understand, okay?"

you squeezed his finger gently. "okay." you inhaled deeply, dropping the bloody towel you were still clutching and slid your hand forward to hold his completely. "can we get a bandage on that and go to bed, now?"

"....yes please."

---

"wait!" you yelled, throwing the first aid kit haphazardly onto the bathroom counter and racing after him into the bedroom, where he whirled around with wide eyes. "i love you too! i never said it back- i love you too."

"don't yell like that- i thought something was wrong!"

"me not saying it back is urgently wrong, jason!"

[magniloquent-raven]

(pt1 here)

billy grew up afraid of finding his soulmate.

when he was eight his father caught him trying to wash nail polish off with soap and a hand towel.

he’d heard girls at school saying it was what you did when your soulmate was a boy. you were supposed to paint yourself up all pretty and find the person who matched. and it was easy enough to sneak into the vanity and steal a bottle of his mother’s nail polish. but once the paint dried he realized it would be impossible to hide from his father, and he panicked.

his mother showed him the bottle of nail polish remover after neil left. dabbed some on a cotton ball to rub at the thick layer of paint. she was silent, kneeling on the floor in front of him cradling his sprained wrist while he sat on the edge of the tub and cried.

they both had questions, but neither of them got answers.

it took billy months to work up the courage to try again.

he wasn’t sure why he was bothering, at first. he knew he couldn’t look for his soulmate the traditional way. and he was constantly terrified that his father would find the supplies he’d started hoarding. it seemed like more risk than reward, and yet. he couldn’t stop himself.

every time he was allowed to wander off in a store alone he’d slip something into his pocket. a tube of lip gloss. a compact full of shiny powders. he wasn’t even sure what some of it was, he just liked the colours. liked the pictures they hung alongside the displays. he wanted to look like that. beautiful.

and in his heart of hearts, he wanted the boy who was out there waiting for him to know he existed. whether they’d be able to find each other or not.

he’s more careful with this than he was with the nail polish. his father works saturday nights, and his mother always visits their neighbour while he’s at work. despite having the house to himself he locks his bedroom door.

the first thing he tries is the watermelon lip gloss. it’s sticky, and the wand doesn’t fit in his hand comfortably, but once he’s smeared it on he feels...good. he likes the way it catches the light. likes the way it smells. he looks at himself in the mirror and likes seeing something different.

the high doesn’t last long, it inevitably gives way to paranoia, anxiety that has him glancing at the locked door every thirty seconds, heart pounding, wondering if just maybe his father will get home from work early, and he jumps at every sound, hearing boots thudding on the porch and car doors slamming and anything that could be neil coming through the door.

cleaning himself up is hard. panic makes his hands shake, his eyes well up. he drops everything on the floor when he tries to tuck the bag away. and he has to spend twenty minutes with his back to his bedroom door getting his breathing under control when he’s finished.

but he does it again the following saturday. and the one after that.

for five months he does this. locks himself away with his stolen treasures and lets himself live a little. it gets easier as time goes on. and his mind wanders sometimes. to a future where he gets to share this with someone. the boy out there who’s supposed to love him one day.

it’s a small bubble of a dream. one he doesn’t spend too much time dwelling on. not when there’s neil’s voice in his head, telling him that no one could love a fucking freak, ‘cause fags don’t get real soulmates anyways.

he wants and he wishes, but the more he thinks about it the more he doubts. he’s never gotten a mark from his soulmate, and even if he did some day, what if his father’s right, and his “soulmate” doesn’t want him or makes him miserable or...worse.

so he does his makeup for himself.

until, like all good things in his life, his father ruins it.

he never found out what set neil off initially, something going wrong at work maybe, or the martial strife of the week getting to him. whatever it was that started it, neil eventually decided billy should bear the brunt of the fallout.

so he went through his things. said billy’d been acting cagey lately, and he was going to find out why.

and then found the makeup bag stuffed into an old sweater in his closet.

it was ugly. the things neil said that day would play on repeat in billy’s head for years afterwards. the scars his belt left on billy’s back were nothing in comparison.

the next saturday came and went. billy spent the evening curled up under a blanket not bothering to wipe away the tears dripping down his face.

by morning he’s resolved to forget the whole thing. to put it behind him. because it was stupid, and risky and childish and maybe his father was right. he’s almost convinced himself. and then he notices ink on his arm, as he reaches up to rub his eyes. messy scrawl, i bet you looked pretty crookedly written up his forearm.

he didn’t think he was able to cry any more, but he manages it.

for the first time his soulmate isn’t just a concept, or a what-if, he’s...a person. he’s a real person out there somewhere. someone who doesn’t even know billy and still wanted to reach out, to offer comfort. it’s more than he’s gotten from anyone else. even his mother. who he knows loves him, and she does her best to protect him, but when she found out about his makeup stash she just looked sad, and she’s said nothing to him about it.

but his soulmate…

can never, ever meet neil.

the thought hits him right in the chest.

whoever he is, he cares, he’s good. and neil breaks good things.

billy falls asleep that night tracing the empty space where his soulmate’s message used to be, wrapped up in worries and dreams, and terrified for someone he’s never met.

the doodles that come and go over the years are terrifying and exhilarating and billy manages to hide every single one from his father. they only ever show up during the day, and they don’t linger. something billy is both grateful for and resentful of.

sometimes he’ll watch other boys’ hands in class. check them for drawings. he thinks he’s being careful, but a girl in his chem class, becca, catches him. she says it’s only because she knew what to look for. they share a cigarette under the bleachers and she tells him about a girl who likes green eyeshadow and writes homework reminders on her wrists using stars instead of bullet points.

it takes billy six months and a couple shots of tequila to tell her about watermelon lip gloss and bet you’re pretty and they both cry when he starts to wonder if his soulmate will be disappointed that he isn’t a girl.

on a rainy april afternoon she asks him to go to a gay bar with her. he tells his father he’s going on a date. she tells her’s that she had to reschedule a tutoring session and it’ll run pretty late.

they wait til it’s dark and get ready in a dingy gas station bathroom. when she’s smearing on her eyeliner she catches sight of his face in the cloudy mirror. he wasn’t going to ask her for anything. he wouldn’t have brought it up. the twinge in his heart and a hollow feeling of longing aren’t anything new, he can deal.

he feels and empty kind of rage every time old, well-meaning relatives give max girly lip gloss kits and eyeshadow pallets and shit normal preteen girls who care about finding their soulmates actually appreciate. she always rolls her eyes and throws them away. susan will fish them out of the trash sometimes, and leave them under the bathroom sink, like if max just sees them there she’ll suddenly give a shit and start using them. like them being there does anything but taunt billy with what he can’t have.

neil watches him like a fucking hawk every time that shit comes into the house. and max doesn’t fucking care. doesn’t notice.

but becca offers.

and.

he’s not about to say no.

he should’ve said no.

it feels good at first, like it used to, it feels like freedom and he likes what he sees when he looks in the mirror, and he kisses a boy for the first time and it isn’t fireworks but it’s something, and he thinks maybe it’s going to be a good night, but then…

neil is waiting on the curb outside becca’s house. they were heading there first, because her parents wouldn’t notice, she said it would be fine, she has makeup remover he can use, he can clean up and head home and everything was supposed to be okay, except. it wasn’t.

it’s the last time he sees becca. neil tells her parents what was actually going on, and she isn’t allowed to visit him in the hospital.

and then six months of rehab, one rushed wedding and a big ugly sold sign later, neil carts them off to hawkins, indi-fucking-ana. as a “family.”

billy was certain this town would be nothing but a prison. it’d be somewhere he’d never find a place to be himself, neil would make sure of that. there wasn’t a single thing to like about this place and its bullshit small town sensibilities. for all the open space it might as well have been stone walls and steel bars.

except.

except...here was a boy with soft eyes and nimble fingers, who gets a little wrinkle between his brows when he concentrates, and is always moving, fidgeting, fiddling with zippers and touching his elbows and looking at him makes billy itch. to touch, to soothe, to take, and…

things get complicated when aimless blue waves scrawl up billy’s arm. when steve follows him out into the parking lot. calls him pretty to his face. and suddenly billy’s eight years old and realizing this shit is real. terrified of what that could mean. spinning fragile dreams like spider’s silk, hard to shake but easy to destroy.

even entertaining the idea of putting on makeup while he’s still in hawkins is stupid and dangerous, but goddamn if he hasn’t risked more for less.

he’s sure he’ll regret it. like he’s regretted every other desperate bid for freedom. but when faced with steve harrington’s smile, he can’t find it in himself to say no.

(edit: pt3 here)

[justfandomwritings]

By The Norns (Part One - Soulmate!Loki)

Pairing: Loki x Reader, Soulmates AU

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: Nobody was harmed in any way in the making of this story... but there was some arson.

Summary: She wasn’t a goddess. She wasn’t even an elf or a dwarf. She was a mortal, a Midgardian, a human. To Odin, she was a curse. To Loki, she was a second chance.

Notes: Don’t worry. Despite what the chapter and the description may make you think anyone whose read my stories before will know I am not a fan of soulmate aus that take away the character’s choice. This chapter is set up. Stick with me on this. I promise. Posted in honor of @muna1412​ being very excited at the prospect of another soulmate au.

This is not related to Loyalty in any way... I just have an unhealthy obsession with Soulmate aus. 

Fate was a funny, fickle thing. Loki knew that much. After all, he’d met her. 

Them, to be more precise. The Norns.

Urdr, Skuld, and Verdandi were their names: Past, Present, and Future, as they should be known.

It was they who watered the tree, and they who grew its leaves. The task fell to the Norns to write, shape, create, and control the fate of every being under the branches of Yggdrasil. 

A poor, dwarven craftsman working on the surface of Nidavellir, a beautiful, golden elf living on a hill in Alfheim, a meager, puny human scurrying around the surface of Midgard. It was they who made the dwarf rich, who killed the elf in his sleep, who let the human sow the land. They did not exchange the gold; they did not wield the dagger; they did not draw the plow. But it was by their hand, by their grace and mercy, that the worlds turned, that life waxed and waned, that the Realms drew breath. 

Every birth was through their will. Every death was by their hand, and everything in between was because they decided it would be so.

All fell under the gaze of the Norns. The kitchen cook, Andhrimnir, who served the Aesir’s table at night, owed everything to the Norns. They allowed his birth into Asgard. They raised him above the station of a lowly tavern boy. They gifted him the family he cradled so dearly to his chest.

Odin, King of the Nine Realms, Protector of Asgard, owed everything to the Norns. He was born by their choice. He survived a thousand battles because they said he would do so. He married Frigga because they put her on his path. His sons… 

Well, one of his sons.

Loki knew the exact moment Odin stopped looking at him as a son, the exact moment Odin chose Thor over him, the exact moment Odin turned his back on him, the exact moment his father marked him disappointment.

It was, like all things, the doing of the Fates. The Norns.

Fates were theirs to command from the highest branches of Yggdrasil down to its very roots. From king to beggar, slave to master, aristocrat to pauper, farmer to merchant, sailor to soldier. From Loki to her. She was their doing.

Love was an inevitable part of life. Not even the Norns, with all of the power of the gods and then some, could stop that. Humans, Aesir, Elves, Vanir, the sentient beings of the Nine Realms felt an overwhelming urge towards emotion, and one of the strongest, one of the most inevitable, was love.

They couldn’t stop it, but they could direct it.

It fell under the purview of Fate to decide who one loved. People, god and mortal alike, fell in and out of love all the time. 

Sometimes, though, every now and then, the Norns would reach down and touch two beings. The Norns would take two souls in two bodies and braid them together, weave them together, mold them together, as if they were one.

Those who knew magic well, those like Loki, could see them, watch them, doing this. 

They could see Urdr floating, invisible amongst them, deciding the pair. They could see Skuld, plucking up their souls. They could see Verdandi tying them together.

Loki watched them when they took his soul.

“Mother, Mother,” Loki tugged on his other’s silk skirts and pointed up into the rafters of the Grand Hall. “What’s that?”

Frigga followed her son’s gaze and gasped. Magic was not her proficiency, though what little she had she wielded well. She had enough to see the Norns, floating ghostlike in the air over her younger son. She had enough to see his soul in their hands, and another at their side. 

In the old days, before that fateful night, it was considered an honor to be chosen by the Norns. It was a guarantee of a great, powerful destiny in the future. It was a promise of passion, understanding, and respect on the horizon. It was the mark of one who would know true love. 

The Midgardians called them soulmates. The Aesir called them the destined. 

“The Norns have touched Loki,” Frigga whispered to Odin at her side. “They are gifting him a match.”

“With who?” Odin asked because he could not see them for himself.

Frigga squinted in the direction of the apparitions tying together Loki’s future. “I cannot tell. She appears to be…” Frigga’s eyes whipped around to Odin, “Midgardian.”

Odin turned up his nose and sniffed.

Midgard. The word, the world, that had sentenced Loki to a lifetime of second best. 

His ‘destined’, his ‘soulmate’, his curse.

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

It was centuries before the soul tied to Loki’s found the body it would spend its own life in.

(Y/n), her parents named her. 

They weren’t sure why they named her that. When asked, they said they saw the name once in a book. Or was it on the tv? Or in a dream? 

Neither could really remember. All they knew was that, as she grew, the name suited her perfectly. Almost as if fate itself had chosen it for her.

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

For centuries, millennia even, her soul had been lingering on the edges of reality, existing but not quite feeling. She floated through time and space, following the ties that bound her to existence, waiting.

By the time her soul entered her body on Earth, she had existed longer  than any other Midgardian ever had or would in all of history. She had lingered for years just out of reach of one of the most powerful beings on Asgard, her soulmate. Lifetimes had passed her by in the blink of an eye, and though she didn’t remember any of them, they remembered her.

Her soul hovered above its mate, basking in the magic that dissipated into the air around him like smoke. She breathed it in, soaked it in, drew it in.

In many ways, even subconsciously, she showed her age, her mate.

Even as a baby, she never woke her mother up screaming, to the jealousy of her mom’s friends. She was the model toddler, even through her terrible twos. She almost never cried and rarely threw temper tantrums. They called her a prodigy when she started speaking in full sentences before time doctors even expected her to be learning her first words, and they called her a genius when she learned to read full children’s books while other kids were still struggling through their first alphabet flashcards. Even though she ran around playing in the mud or splashing in puddles, somehow her clothes were always pristine. She taught herself faster than the teachers could and skipped two grades in elementary school alone. She was suspiciously charismatic for such a little girl and made, literally, hundreds of dollars off her lemonade stand. She listened to a family speaking another language in the store once and ran up to them to answer a question they had; when her parents asked her how she’d learned to understand or say that in another language, she had no idea what they were talking about and seemingly hadn’t even realized she’d done it. 

And yet there were other things, darker things. 

When she was born, the nurses didn’t question the little shock of static that jolted through them as they held her. No one commented how, in the right light, the baby’s eyes could look terrifyingly aware. She lied as easily as she breathed and almost never got caught. A girl made fun of her friend's hair once at school, and that night ended up being rushed to the hospital by her parents with all the signs of a heart attack in a five year old child. She liked having things her way, and even when her parents refused her, they always found themselves oddly compelled to do whatever it was anyways. She had an affinity for snakes that often found her letting them in the house. The pranks she pulled on her little brother sometimes got out of hand and often resulted in loud crashes and screams, though by the time any adult arrived nothing ever seemed broken. Her father used to joke that she must be some kind of shape shifter because he swore that, from day to day, her eye would change their color. Sometimes, when he looked in them, he swore they weren’t his daughters, but when he blinked and looked back they always returned to normal. 

Most of it was written off as the simple oddities of a child or exaggerations of first time parents. 

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

Superheroes did not exist when (Y/n) was a child. 

It would be another decade before Tony Stark would stand on a stage and proclaim before the world, “I am Iron Man.” It would be even longer still before Peter Parker would put on a red and blue jumpsuit and call himself, ‘Spiderman’. Bruce Banner hadn’t even begun his research into the serum that would be his ultimate undoing. Dr. Stephen Strange was finishing up med school. Thor hadn’t made his presence known. Wanda had just been born. Hawkeye and Black Widow were still assassins working in the shadows. No one outside Wakanda had ever heard of the Black Panther. Vision hadn’t been built yet, and Captain America had been dead for decades. 

Even if they did exist, it wouldn’t have helped (Y/n). Most of them weren’t born super. Most of them became so by lab experiments or radioactive insects or training or technology. 

In the world (Y/n) grew up in, there were no superheroes. And if there were no superheroes... then what was she? 

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

She was 12. 

It was her big day. 

Not her birthday, she didn’t particularly care about birthdays. Something about them just felt off to her. When she turned 11, she asked her mom if she could have two of those candles that were shaped like the actual numbers, and she’d put them pressed against each other on top of the cake. She ran around all day telling everyone she was 1,111. Some people laughed, but mostly to humor her.

That was why she hadn’t had a birthday party when she turned 12. She didn’t like people fake laughing. It felt like lying. She didn’t particularly mind lying herself, but she hated thinking that people were lying to her. Especially because she could always tell when they were. 

No, instead, she had this. The Science Fair.

She’d won first prize the night before. She knew she had because one of the judges had told her she’d won.

That morning, they would be handing out the awards, and she was so excited for everyone else to know the secret, to know that she was the best, even better than the older kids in her class.

The judges were walking up on stage, and any moment, once they got past the category winners they were going to call her name.

“In third place we have Jesse Martin with his project in the biology category!” 

A cheer went up that, judging by the pitch, absolutely must have been from Jesse’s mom. The other parents in the room clapped while Jesse ran towards the stage, turning red in the cheeks from his family’s overzealous encouragement. 

“Congratulations, son,” the Dean smiled as he bent down to shake the boy’s hand. The mike picked up a small bit of Jesse’s anxious thanks before he ran to join the line of winners.

“And in second place we have, (Y/n)! With her wonderful….” 

Second place. 

But Mr. Sellers, the science teacher had told her she won. 

Was he lying? Did he honestly think second place was winning? Was he just saying that to shut her up? Or was he being mean? Did he want to laugh at her when his real favorite won? 

The parents were cheering her, including her own. Her father was nudging her towards the stage, but she didn’t at all appreciate the gesture.

No. They told her she was going to win. 

Her face screwed up in pain, and she balled her hands into fists.

At the back of the room something exploded. 

A scream went out. 

“Fire!” Someone shouted. “Fire!”

The poster boards up and down the hall were catching fire. It jumped easily from paper to paper. It didn’t help that there was no smoke, for some odd reason. That the sprinklers, that the fire alarm, didn’t turn on.

Someone grabbed (Y/n) by the waist. Her father no doubt. 

(Y/n) barely noticed. She was still upset staring at the trophy on the stage over his shoulder. 

Slowly, before her eyes, it began to melt.

She smiled. Good. If she couldn’t have it, no one could.

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

“She caused the fire.” He whispered, staring down at the floor in front of him with glassy eyes. 

“Wayne, that’s crazy; you know it is.” 

“I saw it with my own eyes, Elle. She clenched her first and suddenly Christina Danvers poster exploded. She gets second, and the first place project explodes the moment she throws a fit?”

“Our daughter doesn’t throw fits.”

“Not normally, but she did today. She was about to, and then everything caught fire.”

“Wayne, you can’t be serious about this right now.”

“She was smiling.” He whispered. “When everything burned down, she was smiling.”

(Y/n) listened silently from the hallway as her parents talked.

She loved to eavesdrop on her parents late night. They never knew she was there. It was another one of those odd coincidences of her life that (Y/n) was the only person in the house who never made the steps creak when she walked up and down the stairs. 

She was old enough to know what they were saying, what they were implying. It should’ve bothered her more than it did.

(Y/n) walked back upstairs, silent as the grave, and opened her closet.

She needed the duffle bag her father kept tucked away in the top of her closet, but she was nowhere near tall enough to reach it. As the door slid open, the bag teetered on the edge of the wire shelf and fell to the floor. 

“How convenient,” (Y/n) mumbled to herself. 

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

“Hey Kid,” The man shouted at her out the window of his semi-truck. “What’re you doin’ out here at night? It ain’t safe!” 

(Y/n) shrugged. “Not safe at home either.” 

The man gave her an understanding look. 

(Y/n) watched him carefully as he opened the door of his rig and offered her a hand. 

Her mother had always told her not to talk to strangers, but (Y/n) had found she could always tell what people wanted. Besides, she was pretty sure she was a greater danger to them than they were to her. 

“Where ya’ headed?” The man asked.

“West.”

“I can take ya’ as far as Texas.” He offered. 

(Y/n) hopped off the curb and grabbed the man’s offered hand, hauling herself up into the passenger seat. 

She didn’t know where she was going or why she was going there. But something inside of her told her she had somewhere to be.

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

Next Time On.... Part Two

Thank you very much for reading! I hope you all enjoyed. I have just come back from a hiatus and a great deal of why I went on said hiatus was the stress of managing ‘added features’ for lack of a better expression. I like writing. I don’t like formatting or managing the blog side of things. 

As such, no taglists. Please don’t ask me to be on a taglist. Keeping track of it stresses me out too much. I don’t feel like doing it. I don’t appreciate being pressured into doing it. In the olden days of tumblr, people used to follow each other, and I promise you that feature still works. If you follow me you will see part two when it’s posted. 

[belit0]

Hey, can you write Indra + size kink + cockworship + nasty cum stuff ?? Sorry, i'm hungry for that man

Sorry this took me SO FUCKING LONG omfg

No need to be sorry, I’m as hungry as you. I haven’t written smut in a while, so bear with me, I’m getting back at it:,(

Tw: Indra knows nothing about communication

When Indra enters the house, the sun has already set. He looks drained, tired. It’s been days since he started wearing his hair loose, devoid of his usual ponytail, and it only helps to make him look more massive than he is.

His steps are heavy as he heads to the bedroom, and when he looks at you with those expressionless serious eyes, you know he won’t be eating dinner today either. That’s okay, you’re not used to spending time together as a normal couple anyway, and you know you’d feel weird if he actually sat down with you and joined you for a meal.

His form disappears down the corridor and you know he has found the way to bed, seeking comfort from the adversities of the day. His shadow is dragged across the walls by the candlelight, and for a moment, it looks like the demon everyone says he is.

But of course, you know better than to believe those ridiculous tales.

It’s been months since this man appeared in your village, a place led by a poor wretch who was trying his best to get his people ahead. Only a few enjoyed good fortune, privilege, and wealth, and you were not one of them. Life before Indra, here, was based on working hard for pennies, finding food wherever possible, wearing the same clothes repeatedly for lack of more garments. Poverty was rampant among almost the entire village population, and despite the leader’s best efforts, nothing seemed to work for the betterment of the situation.

But a mysterious man with long hair and thick shoulders, tattooed eyes, impressive physique compared to the famine-stricken people... left everyone captivated. With just a couple of suggestions and commands, things turned around, and the outlook brightened for everybody. This mysterious man quickly rose in the hierarchical power of the village, and the current leader ended up giving up his place.

Indra became their ruler overnight, and hopes for the future of the town seemed to grow stronger and stronger again.

Town expansion was inevitable, welcoming visitors and travelers intrigued by the legends of this man who brought fortune to a doomed place. Enemies were also unavoidable. The Otsutsuki defended and used all his power to prevent the destruction of the foundations he had built with so much effort, leaving everyone terrified in his steps.

His red eyes became stories used by mothers to frighten disobedient children, his violet beast traveled on the tongues of all the merchants and their incessant rumors.

Respect mingled with fear, yet Indra never wavered.

He looked imposing as he walked the streets of the town, staring at nothing in particular, an expression forged by iron and ice. His towering figure seemed to cast a gigantic shadow over every other man nearby, and all the women were dying to take the vacant place at his side.

Everyone thought as he became leader he would choose one of the few wealthy ladies of the village as his wife, but he did not.

It was months after his ascension to power before he communicated with a woman. And that turned out to be you.

Although the village prospered and grew bigger every day, your life remained the same, complicated. Money was scarce as well as food, and working hard every morning was necessary if you wanted to get a crumb of bread.

You tended the garden of a prosperous family, kneeling in the morning dew, your clothes covered in dirt from the work you had started just a few minutes ago.

Footsteps in front of you broke your concentration, and when you looked up, a tall figure was staring down at you. A flowing robe floated in the wind, and that frown was visible even from the floor. Indra was intimidating without uttering a word.

“You look thoroughly filthy.” He had said. “I’m sorry, my lord.” You had replied, bowing your head in respect.

You did not finish that day’s work, for offering you a wide hand, Indra Otsutsuki himself lifted you from the dirt and escorted you to get a fresh change of clothes. Not one of the worn-out ones you used to wear, but an expensive one, of excellent quality, full of exquisite details. A garment of high society, one of the kind he himself usually wore.

From that moment on, he did not leave your side. It was only a matter of time before you moved into his residence, an immense house in the middle of town. You became the envy of all women, no one being able to understand how their leader could choose a servant girl as his partner.

And despite the fear you felt towards him at first, although his haughty looks seemed to be empty initially, you eventually grew to understand him. Dread turned into respect, affection, love.

After all, he saved you from that life of misery to give you one of luxury and privilege, asking for nothing in return. Even though you slept in the same bed every night, he never touched a single hair on your head, never came near you, never took the initiative you feared he may take.

“Why me?” you asked once, the blush on your face shielded by nighttime darkness inside the room. A large space lay between you both on the bed, and Indra, while you couldn’t see him, probably had his back to you. “You are the prettiest.” He replied simply, and you caught a note of amusement in his voice.

During the day it was rare for you to see him, but at sunset, you would both be in the bedroom. No lustful touches in the middle were necessary to make the night complete, for the silences which at first were awkward eventually were filled with chatter.

That intimidating look, that wide-backed warrior with blood-colored eyes, became a companion, a pleasant person to spend time with. Never smiled, never laughed, but you know he is calm, that he enjoys the moment as much as you do. You’ve seen him interact with other people, how his muscles tense when someone is way too close for his comfort, how his brow furrows when anyone speaks to him. You know you’re the only person he tolerates, appreciates, and loves around him.

That’s why seeing him arrive like this is something uncomfortable in your chest. Slowly following in his footsteps, you find his clothes lost all the way back to the room. You pick up garment by garment, and there is a certain satisfaction as you smell his clothes and feel his perfume. As you reach the doorway, he is already tucked into bed, buried under sheets. One of his arms supports his head and acts as a pillow while his other hand scratches his chest, which is slightly uncovered. One of his legs is bent, and covers slip off his skin, revealing a thigh and worked muscles. His eyes are closed, but he knows you are there.

Leaving his clothing on a chair, you approach him and sit on the edge of the bed, hands clasped in your lap. Rarely have you seen this scene, where he relaxes with all his rights in his own bed. Sex has never been addressed between the two of you, and it’s something you’re grateful for. Rumors travel faster than the wind, and many a woman has walked around claiming to have spent time in the bed of the mighty Indra. Whether that’s true, you don’t know, and you’ve never asked either.

If true, your experience is undoubtedly unparalleled.

Still, seeing him like this, becoming one with the bed and stretching out, getting a taste of his toned chest and his thick thigh... Curiosity suddenly demands more.

“You’re staring.” His eyes are still closed, but to be put on display is still just as humiliating. “I’m sorry...” You’re not sure if get up and leave at that moment, but it’s his voice that clears the uncertainty. “Why? I’m your partner, naturally.”

It feels like confirmation of your actions, and you become brave all at once.

“Can I help you... To feel better?....” Your voice is full of hesitation, yet one end of his lips lifts, revealing a wickedly tinged smirk.

“Be my guest.”

Climbing on top of him, your hands tremble with anxiety and anticipation. His eyes flutter open and he watches you intently, analyzing where your actions lead. The man really is huge, and being partially on top of him, the size difference is even greater. Indra seems to rejoice in your stupor, picking up on your intentions and stirring the sheets covering him as you settle between his legs.

Whatever nervousness you felt about what was to come only grows worse at the sight of his size, as even half-hard, his cock’s intimidatingly enormous length.

“Already frightened?” The teasing tone sliding across his tongue fills you with new determination, and with both hands, you hold his shaft. One at the base and one at the head. Your tongue timidly explores that unfamiliar surface, feeling in your grip how hardness invades his dick second after second.

Your lips wrap carefully around it, and pushing gently, inch by inch, his length finds its way into the pleasantly warm depths of your mouth. One of your hands slowly slides down, dragging skin in its wake.

Fixing your eyes on Indra while trying to deal with the raw, inexperienced situation and size, you notice impatience and need, lust swimming in red eyes dominates his expression.

From an instant to the next, your shoulders are enveloped by two gigantic hands, and position is turned around, a vast body hovering over you and trapping you underneath it.

“You teasing little fucker...”

Being handled like that awakens something on the inside that you rarely felt before, some sort of tingling urgently needing to be soothed. A broad palm grasps your chin, which moves your face in the direction Indra desires as he suddenly engulfed your lips.

You have never kissed this man before, and to be making out with him for the first time in these circumstances should feel wrong... but it only builds up more sensations in your lower belly, a treacherous emptiness, and an almost unfamiliar fire.

Your hands awkwardly find his back, and the need to press him against your face, to demand more, to extract more from those luscious lips is interesting. There is no more distance to close between the two of you, but you want to crush yourself against his labored chest until becoming one.

The moment ends quickly as you gasp for air, and trying to recover, a sultry Indra, who grins viciously seductive overpowers your gaze.

“I’ll introduce you to a thing or two...”

Before you comprehend what his words mean, the position changes again, and his two knees are one on either side of your head. He looks even more terrifying from this angle than in everyday life, and you don’t venture to peek at his dick. Two of his fingers slide across your lower lip, caressing your cheek, and suddenly squeeze your face harshly. Your mouth is forced open, but when his cock slides over your tongue and you understand the functionality of the pose, you ease back.

Your lack of experience was driving him crazy, and rather than loosening him up, you were upsetting him further. Managing the matter with his own hands, or rather with his own hips, Indra finds peace again.

Rising to height, one of his palms cradles your face, while the other supports himself against the wall. You try to find stability by holding onto his thighs, and as he buries himself lower in your mouth, sensations in your body become almost unbearable, coupled with his movements.

Indra is kind at first, gradually pushing into your inexperienced cavity slowly, closing his eyes tightly and fighting the urge to destroy your mouth.

Yet when your jaw relaxes completely, grasping the rhythm and feel of the situation, he lets go. The beast is finally released, and the Otsutsuki fucks your lips with abandon, hitting the end of your throat with each thrust. His hips move with agility, and imagining him between your legs with the same surrender and strength makes you hold on.

Tears decorate your cheeks and eyelashes, blending with the saliva dripping from your mouth every time that cock lunges at your face. Indra becomes completely abstracted, tilting his head back as deep growls rise from deep within his chest.

When air is inevitably needed and you can no longer avoid gagging, you repeatedly slap his thighs, drawing his attention. He leans his forehead against the wall and holds your face with both hands, withdrawing his dick from your throat and catching his breath with difficulty. His gaze is fixed on you, and although you could probably look better, you feel really appreciated under those red eyes.

The fluids from your mouth completely soaked your chest and cheeks, your clothes are soaked, and at the sight, the Otsutsuki slides his fingers across your wet skin, then strokes his shaft twice.

When you catch your breath, you place a kiss on the head which has been hitting the back of your throat for minutes, showing he may continue.

Without a second thought, he burrows deeply into your mouth, reaching a depth he hadn’t hit before. The grunt he exhales makes your skin crawl, and you really want to see him enjoy you like this for the rest of your life.

He gives you time to breathe again, and his thrusts become more shallow, seeking more contact with the softness of your tongue and the warmth of your cheeks. It isn’t long before his length is completely out of your cavity and he works it rapidly, seeking the longed-for finish. You’re not sure what you should do, so you simply watch him, amazed at the size of his hands.

After a few seconds, several white shots paint your face, staining your hair and chest, leaving practically nowhere without even a drop. It’s unexpected, but satisfying.

[angelkurenai]

Wish upon - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Title: Wish upon

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: You were close when Wanda’s grief took over and she inevitably started controling an entire town, including you. Being her closest friend, though, instead of simply playing along, you were given a normal life of your own, with a daughter and husband whom you knew very well but never thought you had feelings for. Months later as you try to figure out your emotions for Bucky, the man seems to be trying to find every reason to stay close to you. Including asking you to join him when he’s ready to follow Sam in his adventures.

“Is that... Is that what I think it is?” you blinked several times, head tilted as you took in the object your husband was, full of pride you could clearly tell, holding and showing off to you.

“You bet it is. Polished, glittered or bedazzled, I can never tell the difference it's equally sparkly anyway, but above all ready to deliver justice. It's finally finished. Right on time at that.” he set the small pink and sparkly shield on the kitchen counter, right next to the baby bottle you'd just filled, because he knew just as well as you did that it was honestly the only way you'd keep looking at the toy and hoped that you'd like it. Which you did, sure, but not in the way Bucky hoped. “Well, what do you say about it?”

“I say that it would certainly deliver justice, no doubt by dazzling the bad guys first and foremost. Besides-” you tore your eyes away from the toy to narrow them at your husband “Just on time for what?”

“Halloween, of course.” he shrugged casually as he slowly made to reach for a piece of the potatoes you'd cooked to have on the side for dinner, but you noticed him and slapped his hand away, earning a not-so-innocent smile in return “I mean... What else is there else to talk about, of significance, in a small town like Westview besides holidays and who the new otherworldly couples in town are. The second having little to no point when one's wife can read minds, amongst so many other things, and said one is a metal-armed 106-year-old.” he sighed, raising his metal arm which he usually kept covered when outside “Honestly, I don't know who're gonna get called out on it first. Wanda and Vision or us.”

“We're handling it great. Besides, oh well a 15 year old gap is so overrated anyway. I tell you, 106 is the new 30, don't you worry a second, dear. You don't look a day over that.” you smiled sweetly, leaning in to peck his lips as he grinned.

“Ah yes, coming from the woman who last time we fought you told me that it's time to stop mourning over my buddy Rexi the dinosaur cause they're all gone now.” he said with a raised eyebrow and you shrugged.

“I don't see what you mean, I was still right.” you brushed him off, checking once more the temperature of the milk “Besides, getting off track here? You still haven't explained to me how that lovely and sparkly shield is of any use to us in Halloween?”

“Well, not us, obviously.” he turned to, according to everyone including him, his little princess “Jean of course!” he picked one of her hands and let her tiny fingers wrap around one of his as she let a giggle when he kissed her belly “It's all you've been talking about with Wanda these days. Her boys have their suits already in mind, it wouldn't be right for Jean to not have hers. It's her first Halloween anyway, even if she can't do any proper trick or treat yet.”

“I'm well aware of that, seeing as I've been planning all of ours suits. And no-” you raised a finger when you saw him raise an interested eyebrow “No, I'm not wearing the skirt version of it. Besides, what we're talking about here is Jean and I still fail to see how a shield will be any part of our little Phoenix's suit.”

“Well, because it's Halloween and she's- Well, she's part of this and she'll- The shield is part of the suit, honey. Obviously. I don't see what confuses you so much as to-”

“And I don't see what confuses you so much that you'd make a shield for her, beautiful as it might be, even though it has no place in all of it. Especially after I made it quiet clear on what costume will be.” you pointed out, baby bottle back on the counter as you crossed your arms over your chest “Honestly, I would rather her have a sparkly version of Sam's redwing before incorporating the shield in her phoenix look.”

He let silence fill the room, save for your daughter's adorable baby noises, before he finally spoke in all seriousness “No, no you wouldn't. You hate that thing too... It was the main reason that made me ask the question, like when you realize you've met your soulmate.”

“I-” only half a pause before you nodded “Yeah, you're right. I hate it... although I can't really remember how it looks like sometimes to be honest. Huh weird.” you let out a breathless laugh, frowning nonetheless.

“Oh how I'd wish for that sort of blessing.” he huffed “Including its owner.”

“Hush you love him!” you hit his shoulder “And, well, that's still all besides the point. Because Jean is not going to have a redwing or shield to her phoenix look in any sort of way. Maybe next Halloween if you wanna choose the costume, fine by me. But this year I am following through with my plans and not changing my mind.”

“Plans of what? Her being a phoenix bird? I get it, it's all magical and what not but-”

“Not just any phoenix bird, geez weez, do you not even listen when I speak, Mr Barnes?” you shook your head with a roll of your eyes.

“Well, sometimes it gets impossibly hard when you look as stunning as today, Mrs Barnes. Sadly all words fade away and as I am captured by your beauty all I can seem to hear is kiss me. How can I not comply?” he said so innocently and with such an adorable smile you couldn't help your fond one in return.

Seeing such adoration and love written all over your face had your heart on overdrive again, as if it was the first time you realized you were in love with him again. It was incredible how you could barely remember that moment whenever you thought about it, however you didn't care. You couldn't find yourself to care when looking at him had your chest fill with warmth, a pleasant buzz all over your body and no weight dragging you down. He made things more simple, having his love and having him by his side made life have meaning and your future full of hope. It hadn't been easy, that much in a way you could remember, but you knew it was worth it because he was worth it. You wanted to give him all your love, wishing that it could live up to the one in his eyes for you in return, so that he could understand what you did from the first moment you met him: he deserved it.

And even if- you couldn't explain why you thought so, but even if there were ever people that would willingly leave him behind, even if you'd never understand that, you were ready to show to him that you could and would be with him till the end of the line. This love you had in you for him had sealed the deal long before you even knew about it.

If anything, you were more than willing to live in this small town, heavens in these four walls of your house, so long as you had him by your side and were able to give him all the love you didn't know you had for him.

You shook your head lightly and gave him “Sweet talking me will get you nowhere, darling. Or rather-” you paused, smirking at him “It might get you in one place. The bedroom.” you grinned when you saw his eyebrows raise in interest “To get Jean's suit. Cause I remember I have some adjustments to make.”

“Bet you do.” he huffed like a little child “Cause she'll be a bird and not a superhero who-”

“Not just a phoenix bird, Buck. The phoenix, that's different.” you pointed out, making him frown.

“How is that different? And what... is the phoenix?”

“Well, it's-” you started but paused abruptly, frowning at your own thoughts “It's actually-” you blinked several time and let out a nervous laugh “Funny thing, I... can't remember. Wow that's... it happens all the more often lately.”

“Can't be important then, right?” he brushed it off casually even though you kept frowning in deep thought which for some reason didn't lead anywhere “Certainly no more than Jean's suit that it... And how we could incorporate a shiel-”

“No.” you cut him off before he could get to complete his sentence “Not gonna happen. I've already got everything planned, you're not going to ruin my plans.”

“Is this how it's gonna go every Halloween now? Us fighting over what Jean's costume will be until she's old enough to choose herself?”

“Oh dear, of course not. It's not fighting when you don't stand a chance against me in the first place.” you shrugged innocently and he tried to look stern by narrowing his eyes at you but you smiled and pecked his lips before speaking “I mean, you could never say no to these pretty eyes, could you?” you batted your eyes at him and he very fast, much faster than last time, sighed in defeat and nodded his head “Besides, you don't have to worry. Next Halloween we'll make her a costume that incorporates the shield too, happy?”

“Always.” he breathed out with such ease that it took a few seconds for you to not openly stare at just how much relaxed he looked, how he truly meant it and how shockingly different he looked while admitting it compared to only a few months ago... months, you weren't sure of the time anymore but truth was that you didn't care, because if there was one thing you could remember was that he had not always been like this and to have him truly happy made everything worth it.

“However-” he cleared his throat, as if noticing how you'd zoned out “That doesn't really solve the problem. Having to compromise, you know. Why should any of us have to? However, if we were to have more than one option...” he trailed off, leaning in closer without any regard for your personal space, not that he needed to, as you narrowed your eyes suspiciously at him “Say... if we were to have more than one options then things wouldn't be this hard, right? Just... to make it easier on ourselves?”

“Make it easier... how exactly?”

His hands found your hips, earning a small giggle from you as he pecked your neck once, twice and three times before he kissed your cheek and the temple, whispering in the end “Let's make more.” it earned a squeal from your as your eyes widened but he grinned even more widely “Come on, think about it. A little boy or maybe another baby girl, Jean would make a great sister. And we wouldn't have to argue about the Halloween costumes. Besides... would be a fun process either way.”

“You have to be kidding me.” you gave him a serious expression but his hopeful smile- no, scratch that. His smile that was bordering that of an idiot, if not lovesick one (but you were on the same boat on that), didn't fade in the least bit “Oh you have to- Alright, Mr Barnes, how about you learn how to feed your daughter without making a mess first and then you can come and talk to me about a second or third one hm? Cause, good as you might be at changing diapers, it ain't just that.”

“She just makes a mess because she enjoys to laugh at my expense, just like you and Sam.” he pointed out and you fought back a smile “And- Hold up a second... did you just say third? You think you're gonna let me ask for a third one too?”

Your eyes widened when you realized that he was really considering the prospect before your lips parted, you being ready to retort-

Only for no words to be uttered after that from your lips. The only sound being a deep intake of air as you were startled awake. Soon followed by a groan as you took in your surroundings and realized you were sadly still in your room. Sadly? Really? You didn't know if that was the case but even if it was, you didn't want to think even more about it. You buried your face in your pillow, not ready to face the day yet because... who were you even kidding? You wanted to go back to it. If not that fake reality, if not the playhouse that Wanda had built out of her grief and had dragged you into it as well - and maybe you hated yourself for how part of you did want that - then at least your dream would be nice.

It's been months and yet it feels as if it's been just yesterday that you were all released from her control. How could you not feel that way after all? When you were awake, the fake reality you'd thought your life was constantly on your mind, and when you were asleep even if you were not thinking of it, you were dreaming about it. It was constantly on your mind. And as if the experience itself, mind-control and all, hadn't left you with a few mental scares to add to your already existing ones to take care of, then the realization of the truth that lay within your own heart, was more than enough to keep the events replaying on your mind day and night.

To put matters simply: when you had followed your best friend, Wanda, after seeing her so distraught, leaving SWORD, you had never thought you'd find yourself playing house with a fake copy of one and only James Bucky Barnes thanks to said best friend. But while there was a chance for that, you never thought there was a chance that you'd realize you had feelings for the man all along.

Your life had been different there. Maybe because you were always close with the other Avenger, who knew. While there were times where you'd experience Wanda's grief, her nightmares from time to time came to haunt you at night just like it did with the rest of the town, your life was mostly... good. No, forget that, your life was nearly perfect. You had everything you wished for and things you didn't even know you had wished for. Maybe deep down you had always wanted it, a normal life, peace and calm, a kid whether it was yours or not... Bucky. You had probably always wanted him but didn't know it yourself, no doubt you were too busy crushing over Steve.

If only your current self could see your past self, or at least self of barely a year ago, you'd have smacked some sense into your stupid self who thought Steve Rogers was the only man you could ever have eyes for. While you had come to be very close with the Captain and ended up doing almost everything together, everyone thought there was much more to the two of you, that it hadn't even occurred to you to think that Steve wasn't really the one you wanted. Maybe you had convinced yourself so, in a way that now that he was no longer there you were more shaken by the fact that you were not shaken by how he had decided to live his life with Peggy in the past than his absence itself.

You had not felt any sort of betrayal, nor that you were suddenly all alone, certainly not as if anything was missing from your life. Granted, you had plenty to think about most of the time, day and night, but that didn't change things. You wished Steve had had a happy ending and you would on the occasion miss him the way you'd miss... a brother. You were always calm, no worries or fears, content with the fact that you knew he had been happy even if it was away from you because, in a way, you wanted it to be that way, it was natural. However, the mere thought of someone else leaving, someone that you thought far too often about, made your heart leap to your throat and your stomach tie in knots. The mere thought that Bucky could leave the way Steve had done made your throat close in a painful way and your eyes burn with tears, making you realize just who mattered the most.

If, again, Wanda plucking the truth about your feelings for the man to give you a life with him wasn't proof enough.

Your phone buzzing made you jump once more, eyes landing on the device on the nightstand. Reaching for it you were not surprised to see the messages that were pilled in your inbox. All from the same specific someone. A specific someone you had found yourself speaking with all the more often lately. Each time successfully managing to make you smile in one way or another, without fail.

Good morning. :)

Did I use that one correctly? I keep forgetting them, no matter how many times you show me.

And show him you had, just like that there was an option for him to choose from different ones instead of having to type them, but that was still work in progress. So even if Bucky learning emojis was a memory that you'd cherish forever, it wasn't the only important one at the moment.

On second thought, it's a bit too early.

You're probably still asleep. Nevermind. Sorry for bothering you.

And then more, shortly afterwards.

I only wanted to know if you're alright, that's all.

Anyway, hope I didn't wake you up.

He, much like everyone else, thought it was hard on you to deal with Steve being gone so he did his best to keep in touch and being as selfish as you were, you didn't bring yourself to tell him the truth that you cared more to know about how he was and wanted the contact for that. Maybe he was also worried about you after Wanda's mind-control too. But if Sam's words were anything to go by, then it was all an excuse for Bucky to stay close with you. You didn't let your hopes get up for that reason though. You could gladly take whatever you got without wondering.

Again it was followed not much later by another message.

I've actually got something to talk to you about. Something happened, though you could already know if you saw the news. Can I come over to talk with you? I need your opinion on the matter.

And shortly afterwards came.

I've already got your favorite breakfast. To make up for, probably, waking you up. :)

The next one had taken longer, he had probably been waiting for an answer all that time. You couldn't help but feel bad about it. That and the fact that the reason behind you not replying earlier was because of how immensed you were in your fantasy life with him that you had not told him a thing about.

(Y/n)... are you sure you're alright? It's getting late even for you.

Truth was you had more trouble waking up after having a dream of that time. But you couldn't tell him that. And then there was the latest one.

Alright, I'm coming over. I really hope you're not dead in there. I'm not going to let you hear the end of it if you are. Oh dear, I sound like Sam right now. Forget I ever said that. Both of it.

Before you even had the time to think about what he could mean, because no you had really not seen the news yet, let alone type back a reply, the door to your bedroom burst open. It earned a squeal from you as you looked with wide eyes at Bucky standing on the doorway. You weren't even surprised how you hadn't heard him, not when he already had keys to your apartment and could easily sneak up on you. Not that him surprising you was what you cared about at the moment. It was, and you could only admit it to yourself, more important how you looked at the moment – and having just woken up you weren't sure just how attractive you looked – than anything else. Especially when Bucky looked better than ever with that new haircut that you were sure he'd gotten on purpose, just to test how much your heart could take.

“I thought doors existed back in your days, Barnes. Maybe knocking was an option too.”

You saw him let out a sigh of relief, shoulders relaxing “What would have been the point if you were dead? You wouldn't have replied anyway.”

“Bold of you to assume I would miss on another chance to lecture you about the proper use of emojis, Mr Barnes. Even death could not stop me.” you broke into a grin and he chuckled.

“What, did I really mess it up?” he asked with a small, far too adorable for your own good, frown.

“Oh no you got it just right.” you said softly, adoring the proud look on his face before you added “However, I've told you, you don't have to type them anymore. There is an option on your keyboard with that kind of stuff for you to-”

“Eh alright, alright I get it. I suck at it. I'm not even gonna try using them anymore.”

“Wha- No!” you whined softly “No, Buck, I didn't mean that. Come on, you're good. You just... have a lot to learn still.” you shrugged “That's all. We didn't do great at first either. Nobody really got emojis a first, but you'll get the hang of it.”

“But you still think I am a grandpa when it comes to technology. And my age doesn't help on that case either.” he shrugged, as if he meant it casually as a joke but you could see a small hint of self-consciousness there as well.

“Nonsense.” you said softly, finally throwing the blankets off you “You're far from a grandpa, Buck. In fact, I strongly believe that 106 is the new 30, and you don't look a day over that.” the words were out of your lips before you could even think about it and when you realized what you'd said, your smile flattered a bit. You were glad his back was turned to on that second that he didn't notice. You cleared your throat, sobering up “Besides, new things are not everyone's cup of tea anyway.”

“Uh yeah...” you notice the relaxed, and almost happy, look fade away from his face as his eyebrows pulled back into a frown. He looked down for a second, leaning against the doorframe with his hands in his pockets “Things do change. Sometimes faster than we can adapt to the new world around us.”

“Alright, unless you're channeling Charles Darwin right now, which I don't think you are, care to explain to me what's wrong? Because... I am guessing something is, judging by your expression.” you got up and approached “Is this... about the shield? I- I don't know if Sam giving it up is that much of a good choice however... he must have his reasons, right?”

“Well, yes, but- this is not just about that.” he sighed, finally looking up to meet your eyes “Something happened and I've been thinking about it, I wanted your opinion on it. You know it matters to me.”

“...And? There is more to that, come on. Tell me.” you knew him too well and you hadn't even realized when that happened too “You know you can... Always.”

“I do.” he paused for a moment, holding your gaze before he let a soft sigh “It's just, I am going to go find Sam and... I want you to come with me. If you're up for it, I would like you to be there with me... maybe?”

“You know... I should punch you just for doubting whether I'd follow you or not. But just because it won't lead anywhere for me-” you smirked at him “Buy me dinner too and consider yourself excused and me up for any challenge. Strongest Avenger at your disposal, Mr Barnes.” you patted his shoulder, enjoying the deep chuckle that came from him. Even if his next words made the air get caught in your throat.

“It's a date then.”

[mercy-burning]

Cold Feet

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: After receiving a letter from an old flame just days away from her wedding, Reader wonders if she should call it all off. —Inspired by the song Cold Feet by Tenille Arts Category: Angst (happy ending) Content Warnings: An almost kiss that isn’t with Reader’s fiancé, and blink and you’ll miss it implied smut Word Count: 1.7k

MASTERLIST | Alternate Version/Ending of Cold Feet

NOTE: When @meganskane announced her 700 follower celebration I just knew this idea would be the perfect way to implement one of the prompts she gave! The one I chose is “quit looking at me like that” ❤

Also! Fun fact: this song opens with “they’re all set to go on the 18th of June”, and that’s today, so it’s festive 😊)

***

She should be happily wrapped in a dream, Dying to kiss him and put on his ring. So why is she walking alone after midnight, Down a small town street, with cold feet?

Y/N is currently finding it difficult to breathe.

It was easier a couple days ago when she knew exactly what she wanted. Her husband-to-be was more than excited to marry her, and she'd reciprocated that feeling entirely. Everything was ready to go. Truthfully, they could have gotten married right this second if that's what they wanted, that's how ready to go they were.

But now? She was questioning everything.

She still feels the thin paper in her hands, even with its folded body currently tucked away in an old book she knew was never going to be opened again— a gift from the man who'd written the letter in the first place.

The first time she read it, her heart sank. And by the third time she'd read it, her heart soared.

And then her fiancée walked in, asked her about what to make for dinner, and her heart sank all over again.

Honestly, damn him for choosing now to finally confess. Damn him for making her question everything, after she'd finally moved on and found someone who would always be around.

But then again, she'd ended up choosing to live in a house in their hometown, just blocks away from that creek he'd mentioned in his letter. So... Maybe she hadn't moved on entirely

She hated that she even had to think about it.

She hated that her thoughts were so consumed with this man she hadn't seen in years when the man she was about to marry slept next to her every night, unaware of the start to her inner turmoil. Each night since then, she dreamt of dances with both of them, alternating between the two until they made her choose which of them she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. And every morning she'd wake with an even bigger tear in her heart than when the old flame had burned it alive and left her alone in the aftermath to piece it back together.

Her fiancée helped her do that, though. Day by day he taught her to love again, to trust in somebody again, and he was truly a good man.

So why was it absolutely destroying her, thinking of getting married to him when there was someone else in the picture to think about? Someone who'd had a hold on her for well over fifteen years?

Again, she hated that she even had to think about it.

But she wasn't about to get married with all these conflicting thoughts, so whether she wanted to or not, her only real option was the one that would also be the hardest on her tattered heart.

She'd sent him a text message this morning that read, Midnight, and tucked her phone away for the rest of the day, drowning herself in mindless work and looking to keep time moving forward.

Now, she struggles to breathe as she makes her way down to the creek.

It's cold, having just rained fifteen minutes prior, and she wraps her fiancée's cardigan tightly over her her arms, searching for warmth and comfort. She would have settled for one of her own, heavier pieces, but in some strange way she thought maybe having something there that belonged to her fiancée would ground her, something to remind her of the gravity of the situation at hand.

Nothing could have grounded her upon seeing her ex boyfriend after all these years, though, especially when she finally shows up to their old spot and sees him perched on the big stump right next to the water, relief and joy flooding through his features at the sight of her. His smile is just as bright and familiar as she remembered, and it just about knocks the wind out from under her feet.

"Hi, Y/N," he greets softly, standing up and stretching his hands out over his legs. It's obvious that he's nervous to meet up with her after all these years apart, and she couldn't blame him in the slightest.

She's just as nervous as her feet take baby steps towards him. Meanwhile she's hugging her fiancée's cardigan around her body tighter than before. "Hi..."

"I... I can't believe you actually wanted to meet. Truthfully I thought I wouldn't hear back from you."

"Well... Your letter kind of rattled me... You rattled me. I guess I just had to know..."

There's a long pause before he takes a small step towards her and tilts his head. His words are hesitant, like he thinks she might say something he doesn't want to hear. "And... What do you know?"

"I know that I love my fiancée. After you, I didn't really think I'd ever love anyone the same way again, but... He makes me happier than I've ever been, and I... I can't just discard that feeling because you decided too late that you still love me. You know?"

"I do, Y/N, I really do," he answers earnestly, and this time his hand reaches out to grab hers. "But... I mean, you showed up here, didn't you? That has to count for something..."

She isn't really sure how to respond after that. It's true that seeing this man in front of her for the first time in years has brought back a wave of feelings that she'd repressed and even experienced with someone new.

But it's also true that with those feelings comes an inevitable aftertaste of bitterness. He'd left her, decided ultimately that his career was more important to him, and now that she has someone new he's asking her to leave behind this peace she's found. And for what? For him? What's to stop him from leaving again, or deciding years or months down the road that he'd made a mistake and gotten her to leave her one shot at happiness after him?

Nonetheless, she sits with him for hours, listening to him explain... Giving him a chance.

He apologizes for the past, he promises to do better in the future, and in between he makes her laugh. Their hands brush, their breaths mingle as they huddle from the cold, and with every passing minute, the cardigan on her shoulders becomes looser and more forgotten.

Slowly but surely, he's lowering her defenses and gaining her trust. He's showing her bits and pieces of the man she fell in love with until they're laughing at close to 3am.

And then, for a moment, it's quiet. Absolutely quiet, save for the crickets and the soft rolling of the creek behind them.

Y/N almost lets him kiss her then.

But then her heart hammers in her chest, and not in a good way. Suddenly, she's imagining the pure heartbreak that would surely manifest on her fiancée's face if he found out- if she really decided to leave him for this old flame that had barely started to kindle once again years later.

She has to be absolutely certain of her decision.

So she pulls back and wraps her fiancée's cardigan tightly around her arms. "I should go home."

There's disappointment in his eyes, and it twists her gut a little. "Right... Um... I-I can take you back, if you want."

"No, I, uh... I think I'm gonna walk. I have to think."

Y/N avoids his gaze just quickly enough that she doesn't see the disappointment in his eyes fizzle into a tiny sliver of hope.

Rain on the sidewalk, doubt in her mind. One thing's for sure, she's running out of time To decide what's right, And who's heart she's willing to break.

She climbs into bed some time later, the cardigan still wrapped tightly around her body, and she can't quite bring herself to face the man sleeping next to her. It feels wrong, like somehow she's betrayed him by even thinking of spending the rest of her life with another person. She doesn't feel worthy of his love.

When she wakes up the next morning, she'd somehow ended up facing him anyway. He's staring at her with adoring eyes, and under his gaze she can't help the guilt that washes over her.

"Quit looking at me like that..."

Her words are grumbly and soft because of having just woken up, and because her face is half hidden behind blankets and his cardigan, her fiancée doesn't know anything is wrong.

Instead, he laughs. "What, you're beautiful... And before you start arguing with me, yes, you're even beautiful when you wake up."

She only grumbles, feeling anything but.

It's quiet for a moment or two before he speaks again. "You're wearing my cardigan..."

Peeking her eyes out from the mountain of fabric, she can see the enchantment in his eyes and it makes her warm. "I was cold..."

While true, she mostly means I had cold feet.

"Come here."

Two simple words, two syllables, and yet it's the softest declaration of love she's ever heard. Her body instinctively nestles into his, face going straight into the crook of his neck while he wraps her up in his arms.

"There," he says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "You feel warmer yet?"

"Mhm..." She sighs into his skin and then takes in a deep breath.

He smells like home.

He feels like home.

And as he starts softly humming her favorite song, rubbing soothing circles into her back as he holds her close, Y/N wonders why she'd ever doubted her love for him.

He is home.

James never was.

Y/N burrows herself further into Spencer's body and plants a gentle kiss to his neck, shivering slightly at the way his curly locks tickle her temple.

He stops humming and laughs. "What are you feeling for breakfast?"

"Hmmm... You." She articulates her point by selfishly kissing his neck, reminiscent of Cookie Monster.

Pretty soon, the two of them are laughing together, limbs tangling and breaths mingling, and then an hour and a half later they're in the kitchen, sipping on coffee.

As its warmth radiates through her throat and chest, Y/N studies him from across the room. He flips through pages of a book as he drinks his coffee, and for a brief moment, his eyes flick up to see her staring.

The action brings a smile to both their faces, and Y/N has never felt happier.

She's never felt more loved.

***

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[hobidreams]

november 1868.

but you’ve always been his, haven’t you?

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: smut, angst words: 2.8k contains: historical au, mentions of death, unhealthy relationship dynamics (but era-appropriate; you know how it goes), explicit sexual content, longing.

moonlit throne index. this is drabble eight. start from the beginning?

If there is one inevitability in life, it is that time goes on.

You, like everyone else under King Yoongi’s reign, simply do your best to survive with your head intact. With the ground now mostly frozen over with ice, you have no reason to visit the gardens, and honestly, it becomes less of a loss by the day. You have your hands full with work; the worsening winter always means a higher possibility of catching an illness for the court ladies, and so you are left with little time to think of the king. Willful ignorance is a powerful defense mechanism when even the mere mention of him brings a frown to your lips and a lingering pressure in your chest.

But it is impossible not to think of him today, on the 11th of November. What would have been Queen Jeonghui’s birthday, but is instead a day of mourning.

All official business has more or less halted for the day. The entire palace is somber, the occupants moving through familiar routines feeling numb from more than just the cold. You are among their number, having finished all the work that could distract you while the sun set. Now, you wander in the pitch dark, through the open corridor towards your quarters with heaviness in every step.

You miss her laugh. The queen had always treated you like one of her own, asking after your interests, new discoveries, and health even while her own dwindled. You miss hearing the stories of her surprisingly rambunctious life before she came to court. You miss the brightness in her voice when she spoke of the hopes she had for the future of the kingdom, and for her precious Yoongi. You blink away a tear as your journey comes to its end.

In your small but private room, you begin to undo the straps of your hanbok with the relieving sense that this day is almost over. Stripped to your undergarments, you’re eager to crawl beneath the warm blankets and let blissful sleep take you into tomorrow as soon as your eyes shut.

Except sleep is not easily persuaded to come tonight, as you soon learn.

Even when you force your body to stay still as long as possible, even when you try to block out all thought and simply imagine blankness before you, you remain no closer to dreams, forcibly stuck in this bleak reality. That’s when your exhausted mind begins to wander to places most dangerous, even though you already vowed to stay far, far away.

You wonder whether the king is alone in his grief tonight. Has he eaten properly, or has he completely shut himself away? Does he even have enough heart left to mourn from all you’ve witnessed these past months?

(This last thought is what makes you ache the most, despite yourself.)

Then a quiet voice mutters your name from outside.

You blink and look up, uncertain whether it was just the wind. Who would it be at this late hour anyway? Who would be so bold as to call your name and not your title? But then the sound comes again, louder this time with some impatience in the syllables, and you realize exactly whose voice it must be.

Scrambling to your feet with the chill of losing the blanket sweeping over you, you have a split second to decide between keeping him waiting and having a proper appearance. You land somewhere in the middle, pulling on a loose, long jeogori that was once your mother’s before throwing the door wide open before you can think it through.

Damn all the odds.

It really is him.

In the moonlight, his hair seems almost ethereal with the way most of it cascades loosely around his shoulders. It’s fine, pale gold, spilling across the crimson dye of the royal robes that have been left slacker than is normally allowed in public company. There’s still a hardness in those midnight eyes, a set obstinacy in lips twisted down for a scowl that seems all too inherent to him now.

“Jeonha,” you exhale, more breath than sound.

How are you meant to receive him after all that has happened?

Wordlessly, he moves forward. You flatten yourself against the wall to allow him entry into your tiny home, your world without question, just like you always have. His sleeves brush past you as he walks and the incredibly subtle scent of plum blossoms begins to swirl around the air, so familiar it brings a hot sting to your eyes in an instant.

“Is that—”

“Shut the door.” His voice is biting, forcing you to drop the question.

You have little choice in the matter. When you turn back to face him, this room feels about three times smaller with the imposing aura that emanates from him. He has never felt more like a king to you than now, staring at you down his nose like he holds your life in his palm. At this distance, you fear he can hear the palpitations of your treacherous heart.

“Um.” You involuntarily wrap your hands around your stomach, trying to calm the jitters. “…How may I help you, jeonha?”

His lips curl in a smirk, but there is no real humor in it. “You must know the only thing a man and woman can do alone at night?”

Surprise is so blatant on your face that it amuses him; the smirk grows wider but remains empty still.

“You— You wish to do that?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Did you or did you not say to come if I had anything I required?”

He remembered. He knew it was you. A part of you thaws, just an inch.

“Still— Must… Must it be tonight?” Of all nights.

“It has to be.”

You swallow, dry. All you know of the act are the medical descriptions and consequences of such copulation as written out in your studied texts. To think of such a thing occurring in real life— to even consider it with the king! It was beyond your wildest thoughts, even when you used to let your childhood fantasies soar. But even more ludicrous than that, for him to consider being with you, a mere uinyeo when all the ministers routinely brought their high-born daughters to court in hopes of tempting him… “W-What of the court ladies, the ones waiting to be made concubine…?”

At your last word, he scowls like a bolt of lightning, gone before you can confirm that it was there at all. “I see.” He shifts, as if already prepared to leave. “I should have gone to them first.”

Your stomach drops.

The prospect of a random woman wrapping herself around him in seduction, holding him closer than he’s ever been to you… You wince. The mere thought of how he might fit against her, leave a part of himself inside her body, strikes envy deep into your mind. Especially when you consider all that could follow such an intimate act.

You know it’s not your place to be so concerned; it never has been, but damn it. Here he is in front of you, and not them. That has to mean something.

“No!” You blurt out, and watch his face darken with satisfaction. That in itself makes you fiercely aware of how much he has changed but still, you say, “no. Don’t… don’t go.”

In a stroke of boldness, you slip the jacket from your shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

“Good girl.”

It all happens so quickly.

Grasping your arm, he brings you to him with one strong tug. Invades your space with his heat. You’ve never been this physically close before but you are given no time to savor it. Your eyes search his for a hapless second before he forces his gaze away with a light whip of his hair. For a second, you think like he might kiss you, but that particular touch never comes.

“Bed.” The air around the word makes it sound like he’s rushing as he pulls you both towards the mussed bedspread, but of course it’s not that. It’s almost laughable, the thought that he would want so badly to claim you as his. It’s more likely that he wants any warm body beneath him, and you happened to be the most convenient.

As he pushes you to the floor, as he begins to strip you of your undergarments, your mind struggles to set aside your worries and the rest of the world with it to focus on the feeling of his unobstructed fingers on the skin he reveals with each passing second. For a moment, it works. For a moment, all you know is the heat of his desire as he throws aside most of your coverings, then discards his own as if they were nothing more than cleaning rags. Staring at his bare body for the first time, you take in all the lean muscle that make up his chest, the paleness of his skin that brings to mind the word delicate. It’s at complete odds with the ugliness that’s surrounded him for so long and really, you don’t know what to believe anymore as he rakes his eyes over you too.

You’re shivering. Keenly aware of your nakedness, made even more stark when your king practically fixes you to the floor with his presence alone. He must know this is all new to you, that he’s the only one able to put you in this position even after everything he’s done. But will that afford you the tenderness you so crave? Your pulse thunders in your ears as you await the answer.

“Turn over. On your hands and knees.”

Your breath hitches.

He doesn’t even want to look at your face.

You choke back the emotion that yearns to spill over, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing exactly how he affects you when he doesn’t allow you the same luxury. You’re stronger than this, even though your fears have just been confirmed. That this, his broad hand harshly squeezing your ass, is the only reason he broke through the thick wall of silence between you. That he treats you just like any other woman, not one he’s known all his life.

What does it say about you that you’re still willing to give him everything?

His other hand trails down your back as if lightly scratching an invisible character there. Then, when he reaches for your sokgot, the last bit of cloth left to you, it truly hits you that there will be no going back from this. Not after he physically carves himself into your memory. It makes you unthinkingly tense up; in turn, the hands against you stutter to a pause.

The silence feels thick, smothering. Then—

“Are you afraid of me?”

“No.”

You say it before you can decide whether it’s the truth or merely what you wish would be the truth.

“Hm.”

He leaves you wondering if that was the answer he wanted and resumes, undoing the ties, pulling away the layer that wants to cling to the slight wetness between your thighs. Evidently not one for wasting time, and why would he linger when he just wants an easy release anyway, he runs the tip of his thumb down your slit before pushing eagerly into your heat. The lewd moan that you emit is a noise you’ve never made before, and it makes your face burn with shyness.

You’ve touched yourself like this perhaps three times ever, more out of medical curiosity than anything. You didn’t quite see a point in it when it just left you feeling lonely once the high faded. But under your king’s control, it feels maddeningly new. Maybe it’s because you don’t know what he’s going to do next, like when he suddenly pushes in a second finger and you feel the spike of pain work its way through your limbs before giving way to the next wave of pressure. It’s just almost too much to take, his insistent kneading against your dripping walls.

“Your cunt is so fucking tight. Just for me? Only take my fingers like this?” He feeds you another finger when you nod, huffing a smirk at your whine. The unfamiliar words are as harsh as his hands. You’ve never heard him like this, so rough and cocksure, practically an utter stranger. But a stranger could never bring out such overwhelming emotions in your chest, your poor, confined heart.

Your legs are soon shaking with the strain of holding up your weight when pleasure and pain war so intensely in your body; but you don’t dare collapse in surrender, even though this has always been a losing battle. Not even when he rears back, replacing his cream-slick hand with what you think is the blunt head of his cock. He whets it along your folds and it feels so much thicker, intimidating like the rest of him. But you want it. You realize then just how much you want it, even if this is all you’ll have of him when it’s over.

He leans over you, hot breath whisking across your back, a palm on your hip. “I’m your first.” It sounds like a boast. “No one else.”

“No.” You shake your head. “No one else.”

And he takes his first stroke.

Hisses when he feels you squeeze around him, and you wonder if this is his first time too. Then you have to force yourself to stop thinking about that altogether, afraid that the real answer might hurt more than this: the ache of being spread apart with every brutal, solid inch, filled too quickly by a man who doesn’t seem like he could take things slow even if he wanted to. He keeps shoving forward, biting down every surfacing grunt as his nails dig into your waist and it hurts. It hurts so much but you grit your teeth, refusing to back down because you need him to know that you can take this. Even when your mouth feels drier with every yelp, every moan, you tell yourself it’ll be easier the next time he wants to have his way with you. Right now, that seems better than not feeling him at all.

“This cunt,” he finally growls when he bottoms out, for once sounding so unbridled that goosebumps speed down your weakening arms. But you find yourself liking the sound, craving it even as he pauses to catch his breath.

The first few thrusts are slightly awkward. Just his hips bumping against your ass as he tries to find his footing. It doesn’t take long until he picks up a rhythm. Starts to slam into you, jolting you forward. Soreness starts to grow exponentially with a foreign feeling you think might just be pleasure spreading throughout all of you. You concentrate on that in lieu of your knees forced repeatedly against the hardness of the wooden floor, the bedding too thin to provide any real comfort.

“Jeonha,” you gasp on a particularly deep thrust, and he seems to like that. Strokes faster in response (or perhaps reward). You don’t even register that you’re half-smiling when he does, having learned something about him that is privy to only the two of you.

On top of that, he can’t seem to stop touching you. It goes beyond the way he fucks into you, more into how he can’t stop exploring the expanse of your back with his nails or with his mouth, sucking stinging marks into your body. It’s as if he needs to have as much skin contact with you as he will allow himself, needs to feel your warmth just as much as you crave his. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking, but you try again with a hoarse, “jeonha.” He gives it to you harder, rousing, stoking that dangerous tension.

You don’t even notice his mouth beside your ear until— “Mine.”

He claims you, and something inside you melts. Not a particularly powerful feeling but a sea change nonetheless, a weak peak that ripples out, thrums through you both. He allows you to submit to the sensation for a few scarce seconds before he tears himself away, leaving you to pulse around nothing, whimpering from the emptiness. You barely recognize the sound of skin on skin friction but suddenly, heat splatters across your back, white painting itself over your skin as he gives one, elongated exhale and it’s over.

The king backs up, shifts away. Lets any lingering warmth between you dissipate into the ice air of winter, but this time he holds your gaze with a certain firmness, as if trying to pluck out the slivers of truth in your expression. In his eyes, the thin scar ever carved down the right, you find only more depths. Fathomless, endless depths – dark and painful still.

[tundrainafrica]

Title: Would You Cry? 

Summary: Hange asks an innocent question and Levi finds himself reflecting on his emotions and his relationship with Hange. Written for @levihanweek. Angstober 2020. Prompt: Silence/Screams

Link to cross-postings: AO3  ffnet

Note: I know I’m late to the party but I will be doing the rest of the prompts for Angstober as well and they will be in chronological order. I hope you enjoy! Do tell me what you think.

"If I died, would you cry?"

Levi was close to spitting out his tea. The only thing stopping him from allowing himself that comfort was its price. Within a few seconds he ended up choking on it and having to cough it all out before looking back up at the one who asked the question. "Hange what the fuck do you mean?" His anger both from having lost the tea, the burning sensation in his throat and of course, the pressure of having to answer something like that. 

It was a simple question. Levi knew that. He could easily answer with a yes or no and be off with it. There were implicit questions surrounding that simple question which Levi didn't want to address as he weighed the question. What is the probability of Hange dying? If god forbid, she did die, would the circumstances allow him to mourn? 

Levi had learned already multiple times, that one could make decisions but never know the outcome. With that though, he went for the safe "maybe"

"I would probably cry if you died. We're the only ones left from the old survey corps and I guess losing you would make me feel like I lost my old self and It's probably gonna take a lot to process it." Hange offered her own answer and looked expectantly at Levi. 

Somehow, Levi felt pressured to give an answer of the same quality. "Why do you wanna discuss this anyway? It's useless. We won’t know how we’d react until it happens. What if I die in battle and you have to be completely focused on the enemy to even survive?"

"Would I wanna be the last one surviving if that happened?"

Processing all the possible could-be's and would-be's had Levi shaken to his finger tips. He put his tea cup down. "About the plans for the port…" 

"Hey Levi, humor me!"

"What do you want me to say?" 

"Would you? Why? Why not? You didn't cry when Erwin died, when your squad died…" It was just like Hange to approach this as if it were a scientific problem. 

"And you want me to go back to all those memories and come up with some conclusion on something we won't even be able to predict. Besides, at that point Hange, will it matter?" It took a lot of energy and discipline to stop himself from raising his voice. 

Hange gave him a knowing look and somehow, Levi understood that with his almost emotional tirade, he gave too much away.

"So you would cry?"

                                              Would You Cry?

The general peacefulness of Paradis since eradicating the titans gave Levi enough free time to consider Hange's question. 

He found himself embarrassed when he would have bouts of self awareness of what exactly he was doing but somehow, it gave him an excuse to think about her. 

The last time he cried was when Isabel and Farlan died. When his special squad died and when Erwin died, he was in no good position to even process the death, especially since he had the younger members to consider. 

Was that the reason I didn't cry? At the heat of the moment, and looking back at it, somehow he couldn't explain it. As he thought further and tried to dissect the raw feelings from his memories, he realized at the point of Erwin and his squad's death, he had already braced himself. 

Every death he had witnessed, somehow helped  him brace himself for the more painful deaths and by the time Erwin and his squad died, Levi had already hardened himself for the impact. 

Would Hange's death feel any different? 

He thought back to her words. 

I would probably cry if you died. We're the only ones left from the old survey corps and I guess losing you would make me feel like I lost my old self and It's probably gonna take a lot to process it.

It worked both ways. Since Erwin’s death, Levi had held on to Hange because she was the only remnant left of the life he missed. The survey corps completely changed since Erwin’s death and it was a painful transformation. They had gotten rid of the green cloak and the brown jacket. Levi continued to hold on to those pieces of the old team but a living reminder of the life he lived before. A point of common history and the feeling of  camaraderie was what drew Levi to her more than anything since Erwin’s death.

She started inviting him for black tea after one of their meetings regarding the extermination of the remaining titans within Wall Maria. She was one of the few people he completely trusted and respected even before Erwin had died. Having lost the whole survey corps though, Levi had only become more vulnerable to the only friend he had left from the survey corps. On top of that, with Take Back Wall Maria operating a success, Levi had given himself some room to hope and consider the future. 

That first time they were alone together was the night after they got back. They brought Eren and Mikasa straight to the jail cell and went out for some tea in their office soon after. That was the night Levi first how beautiful Hange was.  She wasn’t wearing her glasses and her one good eye was staring intently at the black tea in front of her. Levi only noticed then how her eyes would narrow intently when she was thinking and how much comfort it actually gave him since by experience, he knew it always followed an ingenious idea.

Her hair was always messy. As someone more fastidious than others, Levi had hated it at first. Somehow, as he got to know her and started to become aware of the contributions the brunette made to the battlefield, he couldn’t help but think that maybe --  just maybe--- she had planned how to tie her hair, so it could fall into place just like that. It was a ridiculous thing to consider and logically, Levi knew she was just messy and scatterbrained. In the end, he admired that part of her too. 

It was as if every part of her personality was there for a reason.  Her wit, her tenacity, her optimism, her enthusiasm were there to fill something inside him that was missing yet, to teach him something he had still yet to master.  At the same time, her bouts of seriousness always seemed to come when needed, always followed by some plan, some well thought-out  information-backed decision which Levi admitted more often than not he would be unable to disprove himself.

The late night conversations over tea about plans for the taking back Wall Maria, evolved into plans for the port, then to plans on attacking Marley started to evolve into something personal as well. It evolved from questions of “What do you think?” Alone in the commander’s office late at night, Levi and Hange would exchange conversations on opinions they would have never made public in a professional meeting. 

Eren changed. Mikasa changed. The old survey corps wasn’t there anymore. 

Without them knowing the meaning behind the possibly cold and hard  “What do you think?” became “How do you feel?” Eventually, Levi and Hange started to discuss the losses of their squad, the loss of their former commander. 

The room was a mess but I waited months to clean up my squad’s things in the former headquarters. 

I started using Erwin’s old pen set  in the office. 

Do you notice that the commander’s office doesn’t smell like him anymore?

Yeah, the new one will probably be more effective against bullets.  I’m keeping the old survey corps uniform. 

Suddenly, it became questions, of “Why do you feel that way?” He should have seen it coming when Hange dropped the bombshell at that time. Their conversations had become too personal, too meta and Levi only realized at the back of his mind, that he had already imagined a future with Hange. He had imagined every birthday, every success, every milestone with Hange there celebrating with him. He had imagined every loss, every failure with Hange mourning with him. 

That bombshell of a question only brought him back to the inevitable reality that Hange could die. It also proved another painful reality: Hange was thinking about it.

                                           Would You Cry?

The rough life Levi had lived meant that did frequently get nightmares: Erwin’s death on loop as he slashed the titans necks one by one going towards the beast titan, Isabel and Farlan’s gruesome death by the aberrant titan while he was unable to move no matter how much he tried, his mother’s death and the stench of rotting corpse that only got stronger as the days went by, the sounds of rats scurrying towards his mother’s body and his futile attempts at chasing them away. 

Levi had learned to live with them. He would get one and he would just go out for a midnight walk, maybe pass by the rooms of his comrades and listen to their breathing from outside the room, a brief reminder that his life was not all death. By morning, the nightmares would be a distant memory, maybe an added motivation to prevent any unnecessary deaths in the next mission assigned to them. 

That night was somehow different. He wasn’t frozen. He was chasing the titan who was holding an unconscious Hange. He was slicing at the nape with all his power. He went to the front, blinded the titan. The titan continued to hold onto Hange, and Levi instead desperately for the fingers. If he couldn’t kill the titan he could at least save Hange. His swords could not penetrate the hand. He tried hitting it multiple times, from different angles. 

Eventually Levi did  manage to penetrate and cut the fingers off but by then it was too late. By the time he did feel the familiar sensation of blade on titan muscle, Hange had let out a blood curdling scream.

Levi screamed as he sat up. His eyes were wet. He was rattled. His ears were popping. His throat was dry. He was nauseous and had somehow expected something to come out as he dry heaved on the toilet. A few specks of blood came out, Levi guessed from a wound that had opened in his throat. 

Levi painfully muttered curses. He took his pillow and tore it apart in frustration and watched as the feathers fell lifelessly on his bed. Somehow, the feathers falling on his bed, allowed him enough headspace to process what had just happened.  It was just a dream. It was just a dream but somehow it felt too real. He was humanity’s strongest but he was fucking powerless to the thing called life. He could learn all these skills but life always found a way to fuck him over in particular. 

Levi got up weakly. If life was going to fuck him over anyway, he should at least allow himself the luxury of a small indulgence every now and then. He went out of his room and allowed his instinct and procedural memory to lead him through the familiar route to Hange’s room. 

He had forgotten to wear shoes. Any other day, he would have been disgusted to even imagine the dust sticking to the balls of his feet. 

“Hange wouldn’t mind.” That was the  only thing he could think of to justify it. For some reason, it was enough.

Hange had forgotten to lock the door. He had expected to see her asleep or maybe be working on something. He had expected her to be surprised at him barging into the room like that. 

She was sitting up in bed, silently staring at him. It was as if she had expected him to come into the room and she was expecting what he planned to do next. She scooched a bit to the right. 

“You don’t mind?”

“I heard the screams Levi. I’ve heard your footsteps stop in front of my room a lot, especially right after your squad died, after Erwin died, hell after every expedition we had and I wanted to open the door for you every single time, especially right after Erwin’s death. I just didn’t think you’d want to show that side of yourself yet.”

“How are you so sure it was me?”

“Levi. We’ve worked together for so long, you can even tell it’s me knocking just by the sound. I’ve picked up my fair share of things about you too.”

They did not need to say it straight out. The warm smile and the casual confirmation of the small details that peppered their interactions more and more as time went by. Levi was fully convinced then and there of two things: that there existed something special between them and Hange had felt it too. 

He slid beneath the blanket beside Hange and rested his forehead on her bare shoulders. 

“You know, I will cry if you died. I’d scream. I’d beg you to stop whatever bullshit you’re doing.” 

There was silence for a while. Levi thought she was asleep and for a while was relieved that Hange hadn’t heard that more explicit confession. Maybe he just was not ready to lay down his pride yet.

 “You said it yourself. We won’t know how we’d react until it happens.” Her voice felt cold. Maybe that was what was needed from his commander, given the impending war. 

But that could wait another day. Levi pressed his face harder into Hange’s shoulders and moved up to her nape and settled his forehead on her bird’s nest of a bedhead. At that moment, he just wanted her warmth.

[comfy-whumpee]

Whumping Safely 101

Many people in this community have mental health problems, face various types of discrimination, and have complicated relationships with some parts or types of whump. In particular, I aim this at people who care about the experience of survivors and others with triggers – partially because I am an abuse survivor who often flirts with triggering content as part of my love of whump.

Keeping your blog safe is difficult, takes effort, and is never a perfect process. But as the community grows and grows, it’s really important that we hold ourselves to a high standard. I would argue that this is a responsibility of all content creators, but especially those of us in the messy playground of whump.

I’ve got three sections in here: content warnings, writing with care, and community interaction. I’ve tried to make it navigable. It’s about 1.8k words. Shorter than a lot of drabbles! I welcome good-faith criticism on this topic and further questions on my own views.

Content Warnings

The biggest responsibility, in my opinion, is empowering your reader to make their own decision on whether they want to expose themselves to your writing. This also happens to be by far the easiest way to help people whump safely.

What to warn

This is a big and ever-changing topic. Some things you should warn for as a rule of thumb are anything NSFW, pet whump and box boy whump, drugs and alcohol, medical and hospital content, graphic gore, intimate partner violence, and animal harm. It can be tricky to draw the line of what counts – what needs a warning? If you’re in doubt, just warn it anyway. It doesn’t hurt.

If someone requests a trigger be warned for, even if it’s something that feels obscure or tame, show compassion and agree to the request. This is someone who cares enough about being able to read your writing that they wrote in! They want to be able to read it and enjoy it. You’re being complimented.

Otherwise, look at what other blogs tag for. You’ll see some variation in styles and levels of detail, but it’s a good way to gauge what people think is warn-worthy, when we’re often writing stuff that would already be R-rated in mainstream media.

Read Mores

The easiest way to make sure people don’t see your triggering content is to use a cut. Tumblr is not a very functional website and likes to delete cuts, but a cursory check of your posted content will usually tell you whether it’s worked. With asks, cuts are very spotty, so don’t be afraid to post an ask response separately with a screengrab of the original question. People often then respond to the ask itself with a link to the post, especially if it’s a whole drabble. Tumblr is weird and bad so just do your best.

Content notices

I.e., a quick summary before the drabble, usually in bold, to state what will be coming. I like to distinguish between using content notes (CN) and trigger warnings (TW) to indicate severity. Others might use the old phrase ‘dead dove do not eat’ to indicate this is a heavy piece, and often you will see qualifiers like ‘intense’, ‘mild’, ‘mention’, ‘referenced’ (i.e. it is discussed but not actively happening), and ‘implied’ (as the opposite of ‘explicit’). I’ve also seen a couple of people use ‘vibes’, which is a really nice way of demonstrating that it’s there, but not the focus. A quick paragraph like this, or just a line, lets people make a quick risk assessment on their reading.

This is also important if you’re sending in asks or requests to people. If you want to ask about something triggering, send an inquiry first about whether the blog is okay to hear it.

Tagging

Tagging is a chore, but it’s your primary way of warning people about your content. The main benefit of tagging is that you can be as detailed as you want, because can be tagging for content in general, not just triggers.

In a best case scenario, you’d tag the kind of whump you’re doing, tag triggers, tag characters, and even your ‘verses, because tagging is your index for your blog. If you tag reliably, you help your future self and your readers find stuff, and you also make your blog really dang safe. People who have unusual triggers can blacklist tags, and will pick up on your content tags to help them.

Don’t just tag your own writing. Tag your reblogs, tag your prompts, tag your asks. Yes, edit your asks to add the tags. Tag your images and gifs. Tag your images as images and your gifs as gifs.

If you aren’t up for detailed tagging for whatever reason, just tag for triggering content, and add stuff to that list if you’re asked to. My usual technique is to make a mental note of tags while I’m formatting and editing before posting.

Be aware that your first five tags will be used in search results. If you’re using tags that are associated with kink too, such as ‘shibari’, you might want to rethink your tag order if you don’t want interaction from those blogs. Also think about what tags might come up in non-whump contexts, such as ‘collar’ or ‘PTSD’. Some tactics for getting around this I’ve seen are adding ‘whump’ after the content or writing the tags in past tense (i.e., ‘collared’).

It is also a good idea to watch out for when you might be reblogging something whumpy that is intended as kink / porn / fetish, especially in images. Tagging these as spicy / nsfw / kink is a sensible move.

Writing with Care

Okay, now for the harder stuff.

I mean here to lay out some guidelines for how to write in a way that helps your reader build good faith. This is a much more nuanced topic, and it’s different for everyone. There will always be differing opinions on what should and shouldn’t be written about, what a good depiction of a sensitive topic is, and how to discuss that topic. I tried to strip this back into absolute basics that I hope we can all agree on.

Maybe your whump involves abuse. Maybe it’s gaslighting. Maybe it’s severe mental health problems, or addiction, or slavery, or you write about or analogise real-world issues. Whump deals with the dark stuff, and that’s a big part of its appeal. But don’t ever forget you’re writing the dark stuff.

(Try to) Know what you’re doing

Some of us play fast and loose with plots, medical accuracy, worldbuilding, and other things that get in the way of the pain we crave. This is all well and good, but when we start using whump that speaks true to people’s lived experiences, we shouldn’t be careless with it. I’m particularly talking about things that get represented poorly in mainstream media, such as abusive relationships, issues around marginalisation, mental illness and disability.

Be critical of media that you’ve consumed. Think about how its depicted things that you want to depict in turn. Look for opinions on fictional representations of those issues. Be aware that you might be more ignorant of things than you realise.

Look at how others are writing these issues, particularly if they’re writing from a perspective different to yours. If you haven’t personally experienced what you’re writing about, e.g., if you don’t have PTSD and you want to depict a character who does, seek out stuff written from or with experience. Listen to the experts.

If you’re looking for stuff about representation specifically, I recommend this collection of posts about ‘Braving Diversity’ cultivated by Writing With Colour, who are in themselves a fantastic resource for this topic, and have recommendations for other blogs that deal with intersecting issues.

Listen to others

Missteps are inevitable. Nobody is perfect. If constructive criticism is offered, that’s also a compliment to your writing. Someone read your work and thought about it, and thought you’d care about improving it. They’re offering themselves as a resource for helping you see your work in a new light.

Criticism is hard and sometimes hurtful, but even if we don’t think it’s accurate, there’s often a grain of truth in it. If someone tells you that your writing is harmful, think about why they’ve said that, not whether or not they’re correct. This is an opinion! Opinions are subjective! But what drove someone to send that in?

You don’t have to respond to all your criticism and definitely don’t respond straight away. Being respectful to those who are trying to help you means taking the time to consider it properly. Sometimes, they don’t need a response. Others, you might want to learn more about what they think before deciding. You might have already discussed the topic, in which case, you might just want to reblog your previous posts.

If it’s sent in bad faith or is outright hateful, you’re well within your rights to just delete it and move on. You might get the same criticism over and over again, and that’s exhausting, and you don’t have to retrace your steps for everyone.

But if it’s new, even if it puts your hackles up, you can always stop and wonder why someone felt that strongly about your work.

Take a step back

One of my better-known characters is a pet whumper who conditioned his victim to adore and depend on him. It’s not always easy to represent how deeply messed up that is within the text – though I think that’s part of the challenge – but in meta-commentary, I am always describing him as a creeptastic bastard lacking compassion and self-reflection. I hope to always give the reader the confidence that I know just how wrong it is.

This is a really simple thing you can do just to give readers good faith in you. Show that you know what you’re writing is dark and messed up. Show your understanding for the issues you’re handling and that they’re complicated. It might seem self-evident, but when you’re writing the really dark stuff, or unhealthy relationships, or institutionalised whump, you can inadvertently create the impression that you just think it’s fun. The fact that it’s fiction does not automatically absolve you. Show that you care about doing it right.

Community Interaction

I’m going to keep this one short and sweet because I will almost entirely be preaching to the choir here.

Be polite to others. Imagine saying what you’re saying to their face.

Don’t send anon hate. Just don’t. If you can send criticism off anon, do so.

Nobody is obligated to interact with you.

Nobody is obligated to monitor their own reader base.

If someone says do not interact, do not interact.

If someone says do not interact, why they’ve said that is none of your business.

You don’t need to spread the word about someone’s bad politics.

Ask yourself if your input is needed, or if what you’ve said has already been said.

You don’t have to take a side.

Take care of yourself. Take breaks. Remind yourself that whump is a small part of the world.

That’s all from me, folks. Stay safe.

[mikauzoran]

Lukadrien: Your Hands Hold Home: Chapter Twenty-Nine

@lukadrien-june

Read it on AO3: Your Hands Hold Home: Chapter Twenty-Nine:  “What About Me?” “Anything for You.”

“Ah!” Rose squealed, eyes going as round as her mouth as she scooped the sparkling pink unicorn hooded scarf out of the wrapping paper she had just shredded. “Adrien, I love it!”

She launched herself over Juleka to tackle-hug her future brother-in-law. “You’re the best!”

“I’m really glad you like it,” Adrien chuckled, trying to keep himself from falling over into Luka.

“I love it!” Rose reiterated, giving Adrien a fierce nuzzle.

“It even has mittens attached,” Juleka snickered, picking up the scarf-hat combo to inspect it. She laughed, amused, as she flopped around the gloves at the end of the scarf.

“Marinette outdid herself,” Luka observed, pleased.

“She did,” Juleka agreed before turning her attention to Adrien. “So, whatcha get me?”

Adrien extracted one arm from Rose’s embrace to grab the little package off of the coffee table and hand it to Juleka. “Gloomy Bear hair clips.”

A wide, mischievous grin spread across Juleka’s lips as she tore away the paper to reveal hair clips featuring a pink cartoon bear with blood on his mouth and claws.

“I also talked to some of my industry contacts who haven’t cancelled me, and, if you want, there’s a spot for you to model in some upcoming spring line photoshoots for a couple small boutiques,” Adrien informed sheepishly. “I mean, they’re small, and you’d practically be working for free, but at least it’s getting your name out there and providing you with some experience to put on your resume.”

Juleka clambered over Rose to wrap Adrien in the most crushing hug.

“Thanks, Dri,” she whispered weakly, overcome with emotion.

“You’re welcome,” Adrien replied with a smile, resting his head against hers. “Merry Christmas, Juliet.”

Luka smiled warmly as he watched the exchange and noted how seamlessly Adrien had slipped into the Couffaine family.

“Now I want to see what my Christmas present is,” Luka hummed impishly, waggling his eyebrows.

Adrien’s face instantly flushed, and he looked away bashfully. “I’ll have to give it to you later.”

“Give it to him now,” Rose urged. “We’re not doing anything as a family until lunch. You guys have time.”

Luka arched an eyebrow. “What exactly am I getting?”

Juleka smirked. “Adrien’s got a private concert planned for you as soon as he gets you alone in your bedroom.”

A raging blush stained Luka’s pale skin crimson as he attempted to swallow and find some kind of response. “O-Oh?”

“It’s not like that!” Adrien protested, beginning to squirm. “I just… I wrote a song for you. That’s all.”

Luka inhaled sharply in surprise. “You wrote a song for me?”

With a shy smile, Adrien nodded. “It’s not very good.”

“It’s the sweetest thing,” Rose interjected.

Juleka nodded in agreement. “You’re going to love it, Luc.”

Luka turned back to Adrien. “Show me? …Please?”

Adrien gave a tentative nod. “Okay. If you’re sure you want to hear it.”

Luka slipped his hand into Adrien’s and gave it a squeeze. “P5, I’d love to hear your song.”

Slowly, a hopeful smile filtered onto Adrien’s lips. “Okay.”

“Ow-ow!” Juleka cheered as they got up and headed for Luka’s room.

Luka ignored his sister, but Adrien shot her a pouty glare.

Giggling, Rose admonished her girlfriend, smacking her playfully on the arm before climbing onto Juleka’s lap to snuggle.

That shut Juleka up.

 “Like I said, it’s not very good,” Adrien reiterated as he shut the door behind them and went over to grab the black acoustic guitar he’d been practicing on over the past six months.

Luka rolled his eyes, taking a seat on his bed. “Adrien…your self-esteem issues are as bad as ever, aren’t they?”

“No,” Adrien grumbled defensively, sitting down beside Luka. “I’m just not good at guitar or composition, so…I don’t make music like you and Zay. I just play piano, but I thought it would mean something to you if I composed something on guitar and played it.”

Luka reached out to give Adrien’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “You were absolutely right. I am ecstatic that you put the time and energy into doing this for me. That’s what really counts.”

Blushing, Adrien looked down at his fingers.

“I kind of stole the idea from Xavier-Yves,” he mumbled. “When I heard him play the song he’d written for you, I was kicking myself, wondering why I’d never thought to serenade you, so I hope you don’t mind my lack of originality when it comes to romantic gestures.”

Luka clicked his tongue. “Adrien, you’re speaking my love language. It doesn’t matter if someone else wrote a song for me too. I want to hear what you wrote. I want to hear what’s in your heart.”

Adrien gave a breathy chuckle and shook his head. “I don’t think this song does what’s in my heart justice, but…I guess it’s something, at least.”

Luka nodded in agreement. “I’m going to love it.”

Adrien’s uncertain expression morphed into a warm, affectionate grin. “Yeah. You are, aren’t you?”

“Yep,” Luka encouraged.

Adrien’s grin turned puckish. “…Could you show me how to play F?”

A tiny crease formed on Luka’s brow, but he carefully positioned Adrien’s fingers anyway. “You know where F is.”

Adrien nodded, unashamed at being caught out.

“I just wanted you to touch me,” he admitted. “After my mom disappeared, no one really touched me anymore. That’s why I’m so clingy. Sorry for deceiving you all this time.”

“You dork,” Luka sighed, ruffling Adrien’s hair. “You could have just asked for a hug.”

A bark of laughter caught Adrien by surprise. “I would have been plastered against you constantly.”

“Who says I would have minded?” Luka snorted, a flirtatious note slipping into his voice.

Adrien looked away with a giddy smile. “I did not need to be any more of a hopeless mess over you than I already was. I’m trying to be a well-adjusted, functional adult here.”

Luka gently stroked Adrien’s cheek with a knuckle, whispering, “Love you.”

Adrien chuckled, self-consciously echoing, “Love you too.”

Luka gave Adrien’s thigh a pat and scooted back to give Adrien some space. “Will you play your song for me? Please? I’d love to hear it.”

Adrien nodded and took a couple slow breaths, mentally preparing himself. “This is called Memories of You.”

He swallowed and began to play.

At first, the melody was soft and dreamlike, like skimming along the surface of a pond made of clouds. It was gentle and warm, evoking feelings of safety and reassurance.

A wide grin spread across Luka’s lips at the thought that he made Adrien feel like that.

Gradually, the beat picked up, and the melody became more energetic, bouncing along with passion like running through a field of lavender and spinning in circles with your arms flung wide to embrace life.

The notes spoke of good times full of laughter and fun, but they touched on the hard times as well. The tears and anguish and struggles were all in the music. Longing and comfort were there too.

Luka could hear the times he’d held Adrien in his arms while Adrien cried and the times Luka had calmed Adrien down after a nightmare. There were the times when they’d snuggled and the times when they’d gazed up at the stars…the times when they’d fought and the times they’d made each other crazy. The whole breadth of their relationship was there in the music.

Luka closed his eyes and let it wash over him as he relived each of the memories.

He was surprised to find that, mixed in with the rest, there was a sense of yearning. It took a while for Luka to place, but he eventually identified it as Adrien’s desire to be an equal partner in their relationship. Adrien wanted to be there for Luka, to support him just as Luka had always been there for Adrien.

It nearly took Luka’s breath away.

He wasn’t used to being cherished. People didn’t normally want to protect Luka. Usually, it was Luka taking care of everyone else, putting himself on the backburner so that he could give his all to others.

It was so touching that there was finally someone who wanted to look after Luka.

Silent tears started to stream down Luka’s cheeks as the song gently faded out into the relative silence of the bedroom.

Adrien looked searchingly at Luka, waiting for the verdict.

Luka’s expression was so full of gratitude and desire as he reached up to cup Adrien’s cheek. “I told you I was going to love it.”

Adrien drew in a sharp breath. “Yeah? You did? You liked it?”

Luka nodded. “It means so much to me how much time and hard work you put into making me feel loved. Thank you, Perfect Fifth.”

“Of course,” Adrien chuckled, setting the guitar aside. “I’d do anything to make sure you knew how much you mean to me.”

“Adrien,” Luka breathed, eyes drifting closed as he leaned in.

Adrien gulped, utterly conflicted. “Luka, I…I don’t know if I should…I’m not—”

“—Adrien,” Luka cut him off firmly, hunger in his half-lidded, dark eyes. “Kiss me.”

Adrien knew he ought to say no. He was still a mess. He was worlds better than he had been four months before when they’d last discussed dating, but Adrien wasn’t ready to be in a relationship yet. He couldn’t be there for Luka and support him the way Adrien wanted to be able to. Adrien still relied on Luka for so much, and it wasn’t fair. Adrien didn’t want to be the needy one in this relationship. He wanted to be Luka’s equal.

“Adrien,” Luka whimpered. “We’re already practically dating. What difference would it actually make?”

“A big one,” Adrien protested, pulling away.

With a sigh, he grabbed the guitar and went to put it back on its stand.

When he turned back around, Luka was gazing at him with something akin to despair.

Adrien’s heart broke for the boy he loved, and he inevitably gave in.

“Okay. Just because it’s Christmas. For one day only,” he stressed, placing one knee on the bed and lowering his face to Luka’s. “One kiss only.”

Luka knew that he was manipulating Adrien, but, for once, he decided to be selfish. He’d been good for four long months—six if you counted the time before Adrien had confessed his feelings. Luka couldn’t help but feel like one kiss wasn’t such a grave sin.

Their lips met, and it was like a jolt of electricity.

Luka didn’t hold back. His arms wrapped around Adrien, and he arched up, moaning into the kiss.

Adrien was easy to entice, and one kiss became two became four until they all blurred together and Luka and Adrien lost track.

The burning assertiveness gradually faded into curious exploration before slowly devolving into a sloppy mess of languid pleasure.

Adrien completely disheveled Luka’s hair. Meanwhile, Luka’s hands cautiously meandered down south until he finally achieved his longstanding dream of touching Adrien’s butt.

Adrien gave a little squeak of surprise but was back to kissing Luka before Luka could even ask if he needed to move his hands.

Half an hour slipped by unmarked before Adrien raised his head to look down at Luka beneath him.

“That…was more than one kiss,” Adrien observed.

“Yeah,” Luka agreed, voice husky and pupils blown wide, need evident.

Blushing furiously, Adrien scrambled off of Luka, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and pointedly not looking at Luka.

“I’m not ready for this,” Adrien informed flatly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to lead you on. I didn’t—”

Luka extracted his brain from his pants and pushed himself up onto his elbow, reaching out to run gentle fingertips up and down Adrien’s spine. “—Shhhh. Perfect Fifth, it’s fine. You weren’t leading me on. I know I guilted you into that kiss in the first place. I’m not expecting anything more from you, so just relax, okay?”

Adrien anxiously peeked back over his shoulder. “You’re not? Expecting anything? Physically, I mean?”

Luka shook his head. “The fact that I’ve slept with previous partners doesn’t have anything to do with our relationship. We go at our own speed. Whatever’s right for us. Okay?”

Adrien blew out a sigh of relief. “Okay. All right. Good.”

He bit his lip and turned to face Luka. “Because I’m not ready to be in a relationship with you yet.”

A cloudy expression drifted onto Luka’s features.

“I’m not ready,” Adrien repeated before Luka could protest. “I’m sorry. I just—Aren’t things okay as they are? I don’t want anything to change. I don’t want to mess up what we have.”

Luka took a deep breath and placed his hand over Adrien’s. “You don’t have to be afraid, P5. It’s going to be okay. Like I said before, we’re already practically dating. Not a whole lot will change once we make it official. I know you’re scared, but I promise you everything’s going to be fine.”

Adrien still didn’t look convinced.

Luka gave Adrien’s hand a squeeze. “Will you give me the chance to prove to you that everything’s going to be all right?”

Adrien worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “…Let me think about it?”

Luka nodded, willing to take whatever he could get. It was a step in the right direction at least. “Okay. Sure. Absolutely. …Thank you.”

A small smile graced Adrien’s lips as he laid down on the bed with a sigh. “Thank you. For being patient with me. I know I’m driving you crazy.”

Luka winced. “It’s not that bad.”

Adrien arched an eyebrow, calling Luka’s bluff.

Luka sighed, lying down in defeat. “Okay. Yeah. Pining like this is hard, but…I get that you want to be healthy going into a relationship. I appreciate that you’re taking this so seriously and trying to do it right.”

Adrien leaned in and pressed a grateful peck to Luka’s jaw. “Because I love you.”

“You’re killing me,” Luka groaned through a grin.

Adrien snickered. “You a masochist or something?”

“A little,” Luka chuckled. “—Oh. That reminds me.”

Adrien looked skeptical. “Of what exactly?”

“Your present.” Luka sat up and leaned over Adrien to get at the bedside table drawer. Out of it he produced a small present the size of a necklace box.

Adrien frowned as he carefully slid his finger underneath the edges of the wrapping paper and pealed back the tape.

Inside of the box he found a soft, velvety black ribbon made to look like a belt with a silver buckle, a metal tip on the end, and tiny holes to approximate a real belt.

“It’s…my Chat Noir belt…in miniature,” Adrien realized without understanding why he was receiving such a gift.

Luka smiled sheepishly. “Do you remember that one time you told me you thought you might like it if someone tied you up with your belt and chose to use that power over you to take care of you?”

Adrien’s entire face went red as he burst out laughing. “Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh. Are you serious?”

Luka nodded.

Adrien hugged the ribbon to his chest and laughed harder. “I can’t even… I love you so much. You have no idea. This is just… Thank you.”

“I did look into bondage after that,” Luka confessed. “I asked around a little and did some research, but I came to the conclusion that I’m never going to feel comfortable actually tying you up. I did, however, come up with a compromise. May I?”

He held out his hand for the ribbon, and Adrien readily complied.

“Hold out your wrists?” Luka requested, and Adrien did.

Luka looped the ribbon around Adrien’s wrists, tying it loosely so that it didn’t chafe and Adrien could easily slip his hands out.

“You’re on the honor system to stay tied up,” Luka informed with a wink, making Adrien giggle. “It’s more symbolic bondage than anything, but I thought maybe you’d like it.”

“I do,” Adrien verified, giving Luka’s cheek another kiss. “Thank you, Luka. I appreciate you looking into this for me and the miniature belt and—Did Marinette make this?” he thought to ask.

“I didn’t tell her what it was for,” Luka assured.

“Okay. Good,” Adrien sighed. “…Can I tie you up with my belt sometimes, or is that weird?”

Luka shrugged, holding out his wrists. “I’m good so long as you’re happy.”

Adrien transferred the ribbon from his own wrists to Luka’s and grinned at the effect.

Luka smirked. “What are you going to do to me now that you have me at your mercy?”

Adrien’s smile turned soft and warm. “Love and protect you.”

Luka’s cheeks suddenly felt unbearably hot. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Adrien confirmed, eyes all adoration.

Luka gulped. “I’d really like that, actually.”

Adrien looked at Luka hard before promising resolutely, “…I’m going to become someone who can take care of you.”

Luka shook his head. “You already are, Adrien.”

Adrien didn’t look like he believed it.

Luka slipped his hands out of the ribbon and patted Adrien on the head. “You are. I promise. …Come on. Let’s make ourselves presentable so we can help Rose and Juleka with lunch.”

Adrien pressed one last kiss to Luka’s cheek before complying.

[dgcatanisiri]

I’ve said before, the kindest I’ll be to TLJ is to say that it’s a decent first draft, but... It’s DISCONNECTED from TFA, the movie that IMMEDIATELY precedes it. No one brings up Starkiller - not even pointing out that Poe’s actions and reactions could easily be considered PTSD from the torture and trauma if they wanted to frame him as being in the wrong, no, he’s just written off as a hotheaded maverick who needs a lesson in humility from Holdo - Finn shakes off the coma in moments, Rey has no reason to give a bisected fuck about Kylo, yet immediately becomes infatuated with him, Luke left a map in TFA but wanted to just be left to die in TLJ... Nothing in this movie has any ties to the movie that came before. Which, honestly, just meant that, to conclude the story of the sequels, the one TFA started, TRoS basically had to downplay things left over from TLJ - hell, TRoS at least ACKNOWLEDGES events in TLJ, which is honestly a lot more than TLJ seems willing to do with TFA, despite, again, taking place almost immediately before it.

And then there’s the internal plot - the timeline is a convoluted mess (the Resistance is under an explicit sixteen hour ticking clock, yet Finn and Rose jaunt off to and back from Canto Bight - a disposable point in the plot ANYWAY, considering that Finn and Rose don’t even accomplish the goal they went there for - in the middle of a fuel crisis, AND Rey’s training is explicitly taking place over days if not weeks, but she manages to arrive in the nick of time, while still having real time Force communication with Kylo, who is with the ships chasing the Resistance). The First Order has the military might and strength of the Empire with no acknowledgment of the personnel loss that losing Starkiller - a weapon built out of a goddamn PLANET - must have been. Leia and Holdo both hold Poe losing people against the dreadnaught against him, when a) one man fighters have been established in this universe to be hyperdrive capable in all trilogies, so there was no reason to hold the fleet there, b) taking out the dreadnaught made tactical sense, given the firepower it had and the manpower on board - 200,000 crew! Combined with Starkiller, that should be a MAJOR blow to the FO, but, because this is TLJ, the FO just has infinite resources from no where, and c) the dreadnaught is the kind of target you’re SUPPOSED to use those bomber fighters for, if they couldn’t take going up against it, they should have been scrapped for parts ages ago.

Like... I’m sorry, but if you want to trashtalk Rise of Skywalker on the plot level, you have to start with the fact that TLJ left them with no real conclusion to be had - the Resistance is left with enough people to be carried in the beat up weed van that is the Millennium Falcon, while the First Order SHOULD have been reduced to maybe a cruiser’s worth of troops. Because they weren’t the Empire, built on the bones of the Republic that had stood for a thousand generations. They were a fringe group, pushed out to the margins of the galaxy, where they built in secret - which means that if they’d made a major production push of a fleet capable of taking on the New Republic, which DID get a lot of the resources of the Empire as it collapsed, SOMEBODY would have noticed it and done something. When TLJ closes, both sides are basically at a stalemate with neither of them capable of striking back. They just don’t have the manpower or the resources anymore. I’ve said for years, when TLJ, I do NOT feel a sense of hope for the future, like the previously downbeat endings in this franchise - AotC may have started the Clone Wars, but Anakin and Padme get a tender moment together, a respite in the storm. RotS has the Empire ascendant, but Luke and Leia are with loving families and the new hope is intact. ESB has Lando and Chewie heading off to find Han and Luke has been fitted with a new hand - they’re ready to keep going. TLJ just feels like both sides played out the fight to the inevitable conclusion of everyone being left with nothing but ash.

TLJ was F - L - A - W - E - D. And I’m not saying that TRoS is beyond reproach or anything - I’m pissed that they reduced Rose to basically nothing, Palpatine didn’t really need to be there, Finn deserved to do more than shout “Rey!” through most of his screentime, especially when they had the stormtrooper rebellion subplot to work with... But a lot of the plot level flaws of TRoS stem out of the way that TLJ left things. Not all, but it was NOT this groundbreaking thing that changed the game. I honestly end up with the feeling that it was just a first draft that, due to the ridiculously fast pace of pumping out this trilogy, went straight to filming with like no editorial oversight. 

Which is a failure when we’re talking about movie two of a trilogy and movie eight of a saga. The whole trilogy fails to be a cohesive whole, in large part because for some ungodly reason, the plan had been to rotate writers for each part AND give those writers almost no time to weld their stories together. JJ Abrams and Rian Johnson, say what you will about them as storytellers or people, are both VERY different in their styles, and making the two try to mesh... doesn’t work. Lord knows what would have happened if Trevorrow’s ideas had made it out of the concept phase, but it wouldn’t have been better, just had more tonal clash, because, again, we have a different writer with a different style who sees different things out of the movie and the franchise.

The problems of the sequels are foundational. But the movies ALL have their own individual problems. You can shake off most of the problems in TFA by viewing it as set up... But then TLJ tosses aside a lot of what is being set up - TFA is clearly setting up a Finn-Rey dynamic, but, to fit the way that Rian Johnson’s already planning TLJ, Rey has to go off on her own. TFA has Finn wielding that lightsaber multiple times, so VERY clearly indicating he’s Force sensitive, to the point of being narratively framed as the counterpoint to Kylo, but they never interact again and TLJ reduces him to bumbling comic relief. TFA speaks of the Knights of Ren, presumably students from Luke’s academy who joined Kylo, but then they’re gone in TLJ and are functionally replaced with the Praetorian Guard. Snoke gets a lot of fanfare as being this hidden manipulator of Kylo from birth, then gets tossed out of the plot in TLJ with no explanation of his motivations.

Just... Look, I get that TRoS was a disappointment in a lot of ways, but it really was, for the most part... Honestly, all we were ever going to GET after TLJ. Because there wasn’t a continuation offered by TLJ, other than reusing the characters. TLJ was telling a story all its own, unconcerned with connecting with the rest of the series. It wasn’t a deconstruction with intent to reconstruct, in the way that KOTOR 2 was. It was demolition, taking a battering ram to the established foundation, trying to build something ELSE in its place.