#god there's so much wrong with the 'being a woman means perpetually being in fear' thing. i could write a dissertation on this

[captainjonnitkessler]

Way to reblog that shit totally misrepresenting the “man vs bear” argument.

If you think I'm wrong and you want me to reconsider my stance, you need to present some sort of argument instead of being passive aggressive. Explain why you think it was misrepresented and offer an alternative viewpoint.

If you don't care if I change my mind and just want me to feel bad for having an opinion you don't like, that can't be accomplished by internet randos yelling at me. Look at my blog. You think this is the blog of a person who cares if they get yelled at by internet strangers? But you might want to reconsider how you spend your time if you think lashing out at strangers for fairly minor disagreements is a good use of it.

Anyway I do think I could do better at being more nuanced. Women obviously face harassment and assault from men, including in the woods. I meet men in the woods every time I go hiking and I'm not going to pretend I've never had the fleeting thought of what I'd do if one attacked me. But that's the thing - I meet men in the woods every time I go hiking. It's really weird to have it presented as some sort of hypothetical thought experiment instead of the mundane reality of a very popular hobby.

The biggest problem I'm having is the number of people using it as an excuse to play the "I am in perpetual danger from every man I meet and I have to perform a series of performative safety rituals to ward off serial killers and That's What Being A Woman Is About" game. I've had, over the past couple years, a few people tell me that if I'm not perpetually afraid of every man I see then I must not actually be a woman, or I must be lying, or I'm some naive young waif who doesn't understand the Evils Of The World yet. It's really fucking annoying! Womanhood is not defined by fear and paranoia!

The other problem that I can't believe I'm having is the number of people arguing that bears are basically just big cuddly uwu babies who are more scared of you than you are of them!!! and you just have to shoo them off the path like waving a bird away from a berry patch!!!

Bears are dangerous as hell - even black bears - and you should NEVER assume they're safe or friendly. And sure, maybe 99% of black bears are fairly non-confrontational and don't want to fight you - but the same is true of men! But unlike men you can't outrun, outfight, or outclimb a bear. You're pretty much just fucked if one does decide you look tasty. So again - it just feels very performative to me to make a big deal about how dangerous men are while downplaying the danger of a literal apex predator.

#gritting my teeth about a certain popular tumblr user rn #anyway this isn't even getting into how the 'all men are dangerous' thing plays into racism and xenophobia #or how the 'womanhood is defined by fear and paranoia' thing plays into terf arguments #god there's so much wrong with the 'being a woman means perpetually being in fear' thing. i could write a dissertation on this

[drhu0806]

7 – “Do you recognize this?”

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 (fanfiction) Characters: Astarion, Tav/custom player character Rating: T Warnings: spoilers for Act 2, implications of violence

“Astarion, is something wrong?”

He looks up from his book to see Kainé peering at him with a concerned expression. Raising an eyebrow, he replies, “What makes you think something’s wrong?”

“Oh, you just look like you had a bad day, that’s all.”

He closes his book, choosing to humor her. “You don’t say? Having a bad day, while we’re in the middle of an actual cursed landscape where everything, even the earth itself, is out to kill us? No, I can’t imagine.”

She rolls her eyes. “Alright, a worse day than usual, I suppose.”

He huffs but doesn’t shoo her away. Carelessly tossing the book back among his belongings, he sits down on the cold ground and grimaces at no one in particular. Though he knows it hasn’t been more than a few days, he’s starting to lose track of time, the heavy fog of these cursed lands choking out the warmth of the sun. Here, shrubs contort like tortured souls in perpetual agony, and the trees bend and dip as if burdened with a great, sorrowful weight. Even the water doesn’t look as it should, so tainted and murky it appears to roll along the shores with the consistency of sludge. Everywhere he looks, he only sees grey and dark and misery, an atmosphere he finds all too familiar.

He hates it.

Kainé takes a seat next to him, saying nothing. Astarion would never admit it out loud, but it’s comforting when she’s near. It’s a weakness, a vulnerability, and he can’t explain why, but for some reason he doesn’t mind speaking more from the heart when he’s with her.

“I miss the sun,” he confesses, quietly. “I’m sick of all this black and grey and...sickly blue, whatever the hell that is. Gods, I even miss flowers, and I hate flowers.”

“Wow, I’m right here, Astarion.”

The druid glowers at him, and he catches himself, dismissively waving a hand in an attempt to clear the air.

“Well, I mean, of course they have their...merits. Colorful, for one.” He lets out a sigh. “I do miss the colors.”

She pouts for a moment longer before reaching out a hand. He recognizes a Druidcraft cantrip and watches as a small, pale flower blooms in her palm. It’s quite beautiful, a graceful white blossom that gives off a soft, soothing glow.

“Here. It’s not much, but maybe it’ll help.”

Something inside him clicks as he realizes that this too is familiar.

“...A white moonflower.”

“Oh?” She looks at him in surprise. “Do you recognize this? It’s not a common one to know.”

He absentmindedly takes her gift, twirling it between his fingers as he remembers a night from several years ago...

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

Night has fallen over the city of Baldur’s Gate, and with it begins his hunting hour. Astarion assumes his place among the shadows, prowling the dark streets, watching, waiting.

There’s venom running through his veins that night. Cazador had been feeling particularly keen on him in recent days, and his fear, hatred, and pain have created an exceptionally nasty monster within him. He wants to tear his hands into something, to rip apart flesh and sinew, to destroy and rage and scream.

But he’s been ordered to do no such thing, and thus he must find other ways to vent his frustrations.

He stalks past many potential candidates: a beggar huddled against a wall, a lone drunkard stumbling along a vacated street. But Astarion doesn’t want the dregs of the city tonight: he wants something more, he wants to hurt.

And he thinks he’s found it. He smells it in the air, fresh wine being spilt, the fragrant aromas of a banquet wafting towards him from a nearby temple. A wedding reception it seems, judging from the happy raucous crowds and the flowers adorning the entrance. It’s there that he sees her.

A tiefling woman stands by the threshold, tending to the blooms that decorate it. She’s dressed simply but crisp, formal enough to match the venue. Her skin is a beautiful, rosy shade of red, and Astarion wants nothing more than to sink his teeth into the soft, supple skin of her neck. He watches her chat with other guests as they come and go. Most importantly, she looks kind.

It isn’t ideal that others know her, but he’s beyond caring in that moment. He wants to lead her into the darkness and snuff her out. He wants to crush her, to wipe that smile off the face of the earth, to extinguish any warmth she might give. In that instant, he loathes her as much as he loathes his master, a far flung light that he could never reach. And what he can’t have, he’ll ruin.

As casually as he can, he saunters toward the temple, catching her in a moment when no one else is around to interrupt. She’s sorting through some baskets when he approaches, looking up when he looms near.

“Hello there. Are you here for the reception?” She gestures toward the door. “Feel free to eat and drink to your heart’s content, no need for an invitation. The newlyweds don’t want to hold back any merriment on such a lovely night.”

Astarion holds back just enough so that the light doesn’t reach his eyes. “That’s quite generous of them. But, my dear, I have to ask, why are you out here instead of making merry with the rest of them?”

“Oh, there’s such a thing as too much partying for me. Besides, I still have a job to do. I have to make sure these lovelies are well taken care of. And I might as well keep an eye out for poor sods that have a little bit too much to drink.” She laughs. “I try to make sure they can at least stand on their own two legs to get home.”

He suppresses the urge to gag. “Well, you’re doing excellent work, if I do say so myself. They’re beautiful. Though…” he leans forward just a little, peering at her, “I will say, you are a flower among flowers yourself. They don’t know what they’re missing in there, with you out here.”

The woman chuckles. “That’s very kind of you to say, though I will have to disagree. I mean, I can’t show up the real stars of the show, can I?”

Reaching below, she pulls out another basket, this time filled with strange, luminescent flowers he’s never seen before. She picks a few, using them to replace some withering blooms.

“White moonflowers,” she says, before he can even ask. She straightens with a sense of pride. “Extremely difficult to cultivate. It took me months to fill the order His Lord and Ladyship Hestrynne placed, but I can hardly argue if they want their special day to be beautiful. Her Ladyship was practically guarding them like a miser over their gold.”

She picks up a single flower, contemplating it before offering it out to him. “Here. Take one.”

That catches him off guard. “I… What? Why?”

Something about the way she looks at him makes him uncomfortable. Fiery crimson eyes gaze at him straight on, and Astarion wonders if he slipped and stepped too far into the light. It’s almost as if she can see right through him.

“You just look like you had a bad day, that’s all.”

He almost physically recoils at her observation, years of practice the only thing that prevents him from flinching. Not knowing what else to do, he gingerly reaches out and plucks the flower from her. In his fingers, he’s surprised at what a delicate thing it is. And how, up close, it feels almost warm.

“I don’t understand. How is a flower supposed to fix a ‘bad day’? In the end they don’t do anything but wither and die. So what’s the point?”

She smiles. It’s a surprisingly bittersweet sight, filled with both warmth and melancholy. “You’re right. Most of them don’t last very long. But… I like to think that, however fleeting, beauty should be cherished. Life’s too hard otherwise to not appreciate the good things that can come.

“I hope, sir, in spite of anything you might be going through, that you’ll find beautiful things to appreciate too.”

He doesn’t what he’s feeling in that moment. The rage has died away in the face of this woman’s words, replaced by something he can’t quite describe. He looks upon her, this stranger who knows nothing about him, who owes him nothing, yet still spared him this small kindness, and knows that he cannot bear to bring harm to her, not tonight.

“...Thank you.”

She smiles again, a little happier this time, and Astarion’s chest aches. “You’re welcome. I hope it helps. But anyway, I bet what would actually help is some champagne! Go on, don’t be shy!”

“I’m sorry, I… can’t. I have to go.”

And before she can say another word, he’s gone.

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

“Astarion? Hey, Astarion!”

He’s shaken from his reverie as Kainé’s face swims back into view, waving her hand in front of his face to catch his attention.

“Hey there. You alright?”

The moonflower is still in his hands, and he closes his eyes as he gently presses it to his lips.

“I hope, sir, in spite of anything you might be going through, that you’ll find beautiful things to appreciate too.”

An earnest, unselfish wish on his behalf flung far into the future. When Astarion opens his eyes, he wonders how fate can be so funny sometimes, of the impossible twists and turns that have brought him to this moment.

“Yes, I’m fine.” And in that little fleeting speck of time, he lets himself enjoy the beauty of it all.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #fictober23 #astarion x tav #astarionmance #my writing #owlscratch #this is where the nier inspiration/influence comes in SO heavy lol

[beevean]

Why Rosaly matters

It's no secret that Rosaly was done very dirty in Curse of Darkness.

She has about the same importance of Elizabetha Cronqvist: "dead wife who spurns her husband's revenge quest and gets vaguely namedropped in-game". But while Elizabetha at least gets her own bio and artwork in LoI's complete guide (not that it says much, just that she fell ill during Mathias' campaign and that she had already died by the time he returned), Rosaly doesn't even get this dignity: her name is only offhandedly mentioned in Hector's and Julia's bio - and she's not even called "wife"! She's just Hector's generic "lover" ("恋人")!

And since she doesn't get her own artwork, we only know what she looks like because Julia just so happens to look identical to her (instead of sharing any similarities with her brother like you'd expect). The implied romance between Hector and Julia by the end of CoD ends up feeling disrespectful for all parties involved: Rosaly, because she gets replaced in a matter of a few days; Julia, because the implication is that Hector only got interested in her because she happened to look like another woman; and Hector, because he sure moved on quickly from the woman he swore revenge for!

This entire rant is to say that I am even more impressed by the amount of work Kou Sasakura and Ayami Kojima put in their prequels to both flesh out Rosaly as a character and convince me that the relationship between her and Hector was too pure to be cut so quickly, and I'm glad that, thanks to the prequels, she gets elevated far above the level of faceless disposable wife.

Rosaly doesn't have the most tridimensional personality in the series, but she's not meant to have one. She's humanity at its best. She's a simple woman, living a perfectly normal life, going by the teachings of Christianity (she's a postulant nun in the MF manga, and she studied at a monastery in the PtR manga) and being kind and altruistic, eager to help for the sake of helping and never asking anything in return.

Her representing the best of humanity matters for Hector. He comes from a life of shunning and hatred, and he was made to feel like he didn't belong among his own kind because of his dark powers. For an untold period of time, he worked under the incarnation of evil to slaughter humankind. And while he did rebel, his motivations at the time seemed to be mainly self-centered:

Hector at this point in time has no affection for humanity yet: he's simply pragmatic enough to disagree with Dracula's plans, and proud enough to break free of his command. He recognizes the inherent wrongness of a human participating in the genocide of his own kind (even in the PtR manga he says "please, please, I'm human too"), but not much beyond that.

So it's Rosaly who finally shows him the inherent value of humanity.

Rosaly's only flaw, if we want to call it that, is that she's too idealistic. She gets told that she's too nice, that she works too much for others, and that most importantly she's being very reckless in keeping with her a mysterious stranger she knows nothing about. Even so, Rosaly still insists on taking care of Hector, and she asks him to please stay beyond the time he needed to heal. Rosaly also refuses to ask questions, something that bugs Hector and his perpetual sense of guilt:

She doesn't care. Yes, realistically, it's naive at best and irresponsible at worst, but Rosaly refuses to pry into Hector's past because whatever sin he may have committed, that's between him and God, and anyone can repent if they want to. And Rosaly has had plenty of proof that, at the very least, Hector does want to be a good person. For him, this also means a chance to start over, without baggage: he's no longer Hector the cursed child, or Hector the Devil Forgemaster, but simply Hector, a normal human being living a normal human life.

Rosaly's lack of fear is so that she's not even deterred by Hector being an edgy boy in the PtR manga :P

(love that Hector calls himself a snake after betraying Dracula, but Rosaly "reclaims" that analogy by saying that she was "bitten right away" and that's why she's keeping him home <3 she's so cute)

And listen. I am weak. I see a character who has never known kindness in their life, suddenly being showered with it, and breaking down because they're overwhelmed, and I melt 💖

But of course, the two don't simply fall in love because she's Nice to him and he's Very Pretty lol. Both prequels show cute bonding scenes between them: Hector struggling to hang laundry, something he could be ashamed of but Rosaly never judges him for; Hector helping Rosaly carry apples and talking about life under the new lord; Hector chopping wood and keeping animals at bay, with Rosaly remarking that he'd be a good sheperd; Rosaly finding lilies of the valley with Hector and explaining how they can be either poison or medicine (which I interpret as them being symbolic for Hector, who has done both evil and good)... There is some real, warm chemistry between them, they help each other, they talk, they live a comfortable life. PtR confirmed that they got married, and it doesn't feel rushed :)

An interesting detail in the MF version is that Rosaly is an orphan, and while she doesn't explain her childhood in much detail, it's implied that she suffered because of it:

(she also lost her family in the PtR manga, but we don't know how old she was. It's heavily implied that Hector's Devils had something to do with it, however, which makes for some harsh dramatic irony...)

While nowhere near the same level of Hector and Isaac, Rosaly has known hardship and loneliness in life as well, but she chose to keep living a life of kindness and optimism: this might explain why she's shown taking care of other children, and it seems to be the reason she's so insistent that Hector, who is obviously just as alone and troubled as she used to be, should stay with her.

Rosaly doesn't need Hector because she needs a man in her house. She's shown to be doing just fine. She simply enjoys his company.

Speaking of that second page, there is also that whole scene of Hector's breakdown after a particularly nasty demon-induced nightmare. He's caught in the throes of his self-loathing, and he still can't accept that he has found his place in the world outside of Dracula's realm.

Rosaly probably didn't understand much of Hector's rant, and why he calls himself a demon, but she gets that he feels alone and unwanted and she's very quick to remedy that:

I always found sweet how she says "anybody can hear demons, perhaps your hearing is too good". She doesn't know that Hector literally has the power to hear and see demons, the same demons who killed his family and lead him to Castlevania where his life was turned upside down. She takes it more metaphorically: you're not alone in your bad thoughts, we all have them, but please don't succumb to them, you have no reason to, you're a good person. "Don't curse yourself," she says to the one who was made to be cursed since he was born. And then, of course, the obvious declaration of love to someone who couldn't believe he deserved to be loved.

And finally, I am in so much love with this page in particular:

Hector recognizes the value of humanity. In the face of adversities, of evil, of the monsters lurking in the dark and cruel humans, goodness can still prevail. After being subjected to the worst humanity has to offer, he has finally seen the proof of that.

And Rosaly, in all of her innocence, remarks what may be obvious to her, but not to him: "You're human too". Not only he's not a demon, a cursed creature to be detested as he put it... he's just as strong as the people he's come to admire :)

All of this is very, very important, when Isaac comes back and ruins everything:

We now know Rosaly. We have seen how much of a good person she is. We have seen with our eyes the pure happiness she and Hector brought to each other. This turns a generic anti-hero motivation into a true trauma (the way Isaac forces Hector to watch genuinely upsets me) and a real crossing of the Moral Event Horizon for our villain, insane or not. And it hurts so much.

But also, remember how I mentioned that it's important that Rosaly taught him the inherent value of humanity? Hector is a foil to Dracula. Both of them lost their beloved ones in the same way, by a mob accusing them of being witches. But while Dracula blamed the entirety of humankind for the actions of a small group, Hector knew exactly who to target for the death of his wife, and by the end, he even realized that the murderous impulse that made him obsessed with the thought of killing Isaac wasn't really his. Hector really is a good person at heart. And this is what makes him say to Dracula, when the two finally face each other, "It is not your place to judge the worth of humans." He, unlike his former master, has seen it firsthand.

When I played CoD for the first time, I sighed and rolled my eyes when Hector mentioned the death of Rosaly right in the first cutscene: why should I care about another Dead Wife, I said? Now, Rosaly has become one of my favorite female characters in the series, and one of the reasons I can't move on from this game's backstory. She's "just" a very kind woman, not dissimilar from other female character such as Lisa, Lydie or Mina, but she's adorable, idealistic, and might give us comfort that everyone is inherently deserving of love :)

#castlevania #akuamjou dracula #curse of darkness #rosaly castlevania #curse of darkness manga #hector castlevania #hectaly #will i ever stop spamming that epic hector speech? :) #i can't believe i wrote so much for her i swear words just pour out of me when it comes to this game #this post was made in honor of the two people who voted for her in my best girl poll lmao

[sup-hoes-its-me]

Emotion (Kakashi x Reader)

A/N: Kakashi again...can't get enough of this mans tbh. U r an empath due to your kekkei genkai and Kakashi has always been difficult to read. Friend to lovers. Sharing one bed folks, we got some steamyyy shit here. Angst warning as well.

Word count: 6000

He was always alone. Ever since his childhood, he walked the world completely alone with only a few people there to support him. No mother, no father, no mentor, no teammates. He was at the mercy of fate his entire life, things being stolen from him time and time again. 

He just prayed that he could keep her. Y/N L/N, the only woman to have wormed her way into his heart and made a home there.

When they first met, Kakashi and Y/N, she cursed him for being such a weirdo. Apparently his mind was empty and his heart was seemingly full of sand. He was conditioned that way, and that is how he lived for the longest time. It wasn't a surprise for him to hear that.

But she thought it was stranger than anything she'd ever seen, and so she followed him. She would figure him out, bring him back down to Earth from his supposed high horse. That woman was determined, and frankly he didn't mind her being around. She was quiet enough that it didn't matter. Not to mention on the missions they had together, she was quite the partner.

Over time, she'd learned to read him like a book. It was part of her clan's kekkei genkai. The ultimate empath, I suppose. The ability to read a persons every single emotion and then turn that, if they so choose, into power. 

She was never the greatest fighter, but her negotiation skills were the best they could possibly be. She would dive into the emotions of another and manipulate them backwards and forwards to get what she wanted. 

It was overwhelming, walking into a room of people and immediately being bombarded with so many feelings coming at her all at once. Occasionally, if the situation was bad enough she'd have to take a seat and clear her mind, organizing each person in her mind like a filing cabinet of empathy.

But damn, did she try to weasel out every bit of feeling she could. It was just something that came so naturally, she couldn’t help but instigate whatever was brewing up inside him.

"Kakashi, if you're happy, you know you're allowed to express it. You don't have to hide it away," she told him, staring at the masked man sitting across from her at the table. He was watching as she sharpened her kunai, and she could feel the content running off his body in small bursts. He was feeling better. Better than he had in a little while. Of course she picked up on it.

He sighed, rolling his eyes. She was always reading him, he knew that. He just preferred when she refrained from mentioning it. It did, most times, feel like a bit of an invasion of privacy, how she could deep dive into the corners of his mind. There were things no one else could ever possibly know that she did. It was strange, but he was used to it.

"What? Want me to smile or something?"

"No, but you should let yourself go. Just drop the facade."

"Stop doing that. Getting into my head."

Quietly, she set down her blade and picked up the next one, taking a cloth and softly wiping away any dirt. Her eyes slide up to his for a moment, her all knowing gaze filling his vision. "It's basically impossible. Especially if you're the only one around. There's nothing else to focus on except you." He knew that. It wasn't like she had an on or off switch. That was the downside of this dojutsu. Unlike sharingan and byakugan users, hers was always pulling the strings of her brain.

"You've got that mission next week. With Naruto and a few of the other kids, right?"

"Yes."

"It's A rank, isn't it?"

She hummed in agreement. He had a habit of knowing about all her missions, more importantly being the dangerous ones. He wasn't necessarily scared for her, probably not. He was more cautious than anything. There was this nagging feeling in his head that he shouldn't let her go on these missions alone. That it was too dangerous for her to handle. 

But he was wrong. She was stronger than he thought, and could hold her own in battle. He was just a worrier. He'd just lost too many, seen too many bodies in front of his eyes to trust. God, he wanted to trust her, but he couldn't. She was too vulnerable. His friend, one of the only ones who hadn't died yet. For all he knew, her days numbered, that's how paranoid he was about everything.

"You'll be careful?"

"That's a silly question." He gave her a look that said he was more serious than anything, and she sighed. "Of course I'll be careful. I have people that would miss me if I wasn't." He was one of them. She could sense his fear whenever she said goodbye and his relief when she returned. He really tried to remain objective, but his heart said otherwise. 

And she would be a liar to say that she did not experience the same relief seeing him come home from missions, even if he was beaten and bruised to the bone, she was just happy he made it back. So many never got to come home. It was a sick world, they lived in, but she could relish in the little comforts.

"Don't worry about me. I'll always turn out fine. It's you and your dumb students we have to worry about."

"I hear you. Those kids are enough to drive a person mad." He rested his chin in his palm, the mere thought of those kids causing his blood pressure to rise.

"Thankfully my students never gave me any trouble. Sweet little things."

"Well, aren't you just lucky, Y/N?"

"What can I say? Kurenai and I got the luck of the draw with our students. You men had it rough, I have to admit," she laughed. It was funny that he was so unfortunate to have gotten assigned the Uchiha and the Uzumaki, two completely opposite but persistent forces. "Despite your perverted tendencies and your perpetual lateness, you still did a great job teaching them."

"Thanks. But do you really have to call me a pervert? I'm really not."

"Yeah? That explains why you read porn in public. Admit you're a pervert, you dumb old man."

"We're the same age-" he began to argue, but she just cut him off with her harsh words.

"Creep," she muttered, running the sharpening stone along her blade. He narrowed his eyes. She was being awfully annoying, and he knew she could sense his irritation building up. Yet she continued just to be a pain in the ass.

 He warned, "Hey. Watch it, L/N."

"Okay, okay, I'll stop...Pervert." She ducked her head when his hand reached out to wring her around the neck for being so frustrating, and she continued to laugh. It was nice, having a friend she could joke with and be around without having to worry about what she said. He might pretend to be mad, but she could feel the happiness still rolling off his body thickly under all that fake neutrality. 

He was happier than he'd been in a long while, and she found herself swelling with pride knowing that she might have helped make that happen. Her lips curled into the gentlest of smiles as she peered back up at him, and he found himself smiling back even if it was just through the mask. 

He swore in that moment, he'd make sure Y/N didn't end up like all the others. She would live. He'd break this wretched curse just for her. He was sure of it.

______

"How could you be so reckless?! Do you want to die?" Kakashi shouted at his friend who could only stand there angrily, arms crossed over her chest and one foot in the other direction. She didn't need to be lectured by someone who took just as many risks every single mission as she did.

"Kakashi, I really don't want to hear it. You have no idea how it went."

"Yeah but Naruto does, and we were just talking."

She placed her free hand over her chest and exclaimed even angrier than before, "You're going to trust a kid over me? Naruto even?" It was just low to trust Naruto when she was right there to explain herself. Just let her speak for once, she wanted to say but he of course, had something else to say.

He waved his arm toward the ramen shop, eyes glaring. "Don’t be rude. He's right there. What is wrong with you?"

Indeed, Naruto was sitting inside Ichiraku with Jiraiya at his side, munching on pork ramen while the pair fought outside. Kakashi was eating with them, taking a break from his work to just relax with his master and student when out of the corner of his eye he noticed Y/N stumbling down the street on her crutch. 

He heard when she got back home that she was in the infirmary for a couple days. He had no idea for what reason until Naruto explained to him what happened. She was being needlessly reckless on the battlefield, relying too much on her kekkei genkai and not enough on her brain. She threw herself right in the way of an enemy, for what reason, he didn't know. All he knew was that she could have died and she didn't seem to care one bit.

Rightfully so, he was mad. Normally he preferred not to make a scene in the open like this, but there wasn't anyone else around and he was red-hot.

She huffed. "He knows I don't mean anything bad by that. How could he not? I'm also his sensei, you know."

"Doesn't matter," Kakashi brushed off her words. "What you did was dangerous and you don't seem to care. Next time what are you gonna do? Run right into the arms of the enemy?"

"No, I would never. Kakashi, you're just being a jerk right now. I'm literally injured from the hip down and you have to yell at me? Jeez, just be grateful I'm alive, okay? Things happen," she tried to reason with him, but he didn't acknowledge it. He wasn't exactly feeling all that rational.

"Things don't just happen like that."

She groaned, "Well apparently they do, because it happened to me."

His eye narrowed and she noticed the way he clenched and unclenched his fists a couple times by his sides. Clearly he was just trying to channel his anger, but he really had no reason to be so upset. She hadn't done anything to him. He really needed to relax. "This is so like you L/N's. Always so emotional. Always thinking you're stronger than you actually are."

"Excuse you-"

"Get a grip, you aren't going to live forever."

"First off, don't interrupt me. Second, don't talk about my clan ever again, you hear me, Hatake? We don't live to please your dumbass," she cursed, how dare he say shit about her clan. That asshole. He was just being so...so unlike himself. She had no idea what had gotten into him, but she hated it and just wanted to continue on her way before he said something else stupid. 

Normally, she didn't expect to be bombarded in the street nearly the second she leaves the hospital, but Kakashi never fails to surprise her.

"I've got to go. Don't bother following me." With that, she took off past him, rushing as fast as she could on her crutch, which was pathetically slow. Silently, she cringed at how ridiculous she must look waddling around like this in a fit of rage. Nevermind that. She had better things to do.

He huffed out the breath he had been holding to walk back into the ramen shop, taking his seat beside Naruto and slouching down into the stool. Immediately, Master Jiraiya met his eyes, wisdom about to drip from his tongue once again. "You need to go apologize."

"Why? She clearly doesn't want that right now."

"Well, to start, you insulted her clan which is a big no-no. Imagine saying that to an Uchiha. You're lucky she let you off so easily."

"Yeah, Kakashi. You kinda just attacked her out there in the street," Naruto added.

Jiraiya continued, "Mainly though, the longer you let her stay angry, the worse it'll be for you in the end. Trust me."

"She said don't follow her."

"And you're actually going to listen?" The older man laughed. "You and her fighting reminded me a lot of young Tsunade and I. And let me tell you, you don't just let a woman like that go. I sure did. It’s not a fun time."

"Yeah, Kakashi sensei, go find Y/N."

The jounin stood from his stool and slapped a ramen voucher onto the counter top to pay for his meal. This really didn't seem like a good idea, he had to admit. But he would trust the process. This was the author of his favorite romance series, after all. How could he get something like this wrong? To put blind faith into Jiraiya on realistic romantic matters was probably the not the wisest thing to do, but it was the only thing he had to go on. "I'll go, but this doesn't sound like good advice."

"If you let this go, she's might run into the arms of another man for comfort. Do you want that?"

Tch, there was no way she was gonna do that. She barely had any friends. If anything she would go see Kurenai. Still, he pulled back the cloth at the entrance and muttered, "I gotta catch up to her."

"'Atta boy," Jiraiya cheered, waving off the copy nin. "Another bowl, Naruto?"

"Yes, please!"

Kakashi walked down the streets, looking for the woman he was sent on a mission to find and apologize to. He searched through the shops and the stands for her, walked by her apartment no sign of her. It wasn't until he stumbled by the bookstore that he found her eyeing down the display out front, leaning comfortably on her crutch.

"Y/N," he called to her, and he watched as she tensed up without a second. He caught up to her, walking to stand beside her in front of the store windows. "I need to talk to you."

"What do you want?" She questioned, peering over at him with a quirked brow. He seemed calmed down by now. Thankfully. "Also, didn't I tell you not to follow me?"

"You did, but Jiraiya told me to apologize."

"So this isn't even on your own accord, you're doing it because Jiraiya told you so." He groaned. Of course she would twist his words and find some way to make things bad on his end. She was angry with him, what did he expect to happen? Her to accept him with open arms?

"Listen, I'm sorry for yelling at you. I was just overwhelmed."

"With what? I wasn't paying attention to anything but the anger." She picked at her finger nails in an attempt to remain casual, but really she was just itching to hear what he had to say. She was willing to give him a second chance, only because he was normally so sweet. This was just out of character for him.

He replied, "I was scared for you. Naruto told me about how you nearly died, and I was upset that you did that. I was upset because I could only think about what if you had been overpowered and the enemy killed you." His explanation was weak, but he hoped she would accept it as truth. He really wasn't lying. When he heard she was in the hospital indefinitely, he nearly had a heart attack himself. He worried for her every time she left on a mission without him. It just meant that if she failed, he wasn't there to protect her himself. He couldn't handle that thought.

"So you were worried?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's sweet of you, isn't it?"

"I'd miss you, you know. If you died."

She froze. That wasn't what she expected him to say. When she looked over at him, he was just staring into the storefront window, but she could feel the sadness in waves running off his body. She wobbled around on her crutch to face him, a hand getting coming up to rest on his shoulder. "It's okay."

"I don't want you going on missions without me because every time it scares the shit out of me thinking they'll bring you back dead. Every time. I don't know why."

"It's normal to worry for your teammates."

"It's not the same, and you know it."

"Ah." And she felt it. Even if it was just a little hint of something, she felt his infatuation roll off his body and she took it in like a drink of cold water. So refreshing. Was he attracted to her? She had no idea before this that he cared so much but from the sound of it, he had some strong feelings attached. She wanted to reach out and hug him, tell him it was going to be okay, but that felt too personal. Instead, she leant back and muttered, "You know, Kakashi, I worry about you too."

"It's good we both have someone who cares, right?"

"Right."

"Well, I should be on my way, but, uh, if you need some help getting up to your apartment-"

"I should be fine."

"Okay, good."

"Yeah, so uh, see you," she turned on her heel and started heading in the other direction toward her home when suddenly, his hand reached out to stop her. 

"Wait, Y/N. I think..."

"What is it?"

"It's just that I need you. Please be careful from now on."

She stopped, turning around just enough to get a good look at his face. He only watched her, a glimmer of something she didn't recognize in his eye. 

"As long as you take care of yourself too, Mister."

"Y/N, I…"

All she could feel was a rough fabric rubbing against her face for a second before the full picture came into view. 

Mask to lips. I repeat, mask to lips.

She stared at him, as he kissed her right there in front of their favorite bookstore. When he pulled away after a second, he seemed just as shocked as she was. She pressed a hand to her forehead and struggled to find the right words to say. 

Kakashi Hatake just kissed her. 

And she definitely liked it. More than any other kiss she’d ever had before. She loved it. Mask or not, that was one of the best surprises of her entire life, and she honestly had no idea how to react. She settled for the easiest possible thing, running in the opposite direction, give herself time to think over what that meant for the two of them if anything at all. Kakashi wasn’t the type to have a girlfriend, he was always single. There just wasn’t room in his life for her.

There was plenty room in her life to fit him in comfortably. And there was more than enough room in her bed as well. 

Flustered, with heat coming to sit in her cheeks and run up her neck, she turned and motioned in the direction of her home. She just had too many thoughts to sit here and pretend she wasn’t dying inside from the tension.

"I've got to run home now," she managed to say. "Well, not run, with these crutches and all, but you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I should be going too. I'll see you around,” he mumbled, running his hand through his hair and down the back of his neck. 

"See you."

And into separate directions they went, just as confused as ever.

______

"Kakashi, I swear to God, if you don't stay on your side of the bed, I'm gonna-

"You'll what? Hit me? Go ahead. You're the one that keeps snoring."

"Shut up!" she exclaimed, rolling over in the bed and planting her fist directly in the middle of his chest. He didn't even flinch, she hadn't meant to hurt him anyway. She was just so annoyed. You would think that the stoic Hatake would be easy to sleep beside but no, he was a pain in the ass. He was rude. He was way too hot under the sheets. He still smelled like dog even after taking a bath. Just overall a bad experience, definitely 0 out of 10.

"What? It's the truth."

She groaned, throwing one of her arms over her eyes, burying her nose in the crook of her elbow. "Whatever. Don't ever mention my snoring again. It’s embarrassing me." She was self-conscious. She was usually so good at maintaining a cool and calm presence and now Kakashi was seeing that all crumble. Great. 

"Fine."

"Can't you just stay on your side so we can both sleep comfortably?"

"Can't you just stop snoring so I can sleep comfortably?" 

What a bastard. She could practically feel him snickering beneath his mask, and she felt frustration bubbling up in her chest. He was annoying. The audacity of this man, laughing and causing trouble in the night when they clearly had a mission to continue tomorrow. She could actually feel the delight radiating off his form.

She jumped up from her spot and threw herself onto the man beside her, attempting to make a vicious grab for the throat so she could maybe shut him up for just a few seconds. He dodged easily, taking her wrists in his calloused hand and lowering them to rest on his chest. Still, he continued to laugh at her. She felt like an utter joke sitting there on his stomach, looking at him through loose strands of her hair. 

She grumbled under her breath, her cheeks puffing out full of embarrassment, "Stupid."

"Me? Stupid? Look at you."

She replied swiftly, "What about me? You're the one with that ugly grin on your face." Quickly, she snatched her hands out from under his to cross her arms over her chest. She rocked back a bit on her knees to get a better look at his indeed ugly face. 

Except he definitely wasn't ugly, and that grin was more devilishly handsome than anything else. And honestly, she felt herself starting to get flustered in the position she'd put herself in. Of course she didn't hate Kakashi. He was one of her friends and coworkers. It was just that sometimes he could be casually attractive and she found herself falling under his spell. 

He just looked so fucking good lying there, staring up at her with a glimmer in his dark eyes. She could see the smile outlined under his mask. His hands had felt warm and firm around her own fingers. She missed his touch, there she said it, any touch on her body from Kakashi Hatake felt like heaven. He was far too cute, and the soft contact between them drove her crazy.

She wanted to punch herself for thinking such silly things. This was Kakashi, one of her frenemies. Not boyfriend material. Stupid. Silly. 

If only he didn't look so good, Jesus christ. Get your brain out of the gutter, Y/N.

Little did she know, his mind was already waist deep in those damn gutters and he was loving it.

"You really think that?"

"What? That you're ugly?" She asked, tilting her head to the side just a bit as if to think about it. Only a second later, another mischievous smile crossed her lips. "Of course."

He lifted his fingers to slid along her waist and down to her hips, fingers curling ever so slightly around her curves. She shuddered as his hands slid down to hold the sides of her bare thighs in his hands, his warm, strong hands with the softest fingertips. She wanted to die.

Had they kissed before? Yes. We're they somewhat romantically involved? Maybe. Did that give him any good reason to rest his rough hands on her thighs like that? Probably, and her thoughts were running a mile a minute at this point. 

"Kakashi...stop that," she said softly, her voice lowering from how it was before. She suddenly felt a lot smaller, scared even. Hooking up with Kakashi wasn't something she planned on doing anytime in the near future, if at all. He was her friend, and she felt strange sitting in his lap with his hands all over her. It felt so right but wrong at the same time, like she was breaking the law. Well, laws of friendship that is.

She cared about Kakashi, more than she wanted to admit. He wasn't just a friend, he was something weirdly in between and she couldn't exactly put her finger on how she felt about him. All she knew was that if she was going to have sex with this man, it would be the right way. They would have to date first. She wasn't just gonna sleep around this time. He was different. 

She wanted to impress him, to make him smile and laugh, to take him out to dinner and hold hands on their way home, to kiss at her doorstep. She wanted all of that before any of this.

His hands dropped from her sides and she crawled away from him, grabbing her blanket and cradling herself in it. "Listen, Y/N, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"I know, it's not your fault. Don't worry about it."

It was quiet. Just the sounds of both their breaths filling the air and the crickets chirping in the darkness outside. She shifted in her blanket to rest her head on the wall, leaning against it with her shoulder. He remained on his back, staring up at the empty ceiling tiles. 

It was now so terribly awkward. Thanks, Y/N.

Finally, he broke the silence. "You, uh, don't snore all that much. I was just teasing you."

"Thanks," she exhaled. "You're not as ugly as I said."

"I know."

Wow, Kakashi. So modest.

Her words fell right into place as she spoke, emotions slipping out with each breath. She looked at his profile in the dark, the way his bedhead stood on end, his nose pointed upward and his lips sat calmly, the curve of his chin under the edge of his mask, the way his eyes just sat there unmoving and gentle, brows soft above the eye. She took in all of him as she confessed, "I just don't want it to be like this. I don't want to fall for you this way."

"I get it."

"I just think that you and I could be something different. You're not like the other guys to me, at least, I don't think of you that way," she took a deep breath. He still stared deep in the ceiling, and somehow it made her comfortable enough to confess everything she'd been feeling. It was as if he could just lay there and listen without words forever. "I don't want you to just fuck me before we really...well I don't know, we've never even been on a date. I...I think I'm ready to fall in love with you."

"Then let's do it."

She peered over at him, lips agape with surprise. She hadn't expected much at all, but certainly not that. "What?"

"When we get back to the village, I'll take you on a date, more if things go well. We can take it as slow as you want," he told her, turning to lay on his side, facing her. He watched as she cuddled further into the comforter, only a peek of her face in his view. She was actually kinda cute through all those worn and torn layers. "I don't think I can let you go this time."

"Really?"

"Anything for you."

She ducked her head down to stare at the hardwood beneath her feet. She was overwhelmed by how nice he was being. Normally, it didn't go like this. Things normally got sexual so quick there wasn't even a chance for these sorts of conversations. It was just different with Kakashi. She could say no to him and expect better, because she knew he could deliver. "No one has ever treated me like this before."

He smiled. "Well, it's about time someone did."

"Can you hold me?"

"Come on." He lifted his arm up with the covers attached so she could crawl over and burrow herself next him, tucked right against his side. He rested his arm around her shoulders and held her close to his chest. Things were looking good for the both of them. Better than they had in a long time.

He wished this kind of thing could last forever. The beating of her heart, the laughter in her voice, the shine in her eyes. He just wished he could have bottled it all up and held it close to him for the rest of his life. 

But he waited too long, and the opportunity slipped from his grasp.

______

The pair fought hard. Kakashi was better than her, everyone knew that. The enemy targeted her for that reason. It was clear as day that she was important to Kakashi, and the enemy quickly caught onto that. He was quick to bring the knife to her neck, pressing the woman’s back tightly to his chest. The blade stung her skin, already piercing the flesh from the bit of pressure he applied.

She cried out, feeling a trail of blood begin running down her neck. Her nails clawed at his arm, desperate to get him to release her from his clutches, but he persisted. One hand held onto her chin tightly, keeping her face from thrashing, and the other continued to apply more and more pressure into the blade. 

For the first time in a long time, she found herself feeling unrestricted fear. She was scared. Scared for her life. She’d never been in this situation before, feeling so completely and utterly helpless like a deer caught in the headlights. Kakashi was right there, she should have known everything was going to be okay. After all, she had the village’s strongest veteran on her side.

It wasn’t the pain that caused the tears to bubble up in the corners of her eyes, no, it was Kakashi. The way his eyes darted over to the them, and she could feel his heart beginning to race, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, and the fear creeping up into his heart. He never wore his heart on his sleeve. He was so closed off, sometimes she could only get a wisp of emotion from him, especially the ones that showed such vulnerability. 

Now it all seemed to come tumbling out like a landslide. She was drowning in fear, his and her own. 

“Let her go,” he called out, practically pleading with the man across from him, but it was in vain. 

“Like I’d listen to some filthy leaf shinobi,” the spy replied angrily. He felt so hot, burning up with so much anger she wanted to throw up. What had they done to upset him this badly? Her jaw was starting to ache from being held so tightly, and she swore she could taste blood running down her throat. This was bad. This was so terribly, miserably bad. 

Kakashi stood there, his hands hovering at his sides, unknowing of what to do. She was already bleeding out all over the collar of her shirt. If he made a single move, the man could easily finish the job with one fatal swipe. The copy nin felt cornered. Hopeless. What was there left to do? He’d let the love of his life fall in the hands of some petty criminal. 

Come on, think of something. Anything. Just think of something.

“What? You upset I’ve got your little girlfriend here?”

God, he was so desperate. The man taunting him didn’t help at all. He just felt himself spiralling deeper into hopelessness. He bargained, “Please, just let her go. I’ll give you whatever you want.” 

It wouldn’t work though. This man was set in his ways, and there was no changing that. He came into this fight knowing exactly what he wanted to do. And he was going to finish the job. 

“This is for what you shinobi have done to my people,” he sneered before she felt the knife dip further into her neck, sliding painfully across her throat. He dropped her head from his grasp, and as soon as he had, her body crumbled down to the ground. She collapsed in a bleeding heap on the dirt. 

The criminal quickly ran into the forest behind them, getting lost among the trees and the bushes within seconds. None of that mattered though. Kakashi could only run over to her limp body lying there on the ground, sputtering and coughing on thick blood filling her throat and lungs. Her cheeks and lips painted red now from spitting so much up. He fell to his knees beside her body, and for the first time in a long time, he felt a tear drip down his face.

She cried, hot tears running down her cheeks into the dirt on either side of her head. She cried for her pathetic self, having been attacked and injured in this way. She cried for Kakashi, feeling the pain and sadness, the panic, radiating off his form. She took in every emotion he was feeling, wanting to savor being with him for as long as she had, to fully take him in one last time. 

“Y/N, it’s gonna be okay,” he whispered, his hands running over her hair and cheek, smearing blood on her skin and his fingers. “We’ll bring you back to the village. The Hokage can fix you.” His words were so soft into the air, like if he spoke any louder he would hurt her.

They both knew that none of what he was saying was true. She was as good as dead.

She lifted her hand weakly to sit on his other hand. “I…” The woman took a labored breath.. “Love you, Kashi.”

“No, no, no. Don’t say that,” he hushed her, feeling his heart grow heavier in his chest with every second that passed, every look at her bloody neck and face, her laboring chest as she took hopeless breaths. He was falling apart in this moment, desperate for fate to change, for her to magically be better. He choked, “You can’t die, Y/N.”

“It’s okay.” Her words were slurred and hard to hear, liquid bubbling up in her throat to the point she was almost incomprehensible. “I love you,” she confessed once again. She wanted those to be her last ever words to him, the words he would remember for the rest of his life. To know someone out there loved him more than anything else.

He had to know that he was her everything. He was the best thing that ever happened to her, and she was going to miss him so terribly wherever her soul went after this. She just wished there was more time to tell him everything she felt. Yet, time was passing faster than she thought, and all those words felt impossible.

“I love you, too. You have to live for me. Just keep breathing, it's going to be okay.”

“It...hurts.”

More misery erupted his chest, and he found himself wanting to scream. Tears dripped steadily down both his cheeks now as he watched this woman die in front of him, one of the only people he truly needed in his life. “I know, baby, I know. I’m sorry I let this happen to you.”

She nodded faintly, her eyes beginning to close. He was starting to panic. Was this his last moment to say goodbye? Their time together was so short, how was this fair? He’d already lost everyone he ever cared about, and now this? He felt like the gods were laughing down at him and his misfortune. 

“You were the best thing that ever happened to me. I don’t know how I’ll do this without you.”

She didn’t respond, but she was still breathing. 

“Y/N, please.”

And he watched as her chest fell still and her labored breaths were silent on his ears. He found himself gathering her form up against his chest, her head cradled in the crook of his neck, just sobbing into her hair, weeping for a long lasting love gone in an instant. 

 He carried her body home that day himself. Something he never anticipated happening, but should have prepared for. He always thought he was going to watch as someone else carried her home to him, death long gone before he had the chance to see. He never thought it would be right in front of him. He thought he could protect her, save her from the clutches of fate. He was so wrong.

Kakashi was alone once again.

#kakashi x reader #kakashi hatake #naruto x reader #x reader #naruto #kakashi imagine #kakashi fanfic #kakashi one shot #naruto imagine #naruto oneshot #naruto fanfic #oneshot #fanfic #imagine #kakashi hatake x reader #kakashi x you

[xaibaugrove]

Everyone in the Krew is Problematic

I was inspired to go on this rant by someone who recently brought up a question in a server I’m in, asking why so many people in the fandom seem to hate Mako and Makorra and why. This wouldn’t be the first time I defend Mako and it most likely won’t be the last, but it might be the first time I tear him and everyone else in the Krew down in the process, only to bring them back up. Hear me out though.

I think I’ve totally accepted that a lot of people in this fandom will always hate Mako and that I will have to perpetually defend him, I understand that this is the relationship I’ve chosen with this world. But what I still will never understand are the reasons why people hate/dislike him because compared to how much they love other characters in the Krew who honestly aren’t that much better than him (in some cases, even worse!), it doesn’t make any sense.

Let me also preface this by saying, I love these characters with all my heart and soul, probably more than I should love fictional characters, but this is the life I live and with that being said, I am going to tear them apart just to prove a point. Okay, here we go.

MAKO

Most of his detractors list the usual criticisms, which are valid when isolated. He cheated on Asami, he lied to Korra, he was a terrible boyfriend and essentially he treated the women he claimed to love or care about horribly. Gee, it’s almost like the man was a teenager with no experience in having long-lasting, healthy relationships and was raised in the streets by gangmembers while doing anything to survive and provide for his younger sibling after seeing his parents killed right in front of him and suddenly being orphaned…

I think Mako has been torn down enough, so I won’t get too deep into the tearing down part for him. It really does baffle me how someone can claim to be woke and not comprehend how someone coming from poverty could possibly be a product of their environment. Like, does everyone think that poor people automatically have hearts of gold and turn out like Little Orphan Annie? Why are people surprised that when someone has a shitty life, they might do shitty things?

Also, sooo many people love Zuko, who actively tried to cause harm to Aang, Katara and Sokka numerous times, and sympathize with his troubled past. But like, sure Zuko had an abusive father and his mother peaced out of his life for whatever reasons but at least he had his uncle. Mako had his parents for maybe 8 years before they were murdered in front of him and then had...no one for the next 10 years? Except for Bolin, sure, but no other parental figure in his life. Dude literally had to become him and his brother’s own parent and joined a gang to survive, and after all that, the worst he does is acts as a bad boyfriend toward Korra and Asami and he is instantly thrown to the wolves. Something doesn’t add up. It’s just...I don’t get it.

Yes, the way he treated people was bad, but people can grow? That’s a thing humans can do. And he was a teenager, my god. No, we cannot allow our past to be an excuse for how we treat others, but we have to be aware that there is a growth process to being human. And being human in and of itself, isn’t pretty. You think Mako is problematic? Don’t get me started on your fave.

KORRA

Ok, I love this woman to death but she is ridiculously problematic. She pursued someone in a relationship and essentially forced Mako to cheat on Asami by kissing him against his will, that’s already pretty awful and shows a lack of empathy on her part, also kissing people without their consent is no bueno. But also I just have to say it for the people who might not know this. One of the fundamental reasons why Makorra didn’t work was because KORRA WAS ABUSIVE. Okay? It wasn’t just that Mako was inadequate at relationships and didn’t know how to people, it wasn’t that she was secretly confused and wanting Asami the entire time (biphobia at it’s best) one of the main problems in the pairing was that Korra was crazy abusive towards Mako. Seriously, why don’t I see this more often in those discussions??

If we need examples, I have dozens. Honestly, it’s really easy to see how terrible Korra was to Mako, I’d actually argue that she treated him worse than he treated her. I mean, they were both terrible to one another, but in Korra’s case she went through the motions of being completely infatuated with your first teenage crush, getting with said crush, then crashing and burning once you realize that you have no idea how to treat a romantic partner so after the butterflies wear off you subject them to all the wonderful aspects of your anger issues. Not only did she scream at Mako during every argument they had, she also threatened him with bodily harm if she got really angry. Remember how their relationship crashed and burned in Book 2? Here are the things that Korra did during that time. Let me reiterate, this was not okay.

Mako is visibly shaken by this!

This woman burst into her boyfriend’s place of work and violently kicked his desk out from in front of him with all his coworkers present. That is not normal behavior. That is a red flag. And after she came back, had amnesia or whatever and forgot they broke up after that scene, let’s not forget that Mako was legitimately Afraid to break up with her again. Korra made her partner frightened that they might suffer bodily harm if they upset her. Again, and I can’t stress this enough, this is not okay!

The little scene in Book 3 when Korra is lifting Mako like 100 feet off the ground with airbending while he’s screaming in fear just to make Asami laugh is cute, right? I’ll admit, I loved that little moment too, it’s one of the only instances of Korrasami development that we got, but also, there were sooo many things wrong with that scene lol. Not only does Korra terrify Mako for literally no reason, it’s also sort of just her continuing to exercise some degree of power over him for her own amusement. Almost like a subtle reminder to him saying, “I am stronger than you in every way and I can break your femur like a twig if I wanted to… but I won’t, so look how much fun we’re having!”

Now of course, there are reasons why Korra acts like this. She was isolated for almost her entire life and never learned how to treat people and be around people. The Avatar is human because they must live amongst the people they protect and that helps them develop empathy and cherish life. The White Lotus deprived her of that fundamental aspect of her duty as the Avatar and it showed throughout the beginning of the series. Clearly, she was young, didn’t see how her actions could negatively affect others and hurt the feelings of not just her partner but also friends and family (she was really awful towards a lot of people in her life!). But as the series went on, we see her having less outbursts and learning to control her temper more.

One can only assume that she does not have the same behavior with Asami because for one, I don’t think Asami would play that shit, she seems like she would electrocute a bitch in a heartbeat and not hesitate if needed, but also Korra is not the same shitty partner she used to be as a teenager. Again, kids do stupid things. Adults do stupid things. And we learn and we grow. Korra will probably make some more mistakes in her relationship with Asami. I don't think anyone can have one bad relationship and suddenly learn all the lessons they can from it and have a perfect one the next go around. I can totally picture Korra losing her temper and raising her voice at Asami if she gets frustrated and forgets who she’s dealing with. Managing anger issues is hard, I know this from experience, and it doesn’t magically get easier. Of course, if Korra does pop off, Asami would definitely put her in her place because she’s a bad bitch who doesn’t take anyone’s shit, next character.

ASAMI

You know her, you love her, you fantasize about her and you probably have her on your list of fictional characters you would totally bang if you had the chance (I know I do), yes, even your best girl is problematic. It’s interesting to me that a lot of people sympathize with Asami and very few openly criticize her (so few that I’ve never seen anyone say a bad thing about her). What’s there to criticize though? The poor girl was cheated on by Mako, had her feelings disregarded by Korra, who claimed to be her friend but pursued her then-boyfriend behind her back and then made up for it by simping for her for the rest of her life? Also her mom was murdered when she was just 6 years old, her father threatened to kill her once and physically abused her, then died right after they started repairing their relationship, essentially making her an orphan at the ripe age of 22. Suffice it to say, Asami has been through it.

So, how could she be problematic, you ask? Why, of course, through the classic Bryke technique of romance progression in storylines called Kissing People Without Their Consent

To be honest, I did gloss over this with Korra, simply because there were sooo many other issues with that woman and I just couldn’t go through every single one in as much detail but that doesn’t negate how serious this whole sneak attack kissing thing is. Sure, Asami is very emotional and lonely and sort of desperate too, (it's a little sad, really) but Mako is clearly uncomfortable and completely caught off guard by the kiss. This is also the second time this happens to him in the series! There are a couple factors that might contribute to why Asami does this and acts this way, maybe Korra’s general awfulness rubbed off on her (don’t make a dirty joke) but this is still wrong.

AND that’s...pretty much it. Kissing people without their permission is a big no no, though. Not wanting to gloss over that, but Asami really is a good person who just did a not-so-great thing. Getting burned by Mako twice probably made her a little less inclined to be as forward with anyone though, and it looks like she now takes her time and is patient in her relationship with Korra. It even seems like Asami is the only person Korra is afraid to upset, as Korra does seem more gentle and calm when around her. And who knows? Maybe Asami living a life where a majority of the time she got whatever she wanted when she wanted it might have also influenced her to be more assertive or even imposing within her relationships.

If anything, those three fools getting into relationships with each other just showed how not ready they were to be in relationships in the first place and also how not okay they were.

BOLIN

Originally I titled this as “Everyone in the Krew is problematic (except Bolin)” but then I remembered that Bolin totally kissed a woman without her consent so I deleted the shit out of that!

This asshole looks genuinely pleased with himself after essentially assaulting Ginger. Not a good look.

Sure, Bolin is baby. He will always be baby to me. But that does not erase the fact that he also actively supported a fascist dictator. Not only was the kissing without consent thing bad, but there’s also that. No matter how many times people around him warned him about the fact that he was on the wrong side of things, that he was helping someone who was putting people into concentration camps...Bolin wanted to believe the best of Kuvira. He ignored obvious signs that the woman was a dictator committing human rights violations like crazy and you know, there’s gotta be a reason for that too.

Maybe Bolin wanted to feel like he was doing something good for once. When you think about it, with his role as the comic relief in the Krew, and sort of constantly being infantilized by his older brother, I wouldn’t be surprised if the man developed some insecurity in his ability to do anything good or useful for anyone without screwing it up in some way. In Kuvira’s army, it seemed like he was actually taken seriously, he felt like he was doing something that mattered. Korra had being the Avatar, Asami had her business and mindblowing philanthropy (honestly, her ability to be as charitable as she is profitable is insane) and Mako had his police work (ACAB, tho). Bolin had...the role of being a joke. A superficial actor. A former pro-bending meathead.

Bolin lived his entire life following after his brother that once they were adults and Mako finally decided to live his own life for once, it left Bolin completely lost. And lost young men are perfect recruits for fascists.

So, in conclusion, my whole reasoning behind destroying the integrity of my favorite characters is to prove a huge point. All of these characters are problematic. They have flaws, some bigger than others (looking at you, Korra. Just...wow), but ultimately, even if your fave is problematic... that’s okay. A lot of people, mostly younger people it seems, are really obsessed with being right about everything that they do and stan. And that’s a wonderful thing, so much change has come about by the younger generations calling out people who do fucked up shit, don’t want or try to improve, and get away with it. But it’s also caused a lot of people to be unforgiving and completely unwilling to acknowledge when people do improve and try to be better.

Personally, I love my problematic Krew because having issues that you’re constantly working on internally is human. It’s human to make mistakes, it’s human to grow from those mistakes. And it’s inspiring to me, who is wholly imperfect, to see myself reflected in fictional characters who aren’t perpetuating unrealistic ideals of human nature, characters who are messy, crazy and ultimately human.

As one of my favorite manga artists and queen of impeccable character creation Rumiko Takahashi once said:

“I think that perfect people are not very interesting.”

And I will always wholeheartedly agree.

#long post #rant #tlok #the legend of korra #korra #asami sato #mako #bolin #avatar: the legend of korra #back on my random bullshit i guess

[crazy-czech-fangirl]

Kristen Stewart - Howard Stern interview

Yesterday I saw the interview with Howard Stern and wow. I’ve never seen her so openly speak about the Twilight era and relationship with Rob. So I decided to transcript the parts about Twilight and Robert because I couldn’t find it anywhere. If you have time go watch the whole interview it’s really worth it!

****

H: The way they’re covering your romance with Robert Pattinson and all this.. I had him on the show and he said no relationship could survive the intense scrutiny that we were under. It was insane.

K: Yeah it was. I mean we wanted to like keep it ours so it was like this thing of going like..well do you like live openly and share your life in a way that actually entitles you to living it sort of more freely and naturally or do you like put it on lock because you hate the idea of perpetuating this like commodified version of your..something that feels real to you and you’re like ‘I’m not selling you shit’! But then you actually deprive yourself of like so many experiences. Like we didn’t walk down the street holding hands because we were like ‘Don’t wanna give it to them’ but then we didn’t get to walk down the street holding hands. And it sucked.

H: Of course it sucked because the best part of the relationship with anyone..

K: Is screaming from the rooftops!

H: ‘I’m in love!’

K: Yeah!

H: And walking around holding somebody’s hand.

K: I know.

****

H: ....Not only were you falling in love with Rob on the set.. Which by the way I think is the biggest mistake an actor can make.

K: There was nothing I could do.

H: The director was even nervous because the first time you guys kind of auditioned together to see the chemistry..it was an immediate chemistry between the two of you.

K: Yeah, yeah. It’s so weird like actually being honest about this like it’s been so heavily consumed and I have this fear that people would assume that maybe I’m like..’oh cool you’re still pushing that narrative’ and it’s like ‘No I’ve actually never been allowed to just say what happened’. Because I was so self conscious about seeming like an attention seeker.

H: Or taking advantage of the fact that you guys were dating.

K: Yeah exactly. We were together for years. That was like my first..you know..

H: Love.

K: Yeah. I mean like I was super in love with my high school boyfriend. Super in love with him. But me and Rob were like little older and it was like *GOGUM*.

H: He’s a charming guy.

K: Yeah he’s the best.

****

H: Rob when he was here told me with Twilight that they wanted to go a whole other direction . They wanted you to be smiling and him to be smiling. Be a lovable little vampire. And he said it was tremendous pressure to act that movie the way he wanted to.

K: Yeah. Honestly thank god he had that.. I mean he like..he wouldn’t do it the other way. And I don’t think he even had that in his wheelhouse like his body wouldn’t do that. And I mean mine either. I was like..The only reason this is good is because it’s like “Aaargh” and they were like ‘But it’s not fun!’. We took a lot of slack. Like we were constantly being like reprimanded and thank god we stuck to our guns because that’s why the movie works.

H: Yes. Yes that’s exactly why the movie works.

****

H: Would you recommend to other young actresses that they fall in love during their movie or should they avoid it? Because that’s my point. You say you couldn’t have stopped yourself falling in love with Rob.

K: I don’t think it’s really a choice..

H: Isn’t it dangerous because the set is such an aphrodisiac. It’s like..

K: Maybe it’s not real. Yeah but then you could apply that to any other...What is?

H: What is real?

K: Yeah.

H: Because they cater to you, they’re treating you like you’re a star..

K: Mmmm no.

H: No? It wasn’t like that?

K: No. Not at all. ‘Get your ass to set and start smiling bitch’. And I’m like ‘Nope’.

H: But did you have a sense that you were in trouble now that you were in love. Because you’re like ‘oh this is cliched I’m falling in love with my costar’.

K: I thought that was the coolest thing ever and I was so proud of it and I was like ‘We’re like rockstars dude’. I was like ‘Yeah you wish you had this.’ You know when you have that thing and you’re like ‘This is the coolest’.

H: Well it’s cool too because you’re really trapped in like high school or college and at least you have this great outside romance going on.

K: It was fun.

H: But it’s always doomed isn’t it because it’s just too much pressure when you got famous as you did so quickly.

****

H: Trump was consumed with the fact that you and Rob Pattinson had broken up.

K: Sure. Yes.

H: And he started tweeting against you saying ‘Hey Rob you can do much better than Kristen Stewart’.

....

K: You would think that he had more important things to do. It’s absurd.

...

H: Did you ever talk to Rob about it? Did you ever say ‘Can you believe the president of the United States is carrying on about our relationship.

K: Yeah we got back together. We like went through a thing and it fucking sucked but like we really wanted to be together...I don’t remember that particular conversation but we definitely were talking about everything at that time.

****

K: I had people genuinely asking me if that relationship was real or fake. And I was like..

H: Like the movie fabricated it for publicity.

K: Right yeah.

H: But they did used to do that in the old days.

K: I know it’s such a weird studio system old school way of...You really think at this point after all these years like that I’m..like that’s how I live my life?

H: There’s no way a relationship could survive the types of scrutiny that you guys had.

K: We were also just so young you know what I mean like there are stages..life is long..yeah.

H: Was there a point you would have gotten married do you think?

K: I don’t know.

H: I wonder..imagine

K: I wanted to..Yeah no I mean like I think I’ve never...

H: If he proposed you would have gotten married.

K: I don’t know. I’m not like a super duper traditionalist but at the same time like I...every relationship that I’ve ever been in I thought ‘This is it’. I’ve never like casually dated..I mean maybe one or two..Yeah I’m not giving everyone that. But like I’ve never really been the most casual person.

****

K: (what she could have done better while acting) .. and certain parts of Twilight. New moon I totally screwed up the like devastating..I was so in love with Rob and so happy that I couldn’t imagine losing him. But now I’m like ‘oh man I could have really done better work in that movie’.

****

H: (Snow white and the huntsman) That movie did really well. And then they didn’t ask you to be in the sequel.

K: We lived in a different time then you know what I mean. I feel like the slut shaming that went down was like so absurd. And they should have put me in that movie it would have been better..not to be a dick but..

H: You’re sayin there was slut shaming of you?

K: Well they didn’t put me in that movie because I went through a highly publicized scandal. So they were like scared of touching that.

H: Because you fell in love with the director? So that’s why they didn’t have you in the sequel? That was a dumb move.

K: I think so.

H: Isn’t that wrong though? Not to put you in a sequel because you fell in love with the director?

K: Well I wouldn’t say that I fell in love with the director...

H: Oh you had an affair..

K: Yeah that was weird..that was a kind of a weird thing. But I definitely...It wasn’t that big of a deal. Do you know what I’m saying. It’s like literally..

H: No because I’ve actually forgotten about it.

K: Yeah..

H: People at the time think it’s a big deal.

K: The work is so much more important. It’s like what do you care if I..I just thought that that movie actually..we could have made a great second one and we could have done it in a functional and healthy way. And then we didn’t ultimately do that and that’s okay because I did other stuff and it’s fine but yeah..that was weird.

H: So you were blamed for not being in the second movie because you had sex with somebody. That’s what you’re telling me?

K: I did not fuck him.

H: Oh you didn’t fuck him?

K: No I didn’t.

H: Oh so why not clear that up? Why not say that?

K: Who’s gonna believe..It doesn’t even matter

H: I believe you.

K: Honestly I feel like you do and I actually feel like this is the most honest setting I’ve ever been involved with.

H: You have been so honest with this so why did you get pegged as fucking..

K: Well because it looks like..you know you make out with a dude in public it definitely looks like you...

H: Oh oh so it was an innocent sort of thing and the media made it out to be a big deal.

K: Yeah I mean look it wasn’t innocent that was like a..you know that was a really hard period of my life. I was like really young and like um...

H: Well it’s understandable you’re a young woman. Yes ok you were going out with Rob...

K: Yeah I didn’t really know how to deal with that and I made some mistakes.

H: Hey guess what everybody does.

K: Yeah exactly. And honestly it’s no one’s business and people get over shit like that. You know what I mean? It’s really not a big deal. Basically what I’m saying is the work to me genuinely was ignored in a really sort of frivolous like silly petty way. For a group of adult people who were like supposed to be running studios and making films that’s what you..I mean honestly the film industry in Hollywood is so fear based and there are like equations that lead people to massive decisions that you assume are creative that are not at all.

H: Yes.

K: And so like that didn’t fit in their equation. And I think they are idiots because if you take a little risk and you make something good people will watch it and like it and pay you.

#robsten #robert pattinson #kristen stewart #twilight #howard stern #Youtube

[blouisparadise]

Here are some of the amazing bottom Louis fics that were posted or completed during the month of September. We hope you enjoy this list. Happy reading!

1) Hard Candy Dripping On Me (Til My Feet Are Wet) | Explicit | 1997 words

Louis gets fucked on a plane. That’s it.

2) Fucking Nightmares | Mature | 2151 words

Louis has a nightmare. Harry comforts him.

3) You Could Take A Lick (But It's Too Cold To Bite) | Explicit | 2469 words

“You look kinda thirsty.” Louis croons softly.

Harry leans back in his chair and tilts his head to the side. His eyes are covered by the pair of expensive shades, but Louis feels his eyes drifting down his backside as he lays on his stomach.

“Why don’t you bring me a bit of that ice cream, darling?”

Louis and Harry have fun in a summer day.

4) Interview With The Vampire  | Explicit | 4135 words

Note: The fic pairing is Louis/Robert Pattinson.

Working at an alpha magazine wasn't always easy for an omega like Louis, but he's just landed his biggest interview yet with an A list actor who has asked for Louis especially. Unfortunately, the interview is with Rob Pattinson, the biggest pain in the arse alpha on the planet.

Inspired by Rob’s interview in GQ Magazine and not actually about vampires

5) Conozco La Vida | Teen & Up | 4761 words

Note: This fic contains no explicit smut, but since it’s omega Louis, we’ve included it. 

"I have a son," he declared, there was a very thinly veiled layer of hesitation.

Harry was unaware in the direction which this conversation was heading but chose to stare at the man instead.

"He is an Omega," he dropped the pivotal piece of information.

Harry's attention was hooked now.

"He has been raised in an Omega convent all his life, he hasn't been in the presence of any Alpha who isn't his immediate family."

"I am still waiting for you to make a point."

"You could take him as an Omega."

Harry did not react, his face remaining perfectly free of betrayal of any sort of emotion and leaned back upon his chair, his leg crossed upon his knee. "You are selling your son to me?"

6) It’s Hard For Me To Go Home | Not Rated | 4890 words

Don’t call me baby again.

7) So Baby, Let's Keep It Secret | Explicit | 4638 words

“I’ll leave with you,” Harry said after a beat, sounding sure of himself.

“What!? No!, you can’t leave with me, Harry, you have a life here. You have a job and friends an-”

Harry kissed him in the middle of his rambling. “Which means nothing if I don’t have you.”

Into You Music Video AU.

8) ZOMOS | Mature | 5659 words

Is it easy to forget everything and start afresh? Is it easy being served with hateful glances and insults when all you wish for is to be loved? Is it easy to make it seem like everything is alright when in reality your world is crumbling into pieces with every breath you take?

Is it easy to be the omega who is unwanted by their alpha?

9) Your Biggest Fan | Explicit | 9075 words 

Just like everyone else, Louis has a few habits that he can’t seem to break. Guilty pleasures, rather. His nails are perpetually short because he can’t quit biting them, the bottom of his shoes scuffed from tapping his foot constantly. Sometimes his leg gets a cramp from bouncing it so often underneath his desk. That isn't too bad, he reckons, just some average teenage coping mechanisms.And also, occasionally, minor instances of theft.

10) Making A Splash | Explicit | 9557 words

“You want this?” Harry muses, fisting his cock as he drags his hand lazily up his thick length. Louis eyes the motion and nods his head absentmindedly. “You want to show everyone at this beach how much of a slut you are for Daddy’s cock?”

“M‘your slut,” Louis immediately replies, inching closer, inching closer with his eyes glued on Harry’s glistening cock, precome shining under the sun as it dribbles out his slit.

Harry grins widely and stops the movement of his hand to grip himself at the base again, pushing Louis’ head down. “Show everyone how much of a slut you are.”

11) Hung Up High in the Gallery | Mature | 14006 words

When Harry’s best friend, Louis, comes to support him at his art show, he decides they need to do some celebrating afterwards. How fast do the lines between friends and lovers get blurred ... or better, get painted?

12) My Home Is Your Body | Explicit | 15341 words

Note: The fic pairing is Louis/Henry Cavill.

He had seen who had made his senses go haywire. His ex was in the front row, five feet in front of him. He felt his eyes on him even as he mechanically made his way to the end of the runway, hoping to God he didn’t look like a maniac. Everything was a blur. He somehow managed to walk the rest of the way without falling or emoting anything. Why was he HERE? Of all places.

...where Louis is a successful omega model and the last thing he expects is his ex to become the co-partner of the new company he works for....

13) There's Nothing Like It (Nothing At All) | Explicit | 15471 words 

Note: This is a sequel to this fic.

His hands are outstretched on the mattress like he’s reaching out for something, reaching out for Harry. It makes his heart swell, almost bursting with affection and love. He only waits a bit longer before reaching over to turn off the light and pulling Louis to his chest, smiling when the omega immediately sighs in contentment, nuzzling into his skin happily.Tomorrow, he tells himself. Tomorrow, they’ll talk about it.-Or, Harry isn’t ready for things to change, and the end is just the beginning.

14) Seven Simple Words | Explicit | 15535 words

It’s not like he and Louis were a couple. No, they might have been a lot of things—best mates and colleagues with a seemingly convenient friends-with-benefits arrangement—but never a couple. It wasn’t Louis’ fault he didn’t feel the same way and couldn’t reciprocate Harry’s feelings in the way he’d wanted, the way he’d needed. Harry had allowed himself to get in too deep, his entire being aching to be loved back by the object of his affections. But in love, as in life, you don’t always get what you want.

15) Works Like A Charm | Explicit | 18061 words

Ever since Louis joined the team in fifth year, a few facts have become set in stone.

One: Louis is the best chaser in Hogwarts.

Two: Harry is the best beater in Hogwarts.

Three: They do not get along.

So it’s really unfair of Liam to think that forcing them to spend time together as Louis recovers from his injury will make them the best of friends. The last thing Louis would do is get along with that git.

16) The Way This River Runs | Explicit | 27417 words 

It’d be so easy to just open his mouth and plead with Harry, to scream I’m sorry until his voice disappears, but he can’t. Be it his pride or his ego or his insecurities, he just can’t do it. The worst part is that he knows Harry would probably forgive him.

But Louis doesn’t want phony forgiveness. He doesn’t want Harry’s soothing words and pity embrace, thinks he might just break altogether if he was offered them. He feels like he’s made of glass recently and it’s to the point where he kind of wants to tip over the edge, just to see if he’d shatter. Just to see who’d be there to pick up the pieces if he did.

17) Give Me Love | Explicit | 41041 words

Louis doesn't feel like a good omega, Harry doesn't remember how to be an alpha, and they figure it out together.

18) Falling Out Of Fashion | Explicit | 42123 words

Harry Styles has been the established face of the Grimshaw House of Design for two years. It’s a prestigious and coveted modeling contract Harry took away from once-famed supermodel Zayn Malik. With the model transition Grimshaw’s designs went from a more urban, Zayn-forward aesthetic, to a Harry-favoring flowery, flowing femininity in the Grimshaw designs for men.

So when Harry sees a dress Grimshaw made for a famous Marvel actress, “only a tease”, Nick says, of the evolving look, Harry knows Grimshaw is shifting his aesthetic.

Harry wonders if he can pull off the look.

19) Three Days In February | Explicit | 189346 words

Louis is cursed after a night out with the lads and the five have just three days to figure out what happened and how to break it before Harry and Louis both lose their sanity and maybe something more. Louis can hear everything Harry thinks and Harry isn’t sure he can keep his feelings for Louis a secret from his own mind.

Ridiculous amounts of banter and angst, a lot of Harry and Louis alone together, a healthy dose of OT5 friendship, and one very magical weekend.

20) Boss Bitch | Explicit | 386901 words

Harry had always wanted to work for this successful mafia; the mafia that everyone knew, everyone feared. Led by none other than the pahntom

"L'eue Courante", whom everyone knew existed, but had no other clues who this person could be. The only thing known was a high heel the phantom once left.

So this person had to be woman, Harry assumend. And man, was he wrong.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

#bottom louis #top harry #blp fic recs #monthly fic recs #fic recs #blp #larry

[pomegranates-and-blood]

The Cursed

My Masterlist  

Pairing: No specific ones (other than canon Aslaug/Ragnar)

Summary: “I was wondering if you could write a modern reader from like 2020 meeting Ragnar, Auslaug, Largertha, and the Ragnarssons. I was thinking that reader got thrown back in time somehow (if that makes sense) and I don’t mind if it’s romantic or platonic for any of them. And reader meets them all at the same time somehow.”

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: None that I can think of

A/N: I’m sorry it took me so long anon.

So, I have a horrible sleep schedue atm and I don’t know what words are anymore. Enjoy this fever dream of a fic, thank you for reading.

I do not know much (if anything) about runes, so I apologize in advance. The ones mentioned here are, in order: ᛒ (to mean birth, liberation), ᚨ (Odin, wisdom) and ᚹ (harmony, kinship)

Again, their meaning is just what the sources I handled had on it, and it was just the internet, y’know? I would love a book recommendation on divination in Viking times, if anyone knows of any good one.

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @1950schick​ @ietss​   @peachyboneless​ @encounterthepast​ @maggiescarborough​   @chibisgotovalhalla​

His head is covered in a dark hood, and though you can see his mouth, the beard withered by age, the man keeps his head lowered and refuses to meet your eye as you enter.

“You’re here with questions.” The man states, playing with a small piece in his hand, flicking it between his fingers like who toys with a coin.

“I always have questions.”

He smiles, the tracing of a scar on his cheek stretching with the movement.

“Mhm. Time curses you, child, so I suggest you make haste and ask.”

“Time curses me?”

He stops playing with the small piece in his hand, tilts his head to the side, “You doubt it?”

“Yes,” You reply emphatically, frowning at him. “There’s no such thing as curses.”

“Isn’t there?”

“Stop answering my questions with more questions.”

“Why should I?”

You bite back a groan at the insufferable man’s smug grin, and try again, “Alright, fine I’m cursed. Should I expect warts on my face? A perpetual dark cloud?”

“Don’t mock me, child.”

You cannot bite back the smile, “Will you curse me if I do?”

He slams with one inked finger the piece he was playing with against the table between you, and you notice it to be a small rectangular piece of what looks like bone, with a small, angular ‘B’ carved on it.

“I told you, time already curses you,” The man sighs, and leans back, leaving you to study the small piece he showed you. “And all souls are cursed, though with a different burden. Knowledge, legacy, indefiniteness, irrelevance, pain, life, time.”

You force your eyes to part from that small piece of bone, and lift your gaze to him, finally relenting.

“I’m listening.”

“No,” He states, resolute. You lift your eyebrows, but the man only smiles again, “You’re learning.”

____

Someone shakes your shoulder, and you groan, both at their insistence you return to the world of the living and at the pain that threatens to split your head in two.

“Get up, the Queen calls for you.”

“The what?” You mutter, sitting up on the hard bed. You open your eyes to find a girl dressed in a heavy-looking dress, with braids keeping her wild hair off her face.

“The Queen, you daft woman,” She insists with a smile, as if you are friends, as if you know her. “Don’t keep her waiting, get up.”

You go through the motions of getting up, only too late realizing the sounds you hear, the voices that reach you, are not familiar at all. Even the sounds that come out of her mouth aren’t familiar.

“How do I-…?” You try speaking your language, but that strange gibberish comes out. You cover your mouth with your hand, wide eyes searching the nothingness, and the girl turns around.

“What’s the matter with you, huh?” She asks, again gibberish, but you understand her.

“This is…this isn’t my home, where-…there’s something wrong,” You turn around, searching the worn wood of the walls for a sign, and in the bed you were sleeping on there’s a small piece of bone. That damn letter ‘B’. Fuck. “I’m insane,” You tell yourself, turning wide eyes to the girl as if she could have any answer, “Wh-Where am I?”

She says nothing, only takes you by the arm and tries guiding you out the door. You have half a mind to let her, but in a frantic movement you reach for the small bone and clasp it tight in your hand before letting her guide you to the longhouse.

She greets a woman that sits with her back straight and her eyes all-seeing on a throne, and leaves you there, alone, before her.

“Your eyes are strange,” The tall woman says, eyes lined with a thick line of black kohl looking over you, focusing on your own eyes. “Come closer.”

You do so, shaking legs carrying you to her, trying with all of your strength not to focus on the thrones behind her.

She grabs your chin with cold fingers, looks deep into your eyes and makes you feel she’s looking into your soul. Invasive, really. If you weren’t so fucking terrified, you might have tried saying something.

“Mother?” A deep voice calls from behind you, but neither you or the woman, the…the Queen move.

“You’ve been touched by the Gods. You’re-…” She stops herself, and lifts her gaze to look over your shoulder and smiles, warm and motherly, “Ah, Ubbe. You talked with your father?”

You turn to meet the piercing blue eyes of a tall man with long hair that trails down his back, shaved sides. His eyes are trained on yours, before he offers his mother a nod.

“Yes. What’s wrong with her?” The man asks, and another man walks in from behind him, biting into an apple and looking you over with a strange sort of detached curiosity. The older man ignores him, and insists, “They say she woke up blabbering about the world being wrong, that she’s gone crazy.”

“She’s not crazy, she’s just…the Gods have touched her eyes.” The Queen states, her hand almost protective when it settles on your shoulder. It somewhat helps you stop shaking.

The tall man, Ubbe, offers you a smile you think in a less threatening-looking man would be comforting, “You’re a friend of the sons of Ragnar, we more than many know of the way the Gods touch our lives. There’s nothing to fear.”

The Queen lowers her voice and speaks directly to you, “We will talk later. You should go with my sons, eat something.”

The man that chews on the apple, leaning one shoulder on a wooden pillar looks at you and offers you a reassuring smile, or an attempt at it anyways, mouth full and all.

You bite down fear, and approach him.

What’s the worst that could happen?

Maybe if they decide to cut off your head just for the hell of it, you’ll wake up. Right?

The men she called Ubbe and Hvitserk guide you through dark and tall halls towards a well lit and ample room where a long table and plenty of food sit.

Two men that were arguing with one another turn to you when you enter, sharing a glance between them and focusing pale eyes on you. The blond of long hair looks you over with curiosity, the hint of empathy in his eyes. The other one, with dark hair and piercing blue eyes, so alike the ones of the man they call Ubbe, looks at you like a beast that’s planning on attacking, and it makes your throat dry.

Fuck, you’re really going to die here, aren’t you?

Well, at least you’ll die surrounded by attractive men. That’s heaven to some people, right?

You sit stiffly on the table, and the blond breaks the silence.

“What’s with her?”

Ubbe shrugs, “Mother says the Gods have touched her eyes, that she’s…different than she was last night.”

You turn your gaze to your plate, content that at least the piece of lamb in front of you is familiar. After carefully looking over the men -Princes, you suppose?- and how they eat, you decide picking the small pieces off the bone with your fingers isn’t that inappropriate, apparently, and set to eating.

“What did you do to her?” The blonde presses, tone angrier.

The Prince of short dark hair frowns, “Me? Why would I do something to her, huh?”

“You were with her last night,” His brother doesn’t hesitate in accusing, making the other man grow angrier, “You’re crazy, maybe you made her crazy too.”

You almost want to argue that you’re very much not crazy, thank you very much, but instead just watch with wide eyes as the two brothers start arguing.

You don’t hear most of what they are yelling at one another, but you do notice they all hold their breath when the short-haired one with piercing eyes leans his arms on the table, and seems to drag himself into a standing position.

Your eye the man’s legs, and notice they are bound together, and he can’t lean on them, as if he’s paralyzed.

Standing up doesn’t seam the smartest choice, and the world -strange as this one is- proves you right when he falls back into his chair with a grunt of pain.

The cruelly delighted smile on the blond Prince’s lips unsettles you.

Their ruckus, their argument, is ended when two figures walk through the doors towards the room.

You notice how the Queen passes by her eldest and touches his shoulder with affection, shares a smile with the one they call Hvitserk, and sits at the side of Ivar. You notice Sigurd’s eyes follow her with resentment, with anguish.

You don’t have time to dwell on it, because a tall and imposing man strides his way to you without hesitation, his walk that of either an insane man or a dead one.

The man leans close to you, one hand on the back of your chair, a strange air of deadliness and fragility in his crazed and sad eyes.

“You are a burdened one, or so my wife says,” He spares a fake smile that looks like a grimace to the Queen. He leans even closer to you, mouth by your ear and nose almost pushing into your hair as he breathes, “Is this world the wrong one for you too?”

You speak for the first time since you realized the words leaving your lips were in a language you didn’t know but still understood.

“More than I could say.”

He huffs a breath that could have in another world been a laugh, and leans back, walking confidently to the Queen and sitting at her side.

And so you sit there and eat, and watch and listen as they interact. And so you start feeling a little less insane with each moment you can breathe in of this strange world.

The day goes on, and you don’t wake up. With each passing hour, even if you have no way of counting those, your heart settles, and your breathing grows easier, and you can almost call familiar the life whoever they confuse you with lived.

Night falls, and when you walk the streets towards the place you woke up in, you catch sight of a figure in a small clearing overlooking the hills. The King.

His back is turned to you, and his eyes seem to be focused on the horizon, but he turns his head to the side and calls out your name. It still sounds so strange in these people’s lips.

“Come closer, I won’t hurt you.” He asks, a smile that disappears after a moment on his lips. When you do, his gaze returns ahead, silently telling you to do the same.

In the distance, you see what looks like a figure forming before your eyes. The distant cackle of a raven, and there’s a man over those hills, hooded cloak overing him and a walking stick in his hand.

Even in all the space that separates you, you feel his eye set on you.

The King takes a deep breath, and you have half a mind to ask if he sees him too when he starts, “Between mind and memory, tell me, what would you rather lose?”

You meet the eye of the man in the distance, and two of the ravens that flock around him approach you. You cannot help but follow them with your eyes, craning your head back to watch their black wings and their contrast against the night sky.

The sky that, when the dark wings that for a heartbeat obscured it pass, is a familiar one.

____

You find him, of course you do. You don’t have a choice, it’s either finding that man or accepting you’ve lost your mind. You woke up in a world that, while familiar, it was somehow strange too; after...after knowing of the other one, of the other life.

He welcomes you with the same knowing smile, and this time you find yourself smiling back.

“You return. And with even more questions.”

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“Gods, please don’t start this again,” You snarl, settling on the seat across from him and leaning closer, resting your elbows on your knees. “What…what did I see?”

“I told you that you were going to learn.”

“So a-a lesson?”

“Was it a lesson to you?”

You bit back irritation at the way he continues to answer with more fucking questions, and press, “On what?”

“To each soul a curse means a different thing. You learned that, didn’t you, child?”

You can see clear in your mind’s eye the faces you saw, the people you met, the stories you were granted a glimpse into.

“Knowledge,” You list out, “that was…the seeress, Aslaug. Legacy…legacy was Ubbe, he looks just like his father. Indefiniteness…Hvitserk?”

“He didn’t speak a word, did he? Couldn’t decide if you were the woman he knew or not. Couldn’t decide many things.”

“Pain…pain is Ivar. Irrelevance, his…his brother, Sigurd.”

The man nods, his smile widens.

“And Ragnar…” Your breath stutters past parted lips but your words die.

“Even life can be a curse.” The man finishes for you, and you nod your head dazedly, taking his words, his lesson, in.

You fetch the worn piece of bone from your pocket, trace the strange ‘P’ of the rune with a smile. You woke up with a different one on your bed, in that other world, but this one was the one that accompanied you back.

“And me? How did…how does time curse me?”

“It pulls you in two directions. It forces you to choose.” He answers without hesitation, head still lowered.

You notice he once again holds two runes in his hand, the same one he gave you that day, before all this madness, the angular ‘B’; and another, one that looks like an ‘F’ with an angle to it.

“And what can I choose?”

The man chuckles, finally looking up at you and meeting your gaze with his one eye.

“Between mind and memory, tell me, what would you rather lose?”

____

Soooo yeahhhh. I had fun writing this. That’s what counts, right? I enjoyed my little references to Huginn and Muninn, enjoyed my little ‘surprise bitch, it’s me, the big guy™. Btw, you can go back, y’know?’ at the end there, enjoyed putting this poor reader through that madness lol

I’m so sorry if I dissapointed the anon that requested this, and I’m really sorry if this sucks. I tried lol

Thank you for reading, I love you!

#vikings #vikings imagine

[bloodfromthethorn]

Broken Trust

Even now, hours later, he couldn’t shake the memory of Jack’s shoulder driving into his sternum, a too-tight grip on his bicep forcing him sideways as the man he trusted more than anyone else in the world physically moved through him rather than listen to what he had to say.

Tag to 2x02. Mac didn't walk away from his encounter with Jack as unscathed as he might wish to appear.

Also on AO3

..

Mac knew he was being stupid.

Yes, Jack threatening him with violence was no small matter and he was certainly justified in his surprise and betrayal, but he knew that he shouldn’t read any further into it. Jack had just been worried about Riley and hadn’t been thinking straight and in all likelihood, that was absolutely all it was. There was no deeper meaning, no hidden message. He shouldn’t be dwelling on it. He definitely shouldn’t be sitting on his deck at 3:30 in the morning contemplating all the times Jack had promised to have his back, to keep him safe, only to immediately turn on him when Mac put himself between his Overwatch and someone Jack cared about more.

It wasn’t like he didn’t get it: Jack had technically known Riley for far longer than he’d known Mac and he’d cared for her when she’d been a child – of course he was going to feel paternal. Mac had never been under any illusion that the relationship he had with Jack would outweigh that and he wouldn’t want it to, but he’d kind of thought that he still at least ranked somewhere near the top. Was that being presumptuous? A few days ago he wouldn’t have doubted it for a second, but now he couldn’t help but think maybe he’d been projecting his own feelings onto Jack and the reality of the situation was actually nothing like he’d thought it was.

But, then again, that was just a little overly dramatic, no? Jack had proven willing to go to the mat for Mac time and again, and this was the first time since their ill-fated meeting that the man had ever seemed willing to come to blows with him. They’d rib and tease each other, but he could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times there’d been true animosity between them. Mac’s quiet crisis of faith was surely nothing more than an overactive imagination and a history of being second choice to the people he loved.

And even if he wasn’t imagining anything, Jack had apologised for all of it – or at least he’d tried to. In the end, despite having waited to hear it, Mac had found that he just couldn’t stomach the thought of listening to Jack try to justify himself, to directly tell him that his loyalty to the woman who was basically his daughter was more important to him than his loyalty to Mac. Instead he’d shut down the apology before it could reach the light of day, brushing off Jack’s concern with a shrug and an easy smile. Better to let everyone think that it really was no big deal and was easily put behind them, no matter how far that might be from the truth. If Jack had had any notion of how badly Mac had been flying to pieces inside his own head, he hadn’t shown it.

So far as Mac could tell, everyone had mutually agreed that the whole thing had been a bizarre incident of heightened emotions with no deeper meaning and they could all quite happily sweep it under the rug and pretend it never happened. If only things were so simple for him.

Even now, hours later, he couldn’t shake the memory of Jack’s shoulder driving into his sternum, a too-tight grip on his bicep forcing him sideways as the man he trusted more than anyone else in the world physically moved through him rather than listen to what he had to say. Bruises he’d been very careful to hide pulsed quietly beneath his skin.

It shouldn’t matter, he knew that. Jack had been going out of his mind with worry and Mac knew better than anyone how much he could overreact if someone he cared about was in trouble but at the same time… He’d put Mac in trouble. Mac wasn't in any doubt that if Riley hadn’t chosen that particular moment to convince Bedlam to trust her, he would be nursing a black eye – or worse – by now.

Worse still was that Bozer had also been in the unfortunate position of having to get between Jack and Riley that very same day and he’d managed to walk away entirely clean. Mac was unendingly grateful for that of course and he’d never wish any harm on his friend, but he couldn’t deny that it stung to know Jack wouldn’t raise a hand against Boze when he’d been perfectly happy to against Mac barely an hour earlier.

He ran a shaking hand through his hair for the hundredth time, huffing out a heavy breath as he battled to get his thoughts under control. This was normally what Jack was good at, helping him to get out of his own head and see the truth of things so he could work through the problem, but even if it hadn’t been the early hours, Mac wasn’t about to disturb him with this. Either he was wrong and being paranoid and there really wasn’t anything to worry about, or he was right and asking about it would mean having to hear one of his worst fears realised.

He wasn’t really up to confronting either outcome tonight.

Instead he was stuck out here, unable to sleep but too tied up in knots to try doing anything productive. The best he could manage was sitting beside the unlit firepit with a beer he hadn’t touched once. Letting himself go and getting drunk was distantly tempting, but work tomorrow was going to be tough enough as it was without throwing a hangover into the mix. Besides, if he did that, then people were going to ask questions and there really was no unembarrassing way of saying ‘I’ve been having a bit of a breakdown because a man I considered a brother nearly punched me in the face and I’m having to rethink a decade-long relationship.’

Mac’s usual approach to emotional problems had always been resorting to logic – with mixed results. It was all well and good to explain his childhood dog’s perpetual escape attempts as animal instinct rather than personal dislike, but it became a lot more complicated when he tried to pinpoint the reason a man would abandon his only son and never look back. Unfortunately, this problem looked like it was going to fall into the latter category.

The facts were thus: Jack loved Riley like a daughter; Riley had been in imminent, but not certain, danger; Mac had put himself between the two; Jack had chosen to disregard what Mac was saying in favour of physically moving him aside so he could reach Riley.

There was no logic in the world that could explain that away without demeaning Mac’s relationship with Jack in a way that was deeply hurtful.

It wasn’t a competition and even thinking of it in those terms left Mac swallowing down guilt and disgust at his own neediness. Jack cared loudly and widely; he was in possession of a heart so large, Mac was quite certain he could love a hundred people equally without breaking a sweat. It was no great stretch or challenge to accept that Jack was capable of loving both Riley and Mac, and that those two things had absolutely nothing to do with each other. There was nothing unreasonable about that. 

So it wasn’t a competition, but if it had been then Mac had very definitely lost.

God, he needed to get it together. He was self-aware enough to realise that the only real path forward here was to forgive Jack the minor transgression and move on, accepting it for what it had been without trying to place any excess baggage onto it. If he really couldn’t manage that alone, Jack would no doubt be willing to offer the apology he’d tried to give earlier, should Mac reveal his concerns. Nothing anyone said or did would take back what had happened, and wishing otherwise was childish. He just needed to put it behind him.

Then again, that evidently wasn’t going to happen tonight.

He’d ended up out on the deck sometime around midnight, waiting sleeplessly in his bed until Bozer was well and truly unconscious before sneaking out, driven by a vague desire for air and a need to see the stars. He was only one for two on that – a heavy blanket of cloud had managed to erase the few bright night sparks that usually managed to make it past the light pollution – but that wasn’t such a bad score. At the very least, the still quiet made a nice contrasting balm to his inner turmoil.

The quiet didn’t last however – the hour hand on Mac’s watch had just started creeping past 4 when he heard the purr of a familiar engine pulling up outside and he breathed a long sigh. He had no idea what had drawn Jack there – he’d often joked about having a sixth sense when Mac was in trouble, but he couldn’t possibly have known about this – and he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to find out. He toyed with the idea of slipping back into his bedroom before Jack had a chance to make it into the house, but he was sufficiently torn that he was still contemplating that course of action when he heard the door unlatch.

There were a few moments of quiet footsteps tracing through the house, first checking on the bedrooms and then, after presumably finding Mac’s empty, more hurried movement until the door to the deck squeaked open and Jack’s boots appeared in the corner of Mac’s vision. Exhausted and frankly too tired to even try to pretend otherwise, Mac didn’t look up.

“What are you doing here?” He asked quietly. His whole evening had felt fragile and a superstitious part of him he’d never been able to ditch warned that it was in danger of shattering if he didn’t speak softly.

“Couldn’t sleep,” was the equally gentle reply. “You?”

“It’s been a long few days.” The words sounded heavy, containing too much meaning. He took an unenthusiastic swig of beer to cover it. “There’s more in the fridge if you want one,” he added, shaking the bottle a little.

“Little early to start drinking, isn't it?”

“To be fair, it was late when I started.”

“…I think that might make it worse hoss.”

He snorted indelicately and took another pull. Now that he’d started drinking it, he found himself vaguely comforted by the familiar flavour. There wasn’t enough alcohol in it to do more than warm him, but the sensation wasn’t unwelcome.

Jack seemed to sigh, then his boots disappeared as he worked his way around behind Mac to sit beside him on the lip of the firepit. Now on the same level, Mac couldn’t avoid meeting his gaze. He looked as tired as Mac felt, so he said as much.

His Overwatch offered an unconvincing smile. “I’ll have you know that I look good no matter what,” he replied, but it was clear his heart wasn’t in it. “Truth be told, I feel like I’ve been kicked by a horse.”

That raised concern. “Are you getting ill? I think I’ve still got some of those antipyretics in the cupboard-”

He made a jerking motion to get to his feet, but Jack waved him back down before he could go anywhere. “Nah, it’s nothing man, don’t worry about it. It’s just like you said – been a long few days. Think I’m still working through it all.”

Mac felt his heart sink in his chest. Of all the conversations he didn’t want to have right that second. “I know how much you didn’t want Riley out there. I can’t imagine how stressful this has all been,” he said, aiming for compassionate and just barely hitting the mark. “I’m just glad it’s over.”

Jack, weirdly, looked sheepish. “You and me both kid, but that’s not exactly what I meant.”

There was a pause as Mac processed that and came up empty. “Oh?”

Despite the fact that whatever was going on in Jack’s head had been fierce enough to drive him all the way to Mac’s house in the middle of the night, he suddenly looked tremendously uncertain. One hand snaked up to rub at the back of his neck, dragging his head down so that he didn’t have to maintain eye contact. Mac half expected him to start shifting in his seat.

“Jack? What’s going on?”

He sighed gustily, apparently rooting around for his courage, and met Mac’s gaze again. “Look, I know you brushed it off before and I appreciate your understanding and all that but-” He hesitated ever so briefly, then the rest came pouring out of him like he couldn’t stop it. “Man, I was way out of line yesterday. Like so far past the line I couldn’t even see it any more. Yeah I was stressed about Riley and I ain’t ever going to be sorry for looking out for her, but that doesn’t change the fact that for a split second I was willing to go through you to do it. There’s nothing that could ever make that right and I need you to know how fucking sorry I am.”

He broke his gaze away again, bringing up his other hand to bury his face in his palms in pained desperation. Mac blinked at him in surprise, utterly stunned.

“And it’s stupid anyway because I know how much you care about Riley and me, and I know that you were trying to stop me to protect us both – I should have just seen-” He bit himself off, grumbled, pressed on more calmly: “I was so focused on my own inability to see what Riley could do that I lost sight of her, the mission, and you. It’s my job to keep you safe – that’s my only job – and I was so far out of my own head that I put you in danger because of my own stupidity. There is nothing about that that’s okay and even if you don’t need me to say it, I had to tell you that I’m sorry. I’m not expecting forgiveness because shit, I really messed it up this time, but for whatever it’s worth, I swear I’ll never do that again.”

Mac forced himself to swallow, desperately willing his exhausted brain to kick itself into gear and process everything Jack had just dumped on him. When he’d considered asking for an apology after all, this hadn’t been quite what he had in mind. In response to it, all he could manage was a sort of stunned silence.

Jack rubbed at his face one last time, then pulled himself upright again and forcefully met Mac’s eyes. He looked as though he was bracing for a hit, but he didn’t flinch. Mac, for his part, had absolutely no idea what he was possibly supposed to say.

A part of him desperately wanted to grasp the lifeline he was being offered, accept the explanation as the reassurance it was evidently meant to be, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. After a lifetime of those he cared about proving that Mac was a very easy person to leave, some self-preservation instinct was finally picking up its head and warning him not to trust so blindly. A few days ago he had been utterly certain that Jack would never willingly hurt him – now, he knew what it was to hear his Overwatch’s voice dip low and threatening, warning him that if he didn’t step aside, he was going to get hurt. He knew what it was to go cold at the humiliation he’d felt when faced with a thoroughly dismissive, ‘Boy, get out of my face.’ He knew what it was to have Jack look at him and see nothing but an obstacle in his way.

Hours too late and in the worst possible moment, Mac suddenly realised that the anger he’d been quietly cultivating wasn’t really anger at all.

As he always seemingly managed to do, Jack chose that same moment to pick up on the fact that something had gone wrong with his partner, because his earnestness immediately dropped away behind guilty concern. He hesitated for several heartbeats, absorbing whatever was going on in Mac’s expression, then tilted his head consideringly. “When you stopped me apologising earlier,” he said very slowly, “You didn’t mean it when you said it was fine, did you?”

Mac forced himself to shrug, trying to shake looseness into limbs that had frozen in place. “Like I said, Riley’s lucky to have you. You were just watching out for her.”

“Yeah, and throwing you under the bus in the process. God, I almost- I could have hurt you Mac.”

Now was probably a very bad time to reveal that he had hurt him. At least the bruises were in places easy to hide.

“You didn’t,” he lied instead, running his eyes over the skyline rather than let Jack see the mistruth in them. “I appreciate the apology, I really do, but I understand. Riley’s family, Jack, of course you’re going to do everything you can to defend her.”

Jack let out a humourless snort. “You say that like you’re not every bit as much my family as she is.”

There was a sudden, telling silence. Jack blinked. Mac’s gaze stayed fixed on the horizon.

“You- You do know that… right?” Jack said haltingly, his voice so quiet as to be almost unheard even in the silence. When there was no immediate response, it turned more forceful. “Mac, tell me you know that.”

He swallowed hard. In the face of such honest concern, Mac couldn’t bring himself to lie or to brush it off, but at the same time he had no idea how to explain the tangle of thorns in his head without sounding as stupid as he was afraid he was being.

“Jack,” he started carefully, weighing up the words as he went, “We’ve been partners for years now. I know how important that is and I’m grateful for it every day, but… But you knew Riley when she was just a kid.” He twitched his hands in a vague attempt at encompassing the sheer scale of their relationship. “I get that things have been kind of weird between the two of you, but that doesn’t change the fact that she’s basically your daughter. I should never have tried to get in the middle of that.”

“If you hadn’t gotten in the middle of it, I would have gotten her killed,” Jack shot back immediately. “You did everything right Mac. I’m the one who fucked up here.”

There wasn’t a lot Mac could really say to that since it was technically accurate, but he was spared the effort by Jack refusing to take the bait of his deflection.

“And besides,” he continued firmly, “That’s not even slightly the point here. You- You really don’t think that I see you as family?”

Goddamn it he sounded hurt and that was so not what Mac had been going for. He sucked in a breath and cursed himself when it shook. “That’s not- That wasn’t what I was trying to say,” he managed lamely, wanting to reassure but deeply unwilling to make any presumptions. That was precisely what had gotten him into this mess.

Jack’s eyes were dark and sad and knowing. Mac could scarcely stand to look at them. “Maybe not, but it’s what you’re thinking, right? You’ve got it in your head that everything that happened was because Riley’s more important to me than you?”

Hearing the words said aloud in such a level, careful tone sent a rush of blazing shame right through him. It sounded so pathetic when put so simply. This time the anger that burned hot on its heels was genuine, though aimed more at himself than anyone else. He shook his head sharply as though to rid himself of the feeling but he still couldn’t quite meet Jack’s eyes when he said, “No. I know it doesn’t work like that. I’m not some kid in need of coddling Jack. I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“You’re tired because you’re sitting on your deck at four in the morning instead of sleeping, and I’ve known you long enough to know that happens when you can’t get something out of your head. So, if I’m wrong, what is it? Because it has been a shitty few days but somehow I get the feeling this isn’t about a missing EMP or you having to figure us a way out of a crashing plane with no chutes.” His expression was complicated; some combination of worried and open, like he was pleading with Mac to just speak with him. “C’mon Mac. Talk to me. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on.”

Mac shook his head slowly, too many thoughts crowding in at once to make sense of anything. “Jack-”

“Don’t tell me it’s nothing. Mac-” Jack bit off whatever he was about to say in frustration, shaking himself. “God I really fucked up. Should’ve known you’d come to the worst possible conclusion. Never did know your own worth.” He ran a tired hand over his face, then drew himself upright and faced Mac head on, a rare seriousness shining in his eyes. “Okay, this is something I clearly should be saying more often since you still don’t seem to believe it but, you’re my brother Mac. You’re every bit as much my family as Ri is and I know that I made you doubt that, but it never for one second stopped being true. You hear me? I’m so sorry for what I did outside that warehouse – you didn’t deserve it one bit and I should never have done it. But it didn’t mean what you’re thinking it did.”

“I’m not thinking anything Jack,” he said quietly, even while his brain raced away from him. He wanted so, so badly to believe what he was hearing and Jack had sworn long ago to always be honest with him. To Mac’s knowledge he’d never once broken that promise…

But it was also exactly what Mac wanted to hear. Of course he was going to be inclined to believe it.

“That’s never once been true and you know it,” Jack shot back, not losing an ounce of his seriousness. 

Mac didn’t rise to the implied joke. A sudden swell of frustration at Jack’s presumption climbed his throat and he was scoffing before he could help himself. “Tell me then,” he said sharply. “What exactly is it I’m thinking?”

Jack flinched lightly at the acid in his tone, but he held Mac’s gaze steadily like he was prepared to take any blow he threw his way. “I’ve never tried to pretend I can follow everything that goes through your head hoss. I don’t have near the IQ for that. But I think even you’d agree that I’ve gotten pretty good at following you.”

Mac’s face tried to twitch into a scowl but he forced it down with a will of iron. 

His partner continued without interruption. “Now maybe I’m overstepping here, but I’m gonna bet that right now you’re feeling angry and hurt because you trusted me and I let you down. I let you down real bad.” There, he did hesitate very slightly, before deciding to voice what they both already knew. “I know I’m not the first person to do that, not by a long shot. You’ve had to deal with all kinds of shit you never deserved, but betrayal isn’t something anyone gets used to.”

Burgeoning anger aside, that felt like a step too far. Mac shook his head sharply. “You didn’t betray anyone-”

“Yes, I did,” he cut in firmly. “I betrayed your trust. I promised to protect you, but I got so caught up in my own bullshit hang-ups that I broke that promise. You’ve got every reason to be pissed as all hell about that Mac, don’t let anyone tell you you don’t.”

“You were just trying to help Riley,” Mac said again, sounding weak to his own ears. Everything Jack was saying was everything he’d thought he’d needed to hear, but now that it was all laid out so plainly before him, the only sensation he could summon was bittersweet resignation. Jack wasn’t wrong - he felt betrayed. 

“Yeah, maybe. That’s not an excuse.”

There was a long, still pause. “No,” he finally admitted quietly. “It isn’t.”

The corners of Jack’s eyes were damp when he nodded, accepting and agreeing with that in equal measure. He looked crushed. “And you deserve every apology I can give you for that. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if you wanted to take a swing at me.”

Mac shot him a dark look, irritated by the joke, but he found only seriousness in Jack’s face; he’d meant it. “I’m not going to hit you,” he said, offended at the implication. 

“I know you won’t,” Jack soothed carefully. “I’m just trying to say - very badly - that I do know how badly I’ve fucked this up. I broke a promise to you that I swore my life on and you know I don’t take that sort of thing lightly. I can’t ever explain how sorry I am for it, but I can spend every moment you let me trying to make up for it.”

They let that sit between them for a long few minutes. Mac felt torn; even with the anger and hurt and fucking devastation rocking around in his chest he could admit that Jack was saying everything right. The real question then was whether or not Mac could trust it when Jack had already blindsided him once. 

His Overwatch’s smile was bleak and pained. “I can see that brain of yours whirring away,” he said at length. “Trying to work out if I’m telling the truth, huh?”

As he said it, his façade crumbled ever so slightly and for just a moment, he looked deeply, unbearably sad. Like he knew he’d earned every inch of that mistrust and was regretting it with every fibre of his being. In all their time together, Mac had seen Jack wear that expression exactly once: a thousand years ago in an Italian hospital room as he told a barely conscious Mac that Nikki hadn’t made it. The context might have been different, but those eyes- their grief was the same.

That- that Mac could believe. No one who looked like Jack did in that moment could be insincere. Jack was a hell of a good liar when he needed to be – requirement of the job, really – but the raw, honest heartbreak in that expression was not something even he could fake. For the first time since Jack walked towards him with violence in his eyes, Mac found that he could trust this, if nothing else.

No matter what had happened between them, how readily Jack had been willing to throw away every promise he’d ever made to Mac, he could see the evidence of his regret right in front of him. It didn’t undo what he’d done, not by a long shot, but it was… something. 

Something important. 

Maybe something so important it was really the only thing that actually mattered. 

There was no amount of words that could entirely mend the hurt that Jack had wrought that day, but perhaps they were enough to start the process. Jack was right here, swearing to do better, and despite a lifetime of reasons not to trust an offer like that, Mac couldn’t help but hear the ring of truth. For now, perhaps that had to be enough. Healing always came with time and with Jack willing to make amends, Mac had a feeling that they’d get there together in the end. 

He sucked in a hard breath, and finally, finally forced himself to let his anger and hurt go. They would do nothing for him now.

“I believe you,” he said, and meant it. He caught Jack’s eye. “And I accept your apology. My own messed up head aside, I do know that you were only trying to protect Riley.”

“Hey now, your head’s doing just fine. I’m the one tying it up in knots, even when I should know better. You’ve been given plenty of reason to think the worst of people in your life Mac. That it’s not your first response is- well. Incredible, I guess. I don’t blame you a bit for not trusting me after… Everything.”

Mac’s eyes dropped to the floor again, feeling oddly self-conscious about how easily Jack was able to see through him. It was always easy to forget how little time they had really known each other when Jack could look at him and immediately see the heart of whatever was bothering him. Bozer might have known him for longer, but Jack had still been the one who got to see the darker sides of him born in desert heat and sandy plains. That was exactly why this whole mess had hurt as much as it had.

“I always trust you Jack,” he said honestly. “You caught me off guard, but nothing is about to change that.”

Jack blinked hard, swallowing as he processed that. “After everything that happened this week, I know that I don’t deserve that but you don’t know how good that is to hear, man.” He rubbed at his face, pulling his emotions back in line. “And just so you know, while I appreciate you accepting my apology and all, I know I’m nowhere near done earning your forgiveness. What I did was-”

His eyes suddenly turned distant, and whatever strength had bled back into his frame drained in a rush. He looked… fragile.

“Jack, you don’t need to earn anything,” Mac said, suddenly feeling vaguely guilty for taking it all so badly while at the same time desperately trying to throttle that sensation. He wanted to forgive Jack – already had, if he was honest with himself – but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been right to be upset in the first place. “I’m glad you apologised, no matter what I told you before. That’s all I needed.” He shrugged self-deprecatingly. “Well, that and for you to talk some sense into me, maybe.”

“That’s my job, remember?” Jack said with a shrug of his own. “Keeping your head on straight is half the battle.” He winced in the same instant as he said it, apparently realising the irony in him being the one to throw Mac off this time. He visibly forced himself to straighten out, trying to accept the truth of Mac’s forgiveness. “Well, lesson learned, I guess. Just wish I didn’t do it by hurting you.”

Mac snorted softly, even though his heart wasn’t really it in. “I’m tougher than I look.”

“That is one hundred percent true,” Jack agreed without hesitation, “But it doesn’t change the fact that I was a dick and you caught the worst of it. Which would be bad enough at the best of times, but in this case you were only doing what you could to protect me and Riley, which is like, I don’t know, a double dick move on my part?” He broke off momentarily with a frown as if trying to work out the maths of that specific scenario, then shook himself like a dog shaking off water. “Whatever, the point is-” A pause. “What was my point again?”

Despite himself, Mac snickered. “I think it was something along the lines of ‘I’m sorry I was an ass, I won’t do it again’. That about sum it up?”

Jack grinned in that knowing way he did when he’d succeeded in pulling Mac out of his own head without him realising. “Couldn’t have put it better myself.” He sobered, catching Mac’s gaze. “And I mean it. I’m not ever going to take a swing at you man, and I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you never have to feel like I might again.”

 Mac’s first instinct was to brush the reassurance off once more, remind Jack that he already had his trust, but he caught himself before he could. He was determined not to punish himself for reacting badly to something he had every reason to react badly to, and besides, it seemed like Jack needed to say it just as much as Mac needed to hear it. After everything that had happened that day, it felt good to hear that promise put into words. “Thank you,” he said at length, letting truth settle into his tone. 

He went to say more, but the words were lost as a jaw-cracking yawn forced its way up his throat. Jack chuckled quietly at him. 

“Yeah, I feel that,” he said, dispensing with his heavy tone for something lighter, something healing. “Think it might be past time we got you to bed, man. You look knackered.”

“I am,” he admitted. There was very little point pretending otherwise; he knew what he looked like. “You’ve got to be exhausted too.”

Jack shrugged easily. “Yeah, but I’ll get out of your hair. I knew you weren’t exactly expecting visitors when I decided to turn up unannounced at four in the morning.”

“That’s literally never stopped you,” he said, rolling his eyes. Truthfully, he was glad Jack had shown up when he did - it was only thanks to it that he thought he might actually be able to get some honest to god sleep before he had to show up at work tomorrow- or, well, later today. “You’re not driving home this late. Just sleep here.”

“I didn’t exactly bring a go-bag with me.”

“Unless you’ve changed dramatically in size in the last two months, I’m pretty sure the clothes you left in my dresser are still going to fit you.”

Jack looked like he was bending, wanting to give in to the comfort readily being offered, but something dark and wary in his eyes was holding him back. That line of guilt that ran rigid along the back of his shoulders had eased slightly during the course of their conversation, but it still lingered on even now. Mac had a sneaking suspicion he wasn’t going to lose it for a long time. 

“I don’t want to impose,” he said after a strained moment of silence. His gaze dropped to his lap. “I think I’ve disturbed your sleep enough tonight to last a lifetime, bud.”

“In case it wasn’t abundantly obvious, you weren’t disturbing anything.”

“Just ‘cause I wasn’t here, doesn’t mean it wasn’t my fault.”

Mac couldn’t help but roll his eyes again. “C’mon man, it’s done. We’re all good, remember? But if you keep arguing about driving home at four AM when you look like you’re going to fall asleep at the wheel, then you are going to keep me up when I would much rather be sleeping. Matty’s already going to be mad as it is; we don’t need to pile sleep deprivation on top.”

His Overwatched hissed, pulling on a peeved frown. “You’re too sneaky for your own good, you know that?”

Mac released what felt like his first genuine laugh in days and drained the rest of his beer, easing himself carefully to his feet. “Someone might have mentioned it in the past. Come on, big guy. I’m not carrying you inside if you pass out here.”

“You could just wake me up.”

“And give up the opportunity to listen to you griping about that bad back you pretend you don’t have? Ooh, that’s a tough call.”

“You’re an ass.”

Mac’s laugh chased them into the darkened house.

#macgyver #macgyver fanfiction #fanfic #my fanfic #fanfiction #angus macgyver #jack dalton #s02e02 muscle car + paperclip #muscle car + paperclip

[woke-ing-ya-terves]

(little backstory here, idk the op, just the girl saying 'amen' and reposting it. When I was 10 I found out from many of the girls in my children's classes at church that their fathers/stepfathers - all of whom just so happened to be in leadership positions at this church - had been molesting them. This was at least 7 girls. 'Amen' up there wasn't one of those girls, btw, but her father and stepmother were only leaders in the music program and they were good, if naive, people and stayed in this church for a while after this incident, not that it was an open one. When I was told these things, I suggested we tell my mother and see what she thinks should happen. Only one girl wanted to actually do that out of fear that what was happening to her was rapidly getting worse so we went to my mom together and my mother decided to take it to the church council bc DHS in my area is a dangerous joke. They called my friend a liar and suggested she apologize to her stepfather in front of the church to ask forgiveness for the sin of lying. My mother left the church after that meeting and never came back and her mother still goes to that church now, for reference. This church is one that I consider a cult, they have some other extremist beliefs besides this attitude towards child rape victims to say the least but I won't go into too much detail other than to say they host a rapture preparation seminar to this day and have a fully stocked bunker on the premises)

In response to this grown woman's naively condescending post about how the people aren't the God and how people who have 'given up on god' because of christians should just 'not do that' and in return they will be reward vaguely, I'd like to say firstly, you're contradicting your own doctrine because the people ARE the church and therefore equally yoked to CHRIST. How they, and you, act is entirely the responsibility of other Christians/Christian religion. It is no outsiders job to receive the word of God, but it IS the job of christians to perpetuate that gospel and if they choose to do things that inhibit that, they are breaking their own creators laws and insulting him and his legacy, which is ALSO against their doctrine. Secondly, when apostates talk about 'people' being the reason that we left our faith, a lot of the time what we DON'T mean is that as supposed representatives of an all-powerful, unknowable and ultimately unprovable force, we were left wanting for hospitality. What we DO mean is that once we realized that everyone practicing the faith we took part in were liars and manipulators, our group and private 'experiences with God' that were once anecdotal evidence, were put into a new frame of reference, that reference being large-scale gaslighting and widespread delusion feeding off of each other. I didn't even have words for that the first time I saw it: A small but powerful group torturing already vulnerable people into losing their minds for the sake of taking their money and collecting other people who were power hungry to replace their hydra heads every time one of them fell off the wagon or ran off with all the money. I guess what I'm trying to say looks like I'm complaining about church being bad at marketing to apostates, but really I'm just upset that this woman and I have so much in common with the major difference being that she has chosen to lie to herself, despite mountains of evidence that not only is this stuff wrong and crazy, it's also SPECIFICALLY and OBVIOUSLY targeting you and women based on our common vulnerabilities and our moralistic desire to believe in the goodness of people, and by extension, the sentience of our surrounding universe.

[bookfreaky]

LOVE DOING - The Analysis

Intro:

I try to never analyse my work while still working on it, because I believe that the painting must be born from an image in your head, or a feeling, and not from a concrete idea. That is the foundation of abstractionism. Then when you’re finished and you are kind of star-gazing your own work, you try to find what made you create all that, what made you use that colour or this shape. I did that and I saw that all the dots were connected in the same theme: Love.  

Love as a broad concept and my experience with that. I think love is a very liquid sentiment, like water, it takes the shape of its every container you put it, but pretty much it’s still love. That same impulse is there. It can be like water also in the way it reflects the sun light, how it changes colours and distorts shapes. Love can be illusory; it can be lysergic but it can also be the answer to many simple questions in life. In its gas form it can be contagious and performative as it inhabits imagination, but it can also become solid when under pressure, just like water becomes ice under high pressures. In difficult situations, the love you feel for that person may be the only thing that keeps you going. I experienced that, and I think many people did too with so many people getting ill and dying during the Covid pandemic.

Like water it nurtures, like water it drowns. Love can be represented as a substance, like it just did, but also it persists as an action, an abstract action at so, an actual verb. In abstractionism, it’s to be said that colour is verb while shape is noun (I won’t remember to said that), for that reason I focused in this collection mainly in two colours in their variations, red and blue. Without the political branding aesthetic, red is seen in psychoanalysis as a active colour, the colour of human blood. Blue could be described as a “calmer” colour, but not so lacking in action. As Rebecca Solnit said, I quote:

“Water is colourless, shallow water appears to be the colour of whatever lies underneath it, but deep water is full of this scattered light, the purer the water the deeper the blue. The sky is blue for the same reason, but the blue at the horizon, the blue of land that seems to be dissolving into the sky, is a deeper, dreamier, melancholy blue, the blue at the farthest reaches of the places where you see for miles, the blue of distance.”

So I dedicate this four paintings to the people I love and whomever loves things, but also to all the feelings that come about with love. Some of these paintings are capable of calming me and I could keep looking at them for hours, forgetting about myself. Others make me feel angsty, uncomfortable and looking at them oblige me to think about my own existence and fear my future.

I really hope you look at the paintings before you read the whole thing, and suffer through the same. Thank you.  

Love Escaping Into the Blue:

This one was the first painting I made, before I imagined it to be a collection, and it was born from the experience of decompressing love from a place of deep passion; where you are taken by this sudden and enormous sadness but also relief. I felt free, really. I read this biology paper from the Monterey Bay Aquarium, called “Light in the Deep Sea”, and it explains that there’s some uniformity of colour in the ocean animals according to how deep in the water they inhabit. Animals living in the great depths of the sea, between 6,000 and 11,000 meters deep, have commonly a very vivid red colour, but closer to the surface of the water, between 200 and 1,000 meters deep, most animals are silver and grey. That’s because in this depth the brightness of sunlight is fragmented into a blue colour, and grey reflects the blue light creating the illusion that the animal is, in fact, blue. A Blue Whale is actually grey, not blue.

[Seadevil Fish (Cryptosaras couesii), left. Blue Whale (Balaenoptera musculus), right.]

The painting shows a leak of red coming into blue and bluer space, which is this feeling of infatuation and selfish desire, possession, fear and jealousy that is very red in colour and has connotations of violence and anger, moving into a place that is not so deep in the water but clearer and wider as the open sea, illuminated by this navy-blue light. It’s like you can finally breathe and see that your love is still there, but it has changed. In hope by being closer to the atmosphere it is also somehow closer to the divine. I imagine some people might feel lost when love escapes into the blue, and I get this sensation too, but it’s about loving freely, learning how not to feel love so deeply into ourselves, but widely like the ocean.

Love Growing in the Pit of the Stomach: 

When I looked at this painting in particular after it was done, I had this sensation of angst that was difficult for me to name. It’s about desire, it’s about this feeling growing inside of you that you know it will be something more than what you want, but what you need. I’ve become obsessed with the image of holes, looking like they are piercing the canvas; I think they show this emptiness I feel, like a window showing how hollow I am inside, but also, they give me this satisfying feeling by looking at them, like opening a wound and poking a bubble. I think this emptiness comes from the idea most trans women cannot take away from the back of their heads, which is if you do or do not have a “female genitalia”. Gender in our culture is very centred around genitals and biological sex, for centuries being a woman has been defined by the person who’s able to carry a man’s child. There is this little fantasy of mine where women have this little hole in them that can swallow the world. The idea of it, for me, has grown into a very real desire very much like the desire for sex. Actually, very close to sex too. But the roots growing out of the hole, in green and blue, represent pain and fear, because I’m not sure if I’m okay with the idea of having to undergo a surgical procedure to fulfil this fantasy, neither I am sure if it is a fantasy or a need.

Most of my work resembles yonic shapes (resembling the form of a vulva), either in this work or in former ones, and it’s never intentional, it sort of just slips from my subconscious. I believe that the vulva, as well as the womb, are under-shadowed symbols of power. Phallic shapes are very common in art and what-not, they are usually associated with offense and aggression. Like when school boys draw a dick on the toilet stalls as if marking their territory. The vulva, however, is never quite portrayed like that.

I read about this Japanese visual artist, Megumi Igarashi, who made several pieces of art shaped after her own vagina, including a yellow vagina-boat (which I absolutely loved) and she got arrested and fined for “obscenity”. I think that for her subversive art-form she should be considered a national hero. Many man-made constructions are phallic images, look at the Washington Obelisk, or the Eiffel Tower, but in nature we most commonly find yonic shapes, like the Grand Canyon.

There is a profound violence in desiring this, feeling as if a part of your own anatomy is lacking, but you can’t grow it naturally, you can’t do it in a god-intended way. The bright red colour represents violence and sex, and in this case both. It’s way more complicated than the concept of having kids and being a mom, it’s a lot more than to be seen as sexual beings, and sexuality, and to feel loved; it’s about symbols of power and somehow getting that denied. It’s about learning how to love this new body, a body that is foreign, infertile, obscene and unconventional. That love is hard to achieve and it is violent because women, and especially trans women, have been taught to hate their bodies.  

Love Falls In The Bathroom:

This one took the longest to finish and left me with the most unsure brush-strokes, much perhaps because it isn’t based off on an idea but on a memory, on dream. In three more years I’ll be the same age my mother had and she had me, 29 years old. Somehow it feels like a looming date. Having kids and getting pregnant, specifically, have been sporadic subjects of therapy sessions – the antithesis is always the same: you are not lesser of a woman for not being able to get pregnant, you can still be a mom through other means, you are not even sure if you want kids or marriage, you can always adopt – Those answers feel reasonable, but none of them ever could appease the deep feeling of something missing in me, like something is perpetually wrong with me. Then I understood that in this painting, I was trying to evoke these feelings. Love and grief.

[My mother, pregnant with me, in the 90s.] 

My friends tell me I seem to be older than I actually am, and sometimes I wonder if that’s not because I had never been a happy child. I feel like I had my childhood robbed from me. I mean, I had an okay, comfortable childhood, and a problematic teenage-hood, but I never had a girlhood. I am still grieving it. I had been assigned male at birth, I’m still grieving that too.

In July of this year, I experienced a very vivid dream, in which although short all the images and the sensations were, felt very real. I was taking a shower in my bathroom, I close off the water, wrap myself around a towel, my usual pink one, and when I’m stepping out of the shower stall I fell. I hit my right elbow against the toilet lid as I fell with my legs open in opposite directions, a sharp pain struck me under my thighs, close to my groin, and a light string of blood followed right after that. It wasn’t menstruation blood, thin and clear red, but thick and dark. It was all very quick but I knew, right then, right there, exactly everything that was happening. I was pregnant, 13 weeks, alone in the bathroom floor, surrounded by blood. I wonder how many days of my recent life, how many hours a day, I am really just sitting down alone on my bathroom’s floor surrounded by blood. I woke up and it still felt very real. I had spent the next two days very quiet, not wanting to speak to anyone. I wanted to tell someone as soon as I was back from the dream, but I couldn’t do it. I wanted to call someone, a friend, anyone, and say “I lost it. I lost my baby”. I realised then, in that post-dreamy state, that I have been silently grieving for a lot of things, things I haven’t yet allowed myself to grieve for. Things I still did not have a chance.

Love Lost In Imagination:

This one is the only one what doesn’t forecast red and blue colours, but instead in red and blue paint mixed together in a royal purple colour. It was the last one I made, and it’s the one that differs the most in shape. I like to imagine it was love in it’s gas form, vaping inside your brain like Nitrous-oxide, with white-coloured cloud shapes and yellow peacock eye-feathers. It’s about how sometimes love can only exist in imagination, how we often elaborate better scenarios in our heads, and we think “what if things were different?”. I believe to be okay to fantasize, anyway the utopia is what moves us towards a reality, but sometimes we can get lost in imagination, and in questioning the same questions over and over. “What if I hadn’t done this and done that?”; “What if I hadn’t said no?”; “What if I had stayed longer to watch that movie?”; “What if had come out as trans earlier?”; “What if I had become a professional writer?”; “What if I had born a woman?”. Is love real if it perpetrates only in thought?

I would be more than happy to quote some of Saint Augustine here, and his theological virtues, love being one of them, but I wouldn’t like to make this essay even longer and complicated.

I think to myself sometimes, when was it that I started to prefer having peace then pleasure. My head has always been very noisy, very noisy, and I wanted it to stop. Now it feels like I’m constantly too quiet about everything. That somehow, like the Little Mermaid by Hans Christensen Andersen, when transitioning into a woman I exchanged my legs (my body) for my voice, and now I can’t voice or even pinpoint what I want. I’m just so tired. So, so tired. My mental health hasn’t been great for more than one year, and the pandemic didn’t help. I’m constantly anxious around people, even the closest ones to me (especially the closest ones to me), I’ve been eating like a bird and sleeping like a cat. Still, sometimes I imagine what future I would like, and I imagine myself living somewhere with open space, trees, breeding horses just like my grandfather did, space for dogs, musical instruments and the kids. Space for being big.

The painting makes me think that sometimes I can only love myself in this imaginary place. Otherwise, it just looks slightly like a chicken’s head. You decide.    

- Original work, G.L. Alódio.

#art #art analysis #art essey #personal #my own #painting

[shireness-says]

coming ashore (to my lover’s arms)

Summary: For three years, Captain Killian Jones has been seeing Princess Emma of Misthaven in secret. When the Evil Queen kidnaps Emma's father, however, secrecy is set aside. Can they save the king and find their own happily ever after? ~10.5k. Rated T for language and fighting. Also on AO3.

~~~~~

A/N: Back in March, I ran a giveaway after I published my 50th fic on Ao3, which was won by the lovely @ouatxxxxx. She requested Princess Emma and Pirate Killian, and an established relationship. Being me, I threw a little adventure in and some cute Captain Cobra moments. I don't think anyone is complaining. Sorry this took so long to finish - thanks for your patience!

Big thanks to @snidgetsafan for her beta-ing, as well as the whole host of people who listened to me spitball ideas. 

Tagging: @ohmightydevviepuu, @profdanglaisstuff, @welllpthisishappening, @optomisticgirl, @scientificapricot, @let-it-raines, @thejollyroger-writer, @kmomof4, @teamhook, @winterbaby89, @spartanguard, @searchingwardrobes

Enjoy - and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

He used to love the sight of the open sea, stretching as far as the eye can see in every direction like a vast unknown full of every possibility. The sea used to be home - the place in this world where he felt most like himself.

But times change, and people do too - even stubborn, 300 year old pirate captains. And these days, Killian finds himself much more drawn to land and one particular port.

Or rather, one particular lady in one particular port.

He hadn’t gone looking for love, of course; quite the opposite. He’d come looking for treasure, and met a different jewel altogether along the way. 

Killian smiles at the memory. He’d had half a plan, a bit too much confidence, and rather more drink than anyone about to try and rob the royal palace ought to consume. The trail of ivy winding up to a non-descript third floor window had seemed like a stroke of luck; the real stroke of luck, he’d realize later, was reaching the top only to find himself face to face with a princess and her sword.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she’d demanded - in a tone rather less regal than he expected, he might add - and he’d had no choice but to surrender as her blade trained with deadly precision on his throat. 

(He’d surrendered his heart at the same time, but that was yet another realization for later.)

“Well, I had planned on a bit of casual larceny, lass,” he’d said as nonchalantly as he could muster, “but I rather think that may not be in the cards tonight after all.”

“You think?”

“I’m smarter than I look, love,” he’d assured her with a smirk. “Now, the way I see it, we’ve got three options. First, you let me make my way back down the vine. Second, you lower your sword and we continue this lovely banter in a more civilized fashion - perhaps in those chairs — ” he’d nodded towards a pair of armchairs facing a cozy fire to demonstrate — “and with a bit of rum.”

“And the third option?” She’d sounded amused, at least, which Killian had thought at the time was a good sign. 

“Ah. You run me through with this sword you apparently and inexplicably keep in your chambers, and that’s that. I’m admittedly rather less fond of the third option, I will say, but it seemed foolish not to point out the obvious.”

The lady had held her stance for a moment longer, staring down her steady blade with a confidence he wouldn’t have expected from a princess. Then again, nothing about this little excursion had gone the way he’d expected. Somehow, he’d felt as if she was evaluating him; holding a man at swordpoint certainly had given her one hell of an opportunity to do so. Finally, her blade had lowered, leaving Killian to breathe easy once again.

“You mentioned something about rum?” she’d asked, nodding towards the armchairs in invitation.

“What kind of pirate would I be otherwise?” Killian had smirked in return, sauntering over to drape himself over the flimsy seating. These chairs were clearly meant for little more than decoration.

“Can’t say I’ve met any pirates, so I couldn’t possibly say. A poor one, I take it.”

“You said it, not I.” After taking a hearty swig, Killian had passed the flask across to his unexpected companion. She’d taken to the liquor like a champ, just another unexpected thing about her. He’d started to realize that the lovely blonde in front of him was no ordinary princess. “As an aside, have you considered trimming the ivy outside your window? All manner of unsavory creatures might climb up - less chivalrous ones than I, who might wish to do harm to your lovely self.”

“Ah, but then I wouldn’t be able to climb down,” she’d retorted with a sly smile. “I’ll take my chances.”

Not an ordinary princess at all. 

They had only talked that night - two strangers, who never should have met, in an odd situation and bonding over the flask of rum. He’d learned about her parents who want to keep her safe at all costs, practically trapping her inside the walls of the castle except when she manages to sneak out down to the town and whatever darkened tavern she can pass unnoticed in, and about the magic she’s still learning how to use. She’d told him about her dead husband and the young son she loves more than anything in the world, and in turn he’d told her about his dearly departed brother and the way that he can’t help but feel these days that he’s on the wrong path, that Liam would be disappointed in him.

And it should just  have been a one time thing - two ships passing in the night who were never meant to meet. She’s a princess, after all, and he’s nothing but a pirate. But he couldn’t get her out of his mind, and the next time he’d found himself in that port again, he’d dropped by the tavern she’d mentioned as her usual haunt on the off chance he might see her.

He had thanked every god that had long since abandoned him when he did.

“I’ve heard a rumor,” he had said in lieu of greeting, reveling in the smile that had inched its way across Emma’s lovely face, “about a princess in these parts sneaking down the vine outside her window. I don’t suppose you know anything about that?”

“Maybe,” she had smirked back. “Buy me a drink, and maybe I’ll tell you.”

One drink became two; one night became many; and three years later, Killian finds himself the only captain in the seven seas who longs for land. 

(For Emma; for home.)

This is the way things have to be, he knows - she’s a princess, after all, and he’s a pirate, and there’s no reality he can imagine where her parents readily accept him as a suitor for her hand. Hell, they’re more likely to throw him in the dungeon, maybe hang him, maybe give him to another country who will do the same. Still, Killian can’t help but want - want to wake up by Emma’s side every morning, want to meet and come to know her brilliant son, want to be her partner in a permanent way. Want to be the kind of man who would deserve that. 

For now, though, that’s all a dream - just hopes and wishes that float away like a feather on the wind, perpetually out of grasp. This whole romance has been the stuff of fairy tales, Killian thinks sometimes, and not in the good way - rather, it’s been two lovers always separated by circumstance. Their current situation isn’t perfect, by any means, but it just might be the most they can hope for when they both are who they are. 

(The fact of the matter, Killian has long since learned, is that he’ll do anything to be with Emma, anything to make her happy.)

This port is familiar now, Killian docking here every other month now in order to spend a few days with his princess. They have a routine; he docks the Jolly and makes sure to raise a flag up the mast for Emma to see from her balcony, then meet that night in the same tavern by the docks. It’s well practiced, reliable. Most importantly, it allows them to see each other without fear of her parents finding out. He’s still a pirate, after all, even if he limits his attacks to ships of other countries, even if he loves Emma more than he ever believed possible. He’s still not a suitable beau for the woman who will one day be queen.

That’s why it shocks him to finally dock only to find Emma already pacing along the boards. He can only imagine how she knew they were coming; she must have been watching for him. That doesn’t solve the mystery of why she’s here in the first place.

The gangplank barely hits the worn wood of the docks before Emma rushes to meet him. “Oh thank the gods you’re here,” she exhales as she throws her arms around his neck. Killian clasps her to him in turn, revelling in the feeling of her body close to his even as concern courses through his veins.

“What’s wrong, darling?” He pulls back just enough to meet her eyes, resisting the urge to brush a stray hair behind her ear. It’s obvious the comfort of his embrace is more important right now.

“Something terrible has happened,” she tells him with tears starting to glisten in her eyes. “My father has been kidnapped.”

———

He can’t say he expected the day to end like this - with Emma and her mother and son all on his ship, sailing into almost certain danger. It’s not how he pictured meeting her parents, either, but he supposes that it’s better than the alternative, where he assumed he would be thrown straight into the dungeons for besmirching their beloved daughter and heir. It’s probably something to do with the fact that he’d immediately offered Emma his ship and crew to help get her father back. It doesn’t hurt either that the Queen clearly has other matters on her mind. 

Emma’s mother is a petite woman whose hair is still dark, if streaked with silver in places all the way through its neat coil at the back of her head. Killian sees a lot of Emma in her mother, actually; something about the set of their identical chins and their effortlessly graceful way of moving. The bow and arrows strapped to her back are certainly reminiscent of his and Emma’s first meeting, at least. Where Emma has proved to be all fiery determination after her little momentary breakdown at the docks, laying out a plan like a seasoned general with a spine of steel, her mother seems a little at odds - distracted, almost unable to truly focus on anything. Killian can understand that; after all, it’s the love of her life that’s missing, her true love, the man she’s spent every day with for decades. His absence must be jarring. Killian can’t even begin to imagine what he’d do if Emma were the one taken. 

(That’s probably another reason Emma’s mother doesn’t put up a big fuss about the fact that she’s been seeing a pirate in secret - she just doesn’t have the energy or the attention for it.)

Emma’s lad, on the other hand, seems blissfully oblivious to the circumstances at hand, gleefully running up and down the Jolly’s deck with all the energy a five-year-old can muster. Killian would say this isn’t how he anticipated meeting Henry either, but truthfully, he’d never anticipated being allowed to meet the lad. Pirates don’t exactly make for the best role models, after all, the same way that small children don’t make the best secret-keepers. As much as Killian has secretly yearned for some kind of committed family life with Emma and her boy, he’s long since resigned himself to the fact that it’s unlikely due to his past and her future. Getting to meet the boy, see him and his mother on the Jolly, feels like a dream Killian never dared entertain.

“I’m going to have a ship like this one day,” Henry tells him very seriously. 

The lad is a prince, one day heir to his mother’s throne; his words aren’t necessarily just youthful fancy, if he keeps that desire as he grows older. “I think that’s a fine idea, mate,” he smiles down. “A pretty navy clipper, maybe, or even the flagship?”

“Not a navy ship,” Henry tells him with a tone that communicates that Killian is clearly being ridiculous, even obtuse. “I’m going to have a pirate ship one day.”

“Oh. Well, that’s…”

“How do you get a pirate ship?”

Killian flounders - that’s the only word for it. He can’t exactly tell a child who seems determined to acquire a pirate ship about how he stole his, betraying king and country. Emma watches nearby, but she clearly doesn’t intend to help him out of this mess; indeed, she looks rather closer to laughter. Then again, she knows the whole story, knows exactly what he doesn’t want to explain. “They, uh… well, they… save up for a long while,” he finally finishes in the lamest fashion imaginable. What an impression he’s likely made. 

Emma finally swoops in to save him - though he rather thinks it’s too little, too late. “Did you get a chance to look below the decks, baby?” she asks Henry, brushing his hair back out of his face as she speaks. “I hear that Killian set aside a cabin, just for us.”

That bit is true; in fact, the royals have rather sent his crew’s usual bunking arrangements into upheaval. Queen Snow has been moved into the former first lieutenant’s cabin - once his own, now usually occupied by his first mate Smee and hastily scrubbed down - and Emma and Henry have been moved into one of the former officers’ cabins, those rooms’ usual occupants being assigned hammock space in the hold for the time being. Killian feels some residual guilt about not offering his own quarters for Emma or the Queen’s use, but his maps and weapons are all in there, and he’s a mite too selfish to willingly give up his own space, even if the former lieutenant within him knows that he should. But he is a pirate, after all. 

(If he has secret, unspoken hopes that maybe Emma will sneak into his cabin the same way he’s snuck into her rooms so many times, well, a man can’t be blamed for dreaming.)

“I have indeed,” Killian finally replies with a smile for the boy.

Henry gasps in response, with all the dramatics of a child his age. “Is there a hammock?”

“No, there isn’t, lad,” Killian chuckles. “But there are bunks - one each for you and your mother. I know it’s not the same, but is it an acceptable substitute?”

Henry nods decisively in response. “That’s okay too. Bunks can be fun. Pirates sleep in bunks too.”

“That they do, lad.”

(Just as he’d hoped, Emma sneaks into his cabin that night, climbing into his own narrow bunk to press herself against his side. He doesn’t dare take this any further, not when Emma’s so emotionally compromised and her mother and son sleep just a few thin walls away; it would feel wrong, anyways, when Emma’s only here because her father has been kidnapped. Besides, he’s more than content just to exist like this, holding his love within his arms.

“Thank you for this,” she whispers into the dark. “I know this is asking a lot, and you didn’t have to do this —”

“Your heart’s desire, love,” he interrupts, unwilling to hear one more unnecessary apology. “I swear, that’s all I want for you.” 

He’d do anything to make her happy, and when he knows that, this is the smallest ask.)

(His dreams that night are filled with visions of Emma in his arms every night, just like this.)

———

The situation as Emma and her mother describe it is this: the former “Evil Queen”, Snow’s stepmother Regina, had appeared in a dramatic cloud of purple smoke as the family had sat down to dinner, immobilizing everyone and snatching King David before dematerializing in the same fashion. Killian knows the story, at least to a certain extent; Regina had been banished to a far-off land nearly twenty years before after a decade of turmoil when Emma had been but a child, her magic bound by the fairies to protect them all. Regina had seized the throne after the death of Snow’s father and the young princess had been forced into hiding, the older woman swearing vengeance on the younger for the loss of a love she would never name. Even after Snow and David had regained the throne of Misthaven, driving Regina out, the sorceress had persisted, leaving the country to hover at the edge as an unseen danger for years until she was finally captured, her magic bound and her self banished to another realm. They’d foolishly assumed that would be the end of the matter.

They’d been wrong.

For Regina, as it turned out, had a long memory and a dangerous list of allies, and as soon as a corrupted fairy managed to lift the binding, she had resumed her plotting. Kidnapping the King was her revenge on Snow White, for condemning Regina’s own love so many years ago. The trade, Regina had cackled, was simple: if Snow relinquished the kingdom once again, then Regina would release David and maybe - just maybe - the Good Queen would be allowed to keep her own life in return. She’d given them ten days’ time to make the arrangements; it was obvious to all that she expected Snow to willingly sacrifice her kingdom for her true love.

The one thing Regina hadn’t anticipated, as Emma pointed out, was that the Royal Family of Misthaven - or at least the Crown Princess of Misthaven - had connections capable of getting things done through much less legal or expected means - namely, himself. And that just might include the ability to pull off a rescue mission, if they play their cards right. 

Their advantages are limited - a pouch of fairy dust capable of transporting them between realms, a vial of squid ink, a singular magic bean, and Emma’s magic (“Whatever good that will do.”). Killian’s crew can fight, with the benefit of mostly acting unpredictably, unlike the disciplined armies Regina is doubtless used to facing, but their numbers are pitifully small. If Regina has amassed a force of Black Knights again - something Killian wouldn’t put past her, if she’s regained her magic and retained her taste for ripping out hearts - then they may be horribly outnumbered. 

Still, Killian, Emma, and the Queen concoct a plan as best as they can. It’s far from perfect - Killian in particular doesn’t like that they’ve essentially got one chance to get this right - but it’s the best they’ve got. Emma’s mother is able to muster more energy and focus when she has something to direct it towards. Finally, he’s getting to see a little bit of the strong, determined woman Emma has told him about. That’s dangerous in its own way, though - after all, Emma still spends her nights in his bunk. They’ve made no secret of what they are to each other in daylight hours, either; Killian’s eyes and hands gravitate towards Emma at every opportunity, revelling in just the tamest affectionate touches, and Emma has absentmindedly kissed him - on the cheek, even the lips - when he knows they were in sight of the Queen. If they ever intended to continue keeping this under wraps, that proverbial ship has long since sailed, and Killian couldn’t be happier. Still, he doesn’t relish facing a mother that finally has the presence of mind to object. 

It was inevitable, though. He and Emma stand at the ships’ wheel that night, watching the sun set over the waves. This will be the last time they do so, possibly ever if things go poorly; now that they’ve got a plan, they’ll be using the magic bean tomorrow morning to transport themselves to the realm where they hope Regina is still holed up, moving as fast as they safely can in order to rescue King David. Killian tries to savor the simple comfort of this moment; Emma’s head rests on his shoulder, and his arm rests gently around her waist, his fingers stroking along her hipbone almost without conscious thought. Emma had abandoned her skirts for breeches just as soon as they had gotten underway, and Killian must say, this new look suits her. With her blue vest and her hair pulled back, she looks like some kind of lady knight, or a fierce pirate queen - perfect for the helpless pirate captain she holds within her thrall. 

(The breeches also afford him an excellent view of her perfectly formed arse and legs, but that’s a whole different story that he can’t admit to in public.)

“You’ll come to bed soon?” she murmurs into his neck once the sun finally slips below the waves. 

“Aye, love,” he replies with a kiss to the crown of her hair, just where the golden strands are trying to pull loose from their leather strap. Emma likes to try and run her hand through her hair when she’s stressed, and there’s certainly been plenty of that lately. 

As one lady walks away, however, Emma retreating below decks to his cabin, another one approaches - her mother. Maybe he won’t be coming to bed so soon after all. 

“Your Majesty,” he acknowledges with a deferential nod of his head. It’s been a while, but Killian does still remember the little courtesy gestures, and is willing to use them to deflect whatever is about to befall him. 

“Captain.” Snow White joins him beside the ship’s wheels with a grace that even Emma can’t imitate, the illusion that she perfectly belongs in any situation. He envies her that. 

“What can I do for you, ma’am?”

“It’s less about what you can do, and more about what you’ve already done,” she tells him with a wry smile that almost looks out of place on her face.

This conversation, then. Killian lets his head bob downwards again, this time in resignation. “Ah.”

“Yes. Ah.” The silence sits heavy between them, both waiting for the other to speak. Surprisingly, it’s the Queen who caves first - though that’s likely only because Killian finds himself too nervous to speak. Not a position he ever expected to find himself in again as a pirate captain. “So how long have you and my daughter been…” The Queen trails off, clearly at a loss for the appropriate words. Their secret assignations certainly don’t qualify as courting, but they certainly go beyond friendship or fucking. He can’t imagine this woman saying the latter word in any case.

He ultimately takes pity on the queen. “Been me and your daughter?”

“Yes.”

“About three years.” Even if this conversation scares him half to death, Killian still can’t help but smile at the words. That’s the first time he’s had cause to say such a thing; it feels lovely, in a way, each one of those three words imbued with countless memories.

“Three years…” the Queen echoes on a murmur. It’s impossible to miss the guilt and mild melancholy in her tone. “I had no idea. Why wouldn’t she tell me?”

Killian glances around his ship in confusion. They’ve made no secret of the fact that he’s a pirate; it should be pretty obvious why he and Emma had kept their relationship a secret. “I’m not exactly a proper suitor, so to speak,” he tells her. “At first, we didn’t know where this was going, or if it’d be more than a fleeting thing, but then once it became more serious… we hadn’t figured out how to broach it.” Without me being thrown into the dungeon and executed, he doesn’t add, but that should be obvious.

“And now?”

“Pardon?” The question feels like it comes out of nowhere, leaving Killian unprepared to answer.

“We’re here talking,” the Queen points out. “I’m all too aware that my daughter spends her nights in your cabin instead of her own. What’s changed, that you’re willing to be open about your relationship after three years of hiding?”

“Some things are more important,” he explains. “The life of your husband - Emma’s father - is more important. Supporting Emma when the rest of the world is falling down around her ears is more important. I hope that after all this, you won’t order my head on a pike,” Killian concedes, “but Emma needs me right now. That’s more important than… anything else.”

“You love her.” It’s not a question, or a realization - just a statement of fact, of the one truth that’s settled deep into Killian’s bones. 

“I do. More than anything else in this realm, or any other.”

“Good.” After years of worry, the simple word is shocking to hear. This whole episode has cast things in a different light, though. “That’s all we’ve ever wanted for her, you know. Someone to love her the way she deserves. Do you think you can be that someone?”

“I hope so. I want to be. Emma is… more than I’ll ever deserve. I just want to make her happy, in whatever way I can.”

“Good. Make sure you do.” And then, wonder of all wonders, Her Majesty actually smiles at him, a soft and maternal thing he never expected to see directed at him. “I think you ought to call me Snow, once all this is over.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

“Get some rest, Captain,” she tells him - a clear dismissal, her tone imbued with something regal he doesn’t dare question. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

(“What took you so long?” Emma mumbles as he crawls into the bunk behind her, already half asleep.

“Just a little chat with your mother,” he tells her before pressing a kiss to her shoulder where her shift is just starting to slip down. “Nothing to worry about.”

Emma hums in response - about all the response he expected from her in this state. “Love you.”

“I love you too, darling. Sleep well.”)

———

Morning inevitably dawns, bright and clear, perfect for their purposes. Maybe that’s why the dread in Killian’s stomach only deepens.

Traveling by portal is a dangerous business; Killian only had occasion to experience it a handful of times, back when he was still back in Glowerhaven’s navy, but he enjoyed exactly none of it. There’s something particularly unsettling about purposefully steering your vessel into a swirling void into the sea, whipped around in every direction before being spat back out again in another land, another realm. Time is of the essence here, though, and they don’t know exactly where Emma’s father is being kept. Travelling by portal is the fastest, best way to rescue him - unsettling as the journey may be. 

He tries to enjoy these little moments while he can, watching Emma still in his bunk as he slips on a linen shirt and laces his pants up. His love is less delicate in sleep, those porcelain limbs sprawled across every inch of his mattress like she has a right to it all with her hair all in tangles. She’s just as lovely like this, in some kind of everyday, domestic way - unpolished, unpracticed. No trace of the princess here - just the amazing woman she is. They’re all about to dash into danger within the next hour or two, but this is worth remembering in the moment, a little vision to remember later when the going gets rough. 

On the bed, Emma peels an eye open as Killian shrugs his leather vest back on. “That time already?” she mumbles in a voice still muddled with sleep.

“Aye, love, time to turn the plan into action.” He leans down to press a kiss to her forehead practically without thought, the most comforting kind of instinct. Emma hums, whether in appreciation or acknowledgement or expression of her own half asleep state. “Sleep a few minutes longer. I’m just going to check everything over again.”

“Okay,” she mumbles, though it’s obvious she doesn’t need to be told twice. Killian can see the muscles of her face relax as she falls back into a doze. 

(Maybe, after all this is over, he’ll be treated to a lifetime of moments like this. That’s his dream, after all - and maybe, just maybe, helping rescue a captured King will earn him something close to redemption.)

With a last look at the lovely tableau Emma makes, Killian turns towards his safe. With a few flicks of his wrist, the lockbox opens, allowing him to pluck the little bag containing the single magic bean from within. No use beating around the bush, now. 

When Killian ascends the ladder to the deck, he’s surprised to find the Queen - Snow already waiting on the sun-bleached planks. 

“Couldn’t sleep, milady?” he calls gently as he gets closer, causing Snow to spin around to face him. 

“Anxious,” she explains. “I caught a few hours, not to worry. But I’m ready to go find Charming.”

The nickname strikes a particular chord in his heart; as much as Killian may have heard about it from Emma, heard the whole story of her parents’ famous romance a million times over as a favorite local legend, it’s something else to hear it from Snow’s lips. It’s never been just a fanciful tale, even if that’s the way he’s always heard it told; it’s their life, for better or worse. “We’ll get him back, ma’am,” Killian assures her - a promise he can’t actually make, not that it’s stopped him. 

She knows it, too, if that particular smile is anything to go off of - a little sad, a little knowing, a little pitying. “I hope so, Captain. Now, is there anything I can do before we travel?”

“You can check that everything is secured in your cabin and Henry’s,” Killian offers. It’s obvious that Snow needs something to do in this in-between time; he’s seen that already. He’s more than happy to pawn off one of his own checks to Emma’s mother. “You can check the hold too, for that matter, make sure everything’s tied down and stowed away.”

It’s crucial that everything be secured before they open the portal; in Kililan’s experience, realm travel tends to jostle things around. He’s just finishing his own checks up on deck, directing the crew and securing various lines and sails, when Emma makes her appearance at his side. 

“You should be below decks with the lad, love,” he tells her gently. “It might be a rough ride.”

“I know,” she shrugs. “But maybe I want to be up here with you. Mom can more than handle Henry. Is that so wrong?”

“Not in the least, darling,” he smiles back. “But can you blame a man for wanting to make sure his lady love is safe?”

“Not when you phrase it like that.” He even gets a little laugh out of her; that’s good, at least. “But I want to be here, you know. With you. It’s… into the great unknown, right?” Killian nods. “Then I want to do that with you.”

He’s always been a sucker for that kind of sentiment.

That’s how Emma ends up the one to toss the magic bean into the calm sea an hour later, her mother and son and as much crew as they can spare stashed below decks to protect them all. As the waters open to a swirling vortex, Killian wraps his arm securely around her waist, the other on the ship’s wheel to steer them straight into danger. Ropes are tied around both their waists for an extra level of security - something Killian had insisted on - but Emma’s face is curiously unafraid. 

(That’s the faith she has in you, a little voice in his head whispers. Gods, he hopes what they’re about to do doesn’t betray that.)

“Hold tight to me, love,” he murmurs, before turning his attention back to the few crew members left on deck. “Buckle down, lads,” he yells, just as the bow of the Jolly catches the swirling waters of the portal. “It’s rough seas ahead!”

Rough seas is rather an understatement. Once the ship fully enters the expanding mouth of the portal, control is wrenched from his hands, the waters spiralling them down and down and down. There’s no telling which way is up and which way is down, magic ruling over physics, with water seemingly all around them but never swallowing them. The wheel of the Jolly spins wild, forcing Killian to let go before the rudder snaps and cripples the vessel. He’s left with nothing else to do but clutch Emma close with both his arms, curl his body around hers, shut his eyes and try to block out the roar all around them and hope and hope and hope —

— and just as suddenly as this all commenced, the world rights itself again, the hull of the Jolly gliding through calm seas under a pink-tinted sky. They’re just offshore of their destination, where Killian can barely make out fantastically twisting trees and grotesque shrubberies and enormous mushrooms. Wonderland - a realm steeped in magic itself, where Regina’s mother had once seized power and she must have now have done the same. Arguably, one of the worst places they could face her. There’s no other option, however - not when King David’s life is on the line.

“We’re not doing that again, are we?” Emma mumbles against his neck, barely peeking out to see this realm they’ve found themselves in. “Because let me tell you, I’ve had smoother rides.”

With a final squeeze and a chuckle, Killian unwraps his arms from around her body where they’d been sheltering Emma from the worst of the journey. “Aye, I can promise that, love. Only one bean. We’ll have to resort to more mundane methods on our way back.”

“Good.” Emma brushes down her vest, as if any bit of it would dare be out of place. “Now, let’s go catch ourselves a witch.”

Most preparations had been made last night, anticipating the need for immediate action today. Basic supplies have been packed, blades sharpened, and the Queen’s arrows neatly aligned in their quiver with their tips dipped in squid ink. All Snow has to do is graze Regina with an arrow and it’s over; she’ll be frozen, absolutely immobile. The hardest thing left to do, now that the hour is nigh, is explain to little Henry why he can’t come with them. Emma had insisted; Queen Snow had insisted; Killian had concurred; there’s quite a difference between taking him this far for his own safety when there’s an evil witch on the loose, and taking him right into the heart of danger.

“But I want to come with you!” Henry whines with tears glistening at the corners of his eyes. “I don’t want to stay behind!”

“Henry, it’s for your own good.” Killian can tell Emma is trying to explain this as best as she can to her son, but her voice has started to betray a hint of begging. “We’ll be back before you know it. We just have to go save Grampa.”

“You don’t know that though!” Henry wails. “Something could happen and I don’t want to be by myself and—” Emma gathers the little boy into her arms as he dissolves into tears, the display cutting right into Killian’s heart.

Once Henry’s tears start to abate a few minutes later, Killian strokes a bit of his hair back to catch the lad’s attention. “You’re right,” he tells Henry. “This is really scary for your mother and I too. But I promise - I promise - that I’m going to do everything in my power to protect your mum, alright? I’ll make sure that she comes back to you. And in the meantime, Mr. Smee is going to be here to look after you. You won’t be alone.”

“You promise?”

“Cross my heart,” Killian swears solemnly. “I’ll have your mum and your grandpa and your grandma back to you before you know it.”

He would have made sure, anyways - Emma is the most important thing in his life, and he’d do anything to keep her and her family safe - but his promise to Henry only strengthens that. He’ll lay down his life, if he has to, if only to keep that promise to the little lad. After all, he knows all too well the pain of losing his family. 

When they finally set out for the shore in rowboats, Henry bravely waves them off from the railing of the Jolly, though Killian can see tears glistening at the corners of the boy’s eyes. For that matter, Emma’s eyes are moist too. 

“We’ll be back before you know it, love,” he assures her, squeezing her hand in reassurance. “I promise.”

“I know.” Emma’s smile may be watery, but it’s there. “I trust you to make that happen.”

(And imagine that - a princess trusting an old pirate like him.)

Killian expects they’ll be dodging obstacles from Regina the whole time as they cautiously pick their way towards the ostentatious palace they spot from the beach; after all, it’s well known that Regina’s mother, in her time ruling Wonderland, had amassed an enormous army from those whose hearts she’d ripped out and held captive in her vaults. Her daughter doubtlessly controls the same. However, they meet no one more than Wonderland’s absurd wildlife - a fact that somehow feels even more concerning, under the circumstances. It likely means that Regina knows they’re coming, and has already centralized her forces to create a stronghold of that pretty palace estate. And that means they’re walking right into a death trap, fully aware of that very fact.

They’re all a bit jittery at this turn of events; Killian can tell that his crew is on edge, and he can’t keep his own fingers from drumming impatiently on the hilt of his sword, anxious for some kind of action, expecting danger around every corner all while knowing that the true danger is still ahead of them. Emma works out her own impatience by practicing her magic, blasting the enormous insects indigenous to this realm in some kind of bizarre target practice. It’s as good an outlet as any, and she’ll need every ounce of practice to take on the Evil Queen. Even after twenty years of having her magic suppressed, Killian knows Regina will be a formidable foe; she’d terrorized Misthaven for years under her tyranny and dark magic, and he somehow doubts 20 years wiped those skills from her memory. 

“Bravo,” Killian tells Emma with a smile and a little nudge after she blasts a particularly large rendition of a hornet. To their left, a hookah-smoking caterpillar nods approvingly from an enormous mushroom at the side of this forgotten, multi-colored cobblestone path. Truly, this land seems crafted straight out of a fever dream. 

“Thanks.” Emma twines her arm through his own, grounding them both in the process. It’s a lot harder to fidget with his love on his arm, and a great comfort at that. “I kind of need all the practice I can get.”

“It can’t hurt,” Killian agrees mildly. “Though I must say, darling, I’m certainly impressed.”

Emma’s sigh sounds like it carries the weight of all their worries; Killian isn’t entirely sure she isn’t trying to do exactly that. “Is it enough, though? Sure, you’re impressed, but… this is Regina. An ultra-powerful sorceress. And here I am, just taking pot-shots at bugs.”

“Big bugs.”

“Bugs,” she repeats with disgust. “All I’m saying is… is that enough? When it comes down to it, can we really go toe-to-toe with the Evil Queen?”

“Hey,” Killian draws them up short, grasping Emma by both arms to face him. “I have to believe we can, that you can. I believe that this is going to work. And you know why?” Emma just stares at him with wide eyes. “Because I believe in you, love. I think you can do anything you want to. And we’ll be here to back you up, to help you, every step of the way.”

“You really believe that?”

“I really do.” Gently, with the greatest comfort and reassurance he can muster, Killian presses a brief kiss to her lips. “Now, let’s go catch an Evil Queen, love. Together, you and I.”

As is the way of such things, just when Killian begins to relax into the comfort of Emma’s arm entwined through his own, their party reaches the outskirts of the Queen’s estate. The palace is an ornate affair, in marble and gilt with elaborate gardens and hedge mazes. It’s more than just a building or a dwelling - it’s a centerpiece, an architectural representation of Cora, and now Regina’s power. It’s perfect and picturesque and somehow all the more intimidating and imposing for it. 

Killian does his best to nod reassuringly when Emma turns to meet his eyes, standing here at the gilded gates and about to walk into the heart of danger. It must work, thankfully; Emma smiles in response before turning to face her mother instead. 

“You ready for this?” Emma asks, drawing her sword. 

Snow takes a deep, steadying breath, but eventually nods, simultaneously reaching for an arrow from her quiver. “I’m ready. Let’s go save your father.”

They don’t have to search hard to find Regina; it seems like now that she’s lured them into her web, the Evil Queen is ready to set the proverbial ball rolling. As they approach the enormous iron-wrought doors to the palace proper, they swing open without any obvious human intervention to reveal a grand entrance hall paved in black and white marble tiles. Killian directs a weighted look and nod to his crew to be on their guard. Most of his men have long since unsheathed their swords and knives, but those few who haven’t take out their weapons now. Emma and her mother wear identical hard, determined looks on their face as their party creeps down the hall. What feels like an eternity later, another set of doors swings open at their approach, all to reveal the Evil Queen herself, perched on a gilded throne upon a dais with apparently every bit of drama she could muster. 

“I was wondering when you’d bother to show up,” she comments with a devious little smirk. “I guess heroes just aren’t what they used to be.”

“Regina.” Snow practically growls the word - a tone of voice Killian hadn’t been aware the famously mild-mannered queen was capable of. 

“I suppose you lot are rather out of practice, though,” Regina continues as if her rival never spoke, languidly pushing herself up out of the throne to slither and stalk in their direction. She looks good for a woman doubtless approaching sixty, regal with her straight back and raised chin and silver liberally streaked through her dark hair. Killian wonders how much of the display is natural, and how much is thanks to magic. “There never was anyone else who posed anything resembling a real threat.”

“Weird thing to brag about,” Emma comments dryly, catching Regina’s attention. In a dramatic swish of skirts, their foe turns to face her with a feral smile stretching slowly across her face. 

“I don’t expect you to understand power, Princess, and how far it can take you,” she replies - smoothly, dangerously - “but I do expect you to recognize it when it stands in front of you. Even your naive parents aren’t that foolish.”

“Enough of the fronting,” Killian cuts in. “Where’s the king?”

“And they brought a little eye candy, too,” Regina smirks. “I’ll admit, I didn’t expect that. Goody-two-shoes Snow White and her precious, perfect daughter consorting with pirates.”

“Well, desperate times call for unusual measures,” Killian replies with a casual wave of his hand. “Never let it be said I’m not willing to help a lovely lady or a worthy cause.”

“Is that all it is?” Regina’s head cocks in a way that makes Killian think she’s analyzing the situation, trying to pick up on any weaknesses. “Because I must say, Captain —”

“Stop stalling!” Snow barks out. “Where is Charming? What have you done with him?”

“Interrupting - tsk tsk, such impropriety. Whatever would your dearly departed father say?” Snow flushes red with rage - obviously exactly what Regina hoped for, if that smirk is anything to go off of. “If you must know, your precious prince is a little… shall we say, indisposed for the moment.”

“If you’ve hurt him —”

“Now what fun would that be?” Regina laughs. “No, I’ve arranged something much more entertaining - I’ve cursed him.” 

And with a dramatic wave of her hand, the Evil Queen reveals her handiwork. Before them suddenly stands an enormous mirror - and just behind the glass, Emma’s father, pounding frantically at the surface. 

Emma jolts beside him, clearly pulled towards her father. It’s undoubtedly exactly what Regina wants - perhaps their strongest weapon, distracted and out of commission. “Steady on, love,” Killian murmurs, just loud enough for Emma to hear. “Don’t give in to her, that’s what she wants.”

Emma nods imperceptibly, her sword arm strengthening as her other hand starts to twist and turn by her side - summoning her magic from deep within, he knows. “Let him go,” she commands.

The Evil Queen just laughs in response. “No, I don’t think I will. What are you going to do about it, princess?” As she speaks, Regina summons her own powers, lighting a ball of flame in her hand, primed and ready to attack. Simultaneously, the doors on each wall of the throne room open for a crush of Black Knights to pour through, surrounding their own party.

They’re outnumbered - but they’ve got the benefit of passion, of rage, of the willingness to do anything. And Killian has always liked those particular odds.

It seems Emma is much of the same mind as she throws herself into action, lunging at Regina with her sword arm while the other crackles with magic. A good thing, too - Regina easily bats the sword out of her way with a quick flick of her wrist and hurls her fireball for Emma to bat away in turn. There’s a savage beauty to their dueling, both women lobbing magical weapons at one another with deadly intent. If it was just the two of them, Killian might take another minute to marvel; unfortunately, there is still a force of Black Knights and red-festooned guards to deal with. Emma is the only one who can fight on equal footing with Regina; it’s up to Killian, Snow, and his crew to keep the rest of the combatants away from Emma for long enough for her to defeat the Evil Queen.

Killian falls into a dance of his own, aiming to knock the Knights out where he can instead of killing them outright; it’s well known that Regina, and her mother before her, is an expert at controlling people, ripping out their hearts and whispering commands like a demonic puppetmaster. It’s not always possible, though, and Emma’s safety is more important than anything when she has to channel all her focus into battling Regina; his blade has tasted blood several times over, now, more than he wants to think about. The dance of combat is complicated by curses flying all over the place, doubtless intended for Emma or their little party even if they occasionally strike one of Regina’s own forces.

It finally seems like they’re starting to have things in hand. For all their numbers, the Black Knights and Red Guards are poorly trained, a collection of poor souls used to doing Regina’s bidding by intimidation and by superior numbers. Snow, instead, is a deadly aim - presumably from her outlaw days - and Killian and his crew are used to fighting for their dinner and their salary and their lives, playing dirty if they need to in order to get the upper hand. King David doesn’t look particularly pleased with the way Killian keeps using the mirror as a shield or an obstacle or a hard surface to knock heads against, but that’s his problem; Killian is doing his best to save his holier-than-thou arse, after all. Foes still remain, but it feels like a manageable low tide now instead of breaking wave after breaking wave.

And maybe that’s what hurts them. Maybe, Killian lets his guard down more than he should have, surveying the room after dispatching another Red Guard. He doesn’t see Regina cast the curse, doesn’t see it head directly at him, doesn’t know what’s happening at all until he hears Emma shout. Killian whirls around, but it’s too late - only just in time to see Regina’s curse hit her squarely in the chest.

“Emma!” he yells, dashing to catch his love as she crumples towards the ground. Somewhere, he hears Regina cackle in triumph, but he can’t worry about that now, not when Emma —

But he doesn’t need to worry about it, as Snow takes advantage of Regina’s distraction to let loose an arrow, deadly and true, to pierce her long-time enemy’s heart.

Somewhere, Killian hears the clatter of metal as the Queen’s soldiers are released from her power. Somewhere, he hears glass shatter as David is finally freed from the mirror. Those things don’t matter, though, when Emma lies in his arms, eyes closed, pulse barely detectable.

“C’mon, love, open those pretty eyes,” he murmurs, but to no avail. His words fall only on deaf ears. He can feel her parents on either side, reaching for Emma, and he should give her to them. Snow strokes along her hair and face, trying to rouse her daughter, and David just behind at his wife’s shoulder, anxiously peering down with tears starting to glisten in his eyes. Killian should let go of Emma, give her to her parents. A less selfish man might. But he can’t, not when he’s only just started to dream of a happy ending, only to see it - her fall in front of him. 

And it’s a long shot. There’s no promises here, but Emma is his joy, is every dream he never dared to dream, and it’s worth a shot, isn’t it? After growing up hearing about true love, maybe they share that too.

(If nothing else, it’s less heartbreaking to think of this as an attempt at true love’s kiss than as a kiss goodbye.)

“Come back to me, Emma,” he whispers, leaning down as he does so to press his lips to hers in a gentle, lingering kiss.

There’s a split second where nothing happens, where Killian is sure it didn’t work. But then what feels like a wave of energy bursts from where their lips are joined, spreading through the room and causing even her parents to gasp.

Emma’s eyes flutter open slowly, but she smiles to see Killian still bending over her. “Did we win?” she mumbles, a tired sort of slur to her words.

Killian can’t help but laugh, even as happy and relieved tears start to gather at the corner of his eyes; it’s so like his Emma, so fierce, so determined. “Aye, love, we did. You did. Regina’s dead, and your father’s right here.”

Emma cranes her head with a wince to meet her father’s gaze. “I’m ok, sweetheart,” he assures her. “I’m proud of you.”

She nods tiredly before turning her attention back to Killian. “Can we go home now?”

“Anything you want, darling,” he chuckles. “Anything you want.”

——— 

Henry, as expected, is thrilled when they return with his grandfather now amongst their number. “I knew they’d save you,” he grins, arms wrapped tightly around David’s waist. “That’s what heroes do.”

“Hey now, lad, I’m a pirate, not some hero,” Killian can’t help but cut in with a smile and a teasing note in his voice.

“I don’t know, I think you could be both,” Emma adds with a smug little smile. As if it’s thanks to her that he’s anything resembling a hero.

(That might be a little true, actually. After all, she’s the reason he’s wanted to try.)

“Yeah!” Henry agrees readily. “You helped bring Gramps back! And you made sure Mom was safe, just like you promised!”

“Well, I couldn’t disappoint my best mate, could I? A promise is a promise.”

“I see you’ve swayed my grandson, too,” David interjects drolly. Killian isn’t sure the man will ever fully be a fan of his - Killian supposes he’d be the same way with a daughter of his own - but they’re mostly civil, at least. It’s more than he could have expected a week ago, at least. 

“More like he swayed me.”

“I like Killian,” Henry proclaims, and, well, that’s that.

(“Killian says if I save up a lot, I can have my own pirate ship,” Killian hears Henry tell Charming later. “Do you know how much I have to save?”

Killian will probably be paying for that in other ways later.)

Suspicious fathers aside, the return trip is much less eventful. Applying fairy dust to his sails so they can fly between realms may make for a slower journey, but a calmer one; the necessary rush of their original travel to find David is no longer in play, anyways, and they can spare the time. It’s a good time for Emma’s family to get used to his presence in her life under more normal circumstances. There’s no putting the cat that is their relationship back in the metaphorical bag after this, not that Killian would ever want to. He’s loved Emma for a long, long time, and he’s just glad to finally now admit it in public.

By the time they dock back in Misthaven’s port, there’s something of an understanding. Snow openly likes him, as does Henry, and even David has reached a grudging acceptance after much discussion with his wife and daughter. It probably doesn’t hurt that Killian played an instrumental role in his rescue. There’s still the matter of public perception, however. There’s no hiding the fact that he was - is? - a pirate. What will the populace think of their beloved princess consorting with someone like him? How are they supposed to prove that he’s one of their fold, now, no longer a threat in the eyes of the royal family?

The answer, as it turns out, is a grand ball. It’s the Misthaven way, after all. 

Killian can’t say that it’s his idea of a good time by any stretch of the imagination - a little too stifling for his taste - but there’s no real way to weasel out of it, not when he’s the guest of honor. Especially not when it means that the Queen and King see in him a man of honor, maybe even a man worthy of their daughter. He’d be a fool to spit in the face of such gestures. 

Still, he doesn’t have to be entirely thrilled about it. There’s far too many diplomats to play nice with and not nearly enough time with Emma and the collar of his coat itches, dammit. The quilted bronze fabric is certainly striking, drawing more than his fair share of appreciative looks, but the folded black collar whacks at the bottom of his chin with every move, driving him mad. If these soirees are going to become a regular thing in his life - and by all appearances, they will be - he’ll have to speak with the palace seamstresses about making something less prominent.

(What an idea, that is - getting the chance to be around openly enough and long enough to need to speak with palace staff about his preferences.)

Emma, on the other hand, looks absolutely stunning. Beautiful. Ravishing. A whole host of other descriptors that never fully encompass the way she looks tonight, never quite do her justice. Her dress is red, with long sleeves and a full skirt and beading along her scooped neckline that highlights the peeking swells of her lovely breasts, all topped with a floral tiara. It’s by far the most traditionally princess-y that Killian has ever seen her look; it feels like his heart skips several beats as she makes her way into the crowded ballroom, skirt swishing about her just a split second after every move she makes. 

(He may be the guest of honor, but she’s the star of this particular show, every eye drawn towards her grace and beauty like moths to a flame. Truthfully, he can’t blame them one bit.)

As much as Killian has enjoyed watching his princess in her element - something he never thought he’d be fortunate enough to see - he’s been sadly limited to only looking, not touching. Emma is a dance partner in much demand, between visiting royalty and Misthaven’s own nobility and what he’s been told are friends of her parents and their children, and somehow, Killian can never find a moment to steal her away into his arms and make it obvious to anyone that Emma is his partner, and his alone.

(This is all part and parcel of being the future monarch, he knows, but Killian has always been a selfish bastard at heart, a pirate not skilled at sharing with others. Besides, they’ve only just been allowed to show their love openly; he can’t help but want to revel in that for all to see.)

He puts on as good a show as he can, smiling at the countless faces he’s introduced to and gritting his teeth against all the little snide, uppity comments he gets to hear in return. He dances, too - with Snow’s old friend Ruby and with Emma’s friend, the Queen of Arendelle (who is kind enough not to mention the piracy he’s doubtless committed against their ships in the past years) and even, eventually, with Queen Snow herself, twirling each across the marble floors in moves his body remembers from his Naval Academy days much better than his brain does. 

“How are you holding up, Captain?” Emma’s mother asks once he pulls her back in from a particularly dramatic turn. Killian chooses to hum instead of answering, making the Queen laugh. “That well, huh?”

“Ask me tomorrow,” Killian suggests. “Distance may make the memory fonder.”

“I strongly doubt that, but I’ll be sure to ask.”

Inevitably, Killian’s eye drifts back to Emma again, where she now dances with her father. He means no offense to his current partner, and he surely hopes Snow doesn’t take it as a slight; he just can’t help but seek for his love’s face and smile and self no matter what else is going on around him. 

“You haven’t had much chance to be in each other’s company tonight, have you?” Snow comments wisely, drawing Killian’s attention back to his partner with a guilty little start that makes her chuckle again. “No, it’s quite alright,” she assures him. “I do remember young love, you know.”

“I’d never think to suggest otherwise,” he winks back. They’ve reached some kind of understanding, him and the queen; the kind of adventure they’ve shared will do that, he supposes. 

“Wise man.” Once again, Killian turns the Queen beneath his arm. When she comes back to their proper waltz position, there’s an extra little twinkle in her eye. “Now, I know you’ll be terribly sorry to see me go,” she tells him, voice bubbling with mirth, “but I have the sudden desire to dance with my husband. If we switch partners, do you think you could possibly bear the terrible burden of dancing with my daughter?”

“I think I’ll manage somehow.”

Emma breaks into a smile as they approach, her entire visage brightening with the gesture and somehow rendering her even more stunning. At his side, the Queen is saying something doubtlessly witty or romantic to her own husband to orchestrate this partner switch; truthfully, Killian doesn’t hear a word. Watching Emma is a delightful tunnel vision, only heightened as her delicate hand brushes against his arm. 

“I was wondering where you had gotten to,” she teases with a smile. “Having fun yet?”

“More with you here.” It’s all the truth he’s willing to admit to in this crush of other people; doubtless, Emma knows what he means anyways.

Sure enough: “I’ve got a feeling that wouldn’t take much.” Though she shakes her head, the smile still lingers on her lips. Killian knows this isn’t her idea of a good time, either, but she’s much more practiced in hiding it than he is. 

(That’s a thing he’ll have to learn over time, he supposes; after all, where Emma is concerned, he’s in this for the long haul. Horrible state functions and all.)

“Guilty as charged,” he smiles back. “What do you say, love? Care to take a turn about the floor with this old pirate?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“That’s not for lack of wanting, you know,” Killian assures her as they sort themselves into a proper waltz position and begin to move. “I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you all night. This is… stunning, love. Gods above, you look like a vision.”

Emma preens a bit at the compliment, a smug little smile and shake of her shoulders. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Captain,” she replies, nodding towards his jacket. “I might even say you clean up well.”

“I couldn’t exactly show up in my duster, you know. What a look that’d be. The entire idea has been not to look too much of an embarrassment, especially as an already… shall we say, unconventional suitor for the princess.”

“You never could, but I appreciate the thought.” The smile slides off her face then, only to be replaced by a hint of anxiety. “I didn’t want to leave you alone tonight, Killian - I really didn’t, I promise. I just… there’s so many people here and I had to greet everyone, and then there were so many people I needed to pay a little extra attention to, pay my respects or whatever, and —”

“Don’t worry about it, love,” Killian cuts her off, accentuating the sentiment with a little squeeze of her hand. “I know these are things you have to do as the princess. It’s quite alright.”

“I never want you to think I’m abandoning you for some duty.” Killian wonders, briefly, if that’s something she’s experienced or been accused of before; in that moment, Killian swears never to make her feel that way again if he can help it. 

“I promise, darling, I won’t. This is who you are, who you’re meant to be; I’ll just be privileged to watch you work.” If it weren’t for the crowded room, filled with people and expectations of how to behave, he’d kiss her right here. After all the scandal they’ve already made, though - the princess and the pirate, quite the pairing by anyone’s standards - he refrains, contenting himself for the moment just to hold his princess in his arms for this dance. That doesn’t mean he can’t do a little bit of plotting, though. “That being said…” 

“Yes?”

“What do you say we sneak out of here early, darling?” Killian murmurs in Emma’s ear. His love has an excellent poker face; even as he whispers indecorous ideas in her ear, her face betrays only the slightest hint of a smile, visible only because Killian was watching for it.

“We’ll have to be sneaky about it,” she replies. “My father will never let you stay the night in my chambers.”

“Hmm. Well, you know, I was just thinking…”

“Yes?”

“What do you think about the ivy, for old times’ sake?”

The smile blooms over Emma’s face slowly, slowly enough for Killian to read every ounce of mischief and lascivious promise contained within, before she finally leans forward to whisper back in his own ear.  

“I’ll bring the rum.”

Not your typical princess at all - but she’s his princess, and Killian finds that that makes all the difference. 

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fic #captain swan ff #captain duckling #my writing #coming ashore (to my lover's arms) #princess emma #pirate killian #captain cobra

[thewalkingfanfictions]

Revolving Doors -- Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Revolving Doors — Dean Winchester x daughter!reader

Description: At sixteen, (name) has finally found the father she had heard so much about, but never met. Finding him in a bar somewhere, (name) decides to confront him. The big question is, though: Will Dean even want her?

⚠Warning⚠: nothing really, some swearing and mentions of a dead family member

Genre: some angst, some fluff, some hurt/comfort

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Daughter!reader

A/N: I was maladaptive daydreaming and this popped up on the recommended page in my brain, so, here, have this trash. Also, your moms name is Melinda for some reason, I'm too lazy to go change it now. I might end up making this a series if y’all want me too. If you do, feel free to drop some suggestions for some sort of plot for this.

Words without A/N: 2369

Masterlist

<———————>

I could see him now from across the bar. Tannish hair ruffled in that intentionally messy look, a charming smile perpetually on his face as he spoke to the pretty bartender. He was the exact picture of what my mother had described.

I always thought I would be able to know who he was if I ever got to lay eyes on him, and now that I was, I knew I was right. 

My hands trembled and my legs felt like jello as I approached where he sat, a two-seated table towards the back of the dimly lit bar, his back always to the wall, nursing a beer and watching the crowd with intense interest. I wonder if he'll recognise me as I have him? Not that there's really any way he should be able to; he doesn't even know I exist.

Before I can even take a breath to calm myself down, I'm standing in front of him, and gazing at him nervously, his eyes—a perfect mirror of my own—gazing up at me with a startled and curious expression. Words piled up in my throat, and suddenly the thought of talking to this man was much more terrifying of a thought than it had any right to be.

You're not backing out now, (name) you've waited your entire life for this moment.

Swallowing thickly, I clenched my eyes closed for a second before musturing up all the courage that I could, and forcing my voice to come through.

"You, uhm–" great first impression (name), good job "–are you Dean? D-Dean Winchester?"

His eyes widened slightly, and he took on a far more guarded expression. 

"I might be, that depends on who you are."

My entire body flooded with TV static as a wave of anxiety came over me. I needed this to go right, I needed to make a good impression. If I failed...

"Can, u-uhm, can I take a seat?" I gestured lamely at the empty seat on the other side of the table from him. If I stood much longer, I feared I'd faint.

At his hesitant nod, I smiled uncomfortably and moved to sit down. Taking another second to compose myself, I opened my mouth to speak, only to be cut off by his demanding voice.

"Who are you?" It sounded less like a question, and far more like a threat.

Shaking the anxiety out of my head, I opened my mouth and forced my voice to function yet again.

"Sixteen, uh, sixteen years ago, you met a woman named Melinda (last name) in a bar a lot like this one, in (home town, state), do you-uhm-do you remember her?"

This is such a stupid idea, why am I doing this? He probably wants nothing to do with me, this is a terrible idea.

His confused expression answered the question easily enough. 

"I- uh–" pulling the crumpled piece of photo paper from my pocket, I tried my best to flatten it out, and locked eyes with my mother for a fraction of a moment before pulling my eyes away and reaching across the table to hand it to him. "Her, d'you–do you recognise her?"

He looked at me questioningly beneath his brow before looking down to study the photo, his face scrunching up in concentration. After a second, he glanced back up at me, mouth quirked in a slight smirk, eyes glistening.

"Yeah, yeah I recognise her. Melinda, heh, yeah," he smiled fondly down at the photo cradled in his hands before locking eyes with me, "we spent a few wild nights together on my twenty-first, she was hot. That still doesn't answer my question, though. Who're you?" 

Ew. 

"My name is (Name) (Last name), and Melinda was my mother."

...

...

Complete silence. His eyes were wide as he stared at me with an unreadable expression.

"I-I'm, um, I turned sixteen years old a few days ago, and uh, I figured I'd try and find you." He still wasn't saying a word, and the more uncomfortable I got, the more I talked. "She talked about you a lot the last few months of her life, and, uh, I dunno, I just thought maybe I could f-find you, y'know... She, uh, she got a bad brain tumor, and uhm, she, uh, she—" I could feel myself starting to tear up slightly, so I looked away from him, and somehow managed to make eye contact with an extremely tall stranger with criminally pretty hair, who was looking worriedly over at us, and slowly walking in our direction.

"So...uhm...yeah..." he still hadn't responded, just continued to look at me with that unidentifiable expression, which actually started to concern me. "Are you okay?" I waved my hand in front of his face, and when he still had no response, I started to think maybe I'd given him a heart attack or something. Suddenly, the big man from earlier was there by Deans shoulder.

"Whats going on here?"

"I—" well, at least he was starting to say something.

"Dean?"

Growing more and more uncomfortable with the second, I finally came to my senses and realized what I had feared would be the truth all along. 

He didn't want me.

Obviously he wouldn't. Why would he? I was just too childish to see it originally.

Bowing my head for a second to try and push back the tears, I smiled up at the two of them and stood from my chair. 

"Al-alright, uhm... I-I'll leave you be, the-n," my voice cracked sharply.

Turning on my heel, I hurried towards the exit, the entire time feeling my father's eyes boring into the back of my skull.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"—and Melinda was my mother—" my head rang with the words. There's no way.

A kid. I had a kid. There's just no way.

I don't know how long I sat there and stared, but I could see the kid, my kid, growing uncomfortable in my silence. How was I supposed to handle this information? I thought I'd been over this with Ben and Lisa, I wasn't cut out to be a father! I'm not good enough for that, I'd just end up getting her killed.

My kid was talking again, but I couldn't focus enough to hear exactly what she was saying. Sixteen a few days ago? The last few months of her life—bad brain tumor—talked about you—and then her hand was in front of my face, trying to snap me out of it, and then there was a hand on my shoulder, and Sam's voice above my head.

I have a kid? I have a fucking kid, I—

And then she was leaving, looking at me with teary eyes, standing up, and leaving, and I wasn't stopping her. Why wasn't I stopping her? 

"Dean!" Sam was right in front of my face now, shaking at my shoulder and looking at me with worried eyes.

I have a kid. I have a fucking kid.

"I have a kid. The–that– she's my–that...I have a kid!" I watched Sam's eyes widen and he quickly whipped his head towards where she had gone, and was no longer in sight.

The more I thought about it, the more believable it became. Her face was covered in minute freckles, and her eyes were the same shade as mine, bright enough that I could see them even in the darkened bar. Her hair was the same color as Melinda's, I realized, as I gazed down at the photo that still sat in my hands. Brain tumor, something about a brain tumor, and a few months before dying, and... and that means that the kids alone. I-I have a child, and her mom is dead, and she's alone. My-my kid's alone. (Name). 

With energy I didn't realize I had, I bolted up from my seat, knocking it back against the wooden floor, clenched the picture in my hand, and took off towards the exit. 

I refuse to be the same kind of dad as mine was, I don't want to leave her to take care of herself. I can't. But I don't know the first thing about taking care of kids—though she's obviously plenty capable of taking care of herself, if she traveled all the way from (Hometown) to here by herself just to find me. Oh, god, she had to travel all the way from (Hometown) to here by herself just to find me! And–what did she say? Just turned sixteen? God, you're already a shit parent and you haven't even gotten the chance to parent her, you're just gonna fuck her up more than she must already be, having a deadbeat dad like you.

"Wait!" I shouted into the cold air of the night as I burst my way through the bars front doors, though the green-eyed girl was nowhere to be seen. I could feel Sam right behind me as I took off at a jog, looking up and down the street in search of her. She couldn't have gotten that far, right? 

Back to our left, down an alleyway beside the bar, we heard a commotion. Just some mumbled shouting and scuffling about in the trash, but it was loud enough to make an odd sort of anxiety sink its yellowing claws into my chest. Rushing closer, I came to realize that that anxiety had good reason.

A man, no larger than me, but definitely bigger than her, with his arm against her chest and a blade in his hand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I threw myself through the doors as quickly as I could, I didn't want to be near him a second longer. 

I knew from mom's description that he was a traveler, that he never stayed in one place for long, and that I shouldn't be surprised if he wanted nothing to do with me, but I couldn't help but hurt from it. Fifteen years of wondering, fifteen years of begging mom to just give me one more detail, fifteen years of missing something I never had. I finally get to meet him, and what? I get my god damn heart broken. I get turned away like a stray dog.

Wiping the tears from my eyes in fury, I barely registered when I walked down the wrong alley. I do, however, take notice of the blade being shoved in my face and the cold concrete wall slamming into my back as I'm pushed against it.

"Gimme yer moneh," the man holding the knife slurred, his breath reeking of beef and alcohol.

It took me a good few seconds to understand what was going on.

"Gimme yer goddamn money, I said!" His arm shoved me harder into the wall, knife coming dangerously close to my throat.

"I-I-I-I don't have any, I swear! I'm sorry, I-I don't have any money," I tried to stall as I reached for the mace hidden in my jacket pocket.

"Yer lyin'! Jus' gimme yer—" before I can get ahold of the mace, he's cut off by someone's hand pulling him away from me. A hand that just so happened to be connected to the Dean Winchester. Ripping the drunk guy away from me, he moved to stand in between us, and immediately gave the guy a solid right hook to the jaw, knocking him out immediately (and rather anticlimactically). Kicking the discarded weapon away from the unconscious man, he turned to look at me, his eyes wide with what looked like concern.

His features softened as he looked at me, and he took a quick few steps forward, hand stretched out in front of him, before I jerked back away from him. Taking notice of my hesitance, he stopped moving all together, and a weather-worn look of pain flashed across his face.

"You're bleeding," he said simply, hand once again reaching out towards me, begging me to let him help.

Raising one hand, I drug it across my chin, collecting a palmful of blood and eliciting a hiss from my throat. The bastard cut me! This bitch!

"Listen, I..." he started, "We've got a place not too far from here, I can patch you up and we can try and talk things out, okay?" He spoke, looking almost...afraid? Ashamed?

"Why do you want to help me?" My voice was supposed to sound fiery and demanding, but instead it came out almost too quiet, and shaking with nerves, and sounded absolutely nothing like me.

His eyes widened, and he glanced over at the tall guy guy again, I assume his lover or friend.

"If you really...If you really are my ki-id, then I'm not about to let you walk around hurt like that."

I stared at him for a second, entire body still shaking with adrenaline and fear. Maybe I was wrong? Maybe I'd read him wrong?

I could at least give him a chance, I thought to myself.

Hesitantly, I reached my hand out and grabbed a hold of his outstretched arm, causing a small smile to appear at the edges of his mouth.

He pulled me forward gently, and leaned back to get a good look at me, probably to see if the drunken bastard had hurt me anywhere else, before glancing back up to the cut along the side of my jaw. He reached out towards it again, this time much slower, and when I didn't pull away, he traced his thumb along the gash and winced slightly, the crows feet around his eyes deepening with concern.

"Sammy, go get Baby." His voice was quiet, matching the tone of the moment.

I turned to look at this "Sammy" just as he was beginning to turn sway, and we locked eyes for the second time that evening. Giving me a soft smile and a nod, his long body took off bad towards the bar.

"Here," Dean's voice pulled me back. In his hand, he held a handkerchief and put it up to the cut, which I winced away from on instinct. Taking the rag from his grip, I held it to my face myself, and gave him a shy smile before glancing away. I never had been exceptionally good at meeting new people, even if said new person happens to be my long lost father.

"So... I have a kid..."

#dean winchester #sam winchester #dean has a kid he doesn't know about #dad!dean #unkle!sam #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x nonbinary reader #dean winchester x child reader #sam winchester x child reader #dean x reader #supernatural #Revolving Doors

[beneaththetangles]

Shoujo and the Bride of Christ (I)

I was fourteen years old, Shinji Ikari´s age, when A Bridge to Terabithia made its movie debut. Like his fated stay in Misato’s house, only in time have I come to realize the influence it has had on me. Leslie Burke, the imaginative and courageous adventurer played by AnnaSophia Robb, did not only unveil a new world (or many) for Josh Hutcherson´s character, but for me, too. Who would have known? The wonders they discovered, the things they built together, their common battle against evil and injustice, their shared experiences, and the way they got to know each other and count on each other made a deep impression on me. And I thought she was interesting, pretty, even beautiful. I´m sure many of you have a story like that. A classmate, a friend, a character, a book.

With my Hachiman antics and my teenage fears, I had been too defensive and self-conscious up to that point to think seriously about romance (even if, as with him, I felt its attraction). But it was from there, if ‘´m not wrong, that the thought of a man-woman alliance—deep, trustworthy,opened to God and to the adventure of life—began to seem like an attractive possibility. An ethic to fit that ideal was one of sincerity, friendship, selflessness, chivalry, self-sacrifice, prayer, loyalty, courage and honoring promises (that of the Code of Kushieda, romantic version). Much has happened since, but the essentials remain unchanged. I wouldn’t forget, or settle for less. Ever since, I have loved stories of hard-earned romance, of mutual discovery, of the fight for the good of the other and complementary communion, and even new life.

Anime, with its gift for depicting deeply personal worlds with colorful symbols, has some great stories of this kind. You have Toradora, Haruhi, OreGairu, Sakamichi no Apollon, Your Lie in April, Clannad, Ore Monogatari, EVA itself, or movies like Ghibli´s Whisper of the Heart. Many are told from the point of view of the guy, but some of the best are not: This is how I discovered shōjo or shoujo. Its best stories brought me a different, yet recognizable world, because discovering human love is, after all, a very human experience. It is also a powerful mystery, which according to the Bible, was expressly established by God himself. “For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh.” To which St. Paul comments: “This mystery is profound, but I am speaking about Christ and the Church.”

Wait, what?

Last year, during the Spanish quarantine, I had the idea of explaining the Eucharist and its role in my life using examples from shōnen anime. By symmetry, I was wondering if there was some other aspect I could explain with shoujo anime. It turns out that there is. After all, before discovering Terabithia, I had discovered Christ and the Church (according to the Catholic conception), and, as crazy as it sounds, I thought St. Paul’s comment, with its echo at the end of the Book of Revelation, did fit. I read Dante’s The Divine Comedy (this year is his seventh centenary) at 16, and that connection only grew. It still does. Ready for the ride?

Sawako Kuronuma´s Human-shaped Gate

“But… you know that’s just biology, right? Chemical fireworks, so that the species can perpetuate.” I take issue with the word “just” here. God is the author of nature, which is thus full of depth, beauty, and meaning and providentially disposed towards our growth as creatures. There is chemistry, and there is more. While it is important to take everything into account and be careful when discerning our course of action, the faith in Christ is an incarnated faith. Our bodies, our natures, our stories are full of meaning, and we may come to discover it (and not just invent it), little by little. There is a deep wisdom in the created world, at every level, from the atoms to the stars.

In the Book of Genesis we are told that, when God created man and woman, Adam named the animals and witnessed a Creation in harmony. But not until meeting Eve did he discover a creature made of something deeply and intimately his, something he had been lacking without knowing it. She was just like him, and at the same time she was so different. For her, with her, he would go beyond what he knew, and they would be as one from there on. And their complementarity was to be the source of something new, of something great. Even more amazingly, she felt the same way. That was (and is) God’s design, which reflects His own powerful, generous love, “the fiercest blaze of all.” Something like that could only have been God´s idea, really.

Kimi ni Todoke (From Me to You) tells a story that, despite its contemporary setting, feels very Edenic. We have commented on it here a couple of times. I’m not even the first to point the Biblical analogy. Sawako (which means “lively child”) Kuronuma, nicknamed “Sadako” because of her resemblance of the phantom girl of The Ring, is isolated. She has a gentle, bright interior world she cannot share. Her lack of social skills and her terrifying aura get in her way, no matter how hard she tries to get along. She is misinterpreted time and time again. But a certain guy named Kazehaya, cheerful, popular, and sporting, is not fooled by appearances. He calls her by her true name. He supports her, little by little. He guides her. And, starting from there, her world begins to transform.

The seasons change, their bond is tested, nature surrounds them and echoes what is in their hearts, and she gradually discovers many things she couldn’t even conceive of before. Friendships, joys, sorrows, a place in the world, and Kazehaya, too. There is a chance, now, that her feelings may come across. And Kazehaya is the first step, the destiny, and the gate.

So, what is the Church of Christ? First and foremost, it is a loving bond with Jesus Christ, a real, human and divine person with a physical body, and to His Father, of Whom He speaks which such passion, and the Holy Spirit. Someone who lives, who longs for us to know Him, to open new worlds to us, without whom we will always be incomplete. He is the light, we are vitrals: He will make us shine with our true shape, our true, unique colors. Sawako always shone, but never so much.

Like her, like the characters of the Bible and the Gospel, each of us is called, one at a time, visibly or invisibly, by his or her real name, not the one of the world of appearances, and it is the name of a child of God, and full of life. When we follow Christ, He makes us courageous. He makes us grow. He fights to get us to go forward. He makes us able to truly love, to bond with others. Jesus of Nazareth is the Word of God, the key, the truer, deeper, loving meaning of all that has been created, of every human being. And each one of us, personally but also in communion with others, is his Church, when chosen by Him, when united to Him, when walking to finally reach Him and letting Him finally reach each of us, through all History and Creation. And in being with Him, there is life, everlasting life.

But, even if it is still in us, we do not live in Eden. There was a fall. The world changed. And so…

Futaba Yoshioka and Her Seven Demons

In a moment of cowardice, Futaba loudly denied her newly found love for her classmate Kou Mabuchi. Unexpectedly, he heard her. So it begins.

Ao Haru Ride (Blue Spring Ride) is similar to Kimi to Todoke in some aspects (and has an episode-by-episode analysis by Twwk here), but there is a key difference. Futaba’s misfortune was not brought about by her appearance, but due to her being inauthentic and cowardly out of fear of being alone, or rejected. Kou Mabuchi, returned after a few years of unexplained absence, knows Futaba from the old days. Superficial friendships, cowardly stances, artificial laughs, boyish behaviors planned so she won’t stand out, a deep solitude, a kind of slow self-destruction—he sees through it all. He knows that she has lost herself, that she is longing for something different. So he attacks with words, with acts that point beyond. It hurts, a lot. But something about him says that he is doing it in the name of something truer, that he could guide her there, and that he is no stranger to pain and sorrow…

…which, in my view, doesn’t excuse the disconcerting, nosy, and sometimes cruel behavior Kou often displays towards her (I don´t like this one as much as Kimi ni Todoke). But, to the allegory. After the book of Genesis there is the book of Exodus, the flight. Like Futaba, we are all lying, distorted, trapped from the inside, often unknowingly. As Sarah in the Book of Tobit, as Israel in Egypt or Babylon, as Mary Magdalene in the Gospel, we are oppressed by evils, personal, social or even the supernatural, that often control or manipulate us, that enslave us. The natural development of the deeply ingrained evil is suffering and self-destruction when its inner truth arises. And Christ is the one who knows us and will fight to free us, to open a path, and the Man of Sorrows, who not only bears unbearable suffering but knows our personal suffering, the suffering of each one of us.

In a moment of cowardice, Peter loudly denied knowing Christ, who he had confessed to be the Son of God, who had chosen Him, whom he loved. And like Kou with Futaba, He heard Peter, too. But Peter repented, and Christ had a path for him, a path with others. Futaba, motivated by Kou’s words and deeds, abandons the world of lies and starting anew with a group of misfits, people who cannot advance, who perceive themselves or are perceived by others as failures or phonies. It becomes quite literal when they get lost in the forest during a competition. The Church is, likewise, a scattered group who flee from Christ´s cross, as He had prophesied, but is then brought together again. Founded upon Christ´s love, following His words of eternal life, we are still sinners, ambitious, clumsy, cowards. The old Israel thought that, by perfectly observing the Law, it could fulfill the alliance and bring God´s favor upon itself, but kept betraying Him, even if they sometimes managed to hide it behind a facade.

But Christ made clear that He came not for the healthy, but for the sick, the evil, the cowards, those traitors. Peter, the Apostles, and the disciples were chosen not because they had somehow merited it, but because they trusted Him and followed Him, even if stumbling along the way. He would made them able to triumph. Love is radical, and as we are transformed by it, love increasingly needs us to fight whatever denies it within us. It is by no means an easy battle, and Ao Haru Ride knows that. Christ is prophesied champion against the Serpent of Eden, Satan, the Adversary, the fallen angel who tempts us, and against the evil whose maximum he represents. He begins His mission by confronting him in the desert, and fights evil, forgiving sins and expelling demons, one after another, and finally prevailing over them by perfect obedience and love, onn the Cross and in the resurrection.

And His fight goes on. He wants us to have part in His death and His resurrection, from baptism to a death in Christ and beyond. He is the Savior, and the Church is his Noah’s Ark, His people of Israel escaping Egypt through the Red Sea, His plan of salvation for everyone who accepts His personal call and jumps inside to escape self-destruction and death together. He is the lover who needs the loved one to trust Him, and to fight, and will be there to help. Against the entire world, against death, against everything. The plan of salvation won’t work without that kind of love.

When they join the group, Kou lets Futaba do most of the teamwork. He… has his reasons. During His mission, Christ gave Peter and the rest of his disciples the power to expel demons, to forgive sins, to baptize, to teach, and sent them. Not because He, the Almighty, needed them, but to help them, to help human beings through the cooperation of human beings who became closer to God this way. He still does that now. He also gave them the treasures of His love, which they keep. His Sacraments, His miracles, His Gospel and His teachings, all signs and acts of His love, are preserved in the Church, a house build in rock against which the gates of Hell shall never prevail. He will be with us every day, until the end of the world, if there is the slightest bit of hope that we may accept His hand, acting, saving. Heaven and Earth will pass away, but His words will never pass away.

Christ has pleaded in prayer for Simon Peter, that messy, loud self-confessed sinner, that his faith should not fail, so when he has repented, he will strengthen his brothers, feed Christ’s sheep. Peter, who reacted with undue violence (Futaba may need to confront old friends in the name of justice, but it is her own cowardice what she is mainly fighting against) and then denied Christ, will be able to disavow the Sanhedrin and Caiphas, preside over the martyr Church, and die on a cross for Christ and others, to go where he doesn’t want to go right now, and teach others to do the same. All because Christ loves him, and he loves Christ, and that love is fighting and growing. And the messy, loud, cowardly Futaba will also be able to face her demons, and face challenges, darkness and suffering beyond everything she had imagined, to tell the truth, to save others.

Do not be fooled by my criticisms: Futaba is a wonderful, relatable, inspiring character. She keeps the fight. Kou is very lucky. In this fallen world, every relationship, every bond, every friendship, every marriage, demands us to keep the fight. Human love, being made by God, reflects a ray of His own light, a ray that makes us hope and moves us to action. Likewise, the Church of Christ fights on this Earth, fulfilling the command of Christ to Peter and the Apostles, and those who came after them, teaching the Gospel and giving the Eucharist, bringing Christ´s love to our hearts. We, the group of misfits and sinners, keep assisting each other on the way, doing better or doing worse, knowing that He also works outside her visible frontiers, fighting to reach all human hearts. This is the Militant Church, which Christ will never abandon, in perpetual combat against her own evil, my own evil, and against the powers that enslave us, that enslave me, armed with the most powerful force there is—Christ´s love, Christ´s truth, Christ´s own hope. That is her source, her life and her destiny. And so she fights. And so I fight.

But what’s on the other side of the forest? What has it to do with the Divine Comedy? What is Tohru Honda doing at the top? Those are all questions for the next time. So, for now, take care, and Happy Easter!

=====

Kimi ni Todoke and Ao Haru Ride can be streamed in Crunchyroll.

#Anime #Christianity #Kimi ni Todoke #Ao Haru Ride #Kimi ni Todoke: From Me to You #Blue Spring Ride #Shoujo #Articles #Author: Gaheret

[thewildeleven]

The Titan.

"I do not know why you bother to name them, if only to place heavier burdens upon your heart," the Titan said. He was sitting on his throne in the Great Hall of Olympus, said to be the highest peak in all of Greece. His wife sat beside him, her own seat carrying equal grandeur.

Rhea learned to keep her eyes down in the Titan's presence. She avoided his gaze, then feigned endearment by firmly leaning on his shoulder as she spoke. Her tresses adorned his bare chest, the golden curls complimenting his sculpted muscles.

"My dearest," Rhea said, her voice almost a whisper, "You are my Capitol. I know that you mean to preserve us. Forgive me when I show weakness, they remain flesh of my flesh, bone of my bones."

"I do allow you this folly," the Titan said. "And yet, is it not better comfort to leave them forgotten and unnamed? Why must you remember them so?"

In her mind, Rhea held each and every one of them close. Demeter with locks like endless wheat-fields. Hestia, of the burning eyes. The even-muscled Hera, whom she imagined must grow with a strength rivaling the strongest mortal men. Hades, the timid. Poseidon, the proud. She had visions of them, of what they could be; each one a worthy successor to the Titan's throne.

And yet Cronus would not allow any of his offspring to usurp him, so he ate all of them alive as soon as they were torn from Rhea's womb.

"No, you are right," she lied. "In my mind they must fade like mortal life. Like threads spun shortest by Fate. I must not care for them."

"Good," said the Titan as he stood and faced his wife. "Look: the prophecy, salt which my father has poured over my wounds with, had me perpetually undone. My dear Rhea, in time you will bear our sixth child, and whatever you must name the creature, name it quick, for after I devour him I shall place my desires under deep slumber.

"You understand that I desire to rule only with might and be just." he added. "I did not ask for these atrocities. I will not allow my immortal conscience to plague me any longer."

Rhea looked straight into his eyes, and with a piercing gaze asked: "Why not just kill me?"

"What did you say?"

Rhea avoided his eyes once more and brought her head down. "Nothing. Forgive my tongue if it went out of turn."

Like most things Cronus offered her in the past decade, the slap on her face came as an unwelcome surprise. She could tell that his husband restrained from giving the hit its full strength, yet it brought with it the ringing of a thousand thunders; it heralded a clouding in her mind, the rumble of a great storm brewing.

The Titan took his wife's face and forced her to face him, and for the first time since the devouring of Poseidon, she saw the Monster that the prophecy created. He regarded her like she was some animal. The judging, wide eyes. The perfect set of teeth revealed by the smug smile.

"Rhea, my dear Rhea," the Monster said. "I am doing this for us, I am sure you know. And I promise… I will stop once the sixth child has been taken. Do you understand?"

Rhea's lips, even backed by the body of an invincible titaness, were too frightened to speak.

"Do you understand?!" the monster growled.

"Yes, my love…" 

"Soon, this will be all over with, and both of us will live in eternal rule." He kissed her, his tongue tasting her tears. Rhea closed her eyes as the Titan undressed her.

***

Some months later, Rhea felt a familiar stirring within her belly. It brought a concoction of delight and dread upon her being.

She planned to hide the pregnancy for as long as possible, but she knew that the Titan would notice it eventually. She could have had a lot of help, yet decided against asking aid from Uranus, Gaia, or any other being whom she thought might have an interest in taking Olympus' throne for themselves. Her plan was to consult with the creatures of the Earth, and her eyes caught wonders in the heart of the forest nymph Adamanthea.

As the stirrings became more frequent, Rhea decided to appear in the nymph's grove at once. Not as the supreme being that she was, but as a mother seeking refuge for her unborn child.

"Surely all the Earth has heard of Cronus' atrocities," Rhea said.

"Bah!" the leaf-haired nymph replied, seemingly unfazed by the sudden appearance of the woman in front of her. "If it were up to me I would put Cronus' neck on a noose that will never break. I will hang him from the Great Tree to watch his life draining away, never quite dying but in enough pain to regret his immortality. I would ask for the vultures to feast on his carcass while he can still feel! Well," she paused to smile. "You see, vultures do not really eat the flesh of those who are still alive, you know. Heh. They are scavengers, see, and they only go for helpless carcasses. They only eat dead ones, yep. In any case! I think if vultures should make an exception, it should be for Cronus! Because what he does is just disgusting and spells injustice for anyone! Except--"

"Calm down, sweet nymph," Rhea interrupted. "The Titan might hear you."

Adamanthea covered her lips. She widened her eyes and turned her head left and right. "You're right," she whispered. "Wait… who are you again?"

"My name is Rhea. I come to you now not as your sovereign, but as a mother desperate to save her yet unborn child. Will you help me?"

Adamanthea stepped back, her mouth open. "Are you serious? I mean, I DON'T not believe you! You're really Rhea, huh. Who else could appear out of thin air anyway, right? If there's anyone with some serious nature-defying abilities like that, it would be you guys up top. But hey, look at me! I'm a forest nymph! I haven't even learned how to craft a weedwhistle cord yet. I've been a bit negligent in my daily practice. Lazy. Heh. You know… butterflies to chase and petals to collect, and gazelles and fawns and hummingbirds to talk to. In any case! How could I even help?"

"Take more credit for yourself, for we always say that the resourcefulness of the forest nymphs knows no bounds," the titaness replied. "Now listen, Adamanthea. In a few hours I will bring out Zeus, my sixth child, out into this world. I only need some way to hide him until he is strong enough to stand up for himself."

The forest nymph went silent, her eyes blank and lost in thought. After a few moments, she said, "Right. You know what? You have come to the right creature.

"All my life I have listened to the whisperings of the rocks and the winds," the nymph added, "and I imagine the rest of my kin still do, as well. But I fear that they have been rather selective in what they hear. They listen to good tidings and disregard the bad ones… which I think is wrong. I do not like Cronus. Or rather, I don't like what he is doing. Is it too much to listen to what the rain clouds tell the raindrops, which the raindrops in turn tell the leaves? Perhaps. But it has been horrible up there, hasn't it?"

Rhea nodded.

"Your husband is a great ruler, you know. What with bringing all the wealth and liberation and agriculture and stuff. As humble as we are, I cannot figure out why he allows himself to succumb to a monster. I wonder why he allows himself to be a slave to some prophecy."

Rhea smiled. "You share my sentiments all too well, dear nymph."

"Do not worry. Stay until you bear your child, and I will help you hide him," the nymph said.

***

The opulence of the titans' dining hall was deceptive, for no glorious feast of honor was to be held there that night. Cronus, with his supremacy over land, sky, and sea, sensed Rhea had given birth and called for her immediately.

She emerged with the little one wrapped up in a white blanket, a lump about half the length of her arm.

"Why the blanket?" Cronus asked.

"Husband, this one turned out to be so hideous and so deformed! I would not dishonor your sight as to dare you look upon the monster," Rhea replied. "It might be best to end this usurper's life as quickly as you can." She sat beside him.

"I see. And have you named him?"

"I call him Zeus."

"A waste of a good name."

Cronus opened his mouth to swallow the child whole. A small portion of the blanket hung out from the corner of his lips as he began to chew.

Rhea stared at the ceiling as madness started to consume her child. She wanted to pray, but to whom do the gods pray to?

Cracking sounds echoed as the titan's teeth tried to crush bone. He licked his lips, pieces of raw meat clung to his tongue. "Zeus," he said while blood dripped from his mouth, "tastes really different. I do not like his form. He— uhm,"

Cartilage snapped like frail twigs. And in no time at all, the titan finished.

He used his finger to free a piece of flesh trapped between his teeth. "He may not have been a threat," he added.

The Titan licked his lips after what appeared to be a very satisfying meal. "Come, Rhea. Sit beside me."

She did, and he wrapped his arms around her.

"The prophecy says that I will be usurped by my own children," Cronus said. "You've seen my madness. I know that you see me as some kind of monster. I even find it laughable that while I have already exiled Uranus, I still act as if I am a slave to his words."

"I have no words," Rhea replied. "I only trust that as you say, this will be the last time."

"Ah, that. Not so."

Rhea's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"'I shall make my desire slumber,' I said. But love… you are my desire."

As she realized that she was no longer talking to her husband, but the Monster, the titaness pulled away. She looked and there it was: the insane smile and his dead, dark eyes. The Monster was there, clouding his judgment. Feeding on his falsely-perceived and misguided benevolence.

"My love, this is not you," Rhea pleaded. "How can you act as if you are cursed? When no curse should ever enter the House of Cronus!"

"BLAME MY FATHER FOR NOT ACCEPTING DEFEAT!" The halls of Olympus shook as the Monster bellowed. "Not content in ceding their power! Damning me with a prophecy—"

"The prophecy was no fault of theirs! It was the price you had to pay for your ambition!"

"Price?" the Monster laughed. "The 'price' of my ambition? What, the liberation of the lesser creatures from the dark clutches of tyrants? The wealth I have provided from the minerals of the soil; the… the science of organized harvestry that the once-starving mortals now benefit from?!  Tell me, Rhea, is this the ‘price’ I had to pay for wanting mankind to prosper?"

"No…. no, no…" the titaness wiped the tears from her eyes. "You could have accepted your fate gracefully… like an Immortal worthy of his throne."

"You are right, I could have. Yet the fact remains that I have done what I have done, and I must finish it now."

"Finish? Is it not already finished?"

"Dear," he took Rhea by the arm and pulled her closer to him. "You are my lone desire, and you are my weakness. You asked me once, why I should not kill you instead. Well, you made a compelling argument…"

"Let go of me, Cronus," the Titaness said.

The Monster responded by opening his mouth to take a bite off of Rhea's arm. In an instant she was dismembered, and the scream that followed was released for the entire World to hear.

"Without you," Cronus said as he chewed on Rhea's torn limb, "I would never have the urge to bear children again."

He grabbed her neck with one hand, while the other tore through her chest to take her still-beating heart. "Worry not," he said to her, "You will remain alive inside of me, just as your children are. It will be a family reunion of sorts."

Cronus held his wife's heart as he watched life leave her face. Rhea let out a final gasp and closed her eyes, and she was no more.

The Monster then consumed his wife's lifeless body starting with the toes and the feet, moving upward. He knew that she was alive, somehow, just as he knew his six children were alive, for their kin are immortal. But it did not matter; he only needed them contained inside him and he would have accomplished his end.

What he did not know was that Zeus, his sixth child, was alive not inside him, but far away from Olympus. The "child" that Rhea presented that night was not a child at all, but a newborn goat of Adamanthea's offering.

***

In Adamanthea's grove, there was an oak tree from which hung a cradle that was suspended by cords of cotton. The suspension was necessary, because the one who slept within needed to be hidden from the ruler of sky, land, and sea.

Adamanthea approached the cradle and saw the child Zeus asleep. "Hello, little boy," she whispered. "Presently your father longs for you, but not in the way fathers usually long for their children! He wants to eat you!" She poked his nose. "But don't worry. Your mother and I will protect you—"

The nymph's words were cut short by a blood-curdling scream that echoed, unmistakably, from the heights of Olympus. 

The child in the cradle stirred and opened his eyes to stare at the nymph. He did not cry, nor wail, as infants are wont to do. The boy simply stared at the nymph with its cold, piercing eyes.

"Sleep for now, and don't worry. One day, you shall banish your father and rule us all," she said.

A sudden flash lit up the grove, followed by another, and another. The bright knives sliced at the night sky and broke it into a hundred pieces. Soon, the evening was filled by a lightning storm.

Zeus smiled.

It was as if the bolts were giving their Master a warm welcome.

#fiction #mythology #retelling #short story #greek mythology

[rametarin]

tempting.

Reflecting on my health issues, since age 17. And my living situation.

So since around the age of 16, I’ve been plagued with unpredictable bowel problems and digestive ills. Like, everybody gets constipated every now and then, but I mean I’d get just, excruciatingly backed up and my family wouldn’t help me get seen or anything.

Basically from the time I was 18 onwards I was told my medical bills were mine. But oh by the way [Ram. Not my real name, but the name fam calls me], you gotta pay us every dollar that isn’t devoted to keeping yourself alive :^)

I’d be like, family, I cannot afford this, it’d be in your best interests to invest in my health so I can figure out what’s fucky about my bowels and stomach so this can stop happening, I can live a normal life, and we can all continue on our merry way.

Basically I was told, “tough shit, do it yourself, also pay your fair share to The Family” (aka, give mom all your money.)

It was never just fear of homelessness, but fear of homelessness while my GI tract was fucky and my teeth were rotting out of my head that made escape from here impossible. It’s why I didn’t just climb into a hole in the wall and escape this garbage fire of a mother and do that bootstrap shit. Because it sincerely made  me wonder sometimes if I was being poisoned by my mother to keep me powerless and in need of help, but perpetually weakened to where the best I could do is move towards help but just be put on a treadmill for someone elses financial benefit.

Perhaps my bitterness makes just a touch more sense now, right? Because Maine is a long-drive state. You need a car. You absolutely need a car to get anywhere. Not having one means you walk everywhere, you ride a bike everywhere and are FUCKED during the winter, or you go nowhere because you don’t have anywhere you need to be and don’t drive.

Now that said, imagine having bowel and ass problems so bad just the idea of driving makes you question if it’s safe for you to even be on the road.

That has been my existence for twenty years now, because my family wants me just close enough to extract what mom things “she��s owed,” but absolutely will not help me with anything. There’s no security in staying here because the whole fucking POINT of putting up with a family’s infantilizing “everything has its place” mentality, is you’re able to wisely squirrel away your income without paying a landlord anything and your income going up in smoke

If your mother is just the worst sort of landlord, you’re basically just paying a narcissistic bitch of a mother to be a narcissistic bitch of a mother. There’s absolutely no upside.

So I’ve been stuck in this virtual tutorial of an existence because my own digestive system was torturing me and seriously deleting my ability to operate independently. And mom, whom has always wanted absolute control over my finances and my future, saw it as a holistic way of penning me up and making be desperate. Never a wasted opportunity with this fucking monster.

Well. I eliminated cottonseed oil and chicken proteins from my diet and, while not perfect, the amount of excruciating pain and pressure and weird cold-acidic burning in my back and bowels has subsided a lot. As well as my stomach issues receded considerably.

The truth is I was loathe to even try and escape without figuring out these problems, but I couldn’t figure them out because I never had the money. I tried to get a barium enema x-ray when I was 17 and suffering a massive, excruciating flareup. I missed prom (I didn’t have anyone to go with anyway) because of what felt like it could’ve been anything from gall stones to bowel cancer.

Had a big useless cleanse that was excruciating, then had the guys that give the barium enema tell me, “lube is expensive” when I screamed about how much it hurt to have the thing shoved up my ass. My already inflamed, tender ass.

Absolutely nothing was found in my bowels. Which did absolutely nothing to explain why they felt inflamed and miserable. But it did give me a $1,700 bill, which proved.. absolutely nothing except they couldn’t find tumors or any object lodged in my butt. Given how it took me two summers to acquire almost that much working a shit job for my shithead father’s girlfriend, maybe you can appreciate how heartbreaking that is. Spending all that money and you don’t even learn WHY you’re suffering, you just learn why you aren’t.

And today I still fume with rage over being told, “ass lube is expensive so we’re skimping on it” and then be charged almost two thousand god damned dollars.

Absolutely could not get my family to help me pursue any other avenue. They just kept insisting, “it’s all anxiety, it’s all in your head. You just need to get off the computer and do more manual labor/make us money and your problems will go away. :^)”

But then they would not help me do it. They wanted me to take on all the risk while they got the guaranteed income from my needing to be around them.

My need to grow step by step was their opportunity to mitigate my life, every step of the way, so non-compliance with their exploitation would result in homelessness and complete uprooting. If I wasn’t going to voluntarily follow draconian rules, then I’d be governed by those rules anyway in the absence of them being verbally stated. Just, using poverty and immobility as a way to impose it.

But I refused to comply. I wasn’t going to suffer every day unendingly AND get my income snatched away, BY MY OWN GOD DAMNED FAMILY. A family that didn’t even pay RENT to live in the house we were living in at the time, and a family that made 65-70K a year, with another house they owned in a less convenient location worth $350K. My mother had ABSOLUTELY NO BUSINESS other than fun and profit as an excuse as to why I needed to buy, “the family,” a car. Other than making it the “family” car giving her defacto control over it but my obligation to pay for it. Just another indirect way to give her absolute control over my options and alternatives.

So I didn’t work. I sat at home and dealt with her abusive bullshit, because it was the only card I had left in my deck. She didn’t want the stigma of throwing out a sick man without a license, a car or any savings. I didn’t want to voluntarily throw myself out and die in the street.

So I dealt with my health problems as best as I could. There were a good many times living in this house, that we’ve lived in and she’s owned since 2006, that I questioned whether I should phone an ambulance and just say fuck it, go into tens of thousands of dollars of debt just goosechasing this problem, thanks to the backdoor socialized medical system that exploits the profit motive but uses government assured payment fixed to taxes in order to afford it.

That’s probably what pisses me off the most about my situation. Our medical system has been turned into a farce by socialists deliberately making medicine as toxic as they fucking can in order to then bat their eyes and go, “Bet you just want single payer and to basically make medicine another ring of the government NOW, don’t youuuuuu? It’d make all those woes go awayyyyy!” while turning the screws to our bodies by denying us affordable medicine. All while blaming capitalism for shit that’s assured to work at any cost by the government.

Other people pine for a more socialized system to make the disgusting exploitation and abuse stop. But the truth is, that’s just like wanting to marry a pirate so they’ll stop lobbing cannonballs and demanding tolls at sea from you. Yes, the actual literal war on you and your community and your personal sovereignty will be over, but you’ll also be institutionalizing pirates in order to make them stop taking complete advantage of you on their terms instead of taking complete advantage of you on mostly-their terms but you get to act like you’re consenting to it.

I digressed. Anyway...

Well. I’m curious about pursuing a shit job just to see if I can KEEP some income, but I know, and have always known, my mother will not allow me to do anything with that money but barely keep myself alive. While she uses it to just buy enormous bulk loads of garbage and hoards them in the corners, or throws hundreds of dollars at friends-of-the-family/neighbors and extracts that money from me to do it.

I know going into it that the job would be otherwise worthless. She wants her ten pounds of flesh a year from me, and if I worked, there’d be no getting around it. She isn’t going to allow me to profit living with her, in any way. Everything has to revolve around her, or I get made homeless.

But trying to hold a job would mean possible (there’s that ‘potential vs. guarantee dichotomy again) feelers out to couches to surf on. Or credit building.

It’d still be a sexless existence dictated by someone so fucking petty that they can’t help you fix a broken tooth but do miraculously have the money to buy you a cell phone and a plan, “if you want it,” purely to always have you at their beck and call and/or have control over your phone plan. And it’d mean committing to something that runs a minimum of a year while being able to have a foot crushing my neck and destroying whatever I’m trying to do in an instant.

but it’d also mean being able to financially pursue what’s wrong with me and fixing it.

But I will hold this grudge against women and the actual, objective privilege they have from the legal system and our social system in the US for the rest of my life. Everybody around me saw what she was doing to me and my life, and they’ve done and said absolutely nothing. An abusive woman in this society is basically on par with the richest barons in a young adult novel, and all you have to do to get that kind of institutional power, rich or poor, is have a vagina and be a mom.

Then other women will sympathize with the mother, whom can never be totally wrong about anything, and at best you might get silence and indifference about the way you’re treated.

You can be cornered, debased and neglected until you’re a greasy shoggoth of a person, and if it’s a woman doing this to you, it’s your fault for not escaping. After having every escape route made as torturous and unsustainable an option as possible, you’ll be held accountable for yourself.

I’ll be relieved and pleased when this disgusting pig of a woman dies of natural causes. She’ll have gotten away with grabbing my life and thrashing around with it for 20 years while the world passed me by, just to keep control, just for fun, just for profit.

But in the meantime, maybe there’s a local niche I can fill. Just enough of something to find somewhere else to live. Without conditions making it more damning to pursue than nothing at all.

But I’m not hoping too hard.