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qwanderer · 3 years

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What makes a Loki a Loki?

Loki is called upon to be a lot of different people. He’s been raised on Asgard, and that’s formed some of the more basic aspects of his personality and values, but at the same time he has attributes that have been consistently discouraged and pushed down by that culture, and we can see them step forward as he moves into situations where they are encouraged.

Throughout the canons, there are a lot of Lokis. Siege Loki, Lady Loki, Kid Loki and his murderer, Ikol, King Loki, and the God/Goddess of Stories. The earlier aspects I know only by secondhand information, but I’m very familiar with Loki from Young Avengers and Agent of Asgard, some of my favorite comics of all time. But I know some basic facts - the way the earliest Loki was a quintessential comic book villain full of pure simple theatrical mischief and ridiculous schemes, the fact that Lady Loki was a somewhat more sinister appropriator of bodies for her own use.

In my view, MCU!Loki has, at the very least, the same capacity to shift personalities depending on the circumstances, and I haven’t yet seen anything in the Loki show that’s thrown my suspension of disbelief with regards to his characterization.

I’ve seen some people rebel at the idea of Loki gleeful over the destruction of Pompeii and the causing of chaos it allowed, but it reminds me of some meta I wrote very early on in my years of meta-writing in the MCU. The values Loki was raised with, Asgardian values, sometimes treat death very lightly, especially death in battle, especially human or otherwise non-Aesir death. In the Aesir context, at least to a certain extent and certainly in terms of what we’ve seen Odin teach his sons onscreen, violence is honorable, fighting is an adventure, lives are cheap and Valhalla is the ultimate goal.

I think a lot of the central conflict of Loki’s character is that he follows some of these principles to their logical conclusions in situations that Aesir values never meant them to cover. If life is unimportant, then it won’t be so bad if I tell Thor that Odin is dead. If the throne of Asgard has dominion over all the Nine Realms, then why shouldn’t I rule Midgard?

But he also shifts the way he acts to suit the situation. He is a shifter, it’s what he does. On Asgard, he is expected to be a warrior, a dignified prince, a companion and support for his brother. The values are bravery and dignity, and so a lot of what he projects there is bravado and elegance, which are close enough for him to get by.

When he is taken by Thanos, the only things Thanos wants and values are power and death. So Loki becomes an avatar of power and death. He carries that with him to Earth, because he is still very much under the jurisdiction of Thanos. But he very quickly learns how to use and manipulate Earth values, like wit and pathos. They seem to fit him better than the others, and he carries them through the other movies and the different frameworks he finds himself in.

He also tends to carry Asgard with him, the knowledge that he’s a prince, destined to be a king, that he needs to carry himself a certain way, with that elegance, dignity and bravado.

When I see Loki in the first episode of the show, I recognize him as some of the deepest, most quintessential parts of Loki that have only been allowed to peek out on occasion before. And that is due to manipulation on Mobius’s part - Mobius makes it very clear what he expects of Loki. To get down to the very basic levels of him and find out his motivations, what makes him fundamentally himself - “What makes Loki tick?” There’s a quiet void there, and the only thing that’s being asked of Loki, for once, is that he sit down and fill that void with words - the truest and most sincere words possible.

There’s a clear and interesting divide between that phase for Loki, and the phase we see in episode two - Mobius has stopped providing that space, and in the interim, he’s made it very clear what he expects Loki to be like, what mold he’d prefer the trickster to fit into.

The hard-working, lovable scamp.

Loki is hiding his deepest self again, which we all do most of the time. Loki can’t feel that deeply and express that freely all the time. Because of the environment he’s in - which may not be any more or less free than any of the other environments he’s experienced - he expresses himself in a particular way. He is the hard-working, mischievous scamp Mobius has been pushing him to be.

I don’t think he’s any more or less himself than he’s ever been - he’s simply responding to different pressures. And the pressures of this episode press him very hard into the Neal Caffrey mold. Which is an interesting mold in itself - when I was writing White Collar fic, I made a point to distinguish who Neal was when he was with Peter and who he was under different circumstances - prison, witness protection, with Mozzie, with Kate. (I wrote an autistic Kate, and had him most freely himself when he was with her.)

Like Neal Caffrey, the Episode 2 Loki is treading a line between behaviors that will get him things because he’s useful and compliant, behaviors that will demonstrate that he’s into minor trickery for fun now and might not be getting up to anything bigger, and those bigger tricks that are definitely still running in the background. It’s the obvious balance for a trickster on a leash with an indulgent bureaucrat.

You can see that it’s a facade in the way that he is near tears when he sees the Ragnarok paperwork, but when he brings it to Mobius’s attention and Mobius expresses his sympathies, Loki says “Yes, very sad,” and then dismisses it in favor of moving on to his mischievous enthusiasm over the resulting theory he’s had.

Like all good lies, it’s built out of truth, so when I see this Loki, I see pieces of the Loki I know, just put together a little differently, which is how Loki seems to do it.

Although he’s not free as he might hope to be, and in fact threading a narrow path between a very constricting set of pressures, I do still think he’s enjoying the dropped expectations of dignity and elegance. I think he’s enjoying being in a culture that encourages him to be a geek. To go on about the things he’s passionate about and his areas of expertise. And I think that’s a lot of what unsettles people about this Loki, because that elegance and dignity have carried everywhere else with him. And I’m not going to argue that the TVA are doing anything nice for him - quite the contrary - but I still do enjoy seeing him able to be the geek he’s always had the inclination to be, in the right circumstances.

It makes me wonder, a little, how much his mother is on his mind right now, after the first episode, because if I had a guess, the last time he’s felt free to be this enthusiastic and expressive about his interests is in magic lessons with her as a child.

So. The other variant.

We know from the Lady Loki comics arc that Loki can possess other people’s bodies over the long term, and we know from kid!Loki and his murderer interacting in YA that the original occupant of a body can sometimes hang around and talk back, if only as a figment of his imagination. We know from most incarnations that Loki can go to a lot of dark places if the circumstances push him to it.

As I’ve said before, I’m intrigued by the question the difference between the two variants poses - how much different can two Lokis be before they are no longer meaningfully the same person?

We’ve got clues on both sides, of course - our scamp on a leash saying “I wouldn’t do this to myself” on the side of them being not the same person, and the vengeful goddess he’s chasing saying “I was afraid they’d found a better version of me” on the side of them being the same person.

The more I think about it, the more I’m willing to predict that this vengeful goddess is, in some way, an incarnation of Loki. But (be warned, I’m going to reference Stephenie Meyer now) it could be in as small a way as something out of The Host - a stolen body’s original personality fighting dirty against the invading spirit.

If this is something based on the character of Sylvie from the comics, it could still be anything from a person - human or Asgardian - chosen and manipulated by Loki to do his bidding, to a full-on possession, or even a body constructed for a specific purpose but developing its own personality traits.

We know this variant is a body hopper, and Mobius’s briefing mentioned that it’s an inherent ability of most Lokis to shapeshift, so there are a lot of potential explanations for this unfamiliar shape.

But the differences between the variants could also stem mostly from different experiences.

The only thing I’m at all sure of is that this variant has also been tortured by Thanos. It’s possible that she branched earlier - that the wild desperation of having freshly escaped Thanos translated into being dragged into the TVA like a cornered wildcat, on the raggedy edge and desperate enough to go all-out to get out of the collar while still in the custody of the minute men. Then, as she became familiar with the TVA in concept and execution, developed opinions and built a personality around taking them down, taking them apart the way she wished she could do to Thanos, the way Thanos did to her.

But she could also have branched later - after the destruction of Asgard, or when Thanos appeared on the refugee ship. After the worst has happened to her people. With some preexisting notion that time could have gone differently, that some things that had happened should not be allowed to happen.

I have a weak spot for interactions between incarnations of Loki in the comics, so I am incredibly eager to see the MCU’s take on this.

#Loki meta #the loki show #loki spoilers #loki laufeyson #loki #meta #marvel #comics #616 #white collar #the host #sylvie #loki s1e2

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anxiouslyfred · 3 years

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Blackberry Delivery Service

Summary: Where soulmates get plants that reflect what is done to each of them at unpredictable time of their lives, schools teach it’s about maturity. Virgil has known this is wrong since he got his plant at the young age of 8.

Remus never learns this before the night everything goes wrong gets followed by a day out of Roman’s daydreams.

/\/\

Nobody had figured out yet how the delivery service worked. There were classes in schools covering the history of soulmates and the plants connected to them which could go over how when people roamed the lands or lived in small villages and tribes they'd be drawn to the plants when they were ready for it. That still happened in a lot of the indigenous cultures, where spending time among nature was a larger part of their way of life.

For the people in cities though a delivery service had opened with the advent of a postal service. When a person became ready to care for their plant it would be delivered at a time they were alone at home and then the van would disappear for somewhere else. No base was known of for the Soulmate plants delivery, nor any greenhouses and plenty of legends surrounded the vans but nothing could get confirmed.

Virgil had read everything he could about them regardless. Originally it was dreaming that he'd get his plant one day and learn how he can find his soulmate with it. Receiving it when he was just 8 years old had grown the interest into the reasons people claimed they got their plants.

What schools taught was that if you are mature enough to care for someone, or something, living other than yourself and put their needs on the same level as your own then the plant would be delivered. The forums and multitudes of orphanages and care homes gave out different lessons, leaflets filled with personal stories about people getting their plant so they had something to look forward to, a reassurance there was somebody out their for them.

That was why Virgil received his plant. His parents had busy jobs and rarely spared a thought for their son, so long as he was fed, clean and his clothes were the good quality expected of reasonably wealthy parents. He'd gotten lonely and used to being ignored, or a second thought to everyone but the blackberry bust he received was a promise that wouldn't continue forever.

And that was how he continued on, looking after the plant and trying its best to help it grow. The thorns were longer than a normal blackberry bush and grew in a higher number but the berries were a wonderful balanced of sweet and tangy. It was soon Virgil's favourite treat, as long as the berries came from his soulmate plant. If only he could tell his soulmate was looking after theirs as well, but nothing changed except what Virgil did to the plant.

/Years Later for Remus\

It had taken far too long for Remus to save up the money for his own flat. Still, 10 times fired is 20 people he knows can't accept who he is, and he could finally move out from Roman's apartment.

He'd thought there could be a celebration, him and his brother having a game night or something to mark the achievement. Sure Remus would have liked to do more than that, go to a bar, or maybe bowling and see how many innuendos and dirty jokes he could make around it, but with Roman back in rehearsals a night in, getting him settled into the flat would have been nice.

Instead they argued, Remus hurt over the dismissal Roman gave. “I can't just fritter away hours with you. This could be a big break for me if it gets the presses attention so I have to be responsible for my time.”

“It's one night, Ro. One night to get that stick out of your arse, loosen up and just be silly again. Fuck, we could find an adventure on a hike and play dragons and princes again like we used to. Toast the fact I'm making it on my own now.” Remus had pleaded, just needing something to mark the change.

“Yeah and then in a month, possibly two, you'll be asking for an adventure or night out to celebrate you moving straight back in.” Roman scoffed, dismissing the idea and Remus's long standing dream of independence in one sentence.

Remus had slammed the door to his flat open then. He'd made the offer when they finished moving all his stuff over to the apartment and there was something darkly satisfying that he could now actually kick Roman out now. “Fuck you, Get the hell out of here! You've watched how fucking hard I've worked to get this and now you think I'm going to throw it all away for what?” He made no attempt to keep his voice down, too hurt and angry to care.

“Yeah, cause you're so mature. You haven't even received a plant to look after yet.” Roman had started to protest but as soon as Remus's missing plant was mentioned he was getting manhandled out of the door.

“I'm blocking you everywhere. I fucking trusted you!” Remus screamed, throwing cushions from the sofa at the door as soon as he'd slammed it shut, locking it behind Roman.

Remus had tried. He'd done everything he could think of to be mature enough to get that soulmate plant, but it still hadn't been delivered. Every day he hoped that perhaps finally it would come; that whatever spirits created and delivered the plants would finally realise he was ready for the soulmate plant.

He'd even kept a garden on the balcony at Roman's house. That was Remus's space and he'd kept it alive, thriving even. Every plant he'd had there had now found a place on window sills around the apartment, as specified to their requirements as Remus could manage.

For Roman to have thrown his missing soulmate plant back at him was too far, and his brother should have known that. It had turned the first night in his apartment which Remus had been so excited to finally afford from being a celebration to one of near destruction.

Remus had agreed with fix and redecorate the apartment for a reduced rent so he decided to move the screaming in his brain to chipping the cracked tiling away from the walls of the bathroom. The landlord had offered it when learning he was a joiner after his most recent building course. With every strike he wished it was a stem he could yank away from Roman's lavender bush, make him realise just how it felt to be missing something everyone insisted was important.

Mud, plants and carpentry could only get Remus so far until he was collapsing onto his new bed, and the tears came.

A new home, but an even lonelier life than before now he couldn't face the last person to try and stick with him again.

/A New Day Comes\

Remus thought the knock on his door must be Roman, trying to apologise or just explain himself. There were always more explanations from Roman than spoken apologies. The apology was shown in his behaviour and the time he cut himself off.

He definitely didn't expect the knock to be a blackberry bush and a van driving out of sight.

An apartment with no balcony or attached garden was probably the worst possible place Remus could try to grow blackberries, but he didn't have much choice, not over what his soulmate plant was, or where it could grow. There was at least a large window in his bedroom that he could find space for it in.

Remus gave it a small smile as he carried it through, leaving it at the foot of his bed for a moment. “Well I guess you were finally ready to come to me then. You just wait here while I shift some of your new friends around to give you a nice spot to rest in.” He says, stroking the leaves lightly before turning away.

“This isn't the ideal space for you, I know, but it's what I have and what's mine is yours, Buddy. Well for you and all my other plant friends of course. I don't care if your connected to my soulmate, these guys get all my love just as much as you do.” Remus was rambling, still mostly talking to the blackberry bush but nuzzling into the other plants he had as they were moved, some closer together and a couple taken to one of the other windowsills.

“I'm no more mature than I was yesterday so it seems like the teachers were just saying more bullshit to us all. Wonder why you're actually here though. Unless it's because I'm completely alone in the world now, and this is all just a complete scam. What makes me being completely alone the trigger when Roman got his years ago after a night moping that he's never be someone's hero?” They'd still been living with their parents when that happened, but now Remus was focused on being lied to by schools.

He shook his head, moving the bush to the new spot. “Maybe I should have tried mixing those chemicals in science labs given everything else they've lied over. I bet it wouldn't have caused anything fun to happen anyway. Now Buddy, you need a frame or some support to hook onto and then I want to start checking online if there are any people around caring for blackberry bushes. If my soulmate already has you then I'm gonna be telling them off for not caring for you properly. Lack of gardening knowledge does not mean you're unable to research a singular plant.”

Remus fell to humming as he started rooting through the boxes that hadn't yet been unpacked for his gardening supplies. He'd need to trim the bush a bit and get it tied onto a frame. There was plenty of time before he had work to get that done.

/Over to Virgil\

After growing up with his blackberry bush, Virgil never expected anything to change with it. He wasn't sure if that was because his soulmate was content to let him look after it or if they just hadn't received their plant yet.

This morning was proving they probably hadn't received it until now and were very knowledgable about how to look after their plants. Virgil had watched as the canes were cut, thorns trimmed away in the busier areas of the bush and then as a frame appeared in the pot, stalks being tied to it from the bottom upwards.

It had been a relaxing if confusing scene to watch but Virgil hadn't wanted to look away. There was evidence he had a soulmate and apparently one who's a very avid gardener.

Part of him wanted to cheer, to dance around his home screaming for joy. He had a soulmate out there, and now their plants were more identifiable than the wild growth that was all Virgil understood enough to achieve. There was a chance he could one day find someone who wouldn't just be talking to him for his family name, or in the hopes of getting a higher role in his mother's business.

It just made Virgil want to go out and start actually trying to find whomever they were, but what if they were annoyed that he hadn't taken better care of their plant? What if they had their life all put together and only cared about the plant because soulmates were meant to be important to them and he'd just disappoint them?

There were hundreds of what if questions that Virgil was now coming up with, stilling his hands as he went to search the 'match my plant' websites there were.

Instead he just double checked his Blackberry bush was watered enough and drew a V in the soil, washing his hands before finally heading into the restaurant his parents wanted checking on today. They'd decided Virgil should have a role as site inspector for the restaurants while they were refurbished or put together for a new site opening at some point and Virgil didn't mind the role. It gave him the chance to meet normal people in the builders, electricians and other skilled jobs as well as avoid special treatment from the restaurants staff since most of the time they'd never meet him officially.

Today the site was having fitted counters installed as well as the tables secured for the private booths. Virgil would really just be checking everything looked right and hoping to avoid chatting to the joiner for too long.

“Hey there, Are you the boss man for the site?” There was a man in fluorescent overalls trying to peer through the windows of the restaurant, knocking on them as Virgil walked up to it.

Most of the builders had been given the morning off so they didn't get in the way but the actions of the man had Virgil checking the time and realising he'd set off late after watching his plant get looked after. “Yep, that's me. Sorry I ran a little late. It seems like my soulmate has gotten their plant and was doing a lot of gardening for it this morning. I got distracted watching it.” The explanation was far more than the joiner needed to know, but it felt deserved given Virgil was late.

“Cool thing, Patches. I got mine this morning too. Must be a busy day for the delivery guys. You planning on letting us in or should I break a window and replace it on my way out?” The man had walked back to the van that was parked on the pavement in front of the restaurant as he spoke, but leaned back to wink at Virgil when he suggested the vandalism.

Virgil shook his head, snorting a little at the idea. It didn't seem serious so he wasn't going to treat it as such. “First, I'm gonna need to see some ID, preferably your traders license. Can't just trust people who ask if I run the building without introducing themselves at all.” He did pull the keys out of his pocket though, waiting beside the door as the other bounced back over.

“Well, I'm Remus, here's my card, call me whenever for whatever cause a body like yours I ain't gonna refuse.” Remus definitely checked Virgil out as he spoke but still handed over his license, a business card behind it that Virgil pocketed.

Unlocking the door, he shook his head again. “I'm Virgil and will need to call the company doing the rest of this place to complain about the state they've left it in. Sorry it seems to be chaos. I did order them to leave it clear yesterday but apparently my instructions were ignored.”

Remus didn't seem to care, already carrying various boards and his toolkit, just making large steps over any equipment or items left in his way. “I got a blackberry bush this morning. You said you thought your soulmate had got theirs today too so what's yours?”

“Oh, yeah, same. It's blackberries too. I've been scared that I'll hurt it if I do anything though so have mostly left it to grow its own way once I got a mini greenhouse to look after it in.” Virgil agreed, pulling his phone out, and falling into mumbles over how to make the call.

It was only moments later when Virgil looked up to actually double check the number, ever doubting his phone had saved it correctly, that he realised Remus had frozen and started watching him, large siding board still balanced on his shoulder. “Did I say something wrong? Is there something I need to raise as a big issue to like health and safety that I've missed?” He asked.

Remus bounced between his feet for a moment, almost falling before he remembered the siding and leant it against the wall. “No Dude, but like, does your plant look something like this now?” He pulled his phone out while speaking, flicking through a few screens before showing a picture of Virgil's blackberry bush, except it was surrounded by dozens of other plants on a windowsill that was in dire need of fresh paint and probably new frames all together.

“That's – That is my plant! Even down to the frame that appeared!” Virgil exclaimed, almost snatching the phone away to look closer at the picture. “I watched everything getting trimmed and tied onto the frame this morning.” He muttered, all thoughts of scolding the builders leaving his mind in the moment.

“So you're my soulmate then?” Remus asked after a minute of waiting for that connection to be made.

Virgil didn't think his eyes could get any wider or that he could be any more shocked than he already was, but that sentence would have managed it. “Well, must be, this is my plant so yeah.” He nodded frantically through the explanation.

He was a bit confused when Remus's expression darkened to a scowl. “This entire soulmate thing is fucked up. Nothing against you but is this stupid damnable universe telling me I had to go through losing or falling out with everyone I know only to get my plant and meet my soulmate on the same fucking day? It's ridiculous and stupid. If it wanted to pull this fairytale bullshit with anyone it should have been with Roman. This feels like he's fucking writing the story of my day just to spite me after throwing everything I've been trying to do back in my face yesterday.” The rant had Virgil backing away a little, sitting down on one of the benches as Remus carried on.

“I did every fucking thing I could to be whatever stupid ideal of mature this world wants before letting people have their plants for years! I scraped through course after course, job after job just trying to find one which I could make a career out of, earn enough to get even a ratty apartment I need to fix up for the landlord and then have the universe fucking telling me to speed run the entire process. Not just, hey Remus, you can finally have the soulmate plant to look after since you've been looking after your hundred plant babies so well, but hey Remus, you brother is a fucking bastard so you're all alone but here's a plant and hey, here's your entire fucking soulmate too.” Remus was screaming at the walls, the ceiling, anywhere that wasn't Virgil, looking like he was two steps from destroying the next thing he looked at closer to ground level.

Virgil usually felt panicked by watching displays of anger like this in real people. He'd usually do everything he can to get out of that situation but instead he just listened and waited, learning more from the rant than he'd expected to.

The yelling must have been audible from outside or something because there was soon a knock on the window of the restaurant, although Remus didn't seem to hear it. He did notice when Virgil stood though, falling quiet to watch him as though expecting him to say something.

With a gesture to the door Virgil went to open it, only to blink as someone almost identical to Remus stood on the opposite side, holding what he guessed might have been a peppermint plant. “Hi, um, sorry if I can't do this, but Remus hasn't been answering my calls and had mentioned doing some work here today. Is he still around?” The man asked, shifting to try and see further into the store.

“Who are you, first? And what's with the plant?” Virgil held a hand up to keep them outside, raising an eyebrow at their discomfort.

“His brother, Roman. I said something I really shouldn't have and have come to beg for forgiveness. The plant is part of my apology.” With that explanation, especially following the rant he'd just heard Virgil held one finger up before shutting the door in his face.

Remus seemed to have started getting his work tools out now his rant had been cut off when Virgil sat down again. “So that was some rant you had there and given I've had my blackberry bush since I was 8, I might be able to explain what actually seems to be the time the plants come to us. Before that though, are you going to start screaming again if I say there's someone at the door holding a plant and asking if you're here so they can beg for forgiveness?” He explained, watching as Remus turned to him and then deflated.

“He literally said I wouldn't last more than a couple months in my new apartment before having to live with him again, threw the fact I hadn't got my plant yet in my face last night and is now trying to apologise with a fucking plant?” Remus muttered, but sighed as he stood up.

Roman was let in silently and he seemed to watch Remus as if expecting something to be said first. Remus was watching his brother just as carefully, before glancing over to Virgil.

“Seriously. Are we sure the universe hasn't stolen one of Roman's stories and decided to dump me into it?” He asked, taking the peppermint from Roman and placing it in front of the window.

“I have literally known Roman for all of 2 seconds so have no clue what those stories might be like to say.” Virgil pointed out, knowing his expression was probably reflecting how crazy he found the question to be.

Remus rolled his eye, “I see no prostrating yourself on the floor to beg for forgiveness. This apology so far sucks worse than Mrs PeePee's apple sorbet.” He glanced over to Roman who was looking between them confused.

“Yes, of course dear Brother, except there isn't exactly space on the floor for that to be possible. I spoke entirely out of turn yesterday and should have never even considered speaking to you the way I have done. You have my deepest apologies and I swear that I will do everything I can to help make it up to you. In fact I would be honoured if tonight you'd accompany to the indoor mini golf course that's opening on the edge of town. It's rainforest themed and I hear rumours they've included a swamp area.” Roman bowed as he was speaking, actually glancing around to see if it was safe for him to kneel.

Virgil couldn't help snickering at it though, and Remus was soon to join in the laughter. “Let's all go actually. I need to know if this idiot is entertaining beyond cheap jokes and loud rants to tell the universe off.” Virgil agreed, before glancing at the sideboard and the time. There was still a couple of hours before the rest of the builders should arrive, hopefully enough time for Remus to do some of the work he was actually here for.

“Sure, you're forgiven and I think the universe has done pretty much everything I would have asked you to do or try to do already.” Remus agreed, jumping over a few things back to where he would be fitting the counters. “By the way, this is my soulmate and I got a blackberry bush this morning. Only figured that it was the same as his like 10 minutes before you got here.”

“Was that what the screaming was about? I thought someone was injured?” Roman asked, moving to the bench when Virgil shrugged and patted it.

Virgil snorted. “Yeah, Remus has a few things to say to whatever does soulmates about how today has gone for him. Not sure the universe listens to people screaming in restaurants-to-be though.”

Eventually Virgil would get Roman to share one of the stories Remus had kept referencing and had to agree: The day they met really did seem to come out of Roman's imagination.

#dukexiety #soulmate au #virgil sanders #remus sanders #creativitwins #roman sanders

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kiseki-no-scenarios · 4 years

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your account is a blessing 😭 can i please req for fighting with murasakibara + fluff at the end ?

Aww, thanks for your message anon! And sure thing! I chose to go with a slightly more serious route here (since I’ve been doing a lot of crack-ish writing…lol)

Murasakibara Atsushi - Fighting and Making Up

You hated it whenever Murasakibara was like this.

You’d gotten a text from Himuro, warning you that Murasakibara was in one of his moods. Normally you’d be understanding and considered it one of Murasakibara’s many idiosyncrasies, but today you just felt so done.

It also didn’t help that recently it had seemed that Murasakibara was not as interested in going out on dates or doing normal couple-y things. You were the one that initiated phone calls more often, the one that traveled to Akita to see him on weekends.

And you were just. So. Tired.

There was only so much pulling and pushing you could deal with in your relationship, and you could feel yourself starting to fray at the ends.

The screen in front of you blinked to life as the video call came in, and you took a few deep breaths to calm yourself down. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad today. You could do this.

“Hey Atsushi.” You smiled at your boyfriend who was slumped over in his seat, his head buried in the crook of his arms. “Everything okay?”

“I’m sick of it.” He muttered.

“Aw, don’t say that.” You tried to encourage him, keeping your voice as bright and cheerful as possible. “You just had a rough day!”

“I’m quitting basketball. It’s dumb, and I’m so bored of it.” Murasakibara complained, cutting you off as he sighed loudly. “It’s not fun.”

“Well, it can’t be fun always…but I know you love it. So don’t give up!”

Murasakibara scoffed. “Easy for you to say…you just don’t understand.” He finished, voice dismissive.

Something snapped within you at that point, and you bit down on your lip to try and prevent the tears from building in your eyes. You had been trying for so long right now.

You were silent as you tried to fight the feeling of frustration and sadness mixing inside you. “Ne, _____-chin. If you’ve got nothing else, I’m going to go-“

“Just. Stop. Atsushi.” Your voice is cold and clipped. “Are you going to do this every single time something goes wrong?”

Murasakibara finally picks up his head, looking at you for the first time as he blinks. “_____-chin…?”

“Don’t give me that crap. It’s boring? It’s not fun?” Your voice starts growing louder, your hands shaking. “It’s not going to always be fun and games!” You scream, tears beginning to roll down your face.

You can see Murasakibara’s eyes widening, his mouth opening but you cut him off before he could say anything.

“If you want something, you have to work hard at it. Even if it’s not fun.” The weeks of frustration, loneliness, and sadness claws its way from deep within you, forcing itself to the forefront of your consciousness. “Are you bored of me, too?”

“_____-chin, I-“

“I never see you. I feel like I have to BEG to get you to respond to my texts or even call me.” You’re full on sobbing now, head bowed as your hands try to stem the flow of tears bursting from you. “When was the last time you held my hand? When was the last time I got to see your actual face?!”

Shaking your head, your vision was blurred with tears. You couldn’t even make out Murasakibara’s face anymore, just his blurry form and purple hair on your screen.

“Murasakibara…” You whisper, voice cracking. His last name felt foreign to you-you were so used to calling him Atsushi, to making up cute nicknames for him. But today, you just couldn’t do it anymore.

“When was the last time you told me you love me? If you even care about me anymore.”

Fearful that he was going to break up with you right then and there, you slam the lid of your laptop closed before you throw yourself onto your bed, face pressed against your pillows as you let out all the tears you had held back for so long.

—

Your eyes were puffy when you woke up the next morning, feeling your phone vibrating against your face.

With a groan, you force yourself to sit up, blindly reaching out for your phone as you unlocked it.

“Jesus, what the hell…” Your voice was hoarse from all the crying you did last night. Scrolling through the many missed calls and voicemails from Murasakibara, you felt your heart pang as you ignored them.

Your phone vibrated again and you thought about throwing it to the side but the name on the caller ID made you pause.

“Coach…?”

Accepting the call, you heard Masako’s clear voice. “_____? You finally picked up.”

“S-Sorry, I just woke up.” You cleared your throat. “Is something the matter?” Your blood ran cold as you thought about the possibilities. “A-Atsu-I mean, is Murasakibara ok?!”

“That’s what I’m calling you about. Hold on, I’m putting you on speaker.” You could hear some movement in the background before her voice came back on the line. “You’re on speaker now, _____.”

Before you could respond, the familiar sound of Okamura’s sobbing came onto the line. “H-He…He told me I was a great captain…and that I would find a girlfriend!!” Okamura sobbed. “HE’S NEVER BEEN SO NICE TO ME IN MY LIFE, HE SAID I WAS COOL, AND-“

“Oi, quit sobbing ya idiot!” Fukui’s impatient voice joined the call. “Hey, _____. I don’t know what you did, but Murasakibara came and he was BOWING his head to me.”

“It was quite surprising.” Liu’s smooth voice joined the conversation at that point.

“He said he was going to work harder, with all of us.” You hear Himuro’s voice, tinged with both awe and pride.

“Anyways, thats why I wanted to call.” The background noise disappeared as she turned off the speaker. “I never imagined I’d see Atsushi come of his own free will and say anything like that.”

“…It’s because he truly loves basketball.” You murmur, a smile coming to your lips. “He loves playing it, and he loves the team.”

“Well, it was nice to hear it from his lips for once.” Masako laughs.

“Yeah.” You whisper.

“I’ll see you later, then. Give Atsushi my regards.”

The call ended before you could reply. Give Murasakibara her regards…You laughed brokenly. If he still wanted to see you after last night.

You were about to head to the bathroom and wash your face when you heard a series of furious knocks on your door. Startled, you grab the nearest thing you could find-a broom-as you walk to the door, checking the peephole.

“…M-Murasakibara?!” The broom clatters to the floor as you drop it in shock, hand trembling as you twist the doorknob and open the door.

The purple-haired basketball player was standing in front of your door, a bouquet in his hands as he looked down at you nervously. And if that wasn’t shocking enough, his hair was tied back in a low ponytail, and he was dressed in a…

“W-Why are you in a tux?!”

“_____-chin, I’m sorry.” You watched as Murasakibara took a deep breath, his hand holding the bouquet of flowers out to you. “I’m sorry that I made you sad, and lonely. And that I made you cry.”

The shakiness in his voice tugged at your heartstrings.

“I haven’t been a good boyfriend…” Murasakibara continued as you listened in rapt attention. “I wasn’t putting in the effort that you were. I’m really sorry, _____-chin.”

You stared at him in silence as Murasakibara seemed to deflate slightly in front of you, his entire form slumping. “Am I…too late?”

“No, I just…” Tears started flowing from your eyes again, and you could see Murasakibara panic. “T-These are happy tears!! I guess I’m just…shocked at seeing you in a tux.”

“Muro-chin said that if I wanted to say sorry, I needed a tux.” Murasakibara explained, dropping the flowers to the ground as he reached for your hands. “And Coach told me to do my hair…”

“You look very dashing, Atsushi.” You replied, a true smile finally touching your lips.

“I promise I won’t take you for granted, so…will you give me another chance?” Murasakibara begged.

“Okay.” You nod. The fact that Murasakibara would actually go through the trouble to dress up for you…maybe you were being too easy on him, but you knew he was truly apologetic.

“_____-chin…!”

You squealed as Murasakibara wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight as he spun around with you on the spot. A stream of giggles fell from your lips as you heard yourself laughing for the first time in a while.

Then you remembered that you were still in your ragged pajamas, your hair not even done and your face unwashed.

“Crap, I look so bad right now!” You yelp, pushing back from Murasakibara’s hold. “This is so embar-“

“No, I don’t want to let you go.” Murasakibara’s tone is whining, but you can hear the desperation as he hugs you tighter. “You look pretty. You always do, _____-chin.”

You can’t help but blush at his words as you hugged him back, rubbing his back soothingly. “Aww, thank you, Atsushi! Come inside.” Taking his hand, you start pulling him in.

“Wait, I thought we could go on a date today-“

“I know you’re all dressed up for me, but I’m still tired. So I’d like cuddles instead, ok?” You pleaded. “We can go out later.”

“Okay, _____-chin. But you have to hold my hand the entire time.”

---

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#knb #kuroko no basuke #murasakibara atsushi #yosen #knb scenarios

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revolution-john · 3 years

Text

Madam Dixon

by STEVE LAMBERT

What set the whole thing off was Sam Heintzman leaving a vase of long-stem roses on her front step. It was early still, around seven, and she heard something outside the front door. She peeked out the window and saw Sam waddling back towards his place across the street. They were beautiful, the roses, and the ring in the middle of the vase were all open and singing, and the ones around the lip, for some reason, huddled in on themselves like little old ladies wrapped in shawls. A tiny card taped to the vase read, “Let me know if you need anything. My deepest sympathy. –Sam.” She leaned in, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.

Sam, who had been an engineer at the Cape, was recently retired. His job had been something to do with making the tiles on the front of the space shuttles. But now he alternated between working in his yard and sitting in a lawn chair in his driveway, drinking canned beer and admiring his landscaping while the sprinklers ran. He had almost no fingernails, and his fingers were nubby at the ends. Nubbiness, she’d often thought, was his defining feature. On more than one occasion, she’d seen him pop a beer tab with his house key. She couldn’t imagine “needing” anything from him.

Rich and Sam hadn’t exactly been friends, but living so close to each other for so many years, they’d became steady acquaintances, treated each other in that excessively cordial way that people do who don’t know each other intimately; all those handshakes and nods and winks and courteous chuckles—affirming gestures, like two salesmen. Plus they both spoke the dull Latin of lawn care. She recalled how on late afternoons the two of them would walk slowly around their or Sam’s yard, each with a can of beer in hand, pointing at various imposters, pulling them up and naming them: tickseed, dollar weed, chick weed, etc., etc. She didn’t know the language. It was an easy way for them to be, but she saw the way Sam looked at her sometimes. She thought Rich noticed, too, but he was not the jealous type. Never was one to get territorial.

She didn’t really feel like visiting, but probably should, she thought, go thank him for the roses before it got too late. For some reason, she thought about how hard she’d found it to be alone at night, especially not being a sound sleeper. That was the most pronounced absence she felt in the wake of Rich’s death—his not being there, next to her, when she lay in bed at night. It was just her now when she’d wake up at two or three in the morning; her and the intermittent sounds of the night settled down around the house, gently crushing it into the dirt, like a child slowly pressing its soft, fat hand down on a toy it has decided is no longer fun to play with.

She glanced over at the vase of roses on the bar, where she’d put them, and decided to walk over to Sam’s and invite him for lunch. Why not? She thought. It’s a neighborly gesture. It would be an imposition for me, to go to lunch, but it would probably mean a lot to him. Anyway, it’s the right thing to do.

He answered the door in his usual attire: plaid shorts, white V-neck and flip-flops—big grin on his round face. “Madam Dixon,” he said in a voice like a retired boxer’s, and bowed, his rubber flip-flops squealing under the strain.

“Sam,” she said, “the flowers are lovely. Thank you for them—and the card. It was very nice of you.” She didn’t mean to sound dismissive but thought maybe she had. She hoped he hadn’t noticed.

“Come in, come in,” he said, moving to the side, and she reluctantly stepped into the dark living room. She found herself wondering if was her first time inside his house. A couch hunkered to her immediate right, and a small hallway stretched out beyond it. Light funneled in from the back of the house. Particles floated and swirled around in the rays of light like nebulae.

“Thank you,” she said. No, I must have been in here before, she thought, but couldn’t think of a single time she had.

“Have a seat.” He pointed to the couch, and then touched a stout finger to his nose, as if nudging it into place.

“It’s rather dark in here, don’t you think, Sam.”

“I guess it is if you’re coming in from outside,” he said, and he opened the blinds. Light slanted in in thin layers. He winced a bit.

“How’s that, madam?”

“You don’t have to call me that, you know,” she said. Now that Rich is gone, she thought, it seems silly somehow. She had been “madam” to his “Colonel.”

“Oh, it’s just for fun,” he said. “Would you like something to drink? A cold adult beverage, perhaps? I have some Busch in the fridge.”

“No, thank you, Sam. I just stopped by—”

“I believe I’ll have one, if you don’t mind.”

While he was gone she noticed a very large framed photograph on the wall, opposite the couch, of a space shuttle blasting off of a launch pad. She pointed it out when he returned with his beer.

“Oh, her. She’s the Columbia. A real beautiful craft. The first to go to space.…April twelve, nineteen eighty-one.” He clicked his tongue then sipped his beer. She found it mildly irritating that he referred to it as “her,” but didn’t dwell on it because she realized something.

“Rich took me to that launch, Sam. We were there, at the—what do you call it—where the bleachers are? Where everyone watches?”

“The Causeway?” He slightly tipped the beer can and slurped, like he was trying to be extra careful not to spill any.

“That’s it. The NASA Causeway. That’s where we were. We’d been transferred to Patrick about, I don’t know, a month prior—from Barksdale, in Louisiana. He was so excited about that—getting to see that first shuttle launch.”

She remembered: on the way to the Cape, Rich driving huddled up close to the steering wheel, pointing up at the sky, and her just sitting there listening. “Folks who’ve been to rocket launches say you can watch it the whole way up. You can see everything: the glint of sunlight on the metal, the tower of smoke, like a string of popcorn, like on a Christmas tree—everything. Takes maybe an hour to disappear, to dissipate. Course, this’ll be a little different.” Neither of them knew exactly what a shuttle was, but he made it sound much more interesting than she would have found it all by herself. The car swerved a little under the strain of Rich’s excitement.

And it was something. And crowded with people—people with binoculars and telescopes and wearing sunglasses and wide-brimmed hats and men in shorts and Hawaiian-print shirts, open at the front. One woman chased a little boy, who was about three, in circles. She was short, but pretty, and had on a black one-piece bathing suit. The little boy chuckled as his young mother chased after him, one hand keeping her sun hat on her head. And they all watched it lift off and go up and it all seemed so slow, but it wasn’t slow, it was fast, hundreds of miles per hour, but from where they stood everything was happening in slow motion, beautiful and vivid and big.

“It was a big deal, Madam. Very exciting.” Sam walked closer to the photo, swigging as he moved, like a kid with a glass of milk. She half expected him to start blowing bubbles in his beer. “Who knows,” he said, “the guy or gal who took this picture might have been standing right next to you.” He looked away from the photo. “Barksdale,” he said, and scratched at the top of his blotchy bald head. “Seems like I’ve been there…”

She watched him and wait for more, but nothing followed.

“Sam,” she said, “I was wondering. Do you have any lunch plans?” It seemed absurd the second she said it. Of course he didn’t. She imagined him opening a can of tuna and eating straight out of it with a fork.

“Oh, well,” he said. He put the beer can down on the coffee table and scratched at his head again. He moved closer to the wall with the photo of the shuttle on it. He put a hand on the wall, like he was bracing himself for a dizzy spell.

This can’t be happening, she thought. He isn’t even attractive. He’s an old troll. I don’t like him a bit, to be honest. Drinking beer this early in the day. She got a flush feeling and her face felt warm. He thinks I’m a sad, pathetic old widow.

“I do, as a matter of fact, Marie. I’m going out to the—” He looked at his watch. “And won’t be back till—Maybe we can—”

“Oh, that’s fine,” she said. She stood up, shook her head. “Really. It’s fine.” She thought she might start crying, which was completely out of the question. This is not a rejection, she told herself. It’s just bad timing.

“Well,” he said, and he smoothed the palms of his hands across his shirt front.

“No need to explain, Sam. It’s fine,” she said, smiling. She found that she was pressing on her hair with one hand. She made herself stop. “Rain check,” she added, without having thought about it beforehand.

“Yes!” he said, happy to have a word for the awkwardness he felt. “Rain check, indeed, madam.”

She watched from her living room window as Sam got into his burgundy Chrysler and pulled out and sped off down the road and out of sight. Where is he going so fast? She thought. She picked one of the roses from the center of the bouquet and smelled of it. Its scent was so faint that she couldn’t think of a word to describe it. He’d said he wouldn’t be back till late.

She’d loved Rich, she often thought, because he made her feel like somebody. In the beginning, when they were dating, she’d felt unfamiliar to herself when she was with him. Later, after they were married, the wife of an Air Force officer, she felt confident and important. Initially, anyway. She loved him for that, for that gift he probably didn’t even consider a gift. She loved it better than any jewelry or flowers or exotic getaway. It felt almost permanent, and it was real. But things always change. Things didn’t get better or worse—they just changed. They were two people in a habituation together. She continued to love him, and she supposed he still loved her. But towards the end it wasn’t a gift so much as an ill-fitting pair of jeans you can’t bring yourself to give away because you are sure you’ll fit back into them some day.

She waited till dusk. She put on dark clothes and her old running sneakers and grabbed the flashlight out of the catchall drawer in the kitchen. She preemptively took two Ibuprofen. If I have to do any climbing or crawling or anything I’ll be sore tomorrow, she thought. It was very quiet outside.

She checked his side door, the one that goes into the garage, and it was unlocked, of course. No one locked up in their neighborhood. There was no need to. It smelled like gasoline and fertilizer in the garage, and the smell made her feel lightheaded. She lifted the mat at the foot of the door that led from the garage into the house, but didn’t find a key. she shone the flashlight around until she saw a little metal hook on the wall, to the left of the door, with a ring of keys hanging on it. She tried five before she found the right one. Before she turned the key in the lock she took a moment to consider what Rich would think of this. Presumably, she thought, he could be watching me at this very moment. What do you think, Rich? she whispered. It gave her the creeps to hear her voice in the dark, stinky garage. She heard something scurry and thought rat or possum and inserted the key and quickly entered the house.

In the yellow glow of the flashlight bulb the photograph looked mythic. She immediately had an urge to cry, standing there looking at it with what amounted to a spotlight on it. For the first time in a month she was feeling the full weight of her grief. Before she knew it she was sitting on Sam’s couch looking up at the photograph, sobbing—like a proper widow, she thought. What an odd place for mourning? But the photo captured something, and not just the shuttle launch—that was secondary—but the color and feel of that day, that point in time. The quality of light. A small bit of her life, as it had been once, paused—a crystalized memory she’d forgotten she had.

She got up and walked over to the picture and put the flashlight right on it. Maybe if I look long enough I’ll find us, she thought, me and Rich, with our hands shielding the sun from our eyes, watching the shuttle climb up towards space. Maybe I’ll find the petite young mother and her little boy. She looked and squinted and searched the photograph. But she needed more time with it. Most of the onlookers were blurry. It was too dark now. The shuttle, lifting off, and the dense exhaust, were the most vivid things. She stared so hard that things got distorted and she started to zone out. She imagined Sam ripping his nubby fingernails off and sticking them to the black nose of the spacecraft. He ripped one off and stuck it on and went for another one. Then he took a sip of beer. Disgusting old troll, she thought. Who drinks beer in the middle of the day, anyway?

A few minutes passed and she pulled herself together. She sat and stared at the huge thing hanging there on the wall until a light from outside grew and intensified and she realized that it was the headlights from Sam’s car, shining in through the window as he pulled into the driveway.

She wasn’t sure what to do. She heard the car door slam. She turned off the flashlight and put it in her back pocket and carefully hoisted the photograph off the wall and crept, bent over, to the door that let out to the garage. From inside the garage, she heard the key in the front door, heard it turn and the door open. Sam sighed as he closed it. She slowly put the keys back on the hook by the door in the garage. She paused and heard an interior door, a bedroom door. She left the garage and stole quickly across the street, tip-toed home in the dark, the picture under her arm, like a cat burglar. But what I’ve done doesn’t feel like stealing, she thought, as she sat the photograph against the wall in her bedroom. She took the flashlight out of her pocket and sat on the edge of her bed. It feels like something else. Feels like a resurrection.

()

Steve Lambert’s writing has appeared, or is forthcoming, in Saw Palm, Chiron Review, New Contrast (South Africa), The Pinch, Broad River Review, Longleaf Review, Emrys Journal, BULL Fiction, Into the Void, Cowboy Jamboree, Cortland Review, and many other places. In 2015 he won third place in Glimmer Train’s Very Short Fiction contest and in 2018 he won Emrys Journal’s Nancy Dew Taylor Poetry Prize. He is the recipient of four Pushcart Prize nominations and was a Rash Award in Fiction finalist. He is the author of the poetry collection Heat Seekers (CW Books, 2017), the chapbook In Eynsham (CW Books, 2020) and the fiction collection The Patron Saint of Birds (Cowboy Jamboree, 2020). His novel, Philisteens, will be out May 2021, and his second full-length poetry collection, The Shamble, will be out in October, both with Close to The Bone Publishing. He lives in Northeast Florida, with his wife and daughter, where he teaches part-time at the University of North Florida.

#steve lambert #short story

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minhoslut · 4 years

Text

♡ summary: Reader is traded to a band of pirates in return for the safety of her village because of her plant magic. They are not like she expected, much more like her than she could even imagine in fact. This is a journey through their relationships and the high seas they sail on.

♡ pairing: superm x fem!reader, superm x eachother

♡ chapter: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | ? |

♡ series warnings: blood mention, injury mention, swearing, anxiety, death mention, depression, weapons, mxm

♡ series genre: romance, smut, angst

♡ series rating: Mature

♡ word count: 1761

♡ posted on: AO3

♡ chapter three: so close

The rest of the day was just watching Mark talk to people until the sun had begun to set, then he brought you back down to the mess hall. He pushed you to sit down at the edge of the table and then sat as far away as he could. You rolled your eyes, not like you wanted to sit with him anyway, you didn’t even want to be on this stupid fucking ship. Ten came and sat beside you handing you a plate with a chicken leg on it and some potatoes. The other five boys joined the table soon after, the Captain taking his seat at the head, you, Ten, and Lucas on one side and Taemin, Baekhyun, Taeyong, and Mark on his other. You ate your food quietly as the men joked and talked with each other, ignoring their words in favor of imagining your sweet garden, how the peas would be ripe by now, sweet and crisp.

Glancing around the table you made sure no one was watching you before growing a single pod to eat. It wouldn’t be exactly like your gardens, but it was a small comfort you could provide yourself with. The fresh pea gave a satisfying snap when you bit into it, exactly how you had wanted it. Unfortunately, the crunch also drew seven pairs of eyes to your face. “Fascinating…” Baekhyun said, “Can you do other things?” Taemin asked, eyes shining. “What a useless thing.” Taeyong scoffed, turning away. “Sorry, it’s not what you had hoped for.” You shot back at him. Jongin held a hand up and everyone looked at him, “So Y/N, you’ve decided to show the others?” Jongin raised a brow at you.

“I wanted a comfort from home, is that so terrible?” You said, locking eyes with the Captain, earning a deep chuckle in response. “Never.” He replied with a smile, catching you off guard. You looked away quickly, it should be illegal to have that pretty of a smile. “It isn’t useless Taeyong, you of all people should know that.” The Captain said, giving Taeyong a pointed look, making the purple-haired man look away flushed. You were confused as to why Jongin was defending you, it was weird and made butterflies flutter unwantedly in your stomach. “Can you grow bigger things? Like a whole tree?” Taemin asked, bringing your attention to his excited face. “Well, yeah. It uses more energy though, so it's better for me to grow it in the Earth…” It was weird to talk about your magic, you hated it most of the time. Plus, Taemin was actually curious, in a positive way, which had never been the case.

“Could you grow me a strawberry?” Baekhyun asked his eyes in full-blown puppy mode. You thought about it for a moment and ended up giving in, growing the blue-haired man a plump red strawberry. You held it out for him to take, glaring when he received it with his mouth instead of his hands as you’d intended him to do. When he'd finished he grabbed your hands across the table, "That's the best strawberry I've ever had!" You tried to pull out of his grip, but he held you firmly. All these guys are much stronger than they look... "Thanks, I guess." You said reluctantly. By now dinner was basically finished, the Captain stood and dismissed everyone, exiting the room with Taeyong and Mark on his tail.

Ten and Lucas walked off together, heading who knows where leaving you with Taemin and Baekhyun who both stood. You realized that you had actually been given no orders as to where you had to go, and none of the boys had been told to watch you either. But then again, what would you even do on your own? What would the other crew members do if you weren't accompanied by one of the seven? You shuddered at the thought, even though you were fairly certain Captain Jongin had ordered you to be left alone. "Y/N come back to the cabin with us~" Taemin said coming over and linking arms with you. Baekhyun followed suit and latched on to your opposite arm, leaving you with no choice but to allow them to escort you back to the bunks.

Baekhyun sat on Taeyongs bed while Taemin flopped onto Lucas’, leaving you to tentatively sit on Taemin's bed unless you wanted to fall in an attempt to get up on your bed by yourself. “So, can you do anything else fun?” Taemin asked, looking at you expectantly, Baekhyun's face reflected the same look. “Uh, well I can help a plant that's already growing, grow faster. I can talk to them if they have things to share I hear it.” The men hmmed in fascination. “How much energy does it take for each thing?” Baekhyun asked, you thought about it for a moment, you never really tested it out.

“Well, it is basically nothing for me to grow a single piece of fruit or a vegetable, flowers even less. If I were to grow a fully mature tree, I’d feel as though I must rest for the rest of the day.” You explained, looking at your hands, the magic that ran through your body was nothing but a curse. “Can you grow something for me?” Taemin questioned, tilting his head curiously. “What would you want?” You surveyed him as he considered your own question. “A white rose, if you could.” You smiled at the request, roses were lovely flowers, you had many bushes of them in your garden. You’d thought he would have picked a food item, but apparently he was going to continue to surprise you.

“Alright, let’s do that then.” You opened your palm, growing the rich green stem, then letting the soft white petals unfurl one by one. When it was bloomed, you handed it to Taemin, who held it gently, a smile spreading across his face. “It’s beautiful, Y/N, thank you.” His words struck you, no one had thanked you before, much less for you using your powers. “You’re welcome, it’s no trouble though really.” It felt strange to be thanked, you felt unsettlingly happy from his kind words. “How often do you go on land, to get things?” You tried changing the subject. “Well usually we only stop at certain ports, but if we were really running low we’d just stop somewhere and take it.” Baekhyun said tapping his chin thoughtfully, “That doesn’t happen often though, Mark stays on top of everything.” Taemin added.

“That I know. I was forced to follow him around all day while he checked the stock.” You said with an eye roll, making the two men chuckle. “He’s headstrong that boy, fiercely loyal too. An excellent boatswain.” Taemin said a fond smile on his lips. “What are your labels then? If he’s boatswain, and Lucas is cook.” You asked them. “I’m quartermaster, I make sure everyone does as they are told and put punishments in place if necessary.” Baekhyun answered with a playful smile. “And I am the lookout, watching to make sure no enemies are near and helping to ensure we are headed on the right track.” Taemin supplied, sounding proud of his placement.

“A lookout sounds interesting, I wish I’d been with you instead of Taeyong and Mark. Those two are rotten.” You spit, reminded of Taeyongs treatment that morning. “They aren’t all bad, they just feel like they must show the captain a certain image.” Baekhyun says softly, the look on your face making you regret saying anything against the two, despite everything. "I wish you'd been with me too, it would have been fun~" Taemin said sending a smile directly to you. "Or you could've hung out with me while I ordered people around!" Baekhyun said, puffing out his chest. You giggled, "Sounds like less fun than look out sorry." You teased him, surprised by yourself at the friendly act.

It seemed like this was an effect that these two especially were constantly having on you. Making you feel safe and happy on a ship you had no business being. "Well I hope I don't have to deal with those two again tomorrow, they are frustrating, to say the least." You sighed, trying to use slightly kinder words in honour of Baekhyun. “The Captain is speaking with them now actually, giving them a bit more information on your… situation.” Taemin said, piquing your interest. "What about my situation?" At your question, Baekhyun shot Taemin a look and they both shut their lips tightly. "How about you show us some other magic?" Baekhyun suggested, switching the subject quickly with a somewhat forced smile. You glared at him, why were they always tiptoeing around the reason for you being here. It was frustrating to no end, and you were getting sick of it.

“I hate these powers, I hate having magic.” You could feel the emotion bubbling up as you spoke. “Y/N, the magic is a special thing. It’s a gift.” Baekhyun said, in a way that made it seem like he knows a whole lot about magic. “What do you know about living with magic? About my life? It's a fucking curse! I hate it! I hate magic!” You were yelling now, hands clenched tightly. “Y/N, that’s, that’s not-” You cut Taemin off, “Don’t fucking act like you know me, like you care about me. Yeah, my life was shit before, but at least I wasn’t on this dumbass boat with a bunch of fucking pirates who treat me either like shit or act like they didn’t kidnap me from my home.”

You were fuming, hot angry tears began to pool in your eyes. “I’m sorry Y/N, for it all. We just, Captain doesn’t want us saying anything, but it isn’t fair to you.” Baekhyun said, looking you directly in the eye. You stared right back at him, “I’m going to speak with him, okay?” With those words he left the room, leaving you alone with Taemin. Taemin came over to where you sat on his bed, sitting down beside you and enveloping you in a tight hug, You froze. No one had hugged you since you had been cursed. Taemin held you close to him, despite you not giving any reciprocation. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry you hate magic, I’m sorry you hate us, I’m sorry.” He was barely whispering, his voice thick with emotion.

The tears finally began to stream down your cheeks, you were tired of this, of everything. Why did you have to be cursed.

#superm #superm x reader #lee taeyong #byun baekhyun #mark lee #lucas wong #kim jongin #ten #lee taemin #high seas

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godsofmonster · 7 years

Text

Summer Boy ≽ V.

jungkook x reader- Summer au

Genre- Smut/Fluff-ish/slap in the face

Word Count- 4,643

≽ Links to previous chapters can be found on my masterlist in my bio because Tumblr sucks now! You can also click on the ‘Summer Boy’ tag!

Hey, there summer boy. I’m a busy girl who doesn’t have too much time for fun. Maybe just for this time, I’ll be yours and you’ll be mine. Don’ t be sad when the sun comes up and you wake up to find me not around, I had to go. But you promised to pay me back for last night and we still have all summer after all.

The days following Jungkook’s and I event on the beach, he messaged and called me excessively. At first, he tried to apologize, then began to dismiss the topic and was only trying to get my attention. I ignored all efforts to communicate and avoided unwanted encounters. After four days of rejection and silence on my side, he stopped trying completely; then by the sixth day, I began to miss him.

I had myself locked inside the house and sometimes only my room. My friends began to worry since I had failed to speak with them at all. I sometimes heard some of the guys over; mostly Jimin, Namjoon, and Hobi but never Jungkook. The days or nights I was cooped up in my room, I found myself peeking out my windows to look into his. My window was unlocked but the blinds were closed and I only ever saw the door to his room. The lights were off most of the time I checked and I wonder if he was in there in the dark like I was.

It was one of those nights I went to bed early, just as the sun was going down, but I really just laid there in bed. I drifted in and out of slumber when I eventually, I woke up to laughing and a cold sweat. My room was dark and the only crack of light came from under my door. Faint talking could be heard from the living room and I recognized Jin’s laugh instantly. I sighed, missing the good times we all spent together but I couldn’t find the courage to make the move to face them. I was too embarrassed with what I have become over the last week; when I normally wouldn’t care.

I decided to go back to sleep, pushing the covers off my sweaty neck down to my waist.

"I don’t know. Jungkook said he would meet us here…“

I almost didn’t hear what Namjoon said. The drowsiness was scared out of my system as my heart stopped for a minute.

"My Kookie has been unrecognizable lately, he’s never home and is out all hours of the night,” Jin said not long after.

"Yeah, same with (Y/n)…I feel like I haven’t seen her in a week, and she hasn’t even left the house.“ The worry in Bitsy voice made me feel guilty.

"Those two really need to talk things out. I wish they weren’t so stubborn.” Jimin said.

Hearing that Jungkook was also acting out fed to my guilt as well. Why was I being such a drama queen? I wasn’t acting like myself. I was never afraid to face a conflict, but things just felt different with Jungkook involved.

I grabbed my phone and looked through the old messages from him. I wanted to text him so he could come over but it’s been so long. What if he stopped texting me because he was over it already? Which would explain the behavior Jin was talking about.

: Do you still wanna talk?

My head was beginning to ache with all my conflicting thoughts. Would he even text me back? I pulled my pillow into my chest, holding it tightly, while I closed my eyes. They were still talking but had changed the conversation. The last thing I remembered was staring at my phone screen and before knew it, I was asleep once again.

I woke up to a faint knocking sound, but as I came to my senses it was quite forceful. The room was still dark and it could have been nothing past midnight.

“Go away, Coco…” I mumbled into my pillow.

The knocking continued regardless, not till l allowed the sound to ring in my head, did I realize it wasn’t knocking against wood but against the glass. I pushed the blankets of my legs and went to switch on the lights. Walking over to my window, I lifted up the blinds to find Jungkook standing on the other side of them.

I stood numbly looking at him; his face was different from the last time I had seen him, he looked a bit puffier but his cheeks were blushed. I was afraid to let him in regardless if the window was open. He had no specific expression on his face but it still held a gentle and unsure look. For a moment he looked away from me and back to reach into a book bag, I hadn’t even noticed he had on. My head tilted with my brows scrunched when he pulled out a full bottle of Jack Daniels, holding it up for me as if it was a way in. I bit the inside of me cheek still hesitating to let him in. Jungkook paused for a moment before once more reaching into his bag, this time pulling out a single can of coca cola with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

“It’s open.” I turned away from him, walking to bed, and hearing the window open as I sat at the edge.

I rested my back against the headboard while I drank down all the water I had on my nightstand. Tapping my fingers against the now empty glass while Jungkook opens up the bottle of Jack. He scooted closer to me offering to pour me some and I stopped him halfway up the glass. I reached in his bag that was sitting between us for the can of coke and filling up the rest of my cup. I watch Jungkook take a swing straight from the bottle resetting it at the opposite side of the bed. I took a drink from my cup as well, the over sweet cola making the harsh whiskey more bearable.

“(Y/n)…” My eyes shifted towards him. Jungkook was sitting with his knees spread and the bottle held between both hands. He was staring at the brown liquor sway in its glass prison. “I don’t know…what you think that was on the beach but-”

Jungkook stopped speaking for a moment, unsure of himself and what he wanted to say. I took another sip from my cup to find the strength to go through the conversation. “I just hate this wall you put between us before anything could even happen.”

His eyebrows were knitted, he was frustrated with the situation at hand. I didn’t know how to explain to him that it wasn’t anything personal, at least not at first. I couldn’t deny that my distance from him had grown from what I first intended it to be. I knew what he was feeling- how he was feeling.

“You’re right.” I took a gulp of my drink allowing it to burn in my throat. “What I’m doing isn’t fair, and the last thing I wanted was for it to bother you so much.”

I could see that it was hard for Jungkook to be so honest about how he felt. I could see the hurt in his eye whether he tried to hide it.

“I like you.”

I gulped at his sudden words, looking away from him at all costs. “Jungkook-”

“And the only reason I would ever have the balls to admit that; besides the fact I’m a little drunk, is because I think…you might like me too.”

I ran my hand over my forehead and temples. It was obvious he had been drinking before coming here, so that was giving him an unclear mind. If he was speaking the truth, that meant things would have to end.

“Why are you trying to create something between us? This wasn’t my intention- there’s nothing between us.” I drank down what was left in my cup, trying to release some of the frustration.

“I’m not saying that,” Jungkook mumbled faintly. He leaned over to pass me the bottle so I could refill my glass. “I know what this is.”

“Jungkook, please.” I wanted to mask his words with the liquor in my cup. “All I know is there’s been a stigma around me. I have my reasons to keep my distance…”

He watches me drink straight from the bottle, where his lips had been just seconds before. “I don’t know what your reasons are but they can’t be that complicated.”

“So what if they aren’t? You think you can fix them?”

“Baby, if you’d let me, I wouldn’t hesitate.” He yanked the bottle from my hands just as I was about to go in for another gulp. “I could tell why you would doubt me.”

“Enlighten me then.” I put my cup down on the nightstand and leaned on the headboard.

“Well you aren’t the ‘single’ type,” Jungkook’s confidence was beginning to show. “The fact that you are trying so desperately to stay that way probably stems from a bad relationship.”

Normally, I would take offense for his first comment but the alcohol was buzzing my head. He was right regardless of what I thought.

“How observant of you,” I said sarcastically. He shrugged and smirked my way. “I’m afraid it’s a little more complex than that, though.”

“Why don’t you tell me about it then?” I laughed aloud intentionally. Jungkook was not easily offended to my luck. “Or should I keep guessing till I get it right?”

“Try me.”

I was very aware that Jungkook would be up for the challenge but I couldn’t stop to see the wrong in this. My alcohol tolerance wasn’t strong and yet, I wasn’t as paranoid or dramatic. But I would surely do something I would regret in the morning.

“You said you’ve only slept with two other people- I don’t necessarily believe that, though. I think you have actually only dated two people.” He was completely wrong but I was interested to know what he thought. “My guess is that you dated some asshole, who only slept with you for a couple months before he left. Then the second guy you liked after but he wasn’t interested in a serious relationship, which he probably never admitted, still, you devoted your time to him.”

Though he was wrong, Jungkook words brought back unwanted memories. Ones that flared anger in my heart and only feed my paranoia. I grabbed my drink and only wanted to bury myself in its poison. Jungkook spoke with confidence but when I failed to respond, he noticed the change on my face.

“Do you think I’m that stupid?” I said with spite. I was that stupid but it angered me that he could see it. He saw the tears build in my eyes before I looked away from him.

“No.” He said noticing his mistake. He placed the now half empty bottle to the floor, moving up the bed a bit more. “I think you’re strong.” I was keeping the tears on the brim of my eyes. “But you’re scared of your feelings cause of what he did to you.”

He sat on his knees beside me, hesitating to go any further. Jungkook was growing closer, wanting to comfort me but I rejected his affection in embarrassment. I was stubbornly full of pride; I hated others pity and sympathy for my stupid choices. My head was beginning to flutter with all different emotions. I was no longer crying about my ex but about everything else. How things with Jungkook would never work out; not a relationship, not even a friendship. I hated the fact that he wanted me in a different way than I was using him. But he was the reason I was thinking that I didn’t want to be so empty and hollow anymore.

“Jungkook, please…stop.” My voice cracked slightly under my hushed words. He tried to touch the hand on my lap but I moved it away to push some of my loose hairs back and regain my composer.

“You don’t have to hide, I won’t do anything you don’t tell me too.” I sucked in a shaky breath, turning my head to face him and met him only inches away from me. His dark chocolate eyes were scanning my face for any signs of objection as he leaned in. My lashes were wet, sticking to each other as I looked up at him and watched his eyes shut softly. I allowed his wet lips to timidly graze mine and my mouth responding erotically by nature. But the kiss wasn’t hot, it was warm and comforting; it was loving in its most innocent form. He cupped my face as a way to relax and ease my immodest behavior. I melted into his touch feeling tense and unsure of what I was getting myself into. It was just like on the beach; Jungkook wasn’t trying to establish any dominance between us, it was simply adoration. “Tell me what to do…”

Jungkook tried to pull away to speak but I kept him close because his affection was stimulating. I grabbed the back of his neck, feeling his skin shiver under my hand. My tongue playfully brushed against his, bringing him to hover over me and continue what we had in mind. I pulled on the collar of his shirt, moving my exposed legs to rubbed against his, easing him on top of me. He pulled away once I struggled to breathe, our hot breaths hitting our lips with the smell of whiskey.

“I don’t wanna be lonely anymore,” I whispered. Nudging my nose against his, I shut my eyes in hope that he would fulfill the aspiration I longed for. “I’m yours.”

There was so much more to say but nothing left to do. I gave myself over to him without a second thought. I wanted what he could give me; comfort, affection, and bliss. Despite what my emotions would be in the morning, this is what I need at the moment. A simple touch from him was enough to set me free.

Jungkook took his time savoring my lips, loving the taste of liquor and me in his mouth. His lips were so soft and just the right amount of moisture to let his tongue slip in. Jungkook leaned me down with my back against the bed. He hummed against my mouth as my hands slipped down his neck and chest. My hand rubbed under the material of his shirt, where his toned chest hid. Jungkook pulled on my waist arching my back off the mattress. His other hand ran up my leg and caressed the flesh of my thigh. He didn’t seem to mind the bit of stubble while he moved under my cotton shorts, feeling the warmth of my inner thigh. Goosebumps shivered down my spine and on my legs. Jungkook’s lips were traveling down my chin with softly pressed kisses. My hand followed the landscape that was his arms while he sucked lightly on my neck.

He paused for a moment to remove his shirt as he started to grow hot. I leaned up to attach my lips on his defined collar bones before he had even thrown the shirt behind him. Jungkook chuckled with a slight groan as his hands grabbed my waist and pushed up my thin shirt up to feel more of me. I followed in his action and removed my top. Jungkook was quick to attack my neck and chest, pushing me gently back onto the bed. His hands cupped and caressed my figure as he left a trail of kisses between the valley of my breasts.

His name left my mouth softly, he was the only thing playing in my mind. My legs tingled with the feathered kisses he left down my abdomen. He kept his eyes open the entire time, admiring my body on his way down to my navel. He stripped my of my shorts but left my damp panties on, kissing and teasing me through the fabric. I squirmed on the bed as his hot breath tickled over my clothed mound. Jungkook took his time running his hands over my thighs and hips.

“I don’t know what you’re doing to me, (Y/n).” He whispered, barely enough for me to hear him. “But I want you,” Jungkook leaned in to kiss over the wet spot on my underwear. “all the goddamn time.”

His words like honey made me whimper and move my knee up, to allow him more area between my legs. I wanted him too. Way more than I was willing to admit to him and even myself. I picked myself up to get a better look at him before he started. His gorgeous face between my thighs was a sight that would be burned into my mind forever. Jungkook smiled up at me, hooking his hand around my leg and kiss the warmest part of my thigh, still, maintaining eye contact. I moved my hand over to him, pushing his dark hair out of his eyes.

I leaned back and watched him hook his fingers around the waistband of my panties, pulling them down my knees and off my feet. He could not keep his eyes off my core, he looked at me with such lust and hunger. I could feel my face and chest grew heated with a breath caught in my mouth, trapped under my bitten lip. His hot soft mouth kissed my lips, running his tongue over the soft flesh. Jungkook’s teasing lips curled into a smile as he peered a look my way. I moaned silently in my mouth while my legs tensed and threshed beside him. He brought out his tongue to brush pass the small bud sticking out from my soaked folds. My hips jerked as he flicked his tongue against my clit, using the wet muscle to stroke against the bundle of nerves that caused me so much pleasure. His mouth worked wonders against me, wanting to make my eyes shut and cry out. The satisfaction shivered and shook throughout my body, made my core rock in flames.

“Mmm.” His lips hummed against my core as he found my wetness lower at my entrance. He tongued over my entrance while his hand spread my folds gently. The lewdest sounds were coming from his mouth as he sucked at the arousal dripping over my skin. My cheeks heated and the rest of my body screamed for more and all of him. Whines left my lips each time he opened his mouth for anything. His free hand was rubbing on my thigh to keep my legs from closing around him. My own hands were grabbing on the sheets, not knowing what else to do with them and keep them from pulling his head any closer to me. He must have had a similar feeling because his hand left my thigh and grabbed a hold of mine; he locked his fingers with mine and allowed me to squeeze as hard as I wanted. His hold was welcoming and eased me into his mouth with enjoyment instead of storming through it.

“Oh! My God…” I hissed as he licked back up my heat to wrapped his sweet lips over my clit. He groaned against my heat as he felt my hips press against him and move against his mouth. Jungkook kept his tongue out and mouth still to let me rock against his face; my abdomen tensed on and off as I tried to keep the beautiful rhythm up myself. His eyes watched me intently as I gasped for air and struggled to please myself.

I could see my wetness glisten over his lips and watched how he enjoyed licking them clean. He let go of my hand to take a hold on both of my thighs, letting my legs rest of his shoulders and beside his head. His face disappeared in between my thighs and a long moan fell past my lips. Jungkook added pressure to my heat and he lapped his mouth over it. My walls began to clench at the pleasure building over my core hoping to find my release soon. Jungkook was working just to that goal in mind when he began to quicken the motions of his tongue.

“Jungkook! Yes, yes please.” I was losing my voice as it began to fade into no words but merely sounds of ecstasy. My stomach was tightening from the violently heavy pleasure, threatening to drown my body to its numbing point. My legs started to shake around Jungkook’s head and his hands tighten around my thighs, holding me close to his mouth. He brought his hand around to my clit, using the pads of his fingers to pressed shapes into it while his mouth slipped along the rest of my skin. My heels dug into his back as my voice grew louder and everything in my head was wiped clean; except the feeling of complete and utter bliss.

“I want to wake up by your side.” Jungkook’s mumbled as he kissed up my stomach and rubbed my legs from the aftershocks of my orgasm. The pool of my heated blood was still running through my body as he came back up. I only got a quick glance of his dusky eyes before his head disappeared into the crook of my neck, kissing my clammy skin and taking my hands in his.

“Kiss me, Jungkook.” I whined softly. I found his lips with my own, cupping his strong jaw while he brushed his tongue past my lips. I could taste myself on his tongue and it only caused me to become further aroused. His denim covered hips pressed into the bare skin of my core, taking my breath away with each roll of his hips. He kissed my cheek after pulling away, watching how my eyes hazed in lust at our explicit contact. His neck veins showed through his skin when he tried to keep his groans in. He looked gorgeous with sweat forming on his face, giving him a soft glow in the light above us.

“I’m going to make you mine, (Y/n).” While he continued to kiss me cheek, his hand was working on the buttons on his pants. My hips were bucking and squirming under him and he pushed the fabric down his legs. His length was already between my folds, lubricating himself with the juices he had caused. “Can I?”

I nodded frantically, pecking his sweet lips once more before locking eyes with him. “Yes.”

He pushed his head through my entrance, my tight walls wrapped around him and throbbed. Jungkook pressed his lips against mine breathing heavily as he pushed himself the rest of the way. I gasped into the kiss, my eyes shutting at the sensation of his length filling me. I still managed to keep our lips moving through the mild thrusts, there was a lot of tongue but it didn’t feel overwhelming. Our lips pressed passionately slow, the hunger of intimacy and endearment was something I had not yet experienced with any man.

My hips pushed into the mattress each time he pushed in, only to pull out and keep the sequence going. I felt the pleasure intense when he hit the deepest parts of me, causing strange noises to erupt from my throat. I felt as if there was a cloud of misty surrounding us, in which we could only feel each other and our connecting bodies. It was a pleasure that builds like no other, it took longer but more care when in it, making it more authentic.

“I think you’re gorgeous.” Jungkook said faintly, causing my eyes to open slowly. His lids were half closed, trying to keep his eyes on me the entire way through. His bottom lip flushed red from his teeth biting into the soft flesh.

I wanted to keep kissing him but the moans leaving my mouth prohibited it. My legs caressed his while his hips pushed between my thighs. His thick brows and damped hair framed his lightly tanned skin. Jungkook’s gripped my hand at the same time he began to push into me harder. The sound of his skin hitting against mine joined the heavy breathing and moans in the room. With a single arm, he tugged at my lower back and brought my hips up to meet his. Our locked hands were resting pinned beside my head. I rocked my body against him the way he liked. My heat was becoming sore and raw from the friction between us but it only added to the pleasure. I could feel myself begin to sink into him emotionally, normally scared to, but now I only wanted to fall in deep.

Jungkook kissed along my jaw, lips pressing soft wet kisses as far as he could reach. My free hand was wrapped around his broad shoulders; only wanting to keep him and never let this end. Short on breath, he still managed to whisper sweet praises in my ear. Making me feel like I was the only women in the world for him. My legs shook on and my only response was to wrap them around his hips.

“Fuck! Baby…” Jungkook groaned, shutting his eye for the first time. He took in a sharp breath between thrusts and swallowed hard. “You’re going to make me come.”

He pressed his entire body against me, hips to hips and chest to chest. His pelvis was grinding hard into my most sensitive skin and my breasts only moved along with his body each time.

“Don’t stop…Jungkook, please.” My orgasm was approaching slowly but strongly. I couldn’t make words in my head much less speak them. My voice had turned into a symphony of crying pleasure as it snuck up my body. Soon I was moaning with every thrust and every second my body was at its highest point of stimulation and sensitivity. I held him close as I was coming to my end, as was he. My ankles locked around him and I kept him still in me with only minimal movement. Our cores connected and throbbed together was enough to lose ourselves in each other.

My mind was wiped clean and my body gave in to him, convulsing with bliss and delight. I could feel Jungkook spill his warm seed in me, a sensation I was not familiar with but enjoyed to its fullest.

My heart was beating fast against his chest, where he was surely doing the same. Our hands were still locked but the grip was loose as our bodies became numb. Jungkook’s face was hidden in the crook of my neck with almost his full weight on top of me. My body was burning up but I didn’t want him to move; he did, however, pull himself out of me, leaving only an empty feeling behind. I removed my hand from his and wrapped it over the other one.

“Don’t leave me.” Tears were welling in my eyes as he lifted his face for me to see. I pushed his hair aside and caressed his delicate features.

“You want me to stay?” Jungkook asked hoping he heard correctly. His eyes were tired but full of joy when I nodded my head. He kissed my lips, wrapping his arms around my body and pulled me on top of him as he rolled onto his back. I looked down at him with an embarrassing big smile on my face. Jungkook’s eyes creased at the corners, showing off his adorable bunny smile. I made myself comfortable in his arms and beside him as he pulled the sheets over us.

The last thing I remembered was that kiss before we said goodnight. The warmth and dampness of Jungkook’s naked skin against my own. I remember looking forward to waking up with him still asleep and his arms still holding me.

But when I did wake up and found him sleeping in my bed; the only feeling I was met with was remorse.

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spiteweaver · 7 years

Photo

Interview #2: Dreamweaver

[ From the private files of Delucius Shadowheart ]

They can tell I’m nervous, and them knowing I’m nervous only makes me even more nervous. Sweat beads on my brow. I clear my throat and shuffle my parchment into place (an action that is commonly used to set the scene). The atmosphere is heavy. Describing they and their husband as “night and day” strikes me as, perhaps, the most apt description of a pair of mates I have ever penned.

I look up.

Dreamweaver smiles.

“I don’t always approve of your snooping, Delucius,” they say, “but I wouldn’t have agreed to this interview if I wasn’t prepared to answer uncomfortable questions.”

It’s not asking the questions I’m worried about, I think.

“Or perhaps you’re afraid I’m using this interview as an excuse to get you alone and ‘bully’ you some more,” they add. I force a smile. It is the single most pitiful smile I have ever forced. “I must admit, you’re awfully fun to tease, dear. You give the best reactions.”

“That’s--”

“You get so indignant!” They chuckle behind a politely raised hand, then drop another sugar cube into their tea. “I’m only so hard on you for the good of the clan, though. I promise, I’ll behave myself today. If you don’t give me a reason to put the fear in you, I shan’t have to put the fear in you.”

“You’ve already put the fear in me,” I grumble.

“Good! Let’s begin then, shall we?”

“You’re way too giddy about scaring the hell out of me.”

“I’m someone who believes very strongly in justice,” they say. “All actions have consequences. The consequences may be more or less severe depending on circumstance.”

They then fix me with a stern look. I feel my innards drop into my feet.

“You, Delucius,” they begin again, “are in full control of your actions. You know that what you are doing is a gross breach of individual privacy, and you continue to do it, anyway. That’s why, for you, the consequences are so much more severe.”

“As opposed to, say, Seaglass.”

Dreamweaver frowns. “Yes,” they say, “as opposed to Seaglass.”

“I don’t suppose you’d object to me asking about him?”

“I would not,” they say, “but it’s certainly not a topic I enjoy discussing. It’s been months. I would like to lay it to rest.”

“There are still those who would call what he did worthy of punishment,” I say, “regardless of circumstance. He destroyed half the village and nearly drowned one of its founders.”

“The drowning bit was as much my fault as his,” Dreamweaver insists. “I opted to stay with him, to try and quell the anger in his heart. I knew going in that I would very likely fail, weak as I was at the time, but there was a chance I may not, and I felt I had to take it. If it could save even a small part of what we’ve built here, it would be worth it.”

“Your life for some buildings?”

“My life for the continued livelihoods of my people,” they clarified. “If he had succeeded in destroying our village entirely, we would have had to rebuild from the ground up. Those who survived the flood may not have survived the winter. Their businesses, their farmlands, their homes; we would have lost everything. Feldspar can live without me. It cannot live without this village.”

“The fact remains that he did cause significant damage,” I persist, “and he could have caused much more.”

“But he didn’t.”

“But he could--”

“But he didn’t.” Dreamweaver stirs their tea. I can’t tell if they’re agitated or contemplative. “I don’t punish people for what could have happened,” they say, “I punish them for what did happen.”

“He wasn’t punished at all,” I reply.

“He is punishing himself,” they say. “He will always remember that day, and it will always be his darkest. He lost his mentor, his lover, and he caused the village a fair amount of strife. We have forgiven him, but he will never forgive himself.”

“Guilt isn’t a very satisfying punishment,” I say.

“You can say that,” they reply, “because you have never experienced guilt.”

Ouch.

They’re right, but it still stings. They have a way of speaking that drives harsh words like nails through a drake’s heart.

“Anyway,” they continue, “it was an accident. It’s unfortunate, but magical mishaps do happen when you live in a world as unstable as ours. If he had flooded the village intentionally, I would have punished him severely, perhaps even killed him in my rage--but that simply isn’t what happened.”

“What if someone were to accidentally kill your husband or son?” I ask.

“I can’t say what I would do then,” Dreamweaver replies. “If someone harms me, I can forgive them. If someone harms my people and those close to me, well, I find it much more difficult to look past their transgressions. I like to think I’d keep a level head and act accordingly, but death and flooding the village are two very different matters.”

“I suppose so,” I say. “I was just wondering how you might react to an extreme magical mishap, like, for example--”

“You’re going to ask about Clan Aphaster, aren’t you?” They sigh and pour themselves another cup of tea. “I knew you would,” they say. “Clan Aphaster didn’t handle the exodus optimally, and, again, I’d like to think I’d keep a level head--but there are times, even in recent history, where I have panicked and very nearly made terrible mistakes. That’s the price I’ve paid for living among dragonkind.”

Now this is interesting. As far as I’m aware, Dreamweaver has never spoken much to the nature of their being. We know what they are, shape-shifter, dreamwalker, but the finer details of being Other, as they term it, have always been murky.

I’ll have to come back to Clan Aphaster. I can’t pass this opportunity up.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

They chuckle again. “I shouldn’t have said that,” they say. “Now you’re going to ask me all sorts of questions I simply cannot answer.”

“Surely you can answer some.”

“This one isn’t too bad,” they concede. “Before meeting Banrai, I wouldn’t say I was particularly well-settled here in Sornieth. I had been under the Lightweaver’s banner for a good long while, but dragons and all of their subtleties continued to baffle me. Emotions were not something I naturally possessed--at least, not in the way dragons possess them.”

“Really?” I ask. “Why is that?”

“That I cannot say,” they reply, “or, rather, will not.”

“Well, how did you come to possess more, er, draconic emotions, then?”

“The nature of my magic is to be ever-changing,” they explain. “I adapt. I shift. I am molded by my surroundings as much as I am by my own imagination. Once I became more involved in draconic culture, it only followed that I become more draconic in nature.”

“Is Holloway the same?” I ask.

“Oh, no,” they reply, “Holloway is a demon.”

“But he’s a shape-shifter.”

“His shape-shifting stems from a different place.” They tap their chin in thought. “If I had to say, I would guess that Faded and I share a similar makeup. We are beings made of nebulous things--dreams, concepts, ideas. That is where our nebulous forms stem from. Holloway is not nebulous, he is firmly rooted in the physical.”

“This is...” I stare hard at the information I have gathered. It is a veritable treasure trove. “Honestly, this is fascinating. I never expected to get this much out of you.”

“Mmm, well, these aren’t exactly secrets,” they reply. “I just rarely have need to discuss them. If others wish to know more about my nature as a being of dreams, I’m happy to elaborate. It’s my past I prefer to keep to myself.”

“So you won’t take any questions regarding it?”

“I’m afraid not,” they say. “Anything pre-Banrai is off-limits. You can ask, but I won’t answer.”

“Back onto the topic of emotions then.” I pick up my quill again. I’m sure they can sense my eagerness, but I’m too deep now to bother hiding it. “Banrai mentioned during his interview that he ‘helps you sympathize.’ I didn’t ask for elaboration at the time, as I didn’t think he meant it quite so literally, but--”

“But now that you know about my funny relationship with emotions,” Dreamweaver cuts in, “you have to ask.”

“Yeah.”

“Experiencing emotions in the way dragons do is still difficult for me at times,” they say. “In the beginning, the only person I felt anything for was Banrai. As I adapted further, I began to feel strongly for others--our son, Winter; Boggart and Vigrid; Isaiah; Bellerophon. Slowly, this love grew until it encompassed all of my people.”

“That sounds normal to me.”

“The problem is that I haven’t quite come to grasp sympathizing with outsiders,” they confess, “and my inability to trust and feel compassion for them would have lost us a great many good friends and powerful allies. Abaddon would not be here, nor would Faust or Holloway. Our village would look very different if I didn’t have Banrai to teach and guide me.”

“Would you say he’s been a major driving force behind the alliances with Clan Aphaster and the Nebula Guild? Among others?”

“I certainly would. It is because of what he has taught me that I was able to form those alliances, to put my faith in outsiders.” Like their husband before them, Dreamweaver seems to go soft when they speak of the drake they love. It’s a side of them I’ve never seen. “He’s too good for me,” they say. “Ah, how did I end up married to such a flawless being?”

“I’m asking the questions here,” I joke.

“Sorry, sorry!” They wave a hand to dismiss their honeyed thoughts. “When you’ve been married as long as we have, your mind tends to wander to your other half!”

“How long have you been married?” I ask.

“It will be forty-eight eons this Brightshine,” they reply, “four cycles of marital bliss. We were wed right here, in Feldspar territory--before we knew it would one day be Feldspar territory, that is.”

“You didn’t initially intend to found a clan,” I say.

“No,” they reply, “we wanted to live a peaceful life in the mountains, myself in particular. I was more adventurous in my youth, but I’ve grown weary as I’ve aged--and Banrai met me when I was already very, very old. That said...” They stare down into their tea, lost in thought. “I don’t regret founding this clan,” they say. “It has been such a great honor and privilege to nurture it into the fine thing it has become.”

“You don’t regret it,” I say, “even with all that’s happened?”

“Not at all,” they assure. “This is where I belong. I am proud of what we have accomplished together.”

“What are your plans for the clan’s future?” I ask.

“Too many to expand upon here and now,” they reply, “but I can give you a basic idea. For now, I’d like to focus on aiding and strengthening clans in need. The peoples of Sornieth are scattered, disorganized, and our enemies are both many in number and great in power. The more we band together, the stronger we will be. Alliances aren’t just for making friends after all.”

“What enemies do you think we’ll have to defend against?”

“Hostile Beastclans, for one,” they say, “and the Shade, should it ever regain its footing in Sornieth. If not even the gods could do away with it entirely, perhaps we can be of some assistance the next time it rears its ugly head.”

“Speaking of the Shade, you’ve welcomed the clan’s first Shade-touched dragon into the village recently.”

“Yes.” Dreamweaver clasps their hands in front of them. They look pensive. “Once again, my husband’s soft heart swayed me,” they sigh. “Penumbra is an interesting case. I sense no malice from them, but the nature of Shade-touched dragons is obscure. They are rare--growing less so, but still rare enough that we haven’t gathered much information on them.”

“Do you think Penumbra poses any threat to the village?”

“I would not have granted them residency if I believed they did,” Dreamweaver replies, “or if I thought I couldn’t, at the very least, handle them.”

“You mean fight them and win.”

“Yes.” They shake their head. “I’m optimistic that such harsh action won’t be necessary, though. They’re certainly odd, but their mind remains sharp despite how the sickness has spread.”

“I suppose they and Silas might have a bit in common.”

“They might,” Dreamweaver agrees, and smiles warmly. “I should introduce them. Thank you for the suggestion, Delucius.”

“You can thank me by talking about Lutia.”

“Oh dear.”

Dreamweaver’s smile fades again. They stand and walk over to peer out the window. I watch them tensely. This is a sensitive line of questioning, and I damn well know it.

“I asked Banrai his opinion,” I say, “so it’s only fair I ask yours.”

“Lutia and I--we’re like Silas and Penumbra.”

“You have something in common with her?”

“Yes.”

They are silent for a long while. I check my watch. Five minutes have passed, and they show no sign of elaborating. “Yes?” I say. It’s the gentlest nudge I can give.

“I know what it means to be responsible for someone else’s pain,” they say simply. “I know what she must be feeling now. I know how devastating being left alone with your own guilt and bitterness can be. I could never think ill of her--not when I--”

I see their hands clench into fists. A lump forms in my throat. I’ve either pushed them too far, or I haven’t pushed them far enough. I’m not sure I want to find out which it is.

“I will speak no more on it,” they say at last, and the dark aura that has begun to gather around them dissipates in an instant. “You’ll have to get by on what I’ve given you. I understand Lutia. I’m afraid that will have to suffice.”

“It, uh, it will.” I shuffle my parchment again. “So you have no intention of calling for her punishment, then?”

“Of course not,” they say. “That’s Clan Aphaster business. If one of my own was harmed, I might have a say in things--but no Feldspar blood was spilt. Abaddon and Junior suffer greatly, but they live and they will recover.”

“What about Junior?” I ask. “He’s not going to receive any formal punishment?”

“Gods, no,” they reply. “He’s a boy. If we punished every child for their catastrophic mistakes, we’d have no children left.”

“As I said during Banrai’s interview, people died.”

“Yes,” they say, “and I blame Opal for that. He’s already being punished, in the most wonderful, devious way imaginable.”

“So Lutia and Junior are absolved of responsibility for their actions?”

“No,” Dreamweaver replies. “Just because they are not receiving punishment does not mean they are not still responsible for their actions. Like Seaglass, they are punishing themselves. Junior saw the results of his curiosity directly. He was there when Shard the Radiant began to fall apart. He watched his siblings disappear into the Arcanist’s realm. He hurt his own father deeply, perhaps irreparably. The boy is traumatized. To punish him any further would be cruel.”

“What of Lutia, then? She doesn’t seem particularly remorseful.”

Dreamweaver’s eyes narrow. Once again, I’ve said the wrong thing, and they are far, far less likely to forgive me for it than their husband. “Who told you she does not feel remorse for her actions?” they ask.

“My sources--”

“Your sources are foolish and ignorant,” they say. “You cannot possibly grasp the depth of her sorrow.”

“I can’t,” I say, “I know I can’t. Still, this is the second incident in as many months--first Seaglass, then Lutia. Aren’t you worried people may start to fear magic users at this rate? They receive no punishment for their ‘catastrophic mistakes,’ and they’re prone to mass destruction when under emotional duress. Sounds like a political disaster waiting to happen.”

“Do our people appear fearful of magic?” they ask.

“Well, no, not at the moment--”

“If they do not already fear,” they say, “so soon after the incidents themselves, I doubt they ever will. If there comes a time when they do, however, I will do whatever I must to reassure them. That is my duty as their leader.”

“I’d think, if such a time comes, they’d fear you most of all.”

“That would be wise,” Dreamweaver says. “Though I don’t believe I possess the anger and grief to cause the sort of mindless destruction other magic users could, I am certainly the most powerful being in our territory.”

“Have you ever lost control of your magic?” I ask.

“Mmm, I wonder,” they reply.

“I suppose that pertains to your past, doesn’t it?”

“If you have no other questions, I’ll be going.”

“What happened during the meeting with Zo and Techne?” I blurt out. “Techne’s from House Xanna, isn’t she? I’m guessing it was about that mysterious machine of theirs.”

“Neither House Xanna nor their creation are any worry of ours,” Dreamweaver replies. “They pose no threat to us, so I am content to let them keep their secrets. I won’t be pushing Telos or Techne for further information, and if I find out you’ve been doing so behind my back, Delucius, I’ll torment your dreams for a full cycle.”

As they turn to leave, I am already steeling myself for a cycle of nightmares. House Xanna is a juicy pork cutlet, and its being dangled right in front of my nose. There’s no way I’m not going to look into it.

...But maybe that can wait until after I’ve interviewed Clan Feldspar’s many colorful residents.

#flight rising #fr #zach writes #clan feldspar #feldspar lore #the delucius files #c: delucius #c: dreamweaver

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huanzhuyulu · 7 years

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Thank YOU for providing such amazing stories. I genuinely love your portrayal of Xian Yan Zi as Yi Fei. It felt so real and ah #fangirls And I was wondering, was this a separate plot that stemmed from the remake version? Or did you come up with this all by yourself because A+, girl, A+! I hope you do find time to write soon because then I'd be left with just rereading (which I already am haha)

All the ideas that appeared in Let the Years have been in my head for years, but it took a combination of things for me to write it at that moment.

I guess the premise of Yong Qi being emperor is always a very obvious one. I have gotten more than one message over the years from readers asking me if I would ever write that situation, but honestly I spent a long time trying to avoid it, because of the obvious question of where that puts Xiao Yan Zi. In the end, honestly I started writing it because I spent too much time rewatching Legend of Zhen Huan, and the idea of how Xiao Yan Zi would cope with Yong Qi being emperor wouldn’t leave me alone.

Initially, Let the Years was only supposed to consist of the first three chapters, as a sort of slice-of-life story. Then I started writing the scenario where Yong Qi’s mother is alive, and that just grew into a sort of epiphany that, “oh, that’s actually a pretty legit motivation for Yong Qi to actually want to strive towards being emperor”.

And then because I spend too much of my life wondering what things would be like if characters who are killed off before the start of a story for backstory purposes actually lived (seirously, I spent a lot of time once combing the internet for fics where Lily and James Potter live), I decided to resurrect Xiao Yan Zi’s parents as well. So that builds into the rest of Let the Years. Now, looking back, I was basically writing an “Everybody Lives No One Dies” AU, which I didn’t realise at the time.

Only some of this was in response to the remake, and even then, only in the vague sense that I wanted to write a story where, just because Yong Qi loves Xiao Yan Zi, doesn’t mean that everything else about his life is suddenly dispensible. It’s a tendency in the narrative that if I’m being honest, bothered me even in the original HZGGII. It’s such a waste of the character groundwork to totally dismiss the idea that Yong Qi could want to be emperor, could do the job, and that Xiao Yan Zi could actually support him in this, as I talked about here.

In a storyfeaturing the struggles of the inner palace like this, where you are supposedto have a big-ish cast of characters, it’s easier to write and easier for theaudience if you fall back on archetypes. So Xiang Gui Ren is fun to write,because she was not supposed to have any depth and is written deliberately as acaricature. I can write an essay about Zhi Hua and the place she finds herselfin Let the Years, but suffices it tosay, she’s ironically a lot nicer now yet she can’t be farther from Yong Qiemotionally, and that’s the tragedy of her story.

And there’sZhu Ying. I think it’s clear that I’m very fond of her as a character (type).I’ve written different versions of her over the years under different names,but the essence of the character has always been the same. She is my compromisebetween my hyper-realism and my aversion to love triangles. Basically, I thinkit is unrealistic for Yong Qi to be able to marry just Xiao Yan Zi, but lovetriangles exhaust me just thinking about. They are just so pointless, because it’salways so obvious what the end game will be, so it has never interested me toput characters through an endless struggle of miscommunications andmisunderstandings that would be resolved just if they talked to each other.

In Let theYears, she is a professional partner to Yong Qi in a way that Xiao Yan Zi can’tbe, or really, isn’t interested in being. The headcanon is while Xiao Yan Zihelps shapes the heart to Yong Qi’s approach to ruling, she really has nointerest in the nitty-gritty, everyday grind of it. It literally bores her. SoZhu Ying is the one who meets that need for Yong Qi, and she actually feelsrewarded by the responsibility and the freedom and control it gives.

Meanwhile,I always kill off Zhu Ying’s (assumed male) One True Love™ because itprovides a quick and uncomplicated explanation in-universe to her lack ofromantic interest in Yong Qi and her willingness to befriend Xiao Yan Zi. But god, one day I will write the story of ZhuYing falling in romantic first love with a man only to have him die, leadingto her having to marry a prince who is in love with someone else out of duty,then slowly realizing she’s falling in love with her maid who has served hersince childhood and who in turn has been languishing in love with Xiaojie foryears. This is the stuff thatfanfiction-turned-original-novels are made of.

(I refuse to believe that while half of the concubines from ancient courts were backstabbing each other for the emperor’s favour, the other half of them weren’t in love with each other…)

#daehyunsbabyelf #huan zhu ge ge #hzgg #还珠格格 #ask #my fanfic #love sculpture

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maxturnerwrites · 7 years

Text

Starting a Journey

As a child in had a secret obsession with the movie Yentl. I was both intrigued by, and uncomfortable with, the deception of Yentl pretending to be a man. The wedding night scene played on my mind for years. What made me uncomfortable was a childhood anxiety I had about lying and misleading. Especially accidentally misleading people. I think that could stem from the fact that I feel I have never let anyone see the real me. Sometimes I don’t even know who that is. I've become a chameleon - running the gamut between trying to fit in and trying to absorb/adopt styles I thought could be me. It's actually exhausting.

As a small child I never thought of myself as gendered. Does any young kid? I don't know. I just liked what I liked - idolised my big brother and did the things he did, played with his toys, wore his hand-me-downs. In a class of 80% boys at school, of course I was close to some. In part because I was often picked on by the other girls for not being like them.

It only slowly started to occur to me, overtime, that I was doing things “wrong”. I got told I shouldn't stand up to pee when my parents discovered I had been. I was confused when my voice didn't break and someone had to explain to me that that doesn't happen to girls. Apparently the reason also, that my body hair was fine and sparse. To this day I am jealous of body hair and stopped shaving my own armpits and legs years ago.

At 8 I started to grow boobs.

At 11 I demanded a short haircut. I was often mistaken for a boy, which I both liked and disliked. Disliked because I hated the feeling that people would think I was misleading them - like Yentl.

At 12 (first day back to school after summer break) I got my period. At 13 I started to suffer with a variety of health issues stemming from what turned out to be lifelong uterine conditions.

By the time I was 14, physically I looked 18 and was often mistaken for and treated as such. Added together this resulted in me putting any discomfort I had about being a girl down to these things and the growing objectification I encountered. I thought that all women felt this way - had a discomfort about their bodies and didn’t feel right in their own skins..

When I was a younger teen I became secretly obsessed with the idea of a sex change. Not that I necessarily wanted one, but I was intrigued. I saw a movie, I think it was corey haim, about a kid who dressed as a girl for some weird plot reason. And I was obsessed with it, like I had been with Yentl. It just played on my mind so much. But in the end I dismissed the thoughts and feelings it brought up as tied to my sexuality - which I was at that point exploring.

Up until around 13 - 14 I remained a “tomboy”, but as time marched on this became a problem. I had to grow up and fit in with the other girls. But I had no interest in makeup or boy bands so I was bullied. I spent my lunchtimes in the library until I found a group of friends who were equally misfits. The perpetually bullied. It wasn’t something any of us talked about but many were also what would now be LGBTQ kids.

When I was young I was sort of proud that I was stronger than the other girls and many of the boys, I was more boyish. I would get into fist fights with boys, climb trees. And it’s not that I think girls can’t do that sort of thing, I’m the first in line to say they can do what the fuck they want. Just that I think a lot of the time I was doing it because the boys were. So then I realised I was the odd one out with the girls. Somewhere in my teens I started to accommodate. I don't remember the conscious decision but I remember feeling I had fit in. That there were aspects to myself that were not as they should be. I disguised my masculine wrists with bracelets, I modulated my low voice to a higher pitch, I learned how to walk like a woman. I did all this still until recently have been slowly unlearning what is now second nature to me. I started to wear more “appropriate” clothes. And I thought all women did this - moulded themselves to be the perception of feminine.. I stopped cutting my hair short because it no longer made me look like a boy but like a “butch” lesbian - which wasn't how I felt or wanted people to see me. I wasn't sure how I wanted to be seen.

Around 15 I knew (after having had my first snog at around 10 or something with a girl) that I was definitely into girls, and so I just figured all these feelings were about my sexuality. It wasn't that I didn't like boys - I'd kissed a few - it was that the idea of sex terrified me. My only experience beyond kissing up until then was having my boobs groped by boys. Which was completely horrible, but to be endured. Thinking I was gay was helpful in avoiding this.

I went to sixth form college and made a friendship group of lgbtq students. Before I left for university I came out to my parents as gay. Which was harrowing despite them being supportive. As soon as I did it I realised I wasn't gay. I did like guys, it was just that anything sexual with them seemed slightly off. Years went by and I began identifying as bi and was with men and women. Nothing felt quite right. Vaginal sex was not an issue but something was off and after I would feel disgusted about my boobs. I just assumed I was letting societies disgust to women's bodies affect me. I suffered generally (especially at times when I have been heavier and thus had bigger boobs), with a sickening discomfort about my boobs. I've had this feeling for as long as I can remember of feeling uncomfortable in my skin. I just thought all women felt this way because of objectification and general societal bullshit.

In my 20s I met a guy and fell in love. Took it slow. Everything felt good but I'd still get that horrible feeling about my breasts. He understood that sometimes I didn’t want them to be touched and was cool with that. Sex became fun and good. Things I'd been disgusted by before I was now willing to explore. Including blow jobs and anal, which my only prior experience had been straight porn. Which felt aggressive and hateful - where sex happens to women rather than with them. It made me realise there was more to sex but also just reinforced my thoughts that this was just something all women had to deal with.

I felt better when I lost weight because my boobs were smaller, my body less curvy. But I still didn't feel right. I have always had days where I feel like I want to tear off my own skin. I feel sick and totally uncomfortable in my skin but especially at having breasts and I want to just strap them down somehow. I used to try to explain this and people don't understand. Because I thought everyone must feel like this sometimes. Sometimes it last for hours sometimes weeks though some level of discomfort was always there.

I spent years unhappy with my body but trying to convince others of empowerment. I took up burlesque. In part to try and be more comfortable with myself and in part because I had wanted since my teen years to be a drag queen and this seemed the closest possibility. I loved the aesthetic and the interpretation of femininity and it spoke to my creative side.

This year I had a baby.

When I was heavily pregnant I felt comfortable with my body for the first time. Like it was doing what it should. Good job body, grow that baby! And that lasted until the birth. I was really sick during the pregnancy and was 2 stone lighter after giving birth, which was good for me mentally. But the weight started to creep back on and I felt worse than I ever had before about my body.

And then there was the breastfeeding. Breastfeeding was something I can only describe as traumatising. When I was alone and I would cry. In front of other people I would hold it together whilst wanting to tear my skin off - all the while thinking what a terrible mother I was for feeling that way. I still can't think about it without getting emotional. I'm amazed I lasted for 3 months.

Around the time I started using tumblr and making online friends. Some happened to be genderfluid. A term I'd never heard before. I know people who are androgynous, I have friends who are drag queens, and have personally identified as queer for sometime.. But I'd never really thought about this and it really hit home to me. Maybe that was what this was all about?

I have often described myself as a gay man trapped in a woman's body. Literally said this all through my uni years and people thought I was joking, so I guess I just never took it seriously myself. In the last few months I've had to explore what this all means. Work out that being, for example, trans, is not black and white. If I feel masculine I don't have to be a body building footy fan. I can be - as I feel - after months of trying to work it out in my head: an effeminate bi boy.

As a child I'd wanted to seem masculine to try to be one of the boys. Then as I got older I forced myself into feminine things and found I like some of them even if they didn’t sit quite right. Now I realise that had I been born male I'd have likely still enjoyed those things - dancing, stage makeup, costume making.

I've spent my whole life not feeling right but thinking everyone felt that way. That everyone woman was made to feel this way and just sucked it up and adjusted themselves to fit society. And then I had such a traumatising experience with pregnancy/parenthood that I had to question it. It's caused a lot of down days and upset. I now feel like I'm seeing the real me and whilst that feels good in some ways, it's upsetting that it doesn't match the outside.

When I think about myself now in terms of being a boy it all clicks together in my head. Which has made my dysphoria even worse because now when I look in a mirror I see something that I had been so busy adjusting myself to see - that it’s not me.

I have a binder now, and although it isn't 100% visually effective as I'm large chested, it feels much better. It helps so much with the dysmorphia and discomfort. I’m about to return from maternity leave with a sparse wardrobe as my old clothes are too big and not really who I want to be. After months of thinking this all over, i talked to my GP. I was referred to a counselling service and spoke to/cried at a lovely woman for an hour and now I have a referral to a gender identity clinic.

I still have questions. I still have doubts - how does someone get to their late 30s and never know this before? Maybe I don't know what I am. I just know I'm not completely me right now.

#trans #transgender #trans boy #genderfluid #nonbinary

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