#place down all of your thoughts and deconstruct them through a story | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

meabh-mcinness · 1 year

Text

In Sickness

Humans do not have 'Evil Cycles' it's true. However, they can bend under stress in other ways. Some lose their minds and others present more physical symptoms. With all the stress of parenting, working as a teacher, and doing your best to make sure no one figures out either your or Iruma's rather human status, it's no wonder you fall victim to a stress fever. Luckily for you, the resident gargoyle demon is more than happy to help nurse you back to health once he discovers your ill state.

This was originally created/inspired for @snippychicke because I love their Balam x reader story "For Sake of a Smile". While not finished yet it's incredibly well written and I would highly recommend it, also for Sleepylilacfox who writes "New Start: The Beginning of a Beautiful Life" on AO3 and wattpad which is a well-written FemIruma x Everyone story I highly recommend!

No TriggerWarnings! I think.

You quietly groaned at the massive headache that had made itself known to you the moment you had woken from your alarm. Head pounding, all you could do was curl into yourself just that much tighter. Pulling your blankets up further to block the almost nonexistent light from daybreak, you did your best to give the impression that you did not exist. If you did it well enough, perhaps you wouldn't, and then all your pain, physical or mental, would be gone as well.

Of course, you knew you couldn't. There were people who depended on you, Iruma depended on you. Never mind the entire school body of both students and teachers who needed you to do your job. And yet you just couldn't make yourself move, your brain just felt so slow and your body so heavy. Perhaps one day off wouldn't be so bad.

Right?

No, you needed to get up. There was paperwork to be done, you were supposed to supervise that new library project for Professor Farbas, and Professor Stolas was expecting your help with the greenhouse as they deconstructed the Harvest Festival. Slowly you started to undo your burrito wrap, mind racing with both nothing and everything you needed to do; like your classes needed teaching (who would have thought you'd be such a natural at your field) and you needed to –

"Fall back asleep, my lady." An even voice broke through the fog, and a cool hand placed itself gently onto your forehead, startling you. Red and yellow eyes stared unwaveringly into your hazy ones, slowly getting further away as you were gently pressed back down. When did they get here? There couldn't have been that much time spent after your alarm, and you hadn't even heard your door open, much less seen them come in.

"But Opera, I need to-" You started to get out and tried to push back up but were quickly silenced when they easily overpowered you despite still feeling like they were only barely touching you. Seriously, were you just that weak, or was the Cat demon just the embodiment of excessive strength?

"While I am not often in the business of disobeying my masters," that was a straight-up lie, they disobeyed Sullivan all the time, "it is my belief that what you need is a couple of days rest. You have been overworking yourself, the same as Master Iruma does. Had you been a demon, you would have already entered an Evil cycle, even now I worry you still will." Opera stated while fixing your blankets to lay over you properly again.

"Humans don' evil cycle," you tried to protest, slurring the sentence out. They only had mental breakdowns, and you did far more things at once in a shorter amount of time in the human world than here while staying completely sane. Honestly, you felt as if you had barely any work here and were taking advantage of Sullivan's kindness. For the most part you just spent your days reading, keeping an eye on the school library, and teaching classes. And when you weren't working you were hanging out with your family or the other teachers. You did occasionally (often) help others out as well, but not enough that you felt you had taken on to much.

"Royal one." They rebutted easily, cutting through your thoughts, causing you to flinch.

Iruma's overnight personality change had thrown you all for a loop. Though you had come out of your shock far quicker than anyone else seemed to; you were certain Sullivan was still traumatized. After all, Iruma was a teenager and more than deserved a rebellion or two after the life he had!

You also may or may not have let slip to the janitors that you were worried Iruma wouldn't know Kalego meant all the faculty employed at the school and not just the teachers. Your own personal rebellion against Kalego when he tried to bully you into not helping the misfit class, but that was another story, and therefore another thought that needed burying at the moment.

After all, you had a feline to bargain with right now. Or make that felines, when you barely made out the faint pitter-patters of small feet coming into your room. The resident hellcats making their way in to back up their leader.

Before you could even open your mouth and try, though, Opera successfully managed to wrap you up in a sheet under the comforter so that you couldn't even try to get up. And on top of that, the two resident hellcats have decided to jump up and lay on top of you. You blinked in confusion, you hadn't been that deep in thought, had you? Still, you were determined to try, even if the blankets were so warm and heavy with the hellcats' weight, and you could just make out a light circling pressure on the edges of both sides of your temporal.

You tried to struggle but you barely even wiggled and succeeded only in making one of the hellcats readjust itself with a yawn and close its eyes again. You were close to joining it, but still, you tried to hang on.

"O-per-a," you slurred out slowly before your traitorous body gave in to the persistent demon. Your eyes closed and you knew no more.

**********

You were quite rudely awoken by a quiet knocking sound later.

At first, you weren't even sure you had heard knocking or if it was the hellcats moving on. Still feeling the warmth but lacking a good amount of pressure made you decide it was simply them leaving and curled back up under the blanket. Until the sound returned, rousing you slightly more.

Groggily, you poked your head out of your blanket-made cocoon. You fully expected to have to shield away from the daylight, only to find the room pleasantly dark, curtains drawn shut.

You vaguely remembered Opera coming in and putting you back to sleep; one turn of the head confirmed that it wasn't a dream. A small tray with a kettle, two different-sized glasses, and what appeared to be a note sat on the bedside table. You would bet your life that the kettle and smaller cup were filled with steaming hot

Hell-gray tea (Opera's specialty, for they never seemed to make anything else, though to be fair you wouldn't know what to ask for), and the taller of the two glasses with cold water. They must have closed the curtains as well on their way out. You would have to thank them later for their thoughtfulness, though you still felt this was all quite unnecessary.

You were drawn out of your thoughts once again by a third knocking. Still faint and barely there, though more easily heard now that you were more awake. You were tempted to drink some tea and bury your head, never to be seen again, but the knocker seemed quite persistent. Steadily getting louder and faster with each repetition. So, with a tired sigh and great effort, you heaved yourself out of your comfy bed, only to flinch at the cold floorboards.

'Whoever was at the door better have a good reason for being here,' you thought as you made your way out of your room towards the front door with heavy steps. It surprised you, how slow you were moving. It was as if every muscle in your body had been replaced with lead and were still expected to move.

'Was the front door always this far away?' Perhaps it was a good idea you stayed home. If you were this slow and a student got into some kind of trouble, you would never be fast enough to help them in this condition. And after all, Opera hadn't said you couldn't do paperwork from home.

But first to deal with this intruder.

You swore, as you opened the massive front doors, that if this was some delivery Sullivan ordered for the nth time since you and Iruma came, you were going to tear him-

"Balam-sensei!" you choked out, surprised at the massive demon standing on the other side. This was most definitely not who you were expecting as your bleary eyes did their best to make out his pale skin and white hair from the blinding noon sun. If it wasn't for his recognizable dark clothes and eyes, your blurred vision might not have noticed him at all.

Squinting, you tried to look him in the eyes as best as you could, but the shine of his metal mask reflecting the already bright sun made it hard to look even close to his face, much less that high up it. You ended up settling on staring at his fur collar, watching it sway in the slight breeze. Just high enough to see his face in your preferential vision but low enough for his own body to block a majority of the rays.

To be honest, you did expect a delivery demon or even Kalego to drag you to work as one of the few people the misfit class voluntarily listened to. Not the resident biologist, whose happiness for the two humans' existence in the Netherworld could probably rival Sullivan's. Considering his rather high paranoia of discovery where you and Iruma were concerned, though, maybe this shouldn't have been such a shock.

And, oh, his eyes were crinkling with furrowed brows. At least you thought they were, it was hard to see the white eyebrows against his skin on your best days. Oh no, had he been talking this whole time?

"I'm sorry, what were you saying?" you croaked out, wincing at the way your voice cracked. You had to focus! What if he was here to report a serious issue, and you were just standing there zoning out?

"Ah, I was just saying hello and how I noticed you weren't here today. Opera told the staff you were on the verge of an evil cycle," he started to fidget here, one hand raising to rub at his no longer shaved neck. You blinked, was it just you, or was his hair several inches longer than when you last saw him a few days ago?

"But when Iruma stopped by during lunch, he mentioned that humans just didn't have those." He eyed you questionably as if asking if his information was correct as he continued. You nodded in confirmation; it was true after all.

"We don't," you added verbally to his unasked question, "even if Opera is entirely convinced otherwise." You tilted your head to the side in confusion. You may have been a bit slow today, but "that doesn't explain why you're here, though?" The words slipped out before you could stop them. Never mind, you were slow today.

A matching set of flushed skin appeared on both of your faces, though for different reasons. Yours was for embarrassment for not being able to keep control of your own mouth, his for being called out. It was true, when you later thought about it, he could have simply phoned or even just asked Opera or Sullivan privately. The hand rubbing his neck pulled away before awkwardly pushing his two index fingers together, eyes staring down at them as they pushed against each other repeatedly.

"I... may have gotten a bit anxious that it was something more serious and decidedly human, so others couldn't know. With my classes done for the day, I rushed over after Iruma left, to make sure you were okay."

You felt your heart clench a bit at his words. Seriously, how did this being exist? He was the literal embodiment of a giant teddy bear, and quite honestly, you wanted to give in and squeeze him in a hug. Thankfully, though, your brain hadn't left you behind that much, not yet at least. The longer you stood here though the more certain you were that it would.

"Thank you for rushing over to see me, but I can assure you I'm fine. I'm sorry for worrying you. The only reason I skipped today is that Opera trapped me in bed and lulled me back to sleep." You spoke nonchalantly, despite being slightly irritated at the whole thing. You were determined to get on Opera about this. Even if they were slowly being proven right, it didn't mean you were happy to admit it.

Some clouds flew overhead blocking the sun, leaving you in the blissful shade, almost as if the Netherworld itself could feel your frustration at the feline demon. Sighing in relief for your poor eyes you looked up at Balam properly and froze. Or, perhaps, the clouds had been a warning.

His entire body was tensed up and his eyes were zeroed in on you with such focus you honestly felt a bit like prey, much like the first time you encountered him. It took everything in you to not slam the door and hide in the deepest darkest corner you could find until safety arrived, or the threat left. You mentally shook yourself; this was Balam, he would never hurt you. Even if he could be intense at times, he never meant harm from it, often seeking the opposite result even.

"Ba-"

"You lied." He stated bluntly. Huh?

"I-Wha?" You were so startled by what he said you couldn't even form a sentence. Lied? When? Everything you stated was the truth as far as you knew. Opera had essentially trapped you; they had made it quite clear that you would not be leaving that bed even if they had to tie you down. While they hadn't physically said it, you could just tell that they would.

"You lied," Balam repeated, "Just now."

You shoved yourself off the door-frame you were leaning on (when had you leaned on it in the first place?) and stared indignantly at him. "What part of what I just said was a lie? I would expect you of all demons to understand Opera's strength especially compared to a normal demon much less-"

"Not that part." Balam interrupted, short-circuiting your brain. Not that part? But what other part was there? "When you said you were fine, you were lying," He took a step closer to you, hands reaching out to grasp your shoulders so lightly that if you didn't see them, you wouldn't have known they were there. "Where are you hurt? Was Opera too rough? Do you need medical attention?"

"I'm not injured though?" You blinked incredulously at him. You were certain you were not lying about that. Sure, you may still have a crazy strong headache and you felt dizzy just standing here, and your muscles did still feel like lead. Or maybe concrete the longer you stood here, or was it the other way around? It had been so long since your physic class days and your head was getting fuzzier by the minute. Regardless you were fine. You've experienced far worse things and still worked; this was nothing new.

His head tilted slightly and moved closer to your own. So close, in fact, that you could see that what you once thought were tiny irises were actually pupils, surrounded by incredibly light grey rings that made up his actual irises. To be honest you thought it was very pretty and slightly memorizing, especially in your current non-focusable state. So memorizing in fact that even though you watched them move back and forth across your face as if searching for something, you barely processed it.

"That's good, I believe you" You let out a sigh of relief at that, "however."

However?

Eh?

"Ehhh!? Balam-sensei!" you couldn't help but shout in surprise at suddenly being lifted into his arms. Your legs were thrown over one of his arms and his other arm supported your back easily, even lightly pressing you to lean against his chest. You gripped his tank top right under the fur collar tightly and closed your eyes in both shock and to protect yourself against sudden vertigo that plagued you from the unexpected fast movement. A furious blush spread across your face as you tried to comprehend what exactly was happening.

"Sorry, but you're swaying as if you're about to fall over. Even if you're not physically injured, you're clearly not fine." He apologized while walking into the mansion and shutting the door behind him with one of his feet. "Not to mention your eyes are glazed over and your face has been getting paler and paler since we've started talking. Where's your bedroom? I can't believe Opera left you alone in this state, I can feel the heat radiating from you more than normal and it's upstairs, is it?" Balam continued without stopping for breath even once, barely even acknowledging when you weakly pointed towards the large staircase in the center of the room, still dazed and flustered from your sudden position in his arms. If he was worried about you being pale, that problem had been fixed with the searing hot blush that covered your entire face to your ears and refused to leave.

Ah, you suddenly realized. This must be one of those famous Balam scoldings Iruma warned you about. You buried your face in his chest, silky fur collar tickling the top of your head like the feathers you saw in those ear-cleaning videos back in the human world. Briefly, you wondered if they had the same practices here. (Later you would find out that they did in fact do them and that Opera was trained in it. You obviously did not put this knowledge to use later on. Not at all.)

Pressed against Balam like this you could feel, more than hear him lecture. A low rumble in his body worked in tandem with the strong beat of his heart and gentle steps. Despite his grumblings, he was extremely delicate with you, with barely enough pressure from his arms to keep you in place and slow methodical movements as he made his way upstairs without jostling you. You could feel yourself starting to relax and zone out again as he continued to berate both you and the absent Opera. Who knew being chastised could be so relaxing?

He found your room rather easily, despite your lack of help after your initial point. While it wasn't the only, nor the first, room open on the second floor, it was the only one with both a strong smell of fresh tea and something undeniably you. Entering it almost cautiously, Balam gave it a cursory once over, unable to deny this small piece of instinct in unfamiliar territory while holding precious cargo. Deeming it safe he quickly laid you back in your bed and moved to pull your blankets back over you, fussing to get them just right. Once he deemed it good enough, he kneeled by your side and brushed some loose hair from your face, before settling his hand on your forehead.

Despite the mask covering half his face, you could tell there was a huge frown marring it. You wanted desperately to wipe it away. He had become too precious to you to have anything other than a smile.

"You're so warm," he mumbled, seeming to have stopped his tirade for now. That was nothing new. As a human, you had discovered that both your and Iruma's bodies ran hotter than the average demon's. To the point that you had even been mistaken as a fire-based demon by multiple others, which you had found quite funny considering your affinity for water and ice runes. You even laughingly reminded him of such before dissolving into a fit of coughs, body curling in on its side.

Oh. Oh no. No, you refused to believe it. You weren't sick, you simply must have choked on some air when laughing.

.....

That sounded weak even to your addled brain. Especially since the longer you laid here the more you could feel just how off you were. Seriously how did you not notice? Was the Netherworld so much better that you had forgotten what it felt like to be sick? The resounding yes in your mind was very loud and you chose to ignore it.

Well, you counseled yourself, at least you could tell Opera that they were wrong about the possible evil cycle. It was simply your body betraying you to whatever was infecting it. And oh, you were not looking forward to the simply insane fest that was going to occur when Sullivan found out you were sick. You mournfully resigned yourself to his hysterics already.

When the last cough rattled out of your chest you breathed harshly while unfurling your body again. Bleary eyes focused on the sudden appearance of a glass in front of your face as you recognized a sensation fluttering in circles on your back. You gave the panicked-looking gargoyle in front of you a grateful smile as you carefully leaned up, grasped the drink, and took a sip.

Cold water traveled pleasantly down your throat, spreading its soothingly frosty touch throughout your chest. Once you had your fill you handed back the glass and flumped fully down again. The pressure on your back never lets up once and you take a minute to fully savor the feeling. How long had it been since you enjoyed the touch of another like this?

The longer you laid here, focusing on feeling the ministrations on your back and just trying to breathe, the hazier you could feel your mind becoming again. Almost as if a fog was just rolling through your mind, blowing away any conscious thoughts and leaving only a mess behind. While you heavily disliked not being all there, never truly feeling safe enough to zone out, you much preferred it to the pain of the migraine you had woken up with.

Sullivan's desire for you to have the best of the best meant the fluffy bed you were laying on took away the weighted feeling of your lead filled limbs. Combined with your increasingly hazy mind meant you felt something similar as to floating in space kept grounded only by the feeling of the gargoyle's hand and the itchiness slowly growing in your throat.

You could feel sleep trying to claim you again and you were honestly more than willing to answer its call. Now that you acknowledged you were sick it was easy to want to stay in bed and just sleep through it all. You were well acquainted with what would happen next and had no desire to actually be awake for it. As much as a tiny voice in the back of your head yelled that you should push through it, it was just as it easy to squish it when your brain went all fuzzy.

Until it abruptly stopped as Shichirou pulled away and said something. You didn't even bother trying to understand him and simply whined at the loss of contact, reaching out blindly towards where you thought he was. Briefly you wondered when you closed your eyes but just as quickly threw the thought out. It wasn't needed. What was needed you had decided, making grabby motions at him, was for the contact to continue.

One eye squinting open you found, quite frustratingly, he wasn't even looking at you. Instead he was moving things about on the tray as a sudden vine reached across the wall from your bedroom holding a small container. You watched him screw up the container and shake a small amount into the tea cup. Swirling the cup to mix the powdery mess with the tea Opera had left behind, he eyed it critically before nodding to himself and turning back to you.

Finally you had his attention, making another whining sound and reaching out for him again you ignored the cup and grabbed the outer part of his hand instead. A low chuckling sound hit your ears as his other arm wrapped under your side and gently hauled you up. With the cup now close to your face you couldn't help but wrinkle your nose at the off putting scent rising from it.

"Just drink this darling and I promise you can go back to sleep." You threw him your best (most pitiful) dubious glare before relenting and opening your lips just a bit. The slightly thick liquid that poured into your mouth reminded you of pepto bismal, if pepto tasted like oranges that was. When the cup was drained, he carefully laid you back down again, smoothing your hair out of your face.

"As promised I'll leave you be to sleep," he pushed b back one last stand and started to rise to leave. Leave? Well that certainly wouldn't do. You hand lashed out faster than it had any right to and gripped his again. Eyes widened in surprise as he looked at your combined hands before locking with yours with a question already on his lips.

"Stay?" You asked, a pout already forming on your lips at his possible refusal. "Please? Just till I fall asleep at least." His face softened immediately and nodded his consent.

Tugging his hand closer to you, so that his knuckles were tucked directly under your chin and the length of his arm ran down your body. Legs pulling up so his elbow was just barely locked in between your knees. You never fully realized how tiny you were in comparison before. The length of his forearm alone was the same as your torso's. Logically, in a different situation such a size difference would frighten you. But here and now, curled around something that could easily harm you brought only the feeling of safety.

It was rather easy to drift off to sleep in that position as his other hand came up and started petting your head, rubbing away any potential headaches before they could even start. When you were better again you might regret this (highly unlikely, you were going to treasure this feeling forever) but for now you would fully relax and just drift off.

**********

A shuffling followed by a quiet chuckling-like noise drew you out of your sleep. Groaning you opened your eyes to try to find the source of the disturbance in your sleep yet again. You were facing the wall with your vanity against it and able to, rather blearily, see your room door through it.

Through the mirror, you could see a pair of bright red ear-like horns poking through a crack in your vine-covered door along with a blue scythe-like antenna just underneath it. Opera and Iruma your mind supplied and judging by the pale clawed hand far higher up the door, Sullivan was there too. But that wasn't what caught your mind addled attention.

Just behind you was an incredibly large moving lump sharing your blankets. It was only then that you realized that you were not only laying on something long and hard but that something of the same shape and size was carelessly tossed over your middle as well. Arms. You were being held by someone. That woke you up quite a bit. As your mind frantically raced to remember what happened before you fell back asleep again you felt said arms tighten around you fractionally as a muffled groan came from behind you. A groan that you were quite familiar with, even in its sleepy form.

Balam Shichirou.

Was in your bed.

You were almost positive your head was going to explode from how hard you were blushing. Your hands drew up and covered your face as you fought the squeal demanding to escape your throat. As your memories came back, you vaguely recalled grabbing him and asking him to stay, but you didn't think he would join you in bed too!

As if sensing your plight in his sleep, his large arms drew you further into his embrace, nose nuzzling into your hair in an attempt to soothe you. You didn't want to admit how much it made your body relax to feel it but as the tension left, you could feel sleep calling you again. Resolving not to deal with this when you were still in the throes of whatever sickness had claimed you, you resolutely turned away from the mirror and into the safety of the wall of flesh and feathers behind you.

"愛してる Shichirou...." You whispered as you fell back asleep, nuzzling back up against his warm chest as his arms unconsciously wrapped around you even tighter.

*At a later date *

"Thanks for the book, Balam-sensei!" Iruma said, antenna wagging happily as he held the new book to his chest. Unlike the heavy textbooks the human boy usually got with his classes, he quite enjoyed the picture books he got from the gargoyle teacher.

Said teacher leaned forward and patted Iruma's head, ruffling the blue hair about as he smiled at him.

"It's my pleasure, really. I'm just glad that you enjoy them and that they're so helpful to you." Balam said as he drew his arm back. "How are your studies coming along by the way?"

Iruma's eyes sparkled in pride, "I've gotten far better! I'm getting an average of seventies thanks to everyone's help! You, Kalego-sensei, Mom, Azz-kun, Clara, and everyone else. You've all helped me come so far, and I can't wait to go further!" Iruma clenched one of his fists in determination.

Shichirou looked at the small human boy and felt something akin to parental pride. To a demon ambition was everything, and to see this child who had such a big disadvantage in the Netherworld giving his absolute all to see his goals through, and manage it. It was amazing and reminded him all the time why he found living things so beautiful.

Among other beings. Which reminded him...

"Hey Iruma-kun," Shichirou started, as he unconsciously drew the boy into his lap to pet him some more, "I have another human question if you don't mind?"

Iruma tilted his head in confusion, giving a rather devipup image in his mind, before nodding his head in consent.

"What does 愛してる mean in the human language?"

"....Eh? EHH!?!"

___________

*Fun fact; 愛してる (or ai shiteru in romaji) translates roughly to I love you and is only used when the person is absolutely certain in their romantic feelings for their partner. The meaning is so strong that it's actually very rarely used in real life, even between married partners!

Or at least that's what my studies say ^u^'/ If you're native Japanese please correct me if I'm wrong!

This turned out way longer than I expected it to, which is part of the reason it so long to get out(it was supposed to be out in Nov ಥ ͜ʖಥ). The other is that I actually fell into a stress cold, because of course I did, while in the middle of writing e.e and then life struck. But hey, it's out now!

Also I may or may not make Kalego and Opera versions of this

#mairimashita manga #mairuma #mairimashita! iruma kun #mairimashita iruma kun #opera mairuma #welcome to demon school! iruma kun #welcome to demon school iruma kun #welcome to demon school #balam shichiro #balam sicirue #balam sensei #balam shichirou #balam #balam shichiro x reader #balam shichiro/reader #balam sicirue x reader #balam x reader

235 notes · View notes

drunkewok · 6 months

Text

Tiger Inside

Chapter Twenty-Two

Stray Kids Mafia (ongoing)

Masterlist

Likes, reblogs and feedback always greatly appreciated

WC: 3.9k

Pairing: Lee Know x reader

Genre: Series, Enemies to lovers, non-idol AU, Mafia AU

Synopsis: After years spent away from the family, two strangers start frequenting your place of work, only to bring daunting news. Flung back into the world of the mafia, you try to adapt to your new normal and work alongside a team of eight skilled members to uncover a mystery and take down an unknown enemy.

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, drinking, swearing, violence, weapons

Disclaimer: Any portrayal of Stray Kids or any other idols in this story is purely fiction and do not at all reflect their own personalities or how I view them as a person, it is purely for the sake of the story.

Please do not copy or repost my work

I sat up slowly, blinking the sleep from my eyes as my arms stretched back with a yawn, only to leave me wincing once I was quickly reminded of the wound in my shoulder with a sharp pain. I pulled my arms forward, hugging my left to my body as my hand wrapped around the shoulder, falling back into the plush mattress with a thud.

It felt comforting to have a night's sleep in my old bed, the nest of pillows and blankets wrapping me in a familiar scent as I let myself curl into a cocoon. My eyes wandered to the wide window, the same city view with the sun shining over it that I had become so accustomed to over the years.

Oh how I missed this.

I let my feet dangle over the side of the mattress, letting out another yawn as I slipped my toes into my slippers, and grabbed my phone from the nightstand to check the time.

8:27am

Forcing myself out of bed, a subtle sound coming from the kitchen piqued my interest.

My slippers left a soft drag across the floor as I shuffled down the hall, the quietest melodic song coming from the kitchen blending into the sound of sizzling. Half awake, I went onto autopilot prepping the coffee maker, before sliding behind Minho to grab a mug from the cabinet.

“You’re up bright and early.” I mumbled as I finally looked at him, planted in front of a hot burner as breakfast cooked away. I had interrupted his humming, and I silently scolded myself for causing him to stop. Minho turned to me, my fuzzy sleep filled eyes finally starting to observe his casual appearance.

A simple gray pair of sweats accompanied by a dark shirt, baseball cap sat atop his head backwards and…glasses? That’s new.

“Hm? Oh, yeah.” He looked back down to his hands, spatula making circles in the pan. Peaceful humming now completely halted at my presence. Only now did I realize that even though I’ve been living under the same roof as him for quite some time now, I had still yet to witness him in the morning. He was always up too early and already put together, going about his day as I was finally waking up.

With a few blinks to center myself, I held a mug out in a silent question, realizing I was also unaware if he was even a coffee person in the morning.

“Yes please.”

I miss his humming. I want it back.

I leaned against the counter as the coffee pot gurgled through its cycle, but my focus was too distracted by the man cooking in front of me in silence. He seemed graceful with the tools, another side I haven’t gotten to witness.

The ding is what brings me back, a chime from the coffee maker interrupting Minho’s quiet music and snapping me out of my daze. I shake myself out of it as I pour into the two mugs, sliding one in front of Minho as I quickly make my way out of the kitchen and away from whatever thoughts were just sneaking their way into my mind.

Mug in hand, I pull the curtains to the side, allowing the living room to bathe in the morning sunlight. I noticed Minho had fully deconstructed his makeshift bed on the couch, neatly folded the blankets and sheets and had them set to the side, pillow carefully placed on top of the stack.

I slid the door to the balcony open, stepping out into the fresh air and taking a seat at the small table placed outside. Closing my eyes, I leaned my head back and let the sun hit my face, hoping the crisp air paired with the warm light might bring me back to my senses.

A shuffling around me a moment later causes me to open my eyes, Minho sliding the door shut behind him after setting a plate down beside me. He sat across from me, wasting no time in taking the first bite off his own plate, motioning to mine with his fork as an invitation to eat.

“I uh-thank you.”

“I wasn’t going to just make food for myself, I’m not that heartless.” He sat back in his seat, gazing out to the view and sitting in silence for a moment before speaking out into the city air. “You used to come out here often?” With a smile and a hum, I nodded.

“Almost every morning. I’d make my coffee and drink it out here.”

“No breakfast?” His brow arched, watching me as he took another bite.

“Not usually, no.” Minho grunted in disapproval with a scowl, pushing my plate closer to me and motioning to it with his fork again, the aggression with his demand to eat growing.

“Okay, okay. I get it.” I chuckled softly as I took my first bite. His cooking was delicious, but I could never give him the satisfaction of telling him that. That is until I looked up to meet his focused gaze, waiting on my culinary review of the meal. With a soft nod of the head I tried to downplay my enjoyment. "It's good, thank you."

With a nod of approval he turned back to eating his food, before finally finishing up and settling back into his seat, crossing on leg over the other and peering out to the view

"So what time is he supposed to be coming over?"

"He said he'll be over after work, so not until late tonight."

"How are you going to tell him?" I glanced over to Minho, the realization that I hadn’t quite thought this far ahead finally hitting me and leaving me blinking in a lag.

"I… I don't really know in all honesty." I squirmed in my seat a bit, settling my hands into my lap and fidgeting with my nails. "I figured it'd just come to me naturally once he's here."

"If you say so." He sipped on his drink with a sigh as we both fell into silence, observing the city life go by.

"Do you think I have time to take a quick shower before he gets here?" Minho's voice distracted me from my nose dug deeply into a book, sipping away on my tea as he struggled to find something to watch. Finding things to occupy our time seemed more difficult than expected, watching the clock ticking as night grew closer and Seongho's impending arrival inching its way toward us.

"Oh yeah, he probably won't be for at least another two hours. Towels are in the hall closet." I didn't look up from the book, instead nodding my head slightly towards the hall before he stood and disappeared down it.

Spoiler alert: I was wrong.

As I am now curled up on the couch, flipping through different options on the tv, the sound of a key in the lock startled me. I sat up slightly and watched as the knob started to turn, the door slowly opening just after.

Seongho slipped into the apartment, a case of beers in one hand and a bag of soju in the other, quickly tossing it all onto the dining table before shrugging his jacket off onto a chair and standing with arms open wide.

"You better get your ass over here right now." I quickly hopped up from my spot with a smile, scurrying over to him and wrapping my arms around him in a tight hug.

Pulling back, I reached up and cupped his cheeks in my hands, turning his head from side to side and observing the new additions.

"You fucking bleached your hair!? And when did you get your ears pierced!?" Seongho chuckled, slipping his face out of my hands and retrieving the alcohol from the table before opening the fridge to set it all inside.

"You know, a lot of things happen when your best friend leaves you out of nowhere." His voice came muffled from behind the fridge door, clearly delaying himself by checking the contents for any late night snacks.

"Also, how did you get off so early? I wasn't expecting you for at least another two hours."

"Ah, I told them that I had a family emergency and had to leave."

"You little shit." I chuckled as I leaned against the archway into the kitchen, watching Seongho pull himself up onto the counter and crack open one of the beers.

I watched as his eyes slowly drifted down to my shoulder, and in that moment I had finally realized that with his surprise early arrival, I hadn't had time to throw on something that actually had sleeves.

"Siu, what the hell happened!?" He quickly pulled himself off the counter, rushing over to get a closer look. "I bleached my hair but you're over here getting wounded!? What have you been up to!?" My eyes glanced down to my shoulder, knowing it looked a bit worse than its actual condition. I looked back up to him, mouth parted as my brain racked itself for a response.

"I can definitely explain this, just not right this second."

"Okay you expect me to brush past this?" He leaned back onto the counter, motioning to my shoulder with his beer before taking another sip.

In my distraction I hadn't heard the shower shut off, momentarily forgetting that Minho was even in the apartment with us.

That is until he came down the hall, sweats once again sitting on his hips, tousling his hair within a towel and… Jesus christ he's not wearing a shirt.

"Hey y/n, do you have a hairdr-" his words are immediately cut off as he pulls the towel down from his head and catches eye contact with Seongho, who I think may have inhaled his beer by the way he promptly gave out a choked cough. Minho gave a nervous smile to Seongho as he spoke, "Ah um…hello."

"Siu I have so many questions for you right now." Seongho pulled himself from the counter as he turned to me in confusion, eyes then falling back on Minho.

I pressed my fingertips into my eyes as I tried to massage the tension out of them, hoping if I pressed hard enough I might have the ability to scrub clean and erase the image of shirtless Minho from my mind permanently.

"Fucking hell guess this is gonna happen a lot quicker than I thought." I mumbled, raising my head toward Seongho with hands planted on my hips and avoiding my gaze in Minho's direction at all costs.

"I um... I'm gonna go put on a shirt"

"YES MINHO PLEASE DO THAT!" My response was so immediate with eyes promptly squeezing shut that I had even surprised myself. Minho quickly shuffled into the living room to dig a shirt out from his duffle bag, pulling it over his head and returning into the kitchen. My stern stare in his direction started to falter as the tips of his hair left beaded droplets onto his cheeks, staring back at me like a deer in headlights.

"So… I don't know if I wanna know why he's here first, why he just called you y/n, or why the hell you're injured." Seongho and I slowly turned to each other in unison, both breaking our stares at Minho before I tightly shut my eyes with a deep breath.

"Seongho, we should probably go sit down in the living room for this." I turned and made my way back towards the couch, stopping for a brief moment and pointing a sharp finger in Minho's direction. "You too. You're not sneaking away from this." I fell back into the corner of the couch, pulling a pillow across my lap and hugging it tightly to me.

"Wait, so are you two-" Seongho slowly pointed between Minho and I as he took a seat beside me.

"FUCK NO!" Minho's snicker as he sat across from us earned another glare in his direction as I snapped back with a scolding "Ego! Furniture! Stop that!"

"Okay then what is going on here?" Seongho's eyes directed back to me with a brow raised in confusion. My head fell back against the couch, eyes tightly shut.

"God where do I even start" I whispered towards the ceiling, mind racing at how to spoon feed this to Seongho carefully.

"Okay. Tell me what happened to you then." Seongho leaned back, an arm stretching across the back of the couch as he turned to face me, gladly turning his back to Minho.

"But you see, I can't really do that until I explain the rest of this mess."

"Maybe tell him about your parents and where you went." Minho's flat response slipped between Seongho and I, my eyes attempting to stab daggers into him from over Seongho's shoulder.

"I'm really not a fan of being the only clueless one here." Seongho glanced back at him momentarily, before slowly turning back to me.

"I'm working on that Seongho." I ran my fingers through my hair with a sigh, finally meeting Seongho's gaze with pleading eyes. "Let's just start with him calling me y/n, because Siu isn't actually my name."

Seongho stared at me with squinted eyes and mouth parted in disbelief, quickly side eyeing Minho again for a moment before looking back at me.

"And… Well, let's just say my parents don't own a convenience store, and I haven't been with them this whole time."

"What is going on?" Seongho's voice has grown quiet and flat, and I've still yet to read him on how he's taking this.

I rubbed my face in my hands with mumbled curses, no thoughts in my brain running smoothly, a train running a crash course and bound to fly off the tracks.

"I just need to start from the beginning don't I." My words were muffled through my hands, quiet and barely audible.

"Oh my god Siu just spit it out, or y/n or whatever I'm supposed to call you."

"Seongho please, there isn't an easy explanation and there's a lot to this, just be patient with me." I pulled my knees up to my chest and settled my elbows on them, supporting my face in each of my hands as I stared at Seongho. "This isn't how I wanted to go about this but someone-" my eyes quickly darted to Minho with a glare. "-had to come out and expedite the process."

This is not going to plan in the slightest. Granted, there wasn't necessarily a plan to begin with, but whatever there was had just been turned, flipped upside down, and ignited in flames.

"Okay to start, my parents… aren't actually alive anymore." I watched at Seongho's face continued to contort into more confusion. "My father just recently passed away, and for safety purposes I had to move in with some… I guess you could call them colleagues."

"Wait, so has she been living with you?" His eyes darted back to Minho with a scowl. "Because from what I've witnessed with you I don't know how I feel about that."

"Seongho jesus christ, please this is serious."

"I'm being dead serious Siu. With how he's treated you I don't want you living under a roof with him."

"Just let her finish talking, okay?" Minho's head tilted as he returned a glare in Seongho's direction. "She has a lot to say."

"Minho, shut up." With pursed lips he stared me down as he crossed his ankle over his thigh, fingers tapping the armrest in irritation before motioning with his hand for me to continue. I took another sigh before turning back to Seongho. "I um… come from a… oh jesus christ why is this so hard?"

"She comes from a damn Mafia family. There. Made it easier for you." Minho sharply responded for me and Seongho stared between the two of us in silence before breaking out into laughter.

"Minho what the fuck"

"You really don't expect me to believe that, do you?" Seongho's laughter started to trail off as he noticed neither of us were laughing, instead meeting my solemn stare. "This is a joke… right?" I grimaced as I gave him a slight shake of the head, so much for spoon feeding.

"He's um… he's serious." I tried to swallow the painful lump in my throat before continuing. "I lost my mom at 17, and my dad sent me to Gangnam for my safety, and later on that's when we met." Seongho kept a soft chuckle, clearly one that had morphed into more nervous than entertained. "The night I left was the day after my father was killed. I needed to return home, I wasn't safe here anymore."

"So you've just been lying to me, for all these years?"

"I need you to understand Seongho, I couldn't tell you, as much as I wanted to."

"Oh don't bullshit me, you never thought to tell me you could've been in danger this entire time?" He scoffed as he looked away from me. "So is this why you look like this?" He turned back, hand flicking towards my shoulder. "Because of the damn MAFIA!?"

"Please know I was just trying to keep you safe. I blissfully thought I had escaped this, it's not like I actually want to be involved with all of this."

"So why now, huh?" Seongho's voice started to rise, his jaw beginning to tense. "Why all of a sudden have you woken up one morning and been like, oh, I think I'm going to finally tell Seongho after lying to him all this time! teehee!" His mocked laughter at the end felt like a jab to the chest as I tried to fight off the tears slowly starting to build on my lash line.

"Can you please just hear me out…"

"We need your help, com'on." Minho settled his face in his hand with a sigh, eyes closing in irritation.

"Minho can you please just stop talking." I tried to stare him down with firm eyes, pleading, anger, frustration all hitting me at once.

Seongho scoffed as he stood from the couch, standing on the other side of the coffee table, pacing as his irritation grew.

"Here I was scared shitless that you were gonna tell me you were dating this dick."

"HEY!" Minho's voice was loud and firm, Seongho ignoring him as his eyes never broke from mine.

"But no, you really know how to just flip everything up on its head, don't you? Did you expect me to sit here and go golly gee, this is so cool! Yes, let me get myself involved in this crap!" Minho quickly rose to meet Seongho, creating a wall between Seongho and I and standing firm.

"Listen here, I know you're angry right now but I think it's time you stop taking it out on her. You need to let her explain." His voice was almost a growl as he came face to face with him, the two of them now directly focused on each other.

"What? You her guard dog or something? She can fend for herself, she's stronger than you give her credit for. I've watched her do it for years." Seongho closed the distance between two of them, his large stature standing taller than Minho.

"Can you two please stop puffing your chests out at each other for two seconds my god!" I pulled Minho back, pleading eyes staring at Seongho before he turned around in silence, storming off to the dining room and grabbing his jacket from a chair.

"We're done here. Goodnight." I tried to chase after him as he slid his shoes on, my voice not carrying fast enough before the door was slamming behind him.

"Seongho…" I couldn't stop the welling of tears in my eyes any longer, tears starting to run down my cheeks as I stared at the shut door before me, body still frozen in shock.

"Well he definitely took that well." Minho scoffed behind me, my head snapping around to meet him through a tear filled glare.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? Huh?" I stepped back into the living room, eyes sharp on Minho as I stood in place. "You can't just say this shit bluntly, he's not one of us Minho!"

"Oh and sitting here bumbling over your words, because you didn't put a single thought into how to go about this, was going so well for you!? Exactly, he's not one of us!" Minho's finger jabbed between him and I. "He doesn't need to be a part of this!"

I bit my cheek as I let my angered tears flow, my vision of Minho going blurry before me.

"Fuck you." I spat, voice finally growing quieter and down from my screams. I started trying to throw on my jacket, but as my foot started to slip into my shoe, Minho gently grabbed onto my arm.

"You can't go after him right now, y/n."

"What? You think you can stop me?" His grip tightened ever so slightly, fearing that I may try to flee, his angered expression softening as a plea and his voice dropping.

"Just let him cool down, you can explain further later when he doesn't have steam blowing out of his ears. He won't be able to listen to anything you have to say right now."

I hated that he was right. About this, about everything. I wanted to rewind the clock and banish Minho from ever being in the room for this discussion.

"This isn't something you can tell someone lightly, let alone all in one night." His grip loosened again, but not releasing as we watched each other intensely. I pulled my arm from his hold, shaking my jacket off my shoulders and returning it to the hook, before turning back to face Minho with a final stern glare.

"I'm going to sleep." I pushed by him, leaving Minho standing alone in the entry way as I hid in my room. I felt like a child finishing an argument with their parents, slamming the door behind them and wanting to throw every item I owned across the room. The flurry of emotions bubbling through my veins was too much to process, instead letting myself drop to the floor with my back against my bed.

Seongho might not return, and if he chose not to I couldn't blame him. It was a secret held so deep within me for so long as if I was even trying to hide it from myself. It was too much.

This is all too much.

I hugged my legs to my chest, resting my forehead on my knees, searching for some type of comfort as I let myself fully cry in the confines of my own room.

I couldn't tell you how long I sat there in the darkness, letting time tick away within the walls of a room barely lit by a soft ambient light in the corner hardly brighter than a nightlight.

I let myself fall into slumber on the floor that night, far too exhausted to pull myself up into the comfort of my bed.

Next Chapter (Coming Soon)

47 notes · View notes

knowlesian · 2 years

Text

ofmd is an alternate history and fractured fairytale at once and i am going FERAL ABOUT IT.

the alternate history part is fairly self-explanatory; things did not go as planned/why and what if it weren’t like that are the guideposts they set in the first episode. ofmd takes place in a world of made up moths, a new name away from being just like the moths in our world, where crown royal bags are shovel covers, people wear crocs and funky little crop tops and pinocchio was available in print in 1717.

these aren’t mistakes or goofs: these are purposeful narrative choices. they’re not trying to be historically accurate, but rather to create their own alternate world where shit happened when and how the writers want it to.

the fractured fairytale bit needs a moment of explanation, just in case anyone isn’t familiar with the concept.

a fractured fairytale is essentially a deconstruction of a classic fairytale. they’re usually absurdist, they use a narrative structure or story/characters people are familiar with to tell a new story with a lot more nuance and a more modern worldview, and at their best they provide a thoughtful critique of whatever they’re attempting to deconstruct.

in a fractured fairytale, you might have an exterminator named, i don't know. sal, who has a thick brooklyn accent and is fucking sick of getting called out here to deal with this ant problem and not getting paid, lady. he doesn’t say nothing about the weird little graveyard out back or the rotating cast of kids in the oven, but he draws the line at convincing a bunch of singing ants to march their happy asses away from a cottage MADE OF SUGAR for the third time this month. cast a fuckin’ no-munch spell or pay up, & etc.

you get the picture. fractured fairytales, much like their source material, also usually operate on the Rule of Cool. things happen because it makes the story best, not because linear time or real world logic must be factored in. (unless factoring it in for a second would be coolest, like when you want to do some tender brow mopping while a wound heals: then it’s allowed.)

which brings me to the part i like best.

most alternate histories tend to ask ‘what if things were worse’. that’s not the entirety of the genre; some also ask ‘what if things were different’, but there’s not a whole lot of ‘what if things were better’.

especially not for marginalized groups.

i see a lot of utility and catharsis in narratives exploring pain, whether that’s just depicting real life or investigating how things might have gone worse. my issue isn’t with their existence so much as the wildly skewed ratio, and that for where i’m at right now in life i’m painfully aware life can get worse. i know that because over my lifetime, in many ways it has. not all the ways! but enough that political pessimism (never my chosen or instinctive mode) is currently unavoidable if i want to acknowledge reality and fight back instead of sticking my head in the sand.

all that means that i am very interested in art that says: i am not here for straight-up escapism so much as i am a celebration of defiant and sometimes angry hope for better in the face of genuinely shitty odds.

the thing about landing a dart on the proverbial dartboard o’ marginalization is that you move through life knowing the world is not for you. the ways in which that plays out change depending on how many darts any of us land and where we land them, but in some way we are always, always being reminded that we exist outside the mainstream and are allowed in on sufferance and promises of good behavior.

it’s why we can’t say ‘hey, get your fucking boot off my fucking neck, who the fuck raised you’ without getting scandalized pushback for a lack of civility. ‘please, person i know is good and kind and i am not in any way angry with, would you kindly take your foot away from the spot where you have placed it? i can happily wait another five to five hundred years, of course, but i would so like to not be down here’ is how you have to word these things, or you get called angry. or crazy, or stupid, or lying— the point is, people like us so rarely get to win, and we have to be so, so nice about the shittier realities of our lives if we want to be as effective as possible when trying to get people to listen up and knock it off.

ofmd doesn’t deny the more horrifying aspects of colonization and empire exist and hold sway in the world they built. they just refuse center them or make the trauma/tragedy the point, but instead use these glimpses into a harsher reality to craft absurd and emotionally real situations, alongside characters who get to not give a single fuck about how the world thinks they should be acting and are not punished by the narrative for being themselves.

(this does not mean bad things will not happen to beloved and/or authentic characters: it just assures them the eventual win, and means the narrative doesn’t end up enforcing a bleak set of rules that unconsciously assume to push back against the status quo is to be eventually ground down or broken in some fashion.)

this is why lucius could never have been actually dead: it breaks the show, on a fundamental level. and shows a lack of thoughtfulness and intentionality, neither of which really ever seems to be an issue for this team.

this is why nana is great with pronouns but judgey about a lack of murder, and why jackie and jim have a drink instead of fighting it out, or why stede isn’t angry about ed’s pirate face/off plan and ed comes back to knock boots just in time.

it’s about the Rule of Cool, yeah, but it’s about more than that. it’s about looking the realities of a shitty world and shitty behavior in the eye and saying, but why can’t we imagine better? we can so, so easily imagine worse. why is it so hard to think: what if people were kinder and more honest? what if you got to exist in a stacked system where you are the one it’s stacked against and still win?

and then it’s also about deconstructing pirate (and colonizer) narratives and fucking around in the murky waters of identity and finding solidarity and how to live out solidarity in the first place and a million other things silly and serious and on this day, the day of our rainbow capitalism overlords FINALLY GETTING THEIR SHIT TOGETHER

i am very, very glad this show exists. because fuuuuuuck me running, did we need a win right now.

#our flag means death #ofmd spoilers #my ofmd meta #truly i fucking love this show #it's so structurally cool and honest and new and weird and original #fuckin... feral over it your honor #would fight an army of bears for it #i will SEE THESE WRITERS OUTSIDE #(to thank them and maybe cry or hyperventilate who knows)

696 notes · View notes

chuckwon · 1 year

Text

My incomparable friend Deirdre T. (aka @sourtimesmachine on here) has posted an article about The Winchesters that perfectly encapsulates how and why the show is a masterpiece, what its depths highlight about Dean’s story in-narrative and out-of-narrative, and how what is ostensibly an exploration of the past is actually commentary on Supernatural and a path for the future.

Nearly every monster on this show takes its victims to another place— hidden lairs, pocket dimensions, buried spaces inside their own minds. Escape, every time, means the same thing: transformative catharsis centered around truth and the breaking of traumatic cycles. Telling your parent you believe in yourself, letting go of your father’s plan even if making your own is scarier, telling your childhood self that you’re going to fight for them and give them back their choices, confessing your guiltiest secrets and allowing your friends to accept and love you as a whole, giving up false peace for real love. Characters are offered ways to forget, to live free of their guilt, pain, and trauma, but this is never the answer. This isn’t real. They learn instead to let themselves examine the bad, embrace that it is part of them, and use it to inform and strengthen their ability to fight for the good as a more complete and centered person. It is fundamentally a story about healing, being told to us by someone whose own story ended with profound pain. Whose story ended in a trap, never escaping the cycle, never getting to speak or fully embrace his own truth or choice. Never getting to live. Rather than avoiding the narrative burden of Dean’s death and all the circumstances, both in story and out, that led us to it, The Winchesters is breaking it down. It is examining each theme that was regressed by the finale and pointedly reaffirming it. It’s telling us that what happened to Dean was wrong, that there is something to be done about it. It’s, maybe, trying to help us heal too.

I cannot recommend this full article highly enough. Unsurprisingly, Deirdre beautifully summarized a bird's eye view of much of my thoughts on this show. I feel like I want to print out pamphlets of this and hand it out in public!!!! But sharing it on this blog will have to be enough.

No matter what the events of the season one finale hold tomorrow, this show could not have been louder or clearer. Dean Winchester spoke to us for 12 episodes by comprehensively deconstructing every aspect of his ending, condemning it repeatedly and consistently, and showing us that he's doing his best to break free of it. And, through him, the real-world team behind this show conveyed the same in kind.

The Winchesters could not have been more validating and (in my opinion) thrilling at every turn. By design, there is SO MUCH in it to examine and talk about, all within the context of it being Dean's story. It's unbelievably dense in clever ways I don't think any of us could have expected.

(And it must be said that I did not watch this show every week expecting to see Chuck Won propaganda, and yet, EVERY WEEK...)

Anyway. Please read this article.

And if you've avoided watching this show, consider this your sign that you absolutely should watch it.

#spnwin meta #the winchesters meta #THE QUEEN HAS ARRIVED!! Not the Akrida queen I'm talking about DEE #I wanted to write a piece like this over this past weekend and just couldn’t #and THE SATISFACTION OF READING THIS.... and of course her writing just blows it out of the water because she's brilliant #I feel like I could bench press a truck I'm so thrilled by this piece #I still want to write things of course but I have peace in my soul seeing this laid out <3

109 notes · View notes

lemonhemlock · 1 year

Note

I think a lot of folks are genuinely afraid of helaemond becoming good/fluffy/Romantic (with a capital R) canon incest with a dose of angst.

They can ship helaegon (and aegond) because they're in a way unsalvagable drab incest on first sight that deals with the heavier/unpleasant themes of incest in a more direct fashion and the other is... Yaoi aha. Like aegond is never going to be canonTM, partially due to homophobia, like folks just ain't ready for the nasty bro on bro action on an HBO show quiet yet, and even if it was portrayed, it would be two brothers committing sexual violence on each other and not making love, which passes the "is this Incest Problematized enough for my taste?" test. Folks know Helaegon is perceived Bad, and both, but especially Aegond, will remain silly fandom activities, while Helaemond has a pretty good shot at becoming canon and Romantic - like there is a reason a lot of helaemond shippers are into the naerys/aemon of it all. For a lot of folks it's not that they can't stand incest explored in fiction at all, they just have a limit to the tone and the way it's explored, which is very fair but why not admit to it and mute/block instead of getting into these silly fights. Hell, as a helaemond shipper I've muted and blocked plenty of other helaemond shippers myself bcs I found their takes/portrayals unpleasant or just tiring/lame. But like helaemond has 500 fics, of course, there's going to be shit I don't care for.

I'm very sympathetic to those folks bcs a lot of them seem open about being survivors of incest, and as one myself I went through a phase of finding Romantic/Erotic incest unacceptable to write/portray/consume, but I got over it because I simply can't control what others will create, only what I chose to see, and actually Romantic/Erotic incest is fun! and it's all much more complicated than just this portrayal bad this portrayal good.

But I do think its also just a lot of simple "my ship is better than ur ship" in a veneer of Calvinistic pseudo-critical fictional incest-aversed internet beef where folks are trolls and snivelling assholes to each other.

The funny bit is I really got into helaegon chuz seeing their portrayal on hotd was harrowing and the first thing my mind went to wasn't "OHHH this is 100% unsalvagable I guess let's just skip very fast over it to when Aegon gets set on fire and Helaena kills herself because incest BAD" it was "well there HAD to be nice moments between them, a little windows of a pleasant conversation or a touch that didn't make both recoil and want to vomit 🤔" and to some even this line of thoughts will be read as dangerous Romanticizing/Fetishising/Deproblematicizing of Incest but honestly it mostly comes from a place of hopefulness, but also I'm a sucker for the eroticized aesthetic of hetro gothicstwinnage where both are the same height. "We have nothing in common" yes you do sit your shortass down.

My final take is learn to mute/block/curate your space, fuck shit all and let Aegon ON SCREEN fuck his entire family in varying degrees of Romanticized and Deconstructed but now I'm going to get accusations of misogyny and rape apologism bcs I'm centring the experience of the fictional anti-christ in the Incest Chronicles🏃‍♂️🏃‍♂️🏃‍♂️ gotta blast!

This is such an interesting insight into what might actually be going on in people's minds, thank you for sending this. I'm sure my visitors will enjoy reading your thoughts.

People being afraid of helaemond because it's the one ship presented in a positive light is something that never really crossed my mind before. To me it's more like having a small reprieve from all the darkness before the hard-hitting horror really takes over the story. It's true that helaemond can be depicted as really fluffly, but, as a counter-argument, it's still impossible to escape the fact that it's shrouded in angst. For those "fearing" it because they're against the romanticisation, there's really no true way these two can get an ending that's not tinged with some kind of sadness.

But, in any case, like you said, I don't really find that line of thought necessarily helpful - more that it tends to lead to policing and moralisation and finger-wagging that inevitably will end up looking silly.

I can't really speak on this topic with authority, because my experience is limited to fandom discourse, but I've seen survivors of incest and other kinds of sexual abuse willing to explore these topics in the safe confines of fiction in a variety of tones. So, as far as my approach to these sensitive topics, I wouldn't feel comfortable to regulate the way they choose to express and process their obviously very complex thoughts on the matter. It would feel very hypocritical and out of place for me to do that, hence why I don't resonate with the frequent moral dogpilling. It's important to keep in mind that no real life people are harmed by someone writing fiction.

I think that, as long as we remain respectful and enforce our boundaries when necessary, there's a very clear divide between what's acceptable in fiction and what's desirable in reality. Personally, I never found those lines blurring as a result of my fiction consumption, even though my tastes tend to run darker. Not to say this means one should be comfortable with everything all of the time, but being mindful of one's own triggers also means acknowledging that others' thresholds may vary. And having an honest conversation with yourself on whether or not those are actual triggers or you're just really enjoying some kind of power trip here and the fandom social currency it might earn you. Paradoxically speaking, the people crossing the fiction-reality divide are the ones choosing to engage in harassment and bullying and hypocritical exclusion behaviour on behalf of fictional characters' honours, not the ones making two fake people kiss in la la land.

That being said, us freaks will not rest until we'll make brocest a thing! Slowly but surely, they'll run out of ways to shock the public eventually and will have to give in to us. 😅

#ask #anon #helaemond

11 notes · View notes

eremosjournal · 1 year

Text

New Year's Eve Manifestation Rituals

As we prepare to close out 2022, we invite you to join us in a moment of manifestation. Especially if you connect with rituals and want to build new ones in times of deconstruction.

Note: When it comes to manifesting rituals, do what feels supportie and what resonated with you. Your thoughts and energy will influence how you manifest. Follow your intuition and let yourself step into your bigger life.

The thoughts and ideas in this piece have been pulled from an article on consciousconnectionmagazine.com written by Ana Lillia

GIVE GRATITUDE TO LAST YEAR

Yup, it’s important before we move forward to reflect on all the blessings we currently have in our lives. Yes, 2020 was really challenging, but if we look hard, there were also a lot of blessings. When you focus on the abundance you have, it attracts even more abundance into your life. Plus, practicing gratitude helps to lift your mood – we all know that we definitely need more of that in our life. Make a list of all the things you are grateful for, big and small.

WRITE DOWN YOUR GOALS & DREAMS

It sounds simple, but the key is to be specific. Do you want to make more money? Write down how much more you want to make and by when. Where do you want to travel, and with whom? What qualities do you want in your new relationships? Give the universe specifics so that there’s no confusion on what you are currently manifesting. Make sure you don’t leave out those dreams that you haven’t told anyone because they scare you. It’s time to bring them out to the light and declare out loud that you are ready for MORE!

GRAB YOUR CRYSTAL

Crystals are beautiful rocks that can amplify energies. Before you sit down to write your goals for the year, place your crystals around you to bring in abundance. Citrine is one of my favorite crystals for manifesting, attracting prosperity, and helping to harness personal power. Pyrite is often called “fool’s gold” and helps block negative energies, while also growing your personal wealth. Green Aventurine helps with confidence and good luck.

LET GO OF YOUR OLD STORIES

It’s important to be clear on what you want to manifest, but if you’re still telling the same stories about yourself – “I can’t…I don’t know how to…I’m never going to…” – it’s going to be difficult to manifest a new reality. Make a list of what old stories you need to let go of in order to manifest the life that you want. After you are finished, use the element of fire to transform their energy. In other words, burn that piece of paper until it’s a pile of ashes. This is a ritual I use in my Full Moon Circles, and it’s a powerful way to let them go. Notice how your paper burns and whether there are any words that don’t fully burn. Then take the ashes and give them as an offering to Mother Earth. Place them outside in your garden or anywhere you feel called to place them.

CONTINUE CLEARING YOUR SPACE

Physically clean your home. Go through your closet and donate anything you no longer need. The new year is the perfect time to start fresh and declutter your life. Create physical space in your home to welcome the things you desire. Plus, having a clean, organized home creates a calm and relaxing space to manifest your wildest dreams.

CREATE A VIRTUAL VISION BOARD

Go to Pinterest or Instagram and start making a virtual vision board. Pin that dream vacation, those affirmations that are going to remind you of your worth, screenshot your new home, and even your new boyfriend. Get creative, have fun, and then put this vision board in a place where you will always see it. I have mine as the lock screen wallpaper on my phone so that my brain is constantly seeing the things I am manifesting. It’s the perfect daily reminder of what you are working towards.

MAKE A MANTRA FOR THE YEAR

If writing down goals feels too overwhelming, or you still feel like it’s pointless ‘cuz COVID-19 is still around, give yourself a mantra or a word for the year. Ask yourself, “How do I want to feel this year?” Or, maybe it’s something you’re passionate about and want more of in your life. Whatever your mantra is, make sure it’s positive and supporting your highest good. My mantra for 2021 is “I am EXPANSIVE.” I’m so ready to take up more space!

When it comes to manifesting rituals, do what feels supportive and what resonates with you. Your thoughts and energy will influence how you manifest. Follow your intuition and let yourself step into your bigger life.

#exvangelical #excatholic #ex christian #exchristian #ex catholic #deconstructedchristmas #deconversion #deconstructed club #deconvert #deconstruction

3 notes · View notes

georgeodowd · 2 years

Text

I wrote a bunch of stuff, because idk why

I have SO MANY THOUGHTS about GAY PIRATES which are now in full whirlpool mode with the season 2 announcement, but here goes. I've spent an obsessive amount of time trying to figure out what needs to happen in season 2, to the point that I've spent the past month writing a bit of fan fiction about it (okay, 100K+ words, but who's counting). But I realised with today's announcement, there's like... MASSIVE JOY but also anxiety? I wanted to kind of unpack that a bit here. I perhaps too obsessively collect David Jenkins tweets and interview quotes to try to piece together what he's planning, and I think one thing in particular has been nagging me. He's expressed various flavours of: 'Ed will have to become the Blackbeard he was always rumoured to be' and 'season 1 was about falling in love for the first time; season 2 is about getting your heart broken' and the freaking logline is about whether or not our pirates will survive their love.

Now I pretty quickly decided that Ed was going be derailed from going 'full Blackbeard' in my fic by Izzy fucking off for more violent waters and the rest of the crew stepping up to show him how to put himself back together in funny and heart-warming ways. When I heard that that's not likely to be the plot of season 2 (and after discussing this with a friend who has wildly different ideas and wants a full on 'dark af' season 2), I felt a lot of discomfort. I thought it was just because I had gotten it wrong, failed to predict what would happen, was not in some kind of mindmeld with our Saviour Jenkins.

Today I realised it's something else, and maybe my fears are misplaced. Look, as a queer kid who is just stepping fully into their genderqueerness as well, I am SO USED to getting hurt by the stories I love. I've talked at length on here about queerbaiting. I literally was blown away when Jim was a canonically enby character, and I actually looked up the actor on IMDB partway through an episode because I was SURE they had cast a cis actor and I was prepared to get kicked again. To put it mildly, I am gun shy. I am so prepared to be hurt that I'm already anticipating season 2 of this ground-breaking, healing show hurting me, too. And maybe here's why.

Taking poor, misguided, chaotic, survival-mode Ed down the 'dark Blackbeard' path - letting his only outlet for the extraordinary pain of his first real heartbreak be violence - is such a reinforcement of toxic masculinity, that I just don't see it being a huge part of the show. Will it happen? Yes. Will he stay in that place for long? I really don't think so. As much as this show is a queer fantasyland, it's also an unabashed love letter to positive masculinity, to deconstructing what it means to be a man in so many delightful ways. And I trust Jenkins to know that in his bones, because that's the personal part of the show for him. He's tweeted about it before. I think something, or someone, is going to come along pretty early on in Ed's descent and give him a more positive, healthier outlet for his feelings. It may be three or four episodes in, but I think he really has some fun ahead of him to heal - BEFORE he reunites with Stede. Unpopular opinion, but I don't think Stede should be the thing that saves him. It rips all of his autonomy away to be at the mercy of Stede's whims in that way. I want them both to step into their own power separately, before they find each other again. And yeah, I absolutely want a homoerotic reunion swordfight that comedically transitions into some pretty epic fuckery (of a more literal sort). But they gotta save themselves before they can save each other.

And I guess that is why, despite how scared I am that it's going to be a very angsty season, I think I've talked myself down from my real fear that it's going to be the story of a scared, hurt man lashing out through violence unchecked. I think the real power will be in giving Ed another outlet to express his feelings in constructive, cathartic ways. And I'm going to trust these amazing writers to give us that.

#OFMDMeta CantStopWontStop GayPirates4Eva

0 notes

spinteresting · 2 years

Text

Favorite Buck/Eddie Fics of 2021

Going to share all my favorite Buddie fics that I read in 2021. I only started watching the show in August, and didn't read any fics until September. These will be listed from shortest to longest. I read lots of short fics too, but mostly bookmark longer ones. So that's what you'll see here.

at the kitchen table by @oatflatwhite Complete | T | 1.5k

Post-5.03. Eddie's single. Buck's not. They talk about the elephant in the room.

in the arms of the ocean by @littlespooneven Complete | T | 6.8k

After the tsunami, Eddie takes Buck home.

I Hate Accidents (Except When We Went From Friends to This) by @morganofthefairies Complete | E | 7.2k

Buck and Eddie had always been unconventional. Neither of them gave it much thought – they were just them. Buck and Eddie - partners, best friends, co-parents – just as entangled in each other’s lives as any actual couple in the 118.

Or, the story of how Buck and Eddie went about their relationship in entirely the wrong order.

my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand by @woodchoc-magnum Complete | M | 12.3k

Set during and in the aftermath of 4x13, where Eddie is shot and Buck's whole world collapses around him.

i wanna get stuck in your head (and maybe I'll be brave enough by then) by @texasdiaz Complete | T | 13.1k

buck's been in love with his best friend for years. when he got on the plane to go back home to LA after spending a week away for a childhood friends wedding, he was not expecting to receive the final push he needed to tell eddie how he feels. but life (and the old lady who sat next to him) apparently have other plans.

I Can't Wait to See this Through by @softsatanhq Complete | T | 13.7k

In which Buck and Christopher have a wonderful afternoon up until they get caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Buy Back the Secrets by @littlespooneven Complete | T | 18.8k

After getting hurt on a call, Buck wakes up thinking it's 2018. AKA Buck can't remember who Eddie is but he's pretty sure everyone's lying when they say they're "just friends."

Stay by @softsatanhq Complete | T | 31.7k

TW: Temporary Character Death - this is one of the most heart-wrenching things I've ever read. But it's also really good.

Buck’s voice was soft and hesitant, but full of patience when he finally spoke again. “Did I do something to upset you, Chris? I can leave—”

“No!” Chris whirled on him, a complete shift from the standoffish vibe he had been giving a second ago. The tears he bravely held back finally broke free from his eyes, sliding down his rosy cheeks from behind his glasses. He shook his head vehemently, the yellow crayon falling to the table. “No, I’m not mad. Please…” His words turned to whimpers, his lip trembling. “Please don’t leave me too.”

Half Awake in Our Fake Empire by @hmslusitania Complete | T | 33.5k

Buck 1.0 fathered a child and Buck 4.0 comes into custody.

This has girldad!Buck and is one of my favorite Buddie fics.

Those Two Firefighters by DarkFairytale Complete | T | 34.7k

#thosetwofirefighters starts to gather a following on social media, as everyone tries to figure out if those two cute firefighters from the 118 in LA are a thing or not.

This is so funny and fun. One of my favorites!

just to love you by @woodchoc-magnum Complete | M | 37.3k

In which drunken confessions are made, feelings are confused, and Maddie can't help but do a little bit of big-sisterly meddling.

it's blue (the feeling I got) by @nogamediaz Series Complete | M | 37.3k

“You can’t go see your son like this.” That gives Buck pause. “He’s not—he’s not my son.” “Isn’t he, though?” she says. And part of Buck wants to argue, but a bigger part of him thinks, isn’t he, though? Not by blood, sure, or legally, but in all the ways that matter, Christopher is as good as his son.

must be some kind of twist, I could get used to this by @messyhairdiaz Complete | E | 38.7k

Buck and Eddie accidentally get married during Chimney's bachelor weekend in Vegas.

To Build a Home We Deconstruct Our Rituals by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels Complete | E | 44.2k

After the shooting, Eddie realizes he needs to put some things in place. Like who will get his assets if he dies. Who will speak for him if he ends up in a coma. What might happen if his family contests Buck's guardianship. Luckily, he's got a simple easy-peasy solution that won't result in insanity, catastrophe, or heartbreak:

Marry Buck.

This is one of my favorites!

Leave the Light On (I'll Be Coming Home) by @hmslusitania Complete | M | 44.4k

An accident on a call leaves Buck with custody of Chris after Eddie is... missing presumed. While they navigate their new family circumstances -- and fight to stay together, despite Eddie's parents' best efforts -- a John Doe wakes up in a coma ward with no memory of his own life beyond the knowledge he has a son named Christopher and, somehow, he needs to get home.

darker days, brighter endings by @farfromthstars/@buckactuallys Complete | T | 44.5k

“Recovery isn’t easy, or linear. Eddie lets Buck get him one of those old fashioned button-up pyjama tops because they’re easier to slip his arm into without moving his shoulder, but he doesn’t ask him for help with shaving until he cuts himself trying to do it himself and breaks down crying in the bathroom. Not because it hurts – he watches the blood trickle down from his cheekbone for a few seconds and suddenly feels completely overwhelmed, like everything is way too much.”

try to love me if you can by @woodchoc-magnum Complete | M | 44.8k

In which Eddie is trying to date Ana and cling to Buck at the same time, and Ana is threatened by Buck's relationship with Eddie and Christopher.

This fic picks up immediately after the Buck and Christopher scene in 4x08.

in my heart I wanted more by @woodchoc-magnum Complete | M | 47.5k

In which Buck and Taylor's relationship is slowly crumbling, Eddie has some big realisations about his sexuality, and true feelings are revealed.

everything (nothing) has changed by @zeppazariel Complete | E | 48.5k

Buck gets therapy, confesses his feelings for Eddie, and tries to move on. The thing is Eddie doesn't really want him to, but doesn't know how to tell him that. They are very confused and there's quite a bit of angst.

Project: Rocket Kismet - Eddie vs. the Universe by @annansmith Complete | E | 51k

Buck and Eddie are straight. Until they aren't...

This is one of my favorites and I highly recommend it!

the smoke in your eyes by @woodchoc-magnum Complete | M | 53.3k

There's an arsonist on the loose in LA, and Buck and Eddie unwittingly find themselves directly in the crosshairs.

This story is so good!

ripples all the way down by @evanbucxley Complete | M | 57.2k

Christopher partakes in some parent trapping with the help of some pretty pebbles.

I Hit the Accelerator (But the Car was in Reverse) by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels & @extasiswings Complete | E | 68.1k

When Buck is forced to confront the truth about his breakup with Abby, having casual sex with his hot new coworker seems like the best rebound idea.

Unfortunately, that hot new coworker turns into his best friend. But best friends can keep having sex with each other, right?

There's no way this could possibly go wrong.

standing on the brink of emptiness by @woodchoc-magnum Complete | M | 70.9k

In which Eddie is struggling in the aftermath of being shot, learning how to take care of himself and realising he's in love with Buck; and Buck is dating Taylor, taking care of Eddie and Christopher and trying to figure out why he's so goddamn confused about everything.

Leading with the Left by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels Complete | E | 84.7k

When Buck said he was a "bartender" in "South America" what he actually meant was "stripper" in "Mexico."

And when Eddie said, "What's your problem?" what he actually meant was, "Is this about the time you gave me a lap dance?"

In other words, there's a few things the 118 doesn't know about Buck. Or Eddie. Or Buck and Eddie's relationship.

The Space Between Sleep by Tattered_Dreams Complete | T | 111k

A story about Buck and Christopher's recovery after the tsunami.

What's love got to do with it? by @color-me-paranoid Complete | E | 134k

After Buck’s and Eddie’s dates both end with disasters – proving once again that maybe dating just wasn’t meant for them – they decide to simply settle for each other. If there was one person in the world they'd ever trust with their hearts, it was each other. And who was a better person to date other than your very own best friend?

This is one of my favorite fics! It's so good.

just to be with you by @woodchoc-magnum Complete Series | M | 147k

From Buck being secretly in love with Eddie to them getting together, but hiding their relationship. Then they finally come out and have to deal with telling their parents.

This is a really excellent series and has some of the most memorable Buddie moments in a fic for me!

The Things We Lost in the Fire by sunspell80 TW: Rape | Complete | M | 204k

This is a heavy fic that deals with Buck's childhood sexual assault. He works through the trauma, Eddie supports him, and Buck has a sexuality crisis on top of it all.

There's a lot of angst in this story, but there's also light moments with humor and fluff.

#buddie #buddie fic rec #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buck x eddie #buckley diaz family

517 notes · View notes

writingfics-passingtime · 3 years

Text

Playing the Part

~8300 words of steamy Loki tickle fluff

PG13 for this one, kids. Lots of making out.

CW: some swearing, suggestive humour, mentions of murder/death, alcohol consumption

Every job has its ups and downs, and every employee their good days and not-so-good days. You’d hardly classify yourself as an employee because you didn’t get a paycheque, your entire occupation was a hazard unto itself, human-resources was punching it out on the sparring mat and your boss was either a 100-year-old super soldier or an eccentric billionaire, depending on the day and who was wearing what suit.

Wait… should I be getting paid for this?

Looking around your room that you paid no rent on, in a multi-billion dollar superhero compound, you decided that wasn’t a question you were ever going to ask. The question of the hour was which dress would best conceal your thigh-holstered gun.

Today, your job entailed one of those tasks that could be fun if you decided it would be, or hell if you had a bad attitude about it. You prided yourself on always being up for any mission, so that answered that question, though infiltrating some black-tie gala undercover was never as exciting as fighting alien forces.

You gave up feeling guilty about being a little excited when Earth faced threats long ago; no one had to know that impending planetary destruction was your favourite kind of mission to help out on.

Selecting a red strapless dress from the middle of your mission closet (which was differentiated because most of these dresses were bulletproof) you slipped it on over your underwear and thigh holster. A knock came at your door as you were reaching behind yourself to zip it up.

“Come in!”

“Agent, we- oh… Oh.” Loki’s featured turned from surprised to playfully smug in a matter of seconds.

“Can you get this zipper?” You winced at the stuck metal. He nodded and approached, you turned and held the fabric up. Before he even made it halfway to you he gave a brief wave of his hand and used his magic to unstick the zipper, bringing it to the top.

“Thanks,” you smiled, familiar with that particular kind of help from Loki. “Can you see my gun?” You did a little spin and he shook his head. “Great. You look nice," you commented, gesturing to his impeccable black suit.

“As do you.”

“Ready?”

”I suppose there are worse charades to play on a Saturday evening. Ones that don’t include fine wine and the prospect of a tussle with a Midgardian security man.”

You shot him a look as you two walked towards the garage together. “You said no Midgardian wine could be classed as fine.”

“Save for one region in Italy, I’ve discovered.” Loki shrugged, tightening the fastener on his cuff link.

You gave him a mock look of shock. “Are you telling me… you were wrong?“

“Smugness is not becoming, Agent,” Loki playfully warned.

“Hmm,” you narrowed your eyes. “Looks like I’m spending too much time with you.”

You bickered and bantered good-naturedly as you entered the garage, which was more like a hangar but only for cars. This mission would be you, Loki, Natasha, Sam and, strangely enough, Tony wanted to drive the van. He gave some excuse about wanting to test some new equipment and spend time with his team. Though you knew it was because Pepper wanted him to attend her aunt’s seventieth birthday, and Tony had a long-standing feud with that particular aunt ever since she went on a forty-five minute tirade about how much she hated Led Zeppelin. You weren’t sure if it was the sentiment behind it, or the fact that she could talk for forty-five minutes straight without the awareness to stop. Either way, Tony was on the job tonight.

“Black Widow is already onsite,“ Tony handed you three some photos as you entered and took your seats. “Your names are on the door, fake ones obviously, here they are.” Tony pulled up some information on the screens and then commanded the self-driving van to go with a few taps at a holographic control centre.

You went over the plan, the objective, who to avoid at all costs, where the gun was supposedly hidden. There was a gun used in a murder of a journalist - the employee of an old friend of Tony's, a young guy working on an exposé of a filthy-rich family dynasty in New York City. The journalist was sure the McDane family money came from arms dealing, but he was found dead just a few short months after he started investigating. The following week, Charles, the charming and likeable newly-married eldest son of the family, announced his run for mayor.

Whether Charlie McDane ordered the murder, or if he didn't even know it happened, Tony's source said this family kept trophies of their victories and the murder weapon would most definitely still be in the house.

On the face of it, it was an unusual assignment for the Avengers. If you didn't think that hard about it, you could have just sent Nat in alone. However, the McDane family was even more powerful than they loved to show on the surface, and this wouldn't be a simple theft. Hence, a small team was going in to avenge the fallen journalist.

Natasha had been planted on the inside, posing as an event manager for a soirée the family was hosting to celebrate Charlie’s birthday and, since he’d invited everyone in the political and social scene, it was the perfect chance to enter the mansion; there’s no way he’d know who each and every person was and should be.

As you walked down the road with your arm slotted through Loki's, you eyed the metal detectors at the front entrance. You gripped his arm and slid your hand into the pocket of your dress, but the pocket was hollow and only existed as easy way to grab your gun. Wordlessly, you passed it to Loki and he concealed it with his magic in the exact same way you planned to smuggle the murder weapon out later that evening.

Maybe it was Loki's elegance or your years of training that started when you were very young, but the way you two could instinctively weave around each other's thoughts, ideas and actions without so much as a glance was something special you didn't take for granted. You both had keen senses, but there was some kind of unexplainable energy that made them align perfectly.

You never let your mind wander on nights like these. On missions. Perhaps if you were less professional you'd take a moment to fantasise about what it would actually be like to go to a party with Loki. If the way he led you through the room with a gentle hand at your waist was more than a ploy to look like an adoring couple, or if he knew your favourite wine because he cared, instead of just having heard you order it a million times before.

He kept things light with jokes and little jabs, never once crossing a boundary when fake-flirting with you, but it wasn't lost on you that it was unusual to have this kind of working relationship that had all of the chemistry with none of the awkwardness. It was almost as if it was second nature now for him to pull you a little closer when you were in a nice dress, considering you'd only worn them in front of him on missions. And so he did pull you closer as you approached the bouncer to give your names.

You spied Nat at the front, leaning around a security guard's shoulder to point to something on his list. She always played her parts so well. She stole a glance at you and Loki through her fake glasses and that was it. No indication she knew you, no special treatment, no way she'd do anything to blow this. She walked up the outdoor staircase as you gave your aliased names to the guard and flashed fake drivers licenses that were pretty much real, considering the government had created them.

Loki declined the arrival champagne for the both of you, immediately leading you to the bar. You looked at him as if to remind him that you weren't here to drink, and his subtle smirk replied that he didn't care. He ordered two glasses of a merlot from the one region in Italy that'd won his respect, passing the glass to you once it was laid on the bar.

"To the finer things," he cheers'ed your glass and you scoffed with a laugh, taking a sip of the wine. The rich flavour burst through your mouth. It was dark and deep, spiced with... with... "Cedar," he offered, reading the analysis on your face. "Rosewood, cedar and some sort of stone-fruit."

"Nectarine."

He smiled and took another sip. "We don't have that on Asgard."

"This wine is good," you nodded as you two turned and deconstructed the room and all of its guests.

It made you kind of sick seeing all of these wealthy people in one place pretending to give a damn about Charlie McDane's birthday. It's not that you liked the guy, not at all, it just felt weird to know that every person in here was the exact kind of person you hunted down. Power-hungry. This mansion may as well be a lion's den. But full of naïve lions, who had no idea two apex predators just walked in.

Just when you started wondering how many people in your line of sight had also committed murder to protect their wealth and power, you saw Natasha give a subtle signal of which way the room with the safe was. Loki saw it too.

It was upstairs, but there wasn't much cover to get upstairs. The great foyer's ceiling was three stories up, the two floors above the ground floor you were on had square balconies that let the people upstairs peer downwards into the masses. Nat's fingers adjusting her hair told you that the room was on the second floor. Thankfully, there were guests on the second floor. Under the guise of admiration for the architecture and a desire to explore the great house, you pointed out works of art to Loki as you ascended the stairs together. When you walked past Natasha she smiled politely, like a good host, and asked if you were enjoying the wine.

"It's most divine. Though, I believe my beloved may be in search of a room to powder her nose."

You would have rolled your eyes at his usual choice of asking for information if you weren't aware that security's eyes were everywhere. Even on the event manager.

"You might find what you need up the stairs, down the first hall, third door on your right."

The way her hands were motioning didn't match her hushed description, so you followed the instructions in her voice instead of the way her hands were telling you.

You allowed Loki to lead you upstairs, down the first hall. When you two were certain there were no eyes, he concealed you two with his magic. The hallway was darkened. He pressed his hand against the lock and unfastened it with an unseen pure magic and you two slipped inside. It was a large office with grand mahogany furniture, decorated exactly as you'd expect Old Money Americans to decorate their office. Right down to the bear head above the fireplace and the first edition novels sitting proudly on the shelf, probably unread by their owners. That also made you a little sick: great words sitting unread as trophies.

Scanning the room for any obvious signs of the safe, your eyes settled on a panel in the wood on the side of the desk. There was a slightly smaller gap in the wood on one side, indicating hinges. You held your hands up to Loki and he conjured thin gloves to grace your fingers, then you pressed gently on the wood to engage the latch. The panel swung open to reveal the safe. Shifting out of the way, Loki took your place and placed a gloved hand on the dial. In less than three seconds, it spun rapidly in each direction before clicking open.

"We should really consider robbing banks," you whispered as the black metal door swung open and you were met with stacks of paper and envelopes.

"Need I remind you I am a Prince? If it's gold you want, darling, say the word."

"Eh," you shrugged, feeling around for the gun. "I meant more for the thrills."

Loki chuckled as your fingers found a familiar-feeling package. You pulled the envelope out and peered inside before showing Loki the sight of a small pistol. He nodded and took it from you carefully, then concealed it in some unknown magical space close to him.

You closed the safe carefully and then your gloves disappeared. Moving quietly back to the door, you listened for several moments to make sure no one was coming. Then, you both slid out and began walking down the hall like a loving couple.

Suddenly, a guard appeared at the end of the hallway. Thinking fast, you opened the closest door to you and pushed Loki inside. There was a shout you vaguely heard before you shut and locked the door again.

"Shit," you hissed. You were in someone's bedroom. Or maybe it was a guest room, considering how clean and un-lived-in it looked. There was a fireplace, like in the office, and a large four-poster bed against one wall. In the middle of the room were two plush couches that faced each other and were side-on to the door. You two walked over to them to get the vantage of being in the centre of the room and quickly searched for an exit.

"I'll cast an illusion," Loki whispered, ready to wave his hands and make it look as if you two weren't here.

"No!" You whispered, eyes wide. "They already saw us come in here. If we disappear, they'll know something's up and lock the place down."

"Then what do you propose?" He held his hands out, annoyingly unbothered by the prospect of blowing a mission. The doorknob twisted and you both snapped your heads towards it, then back at each other.

"Sit," you hissed and shoved him back onto the sofa right behind him. He stumbled and fell with a small indignant noise of surprise. You heard the tinkling of keys and your heart beat in your chest.

"Agent?"

Knowing the security team was about to enter, you acted fast. "I'll never hear the end of this," you mumbled before sliding forward to straddle his lap. His eyebrows shot up his forehead as you wrapped your arms around his shoulder and looked at him with nervous urgency. "Kiss me."

Loki didn't question it, and he certainly didn't need to be told twice. His hands found their place. One at the small of your back, one firmly gripping the hair at the nape of your neck. Then, he pulled you in for a fiery kiss.

You barely heard the door open as you lost yourself in the strength of his hold, the steady and eager grasp with which he held you. His hands found their places as if they'd been there a thousand times before, as if he knew exactly how you'd feel the safest, feel the most desired. You pulled him deeper by the back of his neck and could have sworn he made a small noise of satisfaction.

Oh no.

He kept kissing you, you kept kissing him, even after the head of the security team had cleared his throat a number of times. As much as you knew you'd already sold it, and boy you sold it well, you couldn't bring yourself to pull away. Were all Asgardians this good at kissing, or was it just Loki?

Oh. No.

"HEY!"

The sudden loud command pulled you away and, much to your internal mortification, you didn't need to feign how flustered you were.

"O-oh my," you squeaked and looked up at the man, blushing profusely.

Okay, the squeak was fake, but it felt almost real.

You stayed put where you were straddling Loki's lap and grimaced when you saw Natasha, still in character, entering the room. "What's going on, I need you downstairs to- oh!" She looked a little taken aback by your position atop the prince who, you were fuming to see from the corner of your eye, had the audacity to be smirking.

"My apologies," Loki drawled in his growly regal voice, trailing his hands around to your sides. "I simply couldn't control myself, seeing my queen in this dress..." He punctuated it with an "Mmph" and a firm squeeze at your hips. You flinched and squirmed a bit under the ticklish touch, trying to keep your composure but letting a small giggle slip out. Then, catching the pleased and mischievous glint in his eye, you dug your nails into the back of his shoulder to warn him off trying that again.

"This room's off limits," the guard tilted his head towards the door and you made to move your way off of Loki's lap. Instead, with his incredible strength, he stood with his hands still at your hips, lifting you to your feet before turning and wrapping an arm around your waist.

He looked the guard up and down, "Of course, good sir." You bit your lip and blushed, cowering in Loki's hold as you exited the room together. Nat smirked at you and winked before proceeding to fall back into character and tell the guards there was a belligerent drunk man downstairs needing to be kicked out. That man would be Wilson, who was playing his part as tipsy distraction.

Loki led you down the hall and you rounded a corner, then you broke off from him and held a hand to your chest. "That was too close," you breathed deeply once, then met his eye. You glared when he saw him smirking at you.

"Do I have lipstick on my face?" He asked, feigning worry.

"Oh, shut up," you swatted his shoulder. "I did what I had to do."

"I never knew you had the passion in you, Agent," Loki smirked again. You glared once more and peeked around the corner, only to jump and hold in a yelp as Loki's pinching fingers found your hip. "I also never knew you were so ticklish."

"That's not something people advertise- cut it ouhout!" You swatted his hand and squirmed away from him as he prodded his fingers into your side. "We have the gun, let's get out of here."

"Tsk, you're no fun," Loki scoffed.

You exited the party and made your way down the block towards the van, knowing that Nat's glasses had broadcast at least the last part of your little tussle with Loki. Steeling yourself as you gripped the handle, you reminded yourself that you were a professional, and this was sometimes a hazard of the job. You needed to play it cool when the eventual teasing came.

"Hey, lovebirds," Tony quipped the second he saw your faces.

"Hey," you chuckled, stepping inside and removing your heels the second you found your seat. "We got it."

"Here," Loki closed the door behind him and pulled the enveloped gun from the magical space he'd hidden it. "So you saw the Agent's display of passion, did you?"

"You wound me, Loki," you deadpanned. "I thought we had a mutual connection."

Perhaps those words were a mistake considering all the truth behind them. However, all the best lies were founded on truth, and for now you needed to convince everyone in the van that you weren't totally freaking out because you'd felt the most passionate attraction you'd had in years with a former villain. I mean... how predictable.

Loki looked at you suspiciously as he took his seat, but something in his gaze told you he wasn't going to prod deeper on this. Not right now, at least. Not in front of everyone.

Nat and Sam joined the fray five minutes later and you all got a move-on back to the Compound. Nat poked more fun at the position she'd found you two in, and you laughed good-naturedly at all their jokes. Loki was uncharacteristically silent, and seemed to always be looking at you when you laughed and instinctively checked to see if he was laughing too.

The jokes shifted to Sam and the wine he spilled down his shirt, then the conversation shifted to the next steps of what to do with the gun, then you all arrived back.

Tony got to work dismantling his rig, declining your help, and so you took your field weapons over to the cabinet to put them back in their places. As you were unclipping the magazine from your pistol, you felt a presence behind the door. You peered around to see Loki.

"What's up?" You raised your eyebrows and snapped the case shut, then closed the door.

He looked at you meaningfully, quizzically, but didn't say anything.

"Okay..." you chuckled uncomfortably and put the latch on the door in place. "I'm going to shower."

You made to walk past him but he grabbed your upper arm, stopping you by his side. Facing different ways, he leaned in a little closer and spoke quietly. "I can spot a lie from lightyears away."

Turning to look at him, you'd probably have been caught off-guard by how close his face was if it hadn't been for the events of earlier. You shrugged, pulling your arm from his grasp. "I didn't lie."

He scoffed and also turned to look at you, eyes flitting once down to your lips, then back up to pierce your gaze with his. "You know what I meant."

You were proud of how composed you kept yourself when you shrugged again and kept walking, swallowing hard.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

Never one to waste water, you took an uncharacteristically long shower. Haphazardly smearing face wash over your skin to scrub the makeup off, scrub away the flustered energy. But no amount of scrubbing could help you forget the feeling of his kiss, and shampooing the hairspray from your head only made you remember the feeling of his fingers in your hair.

You reminded yourself that it had been a very long time since you'd kissed someone. You were probably just desperate, definitely a little touch-starved in general, so the fact that it was Loki didn't matter as much as the fact that it had happened.

That's what you told yourself over and over as you threw on sweatpants and a soft long-sleeved shirt. It was cold and the marble floors could be unforgiving, so you thought it best to go for fluffy socks, but then pulled some slippered boots over the top. You didn't bother brushing your wet hair, letting it fall where it wanted as you made your way to the kitchen.

"That smells good," you commented as Nat pulled some dish out of the oven.

"Mmm," she agreed with an excited smile. "Nico is my favourite," she admitted slyly, referring to one of the chefs Pepper would call in to prepare a bunch of heatable meals during busy periods. Delivery app drivers would probably cancel the order if you tried, thinking it must be a joke that a super solider was asking for a Big Mac to be delivered to the Avengers Compound. Besides, by the time it was scanned and made sure to not contain a deadly poison, it would be cold and stale. "There's enough for you too," Nat said, pulling out another plate and serving you a steaming slice of vegetarian lasagne.

"Thanks," you smiled, still a little distracted. Of course, with someone as perceptive as Nat, that wouldn't be allowed to slip by.

She leaned against the counter and poked at her meal, not meeting your eye to keep it less direct. "You alright?"

"Hmm?" You looked up, and so did she, then you looked back down to your food and shrugged. It was no use lying to her. "I think I'm lonely," you laughed humourlessly, nervously, sadly.

"The kiss got to you," she said knowingly, placing her fork down to give you her full attention. You didn't return the favour, nervous about what you'd say if you were really talking about this. Which, as long as you were here eating dinner, you weren't really talking about it.

"It's not like I haven't kissed a fellow Agent before to keep cover," you sighed a little, shaking your head. "It's just been a while, I guess, since I've had... anything... or, someone."

"I get that," she nodded, picking up her fork again. You two ate in silence for several moments. "This is really good," she declared through an extra-large mouthful. You chuckled and nodded, swallowing another bite. After several more moments, she said quietly, "It's okay if you felt something."

That made you choke a bit. Noticeably, unfortunately. You shook your head, but didn't deny it. "No. It's not okay."

"Why not?" She asked as if you were crazy.

"It's not okay," you repeated firmly, stabbing your fork again at the lasagna. "It's not."

Before she could attempt to pry for more information, Thor and Loki entered the kitchen together. Great.

"Good evening," Thor beamed a toothless smile.

"There's more in the fridge if you're hungry," you looked up at them in an attempt to not seem as regressed in on yourself as you felt. Thor looked at your plate and nodded in approval, opening the fridge. Then you looked at Loki, fully expecting to see some kind of calculating stare as before, but his expression was soft. He looked you over, probably noticing your out-of-character hunched posture and the way your head hung a little lower than usual, and he gave you a look that was subtly laced with sympathy.

Now that made your blood boil. Who was he to feel sorry for you?

He seemed to notice the way your jaw clenched under his gaze, and opened his mouth to say something but Thor spoke first.

"There's a film Stark wants us all to watch this evening."

Nat chuckled, finishing off her dinner. "You say that like he's showing us training videos. He's just trying to bond the team over some cheesy nineties movie." She looked at you and nodded to your clothes. "You look ready for a movie night."

Before you could explain that you'd rather go to bed, Thor beamed again. "Excellent, then! We'll all be there."

Thor was always kind to you, so you didn't want to disappoint him over something so inconsequential. You smiled warmly at him and nodded. "I'm gonna go claim a good spot," you excused yourself, aware it was almost time for it to start. You quickly did your dishes and left the kitchen, making sure to get a seat on a large armchair so you made it clear you'd rather have some personal space right now, even though it was the exact opposite of what you wanted. Maybe it would be good for you though, to remember that you were alone for a reason. That this life you chose wasn't kind too love.

Gods, love. Why did you think of that word, of all the ones out there. You were spiralling. Sentiment, you corrected yourself with a swift reprimand. Sentiment, loneliness, desperation.

You busied yourself chatting to Wanda as people filtered in, taking note of how she seamlessly wove herself in and around Vision as they sat on a two-seater next to you. Determined not to look at or think of Loki or romance or kissing or anything like that, you trained your eyes on the screen as the movie started.

But you spiralled.

There were these two main characters in the movie with this undeniable bickering co-worker chemistry that reminded you of Loki, the jokes he’d whisper into your ear during meetings, the harmless mischief he’d pull to make you laugh, the way his hand felt at your lower back- NO. You couldn’t think about that.

Wanda and Vision were in your line of sight from the corner of your eye and you saw her fingers lace through his, you then saw him place a silent kiss on the crown of her head. Biting down on your tongue, you remembered Nat and Bruce, Pepper and Tony, Thor and Jane, Clint and Laura. All those people who seemed to find love, even temporary love, in the midst of all this madness.

So maybe it wasn’t this life. Maybe it was just… you.

Biting your tongue a little harder, you reminded yourself how powerless you were compared to all these super-people. Sure, many of them were human like you, but all the other humans seemed to have someone who loved them.

It felt hopeless, knowing the only person in this room who you wanted close was so extraordinarily out of your league. He was a god. You were a human. Your life was a flicker compared to his, of course he’d never waste time indulging the likes of you.

But it felt real.

Halfway through the movie you decided you couldn’t sit there and see these buddy-cop characters fall in love. You couldn’t watch Wanda and Vision so enamoured with each other. What you needed was to hit something hard, and then go to sleep. So you excused yourself without a word or a glance at anyone. It was late, anyway. You weren’t even the first one to leave.

A turn of a black-haired form told you that Loki noticed you leaving, but the lack of footsteps behind you as you walked down the silent hall told you that he hadn’t followed you.

Slipping into your room and then into some workout clothes, you jammed your headphones into your ears and put on some classical music; you weren't sure you could stand to hear any words right now. You laced your shoes a little tighter than normal and practically sprinted to the gym, very unwilling to have anyone notice you were gone and decide to come check on you.

Hitting the bag felt good. It was the perfect consolation prize for what you'd actually prefer right now, but with every crushing of your knuckles against the thick canvas you found it easier to forget how it felt to have your fingers looped through his hair. The sweat dripping down your face replaced the feeling of his breath against your skin when you'd broken the kiss, and the aching in your obliques from your tensing and turning to hit the bag took the place of any memory of his hands at your waist. The aching was here, and he was almost gone.

After a half-hour of interval sprints, it was just past midnight and you were exhausted. Not knowing how you felt about no one coming to check on you, you traipsed back to your room in silence. The faint echoing of your footsteps through the hallways made you quiet yourself further, stepping as lightly as you could to prove to yourself that you were still a good spy. Good spies don't get caught up with feelings. Your footsteps fell, dead quiet, and you regained some confidence.

Your muscles stung the next morning but in a delightful way. You'd treated yourself to another hot shower when you got back to your room, so this morning it would probably be best to have an icy one.

As the cold water hit your skin, you felt okay again. The boxing and running last night had really shaken everything out of you, only the smallest lingering of lonely desire remained and it could easily be ignored. Of course, that was easy to say. The second you walked into the kitchen to see that Loki had heard you coming and poured you a coffee you felt a tug at your chest.

His hands closed around the mug to pass it to you and you remembered how his fingers had closed around your waist. He smiled good morning and you remembered how his lips felt against yours. Holding it all in, you smiled and took the coffee, then proceeded to have a short conversation with him like a normal person would. He made jokes about last night, but not about that, and you chuckled at them. After perhaps too short a time for how long you usually chatted, you excused yourself to go do some paperwork. You caught the way his brow furrowed a little, but he didn't question you.

The next few days were more or less like this. You'd try to engage with Loki normally but spiral a little more, convincing yourself that the more you continued like you always had, the more normal things would be again. But he was just so... beautiful. Everything about him was beautiful and now you couldn't help but notice.

One evening, nearly a week after you'd kissed, you were having a bit of a vulnerable day and you walked into the kitchen for some ice cream. Loki had just finished cleaning up after his dinner and turned to say hello, but you couldn't do it. You just turned and walked right back out again. He called after you but you didn't stop. It's not like you were going to cry in front of him, but you just couldn't do this right now.

Seeking refuge in your bedroom, you shut the door and slid down to the floor with your back against it. An immediate soft knock frustrated you, especially knowing who it probably was. You sighed and stood.

“Hey,” you greeted Loki with a nod when you opened the door, immediately turning away to make it look like you were about to do something else. “What’s up?”

Loki stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, which made you stop and give him your attention. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied.

He squinted for the faintest second and smiled a little sadly. “Light years,” he reminded you how he could spot a lie without harshly calling you out. It pained you that he didn’t. That his lack of sarcasm indicated that he saw you as a bit fragile right now.

You sighed a little and ducked your head to the side, conceding the point. “I’m a little haywire,” you admitted. “I think I need to get some stress out and go to sleep.”

”What troubles you?”

Ah. What a question.

You didn’t want to shut him out, but you certainly didn’t know how to explain that one simple kiss undercover had brought a massive crashing wave of insecurity and anxiety that made you feel completely unlovable. Or... maybe you could just say that?

You were silent for so long that Loki spoke again.

“I’d like to offer my apologies,” he said very diplomatically. “If I overstepped the bounds of our relationship.”

“I’m the one that made you kiss me,” you winced. “I should be apologising.”

”I didn’t mean that,” Loki shook his head. “I meant after, when we returned. When I cornered you.”

You had to laugh. “You didn’t corner me, Loki. I appreciate you wanting to make me feel better but you have nothing to apologise for.”

”Very well. But you didn’t make me,” he replied firmly.

“I know, I know…” you rolled your eyes. “A god submits to no one, I just meant that I put you in a situation that I shouldn’t have. Believe me, I’m paying the price.”

That last part came out a little faster than you’d intended it to. In fact, you didn’t really mean to say that last part out loud at all. Or maybe you did. What a perfect Freudian Slip. Quickly collecting yourself, you spotted your headphones and went to pick them up but noticed that Loki was taking slow steps towards you.

”Paying the price?” He asked carefully. You stopped and folded your arms, shrugging.

“People poke fun, you know.” You bit your tongue. Then, you saw him smirk a little. Ah. Lightyears.

“I thought we had a mutual connection,“ he raised his eyebrows, teasing you with your joke from That Night. You gave him a firm stare, but couldn’t help but notice he wasn’t that far away now.

“Loki, that was-“

“A thinly veiled truth,” he interjected, leaving no room for debate. He also left very little room between the two of you. You opened your mouth to respond, seemed to not be able to, and he smirked at your speechlessness.

"Y-you can't." You shook your head. "There's no way."

"There's no way, what?" A smiled tugged at his lips at the way your eyes widened when he took a strand of your hair and wrapped it once around his finger.

"... Mutual?"

“Now that we won’t be interrupted…” he brought his hand up next to his face, flourished it, and you heard your door’s lock click shut. You held your breath as a mischievous grin graced his lips.

Oh gods, you were looking at his lips. You couldn't seem to look away.

He lowered his voice to a gruff whisper. “Might we finish what we started?”

With the smallest nod of your head, he immediately ducked his head to press his lips against yours. Your small noise of surprise made him pull away for a second and grin, before he playfully growled and lifted you from the ground. His eyes stayed trained on yours as he walked a few steps and firmly shoved your back against the wall. Your breath hitched as his hand found that place at the back of your neck, and this time, you kissed him. Eagerly, hungrily, feeling so overwhelmingly euphoric that this was even happening.

It had to be a dream, you thought as his lips trailed along your jawline, his hot breath hit your neck and his strong unwavering arms kept you above the ground and level with his gaze. He kissed you not just like a god or a great lover - he kissed you like he wanted you. Like he‘d also been waiting to do this for an unspeakable amount of time. It felt like relief.

Pulling you both back from the wall, Loki's lips didn’t relent as your fingers tangled once again in his hair. He walked backwards and found his seat on the end of your bed, sitting with you in his lap as he had at the party.

“Gods, you enrapture me,“ he pulled away, a little breathless. He grinned and his eyes were hazy. He looked at you intensely before looking back at your lips, subconsciously slipping out his tongue to wet his own. Before you could respond, he was kissing you again. You could have melted into his touch. In fact, you were fairly certain you just might.

He leaned back and you both fell onto the bed, you on top of him. You laughed at the sudden impact and you pulled away for a few seconds to catch your breath. You looked at his adoring gaze and blushed. “I never thought someone like you could want someone like me.”

He furrowed his brow, unsure if you were about to reference his nefarious past.

”You’re so… mighty. You’re a Prince, a god, you’re wickedly smart and powerful and… and I’m just a human.”

“Watch your tongue,” Loki scolded somewhat seriously and held you a little tighter. “Don’t speak of yourself as if you’re insignificant.”

You rolled your eyes and smiled, giving him a look. “You know what I mean.”

“Of course I do, I’m wickedly smart,” he smirked and you playfully swatted at his chest. He smiled contentedly and ran his hands firmly down your sides to settle at your hips. It was an innocent romantic gesture, one to position you for further making-out with Loki, but your eyes widened at the memory of his discovery the previous weekend and the assumption that the God of Mischief was about to turn the tables.

Unluckily for you, your flustered expression rendered it a self-fulfilling prophesy.

“Loki…” You warned as you saw the glint in his eye.

“That’s right…” His smirk widened to a devilish grin.

”How about you keep kissing me, huh?” You laughed nervously and leaned in closer. Loki laughed and nodded, bringing his hand up to cradle the back of your neck as you pressed your lips to his. Once your arms were around his neck, he deepened the kiss and rolled over, putting you underneath him. Still on the edge of the bed, your feet barely skimmed the floor. Then, he suddenly became the classic Loki you knew.

“Mmmhmhm!” You whined and giggled a little into the kiss as the fingers belonging to his arm around your waist started ever so gently scratching at your side. “Mmnnoho!” You broke away and gave him a pouting look. He lifted his head and smirked.

Gods. He’d never looked so unspeakably hot.

Messy curls framing his face, that look he gave you that said You’re In Trouble in his distinct Loki way, mixed with the desire in his piercing blue eyes; you’d gladly endure his torture if it meant he looked at you like that.

But maybe that’s because you had no idea what was coming.

“Darling,” he cocked his head and kissed your cheek before kissing just below your ear. “I am the God of Mischief….“ he kissed your neck in a way that you were sure was intended to tickle. You giggled and bit your lip. “And now that I've got my hands on you, you simply cannot expect me to not exploit this little weakness to its fullest extent.”

“L-Loki!” You blushed at the very real threat and he chuckled.

“How about you guide me, hmm? Where should I start?”

“I’m not playing this game,” you laughed nervously, squirming a bit underneath him and resting your hands on his shoulders to push away the ticklish kisses.

“Aw, come now,” he lifted his head and that same beautiful smirk made your heart beat quick. His hand behind your neck slid down under your shoulder blade until it sat at your upper ribs. You stole a glance down to where it may be, even though you couldn’t see it. He cocked his head again. “No? Alright, I’ll choose.” With a wink his thumb slipped around the side and up into the hollow under your arm.

“LOKI!” You gasped, clamped your arm down from instinct and immediately started squirming and giggling, even though his thumb wasn’t even moving. He grinned again and kissed your lips once more.

“You've been down all week, love. Let's have a bit of fun,” he whispered, then sprang his hand at your waist into action, scratching and grabbing at the soft skin hidden beneath your shirt. You gasped again and started laughing softly, then squeaked when his thumb started wiggling into the hollow under your arm.

"NOHOHO!" You shut your eyes and then squealed loudly when his fingers underneath you began clawing into the back of your uppermost ribs. Damnit, you thought he may start easy on you, not go for three different places at once. You were already in a desperate cackle, bubbling incoherent pleas spilling from your lips as you writhed underneath his amused self.

"I'm honestly delighted you're so ticklish," Loki teased with a chuckle. "It's adorable, really. So professional all the time, yet..." He finished his sentence by intensifying his touch and speed at all three sites of attack, drawing a small shriek from your laughing lips and a jolt from your body. "Has it always been this easy to undo you?"

“OHMYGOHOD!” You shrieked, throwing your head against the bed and trying to buck your upper body against him to no avail. He paused his torture and kissed you deeply again, lips curled into a smile as he pressed his lips to yours. You shook your head and broke away, still laughing. “Youhou’re ridiculous! We were hahaving such a nice moment and y-you ruined ihit,” you whimpered. He kissed to again to silence your complaints.

“What did you expect?”

“I-I expected a nice romantic moment!” You laughed and brought both arms between you and him to shove at his shoulders. “Now,” you gave him a stern look. “Do you want to tickle me, or kiss me? You can only choose one.”

He scoffed. “I don’t do ultimatums, darling.”

“You do now.”

“Bold.“ He stuck his tongue against his cheek then ducked his head to the side in consideration. He then looked at your face, which you’d been attempting to hold in some semblance of a firm glare. He lowered his lips to your ear and you heard him chuckle once. “Far too bold for someone so ticklish.”

He whipped his arms out from under you and pressed his weight down again, trapping your arms between your bodies as he clawed into the front and sides of your lowest ribs.

“NOHOAHAH!” You immediately fell into desperate belly-laughter as his fingers drilled and clawed into the spaces between your bones. Your feet kicked helplessly, merely grazing the ground as laughter kept spilling from you. “NOHO! NO! LOKIHI I CAHAN’T!” He shifted his hands further up your ribcage and snuck his fingers around to dig in at the back and, after one more shriek, your laughter went silent. It was trapped in your chest as his squeezing and vibrating fingers found every sensitive space on your ribs that made you want to melt into a little puddle. You were gasping for air by the time he halted his attack, squeaking and wheezing as you tried to regain your breath.

It was torture, but you hoped he wouldn’t ask you if it was worth enduring to have him this close. If he could spot a lie from lightyears away, how much easier could he spot it when he was close enough for you to see the flecks of green in his eyes.

”You’re… you’re gonna kill me,” you hiccoughed. He smirked and leaned in for another kiss. “Nuh-uh,” you pulled your finger up as much as you could from where your arms were trapped. “You made your choice.”

He grinned and slid his hands down your sides with a wink, "Oh? Then I'll gladly continue."

"W-w-wait! I dihidn't th-WAHAIT!"

His thumbs drilled relentlessly into your hips as Loki joined in with your loud laughter. You finally managed to wiggle your arms out from where they were trapped at your chest, shooting them down to grab at his fingers. Your feet having no traction and his near entire weight pressing you to the bed made it impossible to buck or lift any part of your torso, so you were completely trapped with nowhere to go as he gripped and grabbed at the skin of your hips, kneading at the pressure points that made you squeak and squirm beneath him.

When he tired of your fingers trying to grab his, he did a devilish swift lift of his own body and slotted his hands between the two of you, settling them palms-down over the majority of your belly. You made a huge gasping noise and started frantically giggling and squealing even before he'd moved his hands. You shook your head and begged for him to kiss you instead, nervous high-pitched giggles interlacing your words.

"N-noho, Loki just kihiss me, kiss me plehease! PLEASE!" You squeaked, cupping his cheeks and gently pulling him towards you. He chuckled and grinned, gently digging a few fingers in just once. You thrashed and renewed your struggling and squealing efforts. "Dohon't you DAHARE! I won't kiss you agahain if you do this!" You threatened. He cocked his head and leaned in a little closer to look deep into your eyes. Then, he grinned and whispered:

"Lightyears."

You thought for certain you'd pass out from laughter when Loki's fingers sprang into action and rippled against your hypersensitive stomach. You laughed loudly, completely powerless to stop his fingers from digging in wherever they pleased. After not much time at all, your laughter went silent and you weakly batted at his shoulders, sides, face, anything your hands could find for themselves since your eyes were shut so tight. Any words your brain even began to think of forming got lost as laughter ripped through your chest from the electric intensity of his fingers against your body.

When your hands finally found both sides of his face, you used all the energy you had left to press your laughing lips against his and, finally, he relented. You fell back with a loud gasp as he retracted his hands with an amused chuckle and took his weight mostly off you, propping himself up with a hand planted either side of your head.

"Alright there, darling?" He teased as you coughed weakly and wiped the tears of mirth from your cheeks. You gave him a scowl, but he found it adorable.

"Thihis isn't fair," you crossed your arms defiantly.

"No?" He smirked. "Pray tell, my love. What isn't fair?"

Oh. My love. His love.

That took any breath you'd managed to get back in your lungs.

"Y-you... you..." But your words were lost in the bliss of being his. He seemed to quickly understand how his words touched your heart, and it softened his teasing demeanour, and softened his smirk into a smile. "You found my worst spots so soon," you managed to murmur through rosy cheeks.

"Was only a matter of time."

"But now you have the upper hand."

"Dear heart, this isn't a struggle for power," he laughed heartily. "I do not seek to rule over you. Anything you ask of me, anything in the Nine Realms, I will give to you."

"Tell me where you're ticklish."

He chuckled and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips before falling down beside you. He hummed in contentment as he wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you as close as you could be.

"Anything but that."

#loki x reader #loki fluff #loki tickle fluff #ler!loki #ticklish!reader #marvel tickle #marvel fluff #marvel reader insert

353 notes · View notes

amalgamationink · 3 years

Text

arrhythmia

once upon a time, you were just a boy, a just boy, by all accounts. a good heart, says the good doctor, and maybe you’d believe her if she could stop sounding so dismissive when she says it. couldn’t have been that good, anyway, could it; if it had been worth a damn, it would still be taking up valuable real estate in your ribcage. you don’t remember much. you remember enough. the heart in your chest had always been a damaged thing: skipping beats, keeping erratic time to a tune not meant to last. it had slammed against the walls of your chest like it was looking for an escape route, and it was your heart, after all. hadn’t you been searching for an exit? didn’t you stare at the sky and know that you were going to leave this tiny town behind, someday, and don’t it make a perverse sort of sense that at the end of the day, you were only following your heart? or maybe it was your heart that was following you.

cards on the table, men, lay ‘em face up, let’s see what you got. a story’s only as good as the one telling it, see, and the players are the face cards are the main damn characters, and the game ends just like that if you walk in and put a bullet between the eyes of every bastard at the bar. it’s so easy to reshuffle the deck, to pluck a new history out from the spread. people always use cards when they want to tell a story, don’t they? tarot for the future, and here you are, playing poker. we always end up here.

this new heart is a terrible thing of metal and machinery, a deconstructed clockwork ticking away inside your indestructible chest. steady and unyielding, a constant rhythmic reminder that you have been stripped bare and rebuilt to specifications other than your own. you could end the world, you could end a hundred worlds, and it wouldn’t skip a single beat. wouldn’t speed up for love nor money, and isn’t it hard to feel anything at all, when there’s nothing left but that damnable ticktickticking for you to feel? you get shot in the head, in the heart, in the back. learn a thousand and one ways to kill people, reinvent those for kicks, kick a few puppies on the way out. worlds burn behind you and you don’t spare them a thought except as funny little tales to tell ‘round the fire later, something you can throw down on the table in the hopes that someone’ll buy you a drink. learn what it’s like to be decapitated, defenestrated, disembowelled; nothing compares to the taste of leather on your tongue as you bit down hard on the strap between your teeth; the way that your heart pumped wildly in your chest while it was still a visceral thing of blood and meat. you can barely still bring to mind what it was like, to feel afraid.

here, at the end, there is a knife in your chest. it’s a funny little thing, really, cheap and silver and glinting in the rapidly dimming light. not even worth keeping, is it, and you pull it out with every intention of throwing it to the side and teaching a world-weary lesson in a universally bone-tired way. comes out slick, soaked in blood, nothing you haven’t seen so many times they stopped making numbers that went high enough, but there’s sparks around the edges. like the end of a musket going off in the dark, back when they still made things like muskets and gunpowder, before the galaxies began to move on to stories that you had no real place in telling. your clockwork heart skips a beat. chokes halfway through the ticktickticking, sputters out a cloud of smoke. it feels familiar, almost, feels organic in a way you’d forgotten that you used to know. the gears catch on something, grinding against themselves in an attempt to get spinning again, but the blood keeps coming like water in a turbine. the laugh starts low in the back of your throat, and you choke on that too, every process in your body that came natural as breathing suddenly alien. for the first time in who knows how long, you are nauseatingly human. as the world spins away, the beats come further and farther between.

this final hand of yours is a shit draw, and the cards flutter to the floor. this final heartbeat isn’t much of a grand finale, either, more 52-pickup than a straight flush, but you’ve been sat at the table for too long as is. the leather’s in your mouth, again, back behind your front teeth, and the fear is ice water in your veins. call it a shaggy dog story with a long-overdue punchline. there’s the exit you were looking for, boy— you stagger off the stage, bloodstained and beatific, and you smile.

— (written for @mechanismszine.)

#jonny d'ville #the mechanisms #mechanisms zine #spilled ink #spilled thoughts #spilled words #spilled poetry #poetry #poetry on tumblr #poets on tumblr #writing on tumblr #writers on tumblr #damien.txt

580 notes · View notes

oneisallallisone · 3 years

Text

All I Know, All I Know Greedling x Reader fic Chapter 1

In a land ruled by alchemy, there are some who would call you a sorcerer. You intend to understand what this means. Along your journey you end up getting mixed up with two strange brothers, a military conspiracy, a potentially world-ending event, and the avarice of something more than human.

I wanted to see more Greedling x reader stories in the tag. This one’s going to be a SLOW burn, but we’ll get there. I have plans.

Read on AO3

_______________________________________________________________________

All I Know, All I Know

Chapter 1: Koldun

There are ancient legends: tales that tell of a city disappearing within a single night, stones that hold the power of god, of immortality itself, just to name a few. Myths such as these have been passed down through generations by word of mouth, pen to paper, and are woven into the fabric of everything that fascinates humankind.

There is no name for the legend that you are, however.

Alchemy is the science of understanding, reconstructing, and deconstructing matter. Alkahestry is the art of reading the Dragon’s Pulse, of sensing the flow of energy within yourself and the world around you, and then manipulating it. Both rely on a give and a take. A desire, an exchange, and a result. But you, with your will and your breath and the force that plays at your fingertips, are something else entirely.

No, there is no name in Amestris for you. But there is an ancient Drachman word for what you might be. A word so old and feared that it is uttered in barely a whisper. “Koldun,” they call you. “Sorcerer.” It is the only word that seems to fit what you are, and the way it is spoken is just as cold as the air that bites your ears and the tip of your nose. Drachman winters are harsh. The resentment of Drachman people who don’t understand your nature is harsher.

But enough about the cold. Now you found yourself in the warmer weather of the south, regretting the bearskin cloak you have draped around your shoulders. It might not be fit for a sunny day in Central City, but its weight provides a calming sense of familiarity. A small piece of home that was actually yours to keep.

The journey to Amestris hadn’t been hard, but it had been long. The mountain pass was no longer safe to use, as both Drachman and Amestrian soldiers were posted nearby at all hours of the day. The peace was holding out, for now, although it seemed like things could take a turn for the worse at any moment. So instead of taking the mountain pass, you traveled the road through the forest with a group of merchants who were on their way to Aerugo. They needed to pass through Amestris first. You’d parted ways with them in Central, and they wished you luck despite not knowing the full details of your mission.

How could you have told them, though? They would have left you for dead with nothing but the snow as a blanket for your final rest had you told them what you were. Koldun. The word still didn’t feel right in your mind, but it was the only lead you had to cling to.

So there you were, walking through the streets of Central in your too-hot bearskin cloak and worn leather boots, trying to find the greatest wellspring of information the West had to offer in order to gain some insight into the nature of your existence.

Only when you got to the First Branch of the National Central Library, you found a pile of rubble instead.

“What?” you gasped, barely audible. “No, no!”

You ran up what was left of the charred stairs and into the wreckage.

All around you were mountains of debris and ash. Wooden shelves reduced to nothing, charred husks of books no longer readable and scattered about. You stumbled around every turn, through every crumbling passage that looked once like it might have been a hallway, searching the skeleton of each room for anything that might look like a single page intact, but there was nothing. It was a ruin. You sank to your knees.

“Dammit!”

An involuntary surge of your power shook the room with your cry—violet waves that knocked loose a few pieces of stone that had not yet fallen. You buried your head in your hands and willed yourself not to sob. There had to be another place to find answers about your abilities. There had to be. You couldn’t have come all this way for nothing.

You were muttering this softly to yourself when another voice interrupted you.

“Um, hello?”

You turned sharply to an unexpected sight. A boy with blonde hair and a long red jacket, and…a massive armored fellow? The voice from before, coming from the blonde boy, spoke again. “Are you alright?”

You quickly rubbed your dampening eyes. “Yes. Yes, I’m just fine.”

“We heard a crash,” the armored fellow said in a voice that sounded far more childish than you expected. “Are you sure you’re not injured?”

“Yeah, yeah I was just…throwing some things around. I’m fine. Just frustrated.”

“Did you happen to see who did this?” the blonde boy asked.

You shook your head. “No.”

He narrowed his eyes a little then. “How do we know you didn’t do this?”

“What?” you hissed. “Look, when I got here the place was already a wreck. I didn’t see who or what did this. I swear.”

For a moment it looked as if the boy was going to continue interrogating you, but then his eyes softened. He dropped his shoulders. “Alright, Al.” He turned to the suit of armor. “I guess we’re going to have to figure something else out.”

There was a clanking as the suit of armor, Al, hung his head. “I guess so.”

“Wait,” you said just as the boys were turning to leave. “Do you know if there’s anywhere else in the city that would store knowledge similar to what was in this branch?”

The blonde boy crossed his arms. “What kind of information are you looking for?”

You hesitated for a moment. How were you supposed to explain your predicament to these strangers? “Well…I’m looking for any sort of historical records or myths of people with beyond-human abilities.”

“So you mean like alchemists?”

“Honestly, not quite,” you said hesitantly. “But that wouldn’t be a bad place to start.”

The blonde boy huffed. “Well believe me, when it comes to people with ‘beyond-human abilities,’ alchemists are the only thing you’re going to find. Alchemy isn’t anything supernatural, but it’s the closest thing humans will ever have to augmented abilities.”

“You sound very sure of yourself.”

“Yup. Anything else is just made up.”

The corners of your mouth twitched. Was it pride? Was it spite? The only thing you knew is that you wanted to wipe this guy’s smug smirk right off his face, and you could already feel the power surging to your fingertips.

You hadn’t even called upon it. It knew you.

Raising your hand, you allowed your energy to manifest at your fingertips. Small flickers of purple danced across your skin as you curled and flexed your fingers. It was like passing a coin between your knuckles.

The blonde boy’s mouth flew open, first in shock, then as if he was going to say something, and then settled into shock again. The armored fellow next to him startled.

“Brother…” the metallic voice rang.

“How…how are you doing that?” the blonde asked you.

“They didn’t perform a transmutation or anything!” the armored boy said, partially to his brother but mostly to himself, it seemed.

“I’ve never seen alchemy like that,” the blonde started, “Not even Teacher’s is like that. Seriously, how are you doing that?”

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” you responded.

“What?”

You pointed at the suit of armor. “What’s his story? I haven’t been in this country for long, but I know that citizens casually going around in full armor isn’t the standard.”

The metal boy shifted uncomfortably. “Oh, I, well…uh…”

A resolute look fell onto the blonde boy’s face. He placed a hand on the armored torso of his companion. “Al, it’s okay. We can think of this as just another equivalent exchange, information for information. And besides,” he lowered his voice, “Whatever their power is, it’s not something we’ve seen before. We’d be idiots not to learn more about it. Maybe they can help us.”

You raised an eyebrow, but neither of the boys saw it.

The armored fellow raised his head to catch your gaze again. “Please just don’t freak out.” He brought his hands up to his helmet and pulled. There was nothing underneath.

At first you thought that the boy inside the armor must have been too short to stand within it. But then you took a few steps closer and realized there was no boy in the armor at all.

“Oh,” you said. “Well that’s not something you see every day.”

“And neither are you,” the blonde said. “We told you ours, now you tell us yours.”

You frowned. “Unfortunately there’s not much to tell. It’s why I came here, actually. I’m trying to learn more about the nature of my abilities, because they are definitely not…what you call alchemy.”

“Well, where do you come from?” he asked. “Maybe it has a different name in your country?”

You shook your head. “Alchemy exists in my country. It is something that is taught. I, however, was not taught any of this.” You lowered your gaze to the floor, preparing to say the words that you had only said to so few. “I am from Drachma. The only word they have for me is Koldun. It translates to sorcerer.”

#me looking at the greedling x reader tag: Fine. I'll do it myself #anyway this entire thing is the result of me listening to the 'loving you is a losing game' song and going 'hmmmmm'#'the greedling/reader vibes this gives....painful'#aha #greedling x reader #fma #fullmetal alchemist #greed x reader #fmab #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #edward elric #alphonse elric #ling yao #fmab x reader #greedling #fma brotherhood #fmab greed #fma greed

80 notes · View notes

jackoshadows · 3 years

Text

The ASoIaF fandom can be so frustrating sometimes.

It’s okay to admit that one doesn’t like this or that character. There’s nothing wrong in disliking a character.

I am pretty open on my blog about my indifference towards or dislike for Sansa because of her stans. I don’t make disclaimers about how much I love the character before proceeding to criticize Sansa. I am not a Sansa stan and that’s okay. My blog is a place for me to jot down my thoughts and celebrate characters, books and shows I do like. If you love Sansa as a character, block me, don’t follow me etc.

What’s obnoxiously annoying are the folks who claim to love all the characters the same and then give their ‘unbiased’ opinions which are held up as canon facts because they came from neutral book reader experts. To hell with that nonsense.

These posts reek of hypocrisy and double standards. It often tears down some characters while subtly propping up others - and it’s gobbled up by the wider fandom as unbiased interpretation of the text.

One example is pushing forth the notion that calling Arya pretty (Something that both her father and brother tell her she is in the books) is wrong, it’s sexualizing her, it’s okay for Arya to be ugly, she’s canonically not pretty because Cat/Sansa said so and no other interpretation is allowed etc. And then the same person who says all this celebrates Sansa’s beauty and ships her with a 27 year old man who falls in lust with Sansa.

Or when they say that the Arya-Lyanna (and Sansa/Lyanna parallels, because it’s always important to mention Sansa with respect to Lyanna even if said person claims to not care about Lyanna as a character) parallels are overrated and not important and they don’t care about Robert’s Rebellion characters but on their blogs there’s all these posts, fanarts and meta about Elia Martell - a Robert’s Rebellion character.

A so called book expert would note that GRRM has several characters outright compare Arya to Lyanna or mistake Lyanna for Arya in the books while Sansa has no such comparison. But no, the unbiased book expert thinks that the Arya-Lyanna and Sansa-Lyanna parallels are equivalent and are both overrated.That post just annoyed me excessively into writing this long ass rant post.

Why are these neutral, unbiased folks so interested in stripping away from Arya’s story?

In the books Jeyne Poole is masquerading as Arya Stark - but that story is only Jeyne’s, has nothing to do with Arya or Arya’s importance to the North.

Arya is a strong warg, Nymeria and her wolf pack are a ‘Chekov’s wolf pack’ that GRRM has hung on the wall - Our expert opinion is that Direwolves are not all that important in the grand scheme of things.

Arya is pretty - why needlessly call Arya pretty, it adds nothing to Arya’s story and is all about sexualizing a child.

Arya-Lyanna parallels - why do we need these parallels, Arya is distinct and interesting without them.

These aspects are all important parts of the character’s story. There are so many very well written essays exploring these concepts with respect to Arya’s journey of self discovery in the books, the narrative significance of her parallels to Lyanna, her bond with Nymeria and her warging talents. For those who are interested, here are two bloggers who actually like Arya and have written about her character and character arc.

https://donewithwoodenteeth.tumblr.com/meta-masterlist

https://ashotofjac.tumblr.com/tagged/arya-stark

Some of these same people will rush to condemn any reading of the books that does not have Sansa wielding power at the end as being ‘Sansa hate’. But they will have no issues to undermine and devalue Arya’s actual book story, the relationships she has, the parallels she has, the skillsets she has, her appearance, her importance to the current story happening in the North.

There is a whole ass plot currently in the books of Northerners rallying for Arya Stark and preparing for battle against the Boltons for Arya Stark. But that’s not important because it’s actually Jeyne Poole and Arya’s story is about sailing off west of westeros. But hey, Sansa will definitely go North and hold power and that’s like 100% happening because we are the unbiased book experts and we say it is so.

Or when all else fails - Arya is a Mary Sue, she’s a fantasy character, she’s a ‘strong female character’ because she fights with a sword, people like her because she’s a tomboy who fights. Sansa is realistic, Sansa is complex - but here are all the essays that basically transfer Arya’s complexity and story to Sansa - because it fits more with their fave, because these aspects would fit better with the traditionally feminine character even though they never tire of talking about how GRRM is deconstructing tropes. Because the trope deconstruction is only applied to Arya, Jon and Dany. Never Sansa.

And honestly, why are these people reading a high fantasy series if they hate fantasy and fantasy characters so much? We love Sansa because she’s so non-magical! Then go read non-fiction books. They also twist Jon, Arya and Dany into ‘fantasy’ characters - despite these characters going through some very real and human experiences. What’s fantasy about Arya’s experiences in war torn Westeros, Jon dealing with bigotry at the wall, Dany trying to rebuild Meereen, while dealing with famine, disease and insurgency?

Or how Jon and Dany getting any kind of happy ending or becoming rulers would be so boring, sweet, predictable, conforming to tropes, a happy ending etc. But Sansa getting love, romance, going home, becoming the Stark in Winterfell, getting her fairy tale ending - that’s totally what GRRM is going to do! No trope deconstruction there! In may ways, Benioff and Weiss’ ending is not all that surprising - Mad Queen Dany, Jon remaining a bastard with the freefolk, Sansa having power as a leader - are all popular theories among bnfs in the fandom. D&D wanting to wind up the show quickly with easily found fan theories is not that much of a stretch.

ASoIaF reddit is equally frustrating. Instead of Sansa stan bnfs on tumblr who pretend to like Arya and Dany while subtly undermining their story and importance, on Asoiaf reddit it’s Stannis stans who dislike Jon and Dany because these characters present a challenge to Stannis. The mere suggestion that Jon may play a role in the battle against Ramsay sends them into frothing at the mouth rage. They hate Jon, Jon is a Gary Sue because he dared advice Stannis - the greatest general ever - on Northern military strategy. Never mind that Jon grew up in the North and learned from Ned, how dare Jon Snow know more than Stannis! Unacceptable!

And I love Stannis Baratheon. I want Stannis to crush and defeat the Boltons. But unlike reddit dudebros, I can see that he is a secondary character, a tragic character who is most probably going to perish and Jon takes over because Jon Snow is a central protagonist in the story.

I feel it’s the same with Sansa. IMO, GRRM clearly doesn’t see Sansa in the same way as he does Arya, Jon, Dany, Tyrion and Bran. Whenever he is asked questions about the books, book plots, long term arcs, endings, age gaps etc it’s these characters he often brings up and references. It’s these characters who are important to him.

And that’s why there’s a lot of undermining and undervaluing of these character’s and their stories, them being described as fantasy characters, tropes, Mary Sues and Gary Sues, ableist rhetoric about Tyrion and Bran to undermine them.

I am damned certain that if it was Sansa who had all the parallels to Lyanna, or if she was the warg, or Jeyne Poole was impersonating her, this would all be ‘VERY IMPORTANT’ and on all the gifsets and essays. But she isn’t. So fandom bnfs are reduced to talking about how these aspects are not all that important anyway.

It’s like how this quote - ‘You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts’ turns up on gifsets every other day on the Arya tag but this quote - ‘Sansa could never understand how two sisters, born only two years apart, could be so different. It would have been easier of Arya had been a bastard, like her half brother Jon. And Jon’s mother had been common, or so people whispered’ very rarely does and will not get reblogged when it does.

Or when Sansa sees Joffrey trying to kill Arya and sides with Joffrey or when Sansa throws Arya under the bus and tells the Lannisters that it’s Arya who is the traitor - just sisters being sisters y’all!

It’s all about maintaining a certain narrative about Sansa - and when others point out her actual relationship with Arya in the books, we are accused of hating and wanting Sansa dead and how we should be criticizing Tywin and the Mountain instead. This is nonsensical whataboutism and ignores that people talk about these aspects of the books because sometimes bullying, getting mocked for one’s appearance, abuse and neglect from parental figures etc. can resonate with certain readers unlike getting one’s head smashed in by Frankenstein.

At the end of the day, I wish these people would be honest about the characters they like and relate to. We are all biased. That’s why our opinions and interpretations are subjective. There’s nothing wrong in saying, hey, I like Sansa more than Arya or Dany, I relate to her character more.

I relate to Jon Snow a lot, I see things from his POV, I would disagree with the characters who disagree with Jon, I enjoy his story at the Wall and the North. My interpretations of the text are therefore colored by my bias towards Jon.

For others, it’s Dany or Sansa or Arya or Tyrion or Jaime. And that’s okay because these are fictional characters and liking one more than the other is not going to earn anyone woke points and lead to women’s rights.

And finally, there’s nothing edgy or cool about disparaging the central protagonists of a high fantasy series as being fantasy characters - go read other books if one is not into fantasy.

#rant post

120 notes · View notes

spaceorphan18 · 3 years

Text

99 Perspectives on a Single Love Story #48

A/N: The Story of Kurt and Blaine told through the eyes of everyone else but them. Each chapter is a different perspective in the ongoing tale of their love story.

I started something like this a while back - and now I’m taking the idea and really running with it. Each chapter is a ficlet of a different character at a different point in Kurt and Blaine’s life - documenting their love story. This starts in Audition, and each chapter will be paired with a different episode until reaching Dreams Come True.

[Ao3]

***

Eli C. (The Break Up)

“You look like shit.”

It’s Friday morning. Eli slides into a chair at his usual table at the coffee shop. His best friend Becca is already there, sipping on her nonfat mocha with extra whipped cream, grinning like an amused fool. He’s glad someone can be so cheery this early in the morning.

“Lay off, I had a long night.” Eli savors the taste of his own black coffee - hoping it’ll kick in so he can at least pay half attention in class.

“Did you now?” Becca’s eyebrow is raised high with interest.

Eli lets out a groan, leaning back in his chair. “You don’t want to hear about it.”

Becca leans forward. “No, I think I do. What trashy thing did you do now?”

Eli takes another drink of his coffee, settling in. Fine. It’s not like Becca ever lets these things go. “You know how I’ve been on those show choir message boards for the past year or so?”

“Oh, god, this again?” She’s more delighted than appalled.

“I’m allowed to have my hobbies.”

“Yeah, your totally gay hobbies.”

“Says the woman who has her hand in pussy any chance she can get.”

“Anyway…” Becca pushes on. “Your totally normal obsession with show choirs, continue…”

“About week ago, I get to chatting with this guy named Blaine.”

“Really? His name is Blaine?” Becca lets out a hardy laugh. “Of course this story is going to get gayer.”

“Hey, you wanted to hear it.” Eli pushes back.

“Okay, okay, continue.”

“So we get to chatting, and I’m flirty and he’s flirty back, or at least that’s how I took it. So a couple days ago I looked him up on Facebook. Turns out the guy is totally hot - in that classic movie star kind of way.” Eli thinks about it - how it was really pretty harmless at the beginning. Maybe he misread the situation? Maybe he didn’t. Does he regret it? No, not really.

Becca grins her annoyingly devilish grin. “Did you go weak in the knees?”

“You know what, I did - so shut it,” Eli continues. “So, I asked if he wanted to hook up sometime.”

Becca feigns being impressed. “Wow - and he agreed without even seeing you? I mean - it’s not like your profile picture is telling a whole lot.”

“It’s a metaphor, Becca.”

“It’s overcompensation, Eli.”

“Anyway, yes he came over and we hooked up. And that’s that.” Eli doesn’t think there’s much more to tell - but Becca doesn’t seem satisfied.

“That cannot be the full story.”

“Do you really want the sordid details of my sex life?”

“Hey, you got to hear the comedy and tragedy that was Veronica Stalls, so yeah, I do.”

“Okay it was…” Eli lets out a long breath. The image of Blaine remains seared in his head - the moment he first saw him in person, showing up at his dorm room with a sad kind of beauty about him. He had been captivating - but Eli had always been one for lost causes. “The whole thing ended up being very odd. We agreed to meet at my place at seven, right? Well, he doesn’t show up. And I didn’t think much of it - cause I mean, hooking up with internet people can sometimes be sketchy. But then about quarter after ten, he knocks on my door. So, I let him in, and there’s very little talking. Like, the dude was all over me almost the second he walks in the door.”

“Um, hot.”

“More like very aggressive,” Eli corrects. Had it been hot? Yes, surely. Did something feel utterly wrong? Absolutely. Did he want to give up sex that night? Not even a little bit. “Not that it wasn’t a turn on. I just wasn’t expecting it. Online the guy is so polite and almost demure. I figured I’d have to be the one to push him a little. But nope, we were on the bed making out and grinding in, like, ten minutes.”

“Hey, no-strings-attached sex sounds kinda nice.”

In theory, it had been very nice. “Yeah, still…” Eli tilts his head back and forth as he thinks back on it. “It was like… it was like he wasn’t really there?” He remembers Blaine’s vacancy very clearly. It had been just a hook-up. No reason for Eli to take that personally, but some kind of connection would have been nice. Maybe even acknowledgement of what they were doing. Blaine, however, gave him nothing. “He gave me a handjob, and it was ‘meh’ to be honest with you. No finesse at all. Jerked me off as fast as he could. Then I asked if I could go down on him and, oh boy, that froze him up.”

Becca’s eyes grow wide. She sees people. It’s why they’re friends. “Um, so this already sounds like there’s some issues going on here.”

“Oh, clearly,” Eli nods. “But I mean, we weren’t hooking up to deconstruct whatever messed up feelings he was having. I was pretty clear from the outset that it was just a hookup. At least, I thought I was. Anyway, he finally let me go down on him and…”

“...and?” Becca’s unusually hanging onto his words.

“The dude’s dick was fucking gorgeous.” Eli licks his lips thinking about it again. If there had been one bright spot about last night - it was that dick. “I almost got hard again just looking at it.”

“Oh, I hear ya,” Becca says in a bout of sincerity. “Veronica Stalls’s tits, man. At least I get to keep the image of those in my brain for the rest of my life.”

“Right? Man…” Eli looks around. There are barely any customers there - they’re pretty alone. Still, he feels a little strange being so graphic in public. But Becca’s eyes are hard on him, so he continues. “So, yeah, I start to blow him, but he doesn’t really get into it, you know? Like most guys will pull my hair, or fuck my mouth, or whatever, but he just lay there letting me do it to him. And, I mean, seriously, I have no regrets sucking on a dick that delicious, but it did bum me out that he wasn’t, at least, a little into it. Took him fucking forever to come, too.”

“Yeah, he totally sounds suspect,” Becca agrees. “You were safe, right?”

“Oh, totally,” Eli nods. “So afterwards, we kind of make out a little, or more so, I kiss him a little, but he’s just, like, looking as if he’s going to throw up. So I got up to get some water, and by the time I get back, he’s pretty much dressed and out the door.”

“Oh my god,” Becca says, as if it is all clicking for her. “You were, like, the other guy, Eli. This dude totally has a boyfriend or something.”

“Not gonna lie, the thought crossed my mind,” Eli admits. To be honest, it had been fully on his mind but he hadn’t wanted to bring it up. Was he selfish for that? Was he selfish for just wanting to get off? “He blocked me this morning, so… I guess that was that. I feel a little bad though. Not that he blocked me - I guess I expected that. Just that I took part in whatever bad turn this guy was taking.”

“Don’t,” Becca shakes her head emphatically. “You didn’t do anything wrong. And honestly - sounds like you’re better off not being a part of whatever mess this dude’s life is.”

“True,” Eli gives a shrug. “He was a nice guy, though. I hope he figures his shit out.” He gives one last lingering thought to Blaine, hoping wherever he is today that he isn’t full of regret. Eli isn’t. Ah well. Moving on. “Meanwhile… I have a couple of hits from Grindr I should tell you about.”

“Oh, dear god…”

#99 perspectives #s.o. writes things #i'm sure this will be everyone's favorite :P

36 notes · View notes

mirror-vicit-omnia · 3 years

Text

Ya know what? F*ck it. DMC Heathers!AU where Dante is Jason Dean but never tries to blow up the school or murder anybody and the reader is Veronica.

Dante has an adoptive jackass dad, Big Blood Dean. Sparda is in hell and Eva is dead. Vergil is a missing person's case no one can solve. Big Blood Dean adopted him for the money and drags Dante all across the map with his shady deconstruction company.

The reader is in the same situation as veronica, it goes to canon. They get an in with the Heathers, there's probably a Martha involved.

Fight For Me. Just imagine Dante kicking ass. Those jocks wouldn't stand a chance in a million years.

I like the West End performance for all this.

Dante doesn't quote Baudelaire (if this was Vergil instead of Dante, yes he would have)

Reader: "Okay, don't just drop a snappy one-liner and then walk away! Excuse me? I didn't catch your name?"

Dante, all devil-may-care swagger: "Well, I didn't throw it."

If you think Jason Dean was a good fighter, you should see dante. He's always finding places to train with his sword and picking fights to keep sharp. Yep, he still has demonic powers and demonic heritage and a demonic sword.

He's been dragged to 10 different high schools. Now, Dante is the kind of guy who can just drop everything, pick up and go, if it weren't for the fact that he's adoptive dad sucks. Yeah, he's asking himself these days why he didn't just bail sooner.

He probably tried to run away when he was younger and the cops found him. Even young little Dante knew not to let anyone know about his demon heritage I guess. I don't know.

Anyway, enough logic!

The reader and Dante do not cause the death of Heather chandler. Maybe they think they did, cuz Dante still made the joke of poisoning Heather, and the mugs still got switched up, but later on after the entire world thinks Heather Chandler died a saint, the reader tells Dante that she doesn't think whatever Heather drank was what killed her.

Of course, the body is gone and so is any evidence that could have told them otherwise.

Meanwhile, Heather Duke rises in red and Kurt and Ram insist that they slept with the reader and did drugs.

Dante picks the reader up when they fall apart crying. He does set up the plan of baiting the jocks to the cemetery at dawn. But he's actually planning to knock them out and do some crazy embarrassing stuff with them, the kind of immature terror that only Young men can conceive of and inflict on one another.

Chloroform is involved. Dante packs his gun for safety. He's not a demon Hunter yet, but he knows what's out there, and there's no way he's walking into a cemetery without one weapon at least.

So, the jocks were probably going to wake up naked and tied up on a monument in the Town square or a landmark for everyone to see. It might even make the papers, since this town is so small. Dante would fleece them for their money, and encourage the reader to do the same.

"Hey, how about we divvy it up? One for you, one for me. One for you, and one, two for me- Ow! Fine, whatever, take what you want!"

But what was meant to be a life ruining prank goes horribly wrong. They got Ram, but Kurt's streaking through the graveyard in his skivvies.

Dante sprints after him. "Don't worry, I'll get him back!"

Funny. Kurt should be here. Dante knows how fast a human can run. He checks behind the tombstones, but the jock simply isn't here. Like he just disappeared.

There's a shift in the air. Dante stands still. Even for a cemetery, it's too quiet. Not peaceful. Tents. Restless. Dante's just trotting back when he knows. The reader feels something, too, that pricking in the hind brain that sets the hairs standing. Dante flicks back the red tails of his duster and pulls out his gun.

Reader: "Woah! Are those guns real?!"

Dante flexes his bicep: "'Course they are, babe!"

Reader: "No! I mean th-!"

Bang! A murder of crows take to the air. The only thing more unnerving than the mist and the gunshot is the cold hard gleam in Dante's eye.

And something in the tombstones growls.

Basically, there's probably some small hellgate in the area. Weak demons are leaking through.

The plot turns away from Heather's and fake suicides and mental illness into an '80s horror slasher flick in which Dante and the reader survive and work together to break the hell gate. Dante's dad might end up dead in the process, not by his hands but just because. Alternatively, Dante decides that he's turning 18 in a couple of months and soon the law won't be able to chase after him. He doesn't know what he's going to do with his life, but he sure as hell isn't letting big blood Dean drag him anywhere anymore.

Either way, it's implied that Dante finds his calling through this story.

And becomes a demon hunter.

Demons might have been possessing people or killing people and making it look like suicides so they can drain the humans of their blood when they're brought to the morgue. A bunch of lesser demons serving a relatively stronger demon.

It serves a similar effect as the sensationalization of fake suicides in the musical's plot. Only now the reader forged the suicide notes and set up the fake suicides in order to protect them both. There's no way the law was going to buy the truth.

The reader still has to deal with Heather duke, Heather mcnamara, the horrors of the hierarchy of the high school. They deal with Miss Fleming and the assembly. Is Heather McNamara from actually committing suicide, but then there's still a demon attack that they have to somehow protect both of them from. And this is taking place in the '80s, so there are no cell phones and the landline is cut.

The hellgate was dormant under the boiler room in the high school.

If Dante got possessed, we could still have some Dead Girl Walking (Reprise) and the reader shoots him but it's Dante so he survives!

Whatever was possessing him was nowhere near as good at fighting as a human.

Cherry flavored slushies. Dante drinks cherry flavored slushies, and when he sings I thought emotional part where he accidentally reveals thoughts of suicide, he tries to brush it off with humor, as always.

Still our favorite chaotic half demon.

Cherry flavored slurpees and pizza and teenage detective work that dpuble as dates. Dante doesn't give a s*** and just wants to be pointed in the direction of the fight. The reader is actually doing research and carefully trying to piece together what is going on. Dante provides whatever he knows on demons. And hell.

Dante: "Yeah, my dad is the legendary demon Sparda. My mom and brother died in a demon attack on our house and that's why I'm in foster care."

Reader: "Okay... Sounds fake, but okay..."

Dante gets shot right in the chest. Reader freaks out, but still manages to blow up the hell gate with a bomb and thermals. To collapse the whole gymnasium, which is empty.

They crawl out of the dust. Shaking, a lot to process all at once.

Then there's a whistle. And impressed whistle. The reader looks up. It's Dante, standing strong and straight and waving at dust like he's not squirting blood out of the hole in his chest. "Now, that was some fireworks! Remind me to invite you to my next birthday party."

And that was when the reader believed that he was actually half demon.

Plot twist a faculty member opened the hell gate and it's Miss Fleming the hippie.

I wanted to feel more 80s than it sounds here, and other than that that's all I've got.

Edit 8/20/21

The reader wears the blue Heathers uniform. Short grey skirt and all.

Or if you don't like skirts, then trousers. Tight, flattering trousers. Dante loves to watch how they pull in all the right places.

The two of you are hanging out upstairs in his room, talking about the deaths. The read is worried, fretting over the mystery, flipping through pages in their notebook; Dante sprawls next to them, half hanging off the bed, head in their lap, yawning. The front door opens and bangs shut. Dante springs out of his seat. Suddenly, he wants to get out if the house.

"Hey, do you want some ice cream? Dairy Queen, strawberry sundae, you and me. C'mon!"

Big Blood Dean stomps upstairs. "Dante! Get yer worthless ass in gear! We gotta a job, you gotta go on a supply run-"

Dean barges right on in. Looks at Dante. Looks at the reader. "You got company."

"S'there a problem?" Dante sounds cool. Too cool. He's on his feet and wandering about the room, like he's bored. The reader tenses. Dean is huge, but he somehow looms beyond his size.

Dante does his careless waltz. The reader can't take their eyes off Dean. Like a frightened animal. How can Dante expose his back like that?!

But by getting up, he's put himself between you and his adoptive parent.

"Get rid of them," orders Dean.

Shrugging, Dante pats your knee. "Alright, c'mon, babe." He leads you by the elbow to the window. You still keep an eye on Dean. He's glaring.

Dante throws open the window and bows. "After you!"

"Um, the front door is...?"

He's not serious.

"Go on!"

He's serious.

Hesitant, you stick a leg through and let him push you the rest of the way out. Then he slips out, too

"You come back here, boy-!"

"See ya, old man!" Dante slams the window shut.

"Is he going to lock you out?" You ask as you shimmy down the drain pipe.

"He can't. You broke my window lock."

Dante buys two Sundaes because he doesn't want to share; after he polishes off his, he's snatching bites of yours.

He used the "Nevada account."

(Update 9-20-21)

And this whole story would be even better with JD!Virgil instead.

Virgil didn't have time yet to harden from the demon attack before Big Blood Dean adopted him.

This is all much the same as with JD!Dante, except that Virgil gets darker (not that Veronica!Reader knows how bad it is; they didn't accidentally murder Heather together) carries a gun and everything.

In the big final fight, Virgil runs out of ammo. Demons have cornered him. It's the house, his Mom, Dante, all over again.

One blink later, the demons are all dead, slashed open. Virgil shakes as he yanks on the handle in his grip, and pulls out the blade from a soft belly.

Yamato. How did it get here? These demons are unrecognizable, like dead carrion at a butchers. Did I do this? He thinks, distant and fuzzy, as he watches his hands like watching a film as they flip his sword.

Humans are weak. Humans are wretched.

The reader's smile passes through his mind.

... Perhaps not all humans are... Deserving of death.

They're just weak. Virgil flicks gore off the sword, and heads to his house, looking for Big Blood Dean.

He didn't like the way Dean had scared you with the "Norwegian in the Boiler Room" talk, anyway.

(Spoilers: Dean doesn't live. And Virgil loves you, but this was mostly for him. It's the tipping point, and afterwards he chooses his demonic heritage over humanity. But less "kill them all" and more "purge those who dare cross our path- but don't tell Reader, they get upset easily." What they don't know can't hurt them- and you have Virgil to thank.)

You two definitely run away together at the end. Off to explore knowledge of demons and Hell and whatever else.

You want to seal off the Hellgates that are being all over the world.

Virgil wants to level-grind.

It's couples-time, really.

#DMC x Heathers #heathers au #dmc #dante dmc #dante x reader #dmc dante #dmc dante x reader #my post #my writing

43 notes · View notes

joaquinwhorres · 3 years

Text

Blank Out - Ch. 2 (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

[ Masterlist ]

SUMMARY ››››› Bucky Barnes has a list of names–amends he needs to make. When he gets to yours, he finds the amends process a bit more…difficult than it should be.

WORD COUNT ››››› 3,550-ish

WARNINGS ››››› language

A/N ››››› I’ve decided that this story calls for alternating perspectives. Also, lemme know what you think about how this explores post-End Game life.

"You know Bucky Barnes?!"

Rocio was upon you before you had even fully entered the dining room. Despite the fact that it was probably cutting off her circulation, the eight year old was still proudly wearing her "Soldier Arm". You were surprised she could even put it on anymore, a thought that brought on the bittersweet feeling of nostalgia. When the two of you had constructed the costume four years ago, you had needed to roll the ends of the glove up and then safety pin it to the top of Rocio's sleeve to keep it from sliding off. Now it didn't even reach her shoulder anymore.

"I never mentioned that?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No!" Rocio exclaimed

"Oh," you shrugged, rounding the table and passing by a wiggling Ravi in his booster seat.

Rocio fell into step behind you letting out an indignant and frustrated sound. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

She had an amazing and irritating talent for both shouting and whining at the same time. You breathed out your annoyance through her nose.

"Rocio," you said, flatly. "Do you really think I know Bucky Barnes and kept it a secret from you?"

The little girl pouted for a second as she thought it over before slowly shaking her head. "You're not very good at keeping secrets."

"Hey," you pointed a finger at her. "I never told anyone about your crush on Spider-Man did I?"

"I was six!"

"And yet, old enough to propose," you grinned, remembering finding the letter Rocio had addressed to Spider-Man with haphazardly spaced and sized letters. It had taken a few attempts to decipher some of the spelling, but it had proven excellent material to tease Rocio about for the past two years.

Your niece scowled at you and marched back to the table, dramatically throwing herself back into her chair.

You turned back to the stove and the probably cold eggs, smiling to yourself in victory. It was a brief moment of peace as you dished eggs onto three plates because the moment you popped the first one in the microwave, the interrogation started back up.

"Well, if you don't know him, why was he here?"

"He wanted to talk to me and your mom," you said, watching the eggs spin round and round.

"About what?"

"The weather."

"Y/N!" Rocio hit her hand against the table, causing Ravi to jump in his seat and stare at his sister with wide eyes.

You whirled on your niece. "Rocio Ishani, you know better."

"Sorry," Rocio mumbled, casting her eyes down to the table--one of her tells of genuine embarrassment and regret. The microwave beeped, and you sighed, switching the plate out for another one.

"I don't know what he wants to have a conversation about. He was here for three minutes and you did most of the talking. And even if I did know," you added on, stopping Rocio before words could come out of the little girl's open mouth. "I don't think it's a child friendly conversation. Which means when he comes, you're going to your room."

"He's coming back?"

You nodded. "When your mom comes to pick you up," you said, stopping the eggs with six seconds left on the clock. You took the two plates to the table, setting the hot one down in front of your seat and the warm one in front of Rocio. You raised your eyebrows at your niece, gesturing with your head to the kitchen before turning back to get Ravi's plate. Rocio trailed you in, pulling out the silverware drawer to get forks for the three of you and tearing off three paper towels as napkins. She still hadn't quite grasped that Ravi wouldn't be using a napkin however much he needed one. Instead, she ripped one half sheet into a quarter, as if that would convince him to use it in the same way that the small bright green fork convinced him to be somewhat civilized in his eating instead of using his hands.

It was a few more minutes before you were all at the table, ready to eat.

"Your arm, please," you said, gesturing to Rocio's glove. The little girl put up no fight, shimmying out of it and lightly laying it on the empty chair next to her, signature side up so she could admire it all of breakfast.

While the interrogation seemed to be over, talk of the Avengers was not. Most of the breakfast conversation revolved around ranking the Avengers from most powerful to least powerful, and most helpful to least helpful, and the ever ambiguous "best" to "worst." And then, as it did with young kids, talk bounced from subject to subject--connected only by the vaguest semblance of eight year old logic. It ended with a request to watch Wild Kratts after breakfast.

You did.

You did a lot of other things after breakfast too.

You made and played with play dough and stopped when you noticed Ravi was alternating between building with his and eating it.

You each drew pictures for Lilly with varying degrees of realism, had a fashion show turned impromptu dance party, and played hide and seek during Ravi's nap. (Rocio was such a good hider that you hadn't found her until after Ravi woke up, and you were definitely looking very hard and not reading a book.)

You painted each other's nails, and built an epic race car track for Ravi and made individual pizzas.

You raked leaves outside and picked a few favorites to press in books and even found time to fit in a small hurt self/strong self activity before Lilly arrived.

You were in the middle of deconstructing eating your creations when the front door opened.

"Where is my family?"

You looked up with a smile and gestured towards the door, but Rocio remained put. "We're in here!" she shouted, fingers sticky with peanut butter and fluff.

Lilly sauntered into the room, her emerald green suit still pressed and wrinkleless despite a day on the job. She arched her perfectly threaded eyebrows as she looked at you and daughter and the table all covered in graham cracker crumbs. "Looks like you three had a good day."

"Yep!" Rocio chirped, and Lilly clicked forward and into the corner of the room where Ravi was playing with his two cars on a section of the track.

"How is it my two year old is the least messy of the three of you?" she asked, bending over to press a kiss to Ravi's head. He squirmed away, continuing to move his cars along the track.

You laughed as Rocio licked a finger clean of peanut butter. "Because Ravi takes after you, and Rocio takes after me," you said, grinning at Rocio. Lilly frowned and crossed back over to the girls. "Don't worry though, I think we're all adventured out, so tomorrow we're just going to sit and stare at the walls."

"No!" Rocio shouted, and Lilly hushed her.

You tilted your head as if thinking. "I guess we could wash my car," you said, tapping your chin with a finger. "And the baseboards do need some dusting."

Rocio let out a dramatic groan, and you laughed, picking up a napkin to rub away at the spot of marshmallow fluff on her chin.

"Well, if you're not going to clean my house, you can at least clean your hands."

Rocio gave you a look of exasperation that she should have been much too young to even think about giving. Nevertheless, she slid out of her chair and headed to the sink, Lilly stopping her en route so she could press a kiss to the top of her daughter's head.

"How was work?" you asked as Lilly sunk into Rocio's vacated chair.

"People are idiots," Lilly rolled her eyes, giving a sigh.

"Says the literal genius," you returned, and Lilly snorted, shaking her head.

"It doesn't take a genius to follow simple instructions. I'll lay everything out for them, and even with pictures, they can't complete a single build without running into some potentially catastrophic error."

"That's not what you want to hear from the lead engineer at Stark Energy."

Rocio skipped back to the table, and Lilly scooched out her chair, gesturing for Rocio to come sit on her lap. The little girl veered off early though, instead attempting to climb into your lap. You shook her head, casting a quick glance at your sister who dropped her open arms.

"Your mom's missed you," you said, gesturing with her head across the table.

"I live with her," Rocio whined.

"And?" Lilly asked, moving her chair back up to the table. "I still miss you when I work."

"Really?" Rocio asked, walking over to the chair next to Lilly, and claiming it.

"Really," Lilly assured, placing an arm on the back of Rocio's chair, gently combing through her daughter's hair with her fingers. She looked up at you offering a small, weak smile before looking back down at her daughter. Her brow creased. "What are you sitting on?" she asked, tugging at something underneath Rocio. The little girl joined her mom in looking down, her eyes lighting up as she recognized the object.

"My Soldier Arm! Oh yeah! Guess who we met today!"

"Who?" Lilly asked.

"No, guess!"

You would have to teach your niece about the art of not playing a guessing game after making the answer so obvious. Then again, it still seemed so surreal that Bucky Barnes would turn up at your doorstep, that even with the "Soldier Arm", you doubted that Lilly would guess.

Lilly pursed her lips, putting on a show of thought. "Was it--"

There was a knock at the front door interrupting Lilly's guess. Rocio practically launched herself from the chair, already halfway out of the room by the time she could scream "I'll get it!"

"No!" Ravi shouted. His usual reaction when Rocio was too loud, too energetic, too Rocio.

Lilly exhaled a laugh at her son before turning back to you. "This was too much sugar," she said, circling a finger around Rocio's half-eaten creation. You laughed and Lilly smiled, and it felt nice for things to be normal between you--easy. Even if it was just for a moment.

A moment that was brought to a screeching halt by Rocio dragging Bucky Barnes into the combined kitchen and dining room by the hand.

"We met Bucky Barnes!" she chirped.

Lilly's face went slack, only managing to get out a small "Holy shit." Your eyes didn't linger long on your sister though. Instead your gaze was drawn to Bucky Barnes who looked vaguely amused at Rocio.

"Rocio, release your captive," you prompted, and reluctantly, Rocio released his hand, taking a few steps back towards her mother to give him some space.

"Is this--are you--what is happening here?" Lilly asked, looking between Bucky and you and Rocio, as if one of you had a reasonable explanation for this.You had only ever seen your sister this flustered twice before. Both of the previous occasions had been heartbreaking and traumatic, and you'd never quite gotten to experience how funny flustered Lilly was.

"He wants to talk to you and Y/N about something!" Rocio filled in.

Lilly's head whipped to you. "You know him?" she whispered, as if this was some secret conversation for your ears only.

You shook her head. "No, he just came by this morning and asked to speak with us."

"About what?" Lilly asked, furrowing her eyebrows and looking back to Bucky.

"I don't know."

For all of the differences between Lilly and Rocio--and there were many--their brain processing was eerily similar.

Bucky cleared his throat, drawing your attention back to him. "I um--I don't know if you want--" he gestured to Rocio. "Here for this."

"Rocio, go to your ro--the playroom," you corrected.

"I promise I'll be quiet if you let me--" Rocio started, and Lilly cut her off.

"Rocio, take your brother and go up to the playroom please,"

"But--" Rocio's face melted into the start of a complaint, but there a sharp cut of her mother's eyes stopped her dead. You remembered being on the receiving end of that look quite a few times while she was growing up. If anything it'd grown in power.

Rocio stomped forward, taking Ravi by the hand who whined and complained until she let him pick up a few cars to take with him, and the two exited the room, heavy footsteps echoing up the staircase.

You turned back to Bucky who was staring over Lilly's head, at the wall of family pictures.

The idea had hit you four years ago after Rocio woke up crying from a nightmare. Together, you spent the night going through old photo albums and Facebook albums, searching for the best pictures of the family. You ended the night with about forty pictures that needed to be framed, and the whole project took about a week to finish.

Every time the two of you ate lunch together over the past four years, Rocio would choose a picture, and you would tell her the story behind the picture. Your eyes flitted amongst them now.

There was the first time Lilly held you as a baby which was also the first time you smiled. Lilly's high school graduation--one of the few pictures with both of your parents in it, hovering on either side of Lilly as a six year old you sat on her hip. Lilly and Hector's beautiful wedding day. Lilly and Hector at your high school graduation. Lilly and you at the baby shower for Rocio, and Lilly and Hector at the shower for Ravi. There was one of Rocio's grandparents meeting her for the first time, and a good number of photos documenting your visits out to the family. Before the blip.

During your four years together, you and Rocio had also taken pictures of memories the family couldn't be there for and hung them on the wall; reminders of stories to tell should they ever return.

Rocio and you moving into a new house.

Rocio's first day of Kindergarten, first, and second grade.

The two of you and Rocio's ill-fated hamster, Churro.

Birthday parties and day trips that the rest of the family should have attended.

Bucky stared at the pictures, his frown deepening.

"Would you like to sit?" Lilly invited, allowing her collected professional persona to seep into her voice and straighten her spine.

The super soldier nodded, choosing the chair at the end of the table, closest to the door. He wet his lips, his eyes drawn from the pictures and down to the wooden table. It was strange seeing an Avenger--someone who had fought Thanos--seem so nervous in the company of two ordinary women.

He reminded you of the fourth graders who entered your office.

The fourth graders were always so hesitant to work with you--terrified of opening up and showing even a glimpse of vulnerability. It took three sessions just to get them to admit that they weren't fine and a few more before they lost the skittish look in their eyes. You doubted Bucky would be pried open by bags of chips or any of her fidgets, but figured you could at least try.

"Can I get you something to drink?" you asked, and Bucky shook his head.

"I don't want to take up too much of your time."

You nodded, and Lilly cocked her head. "So what brings an Avenger to my sister's house?"

He wet his lips and then looked up at the pair of you. "You're part of my efforts to make amends." Bucky made an attempt at a smile.

Across the table, Lilly's chest constricted with barely suppressed laughter, and the corners of your lips twitched in and out of a smile. Whoever had advised him to smile, surely hadn't meant for him to smile like that.

"What are you here to make amends for?" Lilly asked, her voice steady and betraying none of her amusement.

"I…" his eyes drifted back to the wall of pictures looming beside the group. "I'm the one responsible for your parents death."

You felt the world stop.

Or maybe it wasn't the world, maybe you stopped. Maybe every single atom within you stilled for a moment. Maybe your brain shut down and heart paused its beating, keeping you from thinking or feeling anything other than the numbness of shock. Because as surprising as it was for Bucky Barnes to show up on your doorstep at ten in the morning, you never expected he was responsible for changing your entire life.

"I know there's nothing, I could ever do to truly make amends--"

"You don't need to make amends."

Everything seemed to restart then. Your heart picked up its beating and brain whirred into action, sifting through memories and thoughts you'd long ago pushed to the back of your mind and locked there to remain untouched even by years of therapy.

Your skin prickled with flashes of images. The dark figure at the top of the staircase, the glint of metal you'd assumed was a gun in his hand, the cold blankness of his stare as his eyes bore into yours. And then the horror and sick relief of finding your parents in the moments after his disappearance.

"They were horrible people, and I'm glad they're dead. Thank you for salvaging my childhood"

"Y/N," Lilly gasped, horrified.

"You hated them too," you argued back. "Don't pretend you're not glad that Rocio and Ravi never have to meet them."

"Our relationship with our parents aside, they were still our parents. The least we can do is not thank the man who murdered them in their sleep."

Bucky for his part looked completely bewildered as his eyes darted between the two arguing sisters.

You shook your head. "You were more of a parent to me than they ever were."

"And it's because of that that I remember you waking up screaming every night for three years. So if you're not going to ask for amends for our parents' murder, at least ask for amends for what you had to go through because of him."

"My nightmares aren't because of him," you dismissed. Lilly would never believe--let alone understand--the reason behind your nightmares.

Seeing the argument was fruitless, Lilly tsked and dismissed you with a flip of her hair, turning instead to address Bucky. "Why?"

"Why…" Bucky stumbled along, confused by the conversational whiplash or the vague question.

"Why did you kill our parents?" Lilly demanded.

"Does it matter?" you asked.

"It matters to me."

You stared at your sister for a solid thirty seconds before, and shutting your eyes and bowing your head in surrender. Lilly didn't understand. If you had it your way, Lilly would never understand. You would never burden your sister like that.

Bucky swallowed hard. "I wasn't told the specifics of every...assignment. All I know is that your parents were working on something HYDRA wanted, and when they were offered a chance to join the cause, they declined. I was tasked with eliyoution and retrieval."

"Retrieval?" Lilly pressed

"Of their research."

Lilly gave him a single nod before looking down at the table in front of her. "I didn't even know they were conducting their own research."

You felt her skin prickle, an icy hot sensation shooting through your veins. Carefully calm, you reached across the table, palms open for your sister's hands. Lilly placed her hands into yours. "They never let us get to know them," you said gently, squeezing Lilly's hands. "That's why I'm angry and you're hurt."

Even as you said this, you could feel Bucky's gaze on you, intently studying your motions and facial expressions.

You looked back at him. "Thank you for coming to tell us. I'm sure it wasn't easy."

He nodded, his brow still slightly creased as he looked at her. And then his gaze flicked to Lilly, and you released a breath.

"I know it doesn't mean much--it doesn't change anything, but I'm not the person who did that anymore. I am no longer the Winter Soldier. I am James "Bucky" Barnes."

Lilly nodded, releasing your hands and looking Bucky square in the face. Her own expression was completely neutral, not a trace of a tear or any of the hurt she'd voiced.

"If you want to make amends, you should come here for Thanksgiving."

Neither you nor Bucky had been expecting that. Your instinctive reaction was to snort out a laugh as if it were a joke, and Bucky looked like the very dictionary definition of confusion: brow knitted together, eyes narrowed, mouth hanging open.

"It would mean the world to my daughter. You can think about it as replacing a memory of my daughter meeting her grandparents. you's right, this will probably be a happier memory anyway."

"You have to come!" Rocio rushed into the room, you and Lilly shouting her name in a mixture of surprise, horror, and reprimand. The eight year old made no excuses or explanations. Instead she stood by Bucky's chair, peering up at him with a bright intensity only a child could muster. "Please."

Bucky looked away from Rocio to Lilly and then you. "Ok."

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #tfatws #fatws #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagine #falcon and the winter soldier #fatws fic #tfatws fic #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes fanfiction #post-end game #james buchanan barnes #marvel #avengers #marvel fic #avengers fic

95 notes · View notes