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m1ckeyb3rry · 3 months

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── THE GLASS PRINCESS // TWELVE

Series Synopsis: You wake up in a strange room with no memories, broken glass at your bedside, and a prince named Zuko as your only chance at figuring out who you really are.

Chapter Synopsis: The Tales of Ba Sing Se: The Tale of Princess Y/N

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Zuko x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 5.1k

Content Warnings: complicated relationships (strangers to friends to lovers to enemies to strangers to lovers to enemies to lovers), amnesia, alternate universe, lots of secrets and lying and mystery

A/N: going to say it right here right now…this chapter is 75% crack and goofy nonsense shenanigans LMAOAO. mostly because zuko and y/n’s relationship is so i see the light from tangled across the stars from star wars etc etc but the main man of this chapter & y/n are just the subway surfers theme song personified

“I’m very confused,” you said, sitting on Quynh’s front paw and gazing up at her beseechingly. “I need your help, Quynh.”

“I was questioning why you stayed here with me instead of running off to that tea shop you love so much,” she said, inclining her nose towards you. “What is the matter?”

“It’s about the tea shop,” you said. “Or, specifically, a certain employee.”

“That boy you met? Lee?” she said. Her muzzle wrinkled, though it was with concern, not anger. “Has he done something wrong to you?”

“No, not at all,” you said. “Well. Maybe a little bit, but he’s not quite aware that he’s done anything. And then there’s the whole problem with the Blue Spirit…”

“Your mysterious savior? What is his relation to the situation?” she said. “Dearest Y/N, you must explain at once before I am irreversibly angered.”

“Lee makes me feel bizarre!” you said, throwing your hands in the air. Quynh blinked at you.

“Makes you feel bizarre?” she said.

“Yes,” you said. “Incredibly so.”

There was really no other adjective for what it was. It was unprecedented, the kind of emotion you had never felt before, not for anyone – bar the Blue Spirit, but it was different even then. Of the same foundation, but taking a different form.

“You’ll have to explain a little more,” she said.

“It’s like my stomach is in knots,” you said. “And as if my heart has turned to a bird and is fluttering its wings about! What is this power that he has, that he can send my body into fits? But, for all that, I still want to be around him. It matters not what we are doing; as long as he is there, I am happy. Yet how can I be happy? He is driving me to failure! Why, for all I know, he really might bring about my death!”

For a moment, Quynh was silent, and then her body began to rumble. You were vindicated for a bit, thinking that she was growling with protective instinct, but your temporary satisfaction immediately vanished when you realized she was laughing.

“For a girl who spends so much time reading about so many different topics, you know so little of the world,” she said. “Though then again, this is the kind of thing that you have to experience to understand.”

“What are you talking about?” you said.

“He doesn’t have any special powers, and you aren’t going to die,” she said. “If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say you like him.”

Your mind blanked. The thought of you liking Lee was utterly preposterous. Lee, the snarky tea server? Lee, the passionate super-fan of The Mask of the Blue Spirit? Lee, who’d just as soon say something rude as he would something kind? If Quynh was to be believed, then that Lee was someone you liked, but that just wasn’t right.

“No way!” you said. “I can’t have feelings for Lee.”

“Why not?” Quynh said.

“He’s Lee!” you said helplessly. “It’s just — it’s just not how things are supposed to go.”

“Then how are things supposed to go?” she said. “Why is there a certain way that it must all happen? Things are rarely if ever set in stone, even in a kingdom made up of Earthbenders.”

“The Blue Spirit,” you said. “It’s supposed to be him. He’s the one who’s saved me, the one who knows the truth of my bending and my identity. He’s the one I’m meant to like.”

“You told him you’re a bender?” Quynh said. “That’s a new development. I thought you didn’t want to tell anyone.”

“It’s that there was no one I could trust to tell,” you said. “Until him. If a man has saved your life twice, then you can expect that he will do so a third time as well, right? So I did not feel afraid in revealing that part of me to him. I’d reveal anything to him if he asked.”

“Then there is a conundrum,” Quynh said.

“Exactly. That’s why I can’t like Lee,” you said. “It’s the Blue Spirit. There is no doubt in my mind that he is the person you foresaw me finding.”

“Hm,” Quynh said. “Do you think so?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “Lee reminds me that I am more than just a princess. I can live a different kind of life when I am with him — a happier kind. But the fact is that I am a princess, and the Blue Spirit shows me what that genuinely means. The reality of the world beyond the palace walls…if it were not for him, I’d still be blind to it all.”

Quynh sighed. “It’s not like you know who the Blue Spirit is.”

“No matter who he is underneath the mask, he’ll always be the Blue Spirit. He’ll always be the person who saved me,” you said, and then you slapped your hand over your mouth. “Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh?” Quynh parroted. “Why are you saying that?”

“I just — I just accidentally quoted Jin!” you said. Quynh, who, being a bear spirit, was not exactly well-read, huffed at you.

“Am I meant to know who Jin is?” she said.

“She’s a character in The Mask of the Blue Spirit,” you said.

“Okay,” she said.

“That line is a part of the ending I detest! Have I become such a shallow person that I bear a resemblance to her of all characters? What will Lee think? It’s our greatest point of contention, that we do not agree on the ending, but if I’ve gone and adopted her worldview, then that means I do subconsciously like it!” you wailed.

Once more, Quynh began to laugh, nudging you and knocking you over, though she caught you in her other paw before you could hit the ground. Putting you back in your comfortable spot nestled against her fur, she continued to chuckle as she spoke.

“Quoting a single line does not mean you agree with everything a character has done,” she said. “And what does it matter to you what Lee thinks?”

“It just does,” you said. “It really matters to me.”

“Princess, I think that your dilemma is not a dilemma at all,” she said.

“Huh? Yes, it is!” you said.

“It’s not,” she said. “If you search within yourself, you will know the truth. Even in just this conversation, even without seeking it out, I have found it. And no one can know your heart better than you, so there is no reason that you cannot do the same.”

“I’ve been searching! But no answer has made itself apparent,” you said.

“Keep looking,” she said. “One day, it will. Until then, you needn’t decide anything. No one is forcing your hand.”

That was true. It wasn’t as if you were being threatened into a decision, into an acknowledgment. If your feelings really were the kind that Quynh was suggesting, then things would be spoiled, so you vowed to push them aside for now and focus on other, more pressing matters.

“That’s not the only subject that I have been mulling over recently. Quynh, do you think I would have made a better queen than Kuei is king?” you said. Her ears pricked, and her voice took on an alarmed cast when she responded.

“I know you don’t mean to be seditious, but the implication is there,” she said.

“Maybe it is seditious, but I still want your answer. The Earth Kingdom was built on your back; you’ve witnessed every monarch’s reign, every king’s rise and fall, every war and each bloody moment in the land’s history. No one would know better than you if I made the right decision all of those years ago,” you said.

“It’s not so simple,” she said. “Every king has inherited a different world than their predecessors. Some anre easier times than others, but all have their variances. Kuei is not a bad king, believe it or not. He is an uneducated one, an ignorant one, perhaps even an inept one, but he is not a bad one. He was one born to rule over a world at peace, one born to mature slowly and reign in old age, and he was given none of those considerations.”

“What about me?” you said.

“You are a princess who wants to love her people very much,” she said. “There’s always a place for that kind of royalty. However, there’s no saying what kind of ruler you would’ve been; the likelihood is that you would’ve been the same as your brother. Children are not meant to rule, dear girl. Remember it well; a boy should not be king any more than a crook should.”

You swallowed. “If only our father were still here. Things would be better.”

The father who you had never met, yet whose absence you mourned daily anew. If he were still alive, then would Ba Sing Se be as troubled as it had become under your brother’s command? You tried to imagine what kind of a man he would be. The 51st Earth King…you had read the stories and the songs until you had memorized them, but they were flimsy replacements for knowing him, for loving him.

You envied Kuei in that sense. He had met your parents. He had loved your parents and been loved by them in return. Neither of them had even known you long enough to love you. Were it not for Quynh and Kuei, you wouldn’t have been loved by anyone at all.

“They would be,” Quynh said. “But your father is gone, Y/N, and you cannot change the past. For better or for worse, your brother is the king.”

“Ba Sing Se is falling apart,” you said. “The great capital that you and Shan built is crumbling under Kuei’s control. The worst part is that he does not even know it, and he would not believe me if I told him! Isn’t it a sad twist? That I am the one with the knowledge but not the power, and he is the one who knows nothing yet has everything!”

“You are still a princess,” Quynh said. “Not a king nor a queen, but you are still the second-most powerful person in this kingdom. You are not as helpless as you are determined to believe yourself.”

“What can I do?” you said.

She angled her paw so that you slid off of it and onto your feet, and then she curled back up in her usual position. A door opened, one that must’ve led to Ba Sing Se, and she let out a gravelly exhale.

“If there is a problem, then you must understand it,” she said. “Only then can you begin to fix it. Do you understand what is happening in the city at present? In your own palace?”

“Not really,” you said. “Do you?”

“I do, but I also do not,” she said. “It’s an internal knowledge that I cannot explain to anyone else, but I am aware of it. Like an itch on my back which I cannot reach.”

“Spirit nonsense,” you said. “No matter. You’re right; even if Lee cannot tell me, there must be some way I can suss things out.”

“It’s a large city,” Quynh agreed. “There will be someone willing to help you. You only need to find them. As you found the Blue Spirit. As you found Lee.”

“Do you think I can?” you said.

“I think you can do a lot more than you are aware of,” she said. “You remind me of someone else. Someone I knew a very long time ago.”

“One of my ancestors?” you said.

“My own brother,” she said. “It has been ages upon ages since I saw him last. I thought that I could not quite recall his face anymore, but then I saw yours, and I knew that it had to be the same. I knew that he had come to be at my side again, however briefly.”

Her brother — Shan. The founder of the Earth Kingdom, who had against all odds taken a continent at war and turned it into a single nation that was united and powerful beyond even the wildest dreams of his contemporaries. What kind of equivalency was that? Who would think to compare you with the legendary first king?

You thought that Quynh’s passageway would lead you to the tea shop, as it usually did, but instead it spit you out in front of a building far too elegant to be in the Lower Ring. That meant you must’ve been in the Upper Ring, where the wealthier residents of Ba Sing Se stayed.

“Why am I here?” you muttered. Reading the sign hung above the door, you saw that the building was a girls’ poetry house. When you strained your ears, you heard the dulcet tones of recited haikus being whispered back and forth, though an unexpected addition made you pause. “That’s an awfully masculine sounding girl…”

All of a sudden, the door slammed open, and a man in a security uniform tossed out a boy clad in blue. Your eyes widened as he came flying at you, knocking you to the floor beneath him with the force of the guard’s throw.

“Aw, man,” the boy groaned. “I was just trying to show my appreciation for poetry — woah! When did you get here?”

His eyes were a bright, clear blue, though it was not the dark shade of the Blue Spirit’s mask, but rather a luminous, glittering color that pierced straight through you. For a moment, you thought that he must’ve known your every secret and intimacy — such was the depth of his gaze. But it only lasted for a moment, after which you remembered that there was no way he could’ve come to know it all just by looking at you.

“I was just passing by, and then that boorish security threw you at me!” you said. The boy leapt to his feet and offered you his hand, pulling you up when you took it and giving you a wide grin in return.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he said, shaking the hand he had already captured in his own vigorously. “I’m Sokka!”

“Y/N,” you said. He narrowed his eyes at you, leaning closer and scrutinizing you, an ordeal for which you stayed entirely still. Only when he was finally satisfied did he straighten, though he was still frowning slightly.

“That name is mighty familiar,” he said. “Have we met or something? I feel like I know you.”

“I…used to be in the circus?” you said, silently apologizing to Lee and Mushi for stealing their personal backgrounds for your cover story. “A very well-regarded one. I was, um, famous. For my acrobatics. That’s probably where you recognize me from.”

You hoped Mushi wouldn’t be upset that you had just appropriated his identity. It was the only one you could think of without the time to prepare in advance, and even then only because it was on your mind due to how absurd you had found it when Lee had mentioned it.

“We haven’t visited any circuses on our trip,” Sokka said. “So that can’t be it.”

“I’m a household name!” you said. “The main attractions tend to be, you know. Everyone across the Earth Kingdom knows who I am.”

This was actually not a lie. It would be difficult to find a single family who had not at least heard of you, but it wasn’t because of your nonexistent acrobatic prowess. Either way, it must have been convincing enough, as Sokka just shrugged it off.

“If you say so,” he said. “Can you do a cartwheel?”

“Not in a dress, I can’t,” you said. “Don’t be foolish. How would I possibly maneuver my limbs in that way with all of this fabric obstructing me?”

“Aw, I was really hoping you could show me how it’s done! I’ve always wanted to learn how to cartwheel,” Sokka said as the two of you began to walk away from the poetry house. He swung his arms by his sides as he walked, with a lackadaisical looseness you had never observed so closely before. Even Lee, Mushi, and the Blue Spirit had neat, contained manners to their gaits, each movement done with purpose, but Sokka was haphazard and almost unwieldy in his grace.

“If I were wearing pants, I might be able to demonstrate, but as it is, you’ll have to find another teacher,” you said.

“Wait! I have the best idea ever!” Sokka said. “You’re going to love this.”

You weren’t sure what you were expecting when he said that, but whatever it had been, it was not this. It did not come as a surprise that you did not love it; in fact, you were more befuddled than anything.

Sokka’s clothes did not by any means fit you properly, and the same could be said for your dress on his frame. He did not seem to mind, though, giving you a double-thumbs-up when he emerged from behind the wall where he had changed.

“You look great!” he said.

“I don’t know that I can say the same about you, but in the interest of being polite, I should like to tell you that you appear radiant at the moment,” you said.

“Why’re you speaking like you’re about to give a speech or something? Seriously, you Upper Ring folk are so weird,” he said.

“Aren’t you also one of the Upper Ring folk?” you said. “Considering I’ve met you here, you must be.”

“Nah, I’m just a visitor,” he said.

“But a very important one. Not everyone is lodged in the Upper Ring,” you said. Sokka blushed and waved you off.

“I know a guy or two,” he said. “No biggie, just another day in the life. But enough talking! Let’s get to cartwheeling. This is a moment I’ve dreamed of for a long time!”

“I hope you’ve been dreaming of being disappointed for equally as long,” you said.

“What’d you say?” he said.

“Nothing,” you said.

“Then what are we waiting for?” he said. “Show me how it’s done!”

There was a problem: you had no idea how to do a cartwheel. If only it were Mushi in your place! According to Lee, he was supremely flexible, and he had his circus training. As well, his patient and kind demeanor meant that he would be uniquely suited to being Sokka’s cartwheeling mentor. At any rate, he’d be better than you at the job, though that wasn’t really a high bar.

“Here goes nothing,” you said, taking a deep breath and raising your arms over your head. Trying to emulate what you had heard about the movement, you took a step forward and tried to push off with your back leg.

Somehow, it happened that your slipper came flying off, smacking Sokka in the face as you lost your balance and landed in a heap on the cobblestones of the street. Sokka shrieked as he, too, was knocked over, though through the dim awareness you had of the situation, you could not quite discern how a mere shoe had been enough to warrant that much of a reaction.

“I think you’re bad luck,” he said, rubbing his head. “No wonder you left the circus. I can’t believe they kept you around for as long as they did!”

“I’m out of practice,” you said, accepting the shoe he passed you and putting it back on. “Could I have my clothes back, perhaps? Or have you taken a liking to them? Because I do not think you wear green as well as I do.”

“Hey!”

Once you and he were back in your regular clothes, you readied yourself to wish Sokka farewell. You weren’t really sure what he was doing or why he was in the Upper Ring, but you thought it was safe to say that he was not the person Quynh was talking about, the one who would be willing to help you in solving the problems of your kingdom.

“I still can’t shake the feeling that you remind me of someone,” Sokka said.

“Do you have any siblings?” you said.

“A younger sister,” he said.

“It’s probably her. I’m a younger sister, too,” you said. “If you’re not an avid circus-goer, then that’s the only other option I can come up with.”

“That’s another thing! I’ve never heard of circus performers speaking so fancily,” he said.

“You said it yourself that you haven’t visited any circuses on your trip, so how would you know?” you said. “It’s a shame that you have these stereotypes in your head. You should do some introspection about where they originate from.”

“What — no, I’m not — that’s not what I meant! There’s just something about you that I’m this close to figuring out!” he said, holding up his thumb and pointer finger, pressing them together for effect.

“You’re not getting paid for it, so why waste the effort?” you said.

“I’m just a curious — duck!” he said.

“Duck? Do you mean a turtleduck? That’s an interesting way to describe yourself — oh!” you said as he pulled you to the ground and out of the way of an incoming boulder.

“Whose bad side did you get on, huh?” Sokka said, motioning for you to run along with him. It was nothing like when you and the Blue Spirit had fled from the assassin’s previous attack; you didn’t have that implicit trust in Sokka to protect you, and for his part, Sokka was just as panicked as you were, so all told it was a much less graceful exit as you charged through the streets of the Upper Ring.

“A bunch of assassins!” you said. “They’ve been chasing me on and off for weeks now.”

“Assassins?” Sokka wheezed out as you increased your pace. “Just what kind of acrobat were you?”

“One that made a lot of enemies — look out!” you said, jumping into the air to avoid the stone gloves that reached for your ankles. Missing their target, they slammed into the wall and burst into smithereens.

“We’re almost at our guest house!” Sokka said. “The others should be able to help us if we haven’t lost these freaks by then. We just have to reach there before getting, y’know, crushed!”

“That’d be ideal!” you said, covering your head with your hands as you rounded a corner. Sokka kicked the door to a luxurious villa down, shoving you in and then slamming it shut behind him, pressing his back to it as the three occupants of the home gave you both alarmed looks.

“Assassins — rocks — cartwheel instructor!” Sokka said, heaving for breath and pointing at you. You waved at the trio, who must’ve been the friends that Sokka was visiting Ba Sing Se with.

One was a beautiful girl who bore an uncanny resemblance to Sokka — indubitably, this was his sister, though unlike Sokka, her eyes swirled with something lively and unsettled, as if they were twin seas set in her sweet face. Beside her was another girl, this one with fine features like a lady but a rough aura like a wrestler, and on her right was a boy with the blue arrows of an Airbending master running along his body.

“You’re going to have to repeat that,” Sokka’s sister said. “What’s going on? Who is this?”

“My cartwheeling instructor,” Sokka said.

“In a manner of speaking,” you said. “I didn’t really teach him much.”

“You know how to cartwheel? I love cartwheeling!” the Airbender said.

“Why didn’t Sokka ask you to teach him, then?” you said. The boy shrugged.

“Dunno,” he said.

“We were in the middle of a lesson—” Sokka began.

“As I recall, we were about to part ways,” you interrupted. Sokka shushed you impatiently.

“Like I was saying, we were in the middle of a lesson when, out of nowhere, pow! There was a boulder flying at our heads, and then boom! We almost died from it!” he said. You decided to just be quiet and let him tell the story; he had a flair for dramatics that you could not hope to match.

“What? Why?” his sister said.

“No idea! She said that she’s been being chased by those assassins for a while now!” Sokka said.

“Did you bring a criminal into our house?” his sister said, arching a brow at you. “Are you a criminal?”

“Not as far as I know,” you said. “I suppose I’m not really meant to be out here, but it’s not against any significant law for me to be. It’s just a family rule I’ve broken.”

“You said that they’re assassins?” the younger of the two girls said. “There’s no way. I didn’t sense anyone coming near us except for you two and some of the Dai Li agents.”

“They must be super sneaky!” Sokka said. “Right, Y/N?”

“Hm, it might be,” you said, lost in thought at this suggestion. Though you had no idea what she meant when she said she had sensed the Dai Li’s presence, you also had no reason to think that the girl was lying. There were two things that that could mean if what she said was correct, and neither of them were options you wanted to be true.

“Sokka,” his sister said. It was then that you realized that she, the Airbender, and the other girl were staring at you. “What did you just call your new friend?”

“You’re right! I can’t believe I forgot to do introductions! Y/N, this is Aang, Toph, and my sister Katara. Everyone, this is Y/N,” Sokka said, pointing at everyone as he said their names.

“Hello,” you said. “It’s lovely to meet you all.”

“Sokka!” Katara said. “You dumb, idiotic genius! We’ve been trying to talk to the king for ages, and you just happened to meet his sister while out and about!”

“That’s where I knew your name from!” Sokka said. “Princess Y/N, duh. Wait! You’re Princess Y/N!”

“Um,” you said, swearing internally at the fact that you had not thought to come up with a new name to go along with your alter ego as an acrobat. “No, I’m not.”

“She’s lying,” Toph said. “I have seismic sense, so you can forget about trying to make things up, princess. I’ll be able to tell in an instant.”

“You don’t know how good it is to meet you!” Aang said. “We’ve been trying to talk to your brother for a while now, but it’s not been going well.”

“Why would you want to talk to Kuei?” you said before you could stop yourself, rolling your eyes at the mere thought of anyone actually desiring to speak with him. “He’s not the most stimulating conversationalist.”

“You’re Princess Y/N!” Sokka said again. “You’re the princess of the Earth Kingdom, and I made you wear my clothes and do cartwheels!”

“When you put it like that, it does sound like a grave offense,” you said. “Shall I have you executed for it?”

“No!” he said, falling to his knees and bowing. “Oh esteemed, valued, generous, kind, benevolent princess, please spare my life! Please please please please please please—”

“I was only joking,” you informed him.

“We have to speak to the Earth King,” Aang said. “Do you think you could get us an audience? It’s urgent. If it helps, tell him the Avatar is the one making the request.”

“You’re the Avatar?” you said. Aang nodded at you, his expression grave and at odds with his youthful countenance. “For some reason, I thought you’d be older.”

“He’s technically 112 years old,” Sokka piped up from where he was now supine on the floor by your feet. “So there’s that.”

“I see,” you said. “You look good for your age, then. My apologies for making assumptions.”

“It’s complicated,” Aang said. “Do you think you can help us, though?”

“We’re kind of at our wits’ ends,” Katara added.

“Those Earth Palace dolts are the next level of stupid,” Toph said. “It’s all a bunch of bureaucracy and rules. Blech.”

“I can’t guarantee it,” you said. “I’m sorry. I’m not even allowed to be here right now. You see, I’m forbidden to leave my chambers. It’s only through the power of a spirit named Quynh that I may enter and exit without detection — though, I’m beginning to doubt how true that part is, but that’s an issue for me to work through on my own time. I’ll do my best to help you all while I’m at it, but for the most part, my hands are tied.”

“Okay,” Katara said when it became obvious that the others were too disappointed to come up with a response. “There’s nothing more we can ask of you. Just — it’s really urgent. You have to mean it when you say you’ll do your best.”

“I do mean it,” you said. “But in case, is there any other message you’d like me to pass along?”

“There is a war,” Aang said. “He has to ignore everything that he’s been told and realize that. There’s a war going on, and without his support, we’re going to lose it.”

A war. Of course. It made so much sense. The refugees. The injuries. The state of Ba Sing Se. It all pointed towards a distant yet rapidly encroaching conflict. That was the problem. That was what you needed to understand, or at least begin with understanding — there were other things that the Avatar and his friends had accidentally or purposefully revealed, smaller details that you would pick at and dissect until their natural conclusions, but this was the main point.

Not yet, though. These were things best done in the harsh, inescapable brightness of day, and tonight’s twilight was already waning. Soon, it would be time for the daily lighting of the Firelight Fountain’s lanterns, and there was something else you wanted to do before that.

Blending into crowds when you could, creeping past checkpoints and keeping your head lowered to avoid detection, you snuck into the Lower Ring, making your way towards a certain place, Quynh’s words coming to mind all of a sudden.

He would be starting his evening shift soon. You could picture him putting his apron on, rolling up his sleeves and complaining to his uncle about how much he hated his job and how they deserved to be somewhere else — the circus, perhaps? You weren’t sure, for he never really elaborated, but that was because the alternative location was not as important as the dissatisfaction he felt.

Despite your best efforts to quash it for fear of looking like a fool — what normal person was so excited by the prospect of apologizing to the dourest boy born to humanity? — a smile formed on your face as you began to walk faster, towards the tea shop where you knew Lee would be waiting.

taglist (comment/send an ask/dm to be added): @rinisfruity14 @c4ttheart @blacky-rose @shizko @marsbars09 @happyplaidpersonfestival @catborglar @camilleverreault @nerdybouquetofkittens-blog @lovialy @heart4hees @stefnarda @ioonatv

#zuko x reader #zuko x y/n #zuko x you #zuko #avatar the last airbender #atla #reader insert #canon au #the glass princess #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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overfedvenison · 2 years

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Chasing Tangents Again Because the Hiatus Has Gone On A Year

You know, I made the joke earlier about “Maybe Kris is just shambling around like a zombie because that is what teenagers are like” But thinking about it, doesn’t this character get compared to a corpse a little too much for it to not be suspicious? And if you look through the glass formed by the dark crystal, you can see through your hand. But... An observation. To some artistic parallels, that may or may not MEAN anything. Alright, spoilers for chrono trigger which is probably now old enough to need a spoiler warning about plot twists that were once famous. This post is about Deltarune.

You know, to set up the Dual ACTs early on in chapter 1, one of the first ones you get is X-Flatter. Then, In the Snowgrave Spamton Neo fight, you also get X-Slash. If you are unaware, those are definitely Chrono Trigger references - One of the most iconic dual-techs in that game is X-Slash, due to how early you get it, and it’s famously the game that introduced both New Game Plus and a heavy use of Dual Techs to RPGs.

Here is X-Slash But of course... Famously, the twist in Chrono Trigger involves THE main character, Crono, dying. This was also unprecedented at the time - Chrono was “you,” a silent protagonist who you inhabited. You eventually get him back by playing around in the time stream, as Chrono Trigger is a game about time travel. To explain a little... In the Chrono Trigger timeline, in the year 600 there is a war between Humans and Fiends here. They are led by the Fiendlord, Magus. Monsters come in a variety of strange forms, and can use magic - an ability that humans used to be able to do, but lost long ago. That’s not super innovative. “War between humans and monsters, led by a King of Monsters” is a concept that goes way back and endures to this day in Japanese fantasy series as a cliche. And, 600AD is a pastiche of a typical RPG Chrono Trigger does a lot of pastiches of various settings, such as the End of Time - where time travellers gather - being strongly Victorian looking as kind of a Victorian Time Traveller thing.

Actually, relevant to Deltarune fans: the old man here is named “Gaspar,” and he arrived here when he was thrown across time And he also gives you the “Time Egg.” That is one part of restoring Crono to life, as if it is taken to a particular tree, it will allow you to go back to a particular place in time. But you aren’t done. You need a “Clone” of Crono, and that can be found from a mysterious person at the carnival, one Norstein Bekkler. He’s a particularly weird looking fiend: He resembles a floating head with two hands.

(I’m going to be real, this guy is fucking mystifying. Nothing else in the game looks anything like him, he’s put in this weird circus tent with a giant skull outside, his ability to make clones is never explained, and it is 100% required you interact with him to beat the game.) Bekkler has the ability to magically(?) conjure a clone of a person. It’s essentially lifeless and has no will, basically acting as a statue that can imitate some actions. When you go back in time, this will replace Crono, and you pull him out moments before his death. Don’t read too much into this. However, now that I’m writing all that down, that sounds kind of...

Now, this doesn’t mean anything right now. Lets not get ahead of ourselves with Gaster theories. But, I HAVE heard some people mention the tree and the egg may be Chrono Trigger references, before. But I have my doubts as to the intentionality of that. Still, Clones, Eggs, Trees, Mysterious Old Men Being Thrown Across Space/Time? Well, maybe there’s something there. I ought to at least mention it, right? But... I digress. My point is that there DO seem to be SOME intentional Chrono Trigger references. You DO partake in a JRPG combat system with dual-techs. There ARE mysterious eggs given by old men in suits that appear to be from outside of time. You DO start the game when your mom wakes you up in almost the exact same as as the mom in chrono trigger does does at the start of Chapter 1

You combine that with Kris looking like a “Corpse” and “Shambling around like a zombie?” Seeing through themselves when they hold up a shard of glass? ...I feel like this all may foreshadow SOMETHING. It could well be that Kris -dies- and towards the latter half of the game, you have to move on without them and eventually work to get them back. Likelihood like, 20%, tops. But, it’s fun to think about what that might entail, and the possible inspirations for this game I like regardless ...One more thing You wanna know a rather famous secret in the game? There’s a powerful weapon sold by a merchant right at the start of the game, who stops selling it after you go off on the adventure. The most effective way to get it? When you visit the fair, you end up with a girl named Marle as part of the plot. She is an Ice Mage/Healer. You explore with her, and she does Date Things like buy candy with you, you set up her character. So you can go and have some fun before the game starts ...But there’s an alternative. You can take her to the Guardia Forest - the only place with enemies this early on - and just... GRIND. Kill enemies repeatedly for about an hour. You, Silent Protagonist Swordsman and Squishy Healer Ice Mage, go and murder monsters so that you can get enough money to get a powerful weapon sold by a special merchant for only a limited amount of time. Well, and a bounty of XP to start off the game stronger than you normally would. Well... Isn’t that interesting?

#deltarune

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the-storming-sea · 3 years

Note

For prompts: Todoroki using every single Toshi-Izuku interaction to add to his "Izuku is All Might's secret love child' conspiracy board

Tfw its been like two to three days but Many Things have happened in that time. Oops

Uh, anyways–

"Dude. What. The. Fuck."

Sero, Kirishima, and Yaoyorozu stared, wide-eyed and nearly slack-jawed from the futon they currently sat at. Across from them, hanging off the wall was a large pinboard, polaroid pictures and newspapers articles with certain words and pictures circled in with bright red marker tacked onto different places, red string connecting each and every single one of those pictures together.

And in front of that pinboard stood Todoroki Shouto, one of the most powerful students at UA, son of the current Number One Hero, wide-eyed and wild-haired and probably, by definition, out of his fucking mind.

"Listen. I'm not crazy–"

"Literally everything that's happening now is providing evidence to the contrary."

"–but All Might is Midoriya's father."

"That's." Kirishima blinked, once, his brain attempting to process what his classmate was saying. "What?"

"All Might. Is. Midoriya's. Father," Todoroki said, slower, like he was trying to explain quantum physics to a toddler. Or to anyone.

"Todoroki, All Might's never been in a public relationship before," Yaoyorozu replied, slower. Of all of Todoroki's eccentricities, this had to be the weirdest one yet. "Not to mention, all of All Might's speculated relationships have been with men."

"Then at least one of his partners is trans, or he's trans!"

"They don't even look the same!"

"Then Midoriya gets his looks from his mother! They have the same quirk! They practically act the same!" Todoroki threw his hands up in exasperation, frost creeping on the side of his fingers. "I'm still right!"

"Bro, you've met Midoriya's mother."

"Artificial insemination! Adoption! Again, secret love child!"

Todoroki slapped his hand on the board, slightly burning the edges of one of the newspaper clippings. "Look, see here," he said, pointing to the clipping. Kirishima tentatively walked up, squinting at the headline. "Read this."

"'Mystery Samaritans Found Cleaning Up Takoba Beach.'" Kirishima frowned. "So?"

Sero's eyes brightened. "Oh, I remember that! I used to go to the beach all the time with my family," he said. "What's that gotta do with anything?"

"Look at this photo!"

Kirishima turned his eyes towards the photo, frowning. His eyes widened in shock.

"Holy shit, is that Midoriya?"

"Huh, so it is," Yaoyorozu said. "And...is that...?"

"YES!" Todoroki exclaimed, once again slapping his hand on the pinboard and startling his friends. "All Might, as he currently looks now, and Midoriya found at Takoba beach a full year before the school year starts. That means they knew each other before the school year started!"

"You repeated yourself."

"I know I know I know but why," Todoroki pressed, taking a deep breath, "why would All Might, in his weakened state before Kamino, be seen with Midoriya unless...unless that was his secret son."

He clapped his hands together just as he was finishing his point, clearly pleased by his argument. The three stared back at him, slightly alarmed.

"Or...maybe he just met him recently and they decided to clean the beach together," Yaoyorozu said tentatively. "It could happen."

"Or, or they decided to train for Midoriya's UA Exam together by lifting appliances at the beach! Or working out around the beach a year before!" he protested. "My father used to make me train by lifting up heavy objects ten times my size and pushing my quirk before the UA exam too!"

Sero frowned. "Todo, I know good parenting is a foreign concept to you, but comparing your relationship with your dad to Midoriya and All Might maybe isn't the best of ideas."

"I'm pretty sure Iida used to train with his hero brother in a very normal way," Todoroki nearly fucking pouted. The guy was really fired up– metaphorically and a little bit literally, judging by his floor. "But, but anyway, what I'm trying to say was that All Might, trying to make sure Midoriya would be strong enough for the entrance exam, made him clean up the beach because he was helping to train his son!"

Kirishima stared at him. "Bro."

"I'm right! Not to mention, why would he be in his thinner state around Midoriya if he wasn't his son?!"

"Maybe he told him about the weakened form back then by accident?" Sero said. "Todoroki, seriously. You're looking too deep into this."

"I agree," Yaoyorozu said. She loved her friend, truly, but as good as it was for Todoroki to exhibit any other emotion besides confusion and rage, this couldn't be healthy for him.

Todoroki groaned. "Okay, okay, fine. Exhibit B!" He pointed to a picture of All Might and Midoriya walking into All Might's office. "They eat lunch together! Who does that with a teacher?!"

Kirishima hummed. "Okay, I'll give you that one," he said, looking back at the others. "You gotta admit, that is a little suspicious."

"You forget, Midoriya broke his bones a lot at the beginning of the year just by activating his quirk," Yaoyorozu said, calmly. "As the Heroics teacher, All Might would want to make sure they can find a way for Midoriya to improve his quirk use without breaking his bones, so it would make sense for All Might to meet up with Midoriya out of class."

"But why continuously?!" Todoroki pressed. "Even after Midoriya got a handle of his quirk?!"

Yaoyorozu frowned. "Well, Bakugo meets with them now. Is Bakugo All Might's son too?"

"Details, details," Todoroki said with a wave of his hand. "Bakugo's practically Midoirya's boyfriend anyways. All Might probably wants to vet him or something."

"Somehow I believe that less than your 'All Might is Midoriya's dad' theory."

"They're going to get together, just you wait," Todoroki said. "Anyways, back to business. It's not just at school too! Even now that we're in the dorms, lately All Might will eat with Midoriya, alone, just the two of them!"

He pointed to another picture of Midoriya and All Might eating meat buns on a bench, no one else in sight, lightly chatting. "See! It would make sense if All Might ate with any one of us, or if there was a bigger crowd, but it's just those two! That's a normal parenting thing, right?"

"Dude how did you even get that picture."

"Irrelevant."

Yaoyorozu ran her eyes over the full board again, wincing internally. As...off-putting as her friend's efforts were, he did have a point. All Might's actions towards Midoriya were unprecedented of a teacher, Aizawa would certainly never be caught dead with any of them. And sure, they simply could be good friends who met a little before the Takoba news article picture, friends could be of all ages after all, but with the way All Might treated Midoriya daily, it was getting more and more likely that Todoroki's theory was correct. Which had some very interesting implications and also a media shitstorm on its way if it was true.

"And," Todoroki continued, now rambling as fast as Midoriya was, "did you know that All Might visited the Midoriya's to talk about the dorm system alone?"

Kirishima's mouth dropped. "Seriously?"

Todoroki nodded, eyes wide and a small smile on his face. "Aizawa-sensei told us himself back when he asked my father if I could stay in the dorms! My father asked where All Might was and Aizawa-sensei told him that they split up right before the Midoriya's!"

Sero's eyes widened. "Okay, I will admit that that's weird."

"I know right?!" Todoroki exclaimed, out of breath and restlessly pacing the floor. "Not only that, but All Might was one of the first people Midoriya texted right after he got his hero license. And Midoriya ended up interning with a hero who All Might knows directly and worked with Nighteye during his work-study who's All Might's only sidekick! And then Midoriya was invited personally to I-Island by All Might! And–"

Knock knock.

The group froze.

"Young Todoroki? Can I speak with you?"

Fuck.

Todoroki tentatively walked over to his door, opening it just enough to find All Might standing behind it, a worried expression on his face. "Are you all alright? The kids downstairs reported a lot of yelling, and I think you may have frozen and burnt through your floor?"

Todoroki looked back at his floor, which now looked slightly more like the training room back home than it did his dorm room. "Right. I can pay for that."

"No need my boy, just make sure it doesn't happen again or I think Aizawa'll have all of our heads," All Might chuckled. He then frowned, slightly opening the door more. "What on Earth is that?"

His eyes were pointed directly behind Todoroki, to the pinboard the high schooler had been deliriously gesturing towards for the past few minutes. Kirishima, Sero, and Yaoyorozu stared at each other awkwardly, shuffling their feet.

"Um...well, y'see–"

"All Might, is Midoriya your illegitimate child?"

The air paused. Everyone turned their eyes to the teen.

All Might blinked. "I'm sorry...what?"

WHAT THE FUCK, TODOROKI?!

"Todoroki, bro, you can't just ask shit like that!" Kirishima exclaimed, who now, like the many people around him, was going through all the stages of grief. "That's not one of those things you can just ask people!"

Todoroki tilted his head. "I asked Midoriya."

"YOU ASKED MIDORIYA?!"

"I–"

The kids now directed their attention back to All Might, who had managed to shake himself out of his stupor and somehow made his way to the pinboard. "I'm not...young Todoroki, believe me when I say I'm 100% sure I'm not Midoriya's biological father," he said, rapidly glancing back and forth from the board to Todoroki. "As...creepily impressive as this is," he continued, gesturing to the entirety of the board, "I've never had a child, and besides, young Midoriya's biological father works overseas, in America."

He pointed to the slightly burnt newspaper clipping of Takoba beach, looking back at Todoroki. "Is this about the Takoba beach cleaning?"

Todoroki nodded.

"Huh." All Might turned to the clipping, a strange, soft, thoughtful look on his face. "I didn't know they did a report about it." He turned back to Todoroki. "May I keep this?"

Todoroki nodded again, even slower, and a delighted smile appeared on All Might's face. The four students watched with wide eyes as he took the newspaper clipping in one hand and the pin in between his other fingers, gently lifting the pin from where it had been embedded in the pin board, lifting the newspaper clipping from its place, and placing the pin back where he had found it. Seconds passed. All Might rubbing his thumb over the picture in the newspaper with a soft chuckle. He then gently folded it, each crease careful not to tear the newspaper apart, before placing it in the pocket of his tracksuit.

Then, as if he remembered that there were other people in the room, he turned to Todoroki. "Ah, Aizawa-kun said that you had redecorated your room yourself, yes?"

Todoroki nodded, still stunned. "Perfect! The bots will be up here in a few minutes or so to repair your floor, and then refurbish your room any way you see fit." All Might clapped his hands together, a bright smile on his face. "Just try not to do it as much, alright? And please stop stalking young Midoriya and I. I don't know how many times I can catch you in the act before telling him that one of his best friend's have been stalking us to obtain proof of our non-existant biological relationship."

"You saw me?"

"Young Todoroki, I've been the number one hero for three and a half decades."

"Oh." Todoroki frowned. "Sorry."

"Just don't let it happen again, please." All Might took a heavy sigh before finally addressing the others in the room. "Young Kirishima, Yaoyorozu, and Sero, I'll be seeing you in class tomorrow. Plus Ultra!"

"See you!"

"See you tomorrow All Might!"

All Might left the room, closing the door behind him, leaving Todoroki, Kirishima, Sero, and Yaoyorozu in the room, waiting for the repair bots to arrive, silent and bewildered with what had just transpired in the past ten minutes. The four of them couldn't move, only the sound of breathing being proof that any of them were even alive. After what felt like several, long, painstaking seconds, Todoroki turned to his friends.

"Y'know, All Might worked in America for a while."

"FOR GOD'S SAKE, TODOROKI."

#thestormingsea posts #yagi toshinori #toshinori yagi #all might #bnha #todoroki shouto #shouto todoroki #dad might #mentioned midoriya izuku #mentioned izuku midoriya #mentioned deku #he doesn't take a part in this story but just in case ig #and then kirishima sero and yaoyorozu are here but they don't do much

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notnctu · 3 years

Text

POV | PART TWO

━ ❝ i’d love to see me from your point of view.❞

❀ lee donghyuck x fem!reader ❀ genre - slow burn, fluff! angst, (optional smut is marked with ****) ❀ details - best friends to lovers!au, college!au, ft. best friend mark, slice of life?, inspo by pov by ariana grande ❀ word count - 6.1k ❀ warnings - swearing, dangerous reckless behavior, fingering, penetration, public?sex?, unprotected, slight dirty talk ❀ synopsis - Donghyuck gradually falls in love with you, his best friend, through unprecedented intimate moments that reveal more than what meets the eye and a drunken shared kiss on your birthday makes him realize how hard he’s fallen for you. You’re oblivious to it all, trying to indulge and seek a one true love through bad tinder hookups or men you meet at the club, all to only end in self doubt that Donghyuck has to reconcile. And he always tells you what you need to hear, while also leaving out the part where he so badly wishes you can love yourself the way he loves you.

❀ a/n - make sure you read the first part as it’s a continuation! please please leave me feedback, i would really appreciate it :) this is going to be my last long fic for the time being! thanks for dealing with my spam for the past few weeks after months no of writings <3

READ PART ONE

Donghyuck thought about that kiss every night since it happened, yet knowing you didn’t do the same. How unfortunate it was, when he panicked waking next to you in the morning and wondering if you were to confront him about it. However, there was nothing, no follow up. You didn’t remember it and he couldn’t tell if the sigh that left his mouth that morning was out of relief or despair.

Regardless, that became his epiphany and the more his love for you grew, the more he wished to be around you for all his days. Donghyuck jumped at every text message, picking up the phone to see if it was you and noting the disappointment in his heart whenever it wasn’t. He found himself smiling whenever your name was brought up, fondly thinking of how you make his heart race.

The moments that you were together, he swears on every universe that he’s the happiest he’s ever been. There’s something about you that makes him want to believe in love, and it’s not because of your unrealistic desires to find one. As selfish as he came to be, he wanted you all to himself and to be the sole reason behind your smiles.

“No Mark?” Asking as you hop into Donghyuck’s car, the clock on his dash reading the red digital numbers 2:12 A.M.

“Why can’t we just hang out for once?” He whines, but hopes that it’s playful enough to where you can’t tell that he’s actually serious. Donghyuck hears your melodic chuckle and everything inside him rumbles with glee and satisfaction.

He steals quick peeks over at you in the passenger seat, greedily taking in your appearance. “That’s not exactly how a throuple works, but I’ll let it pass. Mark never has time for us anyways.”

There is something so intimate about the late nights; the outside world is dead in its sleep and vulnerable to chaos. The streets are completely empty and it truly feels as if it’s you two against the city. It brings no regulations, easy escapes, staying up all night to feel something the day can’t give you.

You are the perfect person to spend them with. You’re the very definition of a good feeling, where he’s forgetting all his bad days and soaring through the heavens. The most accurate human form of excitement, the adrenaline and sweetest thrills that run throughout his body.

“There’s something I’ve always wanted to do…” As Donghyuck pulls into a gas station parking lot, the small convenient store is brightly lit with a blinding white sign that reads a popular chain establishment.

Hyuck blinks at you curiously, head tilt and waiting for you to finish your sentence. Getting out of the car, you stand on your toes and rest your chin on the roof of his car to speak directly to him, “you know that big intersection over on 34th Boulevard?” He catches the mischievous twinkle that shines in your eyes and a grin so fearless fits your face perfectly.

He nods, spinning his car keys on his finger and walking up to the store. But he’s looking back at you with eyes that ask for you to proceed with him, and you’re running towards him with a sudden youthful energy and a jump in your step.

Your hand latches onto his arm and his gaze drops momentarily to follow it, “I’ve always wanted to just run down the middle of it. To run down a busy traffic area when it’s empty, knowing that this would be the only opportunity to do it without getting run over.”

“Is that what you’re suggesting we should do next?” Hyuck opens the fridge and grabs his favorite prepackaged ice cream cone. Your grip on his sleeve tightens, your dazzling eyes never leaving his.

He hands you a random popsicle and you take it mindlessly, your train of thought still trying to convince Hyuck to embark on achieving this new thrill of yours. “If you didn’t have anything else planned…”

“Am I some Fairy Godmother? Granting your wishes to come true?” Using sarcasm to hide his undying desire to scream yes! may be the best thing he’s learned to utilize. However, you don’t need to beg any more when a small smile curves at his lips. He’s more than convinced.

“Ah, a happy couple. You two look great together.” The rather talkative cashier compliments while he rings up the icey treats.

Just before Hyuck can clarify, you’re pulling him closer by the arm and using your fake saccharine smile. “The best boyfriend ever!” His throat freezes, but he’s following your lead closely. Confusion wandering his thoughts, but heart swelling at your usage of the word boyfriend to reference him.

The friendly stranger laughs wholeheartedly at your giddy act, completely falling for your overplayed nature of a lovey dovey girlfriend. “He always buys me what I want, like this ice cream. He knows it’s my favorite.” You blink innocently up at him, but he finally understands your malicious motive.

Shooting a glare at you, he complies silently and pulls out his card to pay for both of your treats. “Right. Anything my baby wants.” He says the pet name so easily that it shocks him a bit.

“Hey, you’re a good man.” The clueless cashier smiles even wider and prints the receipt. With a simple gratitude, you both exit the store and you’re laughing the loudest form of mockery.

Jumping into the car, Hyuck is quick to roll his eyes. “He always buys me what I want.” He imitates your previous statement with a silly voice. “I can’t believe you robbed me.”

The ridiculous scheme actually managed to work, leaving your stomach to hurt from the intense fit of giggles. “My baby? Where did you learn that?” You say between your spurts of laughter.

Heat rises up his neck, slightly embarrassed. “So what? Nicknames are cute.” He admits bashfully, while shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.

Your chuckles die down and you’re leaning over the middle console to get a closer look of his expression. “Really? Didn’t think you were the type. You never used them with your exes.”

“Around you.” A cringe runs down your spine when you witness Hyuck bite his ice cream, settling back in your seat with a grumble.

“Pet names in private.” Now, his palms grow a bit slick with perspiration. “That’s endearing.” Unwrapping your melting popsicle, you don’t probe him more about the subject. Instead, Hyuck turns up the stereo to drown out any more talk about romantic gestures.

After several rounds of finding street parking, Hyuck finally swerves into a spot situated just before the large six-way intersection. The traffic lights blink in view at the end of the street and in the darkness, there are no cars around. An unfamiliar scene, this place is nothing but a wide open road with five lanes that meet in the middle and lead to six different directions. The white painted lines that divide up the road are as chaotic as it looks during the day filled with traffic.

Nonetheless, you are right. There is no other chance to see it so dead, so empty, so free.

And you’re already hopping out of the car that Hyuck breaks his daydream and hurries after you. Standing the middle of the road is a dangerous scheme, yet these are the thrill seeking moments that you crave too well.

Extending your arm out and your palm facing the night sky, you grin enticingly at Hyuck to join you in the middle of the chaotic lines and the adrenaline picks up within him. He, too, matches your smile and lets every form of enthusiasm fuel him.

“Race you to the end.” Hyuck begins bolting down the long runway, causing you to scoff in disbelief at his sudden challenge.

The wind that takes flight against his body is crisp on his skin and driving his strands into a wild mess. Turning around, he sees that you’re quick on his tail. However, the one thing that catches his eye… the one thing that makes this moment another one of your most beautiful ones is the utter bliss and peace in your facial expression.

Eyes are closed and arms are spread out as if you’re letting the wind carry you away. The air slips between the spaces of your fingers and the night is filled with nothing, but your gentle out of breath giggles.

Donghyuck stops in his tracks right under the colorful traffic lights at your astonishing image. And if you are to open your eyes, you’ll see the marvelous image of your sun waiting for you in the middle of the largest intersection of the city with his mouth slightly agape and marked under a trance.

An exasperated sigh escapes as a puff of smoke and his heart works extra hard to pump oxygen in his veins. In his perspective, the excellent city skyline at the horizon remains your background and you’re running toward him with a breathless joy. Another splitting breathtaking image that will live in his mind for as long as he knows you.

So he throws caution to the wind and though it feels too good to be true, he loves his best friend more than anyone he’s ever come across.

By the end of your rendezvous, you two find a secret rooftop to fully enjoy your silent city. Standing side by side, you both lean with your elbows on the ledge.

There is something so unspoken and intimate about this very moment, where existing in each other’s presences becomes wholly more comfortable than anything in the world. And this safety allows for vulnerable secrets to spill, for questions that your heart has always been afraid to ask to fall from your lips.

But you’re not here with just anybody. Donghyuck probably knew what was already on your mind, he just needed you to speak them into existence.

“Hyuck, do you think I’m unlovable?”

Perhaps, it’s the intimacy that allows for him to talk more confidently about how he views you. Heart over mind, he scoffs in disbelief. “Absolutely not. You’re the most lovable person I know! From your happy giggles to your overall easy going aura. We’re not perfect people, but you’re worth every glance and every praise. I wanted to be with you the very moment you made me laugh.”

Donghyuck passionately rambles on about your attributes and everything you’ve allowed him to experience over the years of your friendship. While he’s always been there for you, you’re always by his side and making sure he’s living a memorable life. He thanks all his sweetest memories to you, that you are the most impactful person of his entire college experience.

“I came to college thinking I’d have my nose in textbooks all day long, but you fell into my life like an opportunity to escape. I love my nights trying to crush Mark on the leaderboards, but I’d give that up any day to run down a major intersection in the middle of the city with you.”

With a playful soft chuckle, you say something that practically makes his heart stop and regret oversharing. “You know, from how you describe me… it almost sounds like you’re in love with me.”

“Maybe I am.” He bites the inside of his cheek, unsure what suddenly overcame him. His heartbeat pounds in his ears and he’s anticipating your response, trying every way to decipher the quizzical look on your face. Nevertheless, your hesitation causes him to panic and he intercepts before you can respond. “I meant that as your friend.”

His heart drops into the pit of his stomach, gaze averting away from you. Lies. Lies. More fucking lies. He should’ve waited to see what you would’ve said.

Nodding knowingly, you lightly place your hand over his. The warmth of your touch soothes his aching and disappointment. Why is he hurting from a simple look? “I know.” He can’t tell what’s worse, the fact that you truly believe he only loves you as a friend or that you saw right through him and are trying to let him save face.

“Something happened the night of your birthday that I think I should tell you.” Hyuck sighs out all his frustrations.

He pulls his hand from underneath yours, “you asked me to kiss you as a birthday favor.” There is no confidence to watch your reaction, his eyes remain focused on the dark city.

Instead of a painstaking rejection, you laugh wholeheartedly and somehow, he feels much lighter. “And did you?”

“How could I say no to you on your birthday?” Peering over, your fingers softly graze your lips and a wandering look is present in your dazed stare.

“It’s not the first time we’ve kissed, Hyuck.” Smiling at him, Hyuck looks cluelessly at you and doesn’t recall another time. He would’ve remembered.

“Guess who I stole that same request from?” Your eye lashes bat firmly at him and he gulps at your implied question. There was no way.

“Me? When?” This all causes him to rack his brain of lost files, something he must’ve missed.

Sighing, you bid him a kind smile. “Your birthday party a few months ago. Drunk out of your living mind, you pulled me privately into the kitchen and asked if I could kiss you as a birthday gift.”

Fuck, no wonder why he couldn’t remember. He didn’t remember a single thing from that night. “It was right after my break up.”

Nodding, you affirm his realization. “You told me that you felt so lonely, and somehow…. someway… I’ve always made you feel seen. Perhaps, you do the same for me and my drunk ass was bold enough to ask for a similar request.”

But did you kiss him as if you loved him? With the same amount of love that he did the night of your birthday?

Nonetheless, you shrug off the topic and move on from it all. “We should go, the sun comes up in a few.”

Hyuck notes this odd detail. You’re not one to end the nights so abruptly, so it almost seemed as if you didn’t want to speak more about it.

Perhaps, you did kiss him like you meant it but every fear in your body about loving your best friend stops you from admitting it all.

Because you shouldn’t love your best friend, but something deep down has always wanted to.

How ridiculous he was to believe that you could ever possibly share the same feelings as him. How foolish he felt the moment you burst into his apartment announcing how you’ve finally found the one after another random Tinder date.

It’s as the night on the rooftop a week ago didn’t even exist or mean anything to you. But that night ate him up alive, to the point where he sought out love counseling from Mark.

“Oh dude, this is serious.” Mark watches Hyuck pace the room, double around the floorplan with his head in his hands with utter frustration and confusion. You’re the only thing that’s been running through his mind the last few days.

He grunts and rolls his eyes at how Mark’s face had fallen sullen. “I practically confessed everything I loved about her. It’s pretty serious.”

Mark stands and stops Hyuck by the shoulders, looking dead into his eyes. “I’ve liked her before too and would have done some dumb act to get her to like me back. I get it, Hyuck. So, what do you want to do?”

Donghyuck initially scoffs and tears away from his best friend’s intense stare, “of course you liked her too.” His voice fades out at the end of his sentence. “Mark, I like her so much it’s hard to look at anyone else. She’s…”

“Mesmerizing?” Mark finishes his sentence with a small proud grin on his lips.

Hyuck couldn’t hold the ridiculous laugh that escapes at how smug Mark looks, but then a silence falls over him. He realizes how perfect that word is to describe you. You are every dazzling trance he’d fawn under.

“It’s wrong, Mark. She’s our best friend, I can’t ruin us.” Hyuck slumps his shoulders forward and a pout extends. His eyes are wandering the ugly carpet but he’s thinking about every moment you’ve smiled.

“How did this happen in the first place? I thought you never would’ve liked her…” Mark’s question has Hyuck raking his brain to find his epiphany. “It’s not about your ex, is it? y/n is way too good to be a rebound.”

“No. This has nothing to do with my old relationships, I genuinely like her… so much.” Hyuck understands the implications in Mark’s sudden abrasive questions. Even it’s difficult for himself to say how it all started and so this has Donghyuck reflecting back on his entire friendship with you.

If only he had noticed your lively smiles sooner, a little earlier, it would have saved him all this time searching for someone who would last. You’ve lasted through every college relationship he’s had and that speaks louder than any confession.

“I never liked her because I never thought I had a chance. Have you seen her? Our best friend who has 400 matches on Tinder.” Though he blames himself for realizing a little late that he loved you, it was always hard to compete with everyone else.

“So, what changed then?”

Hyuck leans against the door to Mark’s room and crosses his arms to contemplate. “Not that I have a chance now, but I can’t hold these feelings back anymore. I want to kiss her until we’re out of breath, to love without any conditions, to be the reason behind her every beautiful moment.”

Mark raises a confused eyebrow, “but you are.”

“The only reason.” Hyuck speaks his truest desires and Mark coughs aggressively before composing himself. Right, he didn’t stutter one bit.

So, Hyuck had planned to confess, all until you gave him the very reason he couldn’t. When you showed up unannounced with one of those wide grins that has your eyes shimmering with hope, he just knew something was wrong. All his love and future aspirations were replaced with sheer disappointment and envy.

“I’m falling hard for him.” You begin and your hands are clasped together so innocently. “He brought me to this overlook on a cliff and we just talked for ages. It felt so right and then, he asked to see me again!” Your eyes are completely wondrous and distracted, like the one thought in your mind blocked out everything else. Jumping happily, you’re squealing with excitement thinking about this new person in your life and there is no consideration of Hyuck’s silence.

“That’s… great.” He barely stutters to fill the air and to replace the sound of his heart breaking. He lost you before even getting the chance to even have you.

“I know right!” You yell joyfully and though your smile is the biggest it's ever been, Hyuck refuses to see this moment as beautiful. He’s no longer looking at you objectively, his bias tainting it all and he sees it in an ugly light. As your best friend, he should be happy for you and rooting for you. He’s known more than anyone else that you have been waiting for someone like this your whole college experience.

However, he can’t feel a single good emotion as you ramble on about your alleged one true love.

“Did you need something?” He cuts you off, growing a bit irritated by your endless praise about a man who never wishes to meet.

Clearing your throat, you take Hyuck’s hand in both of your palms. With begging eyes, you say, “my sister is getting married this weekend and they invited you.

His hold escapes yours as he walks toward his bedroom, “shouldn’t you invite your new man to your family events now.” It’s difficult for him to hide the bitterness in his voice, but you run up to him and grip his arm.

“But they think I’m dating you, remember? Plus, my mom referred to you by name. She really likes you.” You snicker, clearly not understanding why Donghyuck seems to be rather distant at the moment.

His ears perk up at the compliment and though it’s a selfish thought, he feels content knowing that he was able to win over your family. So, his heart burns at how your hand slowly travels down to intertwine with his own and how your chin rests on his shoulder lightly. His head turns and he is met a few inches away from your tender lips. For a brief moment, he’s staring at them longer than he should.

“Come on, Hyuck. Be mine for one more time.” Your whisper is gentle and soft, your breath tickling against his cheek. Despite everything, he loves how you make him feel. It’s always a mixture of happiness and safety. There are no fears with you because you’re absolutely fearless. He can’t imagine how he would’ve opened up without you around, that he puts every form of trust into you.

So, every little thing that you do. every single passing look. every touch and every spoken word. He falls harder for you every time you simply see him, every time you bat your eyelashes at him. And this love that festers inside of him feels easy and genuine. Perhaps, you’ve been his one true love all along. He’s never felt remarkably seen, where every part is exposed and right at your fingertips.

And you… have been so patiently waiting for just anyone to steal your heart. How can he let just anyone love you?

“I’m yours for however long you want me to be.” He lightly ruffles the top of your hair before slightly shrugging you off, afraid that your hold will eventually have him saying other sweet implications. “But don’t expect me to enjoy it.” He smirks at your small chuckle, the roll in your eyes.

“At least pretend.” But he really doesn’t have to. He enjoys every moment being yours.

When the day finally arrived, the grand wedding may have been another day that Hyuck will never forget how beautiful you looked. Prancing out in your bridesmaid dress, you run towards him through the large field of fake grass. He catches you when you jump into his arms, practically failing all over and tripping over the ends of your chiffon dress. He hits the ground, cushioning your fall.

“Hey..” you grin down at him breathless, hand resting perfectly on his chest as it was the night of your 21st again.

Hyuck gulps and sends you a glare, “I should have dropped you.”

“That would have been very chivalrous of you.” Sarcasm bites back at him as you push up and off of him. He’s quick on his feet and brushing off any dust from the bottom of your expensive dress, avoiding the long open slit that runs down to expose one leg.

“Donghyuck, you’re looking ravishing.” Your mother steps out, tall and prideful, but with the most delightful expression as she opens her arms to invite him into a hug.

He leans into it, while cautiously making suspicious eye contact with you. You shrug back, also confused at why your mother has a sudden change in demeanor. “It’s been so long since the holidays.”

“It’s a pleasure to see you again.” He bids your mother a respectful smile when she pulls away, to which she absolutely fawns at and you’re tugging at his sleeve to drag him away.

“The pleasure is all mine. You make y/n a better person.” And there is no context that Hyuck understands this single phrase before he’s walking away from your force. Your mother waves a small sweet goodbye as she watches you two leave behind a cobblestone wall behind the large reception building.

It’s covered in long vines that grow up the old stones, a beautiful background for an outdoor wedding. “Rude.” He whispers when you finally stop pulling him away.

“She was starting to say odd things.” You laugh, quite nervously actually. Nonetheless, you shake out of your nerves and a beaming expression replaces your troubles. “So, guess what? I’m meeting my man afterwards.” Yet again, the curve of your lips at the thought of another rumbles his own yearning heart.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he looks down while kicking at the loose pebbles on the ground. “Good for you.” grumbles Donghyuck mindlessly.

You don’t notice his low spirits again, you’re talking away about this man as if he’s all you’re consumed with nowadays. On and on, the same speech about how you’re practically ready to give it your all and how he fits someone unimaginable. Eventually, Donghyuck becomes fed up by how your eyes blink up to the sun with another reflection in them. “It’s like you forget who you are when you’re with someone new.”

And you’re in mid-ramble when you hear his harsh comment that picks aggressively at your skin. It stings, “what?” You cross your arms defensively and raise an eyebrow at him. The tone in your voice is jarringly upset and he opened a can of worms that he isn’t ready for.

Donghyuck swears underneath his breath, looking away at the tall trees behind the small parking lot. “Forget it.” He mumbles, rather frustrated at himself for ticking you off.

“What are you implying?”

“There is someone that actually makes you a better person rather than someone completely different.” He scoffs, his emotions fueling the worst of him. The words flow from his mouth full of anger and spitefulness.

Your eyes narrow at him, crossing your arms defensively. “Like you can give me the love you think I deserve? This whole fake boyfriend gimmick has gone too much to your head.”

And his heart is bursting at the seams and all he can see is your angry expression, so he says something he never hopes to regret. Every impulse beats his rationality and in the heat of the moment, Donghyuck confesses, “if only you can see yourself from my point of view and all the emotions I feel when I look at you.”

With a sharp intake of breath, you’re slightly shocked at his bold statement. You blink cluelessly at him, speechless and deciphering how to respond. The anger fades from the both of you, knowing that the connection you two possess is mutual. Somewhere deep down within you, a light switches on and you’re basking in your sun’s radiance in this moment.

“Tell me about it.” Your curiosity brings much confusion, but he doesn’t wait a second of hesitation.

“Happiness, you light up my nights in dark cars with your smile. Trust, there is no one else I’d run down a dangerous intersection with. Courage, being bold enough to dance in a crowded room like no one was watching. Love, when kissing you felt incomparable to anything else in the world. Vulnerability, looking at you and knowing everything about you.”

Donghyuck takes a cautious step forward toward you. A whirl of thoughts and emotions overwhelmingly flood your heavy mind, but fear no longer holds you back from the one person you’ve always wished to love, harder than any person you’ve ever encountered. “Donghyuck.”

He freezes at the call of his name, waiting patiently for your next words. “I want to love me the way that you love me... because nobody loves me like you do… even myself. So, I’d love to see me from your point of view.”

Donghyuck releases the sigh that suffocates him and every firework lights up in his chest. His eyes wander across your canvas and absorb everything wondrous about your features. Even though you’re not entirely smiling, you’re puckering your lips cutely out of embarrassment. And he reassesses how pretty you simply look in your expensive formal chiffon dress and the bold color on your lips that has made you feel good before.

He thinks aloud, the words leaving his mouth before they can be stopped. “This is your most beautiful moment.”

When you’re looking up at him to meet his dreamy gaze, a new enthusiasm washes over your entire body. Looking rather inexplicably attractive in his suit, Hyuck stares at you as if you’re all he can see. So, you pull him into the only source of gratitude you can give. A kiss that gives every emotion back to him, one that resembles closely to the one he gave you on your birthday and the one you gave him for his.

An emotional kiss that tells him more than he can see. He feels it on the tip of your tongue and every ounce of love that rushes over the both of you.

***********

Donghyuck’s wandering hands travel down your waist, over your hips, all until it reaches in between the slit of your dress. His hand instinctively grips at your naked thigh, the feeling of your raw skin driving him wild with impure thoughts. Your hands are quick on his tie, loosening it from around his collar and unbuttoning the first few as you’ve done once before.

“Can,-- Is it okay if--?” Hungry eyes search his face for confirmation, but you’re so lust driven that you’re a stuttering mess. “Do you want this?”

“Yes.” Says Hyuck without any hesitation. Taking his hand, you’re quick to lead him inside to a more secluded part of the venue. The lavish private bathrooms are brightly lit and he lifts you on top of the marble counters.

“The reception starts in 20 minutes.” You moan as Hyuck kisses down your neck hastily, a hand up the slit of your dress to push your panties aside.

“We’ll make it quick then. I’ll show you love another day.” His knuckle lightly grazes against your erect clit and your grip on his shoulder tightens. Whimpers fall from your lips as your hips mindlessly grind into his hand. “Never took you the type to be so loud.” Hyuck raises an eyebrow and tilts his head mockingly at you.

“This isn’t even close to how loud I can get.” Your statement causes him to swallow hard. Being your best friend, he has kept a rather clear mind from any sexual attraction toward you. He had to know he loved you in order to even see you in that way.

Gathering your slick, he rubs your clit with two fingers before dipping them into your hole. You lean back into the mirror and prop your feet on the counter to spread open for Hyuck to see. “You let all these idiots fuck your pretty pussy? They don’t deserve you, as a person or a potential partner.” He fingers you deeper and with flicking motions, he hits your sweet spot and causes you to jolt.

“Please, just fuck me. I’ve always wondered how good you’d feel.” His eyes twinkle at your bashful confession, but understands your lustful desires even for your own best friend.

“You think about fucking me?” He asks abruptly, taking his fingers out to suck your juices clean from them. A coined flattered smirk appears on his lips as he unbuckles his belt.

You’re averting eye contact, “well no, maybe just once. I get horny when I’m drunk sometimes.” You admit and he’s rushing to take himself out of his restrictive dress pants. His dick hits the air and he adjusts closer to your dripping core.

And he enters, slowly and slowly inching in so you can adhere to his size. You bite back every yell of pleasure and grip the ends of his dress shirt. Hyuck fills you up deliciously, and you two are connected through bodies beyond any way before. He leans in to give you a sloppy, yet passionate kiss before dragging out his hips and pushing them back in.

There is no guilt, no pain, no sorrows. Knowing Hyuck, he fucks you in the same way he wishes to love you. His hips drive into you passionately and quickly. The time crunch being something that causes him great distraction, but his heart is swelling simply feeling your warmth wrap around him so well.

“My baby is so tight.” Pet names in private. A small grin appears on your face at the sound of the sweet nickname and you pull him closer by tugging his shirt.

“Harder, Hyuck. Don’t hold back anymore.” Moan after moan, Hyuck relentlessly drills into you. His arm is hooked underneath your left thigh to keep it up, and your head keeps banging against the mirror.

Your eyes roll back when his thumb rubs circles on your aching clit. The mixture of both pleasures stimulate you until the build up tension in your stomach begins to reach its peak.

“Cum, I know you fucking want to.” He grunts, keeping the same rhythm that pushes you over your edge. Your walls squeeze around him tightly as your legs shake sporadically from your release. You’re smart to cover your mouth, knowing that the bathroom will only echo your erotic sounds. Your chest rises and falls from the momentum and adrenaline that Hyuck helped you reach, breathlessly trying to calm your heart rate down.

After a few more harsh bumps, he pulls out and motions you forward. Jumping off of the counter, you kneel on the ground and suck his tip lightly. Your swirls are enough for him to empty into your mouth, his hot streams of salty liquid hitting the back of your throat. He looks down at you and your wide eyed expression with his cock in your mouth drives him overboard.

And you swallow, getting up to lightly plant a sweet kiss on his cheek. A lip stain being worn proudly for just a moment.

“You amaze me.” Hyuck whispers, holding you against his flushed body and fast paced heart beat.

“Hurry out you two!” A voice startles the both of you with a knock on the door and you two are quick to readjust yourselves. He hopes to love you a little longer next time, without any interruptions.

***********

After the glorious and excruciating long wedding, you’re walking Hyuck to his car in the small parking lot. During the rest of the night, he held your hand the whole way through and the love that he looked at you with was more than real.

He talked with your distant relatives as if he’s always known them. Hyuck conducted the dinner table, always knowing what to say. There was no doubt in your head that seeing Donghyuck in the aftermath, he was always going to be someone who was going to make things better.

The love you long searched for, the love that you had been too afraid to touch, intertwined itself so lovingly underneath the white table cloth. Donghyuck is the one and it took needing to see him a bit more to realize. A little more acceptance from the both of you had to be the final straw.

Donghyuck sheepishly scratches the back of his neck when you reach his car, unsure where the path of your friendship will diverge to next. “Have fun on your date then…” His voice trails off, kicking the rocks at his feet again.

There goes your melodic laughter that soothe his aching heart and the familiar gentle grip on his fingertips. You lift his chin up, the both of you seeing each other clearly now.

From his perspective, you’re absolutely dazzling in the low light and butterflies swirl in the pit of his stomach. He can look at you forever, until months turn into years. He can love you until you two grow old. You’re his fearless, beautiful, inexplicably marvelous best friend. And he patiently waits for the day you’ll let him finally be yours.

From your perspective, Donghyuck shines even when the night overtakes the sky and possibly, the warmth in your heart bubbles across your chest. You can stay with him forever, until months turn into years. You can trust him like it’s you two against the world. He is your silly, charming, timidly benevolent best friend. And you’re slowly falling and hoping for the day you get to be his.

“I’m not going to see him anymore. He’s not the one.” Hyuck blinks at you, full of confusion and shock.

“But you sounded so happy.” His voice gets lost in the stillness of the intimate atmosphere.

“No, Hyuck. You make me happy and I’ll say it again for you to hear me. Nobody loves me like you do.” Reaching up, your hand caresses his cheek and he falls into your palm lovingly. His heart runs a mile, reaching the greatest high he’s ever going to feel. He hopes his eyes don’t deceive him, but the utter perfection on your face makes him feel whole.

You wish that Hyuck can teach you to love yourself the way that he loves you.

“Take me home?”

“How could I ever say no?”

thank you for being patient with me! its finally done and i will be going on a writing hiatus for a bit. housemating and ridin club will come out sometime soon, but i really need to step away from writing for a bit. please understand, thank you for reading :)

#neowritingsnet #nct-writers #neosmutcollective #kpopscape #neothestars #nct scenarios #nct scenario #lee haechan #haechan scenarios #haechan smut #nct smut #nct imagines #nct #nct dream scenarios #nct imagine

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thecousinsdangereux · 3 years

Text

the land of race car ya yas

A short little ficlet for @corvophobia who has drawn a bunch of art for the bees racer au of my dreams. This is ALL based on her drawings, so make sure you check out her stuff. Happy birthday, Amber! You are one of my two favorite British children. <3

(Please note that I know nothing about street racing. I've only watched the Fast and the Furious movies. Forgive me....)

“How’d you do that?”

Blake’s used to the question or some version of it, and maybe that’s why she takes in the words before she notices the tone, imagines a scowl (a lowered brow, hands curled into fists, the flash of teeth as the scowl turns into a snarl) with the same instinct that has her shoulders tensing. It’s only mid-turn that she realizes the question is laced with wonder rather than anger, but even this awareness doesn’t prepare her for the sight that meets her. It’s a woman, her smile wide and unrestrained by pesky things like self-consciousness or insecurity, and her eyes are nearly glowing in the low light, purple and bright and full of open admiration. Her black leather jacket, classic in cut, has the sleeves rolled up mid-forearm, revealing a prosthetic of black and yellow, and her grey jeans are tight, showing off a body that Blake has to work to avoid following the curves of. Her hair is long, blonde, curling around her shoulders and down her back, artful in its disorder, down to the single, stubborn cowlick at the top of her head.

In short, she’s beautiful, and Blake stares for longer than she should, feeling heat in her veins.

“Do what?”

She manages a response, but it’s absent minded. She’s just noticed the light dusting of pink on the woman’s cheeks, coloring the spaces in between her freckles, and it has her re-evaluating, pulling her thoughts to the effort she’s put into her own outfit that evening: a cropped and sleeveless hoodie with blocked colors of white and purple, tight leather shorts, and clunky boots that hit just under the knee. Blake looks good and this woman knows it, which makes them even on this particular front, and that's a settling sort of feeling.

“Win,” the woman says simply, her smile growing. “And don’t just say NOS.”

“NOS,” Blake drawls, just because she can, and she’s rewarded by the woman’s laugh, rewarded even more when she steps closer.

“No, but what’s your delivery method? Direct port, obviously, but you had to have used a custom kit, right? I’ve been telling you, Yang, I need to recalibrate yours. Can I look at your car? Would you mind if I just took a tiny peak just to see what you’ve done with your injection site? We really need to upgrade, Yang. A nozzle with less back pressure will give you a better squeeze. I’ve been telling you!”

She hadn’t noticed the other woman, but blinks at her now, a red blur waving her arms about, hoping from one foot to the other, firing out words faster than Blake — an aficionado of all things fast — can keep up with. The woman (Yang?) seems to find the act familiar and reacts with affection tinged with a false exasperation (put upon for Blake’s benefit or maybe as a means of gentle chiding), sighing and placing a hand on the smaller girl’s shoulder.

“And I’ve been telling you, you can’t just ask people to look at their shit!” She turns to Blake now, and this time her eye roll is definitely for Blake. “Sorry about that, I swear we’re not trying to steal any of your trade secrets. Ruby just… really likes cars.”

“It’s so pretty too,” Ruby coos, batting away Yang’s hand and taking a step towards the vehicle Blake had used to push past Yang at the last moment, a fact neither of these women seem to hold against her. “The purple stripes. But I bet the engine is prettier.”

It’s unprecedented, really. Blake’s been on the scene for a while — longer than she would admit to anyone here — first as a tagalong and now as a driver, but she’s never had an encounter quite like this. The unexpectedness of it all has her feeling off-balance, has her reacting without any of her customary cool anger as Ruby stares at her hood (as though if she focuses hard enough, she’ll be able to see through the metal to the parts underneath). Maybe that’s why Blake responds in a way that’s decidedly unwise, without any further thought at all.

“You can take a look. I don’t mind.”

“Really?” Ruby squeals, but doesn’t wait for Blake to confirm, darting around her and flipping open the hood in the span of three seconds.

“Really?” Yang asks, and the word sounds wildly different coming from her, sliding out from behind her crooked lips like thanks or maybe a challenge (or maybe both). “Not worried about my mechanic figuring you out before the next race?”

Blake should be, of course. But.

“Can’t say I am.”

“Maybe not the smartest move.” Yang crosses her arms; the chrome of her right glints under one of the flickering street lights. For the first time, she looks away from Blake’s gaze, eyes darting over to check on Ruby (who’s leaning so far into the front of Blake’s car that her feet nearly lift off the ground) and then to another group of drivers, a good distance behind them, but clearly watching in curiosity. It’s never wise to gather after a race, but everyone always does when it goes well, and for the first time, Blake’s glad for it. “She’s pretty vicious about giving me an edge. I wish I could say it was familial loyalty, but really, she just wants to make the fastest car in the city.” Yang pauses, tilting her head in thought. “Or country. Or world. Not sure when she’ll be satisfied, to be honest.”

“Sisters?” Blake asks. She can’t really see the resemblance, but then again, she hasn’t spent as much time looking at the younger of the pair, even though she should probably be less focused on the elder (the one not pouring over her engine. Sun and Ilia were going to kill her).

“Yeah.” Yang probably doesn’t realize how much her smile grows in the confirmation, saturated with pride and love. “Scary brilliant too. Give her five minutes with a car and she’ll take it apart, put it back together, and it’ll run better than it ever has. But all that means she always thinks it’s the car that puts a driver ahead.”

Blake arches a brow. “And you think she’s… wrong?”

“Well, yeah.” Yang’s closer than Blake remembers her being, maybe because her legs are long, her strides somehow longer, and it only takes a step before she’s close enough for Blake to feel the heat radiating off her body. “I know it’s only the driver that puts a driver ahead. That’s why I’m here talking to you instead of looking at your car.” Her lips twitch and she amends her statement quickly. “Part of the reason, at least.”

The other part of her reasoning is made pretty obvious when Yang’s eyes trace up Blake’s form once more. It should probably bother Blake, but it doesn’t, maybe because she’s done the same to Yang during this conversation (more than once). Still, there are things better avoided, and Blake knows this better than anyone. She does her best to get back on track.

“It wasn’t me,” she says (almost blurts), and then feels her neck warm when Yang looks at her quizzically. “Before, you asked how I won. But it wasn’t me, not really. You could have had it if you hadn’t fired your nitrous early. You were impatient.”

It’s too blunt, Blake knows this as soon as the words leave her lips. She’s backtracked too much, retreated into aloofness as she was wont to do, but Yang only laughs, and the sound cracks through Blake’s go-to defense, a corner of her lips curling before she can stop it.

“You’re right. I used to be way worse, back when I started out, but I’m a lot better now. Usually.”

“So what happened today?” It’s the question Yang wants her to ask, of this Blake is sure, but it hardly feels like a chore.

“Ah, bad luck, I guess. I took one look at the driver next to me and all that impatience came rushing back. All I wanted to do was finish the race and meet her properly.” She winks. Combined with the cheesy line, it shouldn’t work as well as it does (but it does). “I’m Yang.”

“Blake.”

They don’t shake hands, and Blake’s glad for it. There’s something buzzing between them, a tingling sensation at the tips of her fingers, the build up right before a lightning strike, and Blake’s not entirely sure what the contact — however brief and friendly — might do to her.

“Next time, maybe I’ll be a little more prepared.” Yang’s eyes roam across her face, settling once more on gold. “But probably not.”

“Immersion therapy,” Blake quips. “Give it time.”

Yang whistles sharply, and it takes Blake a moment to realize that she’s called her sister back over. (Blake had forgotten about her entirely, though the grease on her hands and face leads her to believe that Ruby had done a thorough dive under her hood, the sort Blake ought to be worried about.)

“Time is exactly what I plan on giving it. A lot of time, if you’ll let me.” Yang nudges her sister back in the direction they’d come from. Ruby waves, offers a wide grin of thanks, but Blake’s stuck on purple.

“Well. Let’s see how you do in the next race,” she murmurs.

“Looking forward to it.”

And Blake, who started racing to get away, who started racing to run, who started racing so she never had to stay in one place for long, finds that she is too.

—

“What the hell is your problem?”

Blake’s used to this question too, or some form of it, and this time, the tone is exactly what she expects. The small, white-haired woman in a vest and tie, however, is not.

“Listen, I’m sorry I hurt your boyfriend’s feelings by being a better driver than him, but you’re only embarrassing yourself now.” Blake takes another look at the woman’s attire; her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows and — despite the country club hairstyle and the heels — the hint of a tattoo on her pale skin, just under the fabric makes up Blake’s mind for her. “Or… Girlfriend?”

“Not quite,” says a familiar voice.

Today, Yang has decided to show off her abs (and she most certainly does have abs) with a cropped jacket of black and gold checks, and Blake can’t quite bring herself to look beyond that for too long, though she catches the black driving gloves, the oversized and gold sunglasses, the oversized cargo pants. In the seconds it takes for Blake to wind her brain back up, Yang grins, cocksure, and continues.

“Though you were right about the gay thing. I mean, look at her.”

“Look at you,” the other woman sniffs, actually physically turning up her nose. “Could you be any gayer?”

“Yeah, I could be wearing a vest and tie,” Yang fires back, but it’s clear the banter is familiar, it’s obvious these two know each other well enough for their back and forth to not contain any real barbs.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” Blake drawls, before she’s able to stop herself, and Yang turns back to her with an arched brow. “Good to see you again, Yang.”

“Oh, is it? Could have fooled me!” The other woman’s ire has been refocused, and it’s seemingly stronger than before, the pitch of her words higher, more dire. “Given you nearly killed her just now.”

“Weiss,” Yang sighs, but Blake winces, feeling the sting of the words despite Yang’s quick glance of reassurance sent her way.

“I didn’t realize you’d pull off when I drifted. I thought you’d… lean in.”

It’s not an excuse. They’d been neck and neck towards the end of the race (again), and when she’d nudged the side of Yang’s car — far gentler than she would against anyone else — she’d assumed the woman would give as good as she got, like most every other racer she’d gone against. But Yang hadn’t taken any chances, and it’d cost her the race.

“We don’t do that here,” the woman — Weiss — says, lips pursed to the point of contortion, but Yang only laughs.

“We do that here all the time. I did way worse to Mercury last week.”

“Yes, but Mercury is a creep.” Weiss pauses, considering. “We only do that to creeps here.”

Blake’s hands lift, a show of peace. “Hey, no one handed me the Beacon Street Racing Etiquette Guide when I joined up the other week. Maybe you could loan me your copy.”

This doesn’t exactly smooth things over with the woman, especially not when Yang snickers, but Weiss can clearly see the writing on the wall, and tosses her hair over her shoulder with a huff.

“Whatever. I’m telling Ruby about this,” she warns Yang (or maybe Blake, or maybe both of them), before stalking away, her last words called over her shoulder. “She’s not going to be happy.”

There’s no concern on Yang’s face as she watches her go, if anything she looks amused. “Sorry about that. She’s… protective.”

“I can see that. I guess that’s what happens when you’ve been friends with someone for a while.” It’s a guess (and a probe), but Yang doesn’t correct any of her phrasing, so it must be close enough to the truth.

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean protective of me.” Yang’s grin shows a flash of white teeth. “Weiss bet on me tonight. You lost her money. And that’s the real sin.”

Blake’s surprised at how easily her laugh comes (more surprised how easily the fondness slips through the cracks in her chest). “Oh, I see. So I can kick your ass up and down the streets as long as I convince her to bet on me in the future? Good to know.”

“I’m not sure that’s the message I want you to be taking from this,” Yang drawls, but still smiles, flicking her glasses up to her forehead. “Besides, like she said, Ruby’s the one to look out for. She seemed all sweet and innocent yesterday, but gods help the person she turns her disapproving stare on. I’ve seen people break into tears on the spot.”

From what Blake had seen yesterday, Ruby isn’t the sort that loses her chipper bounce very easily, so despite Yang’s teasing tone, she files the information away as useful. If she were being a little more self-searching, she might question the action, given her tendency to not stick around in any one place for long. (Surely Beacon isn’t any different. Surely she couldn’t know now if it were.)

“Lucky she missed the race today, then.” Her lips curve, a sharp corner that would require a drift. “What, she couldn’t bear to see you lose again?”

“Oh, ha ha. No, she had class. And she knows there’s no skipping for racing; that’s the only hard and fast rule for our household.” It’s not what she expects, the straight answer backed with genuinity, but it strikes Blake as endearing, somehow, especially when Yang continues. “I started racing here so we could pay for those classes, so I think it’s only fair.”

“That’s — ” Kind. Authentic. Surprising. Blake’s not sure which word to use so she disgards them all. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as the type who was racing for the money. Not that… there’s anything wrong with that. Especially in your case.”

Yang laughs. “Hey, don’t mistake me. I started racing here for the money, but it’s not why I race in general.”

“So why do you?” Blake asks, even though she suspects she knows the answer. (It’s not wise to take your eyes off the road, but she’s done it in both of her races with Yang, eyes darting to the side to find the woman speeding alongside her: eyes wild, grin wide, the fervor of the moment all over her face. There’s freedom there, more than there is anywhere else, and Blake thinks she sees that in Yang as much as she does in herself.)

“Same as you, I think,” Yang murmurs, closer now, sliding in when Blake’s distracted once again.

“I’m not sure you know me well enough to say that.”

A bluff, of course, but it gets the intended result.

“Not yet.” From this close, Yang looks taller, and Blake has to tilt her chin to look into her eyes. “But I’m still looking to fix that.”

Blake wets her lips. It’s too much, and she’s not sure she can tack on ‘too soon’ to quantify the thought, make it less tame. If she had to guess, Yang will always be too much, like sunlight after coming out of a room. Blake’s not sure she’ll ever adjust to the rays, or if she wants to.

“Let’s see how you do in the next race,” she says again, and Yang laughs again, totally unabashed.

“Okay, I’m sensing a trend here. What, you’re not going to let me take you out unless I win a race again you?”

“If I say ‘yes’, what are you going to do?”

It’s not cockiness that overtakes Yang’s face then, not exactly. It’s confidence or want or determination or maybe just the flush that comes from the thrill of a challenge. Blake’s setting herself up for something here, she knows, failure or disappointment or something like it, but right then, she doesn’t care. There’s a freedom in this sort of race too, and that she’s come to love.

“Oh, that’s easy, Blake.” Yang leans in a little more, and Blake knows it’s audible, the way her breath is cut short. “I’m going to win.”

#bumbleby #writing #rwby #bees racer au #for #corvophobia #<33333 #just a little something for a birthday treat

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mxltifaves · 3 years

Text

Hate is a Strong Word (Bucky Barnes)

Summary: Bucky x Y/N attends a therapy session after a mission gone wrong. You both love getting on each other’s nerves and after warnings from the rest of the Avengers, you don’t listen.

A/N: I've had this fic in my drafts for like two months and I don't know why I haven't posted it so here it is. Hope you enjoy it. Also, requests are open so If you have a fic in mind feel free to send it.

Ever since you joined the avengers you’ve always gotten along with everyone except with the one and only Bucky Barnes. You two were complete opposites, Bucky was very reserved and only really opened up to certain people while you were outgoing and loved to talk. When Bucky was under Hydra’s control, he was tasked to assassinate a man who threatened Hydra but your parents were killed in the crossfire. They were just at the wrong place at the wrong time. Nobody aside from Steve and Tony knew you knew about Bucky killing your parents. Despite knowing that you didn’t hold it against Bucky because he wasn’t himself.

After a mission gone wrong due to you two bickering, you ended up in therapy with Bucky. Tony thought it would be a good idea to clear the air between you two and make sure nothing like what happened, happened again. You and Bucky really didn’t want to do it but it wasn’t like you had any other choice. So there you were, sitting next to each other in a very dull room with a woman sitting across from you.

“Y/N, Bucky, I am Dr. Raynor. I will be your therapist. So tell me why you’re here today?”

As you prepared for your mission, Nat and Wanda came into your room. “Ready?” Wanda asked as they took a seat on your bed.

“Yeah, almost just a few more things,” you responded as you rummaged through your drawers.

“Are you and Barnes going to be okay?” Nat asked raising her brow

“What do you mean?” you asked confused

“Look, we've all noticed your hostility towards each other. It can go either two ways, you end up dead or between the sheets,” the read head raised her brow giving you a knowing look.

“First of all eww, I would never. Second of all, I’m not an idiot. We may argue a lot but we don’t let that get in between the job,” You responded with a serious look on your face

“Okay, if you say so,” she said, not believing you. Before you had a chance to respond, F.R.I.D.A.Y spoke over the intercom.

“Ms. y/l/n, Mr. Barnes would like to know if you are ready to go?”

“Can you tell him I need ten more minutes,” you responded, taking the opportunity to get him annoyed since you were already ready.

“He will not like that,” F.R.I.D.A.Y said

“I know,” you smirked. You sat on your bed waiting for ten minutes to pass. You knew Bucky hated when you took too long which is why you always did.

“You know he’s gonna come looking for you,” Wanda said to you

“No he won’t, he’ll just brood the entire way there,” you smiled.

“I don’t understand you two. There is some sexual tension there and you bicker to hide it,” Nat said confused but yet understood the nature of your relationship with Bucky. As much as you hated to admit it she was partially right. After chatting with Wanda and Nat for 10 minutes, you got up and made your way to the jet where Bucky was already waiting for you.

“What took you so long?” he asked annoyed

“Calm down grumpus, I had to take care of something,” you quickly defended yourself.

**Flashback**

“Because our “boss” is an arrogant ass and enjoys punishing us,” you said rolling your eyes.

“Mr. Stark brought me up to speed on your situation. So who would like to start?” she asked you and Bucky but neither of you answered. “No volunteers?” she asked looking at the two of you completely uninvested. “Okay then, y/n why don’t you start? Why does Bucky aggravate you?” she asked looking in your direction.

“I don’t know, we just can’t stand each other,” you answered

“Look the only way this will work is if you communicate,” Dr. Raynor said

“There’s nothing to communicate so I’m not sure what you want me to say,” you responded

“Okay, what about you Bucky? Why is it that you and y/n don’t get along?” she turned to Bucky who was fidgeting with his fingers.

“As she said, we just don’t,” he said coldly

“Okay, do you trust each other?” she asked

“I trust him, when it counts,” you responded feeling his eyes on you

“What she said,” he responded

“Okay, so tell me about the incident that happened during your mission,” she asked you both.

“We were supposed to gather some information on someone we’ve been trying to apprehend, it was supposed to be easy, ” you said, remembering the events that lead you here.

*Flashback*

“Are you going to be brooding the whole mission?” you asked him, making eye contact with Bucky, but he didn’t respond.

“I guess that answers my question,” you muttered

“So what’s the plan?” Bucky spoke

“He speaks,” you said, “We go in, get what we need, then get out,” you simply said, putting in the earpiece.

“So no plan,” he rolled his eyes

“That is the plan, it’s an easy mission. Just try not to get caught,” you responded.

‘Easier said than done,” he muttered

“Look we go in, you distract and I’ll use this handy flash drive to upload all their files into our servers. Quick and easy,” you explained

“Why do I have to distract them? You do it,” Bucky said

“Because you’re an old man and that doesn’t know how to use technology,” you said rolling your eyes

“I do know how to use technology, for your information,” Bucky said annoyed

“Barely,” you mumbled to yourself.

“Just hurry,” he said. You made your way over to the networking room, making sure nobody saw you or followed you. Once you made it inside you plugged in the drive downloading all the files onto it. “How we doing?” you heard over the comms.

“It’s downloading,” you said.

“Can you hurry it up?” he asked

“No, I can’t. If I hurry the files won’t properly transfer, meaning we would fail the mission and I don’t fail. So shut up and let me work,” You said as you continued typing.

“Work faster,” Bucky said causing you to roll your eyes at him. “I hate you,” you muttered thinking he wouldn’t hear you.

“Feeling’s mutual,” he said back. After a couple of minutes of silence, you heard Bucky speak. “Y/n, you got incoming,”

“I thought I told you to distract them,” you said frustrated.

“There’s only so much stalling I can do. I’m on my way to you,” he said. You tried to work faster but it was useless. The files still had about 10 percent to go, which seemed to go by slowly. You heard the doorknob move, pulling out your gun and pointing it towards it. The door was swung open only to reveal Bucky. “Easy there,” he said. “Jesus, Barnes a little warning next time. I could’ve shot you,” you rolled your eyes. “Trust me doll, you couldn’t even if you tried,” he smirked

“You wanna test that theory out?” you said annoyed.

“Later, right now we gotta get the hell out of here,” he said hurrying you.

“It’s not done,” you said pointing to the screen, only 6 percent left.

“Just leave it. We got enough,” Bucky urged you.

“No, it’s almost done. We can get it all,” you said turning back to the computer.

“Why do you have to be so goddamn stubborn?” he said under his breath. “I’ll keep watch, hurry,” he said going back to the door to make sure nobody was coming.

“Shit, y/n we have to leave,” he said as he saw guards turning the corner and making their way to you.

“Wait, it’s almost done,” you said.

“Y/n, now!” Bucky yelled at you.

“Okay I got it,” you said pulling out the drive. “Told you I could do it,” you said. As you were about to exit the room, gunshots started. Bucky pulled you back inside but you were already hit in the arm. “Shit, what the hell?” you cursed looking at your bleeding arm. “Now you see why I was hurrying you?” Bucky asked

“Now is not the time, Barnes,” you yelled at him, putting pressure on your arm.

“Why because I was right and you can’t handle me being right?” he asked

“Can we just get the hell out without dying?” you said

“Can you use your gun?” he asked

“Yeah,” you said groaning in pain. Bucky was the first one to peak out the door, gunshots still firing. He started firing back landing a few shots. You went after him, firing as many shots as you could. Your arm bleeding out more as you moved. After killing most of them, there were only two men left. “I’m out,” Bucky said looking at the empty clip. “Me too,” you said back. Bucky pulled out the knife from his side pocket. He started fighting the two men, landing a few stikes on them. Eventually, the two men were on the ground. “Not bad,” you said a small smile forming. “Is that a compliment?” he raised his brow. “Never,” you shook your head smirking. “Are you okay?” he furrowed his brows. You were clearly losing a lot of blood. “Is that worry I sense?” you chuckled dryly. “Never,” he smiled at you. “Let get out of here before more of them come,” Bucky said looking back at the unconscious men.

**END FLASHBACK**

“You know thinking about it, I’m not really sure how we screwed up. I mean we got what we went there for. There might’ve been some unprecedented events but we still got what we needed,” you tried to defend yourself.

“I think it’s not really about the mission itself it’s more your relationship with each other,” Dr. Raynor said

“I’m not really sure what kind of relationship you are referring to, but like we’ve said we just can’t stand each other,” you said.

“Why do you think that is?”

“I tried to be nice when I first joined the Avengers but cyborg over here was a complete ass so I stopped trying to be nice,” You explained

“Mr. Barnes, you have anything to say?” she looked at Bucky. Bucky stayed silent not wanting to partake in the conversation.

“See? Complete ass,” you said shaking your head in annoyance. “You know what, I’m done. This is completely useless, you can give us the okay to go back on missions or you can’t I don’t care,” you said as you stood up and left the room. You got outside and let out a breath, tired from that useless therapy session. After about twenty minutes Bucky finally got outside. “You know I don’t hate you or anything,” Bucky said causing you to turn to look at him. “What?” you asked confused

“Fourteen years ago, I was sent to kills someone. There was a couple that saw so I had to kill them too. I remember their names. When you joined and saw your last name I knew it wasn’t a coincidence. I killed your parents, and I’m sorry,” Bucky said avoiding your eyes.

“I know,” you said softly

“You know?” he asked confused

“Yeah, I’ve read your file. Everyone you’ve killed while under Hydra’s control, every single person,” you said

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Because I know that wasn’t you. And being angry towards you wouldn’t bring them back,” you explained.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologized once again.

“I know,” you smiled warmly. “Come on, I need to eat,” you said as you started walking away. “This doesn’t make us friends right?” you stopped to ask.

“Never,” he smiled softly. “Good, we wouldn’t want that now,” you teased him.

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #marvel characters #marvel #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #tony stark #steve rogers #marvel au #marvel fanfiction

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mymoonagedaydream · 4 years

Note

Hey girl 💞it’s my birthday next week Wednesday and I have no friends 🙃so I’m hoping if you have any time/ and if you want to could you write a fluffy birthday for Reader and Bucky where he is being all nice and shit. I recognise how tragic this sounds lol but it is what it is 😂 hope you have a good week and keep up the amazing stories 💞

103 Candles

Summary: You wouldn’t have minded your birthday quietly slipping by without anyone noticing, but apparently that wasn’t allowed on Bucky’s watch.

Pairing: Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Language, much floof as requested

Author’s Note: Happy Birthday for Wednesday anon! I know things seem to be relentlessly shitty at the moment but I really hope you have a lovely day despite all that. And don’t be saying you got no friends cause I’ve just written a whole bloody story for you, cheeky thing. (I moved this one up the queue a little but hey, can’t miss a birthday.)

---

‘Mail call.’

Bucky was already standing inside your room, knocking on the door after he’d opened it. Apparently privacy wasn’t a word in his vocabulary, he’d caught you half-dressed more times than you could count but obviously still hadn’t learned his lesson.

He grinned and held a handful of envelopes out to you.

‘Thanks Buck. Glad to see you’re finally making yourself useful.’

‘Don’t get used to it, cupcake.’

He flopped down onto your bed, lying back with his hands folded under his head. Your gaze unconsciously wandered down to where his t-shirt was riding up slightly, your face starting to heat up before you caught what you were doing and quickly looked away.

In the couple of months you’d been at the compound, no-one had made you feel more welcome than Bucky. He was the first to offer help whenever you needed it and he always made an effort to speak to you when your paths crossed.

Plus neither of you really had friends outside of work, so you spent most evenings alone with him in the living room, doing your very best to educate him on some of the best films of the last fifty years while he fought tooth and nail to stay stuck in his outdated ways.

He still thought Charlie Chaplin was the height of cinema, bless him.

You’d really become attached, but you knew pursuing anything romantic meant risking the loss of your best friend, so you just buried that feeling alongside your weird fascination with bigfoot and your inexplicable attraction to Donny Osmond.

He propped himself up on his elbows. ‘Anything exciting?’

You lazily flicked through the letters, stopping when you came across a bright red envelope, sporting what you instantly recognised to be your sister’s handwriting.

Dropping the rest of the pile, you held it up to Buck. ‘Looks like a birthday card.’

‘Your birthday’s coming up?’

‘Yeah, Wednesday.’

‘For real?’ He excitedly jumped back onto his feet. ‘What are we doing for it? Party?’

‘God no, I can’t think of anything worse.’

His arms folded across his chest as he gave a loud huff, narrowing his eyes at you in suspicion. ‘Is this one of those lady things where you say you don’t want something but actually do?’

‘Definitely not. Could we just keep this between us? Please?’

The smirk that spread across his face sent a bolt of dread coursing through your veins. It was obvious that he was plotting something, but before you could probe any deeper he had his hands up in surrender and was backing out of the room.

‘Whatever you say, weirdo.’

---

Wednesday came around and, as you’d hoped, it felt like just another normal day. You woke up late, shuffled to the kitchen to assemble something resembling a breakfast and encountered no unwelcome surprises on your way.

Your optimism about getting through this day without drawing the attention of your colleagues was steadily growing but, just as you’d finished cooking and were about to escape back to your bedroom, Bucky strolled in looking very fucking pleased with himself.

He was wearing his winter coat, immediately rousing your suspicion because the crazy powerful compound heating made the place like a sauna, and holding something behind his back.

‘Hey! Happy b-’

You shoved your hand over his mouth. ‘I thought we had an agreement.’

He made a face and mumbled something into your palm, making you roll your eyes and reluctantly let go of his face.

‘Yeah, we agreed to keep it between us. I haven’t told anyone else.’ With a proud grin, he pulled a terribly wrapped gift from behind his back. ‘But you never said I couldn’t celebrate.’

You tried your best to look a little peeved, but you really struggled to smother your growing smile.

You just hoped that this was all he had planned.

Taking the present from him, you tried to tear it open, quickly realising that he’d used an ungodly amount of tape to hold the shambles together. You ended up having to ferret out the kitchen scissors just to get into the bloody thing.

Finally cracking it open, you grabbed your gift and held it up, becoming instantly confused.

‘You got me a Christmas sweater?’

‘Yeah. When you have a birthday in December, you gotta accept that you’ll get festive gifts.’ He excitedly reached for the zipper on his coat. ‘You haven’t even seen the best part.’

You couldn’t believe your eyes.

Under his coat, he was wearing a matching sweater.

The only issue was that they obviously didn’t make them in his size, cause it was the tightest piece of clothing you’d ever seen anyone wear, including Nat. He looked like a size two sausage stuffed into a size one casing.

You started laughing so hard you could barely stay standing, his confused frown just sending you further into your spiral.

‘What? What’s so funny?’

You just about managed to form words through your breathless howling. ‘You look like a sex offender.’

‘Is that right?’ He gave you a roguish smirk and pulled your sweater out of your hands. ‘Well let’s see how you look in yours.’

‘I think I should save it for Christmas.’

‘I think you should be more polite about the gift I spent ages picking out for you.’

You quickly spun round, taking off towards the door. You knew you couldn’t outrun him, but you hoped you could at least get back to your bedroom before he caught up, locking him out along with the sweater.

It didn’t work.

You didn’t even make it out of the room before he’d grabbed you and pulled the sweater down over your shoulders, trapping your arms by your sides.

With a reluctant sigh, you adjusted so you were wearing it properly, wincing at the itchy material rubbing against your neck. This thing would definitely give you a rash if you wore it for too long.

‘Ah, you were right.’ Bucky looked you up and down with a smirk before strolling out of the room. ‘They do look terrible.’

You quickly pulled it off before shouting after him. ‘At least mine fits.’

---

The evening came around and you sequestered yourself to your bedroom, hoping to ride out the rest of the day in peace. There’d been no big surprise party and no more weird gifts, so you were feeling pretty good about your chances, when a series of loud thuds sounded against your door.

You reluctantly shuffled over and pulled it open, a little shocked to see Bucky standing there holding two huge pizza boxes. This was the first time he’d ever knocked before entering.

Eh, he probably just couldn’t reach the doorknob with his hands full.

‘What is this?’

‘Birthday dinner.’ He strolled past you with a grin, jumping onto your bed and flinging open the top box. ‘I didn’t get anything for my birthday back in March either, so we can call this a joint party.’

Alright, if the only “party” you had to endure this year was pizza in bed with Bucky, you’d figured you’d gotten off pretty lightly. You might even enjoy it, just as long as he had nothing else hidden behind his back.

Crawling on next to him, you grabbed a slice and started stuffing your face, deciding for some reason to attempt conversation in between mouthfuls.

‘How old are you, anyway?’

‘If you count my time in deepfreeze I’m 103.’

You audibly gasped and inhaled a bit of cheese, immediately choking and coughing your guts up like a fucking idiot. Bucky just chuckled and whacked you hard on the back.

It didn’t help at all, but you appreciated the gesture.

‘I can see why we skipped it,’ you wheezed, ‘you’d need a fucking big cake for 103 candles.’

‘And an even bigger one for 104. I’m looking forward to seeing what you come up with.’

The two of you finished off the pizzas, Bucky wouldn’t admit it but he ate at least one and a half of them, and you threw the empty boxes onto the floor. Slumping back onto your pillows, you quickly had to dive sideways to dodge Bucky’s huge metal shoulder as he flopped next to you, obviously underestimating his own width.

You flicked on the TV. ‘What d’you want to watch?’

‘I’ll let you pick, since it’s your birthday.’

‘For real?’ This was unprecedented, the two of you had never managed to watch a movie without at least thirty minutes of arguing beforehand. ‘Can everyday be my birthday?’

‘Maybe. If you play your cards right.’

You gave him a wide smile and let your head fall onto his shoulder, adjusting yourself a little when his arm came up to circle your shoulders. This had become your usual lazy evening position, but it felt a little different in bed than it did on the couch in the communal living area. More intimate.

It felt a lot different when his arm fell to your waist and pulled you in closer to him, that’d never happened before.

But you definitely weren’t complaining.

You shifted onto your side slightly, slotting your head into the curve of his neck, smiling to yourself at how neatly it fit there. Your knee automatically folded up to rest on his thigh, a bolt of electricity shooting up your spine when Bucky’s free hand moved to start caressing it lightly.

He must’ve felt you twitching, because he let out a gruff chuckle and pressed his lips into your forehead, lingering there for a few seconds before shifting to rub cheek across your temple.

It was rough and stubbly, scratching against your skin like the sweater, but this sensation was different. It felt satisfying and strangely familiar, immediately sending you in to a deep, warm relaxation.

Eventually managing to pluck up some courage, you tilted your head back slightly so you were face-to-face with him.

His gaze was already zeroed in on you.

As soon as your eyes met, he lifted his hand from your knee to cup your face, brushing his thumb gently across your lips.

‘Good birthday?’

‘Yeah. Better than expected.’

He gave a slight smile and leaned towards you, your eyes fluttering closed as his lips pressed softly against yours. Your whole body tensed slightly, you pulled in a sharp, stuttering breath through your nose as your stomach tied itself in a knot.

It took a few seconds, but you eventually managed to compose yourself, relaxing and letting him lead the kiss while you just felt yourself begin to melt under his touch.

Your arms slid around his neck as his wrapped around your waist, the two of you steadily pulling each other closer until you were both on lying your sides with your bodies pressed together, limbs tangled up like electrical cables.

He pulled away slightly, whispering while his forehead was still pressed firmly against yours. ‘I was lying earlier, you looked great in that sweater.’

‘I’m still not gonna wear it.’

‘Fair enough.’

---

#bucky #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky imagine #bucky fanfic #bucky fic #bucky fanfiction #bucky fluff #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fluff

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bluegarners · 3 years

Text

By popular demand, I have written a Part 2 for mainstay for @viceturtle. Thank you so much @newsical for being an immense help with this!!

Part 1.

This chapter was inspired by this conversation between @bigskydreaming and @fuyunoakegata

ao3

There’s a lot to be said about his stubbornness.

He thinks everyone has at least some degree of it within themselves. A refusal to move or consent to something. Sure, some don’t hesitate long. They give. They bend. They break. But the stubbornness is in that hesitation. That moment of ‘Am I really doing this? Should I be doing this? Why in the world should I do this?’. It’s about the pause, is what he’s trying to get at, that makes stubbornness so inherent to each individual.

It breathes in the form of grudges. Arguments. Games of she-said-he-said-they-said. Right or wrong. I told you so’s and I’m not sorry’s.

Jason does all of those things like it's second nature. He’s not going to pretend like he’s some saint who can understand the other side and reason with them. If he thinks he’s right, it’s not a matter of if the other person is actually right or wrong. He knows he’s right, so it doesn’t matter in the end. He knows what he knows, and if he doesn’t— whatever. Immovable object and all that.

So, yeah. There’s a lot to be said about his stubbornness.

He calls Red Robin anyway.

“He’s gone.”

“Sorry, what? I need context for this. There’s a lot of people this could apply to—”

“Dick. Dick is gone.”

“Oh. Like, just now he left?”

“I don’t know. Some guy came and took him.”

“As much as I love vague conversations, this isn’t helping me and I don’t understand why you’re calling in the first place.”

“Dick is fucking. Gone. What do you not understand about that.”

“Jesus, I don’t know, Jason. What, is he not supposed to be gone? He said he was going to leave again. He already said ‘hi’ to Damian, so I don’t see why he would stick around any longer.”

“Hm.”

“Fuck me, didn’t you know? This was all just- just some visit for him. Sure, he’ll be back eventually, but fuck knows if he’s actually—”

He hangs up. Pockets his phone. Listens as the rain continues to drench the world outside of his little apartment. His shoulders hurt. There’s a bruise on his chest. Right between his fifth and sixth ribs. He has a split lip. He put ointment on it earlier but it still stings. His knees ache. He has a distant memory of his mother complaining about her knees too. Something about the weather making them act up.

He’s twenty-three.

He’s getting old.

On the table next to him is a box of cigarettes. Low-tar. Filtered. In his right pocket, there’s a lighter he got from someone years ago. He doesn’t know. Maybe he stole it. Found it.

He pulls it out. Shakes a cigarette out of the thin box. Holds the paper wrapped nicotine between his lips, lifting the lighter and thumbing the flink strike.

Click.

He shakes the lighter. Tries again.

Click.

Gotham hasn’t had this much rain in a long time. It’s nearing October. Maybe it’s in season or whatever weather does. He doesn’t know the term.

Click.

It’s raining outside. Jason can see it. There’s raindrops on his window. He can hear it clattering against the fire-escape. Gray and black and mixes of yellow from street lamps below. Jason is inside on the comfort of his couch. Sure, it’s not the best apartment, but it doesn’t leak. The ceiling is fine and he hasn’t had any problems with it before. His face is wet though. He doesn’t know why.

Click.

The cigarette falls from his lips and lands with a thud on the stained carpet. The T.V is on. Says the storm over Gotham will last for the next few days. An unprecedented seven inches of rain predicted. The GCPD is advising everyone to stay indoors. Crime is expected to rise with the water levels.

Click.

His clothes are still soaked. He’s probably ruining his couch. He can’t remember if he took his boots off or not.

Click.

Jason sighs. His chest feels heavy, like someone is sitting on top of him. It’s just him though. Only him in his apartment. He likes having his own space. The neighbors get loud sometimes, but it’s not as if he’s a five star resident either. It’s always been like this. He is…. Alone.

Click.

Dick was gone. Came back. And now, Dick is gone again. Did he do that? Did he drive him away? Is this his fault? Jason doesn’t know. Doesn’t care. Doesn’t know if he doesn’t care at all, but at least the rain is nice to listen to. Yeah. The rain is really nice. Consistent. Steady.

Click.

He didn’t take off his boots.

~oOo~

One month is all it takes.

One month and Nightwing is out spotted in Bludhaven, his photo splashed across every news outlet from Gotham to Metropolis. New Jersey missed its boy in blue and cheers at his return.

Nightwing stays in Bludhaven though. Red Hood stays in Gotham. Just as it used to be. Back to normal. Yeah.

The rain stopped a week ago.

Jason misses the noise.

~oOo~

“Won’t you come?”

“No.”

“Please, Master Jason? We would love to have you here. It has been too long.”

“I can’t.”

“I thought you loved turkey. There’ll be plenty of leftovers and I know you’ve been meaning to return the tupperware from last time. It’ll be good for you to leave that apartment of yours.”

“I have better things to do than play nice and talk politics in Brucie Wayne’s mansion. I’m not coming.”

“I know you have your own quarrels with Master Dick, but—”

“It’s not about him. I don’t give a fuck about what he’s doing or what stick Bruce has up his ass this time. I am not walking into the line of fire just to save everyone else an evening of beating around the bush. I. Am. Not. Going.”

“. . . Then won’t you at least visit? I miss you. I worry about you.”

“I’m sorry, Alfred.”

“I am too, my boy.”

Click.

Jason spends Thanksgiving out in the Narrows. He’s not rich, doesn’t want to be, but he has money. Plenty he doesn’t need to spend on himself. He goes grocery shopping. Fills two, three carts worth of canned food and rotisserie chickens. Goes home, carries the bags in all at once. Organizes them.

Single. Partners. Family.

He leaves his apartment. He is not Jason Todd. He is not Red Hood. He’s just some guy out in the Narrows.

He hands out the bags. Has the decency to look the people in the eyes, knowing he was that street kid once. Seeing his mother in each dirty, beaten face he comes across. Pitying the drunken men and the addicts. They accept his offerings. It would be stupid not to. No one says thank you. He doesn’t need them to.

He goes home. His arms are sore. The bruises have completely faded.

The apartment is empty.

Click

Sometimes, there are days where he doesn’t know why.

That’s a big concept: why?

He thinks it carries too much weight. Maybe if he had survived past tenth grade, he could’ve signed up for a philosophy or debate class, maybe shed some light on that particular question, but he didn’t. Survive. So, he only has his own mind to ponder the concept. He’s read a couple books. Never fully understood the words he read though. He would’ve liked to, but he didn’t. Understand.

But it’s up to interpretation right? So, here’s where he’s at.

Jason doesn’t understand or know why sometimes, and it becomes a problem.

He doesn’t understand why he got such a bad hand for parents. Why Bruce didn’t grieve like Jason wanted him to (so desperately yearned for, screamed for, died for). Why someone thought it was a good idea for him to live out a second-still-the-same life. Why he came back so different. (Was he? Different? He doesn’t think he came back wrong but he doesn’t know a lot. Well, he does. But, if he came back wrong then that means he wasn’t right to begin with and he’s always right and if he’s wrong then—).

He doesn’t know why he punched Dick. He didn’t want to. Not really. But he did. Want to. Badly so. Wanted proof, wanted penance, wanted forgiveness, wanted retribution, wanted that sting that comes with reality and the regret of a little something called mortality. Horse drawn carriage alongside Death, patting the seat next to it.

Okay, he knows why .

He doesn’t understand why, though.

Jason doesn’t understand why he gets so angry sometimes. It doesn’t feel good, doesn’t feel right, like he’s supposed to be feeling something else but he’s just flipped upside down so there’s no point in trying to right himself. He’s always right anyway. Yeah. Yeah.

He doesn’t understand why he says things, why he opens his mouth at all when he regrets them so quickly after. He yells a lot. Raises his voice and spits mean words and cusses worse than anyone else he knows and regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth. But he doesn’t learn. Doesn’t rethink it, doesn’t look back and remember the lesson he taught himself. You can’t be taught if you’re always right anyway, so what’s the point? Why regret it when he’s just going to do it again?

That’s a big word: why.

There are answers attached to the word. Reasons for the question being asked. Explanations and solutions and resolutions.

Jason is good at solving problems, is quick to work around it and get the job done. And a question is just a problem being asked, right? It’s verbal, that’s the only difference, so if he’s such a good problem solver, if he’s such a goddamn good thinker and understands things like philosophy and literature and great big concepts and words—

Why did he do that? Why did he say those things? Why can’t he make up his fucking mind? Why is he the way he is? Why does he just push and shove and drive away everyone and everything? Why did he come back different? Why did he come back wrong? Why didn’t Bruce love him enough to end things? Why was he worth a second chance when he screws up and regrets so much? Why do people still fucking try with him? Why can’t he get one goddamn thing right? Why is he always—

Click.

“Why didn’t you come to dinner?”

Click.

Red Hood is in Gotham. Nightwing is too. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. The air is cold and there’s ice in the wind. It’s a clear night. A quiet frost coats the rooftop and Jason can hear his brother’s footsteps.

“We missed you, you know. Here, Agent A wanted me to give you these.”

Jason turns. Dick is holding out a duffle-cooler. He stands six feet away.

“They’re just leftovers. Turkey, sweet potatoes, casserole, pie; the fixings.”

Jason doesn’t move. Neither does Dick. To anyone else, it would look like a stand-off between Nightwing and Red Hood, neutral ground tensions. They both know it’s not.

It is cold and there is ice in the wind and the rainy season is long past. When they breathe, it erupts out of them in the form of white vapor and Jason can only think of the fact that it looks like smoke. His lighter still doesn’t work. It sits in his right pocket. He wants to take it out. Hear the click.

“There’s some beer too,” Dick adds softly, voice carried away and twisted in the sharp air. “I have a bottle opener.”

Nightwing walks a few paces away to sit against an A/C unit, shielding himself from the wind. He sets the cooler down beside him, unzipping the duffle and pulling out two bottles of a brand Jason doesn’t recognize, and pats the space next to him. Horse drawn carriage.

Why is a big concept. A big word. Maybe one of the bigger questions in the repertoire.

He doesn’t know nor understand why he takes the offered seat. He just does. It feels right to do so. Jason takes the offered bottle too and opens it himself. Hands back the blade. Takes a sip.

It’s cold. It warms him.

He doesn’t understand:

“Why?”

Dick swirls the alcohol around, bubbles rising to the surface. “Why, what?”

There’s a lot of things Jason could say. Could ask. He’s had two months to think about a question that would fit the answer he’s trying so hard to get; one that would satisfy the cavern that just keeps getting wider and wider, this empty presence that digs deeper inside him. He likes to think it would be a really intelligent question, one that would stump his all knowing brother; the one with all the answers in the world and a smile to accompany it. Dick had been on this pedestal for as long as Jason can remember. Had been placed so high above himself, even now, it’s impossible for him to reach, fingers a thousand miles away from ever grazing the top.

A lot of people would tell him he’s done this to himself. That the things he decides to do, his actions, what he says to other people and what they do as a consequence; all a product of his own creation. Even the cavern inside of him, filled with stalagmites and cobwebs and so many empty boxes, perhaps he did that to himself. He— He did that. To himself.

But Jason doesn’t like being wrong. Doesn’t like the fear that invades every nerve in his body when faced with the possibility of being so far off from the mark that it comes back and strikes him in the face. He’s paid the price for being wrong, has the scars and the memories and the stories to prove it, but he’s also been right, over and over again, and it feels so good to be right.

It felt good to punch his brother.

It felt good to have a reason to do so.

The anger, the fear, the possessive guilt that clung to him in those months where Dick was dead and he was at the wheel, knowing he was going to crash and burn eventually and probably take everyone with him. He played the long game and knew the end result. Jason had fooled himself with the thought of taking Dick’s place, thinking he could climb up that enormous pedestal he had placed there himself all those years ago. Torn down and resurrected today.

He doesn’t have a question though. Not a singular, all encompassing question that would piece together every missing hole inside of him and fill the void. His mother used to tell him he talked too much, that a big mouth like his would one day get him into trouble. She also told him that he was smart and curious and kind and so much more than anything she would ever be able to give him. Jason doesn’t understand why she said so many contrary things. Wishes he could ask her, have the opportunity to finally get the answers he wanted from her when he left everything behind just for a chance to do so. He can’t though. She died. He died too.

Dick didn’t.

“Why did you leave?”

His brother stops swirling the contents of his bottle, choosing instead to release a heavy sigh that travels into the air in a thick cloud of tired gray and remorse. “I wasn’t in a good place at the time. Leaving felt like the only good thing left I could do. Batman gave me the mission and I… I took it.”

“What part of letting us all think you were dead was ‘good’? How does that translate to ‘good’ in your world?”

“I wasn’t a part of that decision,” Dick says pointedly, setting down his beer and thunking his head back to rest against the unit. “I was still comatose by the time Batman had broken the news to everyone else. I told you, Hood, I had no choice. Leaving was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it was all that made sense to do.”

He pauses, a hand coming up to scrub at the sides of his face. “Robin had just… died. Protecting me. I got captured by people with faces I’ve known my entire life and couldn’t escape them. I let myself get hooked up to that- that machine and exposed my identity to the entire world. Do you have any idea what that would’ve done to you all, had I stayed? Everyone knew who Nightwing was under the mask. It would’ve— People would have figured the rest out soon enough. When Batman offered me the opportunity to at least make something right, I took it.”

Something unsettles inside Jason’s chest. Leaking, fracturing. It feels wrong. He feels- “So, what? You left because you felt bad ? Gallivanted off as soon as the opportunity was presented? Oh, I’m sure you’d love to do that again. Hey, Nightwing, tell me, are you feeling bad right now? Would you like a one-way ticket to Spain? I bet that’d make you feel much better.”

Dick frowns, head swiveling to look at Jason. “If that’s how you’d like to picture it, then fine. Yeah, I felt bad about exposing my entire family’s identities. I felt bad about letting down Batman and getting myself taken. I felt bad about dying and not being—”

“Quit fucking saying you died! You didn’t. You put on a good show, I’ll give you that, but having a model that looks just like you being buried in the ground doesn’t qualify as you dying. Get the fuck over yourself.”

A sharp crack meets his words and Jason snaps his head over to see Dick’s bottle broken against the ground, the older man having knocked it over with his hand.

Nightwing’s white lenses are staring at him and Red Hood meets his gaze unflinchingly, if only for the reason that he can’t see his brother’s eyes. There was something to be said about clear eyes in a city full of smog and endless voids, and Jason has looked enough people in the eye to know when to blink and walk away. The dark does not have a gaze to collapse within and yet there is empty white surrounding them.

“Come with me.”

Why is too big of a word.

Jason follows anyway.

He’s at the end of his rope in asking questions he knows no one will be able to answer. Knows that the answer he wants is not one anyone is willing to give, or even can give. See, Jason knows why. Has an understanding with the concept in a personal way unlike anyone else will ever have. He knows, understands, gets exactly what the question demands with all of its little fallacies and conundrums and ever so many follow ups. If he could, Jason would shake hands with it, an agreement to never speak a word of its existence ever again. But, how could he ponder the question when he himself cannot bear to fathom his own existence?

Nightwing is already scaling down a fire-escape, duffle-cooler slung over his shoulder, and Jason watches his head disappear below the roof line. He stands up, feet numb and hands feeling bitten, and side glances the broken bottle and the one he’s leaving behind. Even with the bleak, gray weather, the glass twinkles and shimmers in the ice, and, just faintly, Jason can smell the alcohol in the wind. Gotham is a city filled with muck, grease, scum, and litter. There is no difference in adding their own to the ever increasing pile, and yet Jason cannot help amend himself with the thought that at least their trash is beautiful in the cold.

He walks over to the edge of the roof, peering down to where he can see Nightwing traveling up a different, rusted ladder, ready to seek a new vantage point for wherever it is he’s decided to lead Jason. He doesn’t have his helmet on tonight, just a plain domino to hide his face, and the frost cuts against his nose and lips. A shiver runs through his body and Jason slides down into the alleyway below, keeping his brother in eye-sight. Nightwing launches a grapple, clinging to another building about 200 meters away, and Red Hood follows suit, the chill buffering inside of his jacket.

They arrive at one of those motel looking buildings, the outward appearance completely abandoned. Bruce had built this many years ago, one of the first of several safe-houses, and for all intents and purposes, it served to only attract the kinds of people that knew how to keep their mouths shut. The “general office” is where Dick walks into, a separate facility from the boarding rooms. He waits for Jason to enter, having taken a back door of four inches of solid steel, and locks it behind them once the younger has entered as well.

Dick throws the duffle onto one of the chairs inside the room, and rolls his shoulders in a circular motion, a long sigh escaping him. Somewhere, Jason can hear the heater kicking on.

He thumbs his lighter.

Click.

He isn’t sure what he’s supposed to be doing, waiting by the door for Dick to make the first move. His brother says nothing though, continuing to move his joints around and rub his hands furiously together. He doesn’t even glance at Jason as he leaves the main room, entering another side door and into, what Jason assumes is, a bathroom. Left alone, Jason keeps his boots on and sits down.

Click.

He waits. Peels off his mask and winces at the pull on his skin. Rubs at his eyes and forehead. Sighs.

Click. Click.

He stares at the domino in his lap, regretting having taken it off. Dick could look him in the eye now. He didn’t— He doesn’t like that. You only look people in the eye when you want to convey something, be it emotion, honesty, or purely how much you don’t give a shit. Jason doesn’t know what it meant when he looked at all those people in the Narrows a few days ago. Doesn’t know what it meant when they looked at him. Who was he, then? He was no one. No one.

Click.

The bathroom door opens and Dick steps out wearing a thick tank top and a long pair of joggers. Just beyond the cracked doorway, Jason can see his Nightwing suit hung up against a rack. The remnants of irritated skin also pepper his brother’s face, red and splotchy.

Dick looks up and meets his gaze.

Click.

“This the part where you try to argue yourself right?”

His older brother frowns. “No, it’s not.”

Jason looks away.

Click. Click. Click.

“What’s that in your pocket?”

“Just some old lighter. It doesn’t work.”

“Ah.”

The stiff silence reverberates between them. Normally, when conversation isn’t invited, Dick would go off somewhere and find something to do; something in his head urging him to seek out an offering. It was a tactic the older man used often, something to hold or something else to focus your attention on making an otherwise shaky atmosphere comfortable. When he was still Robin, it was a ploy Jason found himself enjoying sometimes, where Nightwing would meet him on some pre-designated roof carrying hot chocolate or donuts and Jason would gripe to the older man about Bruce’s latest restriction or Batman’s newest growl. Their conversations would last well into the night and it was their secret they kept together, a fall-back to go to when things were too uncertain or days were too long.

Those memories were nice. Fond, even.

Dick does not have an offering this time.

“Did you believe I was dead?”

Jason sucks in a breath, fingers stilling against his lighter. “Yes.” Pause. “I wanted to.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” Jason fires back. “It was on live television for Christ’s sake, Dick! Half the world watched you die.”

“It’s not as if doctored film has never been done before, even if it was live. At some point, it cut off too. I’ve watched the video myself. My death wasn’t shown on screen.”

“There was audio. I could hear your heart stopping on the machine.”

“There was a lot of fighting going on. It was chaos.”

“Fine, I didn’t see you die and the video was shit. But Bruce told us you were dead. Batman told us you had died.”

“And Batman doesn’t lie.”

“Fuck you.”

Dick sighs, leaning back against one of the walls. “Look, I’m not trying to pick another fight with you. I don’t want to.”

“Then what. Do. You. Want,” Jason grounds out, rising from his chair. “I’m sick of this. I am so sick of not knowing what the fuck is going on with you and Bruce, with all of your little secrets and fake-deaths and—”

“It wasn’t fake,” Dick interrupts, standing his ground. “It may not have been for long, but my heart did stop. I died in that machine, Jason, and I’m upset you guys accepted that.”

“Well, what the fuck else were we supposed to do?” Jason erupts, flinging his arms wide. “Fucking poke at your body until you were alive again? Wait next to your corpse in the morgue with your suit on hand, just in case you decided to wake up?”

“You could’ve at least doubted, ” Dick hisses. Jason can hear the heater still humming. The room is cold though. Bitter. “At the very least, you guys could’ve looked into it. Bruce isn’t the perfect, untouchable beast we’ve made him into. He left a trail. A trail that would have led right to the fake body he created while I was comatose. A trail that would have shown the Batmobile needing repairs it shouldn’t have needed. A trail that would have shown the documents he forged to get me into Spyral. There were so many things, Jason! So many goddamn things that would have shown you guys I wasn’t dead!”

“If you wanted to be found so badly, why didn’t you tell us?” Jason snarls, that leaking fracture in his chest pooling into his lungs. “Why didn’t you say a single word if you were so desperate for someone to notice?”

“I already told you,” Dick says quietly. “I needed to make things right. Bruce offered a way to do it and I needed that; the space, away from everything, everyone, in my life that I knew I had failed. I don’t regret it, and I am sorry it caused so much pain, but—”

Click.

“—was it really so wrong to want someone to save me?”

The leak implodes and Jason stops breathing.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

“I know it sounds ridiculous. I should be able to handle these things, but I— there was this moment where I convinced myself that none of what was happening was real and that it was all some nightmare I was watching.”

The blows had stung and burned in the way only rusted metal against bone and flesh could. His left eye was bleeding and his nose had been broken long ago. After the thirtieth strike, Jason had somehow convinced himself it wasn’t real. That he wasn’t there, in that old warehouse, and that he wasn’t some child-soldier-hero being beaten to death by a maniac who laughed and giggled at his pain.

“When I woke up, I really believed that. I-I was so convinced and then Bruce showed up and gave me this mission and, god, Jason, how could I have ever said no? I had failed. Bruce told me I failed. ”

He remembers that sadistic clock in the corner. Silent up until the last ten seconds. It had its own little tick, a click, and it was the stupidest looking bomb Jason had ever seen, bright red and just any old alarm clock with a few extra wires. A nightmare. All just a nightmare and Jason had begged the universe for him to wake up. For someone, anyone, to save him. For Batman to come swooping in and rescue him from his stupid fucking mistakes but—

Click.

Dick breathes out, a shuttering exhale that rocks him to his core. “Spyral, the mission, everything after… It was my penance, I think. Bruce’s way of forgiving me for failing. There was just no other way, Jason. It was all I had left. I guess I had just hoped someone was still in my corner, even after fucking it all up, you know?”

He does. Jason does know with a clarity that haunts him every morning he wakes up and finds the events unchanged. There are cobwebs and old boxes inside his cavern, the place where his soul used to be, but he knows. He knows he came back wrong. That he came back different. That something inside of him was missing when he opened his eyes to mystic green and an emptiness that plagued him until he came back to Gotham; rage, fear, and a deep sadness taking up that empty space inside of him. He doesn’t know how many times he’s asked himself ‘why?’ only to ignore the answer given to him. Too many.

And maybe Dick has asked that same question as well. Maybe he has his own cavern deep inside of him, filled with his own fragmented cobwebs and starved crates, ghosts that continue to follow his every step, and whispers that forever ring in his ears. Perhaps the dead carry memories and questions wherever they go, and perhaps that is their sole purpose. They only stay to recount and wish and want and only breach the word “if” and “maybe”.

But they are alive now. They live. They breathe.

Jason thought death connected himself to his elder brother, but perhaps it was the voids inside of them both that bound them together. The desperation that clung to their beings, seeking approval, seeking retribution, seeking out anything that’ll make them feel whole once more after having been stripped bare and left in the throes of Death's carriage. This was the tie that bound them together. It wasn’t Bruce. It wasn’t Robin. It wasn’t death.

It was simply the missing pieces inside of them. Brothers not by blood, but by the very nature of their search for meaning. And that was all.

“Yeah,” Jason says, the molten gravity of this answer leaving him boneless. “Okay.”

Dick stares at him with the same clear eyes he’s looked at his younger brother with since day one. Something passes behind those eyes, a shift in the monumental focus that is Dick Grayson’s ever present gaze, and the heater continues to thrum in the background, just as ubiquitous as Gotham always was and always will be for them. There was a fundamental alteration inside them both, something taken from them that can’t be replaced, and Jason feels as though he is not alone anymore. There is another presence, another existence, in his life full of betrayal that shares the same scars and the same emptiness that has captured him since the day Bruce stopped hoping for him.

“Okay?” Dick repeats quietly, and Jason can hear the echo inside his chest. “Is that all?”

“No,” Jason murmurs, easing back into the chair he had left. “No, it’s not. But I… I can’t do more of this right now. I don’t want to.”

“I don’t either,” Dick sighs, the exhaustion from his own ordeals weighing down his shoulders and causing him to slide down the wall. “It’s— I never wanted to, Jason. You know that, right?”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. I guess- We deal with it, right?”

Jason wants to laugh. Maybe give a little less weight on his back to the warm air around them, but it sounds like a lot to do. He exhales instead, something maybe interpretable as a tired grin lifting his mouth. “Another time, then?”

Perhaps that is a statement that can’t be guaranteed nor promised. Time is scarce in their world, more so than anyone else's, but it is a scarcity they are well accustomed to. Death had departed in Its carriage, the seat left warm by their presence, but for now, they had left and that was all that really mattered. Why they left, why they need time they don’t have, why the caverns inside of them exist. All questions that have been answered before. Maybe when the sky isn’t gray, or when the rain isn’t pounding against fractured ceilings, they can begin to make amends and go from there. But the safe-house is warm.

It is warm.

“Another time.”

#dick grayson #jason todd #spyral #agent 37 #nightwing #red hood #hurt/comfort #bad things happen bingo #what have i done?#part 2 #my fic #fanfic #txt #yes there will be a part 3!! i am not leaving this unresolved- this was just another conversation i wanted them to have

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lady-divine-writes · 3 years

Text

Good Omens - “At Midnight” (Rated G)

Summary:

Crowley is devastated by how smoothly the world continues on after he loses Aziraphale to the bookshop fire. Adam stops the war between Heaven and Hell, and things go back to normal for everyone... except him. Crowley goes from demon to ghoul, haunting St. James's Park every night, caught up in his memories of his angel. Until one night, he comes across something unexpected that makes things a little better... (2416 words) ... and a whole lot worse.

Read on AO3.

The hands on Aziraphale's grandfather clock have crept dangerously close to eleven by the time Crowley steps out the door of the bookshop and into the night. He's not closing up. The shop was never open.

Not for anyone but him.

He’d spent the day lurking in the shifting shadows, coiled around the leg of angel's favorite chair, keeping guard.

Watching for movement.

Praying for change.

For resolution.

He marked time by the tolling of Aziraphale's clock, the ebb and flow of the commuters outside, and a single ray of sunlight carving its path across the floor, disappearing out the window at the stroke of seven. That’s when he came out of hiding, became his demon self once again.

Crowley pops his collar against the wind and locks the door behind him. He takes one last look at the pane beneath his fingertips, running them lightly over a ridiculous note affixed to the glass. It’s a note he wrote on Aziraphale's behest, proclaiming when customers can expect the shop to open.

The long and short of it being - don't.

I open the shop on most weekdays about 9:30 or perhaps 10 a.m. While occasionally I open the shop as early as 8, I have been known not to open until 1, except on Tuesday...

Crowley had written it to irritate his angel - a demonic dig, as it were. But after reading it, Aziraphale couldn't have been more delighted.

"Brilliant!" he'd said. "Masterfully convoluted! Now I can finally relax and finish my crossword puzzle in peace! Thank you, my dear."

Crowley had gone warm at Aziraphale's words. He had never felt so overwhelmed by praise.

But now, the sign makes him bitter.

It should have long been replaced with one that reads on holiday, circling the globe, or living the happily ever after life in Mayfair with my husband.

But that wasn't in the cards for Crowley and Aziraphale.

Crowley snaps his fingers to lower the blinds and snuff the lights, and takes off at a brisk clip to the park.

Alone.

He does this every night - haunts St. James's Park close to midnight when he'd rather be at home asleep. Crowley had planned to sleep the next seven millennia away, wait until the world started over again before he showed his face to the sun, but infuriatingly, he couldn't. It's impossible for him to get comfortable in his bed when there should be someone else beside him, sitting up and reading by his damned holy light.

Crowley never thought he'd miss that stupid light piercing his eyelids and interrupting his slumber, but he misses it more than anything.

There was nothing left for Crowley after he lost Aziraphale in the bookshop fire.

He'd always felt that if they went their separate ways, it would sever his heart, but nothing more. He'd go on. But the assumption had been that Aziraphale would still be - exist, just not in Crowley's life.

When Aziraphale went, everything good went with him - love, hope, color, and taste all vacated Crowley's world. But Crowley was too much of a coward to call it quits and join him in oblivion, since, as far as Crowley was concerned, that was where immortal beings ended up if they were eliminated from Earth. Heaven and Hell only existed for humans. Aziraphale and Crowley were created for this world.

For them, this was it.

He thought he would get into his car and drive, but he couldn't make himself leave. He would get as far as Kent or Surrey, then his Bentley would stop.

Whether he was the one pressing the brake or his car - it varied.

Either way, he'd take a deep breath, toss off his glasses, rub the blur from his watery eyes, and the next thing he knew, he was home.

Couldn't sleep.

Couldn't leave.

Couldn't escape.

Yup. This was Hell. Undoubtedly.

Since he couldn't stay put and he couldn't run away, he spent night after night roaming the park - a ghoul shrouded in shadows of the past. Selfishly, he did everything he could to make the park inhospitable after dark, the same way Aziraphale did for his bookshop to deter customers. He made the place dreary, filled it with suspicious shadows, cold spots, and feelings of dread. In his attempt to get rid of anyone who might bother him, he unwittingly thwarted a few mugging attempts and a handful of assaults, which eliminated crime in St. James's Park for the most part.

Otherwise, he kept to himself.

It didn't matter to Crowley one bit that Adam had saved the planet from Heaven and Hell's blasted war. Or that, in doing so, neither side seemed interested in Crowley anymore.

Without Aziraphale by his side, Crowley wanted none of it.

These nightly walks, re-visiting the spots where they'd met up through time, didn't help. His memories of Aziraphale had begun to erode what was left of his soul.

His regret over the one thing he had left unsaid.

But there was a handshake exchange afoot.

His late-night trips to the park were how he noticed the light, blooming, growing on the bench smack dab in front of the duck pond.

Their bench.

A thread of silver light that lasted one solid minute from beginning to end.

It was spectacular. Unbelievable in its brilliance. Of the few souls who braved Crowley's shield of demonic influence, only Crowley seemed to notice it. And he couldn't avoid it.

It called to him.

Crowley stalked the light for over a week, never getting too close. It seemed like the kind of thing Gabriel might conjure up to trap him. Heaven may not give two shits about him, but archangels have been known to hold serious grudges.

He resisted its pull, but Crowley is a curious demon, and curiosity got the better of him. Besides, what did he care if Gabriel got the drop on him? Crowley was up for a fight, even one he might lose.

He had nothing better to do.

Crowley walked straight to the bench and sat down the moment the light appeared. He stared at it, into it, trying to sniff out its origins, what it was doing there. Being this close to it, he realized he was wrong. It didn't appear out of thin air. It was a consequence - evidence of a seam ripping in the universe, and on the other side...

Crowley only saw him for a second, but that was all he needed.

Aziraphale.

They locked eyes. Aziraphale's face lit up as if he were seeing the stars for the first time.

Stars Crowley created.

He was quite a distance from the tear. Like Crowley, he avoided it as much as possible. But seeing Crowley on the other side, he ran toward it, calling out a single word. It was all he had time for before the rend closed, and he was gone again.

The word he managed was Crowley.

Every night after, Crowley would arrive at the bench with plenty of time for the two of them to speak. As best as they could deduce, something bizarre happened during that fire in Aziraphale's bookshop. Unprecedented. Crowley assumed, at first, that the flames that devoured his angel's pride and joy had come from Hellfire. But they didn't. And Aziraphale, standing in the center of the transportation portal in his corporeal form, never made it to Heaven. He got caught in between.

Purgatory.

A place that many supernatural beings consider scarier than Hell.

A railway station with a way in but no way out. For immortals, that is. Mortal souls can earn a place upstairs depending on how they behave in this celestial waiting room. But as humans and demons don't concern themselves much with Purgatory lore, there is no book in Hell or on Earth that can help. Crowley has tried finding one - traveled to libraries and broken into collections he would do only on Aziraphale's behalf. But for all of his lofty capers, he found nothing. There might be a book in Heaven, but Crowley has no way to access it.

And Aziraphale is trapped.

Wouldn't Crowley know it, but even under these circumstances, Aziraphale found ways to continue his insufferable good deeds, helping mortal souls trapped with him to move along. Though Crowley believes Aziraphale has an ulterior motive.

Peace and quiet.

Aziraphale has one of those faces that attracts people to him, people who long to share their woeful life stories. So he listens, and then he counsels. When that soul moves on, he earns the most sought-after prize of all - an additional measure of silence.

Crowley and Aziraphale thought Heaven would notice his absence by now. Gabriel’s memos were piling up on Aziraphale's desk, untouched. Or by the massive influx of souls arriving at the pearly gates.

But no luck.

The angels in charge of the prisoners in the bottomless pits of Hell are more on the ball than the ones who keep an eye on the poor souls stuck in between.

This boundary between Earth and Purgatory dissolves at the stroke of midnight but zips up as soon as the clock strikes 12:01. Then Aziraphale disappears, not returning again till the following day. They are permitted one minute to tell each other everything, and they do their best to get it all out.

There's one thing Crowley hasn't gotten to yet. Hasn’t for 6000 years.

His one regret.

He plans on telling Aziraphale tonight on the off chance they can't come up with a solution to this.

Crowley feels the light before it appears. It tugs at something deep inside, ushers him to his seat on the bench. It arrives with a clap like thunder, so loud he’s surprised when it doesn’t shatter windows and crack foundations. Air whooshes by him at hurricane speeds, sucked into the impending rend.

A second later, Aziraphale appears beside him.

In a different dimension but beside him, framed by the light as if he's a reflection in a mirror.

Crowley inches his hand close, knowing without seeing that Aziraphale’s hand rests similarly on the opposite side. They cannot touch. They’ve tried.

Neither can cross the barrier.

“So, my dear,” Aziraphale starts, looking through the shimmer at Crowley, “how’s the bookshop?”

“Right as rain as always,” Crowley replies. He used to mutter, “Hello, Crowley. How are you? You’re looking well this fine evening,” but realized how immature and hurtful that was when Aziraphale heard him, and his face fell. Aziraphale wasn’t disregarding Crowley by not asking after him first. It was too painful for Aziraphale to acknowledge how far apart they were from one another. “How have you been, angel?”

“Can’t complain. Although I could really go for a plate of crepes. Or perhaps a nice, hearty gazpacho.”

“Don’t you worry. The moment I have you free of there, I’ll take you to dinner. Anywhere you want to go.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Aziraphale says, the longing in his eyes heartbreaking. “It wouldn’t be so bad over here if I had a book or two.”

“I did try passing you one over, but… “

“Yes, yes, I recall.” Aziraphale sighs at the memory of a favorite Wilde hardcover disintegrating into thin air. Luckily, that didn’t happen to either of them when they attempted to cross. “Valiant effort. Disastrous outcome.”

“Meddled in anyone's affairs today, have you?”

“As a matter of fact… ” Aziraphale smiles brightly. “A charming lady named Agatha. Lived a good long life. Died at the age of 93, I believe she said.”

“Wot in the world did she do to make it into Purgatory?”

“The usual. Attachment to sin.”

Crowley nods, lips twisting with a knowing grin. “Let me guess… the premarital variety?”

“That’s the one. She also poisoned an abusive stepfather, not her own, broke into a research facility to rescue rabbits, and stole a petty neighbor’s tomatoes on the daily until the day she died.”

Crowley chuckles. “Ah, yes. You’ve got to love old ladies.”

“Indeed.”

“Wot did you do?”

“Same as always. I had her give a proper confession. I forgave her for the poisoning, of course… “

“Of course.”

“... and the rabbit liberation. But we talked through the issue with the tomatoes. I explained that trespassing on her neighbor’s property is wrong even if the woman did dye all her delicates on her drying line puce.”

Crowley makes a face. He has no idea what puce is, but it sounds vile. “Probably justified there.”

“But that wasn’t the crux of her dilemma.”

“Wot was?”

Aziraphale turns, eyes wandering in the direction of the pond even though he can’t see it. “She misses the love of her life.”

Crowley's eyes widen. “Oh.”

“I assured her that her lover would be with her soon. After that, she was fine moving on.”

“Is that the truth?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale says wistfully. “He beloved misses her very much. They make a lovely couple.”

“That’ll be nice. The two of them reuniting.”

“Yes. It will be… for them.”

Silence falls between them. They steer clear of silence when they can, seeing how short their time is together, but it can't be helped. Aziraphale could work from here till eternity joining lost souls, but he can't help himself do the same.

The weight of that overwhelms them.

Crowley's phone vibrates in his pocket, signaling their minute together coming to an end. The silver frame phases, its light dimming, sputtering like a candle about to go out. As with every time before, Crowley tries to stop it, tries to stop time to keep Aziraphale with him longer. But it doesn’t work. Either this rend works outside of the laws of time, or time has had it with Crowley’s antics, but this can’t be stopped.

Crowley’s imagination isn’t strong enough.

“We only have a little time left,” Aziraphale says, “and we’re no closer to solving this puzzle!”

“I know,” Crowley replies. “I'll keep working on it. I promise. But before you go, I just wanted to tell you… ”

The air crackles as the rip begins to mend, the noise drowning them out.

"Yes, my dear?"

"I need to tell you... "

“Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale starts to fade as the gap sutures shut. “I’m so sorry… "

The tear closes, his angel gone, and in the ensuing silence, Crowley’s last words hang in the air, having escaped his lips a second too late for their recipient to hear.

“… I love you.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #aziraphale #Crowley

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shotosprincess · 3 years

Text

Altruistic. — oikawa tooru ♡︎

ALTRUISTIC: showing a disinterested and selfless concern for the well-being of others; unselfish.

⤷ pairing: oikawa tooru ♥︎ fem! reader

⤷ summary: you accidentally get hit by the ball during one of oikawa,, your childhood best friend’s ,, practice games ,, and he immediately leaves to take care of you 🥺🤌

⤷ genre(s): super short one shot w lots of fluff ,, fluff ,, FLUFF!!

⤷ length: 1.7k

⤷ a/n: PLS i stayed up till 6am last night writing this purely bc i absolutely could not sleep without writing a soft moment w oikawa into existence (⊃｡•́‿•̀｡)⊃

“ Oi! Oikawa! Pass it here! “ The holler echoed through the gym, roaring solidly over the squeak of worn out sneakers twisting against glossy floors.

“ Iwa-chan! “ Oikawa’s smile scintillates with an undeniable anticipation as he pushes against the ball, hands flicking outwards as his toss to the teammate in question proved to be, in fact, successful. He spikes it down, the tremendous force exerted from both parties sending the dull sphere of ivory driving into the ground, leaving their opponents in the blatant, dirty dust.

It smacks right in front of their libero, who was far too stunned to even do so much as react in time. The shrill of a whistle ripples through the air. Seijoh’s side cheers, little praises and compliments slipping out from one teammate to another as back pats and playful head slaps were shared within their brief moment of celebration. The boys prepare themselves for another point to be won, bending their knees in a ‘ ready ‘ stance. Your heart melted. Oikawa’s earthy eyes glinted with a familiar sense of hunger, of true passion. You loved seeing him like this; buzzing and thrumming with such a raw, precise determination. You adored it.

Your hand reaches into the shallow depths of your sweater’s pocket, findling with its contents before finally pulling out your phone to check the time. The serve is hit, and just as your finger sides across the side of the case to actually turn your phone on—

A blinding pain stuns you, striking sharply at the side of your head. You see white, passing out due to the sudden unpleasant sensation. Your body falls limp, lolling to the side of your chair upon impact.

Oikawa’s head snaps in your direction, and his heart stops. He waves a hand dismissively, aggressively, in fact, through the air, signalling some sort of time out for obvious reasons. His stare burned right through the spiker responsible for your unprecedented injury. A dark aura seemed to even envelope him as he did. And in a low, threatening tone:

“ You’ll pay for this. “

Rushedly sprinting to your side, he kneels beside you, cupping your neck with one hand for support and wrapping his other arm beneath your legs. He lifts you up gently, gaze frantically darting from side to side, only to realize that no paramedics of any sort were currently present. A scoff leaves him, sending one last protective glare towards the hazel-haired player.

“ Continue the game without me. I’m taking her home. “

There is a prolonged beat of silence until he leaves, and the gym slowly begins to erupt with laughter and boisterous comments once again. He carefully places you in his car, tucking your bag of belongings in the empty space beneath your feet. The jangling key turns and clicks, the engine booms to life.

And he’s off.

“ Are you...Are you ok? “

Your eyes flutter open, lids still heavy, to the blurred sight of a very pretty boy with a very pretty smile. Chestnut swoops of hair frame his face in a fluffy frame. There is a certain kindness in his eyes. That’s when everything comes rushing back to you, and you realize the pretty boy before you is none other than the man who has put up with you ever since the first grade, Oikawa Tooru. And judging by your surroundings, you were in...his room?

“ O-Oikawa? “

“ Hey, you’re awake. Just in time too. I need to clean your wound. “

The skin near his eyes creases ever so slightly as his lips form one of the warmest smiles you had ever seen. He seemed...relieved. By an almost-unnatural amount.

His fingers move to tuck a straying tendril of hair behind your ears, letting the back of his hand delicately brush against the side of your face.

“ What...what happened exactly? “

Your memory is hazy, all you remembered was a sudden searing sting, which only evolved into a copiously throbbing ache. And then nothing.

“ Yahaba was being an idiot and accidentally hit you in the head with his serve. “

He pushes the heel of his palm against his head, groaning into it in annoyance and frustration. You say nothing, simply making a little “ oh “ face. His eyes close, a deep inhale clearing his thoughts.

For some reason, your eyes were immediately drawn to the abundant rise of his chest. You did not know why.

He puts his hand down, flashing you a half smile.

“ Well. It can’t be helped. You were passed out on the ride back. You’re in my house right now, but don’t worry. I’ll take care of you, ok? No flying objects can hurt you here. “

The lighthearted laugh which follows is accompanied by an odd longing to keep looking into his eyes. He pulls out a small medical kit from the drawer behind him, presenting a ball of slightly frayed cotton. It clumps together as he saturates it with the contents of an alcohol agent, the blue liquid quickly bleeding into the white.

You instinctively wince as his tweezers take the ball between its thin metal prongs, gently pressing it against your head. A harsh sting pricks through your skin. Your eyes tightly squeeze shut, and your head drops down to hide your face, embarrassed. The pressure immediately ceases.

“ Sorry. I forgot to warn you when I was going to put it. “

“ No, no that’s alright! It just...took me by surprise, that’s all. “

You will yourself to muster up a reassuring smile, though the subtle quivering at the ends of your lips didn’t exactly make it very convincing.

Despite noticing this, his lips pursed together in an emphasized tightness and he nods, continuing the process. But this time around he’s more gentle with his movements, soft and cautious, so as to make it as painless as possible. His brows furrowed together in deep concentration, one almost comparable to the kind which he lost himself so many times in, whilst analyzing videos of volleyball games with that unmatched meticulous which you had always admired so.

Oikawa Tooru had rarely ever been one to be gentle, tender. Yet alas here he was, being as gentle with you as was humanly possible for him. It was confusing and addicting all the same. And if you thought about it enough, one could probably say that it was nothing short of a miracle, that very miracle being the cheesy, yet insatiable concept of love.

Once he finally lifts the cotton from your face, he disposes of the remains, chucking them casually into a nearby dustbin as it teeters back and forth a little with the force. He then takes out a small bandage, unfolding it with care. The precision he had acquired through volleyball was blatantly evident as he carefully spreads the sticky fabric atop your wound, effectively patching it up. A cool, almost healing, feeling hits said wound, and you couldn’t quite tell if it was purely because of the bandaid, or if it was because of the hands which placed it. His hands. Swept up completely in the dazed state he had you in, you decided on the latter.

Those same hands, which were whirling through the dreaminess of your thoughts, then cupped your face, turning your gaze towards him. A comforting, rather than cauterizing, warmth floods to your cheeks, flushing them with a vivid rose as your heart flutters vigorously with the sparks of a forming hearth. His eyes, brown as chestnuts stored away in hollowed trees, bore deeply into yours, with a sentiment you had never known. Without another thought, his lips silently press against your forehead. The top of his head rests against yours, careful not to touch the wound, neither one willing to let go of this moment.

Admittedly, you hadn’t ever quite expected Oikawa to be someone capable of such sentiment, nor had you ever thought that he would be the type of person to give up his game, and especially not for you. Sure, you were close, best friends even. But you knew better than anyone just how much he put into volleyball. He loved that game more than anything and anyone. That included you. Or at least that was what you had thought before now. It was almost shameful for you, in a way. You had always attached such a perception onto him, and sometimes it even made you envy him and his love for the sport.

Sometimes...sometimes you wished he loved you even half as much as he did volleyball.

But now...you didn’t know what changed, if something even had. Either way, you were seeing this completely different side to him which you had never even thought existed until now—a caring, altruistic Oikawa. Not the “ great king “, nor Seijoh’s number one. Just Oikawa. And though he most definitely was both of those things, he was also, apparently, selfless. Or at least as selfless as Oikawa could get. You knew how much gravity his games hold to him, so the fact that he gave it all up today just to take care of you...it truly was a shock.

His skin against yours was a salve within itself, yet it was the intrinsic tenderness in which he held you that really struck you as odd. Well, not necessarily odd, per say, but rather, different. And not in a bad way either. The absolute and utter timidness of the very gesture held something so...intimate between the two of you. It fanned the embers awakening in your heart, urging the orange specks to roar with breath. You’d only ever seen his rough, callous-littered hands hit roughly against the volleyball. It was always hit, hit, hit. When you were just little kids in elementary, you vividly remember walking by his nearby house everyday as you came home from school, only to hear the thumping of volleyballs against a wall as he practiced tirelessly to fulfill the dreams which he yearned so longingly for. Sometimes it would even stretch out into the late hours of the night. It astonished you, how one could commit so fervently to a sport.

And now here those same hands were, encasing your face within the unanticipated serenity of their touch, holding you with a rare tenderness. Tears of relief, of hope and of some other strong unknown feeling, gloss thickly over your eyes. He moves his thumb to wipe them away.

You liked this Oikawa. Sure, you loved the Oikawa who played rough and strategized with his team in such a laudable manner, but you also liked this side to him. The new, gentle side. This was an Oikawa you had never met before, and yet you already felt yourself falling in love, never to return.

And why would you?

#oikawa x reader #haikyuu fluff #oikawa x you #oikawa fic #oikawa scenarios #haikyuu oikawa #oikawa hcs #oikawa oneshot #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fic #oneshots #oikawa tooru #he’s so pretty

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novoaa1writes · 3 years

Note

Re aroace Yelena (I'm aro, myself): I think what really gets me is I reckon a lot of the people going 'it's just fanfiction! I can write what I want!' would also (and in my opinion, rightfully) be angry if a canonically in comics gay character was routinely written as straight in fanfiction (even if this wasn't confirmed in the MCU version). It feels like there's a double standard, where people don't see ace and aro rep as 'real' or something.

And while I can't stop anyone from writing anything (and I'm not really trying to?) I don't think people should be aware of this, think through how they'd feel if it was a gay character, and really examine why they want to write one of our few aroace characters as not aroace.

(also, about whether she is aro: the source quote literally says 'she's asexual, not romantic' so she's gotta be aroace, or maybe Non-SAM ace. There isn't really an argument for her being alloace)

ye ye! this is definitely a super fair response... i think that so many people's arguments are based in a perceived separation between comics!yelena and mcu!yelena, along with an added emphasis on the more recent awareness that asexual/aromantic people may not feel sexual arousal, but some are still perfectly content to engage in sexual activity with a partner of their choice. (i don't personally subscribe to either of these viewpoints; they just constitute a recurring viewpoint i've been seeing all throughout the discourse surrounding this topic.)

additionally, i do very much see how this is a bit of an unprecedented circumstance here—particularly since it's concerning a character who is asexual (and arguably aromantic as well), which has been exceedingly rare (if not borderline obsolete) in most all popular forms of media

to draw a tentative parallel to a perhaps more well-known phenomenon:

the advent of the bisexual woman onto the scene of mainstream media as a character archetype

in many of the earlier depictions of the bisexual woman, they were most always rendered as being rather feminine, and preferring to date men over women.

to be very clear: i am not saying that is at all unreasonable!!! these people (—that is, bisexual women who come across as very feminine and typically prefer to date men rather than women—) exist, and are valid!

but in the very beginning, when depicting unambiguous female bisexuality in mainstream media was still a groundbreaking concept, the people writing them were NOT lgbtq+. consequently, they were NOT writing these characters in such a way so that they could illustrate that being a bisexual woman is valid in whatever form that takes for each individual person (—e.g. that it is valid to be a feminine bisexual woman who prefers men over women). rather, they were writing it that way because it was the only type of gay representation they could bear to distribute on such a mass scale, and additionally, because it would sufficiently appeal to the male gaze (thereby keeping viewers engaged, and simultaneously earning the titles of "diverse" and "accepting" for implementing gay representation when such a thing was still largely unheard of).

in other words: they used the farcical excuse of "bisexual representation" in order to film softcore girl-on-girl p*rn that appealed primarily to straight men, and actively alienated the wlw (and, by extension, the greater lgbtq+) community by doing so.

thus, the earlier depictions of bisexuals (male AND female) were incredibly problematic, homophobic, and ultimately more damaging than helpful

it's not quite the same, as there are somewhat differing reasons for the erasure in either case, but i'd argue that they're nonetheless similar to a certain degree

so i definitely can empathize in some capacity (—that is, as best as someone who is neither ace nor aro can possibly hope to—), and am currently leaning more towards the opinion that this facet of yelena's character, rare and often overlooked as it is, should be consistently portrayed as accurately and respectfully as possible.

thus, i plan to do everything i can to fulfill this from here on out, and i'm currently debating what to do with the yelena works i've already published—whether to radically revise them, or just delete them entirely.

thank you for your input, anon <3 i value it greatly

and if anyone else has anything to remark on any of this, feel free to share!

#all very good points tbh and i think there's definitely been a huge double standard emerging with some people in regards to this #i also can understand how this issue would have a lot of mixed viewpoints and sentiments #i just really wanna get a feel for what people who are aro/ace and also fans of yelena are feeling bc i think that that's super important #sorry for the rant lmao #ace yelena belova discourse #asexual yelena belova discourse #ace yelena belova #asexual yelena belova #ask #answered #anon #i talk too much

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ilovel0ki · 3 years

Text

Burning Light

loki x oc

warnings: blood, war, almost deaths

Writing this has been super enjoyable for me. It's based off of Safe & Sound by Taylor Swift and The Central Wars. I really like the song and it gave me a jolt of inspiration.

Some angst and fluff, with a happy ending

Word count: 3.5k

I'm looking forward to have some of you read it. I know it may not reach lots of people but I do hope it brightens up someone's day :)

Unmistakeable clashing and clanging of swords echoed through the once-peaceful city - which lay in eerie unrest. Warriors strapped in bloodstained armour, which was once a lustrous luminescent gold, rushed around with panic-stricken faces, bringing their injured colleages with them. Their faces unrecognisable - smeared with tainted, crimson blood. Eyes once filled with joy and life had become dull with exhaustion. Even the children could tell something had gone quite wrong as they were being scrambled to safety. How couldn’t they, when only hours before they had been blithely engaging in play. Now they were being dragged into the promised safety of their homes. Still, on this side of town, the situation was slightly better.

Nevertheless, the fact was painfully clear; Asgard was at war.

A war that had only just begun. A war that would wreak just as much havoc as any other, unless handled conscientiously. Currently, that wasn’t going so well. The opposing kingdom hadn’t spoken of a reason to wage this sanguinary battle. They just barged in guns-a-blazing. One could only hope it would be over soon.

In the opposite side of town, the infamous Asgardian army, known for its expertise and experience, was busy and bustling. Healers were tending to those caught in the crossfire while others were getting ready to join it. The warriors were determined; they were trained meticulously for situations like these.

One such warrior was buckling up her hefty armor on her body, following that by trying to tie back her flowing vermillion-red hair. Unsuccessful, she stood straight. Tall, dignified and regal; she was a sophisticated beauty. And she knew it.

In need of help, the girl surveyed her surroundings. Brilliant blue eyes darted to and fro to gauge someone who could possibly help. Then, gleefully, she spotted a familiar face walk by. A very familiar face indeed.

With a hastily thought out plan-of-attack, Ilaire sauntered towards the aformentioned person. Wrapping her arms around him, she sultrily whispered in his ear, “Hey, Loki. Could you help me with my tiresome hair”.

Though Ilaire couldn’t see it, a slow smirk settled upon the trickster’s face. Loki turned on his heel and susurrated, “Darling, you need not put on that act. I would help you if you simply asked, after all have we not been friends since adolescence?”.

Ilaire flippantly nodded in answer as a chesire cat grin took over her face at having succeeded in her task. She flipped around to give Loki better access to her hair. Without complaint, Loki took charge of her fiery silken hair and began to masterfully twist her hair into an elegant yet practical fashion, as if he had done it all his life. In a sort of way, he had. With a raised hand, Ilaire tried - in vain - to pass a ribbon to Loki to tie her hair back.

“Don’t bother, I have already used my seidr to place a ribbon in your hair”, Loki acknowledged, amused. “It’s emerald green, isn’t it?”,exasperated, the warrior questioned with her hand on the bridge of her nose.

Loki chuckled in response.

“Well, thank you anyway”, she said as she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.

For a second, Loki’s mask of cold indifference slipped and gave way to something softer, akin to endearment. But it came back up just as Thor’s voice boomed across the army quarters.

“WARRIORS! The next waves must get ready to leave. Wave 32 and 33 get into position in 10 minutes, with Leaders Prince Loki and Lady Ilaire on the frontlines!”.

Centuries ago, Loki and Ilaire had trained together diligently and achieved higher ranks in the army hierarchy together. Both had now been promoted to a Leader position, the second highest position, preceded only by the Chief.

Thor’s information brought a surge of sobriety to the bantering friends as they realised what they were about to go into. They looked to each other, their eyes met and both nodded at the same time with locked jaws and unyielding glares. Synchronised, they turned to their corresponding waves and bellowed, “GET INTO POSITION WARRIORS!”.

A clangour resonated as the warriors began to put the remaining pieces of armour on. Ilaire’s usually welcoming eyes grew dark. Loki’s gaze grew steely. With a grave expression, Thor strode to their area. Without missing a beat, he trapped both Ilaire and Loki in an unwavering hug. It portrayed all of his emotions: distress; fear and concern. As he continued to not let them go, Loki’s choked voice broke out, “Brother, you must let us go”. Reluctantly, Thor pulled back and Ilaire could’ve sworn that his eyes were wetter than before. “Brother. Sister. Be careful. And most of all come back alive,” Thor spoke in a brittle voice.

Somewhere along the line, Ilaire had become an honorary Odinson family member. To Thor she was a sister and to Loki, she hoped she was something more. Still, a new wave of emotion passed over Ilaire as she heard Thor call her his sister. She fought valiantly to not be overcome with tearful sobs.

“Do not worry, Chief,” she called him in unbridled affection “We will try our best”, she replied in a hoarse manner. “Don’t miss us too much,” Loki too replied, with a rare smile and a suave salute.

The red-haired warrior clashed her sword on her shield to catch the attention of her assigned wave. “Alright, team! We’ve trained together for 150 years. We will continue to train far longer than that! We must! So go out and show those brutely creatures WHO’S BOSS!”, Ilaire’s battlecry washed over her warriors.

As the gates opened and perfectly formed formations walked out, merciless stony gazes could be seen all around. Loki and Ilaire stood at the frontlines, the wind amplifying their battle-hardened gazes. They both walked on the bloodsoaked ground, unfaltering, with a mission. As they got closer to the first of the aliens, Ilaire slashed at one, sending it accross the battleground. Beneath her feet, alien remains squelched and the air zinged with bloodshed.

The aliens were a sickly yellow with a strange slimy goo coating them. They were of a medium stature. Not too big but not too small. Ilaire had never seen such creatures.

Loki snarkily thought ‘They’re about Thor’s size. Doesn’t seem like this will be too hard’.

All around the two leaders, fights were breaking out and more yellow creatures were going down with them. Soldiers were slashing and punching with unmatched gusto. A pile of miserable dead opponents was starting to build up. Then something strange happened.

Something no one would’ve expected.

Something that shocked everyone.

Something that made perfect sense considering the earlier bloodshed.

The creatures that had been piled on top of each other started to melt and then meld together. It was a ghastly view. Bones shifting and rotting skin stretching. The creatures had melded together to become one mega-creature. A mega-creature larger than the small aliens before. Larger than Thor.

This truth dawned on the fighting forces and panic started brimming. Nothing like this had ever been faced before. It was entirely unprecedented. The Asgardian army certainly wasn’t trained for this. And judging by the drained, feeble warriors taken back to the healers, the other waves hadn’t realised this either. Alarm bells started ringing in Loki and Ilaire’s minds.

Loki’s mind started racing while simultaneously fighting off more of the alien soldiers.

Ilaire was frantically trying to think of a solution.

All thoughts seemed to evade them. The realm’s greatest minds had gone suddenly blank.

Panic was bubbling and almost tangible in the air.

One of the warriors, thankfully, came to the rescue, saving the situation like it was a damsel in distress. “SEPARATE THEM ONCE YOU KILL THEM, THAT WAY THEY CAN’T MOLD TOGETHER!”.

Ilaire let out a much-needed sigh of relief, yet she knew the real battle still remained. With a new plan, the waves started fighting with renewed vigour. After each kill, the creature was picked up and thrown on an empty space. Swords pierced and clanged, blood spattered and the beginnings of victory were starting to be seen. It was so close yet so far. Right within a hand’s reach, yet victory had not yet been snatched.

As Ilaire swerved to fight off another mega-creature, one approached from behind. WIth her eyes on the creature she was fighting, Ilaire did not notice the second creature. Loki’s mouth started to open in warning as he watched in fright. Unfortunately, his warning was a few seconds too slow. The creature grabbed a fallen sword and gashed at the sliver of skin between Ilaire’s chest and back armour with a mighty roar. Then a few things happened in succession.

A breathy gasp left Ilaire’s mouth as her hands grasped at her side, trying to gauge the situation. Her sword had unceremoniously dropped to the floor and lay lackadaisical. Her hands came away covered in her own blood, as more started to seep out. Crimson. Her breaths became raspy as she fell to her knees, head bowed. Several screams could be heard. Two of those were Loki and Thor.

Loki elbowed and slashed his way with an unmatched rage to reach his best friend. His mind was racing with denial, 'It could not end like this. It would not end like this.’

“Get out of the WAY!” he barked with barely held back anger.

Near the army quarters, Thor was making his way out to the battlefield. He would not sit by idly as his family was attacked. It was his turn.

As Thor reached his brother, he saw him kneeling beside Ilaire, undoing her armor and ripping a shred of his tunic to wrap it around her bleeding torso. “Take her to the healers, I will take care of this now,” Thor uttered quietly, yet if one looked closely, the simmering anger under his words was visible.

Then he yelled and charged towards his sorry opponents.

This left Loki. He looped his arms under her knees and shoulders and picked up Ilaire, and began to carry her towards the army quarters. “Love, look at me,” he spoke softly with a tender gaze.

It was getting harder for Ilaire to see by the minute as more blood was lost and her vision was spotting. “I can’t… I can’t,” Ilaire answered. A weak whimper escaped her lips.

“Yes, you can! Just focus on me”

Loki was starting to jog now, in desperation.

Commandingly, a shrill sound reverberated throughout the air. “LOKI ODINSON. WE ARE HERE TO COLLECT YOU. COME WITH US OR HAVE YOUR REALM FACE THE DISASTROUS CONSEQUENCES”.

Everything was going wrong. How could it have gone so wrong? Too much blood spilt and too many lives being lost by the minute.

Ilaire didn’t know what to do with this new command. Loki continued walking with an unreadable look on his face.

Ilaire struggled to keep her eyes open, but she got through until they had reached the healers.

A healer began to assess her; poking and prodding at the wound. Loki’s deperate voice rose, “Do something! Help her!”.

“The salve may take too long to brew. It could be too late for her,” the healer replied with an apologetic gaze.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN! HELP HER! I AM THE PRINCE OF ASGARD AND SHE, A LADY OF THE COURT! THERE MUST BE SOMETHING YOU CAN DO!” Loki hissed.

“Prince Loki, we will try our best but there’s no guarantee”.

Loki growled and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. He was mad. He had injured himself too much to be able to use his magic. If only he fought more efficiently, if only he did more - maybe he could have healed her. If only.

After a grueling half hour, the healer gave the confirmation.

A half hour of desperate waiting for the news.

A half hour that seemed miles longer than it was.

Ilaire would make it.

'She's gonna make it'

Loki let out the breath he had been holding and slumped in a chair with relief. He had refused to let her out of his sight. A weary smile took shape on his face and he let out a breathless laugh of joy.

“Prince Loki, take her to the royal chambers and allow her to sleep. Until now she has had to stay awake until her healing was confirmed, in case of her becoming comatose,” the healer instructed Loki.

He walked to the stretcher Ilaire was laid upon and picked her up in the same style again. Ilaire wrapped her arms around Loki’s neck in a hug. “You’re alright,” Loki spoke through deep breaths with a reciprocated hug, rubbing her back to soothe her. Ilaire hugged him tightly. She almost died. She hugged him like it was her last time, because it very well could be. She didn’t want to waste this precious time.

God, Loki was grateful. Grateful she made it. He didn’t know what he would’ve done if something happened to her.

_______

Ilaire was carried to the Royal Palace adjoining to the army quarters. As she was gently dropped on her bed, she spoke for the first time since her attack. She knew Loki would go to the opposing kingdom. He would not wage a war on his own kingdom. “Don’t go Loki,” she pleaded, “I’ll never let you go”.

“Ilaire, I have to go. You know I do,” a tear ran down his face as he spoke the words that would seal his fate. A fate without her.

“Don’t leave me here alone,” Ilaire choked out as hot tears brimed in her eyes. “You’ll always have my spirit. Just think of me,” Loki smiled through the gut-wrenching pain. He really, really didn’t want to leave. But, for once, he wanted to do the right thing. For once, he wanted to earn her friendship.

“Go to sleep, Ilaire. You need it to heal,” Loki cleared his throat before speaking. A protest fought to release itself from Ilaire’s mouth but Loki raised a hand to cut it off. “You know I must do this. There is no use in arguing. I just want you to be safe”, his voice grew hoarse at his last words.

Loki spoke again, “Just close your eyes, the sun is going down. You’ll be alright, no one can hurt you now. Come morning light, you’ll be safe and sound”.

As much as she tried to fight it, Ilaire could not hold off sleep any longer. She wished she could stay awake so that she could convince the love of her life to stay. She wished he didn’t have to sacrifice himself. She wished he didn’t have to go at all. She wished to say and hear so many things that had been left unsaid. But sleep was consuming her. And time was running out. The sand in the hypothetical hourglass was falling at an ever-faster rate.

As her eyelides fluttered, she started to speak, “I lo…,” before sleep consumed her and she trailed off.

She had failed to say those three small words. Three small words. The ones that could’ve changed her life. The ones she will never get to say to him again.

Loki stood and wiped the tears off her face and kissed her cheek, before bringing up a blanket to cover her.

“I love you, Ilaire. I wish we had more time. But we do not. Maybe, one day, we’ll find each other in a another life and live peacefully. Who knows, we could have had a beautiful castle with the most magnificent grounds. Overlooking a view almost as beautiful as you. Or maybe we could’ve had a cottage. On the edge of the woods, next to a crystal clear lake", Loki spoke. He knew as he uttered those words that they will never get to do that now.

Neither heard the words of the other.

With that, he left, making his way back on to the battlefield.

__________

"IT IS I, LOKI ODINSON,” he presented himself. The alien leader made his way to the front. “Goodness, you’re a puny one. Whatever. Chain him, minions”, the yellow leader commanded. Thor watched in shocked silence. But even he knew that this had to be done. The brothers nodded to each other in farewell.

Loki was dragged, in chains, to the ostentatious spaceship of the aliens.

“You have stolen from me, Odinson,” a voice reached him. Loki struggled to remember what he had stolen. There were so many things he had recently pilfered. Then it hit him. He had stolen Maricusan. The most versatile and strong material in the nine realms. This material was used to make the Odinson family armors. And it came from Maricus. The planet known for being deceitful. This meant that their word was false. Unsurprisingly, they were also known for making false deals.

They would not only kill Loki but pillage Asgard too. At this moment, Loki realised he was in deep shit.

A minute ago, he had gone willingly. Now he would fight back. He would fight back to see his brother. He would fight back to see his beloved. With one swift motion, he pulled his hands apart, resulting in the chains snapping with an audible snap. As creatures advanced on him, he kicked and punched while using his clones to distract. Then, through the corner of his eye, he saw an opening in the door, which he managed to slip through.

As he re-entered the battlefield once again, he signaled to Thor. Thor’s eyes widened in shock at the sight of his brother. By now, he too had discovered the yellow Maricusians’ melding properties. The two brother came up with the quickest battle strategy they had ever made and got to work.

____________

In the Royal Palace, Ilaire had woken up. Her sleep was restless and a headache plagued her along with her rampant thoughts. Her beloved was going to sacrifice himself. Or maybe he had done so already. Pain stabbed her heart and tears started to collect in her eyes again. She did not want to be a whiny mess, but what else was she supposed to do? She was helpless against fate.

Sobs warcked her body. Then she saw a glint through her window. She curiously peeked towards it. Then she noticed the ongoing battle. The war was raging on. Now she was confused. Brows furrowed, she looked harder. Then. Then she saw the trademark emerald green and gold. Her heart soared in hope she dared not have.

'Was that Loki?'

She impatiently waited for the man to turn around, biting her nails in nervousness. Sand fell tantalizingly slow in the hypothetical hourglass. Time trickled by leisurely. Never had a moment seemed so long.

It was Loki.

The man was Loki.

A beaming smile broke out on her face as her tears turned to those of joy. She could hear a joyful tune playing in her head. It was a victory song. She felt victorious. She felt victorious for the first time on that horrendous day.

Their eyes met, and their smiles matched. Loki's eyes glinted with affection.

Too weak to join her warriors, Ilaire looked out at the battlefield. Nervously, waiting and hoping. And when the last blow happened, she was lost in felicity. They had done it. They had won. They got through unscathed. Sort of.

Hurriedly, Ilaire raced as fast as she could with her striking injury to get out to the battlefield. She saw Loki and he saw her. He held his arms out and she jumped into them, hugging him ferociously.

“Darling, you should be resting. That is a rather large wound,” he spoke in relief. He was glad to see her.

“You were supposed to die!” she replied.

“Good to know you like me alive,” Loki grumbled.

Like that, the two continued to banter, as Loki walked her back to her chambers, a hand around her shoulders too keep her steady.

When Ilaire entered her room, she started to speak, “Loki, there are many things I wish to say to you. One thing in particular. As I was thinking about possibly losing you, I thought of the things I never got to say”. She paused to gather her breath and to collect strength. She oh-so-very desperately hoped her words didn't come out as verbal diarrhoea.

“I love you. I love you, Loki. I have ever since you picked out that flower bouquet for me. Or when you spar with me. Or when we argue.” She chuckled, “I still keep those flowers preserved because its such a lovely memory.”

She stood with bated breath and nervousness running through her veins.

Loki's face had become softer somehow. His eyes were warm. And when Ilaire realised that this warmth was directed towards her, butterflies collected in her stomach.

“Ilaire, I adore you. I love you with the heat of a thousand suns. Yes, I know that’s cliche. But those are my feelings. You are my beacon when everything else fails. So, I wish to ask you something."

A pause.

Be mine?” he asked with a tender smile and soft blue eyes.

“Say that again,” Ilaire commanded hoarsely.

“Be mine” he smirked.

“Yes,” Ilaire whispered breathily.

Loki rushed forward and gathered Ilaire in his arms, glad to have found his love; his best friend.

“Come morning light, you and I’ll be… safe and sound”

This is what I imagine my OC to look like. Feel free to change as you please :)

Let me know your thoughts and if you'd like me to write something else <3

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chiseler · 3 years

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The Chiseler Asks Noam Chomsky About Israel-Palestine

Yesterday, May 24, 2021, Daniel Riccuito of The Chiseler conducted the following email interview with Noam Chomsky.

Daniel Riccuito: This latest assault against Gaza seems contradictory: both part and parcel of Israel's abiding agenda and more obviously cynical, bearing no relationship to the usual talking points about national defense, etc. Is it wrong to overestimate public opinion as surprisingly informed, seeing through Israel’s state propaganda more swiftly this time around?

Noam Chomsky: Each time Israel launches some barbaric act of terror, its sophisticated Hasbara system faces a more difficult task of justification, and its grip on popular opinion weakens. The horrors of Israel’s latest war against the civilian society in its Gaza prison are impossible to suppress, so propaganda seeks to restrict attention solely to Hamas rockets attacking innocent Israel in an act of unprovoked aggression: every country has a right to defend itself, and in self-defense Israel has been remarkably restrained considering the nature of the Hamas attack.

That still works in some circles, but fewer than before. Though the media do not convey anything like the hideous reality of Israel’s murderous strangulation of Gaza or the regular brutality of the Israeli occupation in the West Bank, nevertheless a fair amount is seeping through, a good deal more than before, enough for many to dismantle the propaganda line.

Yes, Hamas is a pretty awful organization and Palestinians deserve much better. But there are ways to deal with its rocket launches. The narrow answer is to eliminate the reason for them. Many are aware that they were fired in retaliation for Israeli crimes in Jerusalem, particularly the military attack on worshippers in Al-Aqsa. Hamas announced a deadline saying that unless the attacks stopped by then it would retaliate with rockets.

The more fundamental approach is to end Israel's vicious imprisonment of Gaza, which has rendered it virtually unlivable, without even potable water, let alone any hope for decent survival. A brutal jailer and torturer is hardly in a position to ask how to defend himself from occasional resistance by the prisoners. I think more and more people are coming to understand that, despite intensive suppression of the background, which continues.

Along with the limited reporting of the barbarity of Israel’s periodic assaults, the deepening recognition of Israel’s exploits in the illegally occupied territories and within its borders is making it harder to sustain the image of the embattled guardian of democracy and righteousness in the region.

Daniel Riccuito: Is the solidarity among geographically divided Palestinians (East Jerusalem, Gaza, the West Bank, and within Israel) wholly unprecedented?

Noam Chomsky: Not unprecedented, but taking new forms as circumstances change. One change, which has received some notice, is the further “Judaization” of the few cities where there still are remnants of the mass expulsion of Palestinians in 1948, “mixed cities,” so-called. Resentment of the further marginalization and repression of the Palestinian minority seems to have been a factor in the protests there against the Israeli actions in Greater Jerusalem, initially dispossession of still more Arab families in Sheikh Jarrah, then the assault on Al-Aqsa worshippers, among other events. One was Israel’s decision to prevent East Jerusalem participation in forthcoming Palestinian elections for the first time, in violation of its commitments under the Oslo accords, another step in Israel’s imposition of its nationalist-religious agenda in the Greater Jerusalem it has established, a core part of the Greater Israel project it has imposed throughout the West Bank.

Daniel Riccuito: I won't ask for predictions, but are there specific opportunities available, here and now, to those committed to seeing a semblance of justice for Palestinians?

Noam Chomsky: There definitely are opportunities. For the first time, there are calls in mainstream media for cancellation of US military aid to Israel along with congressional legislation calling for conditioning such aid (Betsy McCollum). These are openings that can be pursued well beyond. This unparalleled aid to Israel is in violation of US laws that bar aid to military units engaged in systematic human right abuses. The IDF provides many candidates. Many Americans can come to understand that. Even a threat to the huge flood of aid could have major policy repercussions.

A more far-reaching issue that should be highlighted is Israel’s nuclear weapons programs. The US pretends not to know that they exist, for good reasons. Abandon the pretense, and serious questions arise about whether all US aid to Israel is illegal under US law because of Israel’s development of nuclear weapons outside the framework of international arms control agreements. By bipartisan agreement, and media complicity, that crucial matter has been effectively suppressed.

And it is crucial. A lot is at stake, quite apart from the legality of US aid to Israel. One obvious matter is a nuclear weapons-free zone in the Middle East. That has been strongly supported for years by the Arab states, Iran, the Global South (G-77), with general support in Europe. It is regularly vetoed by the US, most recently Obama. The unspoken reason, of course, is what I have just described: protecting Israel’s illegal nuclear weapons system, and arguably illegal US aid to Israel.

A ME NWFZ with effective inspections is entirely feasible, as we have seen before Trump dismantled the Joint Agreement on Iranian nuclear programs (JCPOA). It would go far beyond the JCPOA in ending alleged concerns about an Iranian nuclear threat. It would end any shred of justification for the vicious US sanctions on Iran, to which Europe is compelled to conform. It would end a very serious threats of escalation to major war. It would lay the basis for punishing Israel for its campaign of assassination and sabotage against Iran, and its threats of much worse.

In brief, such initiatives could have major consequences. All matters that would be of much concern to Americans if they knew about them.

There is a lot more that can be done. Choice of tactics is no trivial matter, a consideration that should be second nature to activists. The choice must be based on realistic assessment of existing circumstances – not what we might like them to be, but what they are.

Existing circumstances in Israel-Palestine are not obscure. For 50 years, Israel has been systematically creating a Greater Israel in the West Bank in which it takes for itself whatever it finds of value while bypassing Palestinian population centers so as to avoid the dread “demographic problem”: too many non-Jews in a “democratic Jewish state,” an oxymoron more difficult to sustain with each passing year. There is no need to run through the details, evident on the ground. Greater Israel is so closely integrated into Israel proper that Israelis are barely aware of the international border. The creation of Greater Israel has been undertaken in brazen defiance of Security Council resolutions and in perfectly conscious violation of international law. It has been advanced across the Israeli political spectrum, with only marginal opposition. Shimon Peres and Yitzhak Rabin, for example, were among its most forceful proponents.

Discussion of tactics and options is meaningless unless this reality is recognized. In particular, current 1-2 state debates are empty unless the Greater Israel option is recognized. As long as the option exists, we can be confident that Israel will never consider disappearing in favor of “one state” --- that is, a Palestinian state with a Jewish minority. Nor is there any force in the world supporting this, or likely to be such a force in the foreseeable future.

Tactics therefore have to be directed at undermining the Greater Israel option. There are many possibilities: an arms-trade embargo conditioned on terminating this project, for example. Insofar as that can be accomplished, other options can be considered. I won’t proceed here but it takes little thought to recognize what the possibilities are. What is important is to keep all of this clearly in mind in devising ways to reach some tolerable settlement, one that can be a basis for moving on to something better.

#The Chiseler #Noam Chomsky #Israel #Palestine

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hueningshaped · 3 years

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☆ crown | xu minghao and jeon wonwoo

▰ genre: college au! / NO READER INSERT = ORIGINAL CHARACTER / drama, coming of age, romantic, angst ... so original characters and seventeen *gasp* you guessed it — a svt fanfic

▰ word count: about 2.7k

▰ a/n: interest check of a full fledged story i’ve planned but am refraining to put effort in due to possible, complete lack of reads or audience (nobody’s fault but mine). i’d love to hear your feedback! this is chapter one; please let me know if i should continue or just leave it at this LOL

▰ synopsis: jo woolim can’t juggle to save her life, and yet she is somehow managing to stay with her boyfriend: jeon wonwoo, who is possibly cheating on her (again), her strained friendships, fitting into her new school, estranged family, learning to wholly love and forgive herself - in a time unprecedented and searching for the boy of her dreams, xu minghao, the prodigal foreign exchange student. she’s looking for real love, where it’s lacking, where it’s needed, and where it’s always been. by the way, it is not easy!

▰ additional: i listened to epilogue by justin hurtwitz as well as mia and sebastian’s theme (which is somewhat a reprise of it despite it being previous to epilogue, of course) as i wrote it so here u go!

Jo Woolim's feet hurt for multiple reasons, but getting stood up, time and time again, to now, at the age of twenty three is the main contribution to the pain.

The stairs are a pretty humiliating choice of seating, especially to conduct her double digit calls to the person who stood her up, which is her harmless best friend, Sookyung. So, no hard feelings, right? (Right?)

She shouldn't even be that embarrassed because it's not Wonwoo — the Jeon Wonwoo, her very own boyfriend — that stood her up, but she supposes she can be since he'd refused to go and even teased her about wanting to go.

The staircase is fine marble, allowing each footstep to click and clack with each heel that ascends because the party's just beginning. With this venue mimicking a palace, Woolim feels way out of place. Some girls have poofy dresses and others possess thinner material, accentuating the hills of each girl's curves and edges walking in. The boys are all the same, offering the bare minimum. Why does everyone get to be beautiful except her?

Shaking the last thought off, Woolim exerts so much effort to make it look like being alone and ugly doesn't bother her. But, she has to bite the bullet and make a move.

So, her legs spring up, taking her up to the rest of the party. She ignores the heat accumulating from the small of her back to just about every part of her body as she walks in, trying to take everything in and not look like such a loser. Jesus, is everyone looking at her? Are they talking about her?

There were definitely perks to this new university and one of them is the commencement of her class, which arrives in the form of a ceremony with a festivity that follows immediately after. Of course, as a transfer, she gets the initiation that throws a theme, so she has to wear the clown paint and clothes that they inform you to wear to match.

All she is missing is a crown and she's a royal fool.

The Masquerade Ball, as the provost and student affairs staff, had been rumored since before she'd even transferred to the school, which added up to just two months ago. Three months before, she had received that acceptance letter.

She should've known.

Woolim stifles a cough, hoping that the callousing - painful callousing - in her soles due to her starchy dress shoes would be able to mask the humiliation that was beginning to sting behind her eyes.

Of course, she had no identity, but everyone still looks over at her in pity.

The room offered dim lighting, romantic hues of pinks, and citrusy chardonnay beading the adjacent walls. Woolim thirsts for an exit.

The song changes to something unattainable audibly but she must not even be able to hear herself, and before she knows, someone to the side of Woolim bumps into her, back slamming against her body and into the wall.

A frantic, male voice follows, yelping out apologies, as he reaches down to pull her up.

"Jesus, I'm so sorry. Told him to not try and shake what his mama gave him and here we are, here you are, we're both so sorry..." Woolim's vision focuses as she returns to eye level and manages a minor grin at the boy as much of his appearance stands out wonderfully.

With heavily dyed platinum hair, a turquoise suit with rhinestones in various floral designs across the front and wrists, tiger eyes, and led lights curling around the outline of his mask, this boy looked like a lot of fun. A head of chestnut locks remain bowed by his shoulder.

The blond grabs her palm desperately, and he's making wailing sounds.

"I apologize for not only Seokmin but for his upbringing. May Satan guide him in return." He prayed aloud, apology too comical to be real but nonetheless real.

Woolim finally speaks up when the music quiets down just a touch and she doesn't have to stammer to be heard.

"No, you're fine! I can't really see with this mask." She reveals, voice too out there for its own good, but at this, the boy's eyes expand in shock and the bowed head lifts up with intrigue.

"Are you sure? It was pretty rude of us, wasn't it, Seokmin?" He nudges his friend, who's dressed in a simpler, humbler suit, who nods sullenly.

"I'm really, really embarrassed... besides, I think she gets it, Soonyoung."

"Whatever, Oprah singer."

"It's opera!"

The air around them hardens as they begin to bicker. Seokmin places his hands on his hips to deliver his rebuttals but the last thing that Woolim wants is to make two friends fight, let alone cause trouble while she has no date.

"I really am alright! No harm done. I'm just...a little relieved actually that someone's speaking to me," she admits wincingly. There's no need to be as honest as possible, but that doesn't stop her from adding, "I didn't come to the ball with anyone."

The two boys frown and coo, letting out maple syrupy aw's, surprisingly sympathizing with her.

"If it makes you feel any better, our dates were too busy to come, so he and I came together. We also do have another buddy with us, officially making it a threesome!" Soonyoung chats loudly and Seokmin elbows him in the chest at the last comment.

"That's not what a threesome is, Soon."

"Whatever," he waves his hand dismissively. Woolim notices that despite the gravity between the two friends, they remain focused on her. It feels nice. "We did lose him a little while ago though. Maybe he's around here somewhere."

Woolim then levels with them to form a line so she could follow their eye as they peer around the venue, which seems futile since their view is obscured by the angle, decorations, and crowds. The opaque curtains of the many entrances within the main venue gave the illusion that this place was endless. It feels like a trance that went on forever. Reality washes over Woolim and she can feel the weight of being the person one meets and should leave.

"Uh...I'm sorry for getting in your guys' way initially," she announces with a tone that makes her seem unsure of the words on her tongue. Seokmin rolls his head over at her, eyebrows drawing inwardly and puppy dog eyes. She's about to coolly and casually make her leave to no longer bother the boys, but Soonyoung has a different idea.

"Nonsense! It was our fault to begin with, and to repay your gracious hand," Soonyoung then motions to Woolim's bare hand as the other apparels one silky dress glove. "We're trying to at least become an even foursome with you and our friend! God knows where the hell the great Minghao is though!"

"Right behind you." A chilling, oolonged voice speaks up suddenly and startled enough, Woolim's disposition remains unaffected despite her heart catching up to leap in her chest with her delayed reaction.

"Minghao, you wanted to give me a heart attack, didn't you?" Seokmin sighs dramatically, voice hitching to imitate crying. Upon hearing the rich laugh, Woolim tips her head slowly and changes her footing to turn round.

The supposed Minghao peers down at Woolim, unreadable expression through the simple glow of his ivory mask. His raven black hair, lengthy and healthy, adorns his crown like he deserves a throne to come with the apparel.

"We found a person and we found you!" Soonyoung hesitantly wraps his hand around Woolim's wrist, loosely keeping his fingers around to lift and wave.

Minghao snickers delicately.

"I found you actually," he corrects, eyeing his friends, even meeting Woolim's to speak. "And I'm sure you didn't meet because of an accident, right?"

"That was on my part," Woolim speaks up but bites on her bottom lip once his piercing gaze trains upon her. "Sorry..."

"You’ve done no wrong, though?" Minghao's lips stretches into a wonderful smile.

" — yeah, it was Seokmin." Soonyoung mutters, earning himself a tiny shove.

"Minghao, you didn't come here with anyone for a date, right?" Seokmin poses. Woolim notices from his accent that Korean is not his first language but has such a grip with his words, it almost passes one's mind initially.

"Not this time," he answers nebulously. Woolim has to hold back a scowl. "If you’d like, I would love to have you... er, and what's your name?"

She can feel Soonyoung's and Seokmin's excited watch upon her but since this is the first night that she's seen boys be so decent, she figures she might, as well, make their night. They certainly have made hers, after all, excluding this Minghao at the moment.

"I'm Woolim. W-Woolim," she says twice, one too many. Minghao's expression loosens with pleasant awe.

"No surname?" He quizzes, voice too serious for it to be a joke. Woolim feels absolutely no urge to joke around, anxiety fizzing in the very marrow of her bones, so she just shakes her head and hopes he wouldn't see her cocked eyebrow.

"Well," he clears his throat. "I'm Xu Minghao. Seo Myungho. I've got 4 names."

"I've got three," Soonyoung pipes up and everyone groans.

"Soonyoung, don't say it in front of her. That's so gross." Seokmin leans over to shake his head but eye Woolim, in the way that friends who’ve known each other for a long time do. It's a nice feeling.

The music changes, taking a turn from some pop electronica to some heavy pulse from a contemporary rhythm and blues type, and the bass rocks hard enough to shake her ribs.

Minghao locks eyes with her and beams charmingly. He even takes her surprise further by reaching a hand out, fingers long and elegant.

"Would you care to dance with me? Or do you want to take this chance to leave like you were looking for earlier?"

Woolim feels like she merely imagined him asking the last question, which leads her to consider bolting for the doors last minute. Surely, Wonwoo would be home and maybe tonight, he'd be in the mood to love her and like her.

Oh, what she'd do to be loved and liked at the same time.

"Do what you would like," his tone lightens into something sweeter like rosehip. "I don't think you should put your lovely ensemble to waste."

Woolim swallows hard at that and just when she is about to acknowledge the two excited chitters from the other two boys, Minghao takes her hand into his. A cool grip overtakes a clammy warmth. Wordlessly, they somehow sail across the linoleum floor.

All the half hidden faces that had been judging her now evaporate with the blue and green lighting, hues and keys ascending into reds and minors.

Minghao is the type to maintain eye contact and Woolim hates it.

In the back of her mind, bits and pieces of her mind offer memories of what she could see of herself in the reflections. Since Sookyung shared the same favorite color that she did, Woolim went with another: sleet blue. Thin straps hang off her thick shoulders that had a loose, lace cover across her biceps and chest. The hems are riddled with sparkles and flowers. The rest of the silk sticks to each and every edge of her body before drifting off past her chronically swollen ankles with the extra layers adding volume. Her skin appears mottled but overall amber. Her mask is ridden in silvery lace and false white gems and roses. Woolim never knew she could look lovely.

"Do you mind if I hold you close?" He leads, raising their joined hands to sway.

Woolim opens her mouth only to nod. Despite the darkness of the brown and the dim lighting, she sees that his eyes are dotted with flames of the bits of lighting around the venue. The night of his pupils burn right through her and yet she only feels sparks from him, especially once his other hand comes to gently graze her waist.

"Are you okay with this?" He sways them a little more to the right with each movement. Woolim doesn't fancy being this quiet and immobile so she moves his hand into her. His hold is gentle and electrifying as if eternities have passed since she's last been embraced as sweetly as this.

"How long have you gone to this school?" Minghao leans in to better emphasize his question.

"I just transferred, actually," she says as casually as possible since the strokes they make when they sway are becoming too grand for her to catch up.

He's incredibly quick on his feet, so much so that her eyes must drop to follow their direction. Many bodies and pairs round about the two, but they all blend in with the backdrop of the room.

"Follow my counts. One, two, three ─" He drifts into quadrants, slow enough for her to catch up but she continues to knock into his chest. "─ and four. Let's go again. You're alright, I promise. Seokmin used to firmly believe his body was not built at all for anything besides existing."

Woolim glances to the side to see Seokmin rocking his hips next to Soonyoung side to side within frequent increments. They also somehow manage to can-can despite the slow synth and phrases of the song.

"Are you always this quiet?" Minghao breathes and this question catches her off guard. Perhaps taking her breath away had been his intention and he uses this to intertwine their fingers like they're meant to be.

"I’d tell you a lie but since you don't know me, I'm going to tell you the truth; I think I like having you try and get me to talk." Woolim purses her lips tightly as soon as she finds herself smirking.

Minghao steps back, which she nearly leaps to follow, but with the gentlest pivot of his wrist, Woolim twirls like one of the toys she'd wanted all her childhood. Her chest rides past the clouds and her heart pursues, shuttling upwards.

"My goodness, you're a natural!" He comments when he swings her to one side and right back into his embrace. She's smiling.

The song is still playing, and if at all possible, it's hanging above her head precariously and it's just the two of them on the planet.

"Are you sure you don't want me to know you?" He asks once more, and this time, she sheds a few feathers of her insecurities.

The song is still as powerful enough to beat as her heart.

"You ask a lot of questions, Minghao." She manages to grin and their steps narrow to continue to tread the same space.

He peers down at her and the flames are still lit.

"I can't help it. Honestly, honestly. I want to know you truly, honestly."

His loving smile buckles under the bite into his lip. She must be lying when she sees his eyes drop to her mouth. This must be a dream.

"I'm-I'm an open book," she murmurs, captivated by his own lips, and gasps quietly when the hand on her waist is suddenly cupping her jaw. No, she is not, the more authoritative Woolim reprimands silently. But it matters not - she's not loud either.

The song is still playing. It could play for eternities.

He rubs her cheek so tenderly and it has her eyes all a twinkle without realizing.

Wonwoo is no longer a thought. Sookyung no longer crosses her mind.

It only takes a few more countless seconds of wordless confirmation before Minghao dives in to take her lips with his and something behind her rib cage blossoms. He speaks against her mouth, but she doesn't care. She doesn't care.

He continues devouring her lips for the taking and she's left speechless, breaths searching for something to hold onto in between their own mouths.

The daily lows of her life are a fleeting death as she now soars high in a fairy tale-like limelight that only pertains to the two of them. All she's missing is a crown.

Where is her crown? Her mind's whispers fade with every proceeding second. And for once, Woolim feels so good that nothing matters.

#so should i keep going....? *head in hands*#seventeen fluff #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #seventeen hoshi #seventeen dk #seventeen the8 #seventeen angst #seventeen college au

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seriouslyhooked · 4 years

Text

Feels Like This (Part 10)

Emma Swan is a once lost girl who is now making good. She has made a way in the world for her and her young son, Henry, and after years of hard work, Emma is in her last stretch of schooling for the career she’s always wanted. Unexpectedly, she finds herself in a tiny nation no one’s ever heard of for her last year of study. She knows nothing about the place except that it’s beautiful, has a world-renowned child life program, and is filled with possibility. Meanwhile, Prince Killian is hardly happy with the title he received at birth. As the second in line for the crown, Killian has long tried shaking his royal duties. He built a career in the royal navy, and has stayed out of the limelight, but his ship has been called to port indefinitely at the request of his brother, the King. Fate (in her many forms) brings Emma and Killian together and the resulting fic is a cute, fluffy, trope filled romp featuring heart felt moments, a healthy dose of insta-love and an assured happily ever after. Story rated M and will have 12 parts. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9. Available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hi everybody! I am so excited to FINALLY be back with a new chapter of a fic that so many of you have fallen in love with. This response has been truly unprecedented in my writing experience. I have had lots of fics that many of you rooted for and supported me in, and I am always so grateful for that, but having a hiatus from writing this story showed me just how invested so many of you are. This is a great feeling as a writer, and that excitement you all have is the only reason I have been able to write more of this fic. My ability to write at my usual pace has been tested this fall, and there’s been some ups and downs in my attempts to reengage, but I love this story and I am so excited to share the rest of it with you all. I hope you will all like this new installment, I thank you again for continuing this with me, and I cannot wait to hear what you think!

“Mmmm, this smells delicious,” Henry said, hovering over the skillet not for the first time this evening, and breathing in the pasta sauce Killian had been working on the past half hour. To the boy’s credit, it did smell absolutely wonderful, a comforting classic anyone would love, and which the three of them had earned, after a day of unexpected meetings and introductions. This pasta was a traditional Montennaran recipe, not far off from a classic Sicilian pomodoro, but with the benefit of a few of this country’s specialties. It was a favorite of his personally, and one of the few meals he’d learned to cook well during his time in the service.

“Seriously. Who knew you could cook like this?” Emma said, still stunned at the display before them. She must have assumed from pizza night and the slow cooking speed of their first date that he was fully a novice, and he was in many ways. But he did have a few small tricks up his sleeves, and one was this sauce, which was easy to make as long as he had the right ingredients. It was quick, but precise, and it gave off the perception that he had mastered something difficult, even though that wasn’t true.

“This dish is a special one for me and for my unit. This is the spread each of us waited for during deployments. You crave so many things when you’re without them for so long, but this meal symbolized something else. The moment we’d touch down on Montennaran soil, this is the first thing we would eat. It represents safety just as much as it does a good meal.”

“You always had this?” Henry asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. “No matter what time?”

“Breakfast, lunch, or dinner. This was it,” Killian said, smiling at the memory of early morning pasta meals that he’d enjoyed more than most other moments in his time at sea. Those were the times when they all felt at peace again, and where they allowed themselves to breathe and heal no matter what dark moments had been withstood. “We took turns preparing it, tired as we’d all be from the tour and the travel, but the pressure was on. The last thing you want to do is disappoint newly anchored sailors. It’s a mistake that may just be your last.”

“No kidding,” Henry said, surprised but taking the words at face value. “It sounds so cool though. Being in the Navy, I mean. You meet all those people, people who are your family too even if you’re not related.”

“Aye, lad, they are my family. Always will be.”

“I can’t wait to meet them someday,” Henry said eagerly. Killian noticed Emma tense a bit but she didn’t need to worry. It was always his intention to introduce them all, because it was his plan to keep Emma and Henry with him forever. “Will it be like today do you think?”

“That depends on how you think today went.”

Killian’s quip earned a laugh from Henry and a soft smile from Emma. He was teasing as if the afternoon had been anything but excellent, when of course that was not the case. Despite the unexpected nature of it all, his family had been on their best behavior and they’d all immediately loved Emma and her boy. He knew in his heart they would, but it took a lot of pressure off and hopefully would help ease some of Emma’s worries about where this was going and if his family would approve.

“Today was totally awesome!” Henry said. “Everyone was so nice and cool. But Gran was definitely my favorite.”

“For now maybe,” Killian said, knowing full well what the draw of his Gran was and how her energy and feistiness made her infinitely lovable. “But give it time. My Mum and Liam both have a few more tricks up their sleeves.”

“What did you think of today, Mom?” Henry asked, and Killian was intrigued to know her thoughts. He doubted that Emma would go very deep with her assessment, but she was always honest with her son, of that Killian was totally assured.

“It was… easy,” Emma confessed, smiling at the memories of the day. “I never expected to feel so welcomed right away, but everyone was so normal, it was nice.”

“Normal is pushing it a bit, love. My grandmother’s revelations alone somewhat undermine my family’s classification as something so benign.”

“Maybe,” Emma said with a shrug. “But the families I’ve seen all have some kind of well-meaning meddling, don’t they? Hers just has a bit more royal flare.”

“Oh, Gran’s got flare all right. No doubt about that,” Henry said cheekily as he took the dishes and silverware from Emma and headed to the dining room to set the table.

It wasn’t a statement the boy had meant to be impactful, but it hit Killian right in the heart. That was another special moment from today. There was no formality with his family and Henry and Emma, and he had witnessed the moment his grandmother insisted that Henry call her Gran as well. To have Henry accept that so quickly was a blessing, and another bright spot in what had been a beautiful day.

“And what about you?” Emma asked him when they were alone. “How did you think today went?”

Instinctively Killian turned off the burner, knowing the food was ready to serve but not wanting it to be ruined. He wiped his hands clean of any rogue tomato and then he pulled Emma straight into his arms in one fluid motion. Without pause, he pressed a kiss to her lips that was meant to be soft and nonintrusive in case Henry returned, but quickly morphed to something heated when Emma clutched at his shirt and arched in closer. By the time they pulled apart, he almost forgot the question, but Emma’s curious green eyes prompted him to reassure her of the truth.

“Today was one of the best days I’ve ever known, love. The most important people in my world came together, and if my instincts are correct, it’s gone just about as perfectly as it could. I couldn’t ask for anything more than that…”

“Sounds like there’s a ‘but’ hanging in that statement,” she said, running her fingers across his cheek as she looked at him, searching for answers. “Talk to me.”

“It’s just that I -,”

“Okay, table’s set!” Henry said, barreling back into the kitchen and prompting Killian to step back from Emma but to keep his hand in hers.

Emma and Killian exchanged a look that silently said they would pick up this conversation again later, but Killian squeezed her hand in what he hoped was a calming and comforting gesture. The hanging words he’d yet to say were hardly bad ones, he just had to admit that as beautiful as today was he wanted so much more. He’d never have enough days like this one for his liking. He would always want more, no matter what came, and that was what he’d have to ask her for if not today then someday very soon.

Dinner proceeded without a hitch, and not only was his cooking a success, but the meal was fun and lively. Henry made for so much conversation, and his thoughts on the day were long and varied. He was so full of excitement and energy that it was contagious, and Killian learned more from both the boy and his mother about what they’d taken from meeting his family. They all talked about the center too, about Marco and Marie and Cecelia, and then at length about Anna and especially Elsa.

“Do you think anything will come from it?” Emma asked Killian at one point, after they’d already dissected how undeniable the moment was between Emma’s friend and Killian’s brother.

“Oh for sure,” Henry said before Killian could respond. Both Emma and Killian laughed at his confidence.

“You seem rather certain, lad.”

“Well it’s pretty obvious. I mean he looks at Elsa the way you look at Mom. They’re totally gonna get together. It was love at first sight. Just like with you two.”

“Henry,” Emma said, chastising him somewhat but in a measured way.

“What?”

“Well not for nothing, but you didn’t even see Killian and I meet how could you know it was…”

“Love at first sight?” Killian offered, grinning at her, knowing in his heart that was exactly what they’d felt the moment they laid eyes on each other.

“Exactly.”

“Oh, come on, Mom,” Henry said, rolling his eyes in a move Killian rarely ever saw, but which looked exactly like his mother when she was exasperated. He nearly choked on his water, but he powered through, biting back a laugh at Emma’s shocked face. “It was totally love. You came home extra happy and you had a dreamy look on your face all the time when Killian started volunteering. And since then you’ve been kinda… what does Mrs. H call it again? Oh right, scatterbrained. Love can do that, you know. I asked Gran about it today and she said it’s a telltale sign.”

“You asked her that?” Emma asked, shocked and maybe just a little bit mortified as Henry nodded like it was no big deal.

“Yup. She knows everything. She said that’s what happens when you’re old, and since Mrs. H says that too I think it’s probably true. Come to think of it, they’d be great friends don’t you think?”

“Mrs. H and Queen Eleanor?” Emma asked, as if the thought of their neighbor and Killian’s grandmother being ‘friends’ was too much to handle. “Well I mean, now that you mention it, there are a few similarities there.”

“Totally. And if Mrs. H was here she’d agree with me about Liam and Elsa. It’s totally love, and that’s awesome. Queen Elsa. It has a nice ring to it. Like she was meant to be a royal.”

Killian didn’t think Elsa was the only one with a name suited for royalty. In his estimation Princess Emma and even Prince Henry were rather fitting as well, but he bit that statement back, not wanting to overwhelm Emma or bring something up in front of Henry that she wasn’t ready for. Instead he steered the conversation in other directions, enjoying himself thoroughly as they all enjoyed dessert together that Emma had put together before watching a movie the three of them. It was a totally natural thing, and at more than one point Killian thought that they really looked like a family. It filled his heart with hope, and he wished one day he could officially claim both of them as his. But tonight, he’d just enjoy how good it felt to be with two such special people who seemed to see something in him too.

“Okay, kid, it’s about that time. It’s late already, so PJs and then you can read two chapters and then that’s all she wrote. You got me?”

“Sure, Mom. But can I read to Killian tonight? I’m at a great part in the story. The pirates are about to board the ship.”

“Um, I’m not – I mean, if you want?” Emma asked deferring to him though she was obviously flustered.

“Sounds good to me,” Killian said prompting relief in Emma and a sound of excitement from Henry.

Henry hurried to get himself ready for bed, and just as he’d promised, he proceeded to read Killian two chapters of his current book. The title was one Killian recognized from his youth, but he was impressed that a ten year old had such command of the story. Henry was a good reader but also theatrical, keeping Killian’s attention all the while. Only when he closed the book did Killian leave the swashbuckling alternative universe the story took place in.

“Quite the tale there, lad. You’ll have to keep me apprised of what happens next.”

“No need, I’ll save it until you come back again,” Henry said easily, gesturing to his bookcase which was full of books in so many shades and shapes. “I’ve got tons of them to read.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Killian said truthfully standing back up and heading towards the door. “Well thanks again for the story, Henry. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Killian,” Henry said, letting out a yawn and settling into bed. “Love you.”

The words placed a direct hit on Killian’s heart, and he was unsure if Henry had meant to say it or if sleep was getting the better of him, but Killian could only go on instinct. He answered honestly, telling the boy he loved him too and seeing him smile and settle to sleep before slipping into the hall and walking right into Emma who had tears in her eyes.

“Emma?” he asked, mindful to keep his voice more a whisper than something that could wake up Henry. “Is everything all right?”

“He said he loves you,” Emma whispered, and Killian nodded, brushing her tears away as he held her close.

“He did, love, and it made me feel ten feet tall.”

“Because you love him too,” she whispered, awed at that as if were some kind of stunning revelation and not a given fact of life.

“Of course I do. He’s an amazing boy, and his mother… well she’s the beating of my heart. How could I do anything but love him when he’s a piece of you, Emma?”

“What were you going to say earlier?” Emma asked, abruptly pulling them back to that moment in the kitchen. He debated holding back, but he decided ultimately it was better to put all of his cards on the table. Transparency was key if they had any shot of making this work.

“I was going to say that you, Emma Swan, are the reason. You’re my reason for everything, this impossible gift I never saw coming, and I’m lost in you. I see this perfect moment and forever when I look in your eyes, I see a life I’m desperate to pursue and real hope for the future. I still can’t believe that you’ve chosen me and that I’m standing here with you at all, and a day as good as this one only reminds me that I’ll always have this want - this need - for you. I love you, Emma, irrefutably, incandescently. In a forever and so much longer kind of way.”

“I love you too. Just as much,” Emma said, her voice stronger this time though her tears still came. They appeared to be the product of joy instead of sadness, but they still clutched at his chest like a vice. The only antidote was pulling Emma somewhere private, in this case her bedroom, and confirming he was right.

Once the door was closed behind them, locking them into a sound tight suite on the other end of Emma’s temporary home, their actions blended together. He didn’t lead the way, but moved with Emma, a dance that felt so much more practiced than it was. Emma pulled him for steamy kisses, and he savored her taste on his tongue as he held her close and moved her back towards the bed in her room. The lights were dimmed, but washed the room in a warmth he felt upon his skin. He was burning up from the closeness and the promise of what was to come, but the only thing he could think was that he needed more.

In the back of his mind, Killian also realized that this moment needed quiet. With Henry in the house, they didn’t have the freedom he might yearn for, but no matter. He had the love of the most incredible woman and she’d accepted his love in return. That needed celebration and merited some long-desired reveling. He wanted to show her how he felt, and though he’d finally said the words and attempted to make her understand, the feelings he had went so much deeper. Looking in her eyes right now, he could tell she felt just as much, but the time for waiting and wondering was over. They had put the truth between them and now it was time to truly immerse themselves in it.

Instinct and hunger soon took over for Killian, melding with the love he felt and the softer feelings in his heart in a wickedly wonderful way. He wanted Emma bared to him as soon as could be, spread out on the sheets of this bed and ready for his taking. They’d been flirting with the pleasures they could have for a while now, and they’d been intimate before, but this was different. This was a first in many ways, and Killian was intent on having this moment be one they wouldn’t rush, and that they’d remember for the rest of their lives.

A primal voice in his brain urged him to take her fast and hard, to make a claim they’d both feel branded by, but Killian anchored himself to an idea of something slower and more sensual. He knew taking his time would prove so much more gratifying, and he wanted to make this as good for his Swan as it could possibly be. He helped Emma out of clothes, noticing the tremble of her hands as he did. She was buzzing with excitement and electricity, but she matched his pace, understanding that if they drove each other crazy for just a little longer it would be sublime.

He was entranced by her entirely, and as her clothes from the day fell away, revealing two extremely unexpected scraps of red lace underneath, he couldn’t help but groan. No woman had a right to be so lovely, to claw at him so surely, and to set him alight in this way, but God did he love it. Emma was impossible, but somehow she was real. He felt her responsiveness to him and tracked the way that she noticed how his appreciative gaze moved up her body. A flush spread across her creamy skin, but she stood there, proud and sure as her hands moved across his body, removing his clothes as he’d done hers.

“I didn’t know that I could want this much,” she whispered, the honey-laced tone of her voice a sweet melody to his ears. “I need you, Killian. I love you.”

“Fuck me,” he grumbled, surprising her by taking her in his arms and lowering her to the bed. She let out a gasp before giving into laughter, her eyes bright and sparkling in the lamp light.

“Believe me, I’m trying,” she quipped, but her feistiness faded somewhat as he shed the rest of his clothes. Now her attention had switched, she was watching him steadily, and unconsciously licked her lips. That was it. His patience broke and he was on her, hands roaming, mouth teasing, and hellbent on more.

“Much as I might love that idea, Swan, tonight isn’t about fucking. Tonight I make love to the woman of my dreams. Tonight I show you my heart in full. It’s so much more than sex.”

“I know,” Emma whispered, running her hands along his cheek. “So show me.”

Bound by her request, Killian set out to do just that. It began with roaming hands and removing the last two scraps of red that shielded her from him. Once she was bare, he let himself explore and learn every spot and lick and nip that made her breathless. He traced the sensitive places on her body that made her hum in pleasure, and cherished each freckle on her skin that had come from the summer sun. He riled her up with his hands and his mouth until she was pleading for release, and then he gave it to her, touching her tender flesh and prompting a thready moan from her lips.

“Killian.” Emma’s croon was ragged and gorgeous, making him harder than he ever thought possible. The sound of her desire reached within his soul and engulfed him completely. Unable to resist, he felt himself growing addicted, unsure if he could ever stop. He needed her sighs like he needed to breath, and he purposefully pulled as many sounds of pleasure from her as he could.

There was nothing like Emma lost in lust. She’d never been more beautiful and he didn’t know how that was possible. As his thumb swirled against her clit and his fingers filled her, she gave more away, revealing herself and her needs in ways that made him dizzy. Every response set Killian aflame, and every breathy sigh and plea for more was a sign he intended to follow until he’d led her right over the edge and she shattered beneath him.

“You destroy me, love,” he found himself saying as he looked down at her and brushed some strands of her curled blonde hair out of her eyes. “Destroy me and make me into so much more. I’m in awe of you.”

In the face of her release, and the sincere words that he meant completely, Emma blushed again but smiled. Her expression was one he’d only ever seen her share with him, and it made him feel indestructible. He’d never met a person with more impact on his soul, and he’d never met a woman who so effortlessly created hope and good in his heart. Emma Swan was everything a man could ever want made real, and Killian still couldn’t comprehend how he was lucky enough to be here.

“I can’t imagine this is real,” Emma said, her words still dazed, but happy and content. “But I know it is. I know you are. I’m in this, Killian. I’ve never been more in.”

“Thank God for that, love,” Killian said with a grin and one more kiss before he trailed lower.

With careful attentions designed for maximum pleasure, Killian hit each peak point on her body, bestowing licks and nips that made her jump and mewl. By the time he’d reached her inner thighs, she was breathing heavy, anticipation clear as day. Killian looked up to her now emerald colored eyes as his hands held her steady, needing to know that this was what she wanted and what he saw was irrefutable. Emma was just as desirous for this as he was, and Killian was never so glad for anything in his life.

When his tongue met her sex, he tasted her need for him. Her body writhed beneath him, but he held her still, knowing she needed this from him now. She was wound up tight, the desire twisting around inside her and making her try to break away, but he built it up wanting to give her something she’d never get enough of. With slow, languid licks, he built the moment for him and her. The higher she climbed, the more crazed he himself became, but he waited until she shattered again to take his own pleasure. Once she had, though, all bets were off.

Their coming together was sensational serenity, walking the line between hard and gentle, tender and heated. Further and further they moved towards bliss, but time was off its normal tracks and their minds were filled with only this glorious moment. Soon enough, and yet not soon enough at all, they met that magic, crashing into climax. Minutes later they remained, both spent and breathing heavy, glowing from the aftermath and intertwined together, two bodies hell bent on never being parted. Killian found himself speechless in the aftermath, though his hands drew unknown figures on her skin. He had to touch her, had to hold her, even though he had just felt heaven itself. Truth be told, Killian was totally complete, and more invigorated than ever. Life had never felt more perfect and nothing had ever made more sense.

These revelations were all thanks to Emma. She was the one who made him believe love could be honest and true. She showed him depths he’d never dreamed of, and right now, as the swift and gentle tug of sleep came beckoning, she was a vision. Smiling at him, holding him close and whispering a promise he almost couldn’t bear.

“Forever, Killian,” she breathed, cuddling towards his chest after pressing one last kiss upon his skin. “That’s how long I know I’ll love you.”

“Forever, Emma,” he replied, though he knew even now she may already have succumbed to slumber. “Forever and whatever exists beyond.”

……………

Sneaking back into the castle now was a stark contrast to the many mornings he’d snuck out for a bit of space. Killian couldn’t resist smiling at how much things had changed since that time, and on those days when he walked out in the hills to watch the sunrise. However, unlike those other mornings, Killian knew the moment he walked through the great oak doors that he was not the only one up at this God forsaken hour. Call it instinct or intuition, but Killian could sense uneasiness in the palace, and as he moved up the corridor and saw light emanating from one of Liam’s studies, his hunch was proven right.

With measured steps he approached the open door. It remained ajar, a beacon to anyone who may pass by that his brother was here but still approachable. What Killian saw when he walked to the doorway, however, was the undeniable truth that Liam was not well, and that he likely had no idea the door was open. He’d been up all night, burning the midnight oil, and studying files and photos strewn about his desk.

“For your information, you’re about…” Killian’s words trailed off as he checked the clock on the mantel to clarify the time, “twenty-two and a half minutes from being discovered by Francine or Claudette. Give or take or minute or so.”

The mention of two of the maids on the morning shift in the palace seemed to ground Liam into the reality of this moment and the predawn light outside. He looked up at Killian and then out the antique windows which offered a familiar view of the palace grounds, now bathed in the early morning sunshine. Liam let out a sigh, running a hand through his dark hair that had already been mussed with some frequency. There was no way his brother had slept this evening. He was wild and unkempt, and so far from his state of normal it was fascinating to see.

“Any other day and I’d be focused on your early morning return,” Liam mused, offering something like a smile. It surprised Killian, given how infrequent smiles had become for his brother, but before he could mention it, Liam looked back to the papers and the books strewn about the mahogany desk. Killian wasn’t sure what he expected, but these archives of the family’s public events was not it. His curiosity grew, and he urged his brother to explain himself.

“But it’s not so ordinary, is it?”

“No, she isn’t,” Liam whispered, slipping up and referring to the woman who had turned his head completely, instead of the morning itself. “I didn’t plan for this.”

“No one ever does,” Killian quipped. “Gran will be the first to tell you that to love is to surrender. Planning has no place in affairs of the heart.”

“That old bird is too crafty,” Liam said shaking his head as Killian’s brow furrowed in confusion. “All these years of talk, throwing opinions here there and everywhere. She never met a moment where words failed her and she never lets a day slip past where she doesn’t share her every whim. But I’ve always written it off as her opinion or some grandiose turn of phrase that sounds ripped from a book of clichés rather than something rooted in truth.”

“The worst are the riddles. The woman loves a riddle,” Killian added and Liam groaned, a sound of actual pain that Killian felt, despite its humor.

“I hate the bloody things. The flowery words, the abstract philosophies. It’s all just meaningless. Or so I thought. A whole life spent listening to this woman, and I never took much of it seriously. To be sure there were some times when she offered sage counsel, but I found it unlikely that she was actually providing me with answers to anything really sentimental. Half the time she’s as vague as can be. I wrote off nearly all her musings for the better part of my life.”

“Yet here we are,” Killian said evenly and Liam nodded.

“Aye, here we are.”

Liam stood from his chair and walked towards the windows. Killian watched as his brother’s arms crossed over his chest, his gaze turned out to the world, looking but not really seeing. He was lost in his own thoughts, struggling to give voice to them, and so Killian was patient. There was no use dragging Liam to conversation. His brother was guarded and grappling for control. Only when he was ready, would the truth come out. A few minutes later, after a prolonged bit of silence, they finally did.

“I’ve long put off the inevitable, brother. Royal expectation demands that I choose a bride, but for years I’ve hesitated, unwilling to commit to any kind of match. The press has questioned my delay for ages, but that talk is mostly harmless. Still, I have always known that would change. A day would come when talk became more, and I needed to settle, to choose duty over heart.”

“You’ve said as much before, brother, but nothing in the law says that you have to forsake your heart for the sake of the country. A love match is allowed. You know this.”

“Aye, I do, but I never entertained the premise, not really. After our parents’ fiasco of a marriage, I ruled it out entirely. My best hope was for what had existed before, something arranged where, if I was lucky, love may bloom. Look at Gran and Grandad. It was love, absolutely, but it was also a merger. There was very little choice involved at all, just logic and good reasoning. At least in those situations you know what you’re getting into. There’s a safety in settling for that which is known. But fuck if I want that anymore. Truth be told the thought makes me sick, and I barely spoke to her.”

“To Elsa, you mean?” Killian prodded and Liam’s eyes brightened as he nodded.

“How can she move me like this already? One day in her presence and I hardly know myself. One day and I know that everything I thought would happen will never come to pass. I’ll never be the man that settles, not when I know she’s out there. I can’t describe it except to say that I have to know her, have to pursue this, have to hope she’ll give me a chance. I’ve never felt this out of my depths. I saw her and the rest of the world just ceased to matter. I wasn’t the King, or a ruler, or a politician. I had no duty and no course. I was just a man, and she was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, plain and simple. I know it’s mad, but damn if it’s not true.”

“If it’s mad, you’re in good company. That’s exactly how I felt the first time I saw Emma.”

“That’s reassuring, and yet… it’s the strangest thing, I swear I looked at Elsa and I was halfway in a memory. I was a boy again, but the details were hazy. It just felt familiar, like we’ve met before. My heart had skipped that particular beat. My gut had felt that strongly. Now though I’m lost. I’ve been trying to figure out if it’s more than what it is. Maybe I missed something, but how could anyone ever miss her?”

“Ah that explains these books,” Killian said gesturing to everything here. “But let me guess, no sign of her in these.”

“None. But the feeling still lingers. It’s like I dreamed her up. The recognition is strong, but just barely out of grasp. God, listen to me. I’ve become an absolute melt.”

Killian couldn’t help but laugh at the slang of their youth. Their boarding schools had been filled with Brits and other Europeans, and to be a melt was to be a sop, a sap, someone who had given in to their most romantic feelings.

“Maybe, but if that’s true, God knows I’m happy for it.”

“You are?”

“Of course I am. I’ve always wanted more for you, Liam. You shouldn’t aim for mere contentment, or to just be comforted by honor and duty. The goal is to be genuinely, honestly happy, and this morning, despite the anxiety of newness, I see the start of something in you. Something good.”

“I fear I’ve been too hard on you, Killian,” Liam said, his voice softer and his tone sincere. “Not lately I mean, and hopefully you’ve noticed the shift over the past few weeks, but in the beginning, I didn’t see how you could feel so much. I asked a lot of you, with the parade and royal obligations, and I didn’t realize what the risk was. Slowly I’ve grown to understand that the changes in you I have seen can only be attributed to love. You are happy and it is clear for the world to see. I’ve respected that, but now to know it’s more than hypothetical, I just think it bears repeating. To lose this feeling…” Liam brushed his hand against his heart absentmindedly, as if his chest ached from some physical pain. “Anyway, I hate that I forced that choice upon you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s forgiven, brother. Well, it will be, if you grant me one wish.”

“Anything.”

“I’d like your blessing, and not a royal one, not a King’s well wishes. Just you, as my brother, backing me when I ask Emma to be my wife.”

The look of surprise on Liam’s face quickly morphed into a grin. There was his brother of old, the one who had existed before royal training. He was truly happy and a bit mischievous as well. The two of them had long been told they shared that smile, but coming from Liam, it felt like a most precious gift.

“You plan to ask her already?”

“Already?” Killian laughed. “It feels like I’ve been waiting forever. But I suppose you’re right. It is fast.”

“Fast seems to run in this family,” Liam said thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t have said that before yesterday, but as it stands, I understand. You have my backing, Killian. Emma is right for you, and if she’ll have you, we’d be lucky to have her.”

Liam came around the table, hugging Killian and showing him the depth of his joy. It was genuine, this support from his brother, and it made a world of difference. No matter what, Killian would ask Emma to be his wife, but knowing that his family felt as good about this as he did settled something in him. Now all he had to do was find the perfect moment. It was hard to be patient, especially when they’d admitted how they felt, and when he knew his feelings for Emma would only ever grow, but he’d find away. More than anything he wanted Emma to have a perfect moment, one they could build their future on forever more.

“And what of you and Elsa? Where do you go from here?”

“The only way I can go,” Liam said, resuming his assured control even though he was at the precipice of something totally foreign to him. “Towards her.”

“Good man. Trust in that feeling. It’s yet to steer me wrong.”

The two of them would have no doubt shared more, but at that moment, the voices of the morning staff could be heard down the hall. Their privacy had expired, the day had dawned, and reality beckoned, yet Killian knew even without proof, that things would work out. For now, there was a tremendous amount of hope for both him and Liam, hope that had been missing for many many years. Things may still be a bit uncertain, hearts needed to be won and vows needed to be made, but in his soul, Killian knew it would all work out. For Gran was usually right in the end, and he and Liam would both certainly surrender to love. Killian, for his part, already had, and honestly, it was the best damn thing he’d ever done. Soon, though, he would need to do more, to take the steps he so badly wanted with Emma, and to build a life with her and Henry worthy of them both. It was a mission he felt down to his bones, and one he simply would not fail. He’d find a way to their happily ever after, whatever it may look like, and the excitement of that would keep him going as long as it took.

Post-Note: So there we have it – a new chapter of this story, and the setup for the next chapter which will have more of the Elsa/Anna backstory for you all. From there we get to move towards my typical happily ever after recipe, a proposal, a wedding, and the joyful thereafter. I think there’s going to be about 4 more installments left total (though one of those will be an epilogue and it may be quite a while before I am ready to publish that). But I promise to do my best to update more frequently than I have been. I have had so many of you sending love and wishes for faster updates, and those requests have not fallen on deaf ears. In fact, every comment and message makes writing that much easier, and I am so grateful for the overwhelming support. I promise I am doing my best to get you all this story, and just hope it’ll live up to everyone’s excited expectations. Either way, I thank you all so much for reading, and I wish you all well and healthy in this time. Sending you all the best!

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