#varying degrees of love of course. some are your friends. some make your heart burn.

[crimeboys]

anyone else thinking about ben hanscom

[tryingmydarndest]

Thank You (Luka Couffaine x Reader)

Summary (Part 1/probably 3): The author goes on a bit of a tangent about how Y/N goes on a bit of a tangent about Viperion. Who may just have a little, big ol' crush on them?

Tags: -not enough actual relationship -fluff -but like, a weird sprinkling of angst that I didn't plan on right at the end???

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: Inspired by this fic by @seriously-sirius-black <3. Luka? OOC? Idk, probably, I don’t write fanfic. But I am actually kinda proud of how well Alya turned out. Writing this made me realize how much of a mom friend I apparently headcanon her as. I wrote this gender-and-as-everything-else-neutral as I can make it (lemme know if you see ways I can improve, tho idk how much more fanfic I'll even be writing). Also, I freakin' RAMBLE and overuse italics, but ya get what ya get and ya don't gotta fret. Ooh, important note for future parts (if i write them) - this is a kinda!au where the miraculous users keep their miraculous. also if I had a nickel for every time I get awkwardly specific about the placement of both of a character’s hands I’d have TWO nickels. Happy reading!! <3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

Part I - Paris's Cutiest Heroes

The look currently on Marinette’s face as she sputtered out a response was priceless, “Cat Noir? Cat Noir!? What makes you think I’d find Cat Noir attractive at all? And- and- HIM- the cutest superhero! Ridiculous!”

“Utterly ridiculous?”

“Nice one, Alya”

“Thank you so much, Y/N,” you gave Alya a high five on your way to your seat next to Juleka and Rose on the couch facing Marinette and Alya. A sunny Friday after school was the perfect place for Kitty Section and their entourage to hang out. Unfortunately without Ivan and Mylène, seeing as their anniversary called for a private celebration. After pushing a couple couches onto the deck of The Liberty, Alya had predictably started talking about Paris's resident hero team. Today, she chose to ask everyone who they deemed the cutest, and she made sure to jump on Marinette's... interesting response, “And girl, he has the same silky golden hair and dreamy emerald eyes as Adrien Agreste. What’s utterly ridiculous is you freaking out and dodging every time we bring up superheroes!”

The designated snack-boy, Luka, walked out precariously carrying three bowls of goodies for everyone, “Alright, I got more popcorn. Sorry, but looks like we’re out of cheese flavoring, Y/N”

“Oh... that’s fine. I honestly wasn’t expecting it since I forgot to ask,” your free hand not reaching for the bowl rubbed the back of your neck, “but thanks for remembering.”

“Oh, um yeah- Always," is it creepy to remember something so specific? Someone as nice as Y/N wouldn't be interested in some creep. Ugh. Luka took a seat with his own bowl after passing Alya and Marinette theirs. He ended up next to you on the floor, leaning against the arm of the couch, dangerously close to touching your legs.

Rose reached for the popcorn as she interjected, “You know, Alya does have a point. So Marinette, why don’t you just tell us who you think the cutest superhero is, if you don’t like us guessing?”

Somehow Marinette’s face went even paler as she spoke, “What- I mean, I don’t- I haven’t thought- Wha- what about Y/N? Why aren’t you interrogating them?”

Alya crossed her arms, “Because Y/N says the same thing about the same hero every day. Just watch. Ahem, Y/N, care to weigh in on the cuteness level of our lovely Parisian superheroes?”

You looked up from the bowl you had stolen back from Rose with wide eyes, "Hey! Okay, no, that is not fair! Besides, what is our criteria for 'cute'? I mean... Are we going just by physical characteristics? Is costume a factor? What about the animal they're representing, could our opinion of that make this whole thing unfair? And cuteness is so subjective anyway... Why are we even reducing these amazing and honorable superheroes to just their looks? I mean we could be talking about skill, or their powers or power lev-"

"-And your answer would be exactly the same. Seriously, are you done trying- and might I add, failing- to talk yourself out of this one yet? Or should I just read the article you wrote for the Ladyblog?"

"You said you deleted that!"

Luka had perked his head up at your initial fumbling response and turned to you when he spoke, "You wrote an article? That's pretty cool."

You rubbed your face to try and distract yourself from the burning embarrassment, "Umm, yeah. But it was terrible and extremely not. worth. publishing." You hoped the glare you sent the girl in question was enough to scare her into deleting it on the spot, or to at least lie about it, "So Alya kindly deleted it, right?"

Sitting up with a smug look and crossed arms severely lowered your faith that she'd keep quiet. "A good journalist archives everything. Especially something as juicy as one of her besties going on for five thousand words about how dreamy the great Viperion is," dramatically fake-fainting into Marinette's lap, Alya could barely finish before bursting out in laughter. Of course, quickly followed by the others joining in to varying degrees. Juleka and Rose happily giggled to themselves, Marinette looked more relieved that the heat was off her, and Luka seemed to be shocked, or maybe just holding back to see how you were taking this.

Horribly. Horribly embarrassed would describe how you were taking this conversation. You sat there stock-still as you hoped that none of the others could hear your heart's desperate attempts to pound its way out of your chest. That's certainly all you could hear, at least until Alya's voice brought you out of it, "Hey, it's fine," she made her way over to sit next to you as she continued, "We all have our little hero crushes. That's why I bring it up all the time, to show you that it's totally normal! I mean, we all know how I could go on about Carapace for days," Alya gestured for the others to continue, and used her other hand to try and comfort you.

"Well, I find Ladybug to be just absolutely adorable and so kind.... oh it just makes me so happy knowing she's keeping all of Paris safe," Rose added softly.

Juleka brushed a strand of hair aside as she spoke, "Rena Rouge is super mysterious, pretty rad in my opinion."

Alya was rubbing your back like the mom friend she is to try and help encourage you, "See? Super normal, so go ahead and release all this pent up Viperion energy that I know you have. Maybe it'll encourage Marinette here to finally join in the fun!" Alya stuck her tongue out at her best friend, who responded promptly by smashing her face into a pillow.

You just sighed, "I mean- it’s- it can't just-'' were you supposed to just get over it all just like that? Well, at least the embarrassment was wearing off, maybe you could just entertain her for a bit, "Well- um, you see.... HisHairJustLooksReallySoftAnd- you know what. Nope. Can't do anymore of this. Yep- that's all you're getting out of me!" This time when everyone started giggling, you were able to comfortably join them. It was a nice feeling.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A nice evening chilling out with your friends was always welcome, especially with the rising number of akumatizations making that less possible. But the night had come to a close. Alya and Marinette went home, Juleka was walking Rose back herself, and Luka and you had volunteered to clean up. Luka stopped drying the cup in his hand for a minute as he looked at you, “Um, I know it might not be my place, but I want you to know that you don’t have to be embarrassed about the whole... Viperion thing.” God, how am I supposed to take the news that MY crush has a crush on.... Sort of me? Am I supposed to count it as me at all?

“Oh, um. Yeah, thanks. I think I’m over the embarrassment now that it’s out. I don’t know, it’s just that a lot of people think it’s weird since he’s kind of a new hero,” how are you supposed to explain this to him? That you kept such a non-issue secret from him, especially without getting suspiciously defensive about it. “And then people use that to try and say that I only like him for his looks..... And that’s not it! I don’t know, it’s kind of.... A lot? To explain, that is.” This was not going well.

“Oh... Well, what is it? That you like about him, I guess.”

This was so not going well. But he was waiting for a response so... “Uh, well I guess it did kinda start..... that way.... but then I started doing research. I learned about his power and saw videos of his fights. He’s really good! Especially for being so new, which kinda goes into why his power makes me like him so much.” Shit. Rambling, I’m just talking and talking and I need to stop. But how am I supposed to change the subject now? And now Luka’s sitting down, and he seems so invested. Why does this have to happen to me?

“What do you mean by that?”

Luka’s voice kindly shuts your little thought-spiral in its tracks. What were you saying? Oh, Viperion’s powers! You can talk about this, you know this. Just keep talking, at least he seems interested in it, “Well, you know how he can go back and redo the last couple of minutes?” Luka nodded, “Well, we always see the time that worked out. Us civilians get to keep going from the one time it all went right. Just imagine all the times he failed, all the times he couldn’t get it right. It could be dozens, maybe even hundreds of times! He must get so discouraged at some point, I mean I know I would.... I guess I didn’t really think about it at first, but.... but, I doubt I could keep that determination, and I’m so glad Paris has a hero who can, and does.”

Silence. Why was it so quiet? Oh no, he thinks I’m weird. He must think-

“All of this from ‘his hair looks soft’?”

“Hey! You can’t tell me not to be embarrassed, then make fun of me! That’s against the rules!”

Luka chuckled as he said, “Against what rules, exactly?”

“The Rules Of Best Friendship, duh!”

“And who exactly said you were my best friend?”

“Well... your loss, I guess. Now you won’t get an invitation when I plan Rose and Juleka’s wedding,” you brushed off his offended glare as you took the seat next to him.

“She’s my sister.”

“She’d take my side.”

I’d take your side, too. I will always take your side. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

A/N the sequel: I am super bad at finishing things, but I really wanna keep motivated to finish this (like I have a full, probably 3 part, plan for this). If you guys want to help, shoot me a message and I'll send you a link to the google doc I'm writing this on. Feel free to leave a little comment (pls be kind, obviously) and see my writing process! Idk, would any of you guys be interested in that? Would you just get annoyed at having already read the thing before I post it?

[theggning]

Perfect timing for me to ask you this: what's your thoughts/opinions on Deacon?

It's always a good time to ask me to tl;dr, friendo, I love never shutting up, ever.

Ah, Deacon. The man of mystery, the liar, the Railroad's number one agent (though he'd rather you not believe it.) Everybody's favorite egg in shades. I really like Deacon. He's hilarious, handy in a fight, his voice acting is phenomenally fun, and has a lot of wise things to say about the lies people tell you to make you act in their interest.

Of course, Deacon's main character trait and personality is that he lies constantly. He is, admirably, upfront about the fact that he's a liar, and doesn't expect anyone to trust him. Sometimes his lies are clearly meant to be a joke. Sometimes they're a test, to teach the Sole Survivor a lesson about spycraft. But when it comes down to it, Deacon doesn't lie about important things, or things that will get someone in danger. He lies, with varying degrees of believability, so that when he *needs* to lie, nobody will know whether or not to believe him. He disguises himself, often poorly, so that when he *needs* to disappear, nobody will spot him.

But the thing Deacon lies about the most is himself. As with all the Railroad agents, his name is a pseudonym. He lies about being a synth (he isn't) and going places and seeing things. He lies about escapades he's been on and missions he's run. Even his appearance is a lie, as he admits he undergoes surgeries to change his face every so often. Every one of his affinity conversations ends with a charisma check revealing that he was lying.

And lies are all that you get from Deacon, until you reach his final affinity conversation. There, Deacon, unusually emotional and distraught, confesses that in his youth, he was a member of a gang called the University Point Deathclaws-- a hate group that targeted synths. After a particularly brutal murder turned Deacon away from the gang, he met and married a woman named Barbara. But years later, his old gang showed up at their doorstep and murdered Barbara-- as it turned out, Barbara was unknowingly a synth. Deacon proceeded to butcher every one of his former friends-- and impressed by his prowess and believing him to be sympathetic to the cause, he was then recruited by the Railroad.

If you believe that this story, too, is a lie, then we're left scraping for a motive or a baseline or just, anything we can actually use to pin Deacon down as more than a fleeting shadow.

People much more eloquent than me have dissected this reveal and all of their points are good and sourced, and they will do a much better job of it than I could, but in short, I do believe Deacon is telling the truth about his past. Everything from the acting to the expressions on his face to terrible things he confesses about himself point to real, genuine heartache under his usual glibness, and it also provides us a motive, one magical golden key that unlocks the most important facet of Deacon:

This man hates himself.

Deacon absolutely fucking hates himself. He hates his past, he hates his choices, he hates how he used to behave and believe, he hates what it did to the woman he loved. He views his service to the Railroad as atonement, that he also doesn't deserve and never will. Not only does the Railroad necessitate secrecy, making up lies, changing his face, turning himself into a mystery, but it also allows Deacon to pretend to be anybody else but himself (as MacCready ice burns him in one of their exchanges.) He fears that if anyone finds out the truth about him, spots even a small sliver of his real self, they will hate him as much as Deacon does. And he'll deserve it. The only future Deacon sees for himself is to die in service of the Railroad, in service of freeing the synths that he used to hate and victimize, in service of an organization he feels he's completely unworthy of belonging to.

This, I'm sorry to say to his fans, is the actual characterization/meta reason why Deacon isn't romanceable. Deacon hates himself so much that he's unwilling to let anyone know who he really is. He only barely feels comfortable exposing part of his past to the Sole Survivor at the end of the affinity conversations-- a romance would require letting someone in further than that, and Deacon not only refuses, but feels like he doesn't deserve it. Like, I cannot stress enough that in a canon full of companions struggling with self-image and varying degrees of hating themselves, Deacon is the undisputed Grand Champion of hating himself. He has a LONG way to go to finding even the slightest bit of worthiness in himself.

And that's really the sad and poignant part of Deacon. We can believe Deacon is a fun and likable guy with good intentions and a good cause. We can believe that a person can change at heart, can try to make up for their mistakes by doing good things. (I believe it!) But the tricky part is making Deacon believe it-- a man so thoroughly sunk in his own self-hatred that he truly doesn't believe he deserves to be forgiven.

Well, that was kind of a downer, so I'll rattle off some other fun facts about Deacon to close this out...

Deacon seems to be very well-read, with an interest in pre-War literature. OR MAYBE HE'S LYING?!

He is, however, very likely the same person as John D., a Railroad agent mentioned in Desdemona's terminal who came up with the dead drop system, the pyramid structure of secrecy, was the only survivor of an earlier Institute raid on Railroad HQ, and was also instrumental in rebuilding the organization. This raid took place in 2266, over 20 years before the game starts, so it's actually very likely that Deacon is in his 40s or even his 50s.

We all know Deacon (poorly) follows Sole through the early parts of the main quest, but he's been following them a lot longer than that. Deacon discovered the Institute's apparent interest in Vault 111 and theorized there was something inside that they wanted. This led Deacon to stakeout Vault 111, where he apparently sat and watched the doors for some time until the Sole Survivor emerged. (You can find his spot in the trees on a hillside overlooking the Vault doors. There's a chair, a few bottles of water, a sun shade, and the Railsign for "ally" carved nearby.)

And stolen verbatim from the wiki:

At one point in 2275, Deacon was kicked out of HQ by former leader Pinky Thompson because he was "sick of the lying, face-changing son of a bitch," after Deacon had spent a month as a ghoul, which "freaked a lot of people out."

[mianavs]

Queen of Peace

Oh, the king / Gone mad within his suffering / Called out for relief / Someone cure him of his grief

His only son / Cut down, but the battle won / Oh, what is it worth / When all that's left is hurt

“Queen of Peace” by: Florence + The Machine

knight!Osamu x queen!reader, royalty/historical au, forbidden love

tw: smut, oral (f!receiving), breeding, angst (of course)

a/n: a super self-indulgent fic inspired by the aforementioned song, a fanart of knight!osamu i reblogged a while back, and my undying love for historical fiction; tagging: @hqintheclub​

ty: all my love to @rosesandtoshi @oneblonded​ and @liaslight​ for taking the time to beta read this!

wc: 6.3k+

bg: Kingdoms are named after regions in Japan (ones mentioned to are Chubu, Tohoku, Kanto, and Kansai). These kingdoms are then divided into provinces which are named after Japanese prefectures (Hyogo). Haikyuu schools are used as titles of nobility (Duke of Fukurodani, Marquess of Itachiyama)

The roar of the blowing horn broke you out of your trance; it’s thunderous cry signaled the arrival of the King and his soldiers. Your heart swelled with relief, and you swiftly set aside your needlework before leaving your rooms to greet them. Your ladies, who sat around you in a semicircle with their own needlework, mimicked your movements and fell in line behind you as you exited door after door before finally reaching the main corridor.

“Don’t you wish to change into a different gown, Your Majesty?”

You paused at the sudden inquiry from one of your ladies and glanced down at your simple black gown. “We are still in mourning. This gown is more than appropriate.”

You resumed your trek to greet the King leaving the other ladies who took it upon themselves to reprimand the one that had interrupted you. While you would never show it, you were relieved that you still had some semblance of control over your ladies despite your unpopularity amongst the courtiers. An unpopularity that had plagued you ever since you left Hyogo five years ago by order of the Kansai King to marry the widowed King of Kanto.

With each step you took, unease swirled in your navel and your throat tightened. It’d been a long war against the neighboring Chubu kingdom. One that had taken their king and your kingdom’s heir.

Prince Shoyo had been the King’s only child by his beloved first wife, a Tohoku princess, and his pride and joy. Nicknamed the ‘Kingdom’s Sun’, he had been admired by his peers, respected by the Council, and loved by the people. Even you, his stepmother despite being of age, had found comfort in the amiable prince who had never treated you unkindly. The news of his death had sent the kingdom into a panic and the courtier’s scrutinizing eyes once again fell on your stomach that had yet to swell with child.

“My Queen, are ya unwell?”

The turbulent thoughts that had clouded your mind the entire way to the palace’s front entrance cleared the moment that rich accented voice resonated in the foyer. There in the middle stood your childhood friend and sworn sword that had made the journey to a foreign kingdom without you asking, Osamu Miya.

You instinctively gravitated toward him as if tethered to his armor by an invisible string that pulled you closer, until he was just an arm’s length away. His thick brows knitted together and a frown was etched on his face as he studied yours. You offered him a small smile that might’ve fooled anyone else but not Osamu who knew you better than anyone. He pursed his lips but, nonetheless, went down on one knee, took your hand, and pressed a chaste kiss on the back of it. The warmth that radiated off of his touch and kiss spread like honey over your heart and soothed your nerves.

“I am fine,” you replied when Osamu rose to his feet and took his place on your left. “We should go. The King must not be kept waiting.”

Beneath your grief over the loss of Shoyo, there had been a flicker of hope for a renaissance in your marriage; your already precarious position depended on it. If you could only give the King an heir, then you wouldn’t be seen as the useless foreign queen anymore.

So when you steeled yourself against the autumn chill and saw the King’s banners billowing in the wind, you were determined to lie with your husband for the first time since your wedding night. Even when the old King struggled to dismount his horse, cursed his bad leg, hobbled over to you, and patted your head with the affection usually reserved for a daughter instead of a wife, you plastered a warm smile on your face while your hands fisted the skirts of your dress in frustration.

“Welcome home, My King,” you greeted with your deepest curtsy. “A humble feast is being prepared to celebrate your return. The official mourning processions will begin tomorrow.”

At the mention of mourning, the King’s mouth set into a hard line while his eyes glazed over. “You have worked hard, Y/N. Thank you.”

“Your Majesty is too kind. I am merely doing my duty.”

The King’s greying brow furrowed at your mention of duty before nodding once. “Of course. I am afraid my leg will not let me attend the feast, but I trust you will be there in my stead.”

“You can rest assured that I will be the most gracious host, My King.” You replied, hiding your disappointment over the news of his absence. Like all things involving you, the King was oblivious and continued his labored tread to the palace.

It was only when the King was outside of your field of view that Osamu, steadfast and true, asked after your well-being.

“Are ya alright, My Queen?”

You could feel his steel grey eyes burning the side of your face but kept your gaze fixed on the King’s ghostly trail.

“Of course,” you replied but neither of you believed it.

The welcome feast went by as you’d expected. The war-weary soldiers ate and drank their fill but there was none of the merriment and banter that usually filled the dining hall. The King and Prince’s absence weighed heavily on everyone’s mind including yours, so any conversations that took place were done in hushed voices that didn’t travel beyond its participants.

Yet it seemed that even the soldiers fresh from battle and with a plethora of personal issues already plaguing them had enough time to worry over the lack of an heir. Their eyes occasionally flickered over to your empty womb with varying degrees of concern and disappointment. When they became too into their cups and their stares more shameless, you wiped your mouth and excused yourself from the feast to a chorus of half-hearted ‘goodnights’.

Even in your rooms with your ladies readying you for bed, you couldn’t stop thinking about the burdening stares of the feast. So after your ladies finished and excused themselves for the night, you wrapped yourself in a thick robe and made your way to the King’s chambers on the other side of the palace.

Heavy footsteps echoed against the stone floors and you didn’t need to look back to know who it was.

“I do not need an escort, Sir Osamu.”

“It’s late, My Queen. Ya shouldn’t go off wandering by yourself even if it’s to see the King.” Osamu retorted, disapproval lacing his words.

You turned around to face him. “I am trying to do my duty.” You informed him and fixed him with a hard stare.

“So am I,” he declared and moved closer until you saw the determination and something else reflecting off his grey orbs. You knew better than to argue with Osamu when he was being stubborn, so you let out a defeated sigh and resumed your walk to the King’s chambers with your knight in tow.

The two guards outside the King’s door announced you before the King gave his approval. The large mahogany door opened and you walked in, ignoring the knowing stares of Osamu and the other two. You knew your bold actions were improper, but you were done waiting for the King to make the first move. Strengthening your resolve as you walked through the antechamber, you straightened your back and took a deep breath before entering the King’s bedchamber.

The room was dimly lit while the stench of liquor and medicinal herbs permeated the air. You spotted the king sitting at his breakfast table; one hand around an empty glass and the other buried in his thinning locks of hair. As you made your way to him, the moonlight shone on his aged face and reflected the tears that stained his cheeks. It was only when you sunk into a low curtsy that he noticed your presence.

“My King,” you greeted demurely. “I came to…see how you were doing.”

It was a lie, but seeing the King devastated with grief cracked your determination. The King glanced up at you and your heart clenched painfully at the sight. He looked lost with bloodshot eyes, trembling lips, and a furrowed brow.

“M-my son,” he croaked, voice dripping with sorrow. “My Shoyo…is gone.”

Tears blurred your vision and you rushed forward to embrace the desolate king. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed his head against your chest and mourned the loss of his son together.

In the end, your plans were for naught. You helped the drunken King to his bed and stroked his hair until he fell into a deep slumber. It was then that you should’ve left his bedchamber to return to yours, but you couldn’t find the will to do it. Gossip would run rampant in the palace the next morning, and your reputation would only get dragged through the mud for being a useless queen that couldn’t even seduce her own husband.

So, on a whim, you removed your robe and tossed it on an empty chair before lying next to the King.

You woke up at the crack of dawn and left before the sun’s rays spilled into the bedchamber. Throwing one last glance at the sleeping king, you offered him a silent apology before retrieving your robe and exiting his chambers.

The same guards from the night before greeted you with a bow, but Osamu was nowhere to be seen. Ignoring the strange pit in your stomach, you wished the guards ‘good morning’ and set off to your chambers. On the way, you passed by scores of maids, manservants, and guards who looked at your attire and exchanged looks. It was all proof that your ploy had been successful, and you made the long walk back with your head held higher and your back straighter than ever before.

But the satisfaction from your triumph was cut short when you found Osamu in your antechamber. He appeared agitated as his eyes swept over your appearance, lingering on your mussed hair and thin shift. Under his heavy gaze, you became conscious just how scantily-clad you were dressed and wrapped the robe tighter around your form.

Osamu approached you until he stood next to you, facing the door. Heat radiated from his body and enveloped you in it until it seeped into your bones, sparking something in the pit of your stomach. You could have stayed there for hours just basking in the warmth of his presence, but he spoke and broke your trance.

“Did ya get what ya wanted?” His cold tone was ladened with judgement and it bothered you beyond reason.

“Yes,” you admitted. “For the most part.”

His head whipped in your direction but you kept your gaze fixed on the door leading to your bedchamber. You could almost hear the opening and closing of his jaw, but instead of asking his question, Osamu walked out of your chambers, leaving you alone with your bittersweet triumph.

Just when you dared hope for a brighter future, your world fell apart with the death of the King just two days after Shoyo’s funeral. He’d been dealt a deadly blow by a wild boar during a hunting trip and passed away before a physician could arrive. It was the explanation the mob of courtiers offered you, and before you could wrap your head around the situation, a voice piped up amidst the courtiers.

“The King is dead! Long live the Queen!”

A couple of moments passed before a weak chorus echoed that call, falling to one knee in the process. Their declaration should have filled you with joy, but the conflict on their faces as they exchanged looks only added to your already perilous situation.

The late King hadn’t even been in the ground for a day when the Council called for a meeting with you, the acting ruler of the kingdom. Exhausted as you were by the funeral processions as well as your new duties as regent, you mustered all your strength and courage before the impressive double doors of the throne room opened, and you were announced.

“Her Majesty, the Queen!”

The smell of cologne and musk filled your nostrils as you walked into that room full of critical men ready to tear you down like a pack of wolves. Your crown felt heavier than usual and your neck ached, but you continued until you reached the dais and lowered yourself unto the cold throne.

Rearranging your skirts, you looked up to find the leader of the faction that opposed you opening his mouth to speak. Unwilling to be shamed so early into the meeting, you spoke first.

“Let us begin.” You turned to one of the dukes of the neutral faction, “What is the topic of this meeting, Your Grace?”

“The matter of succession, Your Majesty.”

You bit back a sneer. You knew this discussion would take place sooner rather than later, but you couldn’t help feeling amused by their impatience in limiting your time in power.

“As a foreigner, you must not be aware of the importance of an heir with royal blood flowing through their veins.” A member of the opposing faction spoke out and the insult was not missed by anyone in the room, including you. Fueled by indignation, you placed a hand over your stomach and watched surprise flash across each of the faces in that room.

“After five years of living in this kingdom as your queen, I am perfectly aware of the importance of a Kanto heir. The late Prince Shoyo might be gone, but a direct heir could very well be growing inside me as we speak!”

The room broke out in an uproar between the factions. The men exchanged glares, insults, and accusations that went beyond you and into the deep-rooted political ideologies that separated them. Agitated by their emotional outburst, you were about to call for order when a voice from the opposition beat you to it.

“Gentleman!” Kotarou Bokuto, the Duke of Fukurodani, spoke up and stepped out of the crowd. “Let us convene on the matter at hand.”

His golden eyes brazenly met yours the way they always had during your prior reunions. His display only showed that he had no more respect for you than when you were just queen consort and you did your best to hide your embarrassment.

“A course of action regarding the future of our kingdom must be adopted.” The leader of the opposition declared, his lips twitching with the beginnings of a smirk. “A time limit must be placed for the Queen to see if she is indeed with child. If the Queen does not show the signs of pregnancy after the allotted time period, I believe we should decide on an heir here and now!”

“And who, pray tell, do you deem worthy of being declared the Kanto heir if the blood of the late King is not growing in my womb?” You inquired despite already knowing who they would name.

“The Duke of Fukurodani, as nephew to the late King, would be the most suited for that title.”

“That is only if the Queen is not carrying the late King’s child.” From the crowd of the neutral faction, the Marquess of Itachiyama, Kiyoomi Sakusa, stepped out and bowed to you before re-addressing the opposition. “A trial period of six months should be an adequate amount of time to see if the Queen is with child.”

Muttering filled the room as the factions debated Sakusa’s proposition amongst themselves and with each other before the room settled and the leader of the opposition spoke once again.

“The factions accept the time period suggested by Itachiyama and the declaration of Fukurodani as heir if, and only if, Your Majesty is not with child.”

They presented this to you as if you had a choice in the matter when in reality, all you could do was agree to their conditions with a smile like the powerless ruler you were.

“Very well. The matter of succession has been settled and this meeting is now adjourned!” You declared, gazing across the room to find a pair of gleaming golden eyes already on you.

Your resolve was crumbling like your future as queen and your relationship with Osamu. It’d been less than a week since that heated encounter in your chambers and the two of you had yet to discuss the emotions that had fueled it.

As your sworn sword, Osamu still carried out his duties in accompanying you everywhere you went, but there was now a divide between the two of you. It was that divide that stopped you from actively seeking him out to confide in him the way you had over the last ten years of your friendship.

The meeting with the Council had been the last straw regarding your newfound loneliness and as soon as the two of you left the throne room, you turned to Osamu.

“We need to tal—”

“Your Majesty!”

Kotarou Bokuto’s booming voice called out and you turned around to find him followed by his advisor and close confidante, Keiji Akaashi, approaching you from the throne room. He was resplendent in the navy-blue and gold colors of his duchy and walked with a confidence that was befitting of his station—perhaps even more.

“Would you be able to set aside some time for myself and Akaashi? We’d like to discuss some things with you.” His friendly manner of speaking had fooled you long ago, but you knew better now and regarded him with skepticism.

“Pray tell, what exactly do we need to discuss?” You asked, unable to hide your annoyance at being interrupted.

“I’m sure you already know what it is.” Akaashi interjected and you thought it was about time the real mastermind behind Bokuto spoke up.

“Watch your tongue!” Osamu growled, taking a protective stance in front of you. Akaashi held his ground for a moment before backing down and you placed a hand on Osamu’s shoulder. He peered down at you with brows knit and his mouth twisted into a confused frown. You offered him a reassuring look and nodded once before he stepped aside. Turning to Bokuto and Akaashi, who regarded you with mild amusement, you offered them a forced smile.

“Follow me to my office, gentlemen. We will be able to talk at ease there.” You said and led them through the palace to the late King’s office that had been taken over by you.

Once inside and settled at the sitting area in the middle of the room, tea was brought up and served for you and the two men seated across from you. After taking a sip and wetting your tongue with the mild brew, you set down your cup and gave the gentlemen your undivided attention.

“Well then, I suppose you wish to discuss the succession?” You stated, cutting straight to the chase.

“We have a proposition for you, Your Majesty.” Bokuto replied, crossing his arms across his chest. “One that could very well save you from ruin.”

“Oh, how so?” You asked, feigning indifference while clasping your hands together to stop them from trembling.

“When your trial period is over and it is proven that you are in fact not with child, I would be willing to make you an offer of matrimony. Think about it, you could avoid returning to your kingdom a disgraced bride and continue being the queen—my queen.”

His proposition was beyond anything you’d imagined and a heavy weight set onto the pit of your stomach. You should’ve been outraged. You should’ve thrown them out of your office for even suggesting such an outrageous thing. You should have said anything except what you ended up asking.

“And this…arrangement would benefit you, how?”

“Despite what you may think, I believe you have done a wonderful job as the late King’s consort. I have no desire to take a risk with another woman when you are already the dutiful and reserved woman I am looking for.”

His words came out as compliments but all you heard were disparaging remarks about your person that left a bitter taste in your mouth. You turned to Akaashi to see if he was actually in agreement with the outlandish things Bokuto was spouting only to find a pleased smile gracing his lips. You sat there aghast as you realized Akaashi had no doubt been the one to plant the idea into Bokuto’s head. A shiver ran down your spine as the magnitude of Akaashi’s ambition manifested itself in the shape of the Kanto Kingdom’s throne. While it was true you weren’t the perfect queen, you refused to let yourself be used by anyone else and decided to take matters into your own hands with the help of your closest ally.

“I am afraid you will have to find someone else to be your duchess, Your Grace.” You unclasped your hands and laid them daintily over your lap. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have much work to do.”

For your plan to work, time was of the essence. The first chance you got to escape the endless paperwork you were stuck with as ruler, you dismissed your ladies and walked into the forest on the outskirts of the palace grounds with a silent Osamu following you. Deep within the forest was a grassy clearing with a flattened boulder in the middle that resembled a bench. It had become your sanctuary since your arrival five years ago that only you and Osamu knew about. While you had been too busy since Shoyo’s death to pay it a visit, you couldn’t think of a more adequate place to deliver your treasonous request to Osamu and see it through.

The vibrantly colored autumn leaves that adorned the trees had started to fall and created a blanket of deep red, burnt orange, and golden yellow on the ground that crackled with each step you took. Like the trees, you were determined to shed your old reservations to make way for the new risks you would take to be the master of your own fate. Taking in a ragged breath and drawing your woolen cloak closer to your form, you turned around and faced your devoted knight.

“Before anything else, I have something to confess to you. The King did not touch me that night. He fell asleep and I-I stayed the night.” Your voice thickened with emotion as you watched Osamu’s steel grey eyes widen with each word that fell from your lips.

“I thought that by making everyone else believe he did my reputation at court would improve. But now the King is gone and my womb is empty despite what I have told everyone including Bokuto.”

“I-I don’t understand wh—”

You rushed to him and took his gloved hands into yours. “You know as well as I do that returning home as a disgraced bride is not an option for me. In the best-case scenario, I will be stripped of my status and sent into exile with only the clothes on my back.”

“W-what are ya trying to say?” Osamu asked and tears welled up in your eyes from the worry that laced his voice and showed on his face.

“What I am asking of you is a dangerous, treasonous, and immoral thing. It is selfish of me but I am unable to come up with another solution. I will not demand anything of you. If you are not willing then we can forget that any of this happened for my punishment will be delivered in six months’ time.”

“Y/N, please, what do ya want from me?”

“A child. I-I ask that you give me a child to save me from ruin.” Tears fell from your eyes as you closed them, unable to look at Osamu after voicing your treacherous request.

Osamu said nothing. For a long stretch of time the only sounds you could hear were the whistling of the wind, the rustling of leaves, and your thundering heart. Dread washed over you the longer your childhood friend remained silent. Your breathing became strained as a lump lodged itself into your throat. You kept your eyes closed to avoid seeing the scorn that no doubt showed on his face.

“I’ll do it.”

Your eyes snapped open at the sound of his voice, and you saw no contempt from the man before you. He looked at you as if you were the most precious being in the world. All your fears were dispelled when he raised your hands and pressed your knuckles to his lips. Instead of the comforting warmth his chaste kisses usually brought you, this kiss set your skin ablaze and a flush traveled all the way up to your face.

“Th-thank you, Samu.” You whispered, noticing the small smile that graced his lips at your use of his nickname. “I promise you that no harm shall ever come to you from this. This is my sin and mine alone.”

“Y/N, I have to t—”

“We have to be quick about this.” You interrupted and retracted your hands from his grasp to start working on the ties of your robe. Then just before the garment could fall to the ground, Osamu caught it with his hands. You looked up to find disapproval etched on his face while something darker lurked in his stormy eyes that sent a dull ache to your core.

“Not here. I’ll do it but not here.” He said resolutely as he pulled your robe over your shoulders and went to work fastening the ties. “You deserve better.”

You wanted to challenge him on that. You wanted to remind him that what you wanted to do was treason. You wanted to brand yourself as a harlot because that was what everyone else would’ve called you. But Osamu’s fingers were as gentle as his gaze while he worked and all you could manage was a whispered ‘thank you’ as you blinked away a fresh set of tears.

The two of you agreed on that night. You would dismiss your ladies and Osamu would guard your door alone that night. Then when the palace was asleep, he would join you in your bedchamber to carry out the task and return to his post before anyone took notice. It was hardly a fool-proof plan, but it was a risk you were willing to take as you had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

Despite that belief, panic creeped under your skin as you sat in your antechamber on the cushioned bench beside your window. You tried working but you were unable to focus and left the pile of paperwork at the table. You even tried picking up your needlework only to prick your finger enough times to draw blood while completing a couple sloppy stitches. In the end, all you could do was wait for him while pressing on your bleeding finger—a miniscule punishment for the enormous transgression you were about to commit.

 A singular knock broke your reverie. You rushed to open the door and pulled Osamu into the room before closing the door behind him.

“Was there anyone lurking nearby?” You asked, still holding onto his hand.

“No one, My Queen.” He replied, his voice a low rasp that sent shivers down your spine.

“Call me by my name,” you insisted before pulling him along to your bedchamber.

Except for the dim light from a couple of candles, your room was dark and you found that you preferred it that way. It was easier to forget your shame under the cover of darkness. You led him to your bed before you sat on the edge and waited for him to make the first move—except he didn’t.

“We do not have much time, Samu.” You breathed and glanced up at him only to find a pained expression on his face that made your blood run cold. “I-Is something the matter?”

“Before we start, I’ve something to confess.” He admitted and the creases on his brow deepened. “The reason I followed ya here five years ago and agreed to do this is because I-I love ya.”

His confession reverberated off the stone walls and echoed in your ears. You sat motionless on the bed while your mind revisited all of your interactions to try to make sense of his words. It didn’t take long for you to come to the same conclusion after thinking back to the gentleness of his words that never waned, the adoration in his eyes every time they fell on your form. You also recalled the worry he’d shown for you after Shoyo’s death and the dark emotion you could now recognize as jealousy that had swirled in his orbs after returning from the King’s bedchamber. It was then that you unlocked a hidden box of emotions toward Osamu. The immense comfort you felt in just seeing him. The warmth that spread whenever he pressed kisses to your hands. The ache in your belly when his eyes would darken with what you now knew was desire. They were all emotions you had never felt towards anyone except Osamu and you finally knew why.

“I love you too,” you revealed, not just to him but to yourself as well. “I-I think I always have.”

He released a shaky breath before gently cradling your face in his rough hands. Even in the flickering candlelight, you could still make out the unadulterated love behind his gaze. It was a love that had always been there, lurking beneath loyalty and honor, but at the same time, it was also new and filled you with excitement at the prospect of experiencing an emotion you’d renounced on your wedding night.

Osamu leaned forward until his forehead rested against yours and his nose was just a hair's-width away. He released a ragged breath that fanned over your face and caused goosebumps to rise over the expanse of your skin. You breathed him in, his scent a mixture of earthy musk and leather that you wanted more of.

“C-can I kiss ya?”

His question came out in a strained husky voice that ignited a flame in the pit of your stomach, and you answered by pressing your lips against his tentatively. A moment passed before Osamu took the lead and parted your mouth with a swipe of his tongue on your lower lip. You had never known what a kiss felt like and Osamu was more than willing to teach you. He explored your mouth and groaned in approval when you reciprocated. His kiss stoked up the flames burning within your core. An overwhelming need to close the distance between you rose and your hands found purchase on the hem of his tunic before they delved underneath the coarse material and made contact with his skin.

He broke away from your mouth with a hiss. “Wait,” he panted. “N-not yet.”

Before you could ask Osamu what he meant, he knelt down and pressed a loving kiss to your ankle. A furious flush spread across your face, down your neck, and underneath your thin shift. His eyes drank in your reaction and you felt him smile against your sensitive skin before traveling up your leg, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake.

When he reached your inner thigh, he sucked on the flesh and you clasped a hand over your mouth to stifle a moan. He pressed a soft kiss on the spot before repeating the same process on the other leg. By the time he marked your other thigh, both of your legs were trembling and desire pooled between your legs. 

You felt him move again and panic tore through you as you bunched up your shift to see if he was doing what you thought he was—and sure enough, he was.

The protest on your lips was replaced with a heady moan when his tongue flattened over your slit and moved up until it reached a spot you were well-acquainted with. It was the spot your fingers would travel to late at night after having a little too much wine before bed. You quickly discovered that your clumsy fingers were nothing compared to Osamu’s mouth that alternated between sucking and flicking at the engorged flesh with his hot tongue.

His calloused hands trailed up your thighs and spread them apart while your hands pressed against the mattress to steady you. Just when you felt your release building, he surprised you by slowly pushing one of his digits inside of you. What had once been uncomfortable on your wedding night was now a tantalizing sensation that only increased with each finger Osamu added and dragged against your fleshy walls.

You quickly came apart on his fingers and mouth, your entire body shuddering as the waves of pleasure washed over you. Panting and flushed, you peered down to find Osamu’s mouth twisted into a grin and covered in your release. The sight was as immoral as it was entrancing. It was a sight you never wanted to forget; one you wanted to keep for yourself. At that moment, you knew exactly what you wanted and decided to take it.

You took off your shift in one swift movement and tossed it to the ground, your eyes never leaving his. As he worked on removing his own clothing, you crawled back onto your bed and watched him with hungry eyes. When he was as bare as you were, he joined you and settled between your already parted legs.

He looked big, but then again, you weren’t really sure what could be considered big, having long forgotten the only other one you knew. Tearing your gaze from it, you looked up at Osamu to find a silent question on his face. You broke into a smile at his concern and nodded your consent. Leaning one arm next to your head, he drew your lips into a passionate kiss before lining himself up and slowly pushing inside of you.

There was a mild sting but nothing compared to the pain of your wedding night. When sheathed himself completely, you wrapped your legs around him and whispered into his ear.

“I love you.”

Your words seemed to spur him on and he groaned into your ear, pulling out only to fill you up again. He made love to you in deep languid strokes that opened you up to a whole new world of sensations. Each stroke, each press, each kiss, built up another release and all you could do was drag your nails down his back and meet his thrusts with your own.

Your second release was even more potent than the first. You cried out and threw your head back onto the pillows while Osamu quickly reached his. He buried his face into the crook of your neck to muffle his groans as he filled you with his seed—a sensation you’d never experienced before—and held you even after he’d given you everything he had.

For the longest time, all you heard was the evening of your breaths and the synchronized beating of your hearts. You ran soothing circles over the scratches you’d given him while he pressed sweet kisses to your cheek, neck, and shoulder. In the aftermath of your lovemaking, it was so easy to forget titles and circumstances. You were just two lovers on that bed and there was nothing you wouldn’t give to make it a reality.

Unfortunately, your life was anything but a fairytale, and you shifted beneath Osamu who seemed to get the message.

“I should go,” he murmured but not before pressing another kiss to your lips. One that you were more than willing to reciprocate. It was not nearly as long as you wished, but you held back a whine when he ended it and climbed off your bed. You drank in the sight of him underneath the pale moonlight as he slipped on his tunic and breeches, remembering how the planes of his body had felt against your hands, legs, and torso. As he laced his boots, you looked around the room for your shift only to find it on the floor at the foot of your bed. You shifted only to feel the sticky and wet residue between your legs and froze on the spot.

“C-could you hand me my shift?” You asked, just as Osamu rose to his feet fully clothed. “I do not want to risk—”

“Of course,” he replied before you could finish. He picked up the thin garment and brought it to you while pressing a kiss on your temple. “Sleep well, Y/N.”

It was just a glance, but you saw his grey eyes flicker to your bare stomach before swallowing and leaving through the door you’d pulled him through earlier that night. Your fingers ghosted over your navel and you wondered if he wanted it just as much as you did. After slipping on your shift, you pressed your legs together and lied back down while thoughts of a child with your looks and his character filled your head until sleep overtook you.

The six months of your trial period came to an end with little to no backlash from the Council. The neutral faction led by Sakusa watched you with satisfied expressions as you made your way up to the dais while the opposing faction grumbled amongst themselves but didn’t challenge you outright. You saw Bokuto and Akaashi with smiles that didn’t meet their eyes and responded by placing a protective hand over your protruding stomach that was still quite noticeable despite your loose-fitting gown.

Your attention was drawn back to the throne before you thanks to the gentle squeeze on your left hand. Turning slightly, you saw the hint of a smile on your knight and lover’s face and let his presence soothe you in the way it always had. So with Osamu by your side and his child growing inside your womb, you sat on the throne and watched over your subjects with your hand resting on your stomach as they shouted:

“Long live the Queen!”

[spideeysense]

The cat sitter falls in love with it's owner. A Bucky Barnes/Reader fic! Chapter 1.

A/N: Hey y'all!! I'm back with a brand NEW fic for y'all! This will be a multipart series. Obviously, for fic reason, it will not follow the TFATWS plot to a T. There will most likely be plot points taken from it however. With that being said, each chapter will have a varying degree of spoilers (I'm so sorry!!), but I hope you all enjoy it! (P.S This fic will be a SLOOW BURN!) Please let me know if you'd like me to start a taglist for this series! Feedback is always welcome and appreciated. Don't be afraid to request! Edit: this is will not be released following every TFATWS episode.

This first chapter centers around James (Bucky), the start of his friendship.

Word Count: 1520

Warnings: None!

“Hand me your phone James.” The therapist says, rather sternly. Bucky pauses as if to speak. But decides against it, and defeatedly hands her his phone.

He watches her scroll through his minimal contact and text messages and sighs when her eyebrows shoot upwards.

“Well, this is new. Who’s Y/N?”

Bucky fumbles for a bit before speaking, ”She’s my neighbor, moved in right after the Blip.” He murmurs. The therapist scrolls through the messages between Bucky and you.

“You-“ The therapist pauses “watch her cat?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah, when she’s out of town, she visits her sister, cause she’s pregnant with her second kid.” The therapist purses her lips together and smiles. “Well this is progress, James. This is good”. James shakes his head. “I barely know her, I just watch her cat!” The therapist narrows her eyes as she scans the text. A few pictures of a fluffy gray cat appear the cat by the door, by the window, sleeping on a couch. All of these Bucky had sent.

[Bucky]: Sardine misses you. He keeps asking me when you’re coming home.

[Y/N]: Aw. Since when can you talk to my cat?

[Bucky]: We can speak through our eyes, he’s a kindred spirit you know.

[Y/N]: Good, Sardine needs some friends other than me.

[Bucky]: I think I’m his new favorite person.

[Y/N]: Shut up

He catches his phone with ease when the therapist tosses it back. “From what you just told me, and from what I just saw, you know her pretty well.” Bucky avoids her knowing stare and instead fixates on his leather gloves.

“Is she pretty?” He groans, and sinks into the couch.

“I-,yeah I guess she’s really pretty.” He mumbles, flexing his hands. “I’m not gonna say she’s ugly.” The therapist smiles at him and puts her small notebook to the side.

“You should a-” She starts.

“Can we go back to talking about making amends?” Bucky interrupts, knowing where this conversation was headed.

The therapist sighs and leans back into her chair. Defeated.

Later, while Bucky is walking home, his phone chimes. He fumbles with it in his pocket, before pulling it out.

[Y/N]: How did your thing go?

Bucky feels himself smiling as he types out a short message.

[Bucky]: Good.

At his apartment, he takes off his jacket and cleans up the few things he has. The TV is still on from when he left this morning, but he doesn’t mind. The sound is welcome in the neverending silence. He grabs a plastic water bottle from the fridge, and then leaves his apartment. He arrives in front of your door and fishes your key from out of his pocket. It takes a few tries to get the door open, and for a second he’s worried someone is going to think he is breaking in, but he sighs of relief when it swings open.

MroOOAAAAOOOOW. Bucky cringes at the long, angry, meowl of Sardine.

“Look buddy, I’m sorry I’m late.” He closes the door behind him and crouches down to pet Sardine. The cat walked in between his legs and rubs his head against Bucky’s outstretched hand. Mroooow. Sardine says, hungrily. “Ok, ok, I’ll feed you right away.” Bucky turns on the light in your apartment, and once again is taken aback. Your apartment is lively compared to his. There are plants by the window, on the coffee table, and on the counter. There are a few boxes still lying around from when you had moved in. The couch is a bit old but has a few knitted blankets strewn across it. Not much has changed since the first time he took care of Sardine.

It was already dark outside, and Bucky internally punched himself from arriving so late. He flicks on a light switch, and the kitchen lightens up. It’s quaint, and he can tell not everything is unpacked and put into place yet. He feels movement against his legs and looks down to find, a fluffy grey cat, circling around his legs calmly.

“Hey Buddy.” He whispers.

Soon, he’s rereading your texts to make sure he’s doing everything right. He feeds Sardine, gives him water, and rubs his head a little bit. Tentatively, he sits on the couch, careful not to disturb anything. Sardine hops onto his lap, and settles, purring softly. Smiling to himself, Bucky opts to use his flesh hand and strokes Sardine’s back. He stares around your apartment some more, but careful not to look too much, he didn’t want to pry. Bucky studies the few photos you have strung up, but in the mess of things, he spots a partially wrapped wedding photo. He assumes it’s yours, but secretly hopes it’s your sisters. He goes back to staring at the empty, black void of the television. Not really sure what to do next. He just sits and waits. He didn’t really want to cross some imaginary boundary and touch your stuff.

And as if she can sense his uncomfortableness from miles and miles away, his phone alerts him of a text message.

[Y/N]: Feel free to watch TV, I have Netflix set up. No cable. Sorry :(

Bucky smiles again.

[Bucky]: Ok, thanks.

He fumbles with the sleek remote control but figures it out eventually. He ends up putting on some random show he had found earlier. Bucky doesn’t really pay attention and instead relaxes a bit more into the couch. Sardine gingerly hops onto his lap and settles.

Bucky wanders around your apartment, before settling himself on the couch, like he always does. And as if on cue, Sardine hops into his lap. The two settle comfortably. Bucky turns on the TV, and shoes some random show. It’s alright. Sardine purrs softly on his lap.

You had told him that he didn’t need to spend hours with Sardine, but he had chose to (with your permission of course). He liked his mostly quiet companion. Sardine never judged, and sometimes he would find himself mumbling stories of his past to the cat, and Sardine never hissed, or scratched, or ran away. It’s almost as if Sardine could understand the guilt Bucky felt, the sadness, and sometimes the utter emptiness.

Hours later, a soft knock at your door pulled Bucky down from the dark expanse of his head and back down to earth.

He peered through the peep hole, and opened the door.

“Hey Y/N” The way your name fell off his tongue made your heart palpitate.

“Hi,” You breathed, and for a moment you and Bucky stayed in each others trance The color of his eyes always seemed to steal your breath away. “Thank you for taking care of Sardine, you didn’t have to stay up.” You finally spoke.

“No it’s fine, I wanted to.” Bucky said softly with a smile, “I mean- I wanted to make sure you got home safe. You know, long drive and all.” Bucky turned around and quickly grabbed his coat and pulled it on.

“You need any help with your luggage?” He asked kindly, and you politely declined. “No it’s alright, thank you though.” Bucky responded with a curt nod and a soft smile. “Here I got these for you!” You push a box into his hands enthusiastically. Bucky looks down, and finds a box labeled ‘Vermont Maple Syrup Cookies’. You look up at him expanctantly.

Bucky’s a bit shocked by the sudden gift, not many people have gifted him things. “Thank you.” He murmurs softly, his thumb tracing the lettering on the box.

“Now, if you excuse me, I probably need to see my son.” You chuckle and push past him. “Sardineeee! My baby!” You dote, rubbing your cat’s head with your cheek, and cradling him in your arms. Bucky smiles and gently shuts your apartment door.

Once inside his own apartment, Bucky can feel his heart beating out of his chest. He never feels this way. This isn’t normal for him. It has his head reeling, and for a moment he needs to lean against the counter and gather his thoughts. And his heart.

He stares down at the box of cookies in his hand, and puts the box on the counter. Gently opening the top, he pulls out the plastic cookie tray. The cookies are beige, and shaped like maple leaves, and the scent of maple syrup is heavy and sweet. He gingerly takes a bite, and chews slowly. Unlike the scent, the taste of maple syrup isn’t overpowering, it’s soft. The icing sandwiched between two cookies coats his tongue.

“Damn, these are good.” He says to nobody.

Deep down inside his stomach, a feeling is scartching at his insides. Is it jealousy? No. It’s a wanting. It’s a wanting for the warmth your apartment offers, the quiet and amicable peace. He sadly looks around his dim, grey apartment. It is definetly lacking.

But like he’s done most of his life. Bucky packs those feelings inside a brain box, and locks it. Tossing it into the void of his brain. Never to be opened again. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

[dancer-me]

Fic Writer Questions

@hopeintheashes tagged me (that was pleasantly surprising, so YAY) as well as anyone who wants to play (so if you want do - just do it!!!) 1) How many works do you have on AO3?

I have nine!

2) What’s your total AO3 word count?

106,461! I broke 100,000 on AO3 and didn't notice =O

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

For posted fanfiction, I have written for 5 fandoms at this point. Naruto (this was my early days, around 2007 to 2015, with pretty huge gaps inbetwen), Merlin (oops), High Seas (just the one small fic because Netflix had me angsting hard enough to break my hiatus), and of course 9-1-1 and 9-1-1 Lone Star!

4) What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. Express to Nowhere (911 / 911 Lone Star) 2. Giving up Ground (911 / 911 Lone Star) 3. Quarter Life Crisis (911) 4. Pull me Under (911) 5. Coming Soon to a Theatre Near You (911)

5) What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I hesitate to say this about a WIP but I'm pretty sure it's going to be Giving up Ground when it's done. Not that it's going to have a sad ending, but that it's part of a continuous series and I already have the next part planned out and partially started (titled "Overdrawn" for anyone interested) so it will leave things feeling hopeful but open-ended, which can be construed as angsty. But really, all my other stories, while they have angst for the most part, have happy endings because I'm a sucker for it. Chaotic Energy is slow burning itself to the happiest of endings.

6) What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Hmm... I think it's Coming Soon to a Theatre Near You! This story was just such a fun blast of drama, hijinks, and hilarity, with our two leads getting their love story at the end of it all :) All my completed works have very happy endings, but this one resonates because there really wasn't any angst at all in the whole thing. Just good fun!

7) Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

The only cross-over I have ever written or been compelled to write in my life has been with 9-1-1 and 9-1-1: Lone Star, and that's my Chaotic Energy series. I don't know if it's "crazy", though it's turning out to be crazy long, since my original plan for it was 5 separate one-shots and Captain, that ship has long since sailed. We're deep at sea now, SOS. I love what it's become, though, and I hope everyone who reads it is enjoying the journey :)

8) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Weeeeeeeeell. Here's the thing. I wrote m/f smut back in the day, on ff.net and carried my one shots over to AO3 when I made the move. I'm talking way back in the day - those two "E" stories are dated 2015 but I actually originally posted them in 2011 - TEN years ago!! I haven't written smut since (I'm not counting TK and Carlos getting frisky in chapter 2 of Giving up Ground). It's not that I wouldn't, but that I haven't been inspired and with time somehow I have also become ragingly self-conscious over whether I could still do a good job. My smut has always been emotion based though, as I've never been able to truly go PWP. That said, I'm actively open to and considering some m/m smut for my current fandom. Fingers crossed I don't embarrass myself.

9) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I do on all my recent work on AO3 (basically my 9-1-1 and lone star fics that I've written since coming out of hiatus).

10) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not on any of my AO3 work, though I have received hate on my much older work on ff.net to varying degrees of reasonability. So far the AO3 community has been very kind to me! I’ll get some comments where I think readers had hoped I’d go in a different direction, but nothing has ever been too much.

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of! Imitation is the greatest form of flattery but also no, stop, don’t do that.

12) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, actually! I wrote my first ever published fic for Naruto called “Stand Alone” back between 2007 and 2011 (took a couple years off in the middle there to, you know, finish high school…) that someone asked me if they could translate into Russian. At the time I thought that was super cool, and it still is, but now I look back at that story and I think oof, now we can cringe at it in multiple languages. (more on that later)

13) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, but I’m not opposed to it! I’ve seen some excellent fic partnerships and it’s so great seeing writers leverage the creativity and talents of their friends and peers.

14) What’s your all time favorite ship?

Y’know, before 9-1-1, it was Merlin x Arthur, but Buck x Eddie have 110% of my heart and attention now.

15) What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

On the topic of Merlin… I started writing “The Quest for the Knife” back in 2015 at the peak of my Merlin fixation after painstakingly planning it out. I have pages upon pages of outlines and notes for a 14 chapter adventure… somewhere. I found a piece of it like an archeological dig when I was moving this pandemic season, but the rest seems lost to time. I’m sad because I had gotten so excited about it and loved my first two chapters, but I don’t think I’ll ever finish it. I might take it down so I can stop wallowing in guilt.

16) What are your writing strengths?

I like to think I write good action / adventure scenes and plot lines, because I love painting vivid pictures of what I see playing out in my head whenever I think through my stories. I like to incorporate subtle (and not so subtle) humour as well in my work, which is born from my very active internal narrator voice as I go through my day-to-day and try to find the humour in everything. I also like to make outlines before all my bigger stories too, which ‘usually’ means I avoid cringey plot holes and can make some fun connections.

17) What are your writing weaknesses?

*looks at the camera very seriously* writing convincing smut. Well, that, and the kind of emotional, flirty love and fluff that I love devouring in fics. I don’t think I do nearly as good a job there. Get in a character’s head and angst them up? Sure. Wax poetic in a convincing and not jarring way about how much Character A is in love with Character B without making it seem like it was a bit too much of a leap? Debatable.

Also… I tend to require my readers to suspend a lot of disbelief to enjoy my fics with elements of adventure, because I tend to do exactly 5 minutes of Google research for something before I decide I’ve had enough and go ahead.

18) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Here we revisit the cringe of “Stand Alone,” where I tried in the first half (the 2007 portion) to incorporate Japanese since I watched the anime in Japanese and felt this was the best way to try and have the character’s voices come off the page. It… is really just a big ol’ cringe, because I didn’t know the language, and I definitely didn’t use suffixes right at ALL. So… I tend to avoid it personally because I don’t want to cringe at how wrong my use of other languages is.

But if it fits you, your story, fits your character, and you know the language confidently enough to not embarrass yourself? You do you *carefully side steps around discourse and leaves the room*

19) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Naruto!

20) What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

I think it has to be “Express to Nowhere” these days. It was wanting to write that fic that pulled me out of hiatus and helped me find joy in writing and sharing my work again, and I have nothing but love for it and how it turned out.

Holy Cow I was warned that this level of introspection was going to take a minute but whew this was a good chunk of time. Fun to do and think about though!

Tagging: @221bsunsettowers, @onelonelytortillachip, @blueeyedbuckley and anyone who sees this and thinks, "hey, I have an answer for these questions." Because I am madly curious and would love to see your take!

[vecnawrites]

Dullahan Jaune and Centaur Pyrrha?

It had been a challenge, for both of them. Both Jaune Arc, a young Dullahan man, and Pyrrha Nikos, a young Centaur female, were in love (stupidly so, if one asked Nora Valkyrie, one of their teammates). Now, that wasn't what had people confused.

It wasn't rare to see Pyrrha lying on her side on her bed, with Jaune cuddled between her arms and forelegs as they relaxed...but how did sex work between them? After all, Jaune looked perfectly human as a Dullahan, his head just detached...but Pyrrha only had a human upper half, and the lower half of a horse. So, how did it work?

This was the question asked by many, although most of them had the tact only to ask in their minds. Others, however…

"So...how does sex between you two work?" Yang asked bluntly, staring at the two across their lunch table cafeteria.

The reactions were immediate, Pyrrha going stiff and blushing fiercely, ears twitching and tail flicking side to side as she stared at the blonde in shock and slight horror, and Jaune's head coming detached from his neck, his arms snapping out to catch himself before his face met painfully with either the table or the floor, while the others of their teams stared at Yang in varying degrees of shock or disdain.

"Yang!" was the unanimous cry of the five others sitting at the table with them, some of them angrier than others. The stacked blonde held her hands up in her own defense.

"Sorry, sorry, but come on, I can't be the only one thinking of it!" the blonde tried defending herself, but it fell flat under the intense looks of her friends. “They spend so much time hidden away in Pyrrha’s room, you know they’ve gotta be having sex! So, how do they do it!? She’s got the lower half of a horse!”

Jaune glanced at his girlfriend, and he could see the flash of hurt that was quickly hidden. He knew that she needed to leave. This was making her uncomfortable. With a silent nod, Jaune rose from his seat (Pyrrha was already standing due to her anatomy), and both quickly walked away wordlessly, leaving five of their friends to glower angrily at the sixth, who was shrinking in on herself, far too late in the realization that she had gone entirely too far.

Walking quietly down the halls back to their dorm, a special one with two bedrooms due to Pyrrha's unique needs, the redheaded centaurian cleared her throat nervously. "W-would you like to cuddle, Jaune?" Inwardly, the redhead cursed herself for asking something so cliche, so- “Sure, I’d like that.” shock filled her for a moment, before she eagerly nodded and opened her door to her bedroom.

As both entered they stripped off their school jackets, Pyrrha gently climbed into her bed, folding her legs and shifting so she was on her side, allowing her tail and modified lower clothing to keep her from being exposed.

She smiled softly as Jaune slipped into the bed with her, into her hold. She had always been embarrassed by the fact that she was an extremely rare Centaur female and being so much bigger than others, but Jaune...he accepted her, never shying away from her, even if his only real form of expression upon seeing her the first time was his head falling off.

That was actually part of how they had bonded. As the only two of Monster Descent in their year, it gave them a unique bond...one that that led to them actually kissing barely a month into Beacon, here in the privacy of her bedroom.

But still, they hadn’t done more than that. They had never had sex. Part of Pyrrha was sad about that, but she would rather be sad than feel the pain of what she feared would happen, especially since Yang had brought up something very sensitive. She feared that either Jaune would be put off by sex with her, what with her having an almost completely equine lower half (only her sexual organs were human-like, or at least, able to morph human like so a male could get her pregnant.).

One nightmare involved her being on her knees and just humped away at, unable to see her mystery lover or even be allowed to take any part in the act.

Another nightmare involved her losing control and accidentally crushing her lover under her lower half when she tried to be on top.

The worst nightmare she had was of her lover, that lover being Jaune after they got together, being utterly disgusted and unwanting to touch her if she mentioned sex, leading her to more often than not waking up in a cold sweat and and with hot tears streaming down her face, her chest heaving as she gasped for the air that her body demanded.

But, just as often as she had nightmares, she had good dreams, dreams that often had her awake, red cheeked and her nethers soaking, leaving her to shamefully grind her core against one of her specially shaped bedposts for relief, imagining it was Jaune playing with her.

But still, she had no idea how to bring up her fears, her wants and desires, with her boyfriend. Shaking herself from her morose thoughts, the redhead cuddled with her boyfriend. She at least had this...

Jaune lay in Pyrrha’s arms, the powerful thump, thump, thump of her heart resounding in his ears. He knew that Pyrrha was sensitive about her half human state, hearing her crying a few nights due to it when his head had slipped out of his choker and it had rolled off the bed, stopping by her door.

He had read up on Centaur reproduction after that in during his time alone, and was shocked to see how...mechanical it was. There was very little intimacy, usually it was just a quick mounting and rutting until climax.

He knew that Pyrrha loved intimacy, almost more than anything else. She loved to hold his hand, to kiss him; hell, he rarely slept in the main bedroom with Ren and Nora anymore since she loved to use him as a ‘living’ teddy bear!

So, he knew that Yang’s words had cut Pyrrha deeply by bringing up how different they were, anatomically speaking.

He swallowed. He would have to gather his courage and bring this up, since he knew his girlfriend was skittish about it. “Pyrrha...can I ask you something?” he braved, getting his redheaded girlfriend to glance down at him, a sweet smile on her face. “Of course you can, Jaune. Anything.”

Jaune took a deep breath. “Pyrrha, we need to talk about something important...we’ve been together several months, so I think its okay...have you thought about sex?” he felt Pyrrha stiffen and saw her cheeks turn a burning red. “Pyrrha?” he gently pressed.

Pyrrha felt her heart begin to beat faster in her chest as the topic she both feared and desired came up. Opening and closing her mouth several times, she couldn’t find the words, so instead settled for quiet nodding.

“What do you think? About us? Do you want to have sex?” he could see Pyrrha trembling, feel her arms tightening around him. He winced, wondering if he was wrong. “Pyrrha-”

“I...I do...b-but...are you sure? I know my body is so...different...compared to yours...” Pyrrha hated the fact that she sounded so weak, but she didn’t think she could take it if this turned out like her nightmares-her eyes widened and steam practically escaped from her ears as Jaune kissed her, firmly yet sweetly, cupping her face.

Pulling away, Jaune rubbed his nose against hers, staring into wide emerald eyes. “Pyrrha, that doesn’t matter in the long run...as long as we both want this, isn’t that what’s important? Do you think I care that you’re different than me? You never cared my head pops off when I’m startled or overly emotional.” reaching up, Jaune gently tugged at the thick collar he wore that helped his head stay connected to his neck. “What do you want, Pyrrha?”

Nibbling her lower lip, Pyrrha shifted, feeling herself getting wet in her hindquarters, her breath growing uneven. Even still, she felt sad, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to hold or kiss Jaune while he made love to her.

Evidently, she wasn’t so good at hiding it, since Jaune looked up at her in concern. “What’s wrong, Pyr? Tell me the truth.” he insisted, making her clamp down on her still knee-jerk reaction to deny her problems.

She shivered slightly. “I...it’s...I want to be able to see you, to kiss you and hold you, not just lay there and do nothing-” she found herself silenced by another kiss, this one very gentle. Breaking it, he smiled up at her.

“Pyrrha, do you want to know the best thing about both of us having our particular anatomy?” he asked, grabbing her hands and bringing them up to his face, having her cup his chin. When she did, he released her hands and moved his own behind his neck, working a bit before his collar popped off, revealing the extremely faint line that circled his neck. Seeing a confused look on Pyrrha’s face, he elaborated.

“Well, being a Dullahan and being able to separate my head can be beneficial in this case, right? We can make love...and we can still kiss.” Jaune shifted, an ethereal mist flowing out from the stump of his neck as his head disconnected, leaving his head in Pyrrha’s hands.

Pyrrha stared, wide eyed as her boyfriend came up with an answer (one so obvious she wished to kick herself) to her fears. She sniffed a bit, outright overcome with emotion, before kissing Jaune fiercely, putting every ounce of love and emotion she could into it. She gasped a bit as she felt Jaune’s hands gently beginning to unbutton her top.

She blushed brightly as her red and gold bra, custom made to hold her massive breasts, was revealed. She knew her bust was more than impressive, but it was that large for a reason-a centaur couldn’t exactly hold a foal in their arms. They had to rest on their knees and let the baby suckle from their breasts...not to mention the amount of milk necessary to satisfy a foal was large. She shivered, feeling her boyfriend’s hands gently running along her shoulders and over her upper arms. She was surprised, thinking that he would have tried going for her breasts first, but then, Jaune had never stopped surprising her since they started dating.

“Easy, Pyrrha...don’t be so tense. Its only us. We’re not being graded, we’re not being judged.” Jaune soothed his girlfriend as best he could, surprising even himself with how calm he was being. “Just do what feels natural.” he felt Pyrrha shudder under his hands as he gently rubbed his arms, and heard her tail swishing wildly a little ways away.

Pyrrha kissed him again, and he hummed, tasting the sweetness of her lips as his hands slowly ran down her arms, before moving back up and to her sides, thumbs rubbing the soft skin. He felt her legs shift as she did so, gently kicking the bedding as small whimpers came from her mouth.

Pyrrha was elated, but didn’t know what to do. There was so much she wanted to do, but she focused on kissing her boyfriend with everything she was, slipping her tongue into his mouth and rubbing against him, soft whines escaping her mouth as she felt Jaune’s hands rest where her human half merged with the equine.

It felt so good! Jaune’s broad hands shifted, spreading across her toned belly, slowly and every so sensually making their way up her abdominals. She moaned deeply into the kiss she shared with him, feeling herself getting wet underneath her tail, her core starting to wink as her arousal started burning within her and gaining momentum.

She pulled away from the kiss, both she and Jaune panting, before Pyrrha’s eyes widened and a loud squeak escaping her mouth as she felt her boyfriend’s strong hands cup her breasts, even if it was above her bra still.

“Still okay, Pyrrha?” she looked down at her boyfriend, cheeks flushed red and hazy eyed, equine ears twitching as she stared into the cerulean eyes she loved. She nodded, her head bobbing almost drunkenly. “Yesss…” she mewled as those wonderful hands gently squeezed her breasts, making her shift and wiggle around on her mattress. She never wanted this to end, she could just lay her forever and be touched by her lover…she barely noticed when Jaune’s hands slipped behind her back, but she did notice when her bra was unclipped and fell onto the bed, letting her massive breast hang free.

Emerald eyes snapped open and her cheeks burned in mortification, but she was comforted by the fact that Jaune’s eyes stayed on hers, even as she shivered and released a pleasured whimper as her boyfriend’s hands cupped her chest again, bare this time.

Jaune managed to tilt his head forward a bit, pressing his lips to hers once more, his own cheeks hot as he felt how impossibly soft her breasts were. His fingers sank into her flesh, feeling Pyrrha mewl her pleasure into his mouth as he rubbed his thumbs over her nipples, the flesh firming and protruding outwards, pressing against his fingers. He felt the bed shake a bit as Pyrrha squirmed more, her breath getting more rapid, her hind legs kicking out.

Pyrrha whimpered as Jaune fondled her breasts with care, her back legs shuffling and kicking, tail flicking wildly as she felt herself dripping down onto the fine hair of her inner thighs. “Jaune…” she moaned, losing control of herself and hugging his head to her breasts, throwing her head back as he began kissing the flesh of her cleavage. “Jaune!”

Jaune groaned softly, his nose filled with the scent of cinnamon (Pyrrha loved the fragrance and wore it constantly) and he pressed his lips over every inch of skin between Pyrrha’s breasts, ordering his body to continue the plan.

Slipping away, Jaune felt his body make its way towards Pyrrha’s back and rear, and he continued with the rest of his plan to keep Pyrrha distracted, beginning to lick and tenderly nip away at the soft flesh before him. He found his head being plunged further into her cavernous cleavage, but couldn’t bring himself to care-it wasn’t like he actually needed air, what with his monster type.

Pyrrha gasped and whined, more arousal than she knew what to do with flooding her body. Her body was so warm, her lower lips so wet and aching. She wanted more! Her feet kicked out lightly and she moaned, before her eyes widened as she felt her boyfriend’s hands resting on her rear, rubbing her flanks through the rough textile. “Nehiiiiiehhh!” she slapped her one of her hands over her mouth in complete and utter mortification at the whinny that slipped out of her mouth, ears drooping low and cheeks burning bright.

To his credit, Jaune didn’t pause, even with her utterly shameful display. She was thankful for that, since it was so embarrassing to lose such control over herself like that. She usually had such good control over her base instincts.

Breathy pants escaped her lips as Jaune’s hands went for her belt harness, unlatching it and slowly beginning to move the fabric away from her rump, making her quiver as she knew what awaited beneath it. Part of her was sad that Jaune wouldn’t be able to see what he had done to her, but the rest was very grateful due to her feelings about him seeing her backside.

Instead she cradled his head to her chest, blushing deeply as she was laid bare, her back legs curling up and her tail flicking to the side on instinct, exposing her soaking core, which she could feel was winking, showing anyone who could see how turned on she was.

Jaune hummed, pressed between the heavenly pillows that Pyrrha called breasts, focusing on his sense of touch. This was going to be the delicate part; he was lacking classical ‘sight’ and relying on his heightened sense of touch. He rubbed the round swells of her muscled rear before slipping his hands down and between her hind legs…

Pyrrha let out another loud neigh, eyes going wide as hands slipped between her hind legs, questing fingers running over her netherlips with precision that she didn’t think a headless body could have. Her head thrashed, crimson hair swaying like billowing fire.

Fumbling, Pyrrha grasped her boyfriend’s head and pulled him out of her cleavage and kissed him fiercely, muffling the pleased whines and moans that she would otherwise be letting out. Her emotions were going everywhere at once. She wanted to do things, but her instincts were also telling her that her mate was caring for her, to let him do the work.

But then, she was doing things, wasn’t she? She was kissing her beloved, which was more than she ever thought she would be able to do when she learned about sex. She felt her core clamping down on the questing and probing fingers exploring her body, her ears drooping down as an orgasm threatened to burst forth through her. “Jaaaauuuuunnnnneeeee…” she crooned, moaning throatily as he felt herself clamp down on those long slim digits, flexing heartily in an attempt to milk them. Heavily.

Pyrrha stared down at her boyfriend, nibbling on her lower lip. That orgasm had been...wonderful, but she...she wanted...more. She needed more from him. “Make...make love to me, Jaune…” she whispered softly. “Show me how much you desire me…” her nethers slowly loosened, allowing his fingers to slip free from them.

Looking up at his girlfriend, Jaune swallowed, seeing her wide-eyed, lust filled face. “I will, Pyrrha…” he murmured, focusing on his body again, stripping himself of his own clothing, wondering if she could handle what was to come. Sex and combat were two very different things, after all. And he...wasn’t small. He could tell she had shifted her internals to be more like that of a normal man. Hopefully she wouldn’t be stubborn when he started entering…

Feeling the humid air around them brushing across his bare skin, he fought the urge to groan with relief as his cock was finally freed from its cloth prison. He looked up at Pyrrha, licking his lips. “I...I’m going to enter you now, Pyrrha…” he breathed out, seeing her eyes widen in excitement and her ears twitch.

He felt the strength of her flank underneath his palms, and shifted himself so his tip was pressed against her soaking core. Brothers, he could feel the heat radiating off of her. Rubbing against that soaking heat gently, he prepared to ease himself in...but Pyrrha had other ideas.

“Fuck! ME!” she cried out, throwing herself back, nearly knocking Jaune’s body down as she took him to the base, his thick cock spreading her wide, his tip tapping against the entrance of her womb. Pyrrha froze, eyes wide and going stiff, a strangled wheeze escaping her mouth as she fought the combating feelings of slight pain mixed with utter fullness and incredible pleasure. “Wha...how…?” small groans emerged from her mouth as she twitched and shifted, her breaths getting deep as her cheeks flushed. She looked down at her boyfriend, wide eyed. “So...big…” she moaned.

Jaune chuckled bashfully. “Yeah...it never came up...but...I’m rather...big.” he coughed lightly, looking to the side. He winced as he felt his lover shiver.

‘Big’ was a severe understatement. Jaune was huge, comparable to an actual stallion of her kind...how did he managed to hide such an endowment from her all this time? He slept in her arms most nights anymore!

The sting of the sudden stretch now gone, Pyrrha found herself basking in the fullness of her core. Her heart swelled within her breast. She was certain he was bigger than a Stallion, she was sure. She hummed, her pussy flexing hard around the invader within her. “Oh, Jaune…” she purred, looking down at her mate, bringing him up to meet her and kissing him.

Jaune shuddered. Heat. Tightness. Pyrrha had clamped down on him with such force that he was worried his dick was going to get ripped off, but it eased down a bit, allowing him to pump slowly back and forth within her. He moaned into the kiss that Pyrrha was giving him, having never felt this good in his life.

He slowly rolled his hips back and forth, both his and Pyrrha’s moans swallowed by each other’s mouths, their breaths intermingling.

Breaking the kiss, Pyrrha cradled Jaune’s head to her chest again, practically smothering him in her breasts, as she fell to her bed, moaning and whimpering into her pillows as Jaune rocked against her backside, her four legs kicking out every now and then from the pleasure. She cried out as Jaune picked up speed suddenly, his hands firmly grabbing her flanks and thrusting hard into her, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her body. “Claim me, Jaune! Fill me! Make me your mate!” she cried out, already feeling herself getting close.

On some part it shamed her, being so close so fast, but she knew that this wouldn’t be the last time that Jaune would make love to her. If she had her way, Jaune would be loving her every night, filling her with his thick cock.

Jaune, surrounded by Pyrrha’s scent, could feel his lover getting close. She was rippling and flexing around him, almost attempting to milk him. He moaned, the sound lost within the flesh surrounding him. His eyes rolled back in his head as he heard a muted cry, reverberating around him, and her warm core flex and squeeze around him tightly. With a heavy growl, he came as well, his balls unloading everything they had within them.

Pyrrha cried out in joy, tears falling from her eyes as she was filled, warmth that could only be Jaune’s cum, spraying into her pussy in thick, hot streams, draining into her womb. While she knew she wasn’t in her fertile period yet, she couldn’t help but imagine their future foals. She slumped, trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm, holding her boyfriend’s head tenderly. She felt him slump over her, and, pulling her boyfriend’s head out of her cleavage once more, gazing into his eyes tenderly, before kissing him once more, slowly, sweetly.

“I love you, so much, Jaune...my mate.” she murmured, kissing him repeatedly, her lips kissing every inch of skin imaginable. She felt Juane squeeze around her torso, and hum appreciatively under her kisses. “Love you too, Pyrrha...so much…”

Pyrrha cradled her boyfriend, her lover, her mate, to her as she settled into her bed, for once completely content with everything in the world as she and he slowly drifted off to sleep and into the world of dreams.

All was well.

[maluminspace]

Genre: Fluff

Pairings: Calum Hood/Female Reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Requested by: anon x 2

Yule Ball, best friend to lovers, Ravenclaw reader, Calum (your house choice). Murder me please*

hi love could i still request? slytherin calum and ravenclaw reader, best friends to lovers, yule ball. im a hoe for hogwarts au and i hope u can still do my request. thank you 💗 (requested by anon)*

Trigger Warnings: strong language

A/N: this came out longer than I expected. I hope you all enjoy it. Thank you as always to @h0tsos and @5-secondsofcolor for all the help pulling this together!

***

Having built up a solid sporting reputation during your six years at Hogwarts, this is proving to be as far from your comfort zone as possible. 

The Triwizard Tournament as a whole, is right up your alley, of course. Especially since the type of dangerous tasks that it used to consist of had long since been discontinued. These days the tournament was basically a huge sports festival, whereby the three school champions, from Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, would take part in events such as magical assault courses, spectacular broomstick flying demonstrations and other athletic exercises. Therefore you’ve been excited to watch it for longer than you care to admit. You only wish that it’d been scheduled for next year instead of this one, so that you could actually put your name forward to be the Hogwarts champion. Unfortunately, only students over the age of seventeen have that potential honour open to them and you’ve only just turned sixteen.

Despite all of that, you’re excited for the contest to begin. Before you can enjoy all of the sporting festivities, however, you have the not-so-small formal tradition of the Yule Ball to contend with.

You smooth down the front of your dress robes nervously. Staring at yourself in the full length mirror doubtfully, wondering whatever possessed you to think that this particular shade of periwinkle blue, is one you could pull off. Before your inner jock can convince you to simply attend the ball in your quidditch robes, muffled voices from the Ravenclaw common room beneath your dormitory alert you to the fact that you’re running late. Most of the other girls have already headed down to the Great Hall, leaving only you and your best friends, most of whom belong to other houses, in the whole of Ravenclaw Tower.

Finally convincing yourself that you look decent enough for the formal occasion at hand, you quickly slip a glittery hair slide into your neatly curled hair, Hoping it will distract people from the fact that you look incredibly uncomfortable.

As you head downstairs to your common room, the previously muffled voices you’d heard a moment ago slowly become more distinct. 

“Does anyone know who Ashton’s date is?” 

Michael’s curious tone carries through the mostly empty space just as you reach the halfway point of the spiralling staircase. 

The mention of the Hogwarts Champion causes your insides to squirm uncomfortably and you have to stop for a moment to compose yourself.  Your last interaction with Ashton Irwin, your long-term friend and the celebrated Gryffindor Quidditch captain, isn’t one that you really want to relive, especially not right now, moments before having to endure this stupid fucking ball. 

“No idea…” Calum replies, his voice suggesting that he’s only mildly interested in the answer anyway. “He hasn’t mentioned any names to me.”

The sound of your second friend’s voice brings a subconscious smile to your face, you notice it in the dark window you’d stopped in front of but you quickly shake it off and continue down the stairs.

“Well, I guess we’ll find out if we ever get downstairs!” Luke huffs, raising his voice for the last few words to express his impatience at having to wait for you. 

“There’s no need to yell, Hemmings.” You scowl, trying to act as casual as possible when you reach the last few steps. 

All three of your friends turn to look at you as you enter the room, each of them with expressions of  varying degrees of shock on their faces. 

Michael seems to be the least affected by your somewhat unusual appearance. His look of mild surprise gives way almost instantly to a cheeky grin. “Wow, didn’t know you could scrub up this well.” He smirks, already turning towards the door, too impatient to tuck into the buffet that is waiting in the Great Hall, no doubt. It makes you smile, his love of food is rivalled only by his love for his friends but seeing as he’s eaten nothing since lunch time, you’re unsurprised that his first love is winning out.

“He’s right!” Luke grins, his pretty blue eyes drifting over your outfit as though he’s struggling to take in the sight of you in an outfit that’s so uncharacteristic for you. “I never thought I’d live to see the day where you wore anything other than your uniform, quidditch robes or those ratty old muggle music t-shirts!”

You want to argue with him and explain for the millionth time that those shirts you love to wear, are meant to have holes in them, but he’ll never understand the concept of distressed clothing, he’s a spoiled little pureblood and that’s not likely to change anytime soon. Besides, how can you focus on a mundane argument with Luke when Calum, AKA the most beautiful boy in existence is staring at you as though he might actually be seeing you as someone other than his quidditch training buddy for the first time ever.

“You look incredible.” The Slytherin gasps, his chocolate brown eyes locking onto yours as a faint smile curls the corners of his lips. He nervously runs his hand over his short hair. His fairly recent buzzcut is rapidly growing out but you’re happy to see that he’s decided to keep it blue for the time being. He’d surprised you with the daring dye job a couple of weeks ago, insisting that he’d tried to turn it green as an outward display of his loyalty to Slytherin, but something had gone wrong and it had turned a shade of blue that shockingly resembles the Ravenclaw colour instead. 

You feel the blood in your cheeks rise to the surface of your skin. He’s never complimented you like that before and your heartbeat quickens at the words. It’s ridiculous, you know that. He’s probably never going to see you as anything more than a friend but there’s a tiny bit of hope left, if the sparkle in his eyes right now is anything to go by.

“You don’t look so bad yourself” you manage to giggle, trying not to let the way Calum is looking at you trick you into thinking that the crush you have on him is in any way reciprocated. He’s probably just shocked that you even own something like this to wear. 

Calum smiles at your half-hearted compliment and gestures towards the door. “We better get going before Michael gets too hangry. I’d rather avoid a repeat of breakfastgate, if we can!”

You laugh at the memory of Michael hexing some unsuspecting third year Slytherins a couple of weeks ago. They’d wrongly assumed that their whole house had already finished breakfast, and tried to take the last remaining pastries. Michael, who’d been delayed getting to the Great Hall due to helping Calum with a homework emergency, had been devoid of patience when he aimed a nasty hex at his fellow Slytherins, that caused all four of their faces to break out in a terrible itchy rash. He’d earned himself a week’s detention for his rash actions, but he still maintains that those pastries were worth it.

“Yeah, if we keep him from food for much longer, he might even start breaking out the unforgivable curses!” Luke huffs dryly.

Calum and Luke continue to tease Michael about his irrational anger when it comes to food, all the way down to the main lobby of the castle. You join in a little bit, but ensure that you stand up for Michael too, after all you’ve never taken too kindly to being kept away from your food either. 

It’s only when your group reaches the entrance to the Great Hall that you all fall silent. The large room has been transformed into nothing short of a winter wonderland. Large, ice sculptures shaped like animals line the two longest walls. Each frozen statue is as intricate as the last and all of them have been charmed to move their limbs or revolve on their individual platforms like giant versions of the ballerinas in those little music boxes your muggle mother used to buy for you when you were a little girl.

The usual Christmas tree that sat in the corner of the room at this time of year, had been decorated particularly extravagantly for this occasion. All of its branches are covered in glittering snow whilst real candles burn prettily in fancy spiralling patterns.

A small stage has replaced the spot where the teachers table is usually situated and it’s occupied by a band playing a song you vaguely recognise from the wizarding radio show that Luke forces you to listen to every Friday night when you hang out in his dorm whilst Michael and Calum attend their gobstones club.

“Wow, look at the floor!” Michael exclaims, gesturing at the exquisite frosty patterns etched into the wooden floorboards. 

“And the roof!” Calum gasps, pointing up at the enchanted ceiling.

You take a moment to admire the wonder on your friend’s face, adoring his soft smile and the way the light reflects in his eyes, before following his gaze to the enchanted ceiling where rows of snowflake shaped fairy lights have been hung beneath the clear starry night sky.

“They’ve really gone all out, haven’t they?”

The familiar voice causes a jolt in your stomach and you curse yourself for letting down your guard so easily and so quickly. You’d hoped to avoid Ashton for much longer than this.

Calum nods in response to the older boy’s question. “It looks so beautiful! I can’t believe they did all this in just one afternoon!”

Ashton doesn’t reply, his hazel eyes move from Calum, to Luke, to Michael before settling on you. His expression is somehow thoughtful and confused all at once. You know what’s going through his mind, though and you can’t allow him to voice it.

“Yeah, it looks amazing.” You interject quickly. “Hey Cal, why don’t you go and get us all a pumpkin juice?”

“Sure.” The blue-haired boy agrees easily. “Do you want one, Ash?” He adds, turning to the Hogwarts champion with a beaming smile.

Ashton shakes his head. “My date’s just gone to get me one, thanks.” He replies, his gaze never drifting from yours.

“Oh yeah, who’d you pick in the end?” Michael questions, his tone inquisitive enough to make him appear interested in the answer. “I bet you had hundreds of offers.”

Luckily, Calum doesn’t hang around for Ashton's response, apparently too eager to get the juice you asked him for.

The raven-haired boy’s eyes never leave yours as he answers. “I chose to bring Arielle Lamer, one of the girls from Beauxbatons.” His gaze drifts over to the long row of buffet tables against one of the walls. “She was my second choice.” He looks back at you, his displaying the same hurt they had done when you’d refused his invitation to the ball a few weeks back. 

“Why did you have to go to your second choice?” Michael asks, his face twisted into a confused expression. “You’re the Hogwarts champion, who in their right mind would have turned you down?”

“Never mind that!” Luke gasps, “why the fuck would she be anyone’s second choice? She’s the hottest girl I’ve ever seen.”

Ashton doesn’t offer a verbal response to either of the confused boys, but his gaze is still locked on you, which unintentionally tells Luke and Michael the truth. 

Your friends stand silently beside you, their mouths agape as they stare between you and Ashton, trying to wrap their heads around the unspoken but incredibly obvious situation.

“I thought you turned me down because you had a better offer.” Ashton frowns, “but it looks like you’ve just come here with our friends, I’m confused…”

Your guilt at having refused Ashton’s offer gnaws away at your insides as your shoulders twitch in a vacant shrug. “I never said there was anyone else, Ash I just…”

“You just didn’t want to come here with me.” Ashton interrupts, the sad realisation in his eyes and voice almost breaking your heart. “I get it.”

“I didn’t think anyone had asked you to the dance.” Calum’s voice is almost too quiet to hear over the music but his shocked tone just about reaches your ears nevertheless. 

You turn to face your secret crush, your heart pounding in your chest. Calum is literally the last person on earth you would want to overhear this conversation. “I never lied to you, Cal… if you’d asked I’d have told you.”

“That’s not the point.” Calum shrugs. “You got asked to the Yule Ball by Ashton fucking Irwin and you turned him down, just to hang out with three dateless losers. Why would you do that?”

The truth almost slips past your lips, but you manage to replace it with a vaguer response before you embarrass yourself even further. “Because I just don’t see Ashton that way.” 

“But he’s the fucking Hogwarts champion and probably the hottest guy in the whole school.” Calum insists, gesturing a little too wildly with his full hands and sloshing pumpkin juice over the floor.

Before Calum can make any more mess, Luke steps forward and takes the drinks from him before shuffling back to his spot next to Michael. 

Despite your initial urge to tell Calum the truth about why you’d refused to come to the dance with Ashton, your anger at his persistence is starting to override it. “Well why didn’t you ask him to the dance if you love him so much?” You counter, trying not to raise your voice too much. 

Calum frowns, glancing over to Ashton for a second before returning his attention to you. “Stop trying to deflect, I’m asking you a simple white question here!”

“I just wanted to come here with you, okay?” You reply snappily, gesturing at Luke and Michael faintly with one hand but never taking your eyes away from Calum’s. You can only hope that your weak attempt at trying to imply that your other friends are included in the ‘you’ that you’d just spat out, was enough.

Calum opens and closes his mouth a few times like he’s trying to speak but his vocal chords are refusing to comply.

Taking advantage of the continued silence from your friends, you continue your reply to Calum’s initial question. “Not that I really owe you an explanation, but; I love Ashton as a friend and the thought of coming here with him as more than that just didn’t feel right.” You turn to Ashton, the guilt that had been laying heavily in your chest since your conversation with him a few weeks ago, finally giving way to a sense of acceptance that you’d done the right thing. “I’m sorry, Ash. You know I never meant to hurt your feelings.”

Ashton nods in recognition of your apology. “I know. I think I understand why you had to say no to me.”

There’s a sickening theory in your mind that Ashton’s realised that you have feelings for Calum. That’s something that you’re just not ready to be proven right about. Knowing that there’s no way to shut Ashton down without inadvertently giving away your own secret, you take the easy option and turn on your heel before making a run for it, heading straight out of the great hall towards the open doors of the castle.

You barely notice the cold night air biting at every inch of the exposed skin on your arms and face as you stumble out of the entrance hall. Stragglers from the visiting schools were still filtering into the castle but most of them spared you nothing but sideways glances before disappearing inside.

Deciding to hide in a quiet corner until you can gather your thoughts properly, you head down the stone steps and drift across one of the front lawns. Luckily the grass is frosty and your high heels don’t sink into it very much.

You haven’t made it very far before a familiar voice yells your name, stopping you in your tracks. Part of you doesn’t really want to turn around but it’s not like you could outrun the Hogwarts champion in these heels anyway. 

“You’ll catch your death out here.” Ashton pants as he jogs to a stop beside you. “It’s freezing!”

Now that you’ve stopped walking and your initial anger is wearing off, you really start to notice the chill in the air and wrap your arms around yourself as an ill attempt to protect the bare skin of your arms from it. “You sound like my grandma.” You huff, your voice already betraying a slight tremor. 

“She sounds like a smart woman.” Ashton shrugs. “I’m sure she’d think you storming out here without a coat on was a stupid idea.”

You let out a defeated huff, sparing a glance at the warm castle, wishing you’d thought to storm back to your dormitory instead. “She would have thought what I said in there was stupid, too!” You reply, dropping your gaze to the frosty grass at your feet. “I should have been more honest with you and…”

“And Calum?” Ashton interjects, his tone solemn but not at all angry like you’d have expected if he ever found out about your feelings for your Slytherin friend. “I think he’s the one you need to talk to the most. At the very least you need to tell him how you feel.”

The very thought of confessing your feelings for Calum to anyone, especially the Slytherin captain himself, sends a stab of fear through your chest. “I can’t do that…”

“If it helps at all, I think he’s been struggling with similar feelings for you for a while.” Ashton admits, his tone hesitant to and cautious. “If I think back, there’s been plenty of signs there that I should have noticed. The way you two act around each other should have tipped me off a long time ago.”

As much as you want to believe that Ashton’s telling you the truth, you can’t really bring yourself to believe that Calum likes you back. In the back of your mind, you think that Ashton must simply just be doing what he thinks is best. 

“I never should have asked you to come to the ball with me.” The raven-haired boy sighs thoughtfully, “regardless of whether I should have seen whatever it is between you and Calum, I’ve always known that you don’t really feel that way for me.”

That guilt in your chest seems to grow even more. You can’t take the sadness in Ashton’s voice anymore. “I’ve always loved you as a friend, Ash. I just…”

“You only have romantic feelings for Calum, I get that.” Ashton smiles glumly, reaching out to stroke your arm in a comforting gesture. “I hope the two of you can work something out.”

“Me too.”

Calum’s voice takes you by surprise for the second time in just a few minutes. Your face automatically snaps towards him as panic starts to flood your brain.

“I’m gonna leave you two to talk things out.” Ashton announces before you can even begin to form any words. He flashes you one last smile and claps Calum on the shoulder reassuringly before heading back the castle.

Part of you wants to follow Ashton, but your legs refuse to move. “Look Cal, I don’t really know what to say to you right now.”

Calum simply stares at you for a moment as though he’s struggling with the same predicament. 

“Maybe we should just head back…”  You shrug, forcing yourself to take a step past him.

You’ve barely taken a second stride before Calum’s strong hand closes gently around your upper arm. “Please don’t take off again.” He pleads. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” You ask, shivering a little at the prolonged physical contact with your crush.

Calum apparently misinterprets your slight trembling and instantly shrugs off the outermost layer of his dress robes and hands it to you. “About how I’ve been a huge wuss for the past year or so…” He suggests timidly.

You silently accept his jacket-equivalent and drape it over your shoulders. The confusion you feel must show on your face because Calum lets out a humourless laugh. “Okay.” He breathes deeply, dripping his gaze to the floor. “God, I hope you’re not gonna hate me after I tell you this…”

“Calum.” You whisper softly, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I’m starting to get worried, what is it?”

Sucking in another deep breath, Calum composes himself before summoning the courage to meet your gaze again. “At the very start of our fifth year, you waited for me on platform 9 ¾ so that we could sit together on the train, remember? Just like you always have done, since our second year.”

You nod, the memory of the bright September morning still clear in your mind, although you have no idea of its significance to Calum’s story. 

“You were wearing those tight jeans and an oversized t-shirt. Your hair was scraped back into a loose bun and your face was twisted into an anxious expression because I was a bit late and you were worried that there wouldn’t be any empty compartments left for us.” Calum explains, a slightly dreamy expression on his face. “Just as you caught sight of me trying to work my way through the crowd towards you, some clumsy seventh year knocked into you. One of your suitcases toppled off your luggage trolley and burst open, a bunch of your books and stuff spilled all over the ground and you looked so fucking pissed off…” he chuckles, subconsciously reaching for hand as he continues. “I know it sounds weird but, that’s the moment that I knew I loved you. The way your cheeks went all flushed when you grumpily threw all your shit back into your suitcase and muttered about how much you wanted to push that dickhead onto the train tracks. Like, I’d had feelings for you before that, but I’d put it down to a silly crush because you're one of my closest friends and we have so much in common. In that moment, though, I just fucking knew that you had my entire heart.”

Your brain struggles to process everything that Calum has just told you as he runs his fingers down your arm in order to wrap them around your hand. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about this sooner and I completely understand if you think I’m weird and creepy and don’t want to be my friend anymore…” Calum rambles.

“You were sitting at the Slytherin table, eating jam on toast, laughing at something Michael had just told you.” The words spill from your mouth almost of their own accord. “It was the morning of your first quidditch game as the Slytherin seeker, so you were a bit nervous. I could tell because your smile didn’t reach your eyes and you only nibbled at your toast. That’s the moment that I knew I loved you as more than a friend.”

A shocked expression colours Calum’s face in the seconds before he gasps out his response. “But that was like… four years ago.”

You can feel the blood rising to the surface of your cheeks as you nod, dropping your gaze to try and hide your embarrassment. Before you’ve recovered enough to meet his gaze again, soft fingers rise to cup your face tenderly and you automatically lean into the touch. 

“How the hell did we both miss each other’s feelings like that?” Calum asks, a sigh escaping him as his lips brush your forehead. “I’m sorry I was so oblivious and that I was too scared to tell you about my own.”

Savouring the softness of Calum’s lips on your head, you wrap your arms around his waist, curling into his strong, warm body.

“Shit, sweetheart, you’re trembling.” The Slytherin whispers winding his arms around you to keep you close to him. “Let’s get inside so we can talk more without the fear of freezing to death, yeah?”

As much as you want to take Calum up on his offer before you become an icicle, the thought of breaking away from the hold he has on you is the last thing on earth you’re contemplating at the moment and you tighten your hold on him to express your utter reluctance to let him go.

Calum giggles, stroking your back soothingly before pulling away a little. “I promise I’ll cuddle you as you much as you want once we’re inside.”

The slight shiver that runs through the Slytherin, helps your rational side to win out. “Fine…” You pout, “but you’d better deliver on that promise when we get back to the castle.”

You allow Calum to lead you back across the lawn and up the stone steps to the front doors of the castle. The fact that he keeps one arm around you the whole time, makes your heart flutter in your chest, making you feel very much like a lovesick little puppy.

Just as you enter the warmth of the entrance hall, Calum takes your hand and instead of leading you into the great hall like you’re expecting him to, he guides you to the bottom of the staircase instead.

A confused expression takes over your face before he takes your hands and swallows thickly as though he’s trying to voice something that is incredibly difficult for him to say.

In an attempt to comfort him, you cradle his cheek gently, just as he’d held yours a few moments ago outside. “Is everything okay, Cal?”

Nodding, Calum reaches up to press your hand harder against his face as he meets your gaze. “I just wanted to ask you something before we go back to our friends.” He explains, a light blush rising in his cheeks. “But I’m worried it’s gonna sound stupid now that we’re already here and…”

“You can ask me anything, Cal.” You reassure him.

Before he responds he pulls his wand from his dress robes, pointing it at the ground near your feet and quietly utters a spell. A moment later, a beautiful exotic blue flower sprouts from the floor. Calum leans down to pick it up before handing it to you. “Will you go to the dance with me, like as my date?” He asks nervously

A giant smile bursts across your face as you take the flower and slide it into your hair. “One one condition.” You smirk cheekily, a sudden burst of confidence extinguishing the last of your lingering doubt about how Calum feels about you.

Your date raises a questioning eyebrow, silently urging you to elaborate.

“Well I’m a strong believer in that whole, ‘try before you buy’ thing.” You chuckle when Calum still appears to be utterly confused. “I need to know if you're a good kisser before I agree to be your date to the Yule Ball, Calum.” You clarify, hoping that you’re not going to scare him off by coming on too strong.

Calum mirrors your delighted grin before pulling you closer to him again. His beautiful brown eyes are sparkling joyfully as he allows them to drift down to your lips. He takes a moment to build up the confidence, but when he finally leans forward and kisses you, it’s more than worth the wait. His lips are soft and he kisses with a tenderness that you weren’t sure he was capable of. All-in-all, you’re incredibly impressed and you cling onto the tail end of the kiss for as long as possible before answering your date’s silent question when he meets your gaze again. “That wasn’t bad at all, Hood. If you dance half as well as that, I think tonight will be the perfect first date!”

Tag list: @cherrycolamike @byxthexway @afuckingunicornn @painkillerash @moonchildsblack @calumbbyyy @h0tsos @loveroflrh @sexgodashton @megz1985 @myfalsedevotion @aulxna @honeyedlashton @tea4sykes @ghostofmashton @fairyintheglass @cashworthy @cashtonasfuck @opheliaaurora23 @5sosnsfw @wildmichaelflower @wildfl0wer-meg @irwinkitten @cxddlyash @wildmalumflower @cashtonasff5sos @iovehemmings @lowpowermodex @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles​ @celticclifford @5-secondsofcolor @queer-5sos @babylon-corgis

[tripleaxeldiaz]

you play, and everything else goes away

for @extasiswings <3

read on ao3

It’s all very familiar as he enters the store — the smell of wood and rosin, the instruments hanging on the walls, the snippets of music coming from the practice rooms along the back wall. There’s music playing from speakers behind the front desk too, a familiar piece that he’s forgotten the composer of. As he adjusts the case straps on his shoulders, watching a group of kids warm up in the corner, he’s suddenly nervous, anticipation rolling in his stomach like it did before his very first lesson.

Eddie didn’t start with the cello — every kid in the neighborhood was taking piano lessons, so his mother signed him and his sisters up too. Sophia was good, played through sophomore year, did a few solo and ensemble competitions. Adriana quit after a month so she could focus on dance. Eddie liked it fine, but he didn’t feel any passion for it. The keys felt too cold, too impersonal, and he couldn’t feel the music anywhere but in his hands, didn’t feel like he could control it.

His teacher must have noticed too, because she turned to him one day mid-lesson and asked, “Eddie, what do you really want to play?”

He’d thought about it, of course. He’d watched kids warm up and tune every instrument imaginable while waiting for lessons to start, but he always felt himself drawn to the strings. They were beautiful, looked elegant and commanding no matter who was playing them, and although they only had four strings, there were infinite notes that could be played, microtonalities and variations that the 88 keys of the piano just couldn’t replicate. Every violinist he watched seemed to put their whole body into their pieces, swaying as the music changed, bows ebbing and flowing. He told his teacher the simplified version of that and she nodded, leaving the room and coming back a few minutes later with two cases, one double the size of the other.

She handed him the violin first. Twisting his arm to hold it under his chin was awkward, and the shrill tone of the E string wasn’t something he was sure he wanted to listen to day in and day out. His teacher showed him some basic fingerings and helped him play a scale, but something still felt wrong.

The cello, though. As soon as he sat down with it securely between his knees, he knew this was different. Better. The tones were lower, warmer, and he could feel them in every inch of him, felt in command of the music he was playing. All he played was a D major scale, but it was enough to know this was it for him. His parents agreed, happy enough that he still wanted to play something, and bought him his own cello that same day. He was a little worried on the day of his first lesson that he wouldn’t love it as much as he hoped, but one hour and one sawed out version of “Hot Cross Buns” later, he was completely enamored.

He continued with lessons, joining his school’s orchestra in fifth grade, and Eddie continued falling in love with the cello, now learning how to love how it sounded as part of a whole rather than just a single instrument. Cello parts weren’t always the melody or particularly fun, but they supported the sound of the whole piece, enriching it, sometimes making it so intense he could feel the notes in his bones as he played. He was first chair by sophomore year, playing solos and in the chamber orchestra. He listened to the pieces his director recommended outside of school, and fell down rabbit holes of his own, finding particular comfort in the repetition and minimalism of Glass and Richter, in the picturesque melodies of Einaudi. By the time he was a senior, it was clear that he wouldn’t be able to play much if at all after graduation — his parents were pushing so hard for pre-med, the Army kept sending him letters about his potential as a recruit, and all the best music programs were out of state anyway, away from Shannon, from his family, everything he knew.

He packed up his cello after his orchestra’s senior concert, fully expecting to never touch it again, watch it gather dust in the corner of his childhood bedroom while the world moved on around it. It hurt Eddie deeply to leave this thing he loved so much behind, but he still had recordings to listen to, where he could close his eyes and pretend he was playing too, fingering along silently on his arm.

It wasn’t the same, but it would have to be enough.

But fast forward 15 years and here Eddie is, waiting for his new teacher to call him into their room, foot tapping with nervous energy. He sees a door open, a girl walking out with her case on her back, waving as she heads out of the store. A man maybe 10 years older than him sticks his head out.

“Edmundo?” he calls. Eddie walks over to the room, shutting the door behind him as they shake hands.

“Eddie is fine,” he says.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Steve,” Steve says, his smile warm and paternal. “I take it this isn’t your first rodeo?”

Eddie stops, bow in his hand frozen mid-rosin. He hadn’t even realized he had unpacked, it just...happened. Like muscle memory.

“It’s not,” he laughs, blushing lightly. “But it has been a while.”

“Well that’s okay, it’s never too late to start playing again,” Steve says as Eddie settles in the plastic chair, locking his endpin and placing it in the rock stop. “Do you have any music with you? I’d like to get an idea of where your technique is at right now.”

“I don’t, but I have a piece memorized I can play?”

Steve waves his hand out as he sits in the chair across from Eddie. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Eddie places the bow on the strings and takes a deep breath. It’s been ages, but it’s all so familiar that he’s not nervous anymore. The weight of the cello is comforting, like hugging an old friend, and he’s relaxed. Excited, even, to be back in this mindset that was an escape to him for so long. As he begins to play, the familiar arpeggios flow out of him like rain water, the bow gliding along with them. He closes his eyes and feels it, the slurs and scales, the crescendos and diminuendos, every rest, every string crossing. This was the first piece he ever memorized, the first one he ever played in front of people at a recital, and to know that it’s still so much a part of him, ingrained in his mind, makes him kind of want to cry.

He finishes, let’s the last chord linger, his eyes still closed. He knows it wasn’t perfect — he was flat in places, he missed a bowing change and was backwards for a few bars, and his fingertips started hurting toward the end, calluses no longer there to protect him. But none of that matters to him, really, because he’s back, back in this home he didn’t realize he had missed so much.

He opens his eyes as Steve claps softly, still smiling. “That was really great, Eddie. You have some things to brush up on, but you really are a natural. Shall we work through it from the top?”

He picks up his bow, heart close to bursting with happiness, and he starts again.

~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie peaks through the crack in the curtain, scanning the audience for his family. He spots them — they’re kind of hard to miss, taking up the entire third row — and he feels his stomach drop, more nervous than he ever is running into a burning building.

It was their doing, really, his getting back into playing. Sophia had been in town and had dropped by the station one day, and everyone took full advantage of grilling her for childhood memories of Eddie. He hadn’t minded when she let slip that he played cello once upon a time, because he wasn’t ashamed of it. It just wasn’t something he talked about often because it still stung, even all these years later, remembering the feeling he used to get mastering a tricky fingering or learning a new piece, knowing he’d probably never have that same joy again. He didn’t really think anything of the way Buck’s eyes lit up when he said he wouldn’t mind taking lessons again, or the way he pulled everyone but Eddie aside in the weeks leading up to Christmas.

At their yearly gift exchange, Eddie had been presented with a huge, oddly wrapped package with a tag reading “To: our favorite musician, From: all of us”. His breath caught as he unwrapped it, revealing familiar, curved black plastic. He opened the case, tearing up at the sight of the used but clearly loved cello and a coupon for a year’s worth of lessons from a local teacher. He croaked out a “thank you” and was quickly enveloped in a group hug, feeling beyond grateful for these people that knew him so well and loved him so much.

He practiced as often as he could in between lessons and work and everything else. Sometimes he was alone, working through difficult passages with varying degrees of frustration. Sometimes Chris laid on the ground next to him doing homework, sometimes Buck sat on the couch and read, both listening intently, not caring when Eddie played the same four bars over and over and over to get them right. As annoying as it was, he never felt like giving up, like picking cello up again had been a mistake. If anything, it just made him work harder, in honor of 18 year old Eddie that had to leave his passion behind.

The audience claps as the pianist before him finishes. Eddie feels a hand on his shoulder, turns to see Steve behind him, holding his folder of music.

“You’ve worked hard this year, Eddie. You’re going to be great. And if not, that just means you have to keep practicing.”

Eddie nods, stomach still swirling. He and Steve walk on stage as his name is announced, and he hears Buck and Chimney’s unmistakable hollers. He sets up his chair and music stand in front of the piano, looking at the audience again. He can see everyone’s face clearly from here, all smiles, Bobby holding up his phone to record the performance. He catches Buck’s eye, who sends him a wink and a smile, and he’s ready.

He places his bow on the strings, nods to Steve, and he’s lost in the music almost immediately. It’s a melancholic piece, full of sorrow and intensity that fills Eddie as he plays. He picked this piece because it’s beautiful in it’s sadness and simplicity, and today, he plays it for all that he’s lost. For his Army friends, for Shannon, for his younger, more optimistic self. He mourns for them through his music in a way that he’s never been able to without it, and as it swells into the final melodic section, he swears he feels some weight lift off his soul.

He finishes, and there’s a breath before the audience applauds. It’s mostly polite, but the third row is on its feet, Athena passing Maddie a pack of tissues as they wipe their eyes. He smiles and bows before heading offstage with Steve, feeling giddy, the same we he always remembered feeling after a good performance. It didn’t matter that he missed a few notes or rushed a few bars — he made people feel something, and that was a better reward than perfection.

Another round of applause from his family greets him as he enters the lobby, Chris barreling into his legs, all smiles and congratulations. There’s hugs and pats on the back and flowers from Hen and Karen, and Eddie doesn’t know if he’ll stop smiling. As they leave, headed to a nearby restaurant to celebrate, Buck falls in step next to Eddie, tangles their fingers together.

“You were beautiful up there, Eds,” he says as he presses a kiss to the back of Eddie’s hand. “I’ve never seen you look so in your element.”

Eddie just smiles, kissing Buck’s cheek before tugging him toward the car, Chris already there, yelling at them to get a move on.

Because Buck’s right. On stage, playing music, he is in his element. Behind a cello, he’s home.

[ravens-words]

Tell me how all this (and love, too) will ruin us

For @bamfalexmanes ❤ Elle, I hope you like it

The one in which Michael and Alex have a talk, some truths are revealed and a new hope is born.

This is a sequel of a sort to we burned down our paper house.

Happy Reading!!

.

"Are you okay?"

Michael looked up quickly, too quickly if the way his vision blurred for a second was an indication, and found Alex looking down at him with a frown of concern.

Michael hated it. He also wanted to put his lips to those three lines that resided in between his brows and kiss it away. 

"I'm fine," he mumbled pathetically, looking away before his thoughts became too hard to conceal and showed up on his face. Neither of them would be ready for that.

Alex crouched beside him and Michael's eyes flickered up to meet his. He smiled, and Michael's treacherous heart beat a hard rhythm against his chest. "You're not fine," he told him casually.

Michael laughed bitterly. Of course he wasn't alright. There was an ancient, psychotic alien who looked like his brother's twin living in his bunker. Max wasn't getting any better, seemed to be even more manic now that that they'd found Jones. And Michael had to live everyday with a regret that threatened to choke him alive every single time he saw Alex and Forrest together. When he'd walked away in the middle of Alex's song, he hadn't been thinking clearly. He'd been so sure that it wasn't their time, that they would have time later, that they weren't ready in that moment. He'd known, in his bones, that he and Alex were meant for each other. They'd loved each other through the worst of times, and still do after almost twelve years. Whatever thing he had with Forrest wouldn't last, Michael had convinced himself, but- Alex needed it. Alex needed something light and good and happy and fleeting, just like what he'd had with Maria. 

After he had tried with Maria, Michael's belief that Alex was the only one for him had been cemented. Selfleshly, he'd wanted the same to happen for Alex. Michael had desperately needed that reassurance. 

It had backfired on him, because of all the things he'd accounted for in the minute it took to make the decision to walk away, he hadn't accounted for the most important one; having to watch the love of his life be with someone else. Having to watch him kiss someone else, laugh with someone else and wishing that it was him. 

Jealousy wasn't a new thing to Michael. He'd spent his whole life, it felt like, being jealous. Jealous of Max and Isobel for getting the family while he got bounced around from home to home. Jealous of Max and Isobel when they literally killed people, and yet his life turne out to be the worst out of the three of them. Jealous of Isobel for getting married to the person she loved and building herself a home (before Noah turned out to be a serial killer). And now, jealous of Forrest Long, of all people, for getting to be with Alex in a way Michael had not been in all the years they'd been in love. 

"This is about me and Forrest, isn't it?" Even though it was phrased as one, Michael knew it wasn't a question. 

He didn't answer. Ashamed and guilty and relieved that Alex got it without him having to say it. 

Alex sighed. "I watched you be with Maria for a lot longer, you know," he told him mildly, tone almost teasing. 

Michael found himself silent again, because yeah, Alex had watched him be with Maria for nearly a year and had been gracious about it. He had been supportive, even, according to Maria. Michael wanted to do the same, had been trying for a little less than a month with varying degrees of success. 

He didn't know how Alex could stand it. 

"It's not about you and Forrest." One last ditch effort to be the friend and not the helpless fool in love. 

It didn't work. Of course it didn't work. 

Alex raised his eyebrows.  "Did you really think that would work?"

Michael shrugged. "Figured I had to try."

Alex shifted from his crouch to sit beside Michael, and their shoulders brushed. The touch sent shivers down his spine and he had to fight the instinct to lean closer. Damn, but he missed the closeness, the comfort of it. "Well, now that you have, are you ready to tell me why you're here on your own instead of being inside with all of us?"

"Is it me?" He found himself asking. He sounded like a small child and found himself looking down to avoid looking at Alex. 

He felt Alex stiffen beside him And immediately wanted to take it back. He didn't, though. After a few seconds of silence, Alex relaxed and let out a slow breath. "Something that you never managed to understand, Michael, was that at no point in the past eleven years was I ever ashamed of you. It was never about you. It was my father, it was the military, it was me. But it was never you. That is, until you chose to do something illegal on our first date."

Michael looked up at the sky and shook his head as they both laughed softly. He marveled at how far they had come, that they could laugh about something that had torn them apart two years ago. 

Once their laughter died down, Alex spoke again. "You have to understand that my father made me live in fear for a really, really long time. He- I was thirteen when I figured out I was gay, and twelve when he did. From that moment on, I lived in constant fear of being myself. The only time I wasn't aftlraid was with you. And we both know how that turned out."

It hurt to hear, because Alex didn't deserve any of it, but knowing that he had somehow helped, that Alex wasn't ashamed of him, was a balm on a gaping wound that had been bleeding for a long time. 

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Alex smiled, reassuring. "Now get up, suck it up and come inside." Though outwardly his demeanor was light, Michael could tell this was a test. He'd never failed a test in his life and he was damned if he was going to start now. 

He got up, followed Alex inside and sucked it up.

.................

"Guerin!" 

Michael grinned automatically and spun around to greet Alex. To his surprise, he wasn't alone. The man with him was just a little shorter, but was built like a tank. Alex clapped him on the shoulder and smiled at him. "Hey."

"Hi."

Alex gestured at the man. "This is Bradley Williams, a buddy of mine."

"Hey, man," Michael took over the introduction. "Michael Guerin. Nice-" he trailed off as the man's eyes widened and his head spun around to look at Alex with a speed that had him wondering how his head was still attached. "-to meet you?" He looked between the two men. The man was grinning ear to ear now, while Alex was glaring daggers at him. "Am I missing something here?"

"Yes," Bradley said.

"No," Alex countered, in a way that left no room for argument.

Michael was surprised to see the man back off immediately and wondered exactly how the two had met. It must have been the air force, but it wouldn't explain the evident closeness. The two seemed like brothers.

"Listen, his car is a mess. But h's stubborn and won't admit he can't fix it. Can you take a look at it and tell him he needs to have a professional fix it?" The last part, though addressed to him, was said pointedly in Bradley's direction. 

"Sure thing."

The car was a mess. Alex took too much pleasure in being right and processed to give Bradley shit the second Michael confirmed it. Seeing Alex like this, happy and carefree, never failed to make Michael's heart swell with fondness for him. It was seriously a problem.

About fifteen minutes later, Alex got a call and stepped away from them. "You know, this is gonna take a while, so you can just go and I'll give you or Alex a call when it's ready."

"Nah," he said with forced casualness. "I'm good here. Plus, he's probably gonna go back to the base- yup, there's that look." When Bradley pointed the bottle in Alex's direction, Michael's eyes followed and noticed the serious look on his face.

"I gotta go back to the base," he told them, putting the phone in his back pocket. "Let me drive you to the house?"

Bradley leaned back in his chair. "I'm good here, cap; you go ahead."

They locked eyes and after a few seconds, Alex nodded, giving him a wry smile. Michael felt like an outsider as they seemed to have an entire conversation without saying a thing.

Once Alex was gone, the other man turned to him. "Forgive my bluntness, but why the hell aren't you two together?"

Michael's head whipped around and he stared at the man, pissed off and in awe in equal measures. Had he managed to figure out Michael was in love with Alex from spending twenty minutes with them? "What?" He spluttered.

Bradley shook his head. "He told me about you. The way-"

Michael's whole world did a somersault around its axis. "He- he talked about me?"

The older man's forehead crinkled in a frown, but then his features softened and he let out a huff of a breath that could have been a laugh. "Yes, he talked about you. Not much, mind you. He kept a lot of things close to the vest back then, still does, but- everyone in our unit kinda knew there was someone special for him back home, way before he told me." 

Someone special. At a time where he'd thought of himself as an afterthought, a dirty secret, in Alex's life, the people closest to him at the time had thought he was someone special. 

"Every time he talked to you on the phone, he'd be settled, more- alive, I guess- for the next couple of days. Sometimes, I'd even catch him on the phone with you and he'd have this look on his face and I just knew."

"Knew what?" Michael managed to say, heart in his throat. 

"That he loved you. And from what I've seen, that hasn't changed, has it?" 

A part of Michael wanted to snap at him and tell him to mind his own business. Another part wanted to get down on his knees and beg him to tell him more. 

"What did he say about me?" He found himself asking, voice barely above a whisper.

"That you're smart. Kind. That he- he was bleeding out in my arms and all he could talk about was you." Bradley sucked in a harsh breath, and Michael envied his ability to do that, because couldn't draw a single breath. "He was dying, and all he wanted was for you to know; practically begged me to be the one to tell you."

"That he loved me?" Michael's voice cracked, but he ignored it, eyes on the other man. 

"That he'd died, Michael. He didn't want you to keep guessing, I think." Bradley looked him straight in the eye and Michael saw the tears that had gathered there. It made Michael feel better about the tears in his own eyes. 

"If something does happen to you, half the town will know before I do and that's because no one would even think to tell me." He remembered saying on the last phone call they'd had, nearly four years ago. 

He'd been angry when he'd said that; angry and afraid. The idea that his words had stayed with Alex, that he'd been thinking about him when he'd been bleeding, dying, broke his heart and mended it in the same breath. Not for the first time, he ached for him, for them, for everything they could have been and everything they could have had. 

Michael stopped working on the car and sat down heavily in the chair next to him, and Bradley kindly offered him the rest of his beer, eyes forward, probably to give Michael the opportunity to breakdown in peace. But Michael didn't fall apart, he just drank the beer and then stood up to finish the work, not saying a word even when Bradley stood up and walked closer. 

"I met Forrest yesterday. Between you and me? I'm rooting for you," he told him with a smirk, patting his shoulder twice before he left, leaving a stunned Michael in his wake.

......

It took two days for Michael to gather up the courage to talk to Alex. When he reached his house, he found him on a lawn chair, headphones in and his head bopping to the beat of a song only he knew. Michael stopped to stare at him, and really, it was ridiculous how far he was gone for the man that he was staring at the back of his head like a lovesick fool. 

He took a few steps closer, until he was beside him and when Alex looked up and smiled at him, Michael smiled back automatically. "Writing another song about me?" He asked, teasing.

"No," Alex told him with a laugh. "I think that was a one time thing."

His disappointment must have showed on his face because Alex shook his head. "Not many people have a song written about them, you know, you shouldn't get greedy," he chided and stood up. 

He didn't know what made him do it; maybe it was Bradley's words ringing in his ears- he was bleeding out in my arms and all he cared about was you. He wanted you to know; that he'd died.- but the second he was on his feet, Michael pulled him into his arms. When Alex didn't push him away; when he pulled him in tighter instead, Michael buried his nose in the juncture between his neck and his shoulder and took in a lungful of air. 

"Are you okay?"

Michael nodded against his neck and Alex's arms tightened around him. He tried desperately to think of something to say, tried to pull away, but found that he couldn't. 

"Is this about your talk with Bradley?"

Michael nodded again and buried himself further in Alex's arms.

Alex didn't seem to mind.

They stood like that for longer than they should have, but neither of them seemed to want to let go, so they didn't. Until, eventually, they had to. 

"Want to come inside for a beer?" He asked him gently.

Michael wanted more than that. Michael Wanted to hold him until the image of him, bleeding out in Bradley's arms while Michael was blissfully unaware, stopped haunting him in his dreams. He wanted to ask him to sing him the song again, just to hear the rest of it, to be able to appreciate it, to have a reminder that Alex hadn't forgotten about him. Michael wanted to talk to him about the mistakes they'd made and the future they could still have together. But, like he had a month ago, he knew it still wasn't their time.

So he settled for accepting the beer. And being Alex's friend. He owed it to the both of them to try. And he owed it to Alex to back off and let him be happy with someone else since that was what he wanted.

"Yeah." He smiled. "Yeah, I'd love a beer."

[forestfanders]

Birds of a feather

A long list of injuries on the page, and a longer list of potential responses to their trauma. Working out how to treat the pair of tiny humanoid avians was going to be a challenge, but it is one Logan is determined to meet.

whump, hurt/comfort and dehumanisation <3 wingfic

tw: animal abuse, mention of burns and neglect

----

Virgil had been scared when they had put him on a metal table. 

The room outside the carrier box was so different from the clutter of the house where he had lived, where there were always piles of clothes to hide in and crisp packets to steal from. Here was sterile white, the smell of cleaning chemicals and other animals strong in his nose, and there were people, people above him with nowhere to hide. 

They had picked him up carefully, muttering reassurances as hands almost as big as his entire body enveloped him, pinning his wings and arms to his body in a secure grip. At least they didn’t touch his chest, still unbearably painful from the collection of burns blistering there.

There was a sharp pain in his leg and the world went fuzzy round the edges. He closed his eyes briefly to lessen the weight of sleep that was bearing down upon him, and next thing he knew he had woken up alone and in a cage.

He was clean.

He smelled like chemicals, which he hated, but for the first time in a long time, he was actually clean. Not only that, but someone had wrapped his burns in clean white bandages.

It was warm, and he was surprisingly comfortable, lying on his side, his wings carefully tucked behind him, a woven blanket soft against his cheek. He almost considered letting the fuzz in his head drag him back down into sleep.

No. He shook it off. He had to check out his surroundings, had to find… oh shit where was Roman? He hadn't seen his compatriot since they had both been bundled into their respective boxes in the house. He wanted him, wanted the plucky sod to watch his back, so they could creep and survive together as they had for so long. 

It took a couple of tries to roll to his feet, and his head pounded in protest. He stumbled sideways, only to fall over again against some cool ceramic. A bowl of water. He stuck his face in, the cool liquid helping to wash the cotton wool out of his head. He noted with some small alarm that his wings had been bound to his back, preventing any attempts at flight. It didn’t change much, as he hadn't had the energy to fly, but it concerned him why anyone would want to take his flight from him.

They want to punish you. Your owners got sick of you being bad and have sent you here. You will never see Roman again. They took Roman away.

Somewhere in the room, a cat started its whining mewls in response to the clack of footsteps in the hall outside. Then of the door swinging open and the sounds of two humans moving into the room. Virgil looked around wildly.

There was nowhere to hide.

Still, he scrambled into the corner furthest away from the cage door, and scrunched himself down. Maybe if they could see he was sorry they might leave him alone.

The humans approached the cage.

“Hey baby, you're awake quickly!” a human smiled gently at him, “ I betcha feeling pretty out of it though?”  

Virgil stared at him blankly.

“Try not to overload him Remy.” The other human had a little ball of reddish feathers and bandages tucked into his arms. Roman. Virgil felt sick.

Remy fiddled with the lock on the door, and the bars swung open. Virgil started to shake.

“I am just going to put your little friend in here with you. No need to be afraid.” the bespeckled human gently laid the other avian down on the blanket, before retreating and closing the door. The lock clicked, and Virgil felt some of the tightness in his chest lighten. Concern won over caution, and, watching the humans carefully, he tottered forwards to his companion, and clumsily patted his face. Roman did not even stir.

“We gave him some…” “sleepy juice,” Remy supplied, “...some sleepy juice to take away the pain for a while,” the human explained, “he won’t wake up for some time, but you are both safe here. You should get some rest too.” He watched Virgil, seemingly watching for a response. But Virgil couldn’t speak: his throat closed up at even the notion of making a single sound near humans. 

He folded his legs beneath himself, and started to smooth some of his sleeping friend’s feathers.

“He seems well enough, and shows no aggression towards the other avian,” the bespeckled human spoke softly to his colleague, before turning back to Virgil, “We will be back to check on you in a couple of hours. Rest. You are safe here.” 

And with that they left.

He was tired. Maybe he should rest. He had got permission to sleep here, so perhaps no one had to keep watch for now? His head pounded still. It was safe to rest his eyes right?

He was asleep again within minutes.

---

Name: PRINCEY AND ANXIETY

Species: HUMANOID AVIAN

Colour: RED/BROWN (Princey), BLACK/GREY (Anxiety)

Circumstance: CONFISCATED FROM OWNERS, OWNERS INCARCERATED

Notes: brought in by law enforcement after a property search lead to their owners arrest for possession of class A drugs. Both have been clearly neglected for some time (underweight and signs of physical abuse) and both display a high degree of fear towards humans, but are not aggressive.

According to their previous owners, they were illegally purchased approximately 5 years ago as pets for children, but their ‘bad behaviour’ made them undesirable as ‘toys.’ This is a common fate for their species. 

Princey is capable of speech, but ‘has not spoken in some time’ and Anxiety has not been heard to speak.

Injuries: CIGARETTE BURNS TO CHEST AND WINGS varying degrees of healing suggest injuries gained over time, MALNUTRITION, CUT REQUIRING STITCHES (Princey only) gained evading capture immediately prior to admittance at clinic. OBSERVE FURTHER FOR VITAMIN DEFICIENCY AND BEHAVIOURAL PROBLEMS.

Treatment plan:

Logan blinked in surprise as emotion choked in his throat. Upon identifying the feeling, he found it to be rage. 

Of course animals do not act like toys. Of course something as intelligent as avian humanoids would need substantial enrichment to maintain a healthy mental state.

Treatment plan. 

He could treat the physical wounds just fine. It was the psychological that would be the problem: those wounds could only heal with a substantial amount of love and patience. The rescue center, with its bustle of people and animals coming and going was certainly no place for sensitive and traumatised individuals to be making a recovery. But finding owners with enough experience to properly care for avian humanoids would be hard, and with the added issues of trauma… No. The future of this pair would be a cage in a quiet corner, slipping further away from the chance to socialise with anyone other than each other. 

There was a knock at the vet’s office door.

“Lunchtime Logan!...what’s up? You look upset.”

Logan cursed Patton's ability to read his emotions in a way that no one else was able to, even though it was exactly that that made him the perfect in his role as public outreach and animal therapy liaison.

“Patton. It is uncommon to see you on the vet’s side of the center. Do you not have a community care group in today?”

Patton smiled,

“They left at 12. Anyway you are avoiding my question!” he put his hands on his hips, “You do realise it is nearly 1?! "

"Right. I was just finishing up this report.” Logan kept his voice smooth. Patton looked over his shoulder.

“Princey and Anxiety? Who the hell calls their pet Anxiety?”

“I think it is less of a name and more of a… common moniker.” Logan covered the rest of the page with an arm, “You don’t want to read this Pat.”

“That bad huh?" 

Logan ran a hand through his hair. Patton had a big heart, one that sought to fill everyone who left their doors with a little bit more joy than they came in with, be they animal or human.

“I can sit with them till you're done if you want someone to socialise them.”

“I don’t think they would appreciate that.” Logan's voice was soft, and Patton cast his eyes downwards, “and besides, they are injured and need to rest.”

“Alright. You finish your report, then we'll go get lunch.” Patton gave him a little smile, and sat in the spare chair, fishing his phone out of his pocket. Logan wrote up the basics of a physical care plan, stalling on the long term therapeutic suggestions. After a few minutes Patton spoke up again.

“It says here that avian humanoids are generally as intelligent as a 5-7 year old child.”

“Depends what skill you are measuring. But yes, they have complex verbal language abilities, social dynamics, and reasonably good problem solving skills. And as a result, they need quite substantial enrichment.”

Patton looked at him incredulously.

“Why are they even sold as pets if their needs are so complex?”

Logan pursed his lips in disapproval.

“They are status symbols, and can be well trained. Advocates of their continued sale believe that the licensing laws around them prevent their abuse. Whether or not that is the case, these individuals were illegally imported, and have no prior papertrail.” Logan fiddled with his watch strap. “As with most neglected social animals, these two are likely to have significant behavioural problems that will deter potential adopters, preventing them from ever truly meeting their social needs…I am...truly unsure as to what the best way forward is for their long term emotional care.”

Patton laid a gentle hand on the desk, not quite touching Logan.

“That sounds really difficult to deal with. Maybe you can tell me more about them over lunch, and we can work something out. I do work in therapy after all.”  he gave a smile, “Between the two of us, I am sure we can give them a future.” 

---

please leave comments!  I crave validation XD I am planning a couple more chapters of this

masterlist  next chapter

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: I love your book reviews under the banner ‘Treat Your S(h)elf’ - nice play on words. You have such a wide and cultured range of interests that I really learn something new. Do you read poetry? What are your favourite poets? What are you currently reading?

I love reading poetry because as the poet Robert Frost put it succinctly, “Poetry is when emotion has found its thought, and thought has found words”.

Poets are before anything else in the words of W.H. Auden, “a person who is madly in love with language” and language is the bedrock of any culture and society and ultimately civilisation. When you truly think about it, poetry is meaningless when it has been left to gather dust on a piece of paper. It is simply a memory of an idea conjured up by a writer with something to say. Poetry must be read, it needs to be experienced because it keeps these ideas burning. These meaningful concepts about the nature of life, death and everything. Every time a person reads a poem, a new bright spark emerges in that person’s head. A new way of thinking, a new way of understanding. That is exactly why poetry must be read because it is the essence of our language.

The reasons I personally read poetry, you ask? Here are some reasons I can think of from the top of my head others are too personal to reveal:

I read poetry because poetry is thoughts that breathe and words that burn. And I read poetry because it is what happens when my mind stops working , and for a moment, all I do is feel. This is good therapy for me as I’m not the most openly emotional or prone to displays of emotion in public. It’s just not how I was built. Poetry helps one to feel. So some poems remain so close to my heart.

I remember when I was about to go on my first tour to Afghanistan I was quite calm and cold blooded because that was and is my nature. My father - who served with distinction in uniform like his father and grand father, and great-grandfather before him - was always proud and supportive of me being the black sheep of the family as the only girl in our family going through Sandhurst and now I was off to the last embers of a war in Afghanistan that everyone had forgotten about. He was concerned - like the rest of my family - like any loving parent about what might happen. But he didn’t question my professionalism or my abilities so he didn’t give me that lecture instead he thrust in my hand both classical literature (Thucydides and Homer in particular) and the works of selected poets. He told me poetry will save your life. He wasn’t anxious about my physical safety he was thinking about my soul. For what happens during war and what comes after if and when I come home. Long story short: poetry saved my life.

By nature I am restless to an incredible annoying degree. I fear being bored. I find it hard to sit and be idle. Poetry is my balm for boredom.

I am incredibly busy and I work punishing long hours. Time is premium. People make demands on me and my time. Poems are like super-condensed stories, and are therefore usually short enough to be read over your morning tea/coffee. In this fast-paced world we live in, sometimes poems are a better alternative to reading fully-fledged novels, or even short stories and poetry gives you the chance to continue to expand your literary horizons even during the busiest times in your life. And becoming more widely read is an incredible way to ensure you are continuously growing, and learning, while becoming a more cultured individual at the same time. There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you and when I read some of those beautiful pieces of poetry by my favourite poets it's like the paper is filled with the breathings of my heart.

The most frightening thing is people I know stop growing culturally after they leave university and get on with the business of life i.e. careers, marriage and family. Once on that treadmill they don’t or can’t stop. They are unable to step off and take a breath. Poetry gives you a breather and helps you to re-centre your priorities.  The more you read poetry, the greater your quest for knowledge awakens. Doorways will open inside your mind and unlock your hidden potential for a greater understanding of life. Anyone who reads poetry often can connect with this conclusive sentence formation that defines your very questionable outlook on life.

I also believe poetry allows us to be less rigid in our thinking with an authentic, personal touch. When I read poems, nothing is often straightforward. Every poem has a meaning hiding under it, but it is blocked by a myriad of literary devices such as metaphors and symbolism. It is important to be able to think more figuratively because it allows you to understand ideas and perspectives in a more abstract and possibly more meaningful way. Sometimes I find that having a single page of beautifully crafted words can be enough of a distraction to spark a sudden creative leap in my brain. There have been many times where I've miraculously thought of ways to solve a problem (big or small) purely because reading poetry forced me to think differently from the usual day-to-day thoughts required for general life.

Poetry is best read when you’re hidden from the outside world, in a quiet little spot, somewhere away from all the hustle and bustle. It is increasingly hard to do just that. I have so many demands on my time and limited space but I force myself to carve out the time and space to do this - one must try. As a rule I switch off all social media (not that I have many to begin with but most definitely my phone). The best time for me to carve out time is when I’m traveling as I’m able to shut out everything around me. Usually when I’m waiting for a flight in the business class departure lounge it’s quiet and not too many people to distract me and there is usually a delay to the flight. When I check into a hotel I feel a disconnect to the world around me. I feel like an alien. Poetry helps me to connect again. Poetry calms and focuses the mind. With poetry I can almost reset my day because it’s not just a time zone I have to get used to but also a state of mind - and especially if I find myself being unproductive too!

I often escape Paris and go into the countryside. I love going on walks, hikes, mountaineering, and other outdoor pursuits. It allows me the space and time to read poetry and reflect in peace. And of course I snatch time before I go to sleep to read a poem if I am not too tired.

The point is that I need the head space to absorb the poem and take some time to work out the meaning of the full entity. I try not swallow a whole book in one sitting, instead I read a few poems and leave the book until the next day or a few days depending on my schedule. Sometimes, you can read a poem again and you will find other meanings or pick up on information that you couldn’t see before. That’s poetry, you create the film, journey or picture inside your mind from reading the words on the page.

As for my favourite poets this is of course is a very personal choice. I didn’t read English at university but rather my academic interests were Classics and History, so I profess a very paltry poetic palate. Still, I’m grateful to those friends more versed than I to point me to other poets. So I do my best to keep an open mind and try and read poetry recommended by others or some thing that captures my eye when I browse through book stores or read it as a passing reference in a book I am reading. 

Different poets and poems are discovered at one stage of life and where I happened to live in the world and only take on another meaning when re-read them at another stage. So I tend to re-visit poets I used to read as a teen and then see how it resonates now.

The majority of my poetic readings are in my native English and Norwegian languages but because I have varying degrees of fluency in other languages (because I grew up there for instance) I love widening my poetic palate. One of my regrets is not knowing Japanese and Chinese to a sufficient degree to really read poetry in those languages even if I have basic fluency in literature and everyday conversation. So reading Ezra Pound is one way in English to appreciate these Eastern poetic influences. I’m also ashamed to admit that I only know a woeful smattering of words in Scotiish Gaelic - my Anglo-Scots father knows it fairly well but even he struggles - and really I must find time in the future to learn more of it because it’s such a fascinating language (not least because it’s also dying out and that is tragic).

So below is an eclectic and random list from the top of my head and in no real order of preference:

• Homer (Greek) • Sappho (Greek) • Rumi (Farsi) • Mirza Ghalib (Urdu and Farsi) • John Milton • John Donne • William Shakespeare • Dante (Italian) • Robert Burns • William Wordsworth • Samuel Taylor Coleridge • William Blake • John Keats • Emily Dickinson • Christina Rosetti • Gerald Manley Hopkins • Walt Whitman • Oscar Wilde • W.B. Yeats • Rudyard Kipling • Wilfred Owen • Alfred Tennyson • Rainer Maria Rilke (German) • Cavafy (Greek) • T.S. Eliot • Hilda Doolittle • Marianne Moore • Sylvia Plath • W. H. Auden • Olaf H. Hauge (Norwegian) • Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson (Norwegian) • Aslaug Vaa (Norwegian) • Rolf Jacobsen (Norwegian) • Sarojini Naidu (Hindi) • Gulzar (Hindi)

Living in Paris I tend to read more French poetry these days. By osmosis it helps me appreciate the French language and French culture even more.

• Charles Baudelaire. • Paul Verlaine • Jacques Prévert • Arthur Rimbaud • Alphonse de Lamartine • Alfred de Musset • Paul Valéry • Paul Eluard • Jean Genet • Françoise Villon

Poetry is an art that combines the essence of life through the fabrication of reality. Poets challenge and nourish me with their wisdom, philosophy, love and journeys beyond what used to be the limits of my own creative imagination. They push my boundaries ever so more. In doing so they grow my mind for understanding, my heart for empathy, and my soul for wisdom. It would hard to disagree with Robert Frost who sums up what poetry means to me, “a poem begins in delight, and ends in Wisdom”.

Thanks for your question

[lethesomething]

An otome lover’s guide to A3

So. A3.

Not an actual otome, but the actor management game and anime from Cybird (of Ikemen All the Things fame) has a bunch of boys. Ok, so a Lot of Boys. All the Boys, in fact. And men. Some of them are like thirty. Which is refreshing.

Where do you even begin telling them apart? Here is an Attempt, based on the first season of the game.

Spring troupe: The Vanilla boys

Bright, youthful, mostly kinda normal. This troupe stands out  for its overall lack of experience and its anime protag willingness to overcome hurdles. Most resembles the main team in a sports anime.

Sakuya Is baby. This boy is a golden retriever puppy that has yet to realize he's ended up in human form. Orphan street urchin with a heart of gold. He's kinda useless as an actor but he will ganba all the way until he makes it. Protect him. Mostly from himself.

Masumi A Giant Friggin Red Flag. Weirdly obsessed with MC. His personality apart from stalker syndrome is what I like to call 'the Kageyama Tobio': genius at one thing and uninterested or terrible at everything else. He is seemingly incapable of social interactions and at best uninterested in any of them apart from MC. Also really harsh on people who don't perform to his standards, which is almost everyone.

Tzuzuru The Self Sacrificing One. Look, this dude gave up most of his dreams to look after his siblings, and he literally joined you because otherwise he'd be sleeping in a cardboard box (Why are all these dudes street urchins?) Wants to be a playwright so he foregoes any semblance of sleep to finish scripts. Has the spinal cord of a jellyfish unless in Very Specific Cases. Cute when he pouts. Pouts a lot. Someone save him.

Itaru Jekyll and XxHydexX. Super cordial professional by day, game addict that will murder you for messing up his kill streak by night. He's So Friggin Pretty why is he a dick?? Doesn't really know if he's even into this theatre thing. You know he is. Of course he is. Calms down tremendously over the course of the arc, just don't, you know, get between him and his gamer score I guess.

Citron What the Foreigner. Mysterious foreign prince possibly on the run from his parents/the cops. Your theatre is a convenient hiding place for him, because obviously getting into showbiz is what you do when you want to remain anonymous. Speaks Japanese in a weird way. In fact, he sounds Exactly Like Utapri's Cecil despite having a different VA.  Quirky to a fault. Has potentially been trained as some kind of covert operative but is surprisingly cheerful about everything.

Summer Troupe: The Diva's

A group of highly talented dudes with varying degrees of social issues. Most resembles the cast of a smaller indie otome game.

Tenma The Arrogant One. A child actor from tv wanting to learn stage work. Has zero social skills. He's brash, completely full of himself and extremely critical of everyone else. Needs to learn the Power of Friendship which, spoiler, he obviously does, albeit in a very tsun kindof way. Can't let them know you care, ever.

Yuki Salt Personified. This kid is friggin 14 years old and wears dresses but he will rip you to shreds with his words. Winner of the most deadpan delivery of burns. He's in middle school ffs. Really into fashion. Resident costume designer. Potentially serves as a representation on gender roles in theatre, but the whole thing is fairly lowkey. The team, bless them, just accept him for who he is, sharp tongue and all.

Muku The Soft One. Another middle schooler, this one is way less sharp with his words. Into shoujou manga. Has severe insecurities and a propensity to start sentences with 'um'. Shaking leaf, what is he doing on a friggin stage. He actually has pink hair, could he BE any more squishy. Protecc.

Misumi The Weird One. I realize several characters fit that description, but Misumi is obsessed with triangles and lives in a  liminal space between realities so I don't know what to tell you. Also he's like… spiderman. Inhuman amount of acrobatics. Another homeless street urchin (Tokyo - is it Tokyo??? - appears to have an issue, guys). Sweet dude though. Chill and positive about everything, as long as it is triangular.

Kazunari The Influencer. Resident designer and bigshot on social media. He's down with Literally Everything. Likes everyone, is cool about every instance. Unerringly positive to an unhealthy degree. Really, Really conflict averse, even. You could call him painfully insecure, but that's like most of the cast. Wearer of hats in a non-ironic way.

Autumn Troupe: The Delinquents

This troupe consists almost entirely out of (ex) violent delinquents and (ex) criminals. The tough guys, no one here is totally innocent. Most resembles the cast of a beat-em-up.

Banri The Number One. Hotshot teenager who's never tasted defeat in his life. Good at anything without trying, so he never tries. Obsessed with outperforming Juza because he's like the one dude Banri can't beat at fisticuffs. Honestly kinda insufferable for most of their arc.

Juza The Lone Wolf. Cursed with a resting bitch face and an inability to perform in social settings. Considered a delinquent and constantly challenged to fights. Is actually sweet lamb, just with lots of muscles. Cripplingly low self esteem. Wants to act to be someone else. Protect at all costs.

Omi The Responsible one. Wait, that was an option?? Big brother type. Perfect son in law. A keeper. This guy is mature and he cooks and it makes me wonder what's wrong with him. There's probably a dark secret (narrator voice: there was a dark secret).

Taichi The Sunshine Child. Really into yoyo's. Like the toy, not the male subspecies. Has the hair colour and the vocal volume of a shonen jump protag. Bouncy and very loud. Feels way younger than the middle schoolers, though he's in high school.

Sakyo The Debt Collector. Actual yakuza agent. The one the theatre owes a lot of money too. Secretly really loves the performing arts, because of course he does. Massive tsun. I wasn't looking at you, baka. Should have been an accounting professor in another life. Wordy.

Winter troupe:The Drama Team.

No really, most of them have drama and angst written all over them. Only team that consists entirely out of actual adults. Angsty adults, but still. Most resemble the cast of a daytime soap opera.

Tasuku The Defector. The top actor from the rival gang troupe that joined Mankai instead. Fitness buff. Pretty clear about his boundaries for right and wrong. Sweet bean, really. Has a lot of emotions about his childhood friend Tsumugi. Seems to have a lot of feelings in general. Red oni type.

Tsumugi The Subdued one. Talks like a wallflower, looks like he got his fashion choices out of a high end french magazine from the eighties. One of the boring ones. Cinnamon roll. Blue oni. Massive self esteem issues due to past trauma. Weird relationship with his childhood friend Tasuku. They'll work it out, you know they will.

Hisoka The Narcoleptic. Literally washed up and adopted by the  theatre group that found him. Weirdly good at acting. Sleeps about 80 percent of the day. Needs to be poked and cajoled with treats. Might actually be a cat. Has no recollection of his life before he was picked off the street by a desperate director.

Homare The 'Extra AF'. A poet who dresses in loud costumes and has really stupid hair. Loud, overtly confident in his bad poetry and just generally confusing to watch. A Gentleman. Flamboyant. Kinda gay coded. Hisoka's crutch and the only reason that man is able to perform like a human being.

Azuma The Flirty One. A Cuddling Professional, because this is a teen rated game and we can't put in an actual prostitute or host. Unnaturally pretty. Indeterminate age. Sensitive. At least one of these dudes has empathetic abilities, may as well be the cute one. Extremely flirty and Experienced (tm) at life.

[dw-writes]

can you do some more headcanons or something about the knights of st crhsitopher pls something gentle about what they do with an so when they want to confess maybe?

i started to VIGOROUSLY chant "i love my KNIGHTS" at varying degrees of volume and emphasis at my cats the moment i saw this because i love these idiots so fucking much its insane so of COURSE?? I live for soft scenarios like this, and would love to do full fics for them if youd like, but im just not on my computer atm and am writing this all from my phone orz

Hamish Duke

I've said it before, and I'll say it again - Hamish loves deeply, and loves forever. It doesn't hit him at first that he really, truly loves you, but it creeps up on him: first it's your company that he loves, then your smile, and that laugh? Especially when it's at one of his sarcastic remarks? It makes his heart race. It's your eyes when you talk about your passions, and the little things you do when you focus for too long.

Hamish realizes he loves you when there's a hesitance to go out and fight magic. He knows first hand what it's like to loose someone to bad magic, especially a loved one (did you love him? he wished you did, with every fiber of his being), and he doesn't want you to find him missing, and his friends unable to tell you the truth. The fear doesn't stop him from leaving - it's his calling, after all - but it lingers, and gnaws at him like a rapid animal.

Hamish plans an entire night around telling you how much he loves you - he'll ask you over, cook you dinner, light some candles, it will be romantic, he promises. Except, with friends like his, when do plans ever go right? It turns into a party, and he sits on the couch with you, the two of you watching Jack actually losing to Randall at beer pong. He leans over and whispers the words in your ear, and watches you smile. Fuck, does he love that smile.

Randall Carpio

Listen, Randall may be pre-med, but no one said he was smart. He's Belgrave's biggest flirt, and when he actually catches emotions for you, it will leave him so tongue tied that English may as well be Ancient Sumarian. He finds himself stuttering - actually stuttering - during the times he tries to confess to you; it never actually comes out - instead he asks you to study with him, or go out to eat, or even head out for a run.

No, when Randall actually catches feelings for you - that bone deep achey feeling that hurts him when your gone and makes him antsy when you're upset - he doesn't say it for a long, long time. But it crops up in his words - "Text me when you're home.", "I bought you lunch.", "Drive safe.", "How was class?" - in his actions - meeting you outside of your residence, bringing you snacks, buying you little trinkets and small things he can afford but he knows you like.

When Randall says he loves you, it's in passing. And accident. Words said on the breath after a kiss, that he won't even notice until he's half way across campus and far from your view. He'll stop, and realize what he's done, and he'll return as quick as possible to tell you again, and again, and again that he loves you.

Lilith Bathory

Who gave her these emotions? She doesn't WANT them, take them back, she has a reciept and everything, she wants a damn refund!! Lilith will adamantly deny her feelings (even though her heart skips when you say her name, and her skin gets hot when you touch her, and she listens to you talk for hours, and hours, without saying a single word back just because she adores your voice) until she can't anymore. She doesn't want things to change, no matter how badly she wishes they would.

When she falls in love with you, it's like she's dropped through the Earth - things are brighter when you're around; she looks forward to planning things with you; she actually sits you down and tells you about the Knights herself. She's built herself a glass house over the years, and suddenly her walls are stained in brilliant colors all because you appeared in her life.

She makes the conscious choice to tell you. You'll be working on papers together when she stops typing, and stares at you until you meet her gaze, until you ask if she's okay. "I am," she'll say, and pause, and frown because these words are hard on her tongue, "I love you." And you'll smile, and tell her you know, and she'll puff and demand you stop quoting bad movies and reply to her properly. You finally do when you manage to stop laughing.

Jack Morton

He thinks he loves you when he meets you, when he spends time with you, when he dates you, but this boy doesn't realize he honestly loves you until he's in the middle of class and the thought runs through his head - I love you - and right out of his unbelievably stupid mouth.

You aren't even the first person he tells this revelation to - that prize goes to Randall, who laughs so hard he goes silent when he hears how Jack Morton blurted out the words "I love you" in the middle of English. The second person to know is Lilith, who Randall tells while the three of them sit in a booth at the Blade and Chalice and wait for Hamish, who is the third to know because holy shit, Randall just loves to watch the world burn.

No, you're the last to know. Jack isn't given a choice in keeping it a secret. When you walk into the bar that night, Randall forces Jack from his seat and the Knights refuse to let him back at the table until he's told you. He has the worst friends, he'll say as he approaches you, but you'll smile, and offer him a drink, and he'll completely forget they're behind him. He'd tell you he had a revelation, and wait until you ask him what it is. "I think I love you," he'd reply. But you don't do 'think', and you tell him so, and he smiles and laughs, because it just solidifies how much of an absolute you are.

[basketballandtextbooks]

disaster take

i saw this discourse on other blogs and come to the realization that most people probably won’t agree with me but... here’s my two cents:

wendy and kyle are very similar characters, not identical, but the character writing in south park is usually quite shallow (for any character in the cast) and normally any depth that can actually be found in any one character is entirely coincidental or accidental on the part of the observer. For example, in a previous post I mentioned that Kyle probably learned to dance after the events of the rain forest episode, and we know he must have because of highschool musical. This creates and interesting nugget of character depth that fits with his overall character but the connection is most likely entirely accidental. Did the writers think that deeply about Kyle’s character, or did they just forget the throwaway joke they kin-assigned Kyle for one episodes purposes?

for me these gaps between writers intent and interpretation are entertaining and it’s very fun for me to play detective, putting together the whole characters through the lens of ‘death of the author’ and figuring out how the characters behave based on not only their behavior in any one individual episode, but how the inconsistent and shallow character writing makes an overall character-arc (no character is more fascinating in this fashion than Eric Cartman, who has the most cohesive and entirely accidental character arc that spans from episode one and showcases a fascinating and horribly flawed individual)

All of this stated, the similarities in how Kyle and Wendy are written may not be intentional, but the fact is that given the same exact situation they respond similarly and to varying degrees. A good example of this is when they are jealous or their ego is bruised, they both have a tendency to have excessive if not murderous reactions (teacher into the sun, nuke canada, burn down the school, bully your friends)

I don’t think anyone can really make a good faith argument denying that they have strong similarities. There are of course differences, during the smurfs Wendy showed a much cooler head than Kyle would in the same circumstance. They do not need to be identical to share strong similar characteristics

Now for how fandom has perceived Wendy.

There is good reason that some individuals feel that the fan-reaction towards her isn’t entirely based on her writing being inherently ‘worse’ than Kyle’s. It also isn’t true that everyone who loves Kyle and hates Wendy is sexist or suffering from a case of internal misogyny.

That said, Wendy is held to a higher standard than Kyle is. Or more accurately, she is held to account for her actions in canon and Kyle is not. A primary example that I’ve heard multiple times in explaining why she’s a ‘bad’ character or a ‘bad’ person is that she broke Stan’s heart by dumping him. Some accuse her of cheating on him (with either Gregory or Token, pick your poison).

We can dismiss the cheating accusations immediately, there isn’t even a sliver of evidence she ever cheated. The times where she pursued other love interests they were either broken up or not together.

But the underlying message that hurting Stan makes her a bad character and not holding Kyle to that same account when Kyle, as early as the super best friends episode and as terribly as the assburgers episode, has a pattern of hurting Stan and in worse ways.

Wendy dumped him, that’s awful, but she’s allowed to have different feelings for other people and she’s allowed to end a relationship with a boy who constantly vomited on her. But the fan perception of this is “what a bitch” while the reaction to the style friend breakups is “oooh the angst”

This is only one of the ways we can see her being held to a different standard than Kyle. Not every fan is guilty of this, but enough people share this sentiment that is entirely justified for people to point out what appears to be underlying misogyny in how the characters are treated.

There are arguments based more on her writing than her actions, I have heard the ‘she’s always right and that’s not realistic’ on at least four different occasions now. But not only is this factually untrue if you’ve actually watched the show, it ignores the many times Kyle has also been right for seemingly no other reason than the writers convenience. Making him the moral center of the episode or a center of a joke. I find the ‘she’s too perfect’ to be a bad faith argument because the research behind it is shoddy and even when the person behind it acknowledges cases where she was wrong (killing her teacher, bullying, petty grudges to name a few) it’s always hand-waved away as ‘oh, okay, that once, but other than anything that disagrees with me, she’s too perfect. This is a very clear case of confirmation bias. Any evidence that backs the argument that she’s too perfect is guarded and anything that refutes it is discarded.

There will be some fans that hate her and love Kyle for completely unrelated reasons to holding her to a different standard, sexism, or internalized misogyny. But it is a fact that a significant amount of the fandom holds her to a completely different standard and a very possible reason for that is either her gender or how she disrupts their precious ships.

I would make the argument that she has a far stronger and more engaging characterization than Clyde using the same standards I set above where I judge characters based on the totality of their appearances rather than on individual episode. A even removing that framework and basing solely on episodes that focus on them individually, she has a stronger character. And yet I have never once heard or seen anyone making the argument that they dislike Clyde because his character is too flat. This is another case where she, and the majority of the female cast, is held to a different standard. I’ve never seen anyone say ‘it’s hard to write Gregory because he has very little character and the writers only created a flat stereotype’. But I see that sort of perspective all the time for female characters that have more screen-time and development than Gregory ever had.

I love all the characters above and I find their characterizations and lack thereof to be a fascinating puzzle that I spend my free-time putting together.

But female characters in South Park do suffer from what I would consider a form of internalized misogyny. Most fans don’t do this on purpose (thus internalized) but the society we’ve been raised in has a tendency to put men and women on different scales.

This isn’t a scale that’s fair to either sex. The unconscious mentality that “its okay if he has no personality because he’s a guy” does men a disservice too. If you do fall under the category of someone who judges the female characters more than the male ones, I’m not trying to say you’re a bad person or even that you’ve done a bad thing. I want you to reconsider your opinion. Take a moment to actually think about it. I know I’ve been guilty of holding men and women to different standards. In both real life and fiction, I expect less from men. I look down on them in an unhealthy fashion that if I don’t address, could lead to ending up in harmful situations or harming someone else.

fiction is a lens that we can use to better understand reality. I am an advocate that you can treat fictional characters in any way you like and it doesn’t fucking matter. You want to kill Wendy because you think she’s an annoying bitch? Go for it. It doesn’t matter. Wendy is not real.

I don’t want you to change your fandom behaviors, I want you to reexamine them and ask yourself how deeply the disparity in how you view men and women goes. If you use fiction as an outlet for misogynistic or even misandrist feelings, I think that’s valid, but I want you to know that you’re doing it.

If you hold men and women to different standards, whether in fiction, real life, or both, I want you to be aware of it.

Now the elephant in the room.

Damien is one of the most popular characters in South Park and he has one episode focusing on his character. His personality is frequently discarded because in canon, he’s an uppity little git who is both petty and weak. He wants to be liked, is affected by bullying, and cries to his daddy about it.

In fandom he is frequently portrayed as a cool and collected impervious person who, yes, has a temper but instead of how petulant and bratty he appeared in canon, fandom portrays this as ‘badass’.

To put it simply, fandom has a tendency to ignore canon entirely in the name of what’s ‘hot’. They want the prince of hell to be sexy and dangerous, so he is just that.

The majority of popular fanon characterizations fit these same molds. They want Butters to be cute and sweet, so every character flaw he’s ever had is hand-waved away.

How does this relate to my topic?

Fans of the female characters are not impervious to this. Heidi Turner is an extremely flawed and vicious individual who would stoop to any low to protect her damaged pride. She is also a victim in a toxic relationship that put her through a horrible experience. And so the fandom either acknowledges one half, how cruel she can be, or the other, how pure a victim she was someone protect her. And neither combine her to a whole character. A person who was in a bad situation, had a lot of positive traits, bad things happened to her, and she didn’t bad things in return. Her penitent for cruelty in some earlier episodes when she was still a bg character is completely hand-waved away by both camps.

She’s an interesting character and she’s dumbed down for the pleasure of the audience, isn’t this the same treatment the men receive and thus invalidates my entire thesis that they’re held to a different standard?

For starters, the idea that an argument is entirely invalid because of one exception is in itself a fallacy, but to avoid acknowledging her existence would be confirmation bias. She is an anomaly, a female character given the same treatment as the male characters. Is it because she’s deeper or better written than the other female characters? I would argue no, critically watching her episodes she has tons of the same troped behavior that the fans love to despise in the rest of the female cast. Although unlike the other characters (both male and female), where I must do an in-depth watch of the series over the course of 20+ seasons in order to create a whole understanding of them, the majority of her arc happens over the course of two seasons.

An easily digestible amount of content. No one needs to put together the puzzle pieces to understand her like you do with the majority of the cast, it’s all there.

Except it isn’t, and this is why I mentioned her behavior in earlier seasons is discarded. The way people frame her is solely from the seasons where she’s a primary character, ignoring the clear characterization we got from her in earlier seasons that do help to create a more whole understanding of her personality and character.

That all said, there are still portions of the fandom who hate her purely because she blocks their kyman or style or insert-gay-ship-here. There are fans who hate her not because of her flawed personality or even that they find her character flat, but purely because they want to see ‘two hot boys kiss get the gross girl out’. Which is a pretty common mistreatment of Wendy as well.

Now, male characters are on occasion given this treatment but nowhere near as often. While creek shippers and crenny shippers might fight until their last breath, neither group seems to actually hate Kenny or Tweek. But in the ship wars of a ‘het ship’ vs a ‘gay ship’, the female character is frequently trashed by the gay side.

I could go into an aside about the troubling fetishization of gay men that borders on outright homophobia at times, but this has been surprisingly alot.

I guess my point is that any which way you fandom, try to at least understand that sexism is real and be aware when you might be perpetuating messages that can appear unbalanced. And maybe, ask yourself why you do that.

[speter-sparker]

Spideypool fic rec #1

*** favorites

other recs by me: X  

1. Seven Ways To Woo by ann_fortunately [one-shot, 10K, POV peter] ***

summary: "I have a mission. Seven days, two people, one purpose, and three years of doing it absolutely wrong according to the social rules of pursuing romance."

or: Peter and Wade have known each other for three years now. If in Peter's opinion Wade has suddenly started acting strangely, it's most probably true.

why you should read it: friends to lovers fic that is so sweet your teeth will rot on spot. A+ characterization with Peter Parker as a pining smart-ass, Wade Wilson as a smitten kitten, and me as a shaking mess. The pacing is consistent and easy, the wording is smooth, and every time I read it my stomach fills with butterflies.  

2. Propositions by stuckybarnes [three-shot, 8K, POV peter]

summary: “Yeah…” Deadpool drawls. “Anyway, Pretty Boy, I have a proposition for you.” This makes Peter kind of want to throw up. Propositions by Deadpool always end up with them in varying degrees of pain, and a lot of explaining to do with the Avengers.

OR

Wade finally convinces a very tired Peter to go to New York Comic-Con with him and enter a Deadpool and Spider-Man cosplay contest, sure they'll win. Obviously. It doesn't go exactly as expected, and Peter is not thrilled.

why you should read it: pre-relationship fic with ASD Peter. More humor than fluff, but its a close call. Their relationship is well written and the characters feel lived in. The characters are fun and on spot, with a charming plot that is executed with as much grace as can be afforded to these two characters. 

3. It Had to Be You by fancastical [two-shot, 20K, POV peter]

summary: Or, Five Times Deadpool Recognised Spider-Man and One Time He Didn't

why you should read it: friends to lovers. this fic was originally a one-shot, with the first chapter being the 5+1, but chapter two came in as a lovely surprise, and while I myself am hesitant to read or even like “afters” in fics, the second half feels as natural and is just as entertaining as the first part. It's the kind of fic you'll find yourself trying to hide your smile while reading and squealing with delight. 

4. Peter's Ghost by QueenRamsia [three-shot, 27 K, POV wade]

summary: Peter is dead. He’s been dead for two years. But he’s still with Wade. He haunts him every second of the day. Wade turns around and there he is, watching him through his dingy apartment window. His voice has been added to the cacophony of Wade’s mind. And Ellie is growing up alone.

why you should read it: post-relationship. okay, not gonna lie: PLEASE be careful what mindset you go into when reading this. The entire thing is an angst fest, and at its lightest is bittersweet. When I finished reading, I couldn't even cry. The story does have a satisfying ending that I would describe as hopeful and deals with the aftermath of losing a loved one. Ellie is wonderfully written in this, and she and Wade share some tender moments and scenes that were stunning. The way they write grief and learning to live after loss is phenomenal, and the plot is captivating and entrancing. 

5. morning in the burned house by antivenom [WIP, 34 K, POV alternating]

summary: Wade’s got a defense mechanism. Grin and bear it.

But the thing is, Wade’s angry into his bones.

(Or, this is what happens when a seemingly unassuming, run-of-the-mill hit gets personal)

why you should read it: enemies to friends to lovers. this isn't light-hearted Wade Wilson. It's more akin to his origin comics, where his laughs feel more like tears. The humor is dark yet charming, and while flashbacks are USUALLY to be a no-go for me, the author does a tremendous job of making every bit of their story captivating and enchanting. Wade and Peter learn about and grow from each other, and watching their relationship go from “fuck this guy” to something more is captivating and the author nails it. 

6. Join the Club by HashtagLEH [WIP, 53 K, POV alternating]

summary: Homeless and mute after everything Peter has been through, he somehow makes friends with Deadpool, as Spiderman. And then he meets the Avengers, as Peter.

Or, alternatively: “Spidey and Deadpool: the Mute and the Motormouth” (a title by Deadpool).

why you should read it: pre-relationship ft. the Avengers. The fic focuses on Peter and coming of age in less than ideal circumstances and builds relationships that feel authentic and kind. It is an interesting take to have a character known for his quips silenced, but the author handles it well and with grace. 

7. BF(F) by Carol989 [6/6, 10K, POV peter]

summary: Five times people thought Wade and Peter were a couple which, seriously, where did they get that from? They are not a couple, stop asking. They are just friends now, and did plenty of friend stuff. Like kissing. And one time people were right.

why you should read it: pre-relationship. Oblivious Peter, smitten Wade, dare I say more?

8. Half Your Age (Plus Seven) by fancastical [17/17, 80 K, POV peter]

summary: In which Deadpool has oddly specific and frustrating morals, Spider-Man has excellent friends, his lab partner has an opening for a bassist, Johnny Storm has the warmest feet, and everyone has had enough of hearing Peter talk about Wade Wilson (except Aunt May: she’s always glad to hear he’s back in town).

why you should read it: friends-to-still-friends-to-STILL-friends-to-lovers. Pining galore ft. Aunt May, Johnny Storm, Mj, and some curious band friends. While the focus is on Peter and coming to terms with his love life, the relationships he has with the other characters (BFF johnny storm is my weakness) are what make this fic. LOTS of relationships and character growth all throughout. For those of you who want a head over heels in love Peter pursuing Wade, this is the fic for you. For those of you hesitant to that (like me), this is also for you. Just... all of you, read this. 

9.  In Which Peter's an Oblivious Idiot by coffea [one-shot, 3K, POV peter]

summary: The five times Wade tells Peter he loves him and the one time Peter gets his head out of his ass.

why you should read it: pre-relationship. oblivious peter and pining wade. sweet and funny and smooth as fuck. 

10.  Off The Record by crookedswingset [16/16, 138 K, POV alternating] ***

summary: Peter Parker is a corporate lackey whose sole job is to root out problem executives who waste Oscorp’s money and time. Wade Wilson is a reserve Avenger on the hunt for a prize even Iron Man couldn’t nail down: the real identity of everyone’s favorite webhead. 

Too bad most people think Spider-Man is Harry Osborn.

why you should read it: hands down my favorite spideypool fic. The world-building is fantastic, all the characters (and there are a LOT) are wonderfully written. If I could marry a work of art this would be it. 

11. Petey and Wade are obviously an item, so why is Spiderman trying to be a Homewrecker? by isaDanCurtisproduction [21/21, 38 K, POV peter]

summary: So, Peter and Wade are dating. Wait, scratch that, they are totally engaged (Peter will show you the ring). Fiances for life, amiright?

Everything from here on out should be totally happy-go-lucky, right?

Right?

If your answer was, "Of course not, Peter's life will never be easy," then you're on the right track.

Peter's life is difficult, and as far as anyone (himself included) knows, it's never going to be easy. 

...But why do the Avengers have to hurt him like this?

why you should read it: established relationship (duh). Focuses heavily on Peters relationship with the Avengers team. All of them are well written, feisty, and you can't help but laugh at the horrible situation Peter/Spidey finds himself in. 

12. we're on a highway to hell (with a little bit of heaven) by dabblingwithwords [22/22, 107 K, POV peter] ***

summary: Hydra has had Peter in their custody for three years. Deadpool is hired to break him out. Throw in an alien symbiote, motels, and superhero explosions and things get gay.

why you should read it: strangers to friends to lovers. wonderfully written, with venom playing wingman, wade playing mother, and peter being exasperated. the plot is captivating and the tension is riveting, keeping you on your toes and holding your breath. watching wade and peters relationship grow is wonderful. Watching them fall in love is breathtaking. Every time I read this I feel short of breath and NO not cause of my asthma. couldn’t recommend this lovely thing more. 

13. Wolves by Saucery [WIP, 53 K, POV peter]

summary: Peter is falsely accused and sent to jail, where he meets the violent ex-mercenary, Wade.

Or: Prison daddy Deadpool looks after his boy.

why you should read it: okay, okay, okay. The pining is *kisses fingers* superb. Despite what it sounds like, the fic doesn't dive immediately into “I'm horny let's DO this”, rather the relationship develops organically and the tension (both sexual and plot) is palpable. Watching Peter navigate his new life is like watching an intense game of chess, where he's going head to head against mob bosses, the system, and a new mysterious program that just might be too good to be true.