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vladajwrites · 1 year

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Razor’s Edge

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five

Summary; Reader moves to Woodsboro for her senior year of high school. This story take place in the setting of the Scream 4 movie. This story is dedicated to all of the girls living through the current Rory Culkin revival. I love and see you. <3

Also available to be read on AO3 here

It's imperative for me to mention MAJOR trigger warnings for this story; blood, violence, sexual content, alcohol usage, and mentions of abusive situations. I will add and edit tw's as needed.

WC; 4146

Notes; Hello!

The next part should be out relatively soon. Not sure quite yet how many parts will be made and posted. Thank you for any and all support! It truly means the world to me.

(Not Beta Read)

It had been an astonishingly warm night when you returned to the town of Woodsboro. The air around you felt slick with familiar August humidity as you stepped out of the car that once belonged to your father. You stood for a moment, inhaling deeply as if attempting to swallow in the sight around you.

It had been nearly a decade since you had seen the quiet street where your aunt Irina resided. The moon was nearly full, casting a gold tinted glow that rivaled the street lamps near the surrounding homes. Memories of your childhood summers spent rolling in the grass of your aunt’s front yard as she sunbathed beside you flashed through your mind as you stared across the lawn.

A sad smile crept across your lips as you popped the trunk, compiling boxes in an unstable stack within your arms.

You suddenly felt a nervous sting in your stomach as you walked towards the door. Reality seemingly sinking in slowly. You had just turned eighteen only days prior. You dreamt of that birthday for years. It meant that you were now an adult and that in some ways; you were free. Free to leave home and go no contact with your parents. Your parents had plucked you from a town not far from Woodsboro and moved you across the country at the age of nine. They isolated you from the support of any sort of extended family or potential friends. Your mother and father psychically and emotionally tormented you and did so in such a calculating manner that they would never be caught or reprimanded.

You had tried to run away to your aunts once before at the age of fourteen, but your parents had the police bring you back to the home before you could cross the county’s boundary. It was even more difficult to keep in contact with your lovely aunt after that. Your parents monitored the communication between the two of you like a hawk. Your aunt still did what she could to support you and you both knew that when the time came, she would become your safe haven.

You weren’t sure how you’d make your escape, how you would go about hiding the things you were carefully packing away. But it seemed your parents had, by this point, completely checked out. It was as if they quietly understood that you’d all be better off if you parted ways. The final confirmation you needed that this was true was when your dad passed the title of the old car he had kept in the garage and worked on rebuilding over the past years to you just days before your birthday. He committed this action wordlessly, dropping the paperwork in front of your bedroom door to find. You said nothing in return. You knew what it all meant. An action like that from him would never come from a place of love or kindness.

It didn’t take you long after to finish gathering the last of your things. You debated on leaving your parents a note, debated the possibility of initiating a final conversation with them. Using your better judgment, you decided against it. They didn’t deserve anything from you, you knew you’d never receive the closure from them you deserved. Better to just try and forget it all.

You left in the night after hours of pacing your bedroom floor, waiting and listening anxiously until the house grew silent and you could assume your parents were fast asleep. You grabbed your bag containing your phone, wallet, and keys and made your way out to your car that sat adjacent to the curb in front of the Connecticut home that served as your personal hell for nearly a decade.

You started the engine, feeling the car shake as it warmed up. Your hands trembled as they gripped the steering wheel. You were ready, had to be.

Taking a single look back at your home, you felt your heart skip out of step as you caught your mother’s frame looking down at you from her second-story bedroom window. You took your foot off the gas as you met her eyes. You couldn’t have but certain, but by the way her sullen cheeks glinted in the dim night lighting, she appeared to be crying. Her mouth remained pierced and straight, her shoulders and head rigid and stiff in their usual form. Even if she truly were crying, you wouldn’t have been able to bring yourself to care. Too late and far too little, you thought. You snapped your head back to the road and pulled forward down the street, refusing to look back again.

You held your shoulders and back straight, attempting to keep your face stuck in shrewd control. You couldn’t explain the wet, sickly feeling that built and spilled from the corner of your eyes. Couldn’t stop it if you tried.

It wasn’t until you caught a glimpse of yourself in the rearview as you entered the highway that you realized you saw your mother’s face staring back at you. A sudden terrible thought crossed your mind. Could your parents have made you just as cruel and horrible as they were?

You took a deep breath, wiping away the tears that clung to your cold skin. You let your body slack slightly, relaxing the muscles in your face and shoulders. You glanced back up at your reflection once more. No, you thought, there was still a sense of softness in you. You would never be like them. You were going to heal, move forward.

A smile spread across your lips then as another car shot past you. This felt like the first real moment of your life. You reached over, digging in your bag for your phone. You only had one person to call. The phone rang twice before your aunt’s soft-spoken voice answered on the returning line. As if she could read your mind, she asked quietly, “Are you on your way?”

Your smile widened as you answered her, “Yes, yes! I’ll be there in just a few days. I have all my things. I’ll let you know if I run into any trouble.”

The line was silent, you held your breath as you waited for a response. You suddenly felt nervous in those quiet moments. You hadn’t told her that this would be the night you would be leaving. It had all happened so quickly.

Your aunt then exhaled a heavy sigh of relief and your smile returned once more.

“Be safe darling, I’ll speak to you soon. I love you.” Irina spoke.

“Okay, promise I will be. I love you too.” You replied before pressing the button to end the call.

The long drive passed in what now felt like an instant as you stood in Irina’s driveway, boxes in hand, looking up at what would become your new home.

Your aunt Irina greeted you on her front porch, promptly taking one of the small stacked boxes from your arms that hid your face. You sighed in relief at the lightened load.

“Ah dochka, come inside quickly.” Your aunt said over her shoulder as she propped the front door open with foot.

You nodded and followed her, placing the heavy boxes that contained the most important of your belongings on the entryway table beside the stairs. Your aunt carefully placed the box she held on top of the stack as well before turning to face you. You held your arms awkwardly at your side, your fingers twitched as you met your aunt’s gaze. She was all the natural beauty and poise that your mother -her older sister- had without the cutting and sunken look that came from years of contempt and cruelty. You hoped you favored your aunt in that way.

There was a moment of silence shared between the two of you as you took in the sight and presence of one another. Irina’s expression was filled with something indiscernible as she looked you over. You suddenly felt self-conscious in that moment. The last time she had seen you, you were only a child.

“I-“ You began to speak, unsure what your next words would be. You were promptly interrupted as Irina took you into her arms.

“Oh sweet girl, I’ve missed you so much.” Your aunt spoke softly. Her hand slid over your hair, holding your head closer to her own.

You tried your best to get a hold the overwhelming emotions building up inside you as you wrapped your arms tighter around her.

“Listen, don’t worry about any of it right now,” Irina pulled away, holding your shoulders in her hands. “I’ll show you to your bedroom. It’s late. We’ll catch up in all the days to come. As you’re ready, of course.”

She understood you so perfectly. It felt as though no time had passed between the two of you at all. You nodded, wiping away the single tear that slipped past your waterline. “Thank you.” You replied earnestly.

She showed you to your room, helping you carry your things up the stairs. The room was warm and soft, perfectly polished and eclectic, in the style that perfectly encapsulated Irina. You absolutely adored it all.

Your aunt didn’t linger as you swiftly unpacked the essentials you needed for the night. It was nearly reaching the hours of the early morning and you were both physically and mentally well exhausted. You’d let yourself begin to process it all in the morning. For now, you were safe, even happy. It was going to be alright.

The next morning had come and gone. Your aunt woke you with breakfast and the two of you exchanged small pleasantries. In the afternoon Irina stopped you as she caught you on the stairs, a laundry basket stuck to her hip. “We can go tomorrow to enroll you at the high school if you’d like. I have a gap in meetings around noon.”

You picked at your fingernails, tossing up the idea in your head. “It’s okay, I can run by the school on my own tomorrow. I imagine It shouldn’t take me very long.”

Irina furrowed her brow, nodding. “Oh okay then, just shoot me a text when you get everything sorted, will you?”

You smiled and nodded before the two of you resumed your paths apart.

Finding your way to the school the next morning wasn’t too difficult of a task to accomplish. Classes began in a week and to your relief, there were no students hanging near campus yet to be found. Aside from a few members of faculty, the school was entirely deserted.

It didn’t take you much time to locate the staff required to complete your enrollment. The secretary had even exclaimed she knew your aunt quite well. You supposed that everyone must be at least partially acquainted in this town, given its size.

You suddenly felt hesitant as you made your way across the parking lot back to your car. A silver sedan caught your eye as it sped past you. All four windows were rolled down and you could tell the car was full of people that looked just about your age. It seemed you had caught their attention too as you met the eyeline of the driver. She was too far away to make out much detail beyond her short cropped hair and frame.

The thought hadn’t yet occurred to you how difficult it would be to make new friends in a place where nearly everyone grew up with one another. You wished in that moment that you had made more of an effort as a child during your summers spent here to make any friends. But you had always been shy, horribly and painfully shy, as a child. It was just easier to play on your own. In all honesty, you weren’t sure how to make real close friends, let alone keep them.

Still, you shrugged, it would have made this whole transition much easier if you had at least one person near your age in Woodsboro who might have remembered your name.

You tried to keep your mind occupied in the days that followed. It wasn’t much of a hard task to follow. In the afternoon, you mainly kept to your bedroom, flipping mindlessly through a book you had been attempting to finish for the better part of a month. In the mornings you sat in the window bay, hot coffee in hand, remembering the neighborhood boys you used to watch ride by in circles on their bikes. Occasionally, your aunt invited you to eat lunch at the law firm she worked at in town. She’d tell you endlessly how quickly you’d adjust to things once the school year started, reminded you how the home was always open to guests, talked about the possible colleges you could apply to. It was a strange feeling to have someone show so much interest in the day-to-day doings of your life. You figured you’d learn to truly welcome and reciprocate the sentiment in time.

Your nerves had seemed kept safely under control until you began to turn into the Woodsboro High parking lot on the first day of class. Your fingers tapped the steering wheel in anticipation as you pulled into an open parking spot near the back of the lot. Placing the car in the park, you flipped your visor, giving yourself a once over before biting the bullet and getting the worst part of the day on with it. You scolded yourself for unknowingly chewing your lip nearly raw on the drive there, but other than that, you seemed just about alright.

Irina had been so excited to help you get ready for your first day. You knew she had always thought of you as her own daughter. She never had the opportunity to have any children of her own. You gladly let her fuss over your hair and clothing without once interjecting that the curling iron was burning your neck, and the constant outfit changes were exhausting your limited wardrobe. It gave you a sense of confidence, though, knowing that you at least looked your absolute best, regardless of how you felt inside.

You said a silent prayer as you approached the building’s front doors. Groups of students passed by in small droves. Each step felt like sinking through sludge as you noticed the quizzical looks from your new found peers that read ‘outsider.’ Even though your rational brain knew it couldn’t be true, it felt as though everyone in the halls was craning their heads to catch a glimpse. You dug your thumbnail into the palm of your hand as you dropped into an empty chair near the back of your first period homeroom class.

“There’s that new face.” A friendly female voice spoke beside you as she dropped her things on the desk to your right.

You turned to face her and were met by an inquiring smile and a familiar short blonde haircut. You immediately recognized her as the girl you had seen in the school parking lot the day you had registered.

You held out your hand, giving her your name.

She shook your hand in return, “Kirby.” She replied, giving you her own. As the two of you waited for the first bell to ring, you exchanged the usual first introduction sentiments. She introduced you to another girl who sat in the seat in front of you.

“Jill Roberts.” The new girl had stated more matter-of-factly.

“Good to meet you, Jill.” You replied in the same cadence. She gave you a half smile as she onced you over.

You spent the majority of your first few periods staring out of classroom windows or drawing endless little circles on your notebook as your teachers passed around syllabi and gave the same spiel on classroom expectation for the semester. You had learned so many names in just a few hours; you were already struggling to remember even just a handful. You assured yourself it wouldn’t matter much in the grand scheme of things. In a matter of days, most people would lose interest in the new girl thing and you’d slip comfortably by as a nameless face in the considerably smaller student body.

The bell rang for lunch and you were on your feet with your things thrown over your shoulder in a matter of seconds. You carefully squeezed your way through the buzzing hallway and made a direct line to your car, hoping to decompress and catch your breath for a moment.

Just as you planted your first foot on the paved parking lot, you heard your name called, no- shouted, from behind you.

‘Fuck,’ you mumbled to yourself, pivoting in place. It took a moment to locate the person who had called after you. A curly-haired boy awkwardly jogged to catch up, his long-haired counterpart feigned a cooler stepped approach behind him. You couldn’t remember an introduction with either of them.

The curly-haired boy noticing the confused look on your face interjected, halfway catching his breath, “We already got your name from Kirby.” He began, noticing the way your brows furrowed he quickly continued, “I’m Robbie, this is Charlie.” He motioned to the man that stood beside him.

You looked up between the pair, catching Charlie’s line of sight. His eyes dropped just as quickly to his shoes below him, kicking his laces at the ground.

“... Right.” you stated questioningly, dragging your eyes away from the frayed aglet on Charlie’s left shoe to look back up at Robbie.

“Right, yeah,” Robbie stumbled over his next words, “We run the film club. We meet every day after school.” You sucked in your bottom lip, trying to conceal your now amused half smile.

You noticed Charlie now glancing between you and Robbie with dread in his expression at the awkward mess Robbie was attempting to make his way through. Just before Charlie could begin to speak, Robbie rushed to spit out the point he was trying to get to.

“Well, we’d- I’d.” Robbie met Charlie’s eyes for a moment before continuing. “No- we’d love for you to, if you ‘d want to… You should come check it out. After school. Today.”

You rolled the idea over in your head for a moment. You didn’t really believe you belonged anywhere near a film club; you considered yourself an average movie-goer at best. It couldn’t necessarily hurt to go, either. If you really felt out of place, you could just not go back the next day. You squinted up at the pair. Neither of them could meet your eyes. Your aunt would be ecstatic to learn you’d even made an attempt to put yourself out there a bit more. The short contemplative silence hadn’t been a thought that had crossed your mind, but you could tell it was now starting to make them squirm.

“Come on dude, I told you she wouldn’t want to come.” Charlie broke the silence with a quiet plea to Robbie.

Charlie now turned back to face you, “I’m sorry, don’t stress about trying to make it.” The look of defeat in the pair’s expressions brought a pit of sudden guilt in your chest. Just as Charlie grabbed Robbie’s shoulder to drag him back inside the school, you interjected without a second thought.

“I’ll go. I’d love to go. Thank you for the invite.” You drug as much sincerity into your face as you could muster. Both boys stopped in their tracks, exclaiming in unison, “Really?”

Charlie’s eyebrow raised in suspecting confusion.

“Okay, cool! Classroom 120A, right after the last bell.” Robbie called over his shoulder, a wide grin plastered across his face.

You stood for a moment, one foot on the curb, watching the pair make their way back to school. Fixating on the way, Charlie ran his hand through the mess of his long hair.

“See, I told you dude, you just have to make the first move.” You could hear Robbie say, almost out of earshot now. His arm reached out to fall over Charlie’s shoulder, shaking him slightly. Charlie pushed the boy off him. You imagined him rolling his eyes as he brushed off his shoulder.

You laughed to yourself, turning on your heel, heading back to your car to spend the time left of lunch you had in much needed solitude.

The remainder of the school day passed by just about the same way the first half had. In your last class of the day, you took the time counting the heads of the students around you, trying to recount the names of each one you could remember. Once you made your way to the back corner of the room, you noticed Charlie staring down at his lap. He was crumpling, unfolding, then crumpling up the same piece of paper over and over again. You wondered what he could’ve written on that paper, if there was anything written on it at all.

You hadn’t realized how long you sat watching his repetitive movements until he looked up, catching your gaze. His eyes were piercing, deep set, his hair half-way covering the features of his face.

Your face burned hot as you quickly snapped your head back towards the whiteboard in the front of the room.

‘Idiot.’ You groaned in silence to yourself. Out of the very corner of your peripherals, you could feel his eyes still fixated on you from just a row behind. You picked at your nails anxiously, watching the minute hand spin on the classroom clock.

The last bell of the day rang out shortly after and you relaxed into your seat. You slowly gathered your things into your bag on the desk.

“Hey.” A familiar voice spoke beside you. You jumped in your seat at the quiet and sudden proximity. You looked up to meet Charlie’s gaze. He was messing with the loop on the strap of his backpack that rested on his left shoulder. “I can show you to the room we use for film club, if that’d be cool with you.”

You nodded your head up at him. “Yeah, that’s cool.” In all honesty, you had almost completely forgotten about even going.

“Cool.” He said, grabbing your bag off the desk and throwing it over his other shoulder. He began walking to the door, motioning over his shoulder for you to follow him.

You followed closely beside him as you both pushed your way through the hallways packed with students exiting the building. The would-be awkward silence between the pair of you was graciously filled by the loud chatter of people passing by.

“When’d you move back?” You barely caught Charlie’s question. His face was fixed on the wall in front of him.

“Back? I’m sorry, I’ve never lived here.” You replied, “I moved in with my aunt about a week ago.”

He looked over at you, studying your face for a second before turning away again. He nodded his head.

“What about you? How long have you lived here?” You asked, keeping your gaze directed forward as well.

“Born and raised.” He replied. You nodded in response as the two turned a corner. You could see a plaque that read 120A just ahead.

A trio of guys in football garb made their way past, headed in the opposite direction. The closest of the group carried a large bag of equipment at his side that nearly knocked your knee from under you as you crossed paths.

“Ouch,” you mumbled, missing a step. You were alright, truly fine after shaking it off a bit.

Charlie stopped in his tracks beside you. Turning to face the group. “Watch your shit, Anderson.” He called after them.

The carrier of the bag didn’t bother to stop walking, only looking over his shoulder to seemingly size Charlie up. He laughed, “Yeah, alright Walker. You’re not gonna do shit about it.”

You could nearly feel Charlie tense up beside you. Men and their silly egos.

“I’m alright, let’s go please.” You grabbed Charlie’s forearm and pulled him forward towards the room, letting go once you could feel his resistance lessen.

Once in the room, you let out a sigh and took a seat next to Kirby near the center of the room. The meeting, to your surprise, went by well. Charlie and Robbie both seemed much more sure of themselves when they were talking about things they were passionate about. Although you had to admit it was all pretty dorky, you’d never fault them for the devotion in their interests.

You were practically lost throughout the hourlong meeting, but you believed it wouldn’t be too much of a challenge to pick up on things, eventually. It was all sort of interesting, fun even.

You decided on the car ride home that day you’d make sure to attend the next one.

#fanfiction #fanfic #scream 4 fanfic #charlie walker fanfiction #charlie walker fanfic #charlie walker x reader #scream fanfic #charlie walker x y/n #charlie walker #rory culkin fanfic #rory culkin fanfiction

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bucky-fricking-barnes · 22 days

Text

Someplace Like Home

Title: Someplace Like Home

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 8.3k

Warnings: Canonical violence, minor injuries, minor blood, non-descriptive mentions of hospitals, mild language

Summary: Y/N owns a hostel in Croatia. When the very handsome Grant comes to work for her, she falls hard and fast for the new handyman.

A/N: This story takes place between Civil War and Infinity War, when Steve is on the run. There are a handful Croatian phrases/words used, which are translated at the end of this fic. Don’t ask me why all my Steve stories suddenly have foreign languages in them. As always, thanks for reading and supporting my writing in all the ways you do. Enjoy!

Dividers are by @firefly-graphics

Your morning starts off slow, like it always does, and after the handful of guests have finished breakfast and left to spend the rest of the day at the beach or in the mountains, you settle yourself behind the front counter and pull out your laptop. The dirty dishes can wait until later—Ana will be here in an hour, and she prefers doing the dishes over going over the books, so you have an unspoken deal that you’ll do the bookkeeping if she cleans up after meals.

You’re just opening up the software on your laptop when the front door opens. The bell above it jingles as a man steps in, bringing with him a warm gust of air. June has been unseasonably cool, but today is the warmest it’s been in weeks. You’ve kept most of the windows open all morning, even though it was still a bit chilly.

“Dobro jutro,” you greet. You carefully shift the laptop off to the side a few inches, being careful not to mess up the carefully arranged papers you’ve sorted out on the counter.

“Kako vam mogu pomoći?”

The man has a gray hiking backpack slung over his shoulder. He’s tall and blond, a dark blond that looks golden in the light from the outside but brown in the shadows. His thick beard and mustache are well-trimmed. You automatically open up the leatherbound reservation book and reach underneath the counter for a key.

“Dobro jutro. Uh, govorite li engleski?” asks the man. He smiles politely, and you smile back, nodding.

“Of course,” you answer. “How can I help you?”

His eyes move to the pen in your hand, already poised over the next open spot in the reservation book. “I’m not here for a room. I’m here about the opening for a handyman.”

Surprised, you close the book again and tuck it back under the counter where it belongs, along with the key you’d grabbed. No one has come about the open position since you’d posted it months ago in the local cafe. Not even a sign outside the hostel has helped.

“In that case, my name’s Y/N. I’m the owner here.”

“Grant,” he replies, his hand already held out for you to shake.

You oblige with another smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Grant. Can I ask how you found out about the position? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around town.”

He nods once. “I just moved here from Italy, and from Switzerland before that.”

“So you’re making your way through Europe, then?” you ask. You’re not entirely surprised—he looks rugged enough that he could handle a long backpacking trip or several months of solo travel, unlike some of the college students you normally have traipsing through your village.

“In a way,” he answers. “Truthfully, I’d like to settle down someplace, but it’s been a rough few years. I haven’t quite found the place that feels like home yet.”

Secretly, as you listen to him explain the various European cities in which he’s lived, you wish that he’ll come to feel at home here. Brdonik isn’t large enough to be on any maps, but it’s been your home for almost a decade now, and you can’t imagine a better place. The whole community bands together, and people look out for each other. There’s enough tourism from backpackers and small cruises that you’re not totally isolated, but you’re still far enough removed that your daily life isn’t saturated with commercialism and the big city nonsense you often hear about through your guests. You’d experienced it enough before coming to Croatia, and you don’t ever plan on going back to the life you’d had before you moved.

“To answer your question,”—Grant’s gentle continuation pulls you from your thoughts—“I saw a flier posted in the cafe down the street. I stopped there for lunch.”

“What did you order?” you ask. You prop an elbow up on the counter and level him with your gaze.

“Is that important?

“If you want this job it is. You can tell a lot about a person based on what they order at a restaurant.”

He smiles a little. “I got the turkey sandwich.”

You consider his choice for a moment before giving him a nod. “Simple, but respectable. A clear tourist choice, but I like it.”

“You can’t go wrong with a turkey sandwich,” he adds.

“It’s a classic!” You smile back at him and then come around the counter into the main part of the lobby. You grab your clipboard from its hook on the wall.

“Let me give you a tour,” you tell him. “I’ll point out some of the things that need fixing, and then you can tell me if you still think you’re a good fit.”

Grant agrees, and he walks beside you as you lead him through the hostel. You show him the currently unoccupied rooms, as well as the common areas, and you give him plenty of time to inspect the stalled projects and major fixes that he’d been in charge of. While he looks around, you watch him carefully. There’s something familiar about him, something you can’t quite put your finger on, but he doesn’t set off any alarm bells in your head like some of the previous candidates had. He’s respectful of the property and the few lingering guests you come across, and Grant is polite enough to open doors for you as you approach them. He speaks softly and clearly, and his sense of humor is well-timed. Somehow, despite his hulking frame and obvious strength, you feel safe around him.

Eventually, you lead him to your office. Grant takes the seat in front of your desk and you close the door behind him, then sit behind your desk and pull a pad of paper from the drawer. He’s almost too big for the chair you normally reserve for college-age backpackers looking for a few days of housekeeping work. He’s relaxed, though, and he rests both arms on the thin wooden armrests as you get out what you need. You sneak a glance at him as you sit upright again. His eyes move slowly and carefully over the framed photos and documents on the wall, taking in each one of them individually before he moves onto the next—your college diploma from NYU, a photo of you with your family the last time they came to visit, a certificate of operation from the local government. His backpack is leaning up against the front leg of the chair and his left leg, and you briefly wonder how he’s afforded to travel so much. The bag looks brand new, and high-tech, too. Is he a tech mogul of some kind? A grown-up trust fund kid? Did he steal it, or is he just really good with money?

“You’ll have to excuse me, I don’t have any questions prepared for you,” you tell him as you reach for a pen.

He nods and looks back at you. “You weren’t expecting me to walk in today, I understand.”

“Either way, I have to say that so far, I’m very impressed with you.” You glance up again and give him a polite smile, then look back down as you write his name and the date at the top of the page. “What did you say your last name was again?”

“Carter,” he says.

Nodding, you add that at the top and make your first bullet point.

“Grant Carter. Are you named after someone? That seems a pretty traditional name for a guy your age.” You immediately cringe at the question. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate. You don’t have to answer that.”

Chuckling, Grant shakes his head. “No, it’s alright. My mother was a big fan of Ulysses S. Grant.”

“The 18th president?” you ask, grinning wide.

He nods and lets out another small laugh. “That’s the one.”

“He’s not normally up there on peoples’ lists of favorite presidents.”

“She had her reasons, I guess,” Grant shrugs.

You hum a little with a smile and look back down at your almost empty legal pad. You have a million questions that you want to ask, and more that you know you should, but you allow yourself to think for a moment before you look up again. Whatever you ask has to be the right mix of the two.

“You’ve lived in a lot of really impressive places,” you begin, and Grant nods in confirmation. “Why come here? There are plenty of larger cities with more job openings. Better paying job openings,” you add.

“You sell yourself short,” Grant easily replies. He sits forward a little, his elbows sliding closer to the ends of the armrests. “Your town is beautiful. It’s comfortable, and a bit secluded. I’m looking for something quieter.”

“A lot of people are, but we’re not often what they want in the long run. How long are you planning on staying?”

Grant stares at you for a long moment before he replies, “Until I’m needed elsewhere.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s a bit cryptic, so I hope you don’t mind if I ask for a clearer answer.”

“I plan on staying indefinitely, but if it changes, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”

Not quite satisfied with his answer, you still scribble down the response and make a second point on the next line down.

“Do you have handyman experience?”

Grant shakes his head. “But I’m a quick learner and I’m stronger than I look. Whatever I don’t already know how to do, I’ll pick it up quickly if I can get the information from someone or somewhere.”

I highly doubt you’re stronger than you look, you think, forcing yourself to look down at the paper and write, rather than at him. You already look pretty damn strong.

“Do you have a previous employer I can contact? Or references?”

“I can have that information to you by the end of the day.”

You nod and keep writing, and you don’t look up as you say, “We don’t typically provide housing for employees, as we’re a small enough village that commute isn’t an issue, but given that you’re new to town, I’m going to assume that you don’t have a place to stay yet.”

“No ma’am, I don’t.”

“I can get you set up in a room here, if that’s alright with you. I won’t expect you to work outside of normal business hours, except in an emergency, but that’s the same even if you lived off-property,” you tell him, looking up. You don’t lift your pen, and it’s a little satisfying to see that Grant looks mildly surprised. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person who could be surprised by anything.

“You’re hiring me?” he asks.

“Should I not?”

He quickly recovers and shakes his head, giving you a small smile. “I was just surprised that you’re not waiting until after you’ve seen my references.”

“Are you a horrible person?”

“I don’t think so, no.

“Are you a terrible employee?” you ask, putting your pen down on the desk.

“I’m loyal to a fault.”

“Should I be concerned about criminal activity?”

Grant laughs. “I’m a model citizen, though I did steal a piece of cake when I was a kid.”

“I’ll be sure to inform the local authorities,” you tease, grinning. You slide the notepad onto your desk and stand, holding out your hand for him to shake. Grant obliges. “You’re hired, Mr. Carter. If you’re ready, I’ll show you to your room so you can get settled in before your first day tomorrow.”

“I’d like that, thank you,” he replies.

“I won’t take the room out of your salary unless it prevents us from taking guests, but I don’t see that becoming an issue, except maybe in mid-July,” you tell him as you move around the desk to the door. “The handyman position pays 800 euros a month. You’ll be paid bi-weekly in check or cash, whichever your preference. We don’t have direct deposit here. If you need an account in town, there’s a bank down the road.”

“Cash is fine,” he says. He picks up his bag and swings it over his shoulder before following you back out into the hallway, then out to the lobby. You make a pit stop at the front desk to grab a key before heading up the main staircase.

The private, single person rooms on the third floor are a little older, and you briefly worry as you climb the stairs if the beds will be able to hold Grant’s weight. You don’t use them as often now that you’ve finished transforming the old hotel into a hostel. There’s a thin coating of dust on the handrail and you make a mental note to give this floor a thorough cleaning tomorrow while he’s occupied, that way you won’t be intruding.

You lead Grant to the end of the hall, where the rooms are slightly larger and the windows overlook the ocean. While the view is great, most of your summer guests only fill the dorm-style rooms, so you’re fairly certain you won’t be missing out on any profit by giving him this room.

“Here we are,” you say, and you open the door before stepping aside so he can enter first.

Grant ducks through the doorway and flips the light switch, then looks around in silence. You wait in the hallway, holding your breath as he makes his inspection.

“This is nice,” he finally says, looking back at you. He drops his bag at the foot of the bed. “You’re sure it’s alright if I stay here?”

You wave one hand dismissively. “It’s fine.”

Your phone chimes in your back pocket and you pull it out, quickly reading the notification. It’s only mildly urgent, but you can feel Grant trying to look occupied as he waits for you to leave, so you look up and gesture back towards the stairs with your phone.

“I’ve gotta take care of something, but you’re in luck. Every Thursday night we host a group dinner for the guests. The food is all cooked by a chef from a local restaurant in an attempt to promote the local cuisine, so you’re welcome to join us, or I can recommend some other restaurants in the area, if you want to explore a little bit more. We eat at seven.”

Nodding, Grant smiles and crosses the room to pull the key from where you’d left it in the lock. “I’ll see you at seven. It was nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“You too, Grant. Welcome aboard!” You smile once more, then turn and head back down the hall. His door closes as you reach the top of the stairs, and suddenly, you can’t wait for dinnertime.

You occupy yourself for the majority of the day by compiling a list of projects for Grant, as well as contacting the references he sends you using the email address on the hostel’s website. He gets glowing reviews from each and every person on the list, though they all seem a little confused when you first ask about him.

Grant comes down to the first floor at five minutes to seven, and you’re just greeting the first small group of guests to arrive back from their excursions when he steps down from the bottom step. You glance over and give him a quick, acknowledging smile before turning back to the guests.

“Dobor dan! How was your time at the beach?” you ask. They reply politely in a mix of English and their own native language. You vaguely recognize it as French. You’re about to tell them in English about the dinner schedule, hoping that they’ll understand at least partially, but Grant begins talking in rapid-fire French before you even open your mouth.

It takes everything in you to keep your jaw from dropping straight through the floor. None of Grant’s references had mentioned he was bilingual, and neither did he. It feels like it should’ve been obvious, however, given that every single person he’d talked to had mentioned his incredible intelligence and ability to pick up skills quicker than anybody they knew.

Still, you watch in stunned silence from behind the front desk and Grant chatters with the guests. He leads them from the lobby and into the adjoining sitting area, where you hear them sit down and continue to talk. Someone laughs, and then Grant does, too. It’s a deep, mellow baritone, and you catch yourself grinning before you manage to stifle it.

When the next group of guests walk in, you guide them into the sitting room with the others. Grant catches your eye as you turn the corner, and when he smiles, you swear that your heart stutters in your chest.

He’s your employee, you chide yourself, and you turn your back on the group on the premise of prepping a plate of cookies for the coffee table.

“Dinner should be ready soon,” you say as you set the plate in the center of the group. Grant translates for you, first in French, and then in a language that sounds almost Spanish, but you know enough of that to know that it’s something different. All the guests nod in agreement.

You settle against one of the heavy wood bookshelves and watch quietly as Grant chats with the guests, switching fluidly between languages whenever he turns to a new person. It’s amazing, so you simply stay silent as you listen to the flurry of foreign words in the sitting room. You’ve never heard the pre-dinner conversation so lively. It brings a new warmth to the hostel, and you can’t help but smile as you watch the guests come alive, even though they’re exhausted.

“Dinner is ready!” Ana calls. She pokes her head in the door, and she smiles wide when she sees the guests talking excitedly. Every seat is taken. When she turns to look at you, you only grin.

“What’s going on?” she asks, stepping closer so she can lower her voice. “Who is that?”

You lean in, whispering, “His name is Grant. He’s the new handyman, and apparently, he speaks multiple languages.”

“Apparently?”

“I didn’t know when I hired him! This,” you gesture with one hand towards the circle of guests, who have started to rise now that Grant has passed along the message about dinner, “was a surprise to me, too. He just started talking to them on his own. I didn’t ask him to do anything.”

Ana raises her eyebrows, giving you a meaningful look. Before you can scold her for trying to meddle in your love life, she slips away and Grant appears at your side.

“Who is that?” he asks.

Goosebumps erupt on your arms at the sound of his deep voice so close to your ear. He’s leaned down so you can hear him clearly, and though he’s not quite in your space, he’s still close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him. It should feel stifling in the early summer heat, but it’s comforting, and you turn towards him with a bright smile.

“Ana. She’s the manager when I’m not here. I’ll introduce you later. How come you never told me you spoke all those languages?” you ask.

Grant just smiles back at you. “You never asked.”

“I’ll make sure to add that to my list of questions for the next time I have to hire someone.” You gesture at the line of guests filtering through the doorway to the hostel’s dining room. “We should eat. Most of the guests have spent all day hiking or at the beach, and they’ll be hungry. Our local chefs are all amazing, so the food always goes quickly.”

“What’s on the menu?” Grant asks. He starts to walk and you fall into step beside him, noting how he angles himself sideways and stoops through the doorway so that you’re not squashed into the doorframe. It’s a miracle he doesn’t hit his head on any of the lowered ceilings or hanging decor in the building.

I’ll have to warn him about the lights in the rooms on the second floor, you note.

“Punjene paprike. Stuffed peppers,” you translate. You pause and watch as the guests choose their seats, silently making sure there are enough chairs. When it’s clear you’ve done the math correctly, you look over at Grant. “How many languages do you speak?”

He shrugs and surveys the long table filled with food. People are already piling their plates high and chattering with their friends and family, and the room is filled with amicable noise. The sun coming in from the windows is golden. The windows face south, which is one of the many reasons why you’d first purchased the building. It needs a lot of work, and it always has, but the view of the ocean from the dining room windows, along with the way the sun illuminates the whole room, helps make all the work worth it.

“This place is beautiful,” says Grant, quietly. “You’ve done well.”

You look over at him, surprised at the praise. It warms you from the inside out, and you smile when he meets your eyes. “Thank you. I’ve worked hard.”

He nods, and after a moment, he gestures towards the table. There are two empty seats beside each other, near the far end of the room. Ana has taken the seat across from them and she’s already begun to eat.

You follow Grant across the dining room, and you try not to act surprised when he pulls out the chair and helps you sit before taking the spot beside yours. Ana catches your eye as you reach for a dish, but you look away. You can’t risk having her embarrass you in front of the guests.

Or Grant, the cheeky little voice in your brain adds, but you quickly push the thought to the far reaches of your brain. Showing your hand—and your burgeoning feelings for Grant—right now is something you need even less.

“So, you’re from New York?” he asks.

You look up from where you’re pulling a napkin into your lap. “What?”

“Your degree. It’s from NYU, so I’m assuming that you’re from the States.”

Nodding, you allow him to serve one of the peppers onto your plate, and you heap an extra serving of rice onto the side of your plate before handing him the bowl. You don’t want to assume he likes anything, especially since he ordered one of the most American things on the menu at the cafe.

“I am. I grew up in Manhattan, and I decided to stay there for college. Once I got my degree in hospitality, I decided it was time I see more of the world,” you tell him.

“Why Croatia?” Grant asks.

You shrug and pick up your fork. “Honestly? I don’t know why. I didn’t even mean to come here. I ended up on the wrong train and decided to stick it out. I figured it would be a fun experience either way, but I fell in love with it here. On my second day here, I saw that this building was up for sale and I had just enough money in my savings to buy it. It was a big risk, but I think that it was worth it.”

He looks around the room, listening to the conversations for a few moments before he smiles. “I think so, too.”

“Where are you from?” you ask. “You’re clearly American.”

Grant laughs at that, nodding. “I grew up in Brooklyn. When I was old enough, I served in the army for a few years, and since then I’ve just been… traveling.”

The army thing makes sense, and you file that information away for later. The two of you start to eat, exchanging a few more words throughout the meal. Grant offers to help Ana with the dishes. She’s giddy at the proposal, so you let them head into the kitchen as you help guests arrange their plans for the next day. You find yourself straining to listen for the sound of his voice during the quiet moments, however, but by the time the dishes are finished, Grant tells you that he’s exhausted and he wants to get a good night’s rest before his first day on the job. You wish him goodnight from the front desk, then wait for Ana to appear and barrage you with a million questions about the new handyman.

You learn quickly that there’s even more to Grant than meets the eye. He’d been telling the truth in his interview—he’s deceptively strong, and he really does learn quicker than anyone you’ve ever met. His Croatian improves leaps and bounds in the first few months at the hostel. By the end of the summer, he’s practically fluent, even if he does bumble through some of the more complicated phrases with a faint blush on his cheeks.

The longstanding projects for the hostel are all completed by the end of August, leaving you scrambling to keep Grant busy. When you can’t find anything to do, however, he busies himself by exploring the far reaches of the island, speaking with the guests in a myriad of languages, and keeping you company in the lobby or in your office. His presence, which had once seemed much too large for the old brick building, has settled. He seems at home in the armchair you buy for the corner of your office, and he’s become a fixture in the doorway of the lobby, where he likes to stand and watch traffic pass by.

It’s on one of the hottest days of the year that you first get a glimpse behind Grant’s ever-friendly facade. You’re behind the desk, going through the reservations for the upcoming week, when there’s a shout from outside. The front door to the hostel is propped open in an attempt to let in a breeze, and Grant has taken up residence in his normal spot. You’ve only just processed the shout when there’s an explosion. The floor beneath you shakes and shudders, and you grip the edge of the desk in an attempt to keep upright.

Grant whirls around and fixes his eyes on you. He’s scanning you, up and down, searching for any sign of injury.

“Are you okay?” he asks. You nod, swallowing thickly, and peer over his shoulder. There’s no sign of what’s happened outside, but you can hear screaming and shouting. There’s a gunshot and you flinch.

“Stay here, and stay hidden,” says Grant, and you know in an instant that it’s an order. “Stay quiet and don’t let anyone in. Okay?”

Nodding again, you drop to a crouch, then curl up on the floor with your back against the desk. You clutch your phone in one hand and listen as Grant closes, then locks the door. When he doesn’t appear behind the desk, you crawl over to the side and look out into the small lobby. He’s gone.

Your arms shake beneath you and you have to fall back against the desk for support before you fall flat on your face. Squeezing your eyes shut, you listen to the commotion outside. There are no more explosions, but you hear more screams and shouts, followed by a crash and gunshots. Your heart pounds in your chest as the noise gets closer and closer. You know that Grant was in the army, so he must have military training, but the thought of him outside—the thought of him in danger—makes you want to puke.

There’s a thud against the front door and you flinch. Your body tenses and you curl up in the fetal position, trying to maintain your breathing. It doesn’t work, however, and when there’s another bang, you scream.

“Molim! Molim, let me in!”

You look around the edge of the desk again. It’s a woman on the other side, and the desperation in her voice propels you to your feet and into the lobby without a second thought. You twist the lock and yank open the door.

A slim woman dressed entirely in black grins at you. Her eyes are a shocking shade of electric blue and her teeth are bright white—a stark contrast against the mask that hides the rest of her features.

“Sorry, dragi,” she says, and you gasp when she reveals the gun in her left hand. With the other, she reaches out and grabs you. “You’re coming with me.”

“No!” You fight against the woman’s grip, and when you lift your eyes to search for help from someone else, you can’t believe what you’re seeing.

Grant is lifting a car off someone. He lifts the car and tosses it aside with a heave and a grunt, and then he’s fighting someone hand-to-hand. The man in black is clearly trained because he gets in a few hits, but Grant never stays down for long. He’s slowly forcing the man back down the street, towards the beach, instead of towards the line of shops that’s on the other side of the hostel.

There’s a blast as another explosive goes off, this time in a restaurant diagonal from your front door. Stone and rubble flies in every direction. The street is empty of people, thankfully, except for the people Grant is fighting. Somewhere down the street, a car alarm is going off, and the light from the harsh midday sun is almost blinding. Your ears are ringing from the blast and the alarm. You think you scream at some point, but you’re not sure.

The man that Grant has been fighting has been thrown back by the blast, but Grant is still standing, as if he’s anchored onto the pavement. There’s a metal car door in his hand. He’s gripping onto a piece of the leather interior, and the red painted finish on the outside has been battered by the flying debris. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath.

The woman drags you out of the hostel and onto the street. She wraps her arm around your shoulders and places the gun against the side of your head. You stop struggling then, and your breath catches in your throat as your heart begins to pound even harder. Your vision is going blurry along the edges, but not enough to miss the way Grant’s jaw clenches when he catches sight of you.

“Captain Rogers!” the woman shouts.

He throws a second man off of him and turns fully towards you and the woman. “Let her go!”

In your ear, the woman chuckles. It’s low and dark, and full of malice, and you shiver. You close your eyes and pray that it’s all just a bad dream.

“Not until you come with us,” the woman replies.

“Leave her and the others out of this.”

When you open your eyes, Grant is looking past you at the woman. The light reflects in his deep blue eyes, and it’s then that you realize what he’s been hiding from you.

How did I miss it before?

“Steve Rogers,” you choke.

He looks at you again. “Y/N…”

“You’re Steve Rogers.”

There’s a pause as he watches you with clear regret, and then the woman laughs, shocking you out of your revelation.

“How precious!” she exclaims. “Your little boss had no clue who you were?”

“Let. Her. Go.” Steve takes a step forward and the woman’s grip on you tightens. You can’t stop the whimper that escapes you when she pushes the gun harder against your head, making you crane your neck to one side.

Two new men in black come up behind Steve. He turns his head slightly, listening to their approach, but he doesn’t move. You can tell that he’s calculating what to do next.

There’s a moment of clarity as you watch them launch themselves at him. Steve fights like he was born for it—and maybe he was, you rationalize—and as he easily overcomes them both, you have a revelation that’s nothing short of a rock at the pit of your stomach.

Steve has to get out of this alive. So many people count on him, and they always have. Though you know that there are a lot of people all over the world who consider him a criminal, you also know that there are a lot of people just like you that think Steve deserves a place of honor for all that he’s done and all the sacrifices he’s made.

The safety on the woman’s gun clicks off and Steve freezes. The two men take advantage of that, and they grab his arms, pulling them tightly behind his back and pushing him to his knees. He falls with a grunt. One of the men grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks his head back until he’s looking at you and the woman from his place on the ground. He doesn’t fight back.

“Steve,” you plead. “You have to fight. You can’t let them take you.”

“I’m not leaving you,” he replies. He shifts his gaze to the woman without moving his head. “If I go with you, you’ll let her go?”

“You have my word.”

Heat swells in your eyes and you know that you’re about to cry. “No! Don’t trust her, Steve! You can’t believe her!”

The woman jostles you and you close your eyes on instinct. A tear slips down your cheek.

“Shut up,” she growls.

You swallow thickly. At your sides, your hands and fingers have gone numb, and your legs are barely holding you upright.

“Alright,” Steve agrees. “I’ll go with you.”

A sob bursts through and the woman releases you. She practically throws you to the ground, and you have just enough time to get your arms out in front of you before you hit the road. Pain shoots up both limbs and the pavement digs into your forearms. From where you lay, you watch the men pull Steve to his feet. He moves with them and doesn’t fight back as they drag him to a black cargo van on the perimeter of the blast zone.

“Steve!” you scream. Your voice breaks and your throat feels raw as you push yourself up and stumble in their direction. The movement sends pins and needles into your hands and feet, but you do it anyway. Your limbs feel completely out of your control as you attempt to go after them.

Steve looks back at you. He’s too far now for you to make out his expression, but you can see that he’s trying to tell you something. The man on his right shoves his shoulder and he’s forced into the van.

“Let him go! Steve!” You start to sprint, running after the van as the back door slides shut and the woman, who climbed into the driver’s seat while you were getting to your feet, begins to navigate it through the rubble from the explosions. The tinted windows keep you from seeing Steve inside and your mind immediately goes to the worst.

“Someone help me! Stop that van!”

You run until you physically can’t. The van is long gone, and when you collapse onto the street, a crowd gathers around you. People are murmuring and asking you questions. There are too many hands, too many faces, even if many of them are familiar. Your vision swims as you’re rolled onto your back. The summer sun beats down on you harder, and you try to focus, but all you can manage is a mumble of Steve’s name before you lose consciousness on the pavement.

When you wake, the soft beeping noise is enough to tell you that you’re in a hospital. You open your eyes, expecting to be greeted by white walls and bedding, and maybe a wall of cabinets with a sink. Instead, there’s a slanted wall of glass windows, each separated by a pillar of concrete. Thin, almost invisible computer screens with golden text are scattered around your room, each displaying charts, figures, and data in a language you can’t read. Some are embedded into the walls on either side of the bed, while others float above white counters that look more like control panels for a spaceship. There are scans of someone’s body and brain—your brain, you realize after a long moment—that spin in circles on the floating screens.

A hiss makes you flinch, and you quickly look away from the brain scan to where a young, dark-skinned girl is walking in through a set of sliding glass doors you hadn’t seen before. Her white, high-necked sheath dress looks nothing like hospital attire, especially since it’s sleeveless and only has mesh to cover her shoulders and a few inches below her knees, but she’s holding a tablet and looks so serious that you wonder if maybe she’s not a regular doctor. After all, this doesn’t seem like a normal hospital. Where are you? Did the men in black come back to get you, too?

“Y/N, it’s good to see you awake. How are you feeling?” she asks.

Her accent is jarring, and you blink. When you go to speak, you have to lick your lips a few times. They’re dry, and your mouth feels so much like sandpaper that for a moment you don’t think you’ll actually be able to say anything at all.

“Where am I?” you finally ask in return. “Who are you?”

She smiles briefly and checks something on her tablet, then glances over at one of the floating screens off to the side. Seemingly satisfied, she locks the device and sets it aside.

“My name is Shuri. You’re in Wakanda. You will be safe here.”

You frown. “Wakanda?” None of the hospitals even remotely close to the hostel hold that name, not even in passing, but it sounds familiar.

“Yes. We’re friends of Captain Rogers. When we heard about his capture, and how you were involved, we brought you here.”

Tears burn hot in your eyes as the memories from the street outside the hostel come flooding back all at once. How long have you been in the hospital? Who’s looking for Steve?

“We have located him already,” she continues, and you inhale sharply, shifting in the bed as you reach up to wipe your face. “And the Dora Milaje has been sent to retrieve him.”

“The what?” you ask. Your voice shakes and you swallow hard in an attempt to steady yourself.

Shuri smiles again. “The Dora Milaje. They are our special forces here in Wakanda. Let me ask again, how are you feeling?”

You move in the bed a little bit more, testing your limbs for stiffness or pain. Surprisingly, there’s very little. “I’m… I’m okay, I think. Confused, mostly. Thirsty.” Your stomach growls, so you quickly add, “Hungry.”

She laughs and nods, then picks up her tablet. Shuri taps a few times before glancing down at something through the slanted windows.

“Someone will bring you food shortly. I’ll also have someone come change the bandages on your hands and wrists. Your injuries are healing nicely. You should still rest a while longer, but I will make sure you’re notified when Captain Rogers has been safely returned.”

Nodding, you sit back against the pillows, but you quickly sit up again with a gasp. “The hostel! Ana!”

“We’ve sent someone to assist Miss Mitrovich in your absence,” Shuri soothes. She steps closer to the bed and you lie back as she approaches. “There were very few repairs that needed to be done to your building, but they are taken care of, and all your guests are safe. I have already dispatched a team of Wakandan specialists to help with the rebuild of Brdonik. We are also installing a security system in your building.”

You sigh in relief and close your eyes, swallowing against the dryness again. You lay in silence, listening to Shuri as she moves around the room and mutters to herself. When you finally open your eyes again, it’s because she’s greeting someone as the sliding glass doors hiss open for a second time.

“Grant,” you murmur, and he gives you a weak smile from just inside the doorway. You correct yourself, shaking your head. “Steve.”

“Grant is my middle name,” he quietly explains. “And Carter…”

“Agent Carter,” you finish. “I see the connection now.”

While waiting for your food, you’ve slowly been piecing together the different parts of Steve’s life that you knew, trying to get the full picture. You’ve known him personally as Grant, the quiet man from Brooklyn that is good with his hands, always knows exactly what to say when you’re in a bad mood, and is a hit with every guest that crosses your threshold. On the other hand, you also know him as Steve, the All-American super-soldier that’s plastered across every history textbook you’ve ever been given. He’s also the super-soldier that you’ve watched on the news, listening to reporter after reporter praise him like he’s a god, then publicly curse and shame him on their next breath.

Shuri quietly excuses herself. You stare at Steve as she leaves through the sliding doors behind him. There’s a cut above his right eyebrow, and blood caked in his beard, right below a nasty split in his lower lip. He’s standing lopsided, like he’s keeping the weight off his right foot, and he looks like he could use a shower and a long nap.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

He nods again. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For dragging you into this,” Steve answers. He sighs. “For getting you hurt. For putting you in danger.”

You shake your head and sit up a little more in the bed, allowing the pillows to prop you upright. “None of this is your fault.”

“It is, and—”

“And nothing,” you interrupt. You give him a stern look and he presses his lips together with a wince. “You didn’t know that there was any danger. If you had, wouldn’t you have left?”

After a second, Steve nods, and you continue,

“And if you’d been able to stop it from happening, you would’ve, right?”

Another nod and you smooth the surprisingly soft hospital blanket over your legs.

“Then it’s not really your fault, Grant. Steve,” you correct again, more firmly this time. You’re still coming to terms with the fact that he’s not 100% who he said he was.

“But you still got hurt. I still put you in danger just by being there. I shouldn’t have stayed as long as I did. I got too comfortable, and too close, and I was careless.”

You purse your lips and watch him for several moments. Steve stays still under your inspection, waiting for you to say something.

Finally, you tell him, “I don’t regret what happened, and if I had the chance to go back in time and change things, I wouldn’t. I’m not in mortal danger, and you’re safe again. The hostel is being taken care of. None of the guests got hurt. Tourism might be down for a couple months but…” You shrug. “It’s the end of the busiest season anyway, and I have enough savings that I’m not going to worry.”

Steve shakes his head at you, then turns to look at the screens. He doesn’t seem to be actually reading them, but he puts his hands on his hips as he stares at a spinning scan of your hand and wrist.

“Do you regret it?” you ask.

He turns back. He’s silent for a few seconds as he watches you fidget with the hem of the blanket in your lap. “No,” Steve finally replies. “I don’t.”

“Me neither.”

When he doesn’t move, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed. You’re not dressed in a normal hospital gown—someone has put you in leggings and a tunic of some kind—but you still shiver when your bare feet touch the floor.

“Y/N—” Steve limps towards you, holding both hands out to steady you if you lose your balance. You don’t, and he stops a few feet away.

“I don’t regret any of it, Steve,” you say. You start to close the distance between the two of you even more. “Not a single minute.”

“Volim te,” Steve murmurs.

You freeze, now within arm’s reach. “What?”

“Volim te.”

Your brain is working a mile a minute to catch up with what he’s said. Steve shifts in place, wincing as he transfers the weight to his injured leg.

“You should get that checked out,” you quietly tell him, glancing down at his leg.

He stares at you, as if he was expecting a different response. You know he was, but you’re suddenly so overwhelmed by everything that it’s the first thing out of your mouth.

“I—” You close your eyes and shake your head, letting out a small self-conscious chuckle. “I’m sorry. I love you too, Steve. I do. I love you. I don’t— I don’t know why I said that. I guess I’m just worried—”

He cuts you off by stepping into your space and cupping your face with one hand. His fingers thread up into your hair and he tilts your head back so he can press his lips to yours. Your arms fall limp at your sides for a second, but then your brain catches up. You close your eyes and reach up to put one hand on the back of his neck. The other slides around his waist, pulling him closer as he kisses you.

Steve’s body is warm and though he winces with pain, then pulls away slightly to touch his fingers to his busted lip, neither one of you actually moves away from the other. You stay close enough to feel the heat from his breath on your skin.

“You need to eat,” he murmurs.

“And you need a doctor,” you reply.

He smiles a little, more just pressing his lips together than anything, and kisses your forehead. You close your eyes again when he lingers.

“Don’t go,” he says as you step away.

You frown and crowd close again, and you place both hands on his chest. “Steve?”

“No. I mean, you should go now, but…” He struggles for a second, trying to find the words he wants to say, and you wait patiently. “What I meant was: Don’t go back to Croatia. Stay with me.”

“What about the hostel? What about Ana and the guests?”

“I’ve heard you say a thousand times that she could probably run the place on her own. Plus, it’s the end of the busiest season, and after everything that’s happened, tourism will probably be low. You said it yourself.”

Steve reaches up to pull your hands off of him, but he holds them and rubs little circles over your knuckles with his thumbs. He watches you carefully, giving you his full attention. His eyes are deep and blue, and the crinkle between his eyebrows has disappeared completely now that he’s sure you’re okay.

“So, what? I’d stay here in Wakanda? What would I do?” you ask, frowning. “They don’t really have tourists here, do they? It’s not like they need a hostel.”

“No, but I need a partner.”

“Don’t you already have partners, Steve? What about the Falcon? Or Black Widow? Or even your friend that you told me about—James? Isn’t he a superhero, too?”

Shaking his head, he answers, “That’s not the kind of partner I need, Y/N. I don’t need a partner to fight with. I need a partner that I can live with. Someone to make a home with.”

You stare at him for a second, allowing your brain to process what he’s just said, and then you give him a slow, sly smile. Inside, you’re giddy and jumping up and down, but all you do is pull your hands in a little more so he has to step closer to you.

“Steven Grant Rogers, are you asking me to move in with you?”

“I guess I am.” His ears are starting to turn a bright shade of pink, and it’s beginning to creep along his cheekbones as well, just above his beard.

Steve’s still holding your hands captive, so you simply raise an eyebrow. “Do you have a place to live here in Wakanda? Or are we going to be staying here in my hospital room until you find one?”

He shrugs and grins back at you. “King T’Challa gave me an apartment.”

“The king gave you an apartment?” You pull your hands away and step back. You can’t hide your disbelief, though deep down, you figure it’s very likely that the king tried to give Steve more. He’s a hero, even if most of the world doesn’t believe it.

“The princess was just in here going over your medical information, and you’re shocked that he gave me an apartment?” Steve asks, a smirk on his face.

You gape at him even more. “You’re kidding. Steve, that was not—”

“Princess Shuri. She’s made most of the technology around here, and she oversees the recovery of important patients. Like you,” he adds.

“If I’d known—”

He leans in and kisses your forehead again. “You don’t need to bow or anything. They don’t do that here, though I’m sure she’d appreciate a thank you the next time you see her. Maybe compliment one of her inventions. T’Challa says she likes that.”

“The next time?” you hiss. “Steve—”

This time, he laughs at you. It’s a full-bodied laugh, unlike the sparse chuckles you’ve gotten out of him since his return, and you relax. You smile, too, a real smile that makes your cheeks ache as you press your burning face against his chest. Steve wraps his arms around you. His body shakes as he laughs, but he quickly settles down and kisses the top of your head.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” you tell him, not letting go. In fact, you hug him tighter around the waist with both arms.

“Me too. Come on, ljubavi. Let’s go home.”

Dobro jutro = Good morning

Kako vam mogu pomoći? = How can I help you?

Govorite li engleski? = Do you speak English?

Dobor dan = Good afternoon

Molim = Please

Dragi = Darling

Volim te = I love you

Ljubavi = Love/my love

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

I do not consent to have my work posted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere other than my personal tumblr, Patreon, or ao3 accounts, it has been reposted without my permission.

If you want to support me further, consider buying me a ko-fi! My ko-fi is also under my SPN fanfiction blog, but I promise it’s me.

If you would like to be added to my tags, please send me a message or an ask! I tag for Everything, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson, and Peter Parker.

Forever: @aya-fay

Steve Rogers: @lipstickandvibranium @delicatecapnerd

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vasito-de-leche · 21 days

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Do you have any specific queer headcannons of r1999 characters if so which ones and why?

I wrote a bunch of stuff for this post but then tumblr fucked me up and reloaded without saving it so here we are..... rewriting it all over again ... OAUGH. usually I default to seeing everyone as Vaguely Bisexual and Not Cis until stated otherwise, but you asked for specifics so here we go!

6 is aromantic or demiromantic.

On one hand, it's because I love projecting on my faves. On the other hand, it's because he genuinely doesn't feel like the type of person to be interested in relationships. But this isn't something that's tied to any potential disgust, repulsion or even trauma related to his Revelation and struggle against fate -- to me, 6 just doesn't feel romantic attraction. At the very least, nothing strong enough to consider pursuing. It's not in his priorities. I really dislike this specific thing that fandoms do in which every single character who is introverted, or who happens to be alone/isolated (either by chance or by choice) is secretly lonely, touch starved, pining and desperate for attention and romantic love. It feels like such a huge disrespect for their equally important platonic or familial relationships. 6 already holds a lot of love for his own community and his childhood friends, a type of affection that is shown in his subtle and unique ways. I like it when his character focuses on those aspects instead!

Mesmer Jr. is aromantic and asexual.

In her case, she's the opposite of 6. Mesmer Jr.'s trauma and OCD is much too intense for her to even consider the idea of an emotional or physical bond with anyone. She's disgusted at the idea of touching others so casually, and she's afraid at the possibility of allowing a person (someone she logically cannot have any control over) into her life because what if they throw her off her schedule? What if they mess every meticulous thing she's planned for herself and her mental stability? What if she loses her grip? Yes, it's plausible that she may find a partner who works perfectly with the way she needs things to be, and yes, you can headcanon that she heals and her OCD becomes "manageable" enough to have a stable relationship, but personally? I just like it when characters don't get to have stereotypical happy endings in which everything gets better through love and friendship and support -- like, yeah everyone loves to see their faves happy and all but eh... It's a bit of projection on my part! Some people don't get to heal and do all the things their disabilities prevented them from doing, even if we're given all this support and love. Some of us just have to find ways around these things, anything that works for us that makes our lives easier.

Sweetheart is queer but has a complex relationship with love. In a somewhat similar vein, Blonney has gone through every single letter of the LGTBQ+ community.

I tried my best to explain my thoughts on Sweetheart but at this point she deserves her own post because it's honestly a LOT, this single part was just too long so I cut it out entirely. Just trust me when I say she's queer and has a very complex relationship with love. In Blonney's case, we discussed the possibility of her being written as comphet and it got me to think a little about her. I see Blonney as the type of girl who presents as a straight bimbo, following the themes of her character and all, but who has constant crisis after crisis in the privacy of her bedroom, the only place she's allowed to be more than just a blondie. This constant journey questioning her orientations and gender happens entirely in her head and in private. I like to think that she just has these long monologues in her head. Sure, she's identified as straight her whole life, but maybe bisexual works better because there was that one girl she kept meeting under the bleachers. Oh, but maybe she's a lesbian, since all her boyfriends are just huge disappointments and none of them ever make her truly happy. Oh, but maybe that's just because she has bad taste in men, there was that one guy in class who keeps making her laugh after all. Ahh, this would be so much easier if she were a guy, her femininity is mostly performative after all. Ah, but she actually really loves pink and fashion... Nonbinary then? No, she's not the type to pick something so vague, it's one or the other. Oh, how about both? Genderfluid! Etc etc. If you ask her about how she identifies, she'll simply brush you off with a "What's it to you? That's none of your business, creep!" and move on, but this is something very personal to her. So far, she knows she likes being femme presenting and that she likes Jessica!

Eagle is a trans girl.

Have you guys seen those posts going around tumblr about how important it is that trans women exist because they fight for their own womanhood and girlhood in a world that constantly looks down upon feminine things and all women as a whole? Yeah. Yeah. Eagle being a scout that fights so hard to prove herself, the feelings of not belonging into the Boy Scouts and seeing how the Girl Scouts are created eventually, a space for her. The fact that she visits her father's grave so that he can see her grow up.

Kaalaa Baunaa, Oliver Fog, Medicine Pocket and Melania are probably bisexual, but they're super busy with work so they don't have time to address that.

Self-explanatory <3 I do like to think that Kaalaa and Medpoc are more chill about it, Kaalaa because she's a grown ass woman who is very mature, and Medpoc because they genuinely give no fucking shits about dating in general, so who cares about confirming whether they're bisexual or not. Oliver Fog is a little more flustered at the idea of exploring his orientation and whatnot, but it's tolerable. BUT MELANIA? I LOVE to think that she's FULLY aware that the MOMENT she acknowledges her bisexuality, she will have a crisis and then what will she do? She has 3 papers due next week and a heist this weekend, she can't possibly sit there wondering about liking girls! She's got things to do!

And here's the extra round of HCs that don't require that much text to explain or that lean towards being more silly!

Eternity has literally outlived the concept of gender. She/They royalty.

37 has QRPs instead. It Just Works. No one but herself and her partners understand the dynamics, though. As god intended <3

APPLe is a raging bisexual and has been spotted in many gay bars. Regulus is also bisexual.

The world would've been a better place if Bette was a butch lesbian.

Balloon Party and An-An Lee play with gender like its playdough.

Baby Blue is Not Cis and she's Not Straight either because none of that shit matters to her anymore, since she's been disconnected from reality and society for so long. She also doesn't care about labelling herself.

Diggers is trans, but no one can figure out which way exactly. It doesn't help that he refuses to clarify either. The same thing happens with John Titor, except she's very vocal about being a transwoman.

Bunny Bunny is bisexual but she hasn't realized this yet. In similar fashion, Horropedia is bisexual but he just forgets about it sometimes.

Druvis III as a trans woman goes hand in hand with Forget Me Not as a gay man. This is why they're both super divorced.

Leilani is pansexual because she prefers the colors of that specific flag over the bisexual one. Spathodea is pansexual because the personal distinction between pansexuality and bisexuality matters to her.

Tennant is bisexual because she can scam and seduce more people that way.

The Fool is nonbinary. Mf should've been born in the 2020's, I just KNOW he would've loved mirrorgender.

Zima is in the closet not out of shame but out of safety. Just in case.

Sotheby assumes that every girl in the world likes girls. So far no one has been able to prove her wrong because all she does is interact with other sapphic girls.

Pavia is nonbinary out of spite. But I also love transguy Pavia HCs so so so much, give that guy boobs, he would never get top surgery <3

Vertin is nonbinary too but she doesn't care about people knowing about it. She does, however, make the effort to be a little androgynous, as a treat for herself.

Madam Z and Katz absolutely had a Situationship going on during university. Katz was bicurious and Madam Z helped her experiment. Now the Situationship is between Madam Z and Constantine, the latter using Madam Z as a rebound after fumbling her relationship with Vertin's mother <- the machinations in my brain will astonish you.

TTT is genderfluid by virtue of being a picture on a TV, so I like to think she can just shift her appearance. In similar fashion, gender means nothing to Alien T and Voyager because they're aliens.

I specifically love the idea of all of the 1.2 gang joking about how Tooth Fairy is their token straight adult figure -- she's actually bi and asexual, but likes to keep that to herself so the kids can make their little jokes and have fun.

Enigma is gay and homophobic because his self-loathing is just that strong.

Turns out that the push Click needed to explore his own sexuality was getting killed on the battlefield, so now he's free to be gay. perhaps bicurious.

#reverse 1999 #reverse: 1999 #reverse 1999 headcanons #in my mind ezra is the token straight cis guy of the suitcase #but if you leave him for a few months with the gang hes eventually gonna realize that being nonbinary is banger actually

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lol-im-done · 2 years

Text

Love in the Kingswood | Harwin Strong X Reader

Pairing: Ser Harwin Strong X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2489

Synopsis: Princess Rhaenyra's Lady in Waiting, Lady (Y/N) Vaelor, slays a boar to protect her cousin, upon her return to the royal camp she realizes she's caught the attention of Ser Harwin Strong, and as they go on their own hunt they fall in love.

Author's Note: Feedback and comments are always appreciated! Also any ideas for other one shots so I can be inspired to write more :). Can be found on A03 as well.

Never had you been so happy to see a forest as you were when you arrived at the Kingswood. After hours of awkward small talk, glares from Alicent and the uncomfortable bumpy carriage ride you were more than ready to disembark. As Lady in Waiting to Princess Rhaenyra you were a constant companion at her side and as a distant cousin you were welcomed into the inner circle of the Royal Family. King Viserys had recognized Rhaenyra’s increasing isolation after Queen Aemma’s death so he reached out to your father Lord Vaelor who quickly dispatched you to King’s Landing. It was daunting at first but you became fast friends with Rhaenyra, a comforting and supporting presence for her. As the royal carriage slowed you could hear the cheers for the babe Aegon outside, Rhaenyra already withdrawing into herself.

“Are you ready?” you asked softly, grasping her hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. After a few seconds she gave you a brave smile and nod before stepping off with you at her side.

The encampment was enormous with various tents and booths for Aegon’s name day celebration. Soon you found yourself in the main royal tent and after a quick conversation with King Viserys who doted on you as if his own daughter, you went on your rounds but kept a watchful eye on Rhaenyra. The King never explicitly stated you were to mind her but it became evident you were also responsible for keeping her in line, as spirited as she was. As you exchanged words with Larys Strong, you could see Rhaenyra speaking with her father, both voices increasing in tandem with their agitation. As their argument came to a crest, gathering the attention of the court, Rhaenyra stormed off.

“Pardon me, Larys I must go!”

Larys, understanding your role, nodded and stepped aside as you tried your best not to run in the tent, trying to make it through the maze of people. Once you were at the exit you broke into a sprint at the same time someone was walking in.

“Excuse me, I’m so sorry!” you apologized, not even recognizing the tall man you had bumped into. Ser Harwin Strong had seen you at court, a quiet shadow to the fiery Princess Rhaenyra, and had only formally met you when King Viserys had introduced you to the court. Watching you run after her he couldn’t help a small smile, he found your panicked state quite adorable. As he watched you go after Rhaenyra, his brother inched closer to him.

“Lady Vaelor is most kind, I’m sure she did not mean to leave in such a haste,” Larys noted.

“Do you spend time with her often?” Harwin turned to his brother. “We sometimes cross paths in the library and will have tea with others from court in the Godswood,” Larys replied.

“Do I sense romance?” Harwin teased but Larys rolled his eyes. “No. But from the way you constantly ask after her and the way you stared at her bottom as she walked past I’d say you had that notion in your own head,” Larys replied coolly. Harwin let out a bark of laughter, slapping his brother on the arm before continuing into the tent, the feeling of your body pressing against his, still on his mind.

“Rhaenyra wait!” you cried, lifting the bottom of your skirt as you tried to keep up with her long strides but she was soon galloping off into the forest.

“Ser Criston-,” you called out and you didn’t need to finish as he helped you up on your horse before mourning his own. Without wasting another minute your steeds were off, racing to follow Rhaenyra. You loved your cousin dearly, would defend her to the very end but sometimes you swore she was trying to give you gray hairs. Thankfully you were a skilled rider and even in your dress you quickly caught up with her. Criston grabbed the reins of her horse and she scowled as she was stopped.

“Gods above Rhaenyra give me warning next time you decide to run off,” you shook your head, patting the neck of your horse to calm it down.

“I just couldn’t stand it one more minute! I don’t want to marry,” she pouted, silver strands whirling around her face. Criston looked over to you and you both exchanged a serious look, shaking your head in disappointment but the air of seriousness broke as Rhaenyra smirked, making the forest come alive with your trio’s laughter.

Rhaenyra insisted on walking back but you were nowhere close to the camp by the time the sun had set. Thankfully your horses had food and water and a light blanket strapped to them so you assisted Criston in making the fire as Rhaenyra set up for the night.

“Do you think the realm would ever accept me as Queen?” Rhaenyra broke the calm silence as you all ate the bread and meat from your packs.

“The lords bent the knee to you Princess,” Criston replied but she didn’t seem satisfied by that answer.

“I think that you will be a great Queen. The realm never had a chance to be reigned by a Queen before. They may be uncomfortable at first but once you prove yourself to them they will love you as I do cousin,” you said making her grin. Before she could reply there was a rustle in the distance and the horses began to whine. Criston was up and peering into the darkness, sword at the ready for whatever it could be. From the corner of your eye you saw Rhaenyra bring out her glinting dagger and you cursed yourself for being unprepared. Suddenly you and Rhaenyra screamed as a large boar burst through the bushes and rammed into Criston sending him flying to the side. It barreled straight towards Rhaenyra, jumping on top of her as she let out another scream. The urge to defend and protect surged through you as you grabbed her dagger from the ground. With a cry you plunged it into the boar’s back with a sickening crunch. Blood sprayed everywhere, hot and sticky, and the squeals of the boar filled the air. Criston pulled Rhaenyra out from under the boar as you continued to stab it, not stopping until it went completely still. The dagger fell from your hands, and you looked down, eyes widening in realization. Blood poured down your face and neck and the light purple fabric of your dress turned maroon.

“Fuck,” you hung your head.

“Fuck indeed,” Rhaenyra whispered, as she held onto Criston tightly.

“Cheers to Lady Vaelor, Slayer of Boars,” Criston breathed out before you fell over in exhaustion.

The following morning your trio finally made it back to the royal camp, exhausted, dirty and in need of a bath. The only upside was your kill which was being dragged by Criston’s horse. It soon became clear to everyone who had killed the boar. Climbing off your horse you tried to keep your composure as dozens of eyes watched you. Thank the gods your mother was not here or she would have dragged you off by your ear. Judgment and shock were evident on everyone’s faces as you walked alongside Rhaenyra. She had some blood splattered on her boots but you were drenched. It must have been quite the sight, Lady (Y/N) Vaelor, Princess Rhaenyra’s Lady in Waiting covered in the blood of the boar she had slain. What caught you by surprise was that in the sea of judgmental gazes there was a man, smiling. He was grinning as he peeled the skin off a rabbit, eyes roaming over you in a way that sent a delightful shiver over your body. Then you quickly realized who it was- Ser Harwin Strong. Thankfully the blush that spread across your cheeks was hidden by the blood. You were acquaintances with his brother Larys but had never gotten the chance to spend time with the man they called Breakbones. There he was eyeing you with a mixture of awe and something else, a sort of hunger. Breaking away from his gaze you followed Rhaenyra to your personal tent for a long awaited bath.

Later that evening you mustered the courage to come out of your tent and eat dinner. King Viserys had publicly thanked you for the boar, which was cooked for tonight. Not used to all of this attention you kept to the edge of the feast, picking at your meal. A shadow passed over you and when you looked up, your heart began to beat as fast as a hummingbirds.

“Ser Harwin,” you curtsied, dress pooling around you, tongue grazing your teeth to make sure nothing was stuck in it.

“At ease Lady Vealor,” he replied seriously as if you were a fellow member of the Night’s Watch, making you giggle. “That was horrible, I apologize,” Harwin chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

“No, it was quite funny. How can I help Ser Harwin, if you are looking for the Princess-,” you began but he stepped closer to you, close enough that you needed to look up as he towered over you. “No, I was looking for you,” he said. Another blush spread across your cheeks and you found yourself at a loss for words. The most handsome man in Westeros (in your opinion because Rhaenyra would argue Daemon) was looking for you?!

“What do you say to going out on a small hunt of our own?” he asked hopefully. “I was impressed by your killing of the boar and I’ve heard you enjoy archery-,” he continued to ramble, as if afraid to hear rejection from you.

“I’d love to.”

Harwin paused, eyes widening with happiness and he suppressed the urge to sweep you up in his arms at the moment. Gathering his composure he stepped back, “Tomorrow morning then, I shall arrive at your tent at sunrise, My Lady,” Harwin bowed his head.

“See you then Ser Harwin,” you curtsied before dashing off to find Rhaenyra.

Morning couldn’t come soon enough and when Harwin announced himself outside your tent you were ready, flinging the curtain open. Harwin forgot what he was going to say as he looked down at you as he gulped. Gone was the usual purple dress, today you looked like a huntress. Hair braided away from your face, leather trousers, your house sigil of two spears embroidered on your vest.

“Good morning Ser Harwin, Princess Rhaenyra is spending the day with the King so it looks like I’m all yours today,” you greeted him with a shy smile.

“I’ll take any time I get with you Lady (Y/N),” Harwin smiled back before offering you his arm.

Your conversation had started light as you walked through camp, the usual pleasantries especially with so many ears around but as you made your way deeper into the forest you found yourself opening up more. Harwin was a great listener, nodding along to your stories and quite eager to learn more about you as he asked about your home, your life. It wasn’t long before you began to see evidence of rabbits in the area, Harwin insisting you take the lead on the hunt.

“Wouldn’t you prefer to be out there hunting down deer and wolves Ser Harwin, instead of hunting little rabbits with a Lady,” you teased as you crouched down. Harwin crouched down beside you, angling his body closer to yours.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be at this moment,” he whispered, his breath tickling your ear. Turning to look at him, you were entranced by the depth of his eyes and you resisted the urge to run your hand through his mess of curls, turning back to the task at hand. Harwin watched as you brought out your bow, silently parting the bushes to get a clearer look at your target.

Notching the arrow your eyes narrowed in concentration, as you prepared your kill. Slowly your breaths evened out and with a final exhale your arrow went flying before hitting the rabbit straight through the eye.

“Damn!” Harwin cheered, squeezing your shoulder. Other men would have chastised you for your skill, or felt their manhood threatened but not Harwin. Ser Harwin Strong was not like other men, and you could already feel the stir of love in your chest.

After a few hours you had amassed quite a few rabbits and hares, Harwin carrying them in a bag as you walked beside him. With every step your bodies inched closer, shoulders grazing one another’s. After a few more minutes you approached a small creek bed that led to the camp and before you could look for a log to cross over, Harwin offered you his hand. Thinking he would guide you through the small stream you took it, “Thank you Ser-,” you began but let out a squeak as he wrapped his muscular arm around your waist and hoisted you up against his body. Instinctively you curled up against him, arms snaking around his neck as he walked you both through the water. He did not let you go however until you came closer to the camp, not at all tired. As he let you down you fought the urge to pout, not wanting to leave his comforting grasp.

“I’ve had a wonderful time, truly,” you thanked him, looking up at Harwin.

“Please just Harwin,” he said, hand reaching out to wipe dirt off your cheek gently.

“Harwin,” you echoed.

“Can I ask you something?” Harwin asked a bit nervously, and you nodded. “Why did you say yes to coming with me? I know my reputation-.”

“I said yes because you’re not like other men. You asked me to hunt with you, not to watch you hunt. Your brother Larys speaks nothing but good things about you. You’ve been nothing but kind to me Harwin,” you said sincerely. It was Harwin’s turn to blush and he looked around quickly to make sure no one was watching. Leaning forward his hand came to cup your neck and for a moment you thought he was aiming for your lips but instead his lips pressed against your forehead in a sweet kiss, so delicate for someone nicknamed Breakbones.

“I will always be kind to you (Y/N), I will be by your side if you let me,” Harwin whispered as he stared longingly into your eyes.

“I want nothing more,” you whispered back before surging upwards to kiss him, not caring who saw. Little did you know your journey with him would not end there but your relationship would blossom and endure through a civil war of fire and blood. Ballads would be sung of his strength in battle and of yours in diplomacy and eventually dragon riding, and in the end your children would carry on the legacy of both your houses with pride and glory.

#harwin strong x reader #harwin strong #Ser Harwin Strong X Reader #hotd imagine #harwin strong imagine

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ilikekidsshows · 4 months

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hey I figure that you’re probably tired of talking about the Sentimonster nonsense but I genuinely still can’t stand that it’s an actual thing. The wildest thing about it is that I JOINED the fandom because of the Sentimonster theory, actually got excited for it and looked forward to hints, not believing the skeptics or the salters bc it didn’t seem like such a big deal—that is until I saw with my own eyes how SO MANY FANS said with their whole chest that, in “Ephemeral” Adrien HAD to be a Sentimonster or there was no other “sympathetic explanation” for why he didn’t de-akumatize himself or fight off Gabriel.

Seeing the victim blaming in real time was such a punch in the gut—and then they just kept on coming!! It finally hit me how damaging the entire thing because for the show as a whole. If even regular fans that weren’t even known for salting could so willingly disregard and ignore genuine abuse coping mechanisms in favor of magical BS… it was such a dark time. Abuse Apologism and victim blaming in a whole package

Sometimes, when I write about Miraculous, I pretend I'm writing about a show that only had three seasons. That's what the "zagulous fandom" tag is for; it's for posts that are about the parts of Miraculous that had Zag's executive control keeping Astruc in check. I also kinda accepted long ago that my blog's kind of a support blog for people who are against the Sentihuman concept.

When I first heard of the expanded Sentimonster theory, the one that went "all the rich kids are Sentimonsters", I instantly went: "You do realize how making victims of child abuse nonhumans with questionable rights minimizes their victimhood and excuses their abusers, right?" people told me I was making stuff up and whoopsie doo, the writers did exactly that.

Neither Gabriel nor Tomoe faced any consequences for abusing Adrien and Kagami because, after all, since they're Sentimonsters, the real abuse was that they didn't have their Amoks so giving them their Amoks resolves all their problems. The only abusive parent who gets acknowledged as such is Félix's dad, who is dead by the time we hear about any of this, because we can't have abusive parents face consequences for their actions because that might upset people or whatever excuses Astruc's giving for Gabriel's vindication now.

This also minimises all the affects of the abuse on the kids, since they can be handwaved away with: "They were just programmed that way." Kagami's bad social skills aren't because her mother isolated her, it's because she forgot to program Kagami with those skills. Félix's villainous behavior isn't because his mother is overly permissive with him, he was just programmed that way (by the eeeeevil Colt). Adrien isn't a people pleaser because he's repeating his abuse coping mechanisms with his overly controlling girlfriend to keep her happy the same way he did to his overly controlling father, he was just programmed to be the perfect doting son and boyfriend.

You'll notice how neatly this ties into the crew denying that Chloé was abused in any way ever by her clearly abusive mother. Chloé wasn't made into a Sentimonster, so we can't have her bad coping with her abuse be excused by "Sentimonster programming", so now the writers are just gaslighting the audience and saying: "Chloé wasn't mistreated by her parents which caused her to act to out to get attention (which she literally stated to be her motive in season 3), in fact, she's the one who's been terrorizing her poor, innocent father and he needs to be protected from this naturally occuring evil hellspawn."

All child abuse in this show gets excused.

Of course, now the writers have an added reason to make sure Adrien's abuse gets excused in particular: because they made Marinette benefit from it. As I said, Adrien is repeating abuse coping mechanisms learned from dealing with his father to keep Marinette happy. He's always prioritizing her feelings and never brings up his own problems, and this is good for Marinette, because she can just enjoy having a perfect boyfriend who caters to her every need and doesn't have problems of his own or with the ways she treats him (for all she knows). She's even maintaining this status quo by lying about Gabriel to Adrien, so Adrien won't get upset (and have emotional needs that she would need to help him with). Either we have to excuse Adrien's abuse, or we have to admit Marinette is benefitting from the fact that Adrien was abused, and even taking advantage with the way she makes no effort to improve their communication on her end, preferring to spy on Adrien and lie to him instead of just talking to him like an equal.

The show writers are also allergic to following through on their creative decisions, is what I think. They put all these different victims of child abuse and neglect in the show, and then dehumanized these children in different ways so that they wouldn't actually need to say anything about that abuse they wrote in and they can instead pretend it was never there. This is why I also think that, no matter how much the show's defenders insist the story isn't over yet, we will never be getting a proper resolution to the Sentinonsense.

#ml critical #ml salt #sentimonster salt #ml writers critical

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kfedup · 1 month

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Regretsy no more

Hey, y'all. It's the lurker here.

I've been in the funkiest of funkless funks for the past few months and over the past few weeks, I've been unpacking why. Seeing how much I'm isolating because of a constellation of health-related issues and generalized depression. Have been considering trying meds. But one thing keeps coming to the surface and I finally decided it's time to deal with it.

The one thing is the only thing in my life that I regret. That thing is never having finished my bachelor's degree.

I'm twice divorced, have lost several important friendships, and moved more times than I can count to places I didn't really want to live to maintain relationships I should have never entered in the first place, but I wouldn't trade any of those things. I don't feel regret about them. Why would I? I discovered who I am and who I am not because I experienced those things. Each of them allowed me to learn how to repair what's possible and how to let go of that which is complete.

I'm very good at this marketing copywriting work but I'm bored senseless. I want to challenge myself and taking online workshops is fine but it's just more interacting through a screen and lord love a duck, my spirit needs more. Plus, I am not using my gifts of communication, empathy, mirroring, and holding space for others in the way I know I am meant to use them. For two years I've felt like I'm wasting what's left of my life.

I am so afraid I will die full of this regret.

The cost has kept me from pulling the trigger on this dream for several years. I wish I started sooner, but clearly, I wasn't miserable enough yet. I'm well and truly stuck in the muck at the bottom of the lake about it now. There's nothing left to do but swim to the surface, so here I go.

Today I applied as a transfer student to the Psychology program at Kent State University to start classes this summer. It will probably take me 3 years to finish the 2 years I have left because I'm a single-income household and will have to work. I'm terrified I won't be able to manage both, but I hope I can rally.

I'm not sure if I'll continue on to get the Psych MA at KSU or go elsewhere to get an MA in Art Therapy after I finish the BA. I also want to get certified in Internal Family Systems therapy, so I'll be 63ish or older starting a new career as a therapist and I feel excited about my future for the first time in... well... I don't even know. A very long time.

I want a career that feels meaningful to me, helps people instead of businesses, and lets me use my gifts. One I can do until I'm dead because I'mma need to work until they're spreading my ashes.

I plan to take a class this summer to dip my toes in.

Holy shit, y'all. Lila will be a senior and I will be a junior on the same campus. She's so supportive and I've been crying happy-scared-overwhelmed-curious-excited tears all day.

Kelly's going back to college. Holy shit.

#it's been 35 years #that's a hell of a gap #my student loan debt can fucking die with me #no more thinking about it #time to grab it by the balls and swing

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kirbybecomesastarwarrior · 3 months

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Prince Fluff's Father

Okay, so you guys can keep reading if you want spoilers, but.. if you guys wanna put in any, guess feel free.

But believe it or not, I have mentioned Prince Fluff's father 2 or 3 times before... you guys just didn't know it.

I may not have the event play out exactly like this (have Falspare less angry), but... Prince Fluff... is the son of the FISHER KING! Believe it or not, I planned this plotline ever since I introduced the Fisher King into the story.

Kirby and the gang aren't going to see Fluff any differently but Falspar...

Ya'know like Fishnet (cloth)- Fisher...

Yeah, I know far far-fetched connection but bear with me! This is just my way of connecting the game lore is to mix it with Arthurian lore, there are a few more surprises but the ones I have on the list.

Ribbon & Ripple Star's connection (Morgan Le Fay/ Dame Morgan)

Epic Yarn/ Prince Fluff's Connection (the Fisher King/ Fluff's father)

Planet Robobot Susie Haltman (Sir Icarus)

Moving on...

And a quick poll and more info on Fluff's father. (keep reading)

You know just enough to spook Falspar and make him wince and make him think it's the Fisher king at first glance.

After the whole incident (also mentioned here)... this was awake up call to the Fisher King. (I don't know whether to change his name to something else or keep him with a name.)

He magically isolated his planet, locking away Patchland and separating it from the galaxy & the war. (Also, so he can escape Uther's wrath for pulling away his support; so yeah all of that blame and anger went to Falspar.)

Basically, the land that suffered was not Patchland but the galaxy... Being cut off from the biggest source of good, destroying the galaxy's economy.

The Fisher King did do the work and eventually did become a better person... In a sense, the Pathland, (while still wealthy & stable in his rule) still suffered deeply inside. Tolling away regretting his actions...

A part of him does want to rejoin the galaxy, but he's too afraid that people will still see him as the man he was... the fear and shame kept him away from it all... Everyone!

He put the well-being of his kingdom and his people first... they loved their king. Patchland was prosperous and thriving while their king suffered in silence. He'd put on a smile and watched on in the shadows... Denying himself the love of his people and the fruits of his labor... (Basically, he was punishing himself for years...)

Until a certain, (Fluff's mom) had broken through the barrier by mistake... I have a cute love story planned out for them, but yeah, she was the only one who saw the king's hidden sadden.

Fluff's mom: Why do you suffer?

FK: Because I was a terrible man... I deserve to suffer.

Fluff's mom: Are you the man you were before.

FK:No... I uh-

Fluff's mom: Then why should you suffer?

Basically she's the one who "freed the Fisher King"

Yeah, long story short they fell in love, got married, and had Fluff... You're probably asking "Wait, hold on a minute didn't the Fisher King receive an injury that left him impotent." (unable to have children)

Yes, that is true... which is why he sought out a certain Yarn Wizard: *cough* Yin-Yarn! Who was able to magically create a son for him that was biologically his & his wife's. Giving her the child she's always wanted...

And the Fisher King... WAS THE BEST FATHER TO FLUFF! And loved him so much... He prepared him for the outside world. And told him of the man he was, before... regardless Fluff loved, respected, and adored his father dearly and never saw him differently.

Having a family gave him a newfound purpose in life... and gave him the confidence to return to the outside- Oh no, tragedy sets in... he falls ill (and slowly starts to lose his mind... the only thing he could remember was his wife & son.)- the price he had to pay for Fluff's birth... but he did not regret it at all.

Resulting in his wife & son having to see him lose his mind and his life fade away... bedridden. But all his plans to rejoin the galaxy and the GSA remain untouched... ready to be used.

Basically, the Fisher King's death plays out like this...

youtube

However, even though he passes on these plans to his son he gives him the option to never use them as well... knowing how difficult it would be for Fluff... being his son.

Even telling him, "Should anyone who has any grievance with me... accept it, don't deny it, and apologize to them, alright."

The Fisher King started off as an arrogant two-faced King but died a kind and loving man... he considers Fluff his greatest achievement... and his greatest regret is not being able to see the fantastic ruler he knew he would become.

He dies leaving his wife & son to grieve... two years later Prince Fluff's mother disappears... I know it's sad.

Prince Fluff looks over these plans but isn't sure if he can do it... though after meeting Kirby the gang he feels confident enough to do it... He's just going to need their support.

I'm not gonna reveal how this goes down just yet but... Flaspar was never able to find closure with the Fisher King incident... but perhaps he can find closer with his son. (>:3)

#kirby #kbasw #prince fluff #meta knight #fisher king #sir falspar #king dedede #bandana waddle dee #sir arthur kirby #kirby gsa #hoshi no kirby #kirby right back at ya #krbay #kirby anime

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cosmicjoke · 1 year

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Part 2 of the Psychological and Emotional Impact of Levi’s Early Childhood: How Levi’s Years with his mother weren’t Idealic:

So some of the conversations and additions to my post about Levi’s childhood got me thinking and focusing a little more on one, specific aspect of it, that I wanted to delve into here.

Again, it’s interesting, because, as we know, Kuchel was a loving mother toward Levi. She clearly loved him and, at risk to herself, wanted and kept him. Something which undoubtedly made her own life exponentially harder, when obviously it was already incredibly difficult. I also talked about how this decision had an aspect of selfishness to it, though, as she knowingly brought Levi into a situation in which he would also end up suffering a great deal. I want to reiterate that this isn’t meant to be taken as a criticism of Kuchel or her love of Levi. It’s just a stated fact.

Kuchel clearly struggled to take care of Levi. The fact that Levi was at death’s door when Kenny found him is testament to this reality. All the love in the world wouldn’t have been enough to provide the basic necessities a growing child requires. Levi was in a state of extreme neglect. He was starving to death. He was filthy. He was barefoot and completely alone, with no sign at all of anyone having come by even once to provide help, and no sign that Levi ever left to seek help. It was pure luck that Kenny came by when he did and was able to rescue him. If he hadn’t, Levi would have surely died.

So what I wanted to get into here more specifically is what it tells us about Levi’s upbringing with his mother, that he was left in such a state, and why when Kenny found him, it was obvious that Levi was totally isolated, that nobody came by to help him, and that he also, apparently, never left their room to find help.

What that tells me is that Levi likely never had any real social interaction outside of his mother. That his isolation may have been so extreme, in fact, that nobody outside of their home even knew he existed. This seems supported by the fact that Levi was socially inept when Kenny first meets him. He barely speaks, almost to the point of muteness. When Kenny talks to him, Levi more often than not says nothing, just stares at him with shuttered eyes. Kenny describes Levi as “cold” or “unfriendly”. Levi is also constantly looking at Kenny. He rarely seems to take his eyes off of him, which could indicate a wariness of him, which, given the sort of life his mother was living, and given where they were, the Underground, makes plenty of sense. Levi would be wary of strange men.

Given these details, it seems likely to me that Kuchel, in the least, kept Levi as isolated and alone as she could manage, and that she likely did this out of a desire to protect him from the dangers of the Underground. It seems likely that she kept him in their room and rarely, if ever, let him out. Again, probably because she wanted to shield him from danger.

But as we see, there was a price to pay for doing something like this. Not only was Levi maladjusted, but when his mother was dying, and Levi was left to starve to death, Levi seemingly didn’t know how to ask anyone for help. Now it’s possible Levi might have tried finding help, and nobody listened to him. I wouldn’t find that surprising either, given the environment they were living in. The Underground is a cut-throat, dog eat dog place, where very few people can afford to help anyone else, given the general, desperate circumstances most down there find themselves living in.

Whether Levi sought help and was turned away, or he didn’t seek help because he didn’t realize he could, and also because nobody ever came by to help either of them, either way, this would have, tragically, affirmed for Levi that neither his nor his mother’s lives were worth anything to anyone.

I assume it took a long time for Kuchel to die. She was completely wasted away by the time Kenny found her, essentially skeletal in her appearance. Part of this could have been because her body was decomposing. But the fact she’d been dying from disease would have obviously ravaged her body, too. Levi would have had to witness this slow, no doubt agonizing deterioration for who knows how many weeks or months. That alone would have been horrifically traumatizing for him, especially given his own, general helplessness. And in all that time, nobody ever once, we can assume, offered them a helping hand, offered them food, offered them money, offered them medical assistance.

It’s interesting to consider too that Kuchel must have known that she was dying, and that without her, Levi would surely die too. She had no way of knowing that Kenny would come by when he did, or that he would come by at all. She hadn’t seen him, I’m assuming, since before she gave birth to Levi, since Kenny didn’t even know Levi’s name when they met. So what does this tell us? That Kuchel knew she was dying, and that without her there to take care of him, Levi would die too?

One might think Kuchel, once she realized her case was hopeless, would attempt to hand Levi over to someone else to care for him. But clearly that didn’t happen. There could be a million reasons for this. Mainly, I would think, Kuchel didn’t trust anyone she knew enough to actually care for Levi, or that she simply wasn’t close enough with anyone to feel confident in her ability to ask them to care for her child, and that gives us a pretty good idea of what Kuchel’s relationships with other people in the Underground were like. We can assume from this that she didn’t have any close friends, and in turn, we can assume that neither did Levi. I would go so far as to say Levi probably didn’t have any friends. I don’t think he ever had any real, meaningful interaction with other children, even. Again, remembering Levi’s social ineptness when Kenny finds him, how withdrawn he was, seems to support this. So from all of this, I think it’s likely that neither Kuchel or Levi ever got much social interaction, or had any, real social lives to speak of. I think we can clearly see the ill effects of this in Levi throughout his entire life. He’s famously very socially awkward. He doesn’t really know how to express himself in words. People often mistake him for being apathetic or rude or unfriendly because his face isn’t generally very emotive, and he often speaks in a monotone. This in itself is it’s own kind of tragedy, because at his core, Levi is actually exceptionally compassionate and kind. Levi’s social difficulties would also have obviously been terribly exacerbated by the way Kenny raised him after Kuchel died.

But going back to the way Kuchel raised him, I think it’s fair to say that she kept Levi very isolated, and that she herself was probably very isolated too, and so we have to think about how this bleak reality likely impacted Kuchel’s own ability adequately care for Levi.

Again, going back to the state Kenny found Levi in, it’s obvious that something went very, very wrong in Kuchel’s ability to take care of her son. It’s obvious that she was struggling severely to provide for him, once again not from lack of effort, but because of the desperate circumstances of their lives. Food, clothing, shelter, warmth, etc... We see those things were clearly not being provided to Levi on a consistent basis. He was dressed in rags, some type of garment that was too large for him, and might be supposed to have belonged to Kuchel herself, meaning she couldn’t afford to buy him anything better. He was barefoot, meaning she probably couldn’t afford shoes for him. His hair was uncut and unwashed, as was the rest of his body. They were living in what appears to be a single room with next to nothing in it. There’s a single bed which Kuchel occupies, some pots and a pitcher for water I’m guessing, and that’s about it. We see no toys. We see no books. We see nothing of any comfort or luxury. There’s no other obvious rooms attached to the one they’re in. No bathroom or washing area. No doors leading anywhere else but outside. And finally, Levi clearly hadn’t eaten anything of substance, or any kind of full meal, in a long, long time. And he was completely alone. So we see that, in the end, Kuchel, despite her obvious and genuine love for Levi, wasn’t able to take care of him. Obviously Levi’s deteriorated state when Kenny finds him is a direct result of Kuchel herself falling ill, and she no doubt did her best when she was still able to work to provide for him these basic necessities. But it’s also still obvious that it was always a struggle. They had no money, and that’s plain. They were living, very obviously, in abject poverty. And already living in such a dangerous, cut-throat environment, where criminals and predators were able to openly roam the streets without consequence, since the above ground authorities rarely ventured down there, a lone mother and her very young child would have struggled all the more to survive. With such a poor financial situation, their day to day lives must have been incredibly precarious and uncertain.

But I’m also not just talking about providing the bare life essentials when talking about Kuchel’s struggles to take care of Levi. Going back to Kuchel’s own seeming lack of social interaction or dependable friends, one has to consider the psychological impact of this on her, and how that in turn would impact her relationship with Levi. Being a mother is a hard job. It’s hard enough even in the best of circumstances. Taking care of a helpless child that is in constant need of love, care and attention is incredibly draining and time consuming. We often hear people joke about how mother’s should be paid to be mothers alone, because it’s such a consuming job.

Now, you take the general difficulty of that job, and you amplify it with the sorts of difficulties and bleak realities Kuchel and Levi faced, things like abject impoverishment, a lack of any sort of real social life or friends, constant fear and paranoia of ones surroundings, the ever present reality of being surrounded by criminals, and Kuchel’s own day to day life working as a prostitute, and you start to really realize just how bad and difficult their lives together must have been.

Kuchel wouldn’t have had any sort of outlet, or escape, from the harsh realities of her day to day situation. If she had no real friends (again, something that seems almost certain when considering everything else), then we have to assume whatever downtime she had from selling her body for money was spent with Levi and Levi alone. So after hours and hours of being forced to let strangers have their way with her and use her body for sex, which we can pretty much guarantee also involved plenty of physical violence against her, Kuchel would then have to come home and take care of a young child who needed to be fed, clothed, washed, paid attention to, etc, etc... all things Kuchel was clearly struggling to provide. I don’t think the mental and emotional toll this sort of existence must have had on her can be exaggerated. She had to have been exhausted, both physically and mentally. With no one outside of a young child to talk to or interact with, she must have been deeply depressed and often felt incredibly alone. Those feelings would have only been worsened by her struggle to provide enough food and shelter and warmth to keep them both alive. They would have only be worsened further by her need to constantly be vigilant and protect Levi from the many, many dangers of the Underground.

My point with bringing all this up is to show that it’s unlikely that Kuchel, in these circumstances, would have been able to provide Levi, not just things like food or clothing or warmth, but a healthy social environment. It’s very, very doubtful that Kuchel would have had the time, or the energy, or even the mental capacity, to be able to give Levi the kind of love and attention she would have under even slightly better circumstances. Realistically speaking, she was probably simply too tired at the end of each work day to really play with him, or spend time with him in any meaningful way. She was probably too exhausted to indulge in any sort of wants or needs of his outside of immediate essentials. Assuming Kuchel was often depressed (which I don’t think is at all a stretch or unlikely, again given her own isolation and the ugly reality of her life), that would have also impacted how she interacted with Levi. Children aren’t stupid, they’re intuitive, and we know Levi in particular is maybe the most emotionally intelligent character in AoT. He would have picked up on her depressive moods, and her general unhappiness, I’m sure. He would have felt that negative energy coming from her.

Going back to Levi’s maladjustment when Kenny finds him, to his muteness and wariness, his “cold”, “unfriendly” demeanor, I think it’s safe to assume that these problems in Levi were a result of not just the incredibly harsh circumstances of his life with his mother, but also came from Kuchel’s failure to provide Levi with enough stimulation to teach him social skills. Again, please remember, this isn’t meant as a criticism of Kuchel or her love for Levi. I don’t want anyone to think I’m trying to cast doubt on those things. Again, it’s just to highlight and draw attention to the fact that, despite that love, Kuchel still wasn’t, and frankly couldn’t have been, a perfect mother to Levi. Their situation just simply wouldn’t have allowed for it. And so I think it’s realistic and fair to assume that Kuchel failed Levi in certain ways.

Levi wasn’t okay when Kenny found him. Again, not just based on the fact that he was literally dying and in a state of extreme neglect, but based on the fact that he was clearly a child who had never learned to be social. He was strange. He didn’t act at all like a normal child his age might. He was deeply withdrawn, almost mute, he never smiled or laughed, he was wary, probably from having been taught to be afraid of men, listless and resigned. None of this speaks to a child who is well adjusted or who received a lot of love and attention. He doesn’t demand attention, the way most children do. Instead, when Kenny finds him, Levi is curled against a far wall, just waiting to die, quiet and accepting. Think about this. He wasn’t crying, he wasn’t making a fuss, he wasn’t even visibly upset in any way over his situation. He was just resigned to it. He didn’t beg Kenny for help when he came, or even talk to him, except to tell him his mother was dead, and after being promoted multiple times, to tell him his name. Levi didn’t demand or seek attention, even from the first person to show up and offer help, likely because Levi was taught through example not to expect attention. And once again, this isn’t a criticism of Kuchel, but an acknowledgment of the likely reality that she just didn’t have the time, energy or ability to give Levi attention beyond providing for him the bare minimum required to keep him alive.

Levi’s state when Kenny finds him, not just physical, but his emotional and mental state, suggests a certain amount of neglect in Levi’s life from his mother.

So again I posit that this general perception in the fandom of Levi being provided plenty of love and care from his mother in the first, few years of his life is idealized in the extreme, and fails to acknowledge the harsh reality of their lives and circumstances, as well as fails to acknowledge the state Levi was in when Kenny found him.

I say all this, and think it’s important to acknowledge, because I don’t think Levi is given enough credit for making himself into the man he would eventually become. Very often, the credit is solely given to his mother, and sometimes even to Kenny (really don’t get that one), for Levi turning out to be a kind, caring and compassionate human being. But in my opinion, in the face of everything we know, this belief doesn’t hold water. It doesn’t account for just how bad off Levi was, not just physically, but mentally, when Kenny took him in.

There’s always the question of nature vs nurture, and I’m always of the mind that how a person turns out is more a mixture of the two than any, single one. And certainly, we see parts of Levi’s personality which have been shaped by the way he was raised, both by Kuchel and Kenny. Levi’s social awkwardness, his blunt, sometimes rude interactions, his anger and violence, his fear and readiness to act in the face of that fear, etc... all these things were no doubt informed by Levi’s experiences growing up. And yes, I’m sure that part of Levi’s ability to love and be loved came from his mother. But not all of it did. Levi, from seeing how his mother was treated, from seeing the negative results of the life she was living, not just on her, but on him, would have been sent the lesson early on in life that neither of their lives were worth very much to anyone but each other. From Kuchel’s inability to really take care of him, Levi would have undoubtedly questioned his own worth, not because Kuchel didn’t love him, but because he would have picked up on how his existence was a burden to her, how it made her life harder, how she in turn wasn’t always able to provide him with a great deal of warmth or affection, because it was already too much to provide him with basic necessities for staying alive. Levi knew not to expect a lot of love or attention, and that tells us an awful lot about Levi’s life with his mother. He doesn’t throw a fit or complain when Kenny takes him in and starts treating him harshly. He doesn’t whine or demand love when Kenny starts teaching him how to use a knife, or how to “greet people” (ala, beat the shit out of them). He doesn’t show any expectation from Kenny at all, let alone an expectation for love and affection from him. Every panel we see of Levi with Kenny shows Levi standing there, mute and listless, simply accepting of his new situation and the new way in which he’s being treated. He just... takes it. This isn’t a child who’s been taught that he deserves better. This isn’t a child who expects to be treated with kindness or respect or gentility. This isn’t a child who is used to getting his way, or who expects to be paid attention to. This isn’t a child who expects much of anything at all. Again, the fact of Levi’s immediate acceptance of the way Kenny treats him tells us a LOT about what his life with his mother was like. He wasn’t spoiled, he wasn’t treated as special, he wasn’t given an excess of attention or love. If he had been, that would have made itself evident when Kenny took him in and started treating him the way he did. And once more I reiterate, this isn’t meant as a knock on Kuchel, or to cast doubt on the love she had for Levi. It’s just a simple acknowledgment of certain facts. When Kenny leaves Levi, Levi just accepts that as well, though obviously it hurts him immensely. He doesn’t chase after Kenny, or beg him to come back. He just stands there and watches him walk away. He just accepts that he’s being abandoned. Again, this isn’t indicative of a child who has a particularly strong sense of self-worth or importance, or a child who was taught to fight for his right to love. He was taught to fight for his life by Kenny, sure, but he was taught the exact opposite regarding other people’s lives in turn. And we know, bizarrely, from how resigned he was to his own death after Kuchel died, that Levi’s experiences in the first years of his life with his mother didn’t teach him to fight for or value his own life, though I’m sure that isn’t what Kuchel ever intended.

And so when we take this all into account, when we take into account that Levi wasn’t ever really taught to value or fight for his own right to love and compassion, or even life, how he wasn’t taught to even expect those things, on top of which, taking into account how he was taught not to value the lives of others through Kenny’s lessons, and then you reflect on how, DESPITE all that, Levi was open enough to make, on his own, his first, real friends in Furlan and Isabel, to form an actual family with them, and to make more friends after they died in Erwin and Hange, how he fights with everything he has to protect the lives and dreams of others, how he has so much deep compassion and care for others, how deeply affected he is by the deaths of others, how hard he tries to keep everyone around him alive, how much he values life, values the lives of others, and their right to life, you realize how remarkable that really is. You realize that nothing in Levi’s life growing up can really account for that ability to care, or that deep compassion he holds. It comes down to his nature. Levi is just an innately caring, kind and compassionate person. Rather than inheriting that ability from Kuchel’s example, I would rather say Levi inherited that ability from Kuchel’s nature. He wasn’t taught to be loving and compassionate. He just was. And so was his mother. Both of them maintained that capacity despite their horrible circumstances and experiences, not because of them. Just like how Levi and Mikasa are innately loyal, Levi I would say is also innately, inherently kind and compassionate. Some traits of our personalities are just inborn, not taught.

I think Levi deserves so much more credit than he generally receives for being the kind, caring man he is.

#Levi Ackerman #Kuchel Ackerman #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #meta #analysis

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anotherrosesthatfell · 7 months

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I couldn't resist 💀. Remember this ask?

Yeah I twisted the story and here we are..

Meet Callisto Luther! (AI name = Nox Luther)

Vishenka (cherry) and I were having conversation and I got idea omg

So basically, Hope and Dream had a fight which cause their magics to combine and created Callisto. Hope lost all of their magics because if a witch gave birth or create a living being, their magics will be transferred to the child.

Hope is powerless and Dream feels overwhelmed so he couldn't take care of Callisto (What a pain in the ass!)

Hope take care of Callisto then Lux because the original had to stick around lmao.

He hates Killermare family and he hates Dream and his family too (expect for Lux, he cares deeply for his little sister <3) (Even so he respects women-)

His opinion on people

Dream

"A massive headache. I am ashamed I was born from a fight... What a pain.. I really hate him. I don't care that he neglected me but what pisses me off that he dare to abandoned my little sister and mom all by their own! I don't curse because Mom really dislike it..."

Hope

"Mom is doing better. I really wished that I never inherited Mom's power... Mom is was so weak that she couldn't even eat.."

Lux

"my adorable little sister!!! I really adore her, she is my light of this horrible world. She support me to take the throne and I will! I'll make sure to give her everything once the throne is mine."

Palette

"Even if he is my brother... I will never see him as one... Arrogant little brat, he dare to bully my little sister and tell everyone that she is crazy because of a revengeful spirit? That's stupid-"

Drop

"I heard the little girl is locked in the castle for years now. I never see her appearance and I don't think anyone do. Dream kept her away from world... What a pain.."

Ink

"I don't care if she is kind or pretty. She is depressing- I don't like the fact she cope with depression. Drinking... That's just terrible. She needs help, a therapy will be good."

Alphonse (Corrupted Nightmare)

"I am holding myself from cursing... I hate him. That's the final."

Crescent

"I can't believe Dream is this stupid. Taking a child of an enemy as priest? This kingdom chances of getting attacked are very high.."

Angst (If he were alive)

"The crown prince of darkness kingdom... I don't know much about him. Rumours say he isolated himself from the world and waiting for death to take him."

Merciless

"I never interact with him. Sometimes I saw him walking next to Palette, sometimes he sat alone and sometimes... He feels so empty. He don't resemble the darkness king at all so I don't think I should hate him. Beside he is gives a really calming vibe."

Goth

"Oh lady Goth! Lux really adore her best friend. I'm glad Lux has someone to rely on. Lady Goth is genuinely kind to Lux. Even if she is close to Palette, she still treat Lux nicely and never believe in any of Palette's lies."

Bonus

Artemis belong to @itzcherrybonbon /@abloomingsunflower

"The precious daughter of the king I despise. Ugh... Well she is kind of pretty, I give her that. Mom said not to hate on her since I don't know anything about her.. Well she told me not to hate on anyone but I did it anyway. As long she don't interfere in my way on taking the throne, I'll be nice to her..."

Vivi belong to @canon-vi

"Oh my other little sister? Well she is adorable! Lux really adore Vivi so much and I am the same. Though, we don't spend much time together because she is a princess and has her own duty."

Kira belong to @canon-vi

"I will never understand why Dream took another child of an enemy to be a priestess... At least she is kind and look nothing like Alphonse. I am not that religious so I don't visit the church that often."

#evil lux au #what if #what if timeline #undertale au #ship child #Lux sans #dream sans #Callisto [e.l.a]#ink sans #a sunflower in full bloom au #kira [e.l.a]#Artemis #merciless sans #crescent sans #angst sans #vivi [e.l.a]

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couchtaro · 1 year

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from the OC introduction ask! (Sorry followers this is long but its worth it i prommy there are even pictures)

This is my little dötter Basil, a D&D PC of mine! She only saw 3 sessions of play 3 years ago but she is getting a second chance at life because @eaudecrow picked her up from the shelter and gave her a lovely yard to run around in.

Basil is a little tiefling girl whose large family runs an apothecary and surgery in a tiny little backwater town called Tarnygee. Basil’s brilliant mother developed a strain of magical herb that when processed can cast (without spell slots or prior magical ability) Lesser Restoration, thereby curing any disease instantly.

While traveling to heal a local noble, Basil’s mother disappeared and a bigshot inventor came forward claiming her panacea as his own. When Basil’s oldest brother tried to confront him and wound up dead, it became clear there was nothing they could do to get justice on their own. So, fueled by grief and rage, Basil took a job as a part-time warlock at Seelie Corp., a fey megacorporation with mysterious motives. In return for her working as their errand girl, Basil gets to be distinctly less killable and more tricky as she tries to find the inventor and extort him for the good of her destitute family.

Things aren’t working as well as she would like though: due to being basically a middle schooler, she’s got to keep her work under 40 hours a week and gets limited pact benefits. Her supervisor (a weasely pseudodragon named Keith) is dismissive and unhelpful, and her small town upbringing has kept her deeply unprepared for taking on the wild world of men and magic on her own.

Luckily, she’s found some unexpected help! While submitting her weekly report through the postal system of Fey portals, Basil’s paperwork went awry and found its way to another world: specifically a bunker in a war torn parallel version of the material plane. This bunker is the home and prison of Crow’s Aaren D’Cannith.

As a youth, Aaren invented a mechanical race called warforged, but seeing their potential for war and servitude, his family seized his blueprints (AND HIS ROBOT DAUGHTER) and disowned him as soon as he came of age. Aaren spent a few years as a vigilante trying to free his creations, but was trapped in his secret library when a magical-chemical fallout steeped his homeland in a volatile and toxic arcane gas. There he stayed, trapped and utterly alone, for three years.

Until Basil.

The two are corresponding via letters that we actually write each other, and it’s SUCH a fun and interesting method of storytelling to me aah. Despite being little more than strangers separated by a barely permeable divide, and despite Aaren struggling to believe Basil was even real at first, the two have formed a very sweet bond that makes me so unwell, you would not believe.

Both are grieved by how much of their own misfortune they see in the other. Through Basil’s letters, Aaren can tell that she is young, inexperienced, lacking support, and actively in danger as she allows herself to be used in exchange for power. He sees her situation with the eyes of someone who has been there and thus liberally (almost desperately) shares what little he can: his own arcane study materials, what he’s learned about survival and avoiding arrest, and, not the least, assurance that despite her perceptions, Basil is clever and kind and she matters.

Basil in turn is Aaren’s one connection to other people, and to a world that, while imperfect, is not ravaged and desolate like his own. After years of incarceration and tedium, he now has the exhilarating privilege of small talk and an audience for the terrible, terrible jokes he’s cooked up in isolation. He has a way to not only talk to someone outside of himself, but to help. He has something productive to do, and a reason to do it, not to mention the interesting puzzles of how their letters are finding each other and what else might be going on with Basil’s work. Basil is truly grateful to him, and returns his kindness in what little ways she can—most recently by interdimensionally mailing him his first real food in years.

Currently, Aaren and Basil are working to craft a pair of sending stones for daily artificer/botany jokes and (real reason) so that Basil can have some sort of emergency contact if she needs urgent advice. 25 words once per day is frightfully little if she ever runs into real trouble, and the limitations of their contact are never more haunting than when one considers how little Aaren could truly do in an emergency. I’m sure this frustration is only worsened by the unfortunate atrophy of his knowledge and skill caused by fog exposure. But he’s a clever man, and Crow had some ideas that seized my brain for weeks. Goodness.

Anyway in conclusion

Thanks for coming to my TedTalk

#my OC #blorbos in law #Basil D’Pothecary #Aaren D’Cannith #Basil #answered asks #art: Basil #my art #TENDERNESS MAKES ME BONKERS AND THERE IS SO MUCH TO HE HAD WITH THESE TWO #thanks crow…. 😭💐🥺

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allmoshnobrain · 7 months

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𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

part 21 of ? | masterpost

word count: 4066 | ao3 link | fic's playlist

I blinked, seriously caught off guard. That was too much to take in at once. First thing slamming me was anger—what did she mean by her and my dad being here to pamper me? Weren't they the ones who kicked me out? Cut off all ties? And now, they popped back into my life, not because they missed me or anything, but to wheel and deal for the family name and business—that was their concern. Concern that grandpa's "empire" wouldn't last with me at the wheel. Concern that I wouldn't know the ropes when the time came.

✦ summary: Nore's sense of normalcy unravels as her parents resurface, offering support for her dreams—with strings attached.

✦ on this chapter: dave mustaine x female!oc, oc is cliff's cousin, +18, language, slice of life, angst, complicated/kinda abusive family dynamics

✦ a/n: Hello! This part was a bit longer, and focused more on Nore's relationship with her family. I hope it helped understand her character a little bit better! I haven't included all the "lore" regarding her parents in the chapter directly but I recently made a post here explaining it a bit for anyone who's curious! I haven't been able to write a lot because I had some power/internet outage problems at home, but now that everything's back to normal I hope I can update more quickly! And we'll have some more James x Nore interactions on the next part :) Hope you liked reading, feedback is welcome!

✧ nobody's daughter, she never was, she never will / be beholden to anyone she cannot kill ✧

The next few weeks weren’t exactly easy.

Dave and I usually kept our relationship light; we rarely argued, and if we did, we patched things up quick. We got each other too well and just couldn't stand being apart for too long. We were young. We were in love. At that time, no issue seemed big enough to mess with that.

But this time, it was different . It's not like Dave was giving me the cold shoulder, but I could tell he was still feeling the sting from everything that had happened with the album and his songs. He started isolating himself more and more, hanging out at David's place for long stretches, diving into his new band. When I tried talking to him about what was going on, he'd just smile and steer the conversation elsewhere. It was like all that easy, spontaneous intimacy we had from the beginning was vanishing, slipping through my fingers like water.

And it freaked me out.

Being away from my cousin and my friends didn't make things any easier. I knew they had my back, but it's not like I could spill my guts to them over the phone about Dave. Since I'd left home, I'd felt sad and angry a bunch of times, but by September, I was more down than I had been since I first moved in with Cliff. Still, I held onto the hope that things would get back to normal soon.

Little did I know what the end of the year had in store for me.

It kicked off with a surprise phone call one evening. It was nighttime, and Dave and I were catching a break, chilling and watching some random movie on TV while sharing a cigarette and a beer when the phone decided to ring.

"I'll grab it," I said, jumping up from the bed. Dave gave a nod, his brow furrowing as he focused on rolling another joint for us to share. I rushed to the living room, picking up the phone. "Hello."

"Ellie?" a voice I knew too well replied, making my heart race and my jaw drop in surprise. "Is it really you?"

"Dad?" I blurted out in shock. In the whirlwind of my new life, getting a call from my father after nine months of radio silence was probably the last thing I expected.

"Hey, Ellie! So, this number is really yours. How've you been?"

"I... I'm okay, but... Dad, what's going on?" The words tumbled out, confusion turning into genuine concern. If he was calling out of the blue, something serious must have been up, right? I couldn't think of any other reason.

"Can't a dad check in on his daughter?" He said it casually, like it was no big deal. I furrowed my brow, annoyance quickly replacing my concern.

"You haven't said a word to me in months," I shot back, my voice shaking a bit, my eyes threatening to fill with tears as a whirlwind of emotions churned in my chest — first of all, anger. But then hurt. Confusion. And pain.

I glanced up at the sound of footsteps, spotting Dave leaning against the bedroom door frame with a lit joint in his hand. He gave me a questioning look, his concerned brown eyes checking out my state. I sighed, motioning for him to hold on. He came over, wrapping an arm around my waist and planting a gentle kiss on my shoulder, which managed to coax a small smile from me.

"So, Ellie, your mom and I..." my father hesitated on the phone, sounding a bit unsure of himself. "We were thinking that maybe we've been too hard on you. We just got back from London..."

"You went to visit grandma?" I snapped, my anger surfacing in the way my voice cranked up. "That's what this call is about, huh? I'm guessing she wasn't thrilled to discover you kicked me out. Bet she and grandpa gave you a reality check!"

"We went to celebrate your mom's birthday. And yes, we saw your grandparents," my father went on, his tone getting a bit sterner. "We were just thinking... It would be nice if you and your boyfriend could join us for dinner sometime. You know, your mom misses you..."

"Oh, bullshit."

"She does. Eleanore, it was her idea to send you that motorcycle as a gift. She thought it might lift your spirits a bit. Maybe you'd swing by..."

"She's always pulling that stunt!" I grumbled, annoyed, cheeks warming with irritation. "I can't be expected to read her mind. And for the record, I didn't ask for whatever gift she sent my way!"

"I get it. Ellie, I get it," my father reassured, clearly trying to ease my frustration. "Look, I think she regrets laying it on you like that. Especially after talking to your grandma... She just wants to fix things."

"Then why didn't she just call me herself?"

"You know how your mom is. She thought maybe you'd be more open to hearing me out. And, hey, it's not like I don't miss you too," he said, explaining. I took a deep breath, still annoyed but conceding that my father had a point. I could have a conversation with him, but if it were my mom on the line, I might've just hung up. "Ellie, she's trying, alright? It's more effort than she usually puts in. Give her a chance..."

"She didn't give me any chances. Why should I be the one handing them out?" I questioned, my voice now getting choked up as my anger gave way to the underlying hurt I was feeling. My father sighed, seeming uncertain about what to say.

"You can come next weekend if you want," he finally replied, straight-up ignoring my question and making me groan in frustration. "I'll ask Marcy to whip up that pumpkin pie you like, what do you think? Mull it over, alright?"

Then, he hung up, leaving me with a heavy heart and an anguish that had been haunting me for months but that I just didn't want to face. I slammed the phone back on the hook, maybe a tad harder than I should have.

"Hey. What was that?" Dave asked, leaning his chin on my shoulder and pulling me closer, his arms around my waist. I sighed. "Was it your dad on the phone?"

"Yeah," I murmured, my voice trembling a bit. He nuzzled into my neck, planting a soft kiss on my smooth skin, his lips moving up to my cheek for another kiss.

"Babe, you know you can talk to me if you need to," he whispered. I sighed, pulling away a little to meet his gaze, a mix of concern and seriousness in his eyes. I managed a faint smile, the hurt in my chest blending with the happiness of having, even if just for a moment, the old intimacy between us. "What happened? What did he say to you?"

"I just... I hate this!" I finally let it out, a tear rolling down the corner of my eye and making its way to my cheek. Dave cupped my face in his hands, wiping it away with the tip of his thumb. "My family’s always doing this. They act like the stuff they do to me, the way they treat me, doesn't matter. Like it doesn't hurt me! It's messed up."

Dave sighed, pulling me closer in a comforting hug. I knew he didn't have all the words, but I could feel him trying to ease my pain. I sniffled, a few more tears streaming down my cheek as I buried my face in his chest.

"My dad invited us for dinner... Both of us, him and my mom," I laughed bitterly. "It's funny, isn't it? They kick me out of the house, and then they think they can invite me to dinner, like everything's normal. Like nothing happened."

"And do you want to go?" he asked, softly, his hand soothingly stroking my back. I shook my head with a sigh.

"I... I don't know. I think that's the worst part," I admitted, pulling away and meeting his gaze. "I'm so angry, but I still miss them. I think that's what hurts the most."

"That you can't help but love them, even though some of the things they do hurt you?" he murmured, and I felt my heart tighten at the bitterness in his voice. "Maybe you should go, Nore. Maybe it's a good chance for you to patch things up with them."

"I don't know if I want to do that," I whispered, and he gave a slight smile.

"Yeah, I get it. Come here," he pulled me close again, his lips meeting mine with an unexpected hunger that sent warmth through my body. I clung onto his arms tightly, my nails leaving small crescent marks on his fair skin, while his lips moved down to my neck, kissing a spot that Dave knew would make me sigh and shiver, forgetting, even if just for a moment, anything but his body against mine. He pulled away, his familiar crooked smile on his lips making my heart race as he lifted my chin with his hand. "You can think about it later... How about coming back to bed with me?"

The car screeched to a stop in front of the big light-yellow house. I sighed, feeling more jittery than I'd like, despite the chill evening and the sun setting, casting warm hues all over the landscape. I knew my decision to visit my parents in Long Beach with Dave's car was a bit of a rebellious move against their expectations, and I hated it. They probably anticipated me rolling up on the motorcycle they gifted me. Instead, there I was, with my boyfriend and his car — two things that could potentially give my mom a nervous breakdown.

Dave raised his eyebrows, whistling softly as he checked out my parents' garden.

"You fancy-ass kid. So, this is where you used to live?" He chuckled and playfully nudged my arm, but I could tell he was a bit surprised. He seemed to catch quickly onto my nervousness; his eyes instantly turned serious when he saw my expression. "Hey," he said, his hand gently holding mine. "We don't have to do this if you don't want to. Okay?"

I nodded. Honestly, I wasn't entirely sure why I agreed to visit my parents or let Dave come along and meet them. Maybe, despite all the drama and hurt, there was still a part of me that missed them. Perhaps deep down, I hoped they'd be proud of me — for standing on my own all this time, for finding someone who cared about me and loved me. For not turning out to be the failure they expected when they kicked me out, assuming I'd come running back at the first sign of trouble.

But deep down, I knew that wasn't happening.

"It's okay," I squeezed Dave's hand, attempting a confident smile. "We're already here, right? Let's do this."

Dave and I stepped out of the car, strolling across the well-kept garden until we reached the front door.I paused for a moment before ringing the doorbell. Then, the door swung open, and my dad appeared, beaming when he saw me, the blue eyes I got from him shining.

"Ellie!" he exclaimed, pulling me into a hug. I blinked, a bit confused, but returned the embrace. He pulled back with a smile, seeming only then to notice that Dave was by my side. "Oh. You must be David?"

"You can call me Dave, sir," Dave smiled, shaking my dad's hand, but I could see he was a bit nervous.

"Pleasure to meet you, Dave. I’m George." my dad smiled, a bit more serious than before. "You've arrived just in time! Marcy is almost done preparing dinner. Let's go inside."

Dad walked in first, and I followed suit. Dave strolled by my side, holding my hand gently. He leaned in, whispering in my ear:

"Ellie? So, is that what your parents call you?"

"Just my dad. And I hate that nickname," I murmured, and he laughed.

As we strolled into the house, Dave scoped the place with raised eyebrows. The living room was cozy and rustic, sofas, armchairs, and rugs thrown together just right. In the corner, a shelf showed off my dad's vinyl collection. From there, you could head to the dining room through the side door or hit the garden through the glass door at the back. Upstairs, you'd find my parents' bedrooms, my old room, and the library where my parents spent most of their time when they were home.

"Ellie, why don't you give Dave a tour of the library? I'll summon your mom for dinner; she was introducing the new gardener to the plants," he said, jokingly.

"Oh... Sure," I mumbled. After being away for so long, everything felt way larger and unfamiliar than it should — especially after bouncing around from the little room I shared with Cliff to Leanne's house and then my cozy spot with Dave. I watched my dad head out the back door. Dave linked his fingers with mine, sensing my nerves, and stroked the palm of my hand in soothing circular motions with his thumb. I raised my gaze and met his brown eyes, locked onto my face. "So, wanna check out the library?"

"Actually, I had my eye on something else," he grinned slightly, and I blinked, intrigued. "Your room," he clarified, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "I want to see how you lived, you know? Before I showed up and changed your life forever."

I chuckled, rolling my eyes before tugging him along by his hand, leading the way to the stairs. We climbed up to the first floor, strolling through the lengthy corridor, passing several doors before hitting the last one right at the end. I twisted the knob, relieved to find that the door wasn't locked.

I sighed as I swung the door open, taking in the sight of my old room. The room was spotlessly clean and organized, meaning that my parents at least kept the place tidy. Next to the window, my bed was neatly made with the same sheets I'd left in a mess before heading to San Francisco. Above the headboard, posters of bands and movies adorned the wall. The door in the corner was open, showing my private bathroom.

Below the window, my study desk, with drawing and painting materials meticulously arranged. In the corner, a shelf with my books, records, and tapes, plus a TV and stereo. It stung a bit to look at it, to reminisce about all the time spent there; everything was the same, but I didn't feel anything like the girl who once called it home.

Dave seemed to understand the contemplation in my silence; he rested his chin on my shoulder, giving me a tight hug from behind before planting a kiss on my cheek.

"Nice room you got here," he remarked, and I laughed, a bit shakily, realizing tears were welling up in my eyes. Despite that, it felt good not to be alone. To have him there with me.

We quickly stepped apart when we heard a knock on the door. I turned around and found Alice, my mom's assistant, eyeing us with her serious gaze, her curly blonde hair pulled into a ponytail so tight it made me uncomfortable just to look at it. Of course, she would be here, I thought with a twinge of annoyance. She smiled, a cold and almost robotic smile.

"Welcome back, miss. Your mother is waiting for you in the dining room," she said, then turned and left, seemingly not even acknowledging Dave's presence.

I sighed, annoyed, feeling the anxiety in my chest rise in a wave of panic that subsided as soon as I felt Dave's fingers intertwining with mine again. He smiled at me reassuringly.

"Let's go," he murmured. "I guess it's time for me to meet your mom."

I stepped into the dining room hesitantly. It was funny how being near my mom always kind of intimidated me; she was everything I'd never been able to be, everything they expected me to be. I bit my lip as I spotted her, and she turned in our direction.

My mother was probably the most beautiful woman I'd ever known, tall and statuesque like a model, with long, wavy black hair that reached her waist, a slim and charming face, and serious dark brown eyes. I was nothing like her — much more like my dad, shorter with brown hair, blue eyes, and a much less glamorous body.

"Eleanore," she murmured, with that familiar distinct accent blending Scottish and French. She walked toward me, holding my face in her hands, a faint hint of affection gleaming in her eyes before being replaced by disapproval. "Oh, God, what happened to your hair? Did you cut it yourself?"

"Leave the girl alone, Clémence," my dad spoke, sitting in one of the armchairs in the corner of the room, casually reading the day’s newspaper. He looked up, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "She's old enough to know how to take care of herself."

My mom pursed her lips slightly, then let go of my face. She shifted her attention to Dave.

"You must be David," she spoke resolutely. I could see the disapproval in her eyes shifting from me to him, like he was a pet she didn't really like but had to put up with. If Dave caught onto that, he hid it well. For the first time since we had met, he was completely serious, which probably meant he was a bit on edge. "Well, come along. Dinner is ready. We were waiting for you."

We sat down for dinner, and my nerves were all over the place. I could hardly taste the food, and it seemed like Dave was in the same boat. I reached under the table, giving his knee a reassuring caress. He shot me a smile.

"So, Dave... You're one of Cliff's friends, huh?" my dad asked.

I noticed Dave's jaw tense a bit, but he managed a polite smile.

"Yep, we used to share a place. That's how I got to know Nore."

"And what do you do? Are you a musician too? You know, I have a pretty large vinyl collection here at home. Love music. Always wished I had the time to pick up the drums," my dad kept the conversation rolling with a grin, and I could see some of the tension in Dave fading away.

They chatted about music for the rest of the dinner, and slowly, I started to ease up. Mom stayed pretty quiet, her eyes bouncing between me and Dave like she was trying to figure us out. But Dad seemed genuinely interested in getting to know my boyfriend better. By the time dessert was served, I almost felt like we were a normal family again.

When we finished eating, we cruised back to the living room. Dad and Dave went straight to the vinyl collection, and Dad put on a Led Zeppelin album, the music filling the living room softly. That's when Mom got up, giving my arm a light touch.

"Come with me, Eleanore," she said in a low voice before heading to the garden. I hesitated, glancing at my dad and Dave, still deep in their conversation, then decided to trail after her.

We wandered through the backyard garden, the flower beds and trees soaking up the gentle glow from the property's lamps. Mom sparked a cigarette with a sigh, and we drifted in silence until we hit the pool area. She eased into one of the lounge chairs under the covered spot before looking at me.

"Take a seat," she motioned to the chair right across from hers.

"I'll pass," I muttered, and she raised an eyebrow.

"Why do you always have to complicate things?" she asked, and a surge of anger bubbled in my chest. Classic mom move: the woman who couldn't go an hour without emphasizing how I was a screw-up.

"Does Dad know you picked up smoking again?" I asked, a bit acidly. She looked up at me, a small, cold smile playing on her face. I knew my mom; she could front like she was flawless, but she had her flaws, just like I did. At least I owned up to mine.

"I smoke when I need to focus.You know how insane the end of the year gets at your grandfather's company," she shot back, sidestepping my question. "Or you would know if you cared about the family business instead of living in your love fantasy."

"My relationship is not a fantasy," I frowned, and she scoffed.

"If you say so," she flicked the cigarette butt to the ground, crushing it with the tip of her heel. "So, you know your dad and I just got back from Europe. I talked with your grandfather, and we came up with an idea... Oh, please, Eleanore, spare me that face. You haven't even heard what I have to say!" I tried to hide the displeasure that surfaced on my face. Nothing good ever followed when my mom claimed to have an idea. Never. "Well, as I was saying. Your dad and I think it's time for you to invest a little more in your future."

"Not this again," I grumbled. "Mom, I don't want to go to Law School!"

"I'm not asking you to!" she retorted, her tone sharp and irritated. Then she sighed, as if making an effort to calm down. "Look, we know you love art. You were part of the Theater Club in school, and you enjoyed your drawing classes so much! But I don't want my daughter to just finish high school and call it a day. It wouldn't be suitable ."

"And what's your deal, then?" I asked, getting a bit defensive. Until now, Mom didn't seem to be pushing me into anything specific, but I knew she never dangled anything remotely cool in front of me without expecting something in return.

"Your father and I are willing to pay for any course you want, at any university you want. What do you say?" she asked, a slight grin playing on her lips, but her eyes stayed icy. "You can study wherever you want! You can be close to your cousin, your new friends, your... boyfriend. Pursue the arts career you want. But," she raised an eyebrow. "you have to be aware of your role in the family business. So, you'll get involved in the day-to-day routine, learn the ropes, and be ready to handle everything when your father and I aren't around to pamper you. Fair deal, right?"

On the flip side, it was kind of a tempting offer. I mean, having my parents backing my dreams would be awesome, even with a few strings attached. I used to dream about more than just ringing up customers in record stores; I missed the days when I had time to create , to be part of something. But, if I went for it, what would it mean for me and Dave? Would we drift even further apart?

I didn't want to dive into that mess. Too many details, too many what-ifs.

"You don't have to figure it all out now," Mom said, her tone soft, like she was reading my mind. "Whenever you want, Eleanore, you can come back home. We'll work things out then, okay? Just take your time."

With that, she got up and casually walked back inside, leaving me to grapple with my thoughts.

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iistardust-and-sprinklesii · 1 year

Text

I’ve seen this… hot take being thrown around a lot and it’s seriously gotten to me so here’s a post dumping my thoughts about some viewers’ reaction to Willow’s arc this episode (coming from someone who’s kinned her since season one).

First off, her alleged tone-deafness with regards to giving Hunter a photo of him and Flapjack. Some people were really mad at her for that, and it genuinely pissed me off. Sure, it wasn’t what he needed in that moment, but it was done from a place of nothing but kindness and acceptance of him. Willow’s always been an outcast and for the longest time only had Gus as a friend, and when Luz came along, the combined compassion between the two of them helped her to finally find confidence in her abilities and to not doubt her talent like she had for so long. Her go-to response to Hunter isolating himself from the rest of the group was to remind him that he had a support system he could rely on whenever he felt alone. She acknowledges the similarities between them and their struggles with self-esteem in the past, though her way of helping him unintentionally made him sadder. In that moment, how does one respond? Willow immediately panicked because “Oh no, I didn’t want him to upset him even more than he already is” which is a perfectly normal emotional reaction to have (despite some people claiming she was being selfish). Look, when your friend is upset and you don’t know how to help, sometimes you panic. In that moment, she felt helpless. Then, when she realized she was actually drawing more attention to herself, she felt even worse. So she left. She made a mistake, and I don’t think she’s been given the grace she deserves in that moment.

Others have said Willow’s leadership role and the mental turmoil she experienced “came out of nowhere” when it… didn’t. For years she’d been in the background and was rarely given so much as a second glance from her peers. Then Gus, Luz, and eventually Hunter came along and she desperately wanted to ensure they didn’t leave her behind. Amity betrayed her (though not of her own volition, but Willow obviously didn’t know that) because she kept slipping up and messing up her magic, which she clearly internalized because of course something like that would seriously mess a kid up. The moment she became more confident, there were more eyes on her admiring her and asking to befriend her, which can be jarring and overwhelming for someone who initially came from nothing. It’s clear from her past that a natural progression in Willow’s character would be to showcase her struggles with abandonment (manifesting, in this case, with her carrying the burdens of her friends so she could potentially prove herself to be a worthy and strong enough witch to be around). Her breakdown allowed her to finally realize that she doesn’t have to “prove herself” to anyone. She can just be the same Willow she’s always been and no one will think any less of her for it. She doesn’t have to constantly put others first to be their friend.

So… yeah. As someone who projects heavily onto Willow, I just really needed to get this off my chest.

#the owl house #the owl house season 3 #the owl house analysis #toh #toh willow #toh hunter #toh gus #toh luz #toh amity #willow park #the owl house willow #the owl house willow park

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everythingsinred · 9 months

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I spent a whole day reading your Natsume analysis and am so excited to read Mikan's version. I wanted to ask about your thoughts on what Natsume was doing during the four years he was apart from Mikan. In Kageki, we learn that he took a lot of missions to get credit. But what do you think his mental state was like? Do you have any fic recs? I love making myself sad from Natsumikan angst.

hi! im so happy you read the natsume analysis! it makes me happy to hear people enjoyed it! i just recently made a table of contents for my essays and general ga postings so if you need help navigating the mikan essays, check out my pinned post <3

to answer your questions about what natsume was up to while mikan was gone, im pretty sure in kageki narumi mentioned that natsume had some negative behavior and attitude, but the extent of that is left vague. allegedly the missions he went on after she left were not alice-heavy or life-threatening but we know that one of those missions was to be toma's bodyguard and... bodyguarding tends to be dangerous? thats in the job description, pretty much literally. im not entirely sure how he was expected to bodyguard WITHOUT using his alice, but thats what they imply. did he take martial arts? did he carry a gun? who knows really. either way he should not have been permitted to continue doing any missions.

just in general, i think he was pretty depressed without mikan around. i mean natsume was in a HORRIBLE suicidal depression for two years before he met her and falling in love with her happened because she saw value in his life that he hadnt seen before. while she was there, he had developed a sense of purpose in his life and a will to live he hadnt had. it was bc of her that he started bonding with class b. now that shes gone, im sure hes very upset especially because its not certain he'll ever be allowed to see her again, granted he even lives that long.

but as much as i see him being depressed and a little miserable, he still has friends and a strong support system at the academy now. he has his best friend, plus the kids he allowed himself to befriend while mikan was around. theres pictures in the memorial book that depict middle-school aged natsume hanging out with The Boiz, and there's photographs in kageki that imply he wasnt completely isolating himself from his classmates during mikan's absence.

so with that in mind, i think he's depressed and sad about mikan being gone for sure, but he still has a will to live, a support system, and a sense of purpose (seeing mikan again) so that he isnt ENTIRELY devastated during those few years.

we can see when he reunites with her that he kinda expected her to remember him as soon as she saw him, and that gives us insight into how exactly he processed her stolen memories. (smth like, "she doesnt remember anything. so even if i did see her id probably have to make her fall in love w me again and im not even sure how i did it the first time! but she did love me right? i mean if she really loved me, she'd remember me eventually. i cant imagine forgetting her so im sure since she loved me that she'll remember as soon as she sees me!" and then he holds onto that thought so tightly that he ends up shocked that she doesnt remember). those thoughts probably kept him afloat too.

i really have mixed feelings about mikan leaving the academy in the first place though. i just dont think that plot point was executed very well so i never really got very into it.

as for fanfic recs, i cant think of many off the top of my head that have much to do with that time period of natsume on his own, but there is this one, (paths that lead home by MCaroba) which is about natsume going on a road trip with his friends!

as for angsty fics that are NOT related to that specific time period, here are some:

Ten Years to Date by November Romeo (the kids are assigned to write about their futures and natsume refuses. canon!verse one shot) (ps lots of her canon fics are in the same universe and theres a deal of angst involved there too, though her canon!verse fics take place in an alternate future of the kids in high school. i do recommend reading pretty much everything she's written for ga)

Tired by FearandLoathingXIX (hurt/comfort related to natsume's sickness. canon!verse one shot)

My Happy Ending by Little Miss Giggle (au where the kids go to a music school.... it starts off silly and fun but it gets pretty damn angsty. multichapter and one of the better known fics in the fandom)

Steal (my breath away) by Rock-n-Round (au one shot where alices exist but they're a bit weird and hard to explain. this one is EVISCERATING. and very beautiful)

Before You Hit the Ground by Ducky-san (au multi-chapter fic where mikan runs away from an abusive home and meets natsume who is in a gang against his will. i actually LOVE this fic so much... but it does contain some triggering material, like discussions of child abuse and implied sexual abuse.)

Right Before Your Eyes by pressuredtreasure (au... i don't think i can say much about this without spoiling it, but it's basically mikan missing natsume)

Oh Hello World also writes a lot of one shots, some of which are pretty angsty.

i'm really sad.... i was gonna link some other fics but i couldn't find them or remember their names and i'm scared they've been taken down. ah the pain of being in an old, less active fandom...

i also write fics too! ive only written aus so far (incidentally, not on purpose), but the angstiest is probably all things rancid and delicate, which is about mikan in a cult (it has a lot of dark elements to it)

im sorry if youre not much an au person, but i havent read much new ga ffn recently and not many good ones have survived the test of time it seems. it's all very sad. i miss reading fanfic all the time AND having lowered standards for gaffn specifically...

i hope i've answered your questions! if you have any other questions feel free to shoot me another ask! i love talking abt ga <3

#sorry i took a while to reply. i wanted to take some time to gather fics but i ended up falling short anyway!#answered #kitwatson #gakuen alice #ga #fic recs #im sure i have more ga recs but i focused on angst... idk. it was an attempt for sure

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neondiamond · 2 years

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☀️ Recently Read Fics - August 2022 ☀️

These are all the amazing fics I read over the past month (from shortest to longest). Don’t forget to leave kudos and comments to show the authors your appreciation if you read any of these! 💛

☀️ let me carry your burdens by @bottomhaztoplou (637, G)

Harry isn't understood by the world. Louis helps to give him a little peace.

☀️ Late Night Nesting by @harryslonecurl (769, M)

“Hurry up. I’m cuddle deprived.”

Louis climbed into bed, careful not to dislodge any part of the nest. Harry didn’t hesitate to cuddle right up to Louis’ bare chest. Harry stuck his nose right into the crook of Louis’ neck, where his bondmark lay. It wasn’t typical for alphas to have bondmarks along with their omegas, but Harry and Louis didn’t care to adhere to every tradition.

☀️ Logging In by @tommokat (801, G)

Harry’s new job comes with two main struggles: the technology hating him and the IT tech that’s fixing it all.

☀️ craving a kiss by @onlyforbravest (974, G)

“But Lou, I really want to kiss someone.”

Louis let out a heavy, irritated sigh. “I gave you a solution.”

“But –”

“Actually, I gave you two.”

☀️ Good Dogs Don’t Bark by @haztobegood (1k, M)

“Don’t know where it came from, but it’s here to stay,” Harry laughed into the mic. Barking at the crowd gave him such a thrill. He couldn’t remember the first time he barked at the crowd, but he remembered how it made his heart race every time. He always wondered how his Master would react if he were there. Would he be punished for barking in public? But Louis had been busy with his own world tour, and Harry kept barking.

☀️ heart meet break by @larrieblr (1k, NR)

A large, looming living room with half its belongings packed up. A kitchen, sink barely cleaned and two plates set on the table. And a skinny twenty-something on the middle of the rug, a hot phone pressed to a cheek so tear-stained it might cause an electrical shock.

☀️ Dark Waters Breed Desperation by @usignedupforthis (1k, NR)

If Louis has to stare at the ocean to remember who he is at least it doesn't care.

☀️ Cowgirl Take Me Away by @littleroverlouis (1k, T)

Louis has two great loves in her life: Harry and Harry's cowboy boots.

☀️ Hash Brown, Egg Yolk, I Will Always Love You by @loveislarryislove (1k, G)

Niall is a regular at Harry's hole-in-the-wall breakfast diner, coming in almost every morning. As such, he feels uniquely qualified to opine that another regular, Louis, would be a perfect match for Harry.

He doesn't realize they're several years ahead of him on that.

☀️ Downgraded by @wabadabadaba (2k, G)

I don't know why you downgraded what we had, but I did not make us up.

Or the one where Louis has too much time to think while in self-isolation so he calls Harry after not speaking to him in years.

☀️ Cannibalism Love Story by @londonfoginacup (2k, G)

It’s a hot summer day and Louis wants nothing more than to lay on the floor and do nothing.

Instead he’s with the twins at the science museum.

☀️ I don’t mind being lost at sea by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed (2k, T)

“Would you like your eggs cooked, scrambled or fertilised tomorrow morning?”

Zayn looks at the stranger thoughtfully. “You know,” he says, “I don't think that pick up line works when we're both male.”

Or: the fic where Louis tries to cheer up a stranger in a bar.

☀️ we’re forever (and ever and ever and ever) by @onlythebravest (2k, G)

Five times Louis said "I wish I met you later" and one time he didn't.

☀️ tofu or not tofu by @hershelsue (3k, E)

Harry watches a documentary and decides to go vegan. It almost goes south, but Louis is as supportive as ever.

☀️ De Novo by @skipperxao3 (4k, M)

Harrie always knew that things weren’t right in her world, but it was many years before she had the answers, not only about herself but the world around her. With the help of two wonderful friends, she comes to embrace life as it truly is. She’s found happiness and confidence within herself, feeling truly content for the first time in her life.

One thing she longs for is to share her life with another person, but fear holds her back. She doesn’t know if she’s able to be accepted as she is now. But that doesn’t stop the world from trying and allowing her to see who she needs to be.

Despite her reservations, she realizes that one failed date doesn’t mean is it’s an end all. It simply means she wasn’t herself the first time around.

With a deep, steady breath of fresh air, Harrie knows now. She’s ready and the future is here in the form of a wonderful person who doesn’t hold her past against her. In fact, he finds her imperfectly perfect exactly as she is, and that’s all Harrie needs.

☀️ We Can Get Together by @tommokat (4k, M)

Louis tries his best to not have regrets in life. Or rather, he tries not to regret decisions he’s made with logic and reason. It seems he's found the decision that finally makes him question it all, however. Because logic and reason meant the best way to make it across the country for his cousin’s wedding in the middle of the summer was a Greyhound bus.

If only he had chosen a bus that didn’t leave at 2 in the morning.

☀️ Close Our Eyes (Pretend We’re Miles Away) by @haztobegood (5k, E)

Louis and Harry have been on the run for a day and a half now. It’s a hard situation to be in, and they’ve been trying to cope the best they can since their relaxing girls’ weekend at a rented cabin turned into a living nightmare.

Just forty eight hours ago, Harry never would have robbed a bank. Hell, she barely would have touched the gun she’d used in the robbery, let alone wave it around to threaten anyone. Forty eight hours ago, Louis hadn’t used that same gun to shoot a man.

☀️ It’s Just Another Full Moon by @larry-hiatus (6k, G)

The last time there was a Wolf Moon in the sky, Harry fell into an omega drop. Now that another Wolf Moon is coming, he’s not taking any chances…

☀️ Wild As You by @greenblueish (9k, M)

As much as Harry had not been overjoyed at the prospect of leaving Minnesota behind and starting high school in rural central Nebraska, it had definitely changed his life in ways staying at his childhood home never would have. Within days he had found fellow students to sit with at lunch, within weeks he had considered them friends, within months he had learned to love Nebraska, and within four years, he had wildly fallen in love with Louis Tomlinson.

or, a story about how Harry figures out whether the ideal of a house with a white picket fence in the suburbs of a medium-sized city is what he wants, or whether Louis' sheep ranch is the home his heart really desires.

☀️ there’s always room for common ground by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed (10k, T)

Zayn never thought his life would be this way. When he’d first met Liam, he’d known that this was it. This was the man he was meant to marry, to be with for the rest of his life. And for a while things had been perfect. They had their dream wedding, their dream home, and after a few years, their perfect little girl. Things had been – well, perfect.

It’s why it’s so hard to swallow that these days Liam will barely look at him. That they’ve gone from being cuddled up on the couch together to barely being able to exchange pleasantries when they’re dropping off their daughter with one another.

☀️ That How I Know by @allwaswell16 (19k, E)

Louis Tomlinson has just landed his dream job, coaching soccer at Augustus University. When he moves into a new house near campus, he meets his very fit new neighbor, English professor Harry Styles. Although their first meeting leads to an instant mutual dislike, the more Harry gets to know Louis, the more he likes what he sees.

Or the one where Harry’s African grey parrot spills his dirty secrets to his very hot neighbor.

☀️ I’m a Fool for You by @berzerkshires (24k, E)

Harry is a successful, past MVP player in the NBA. When he gets news of his stepfather's passing in the middle of a game, he walks out of the game, threatening to never come back. He's not been true to himself for years, and it's going to take a stranger from his hometown to help him understand that being yourself is not as scary as he thought.

☀️ I like the way you say my name (when you soak it in grace) by @liminalkitty518 (65k, E)

Louis is transferred to a new city to temporarily cover for his counterpart while he is on maternity leave for the next six months.

His new co-workers talk endlessly about Harry, the omega who he’s covering for. And Louis finds himself jealous of whatever alpha as snatched him up.

Until he learns Harry is actually an unmated omega three months out from becoming a single parent.

☀️ Have Love, Will Travel by @kingsofeverything (97k, E)

Rather than spend the summer working at their desks, Louis and Harry are given the opportunity to crisscross the country together in a tiny camper, filming their adventures for a YouTube series.

It soon becomes obvious to their viewers that there’s something more than friendship between them. Eventually, they figure it out.

☀️ Where you’d rather be by @itsmotivatingcara (103k, M)

Louis runs the best Canine Search and Rescue school in Augusta, Maine, one that trains dogs to track missing persons. He lives an idyllic life on Togus Pond where he's built his career from the ground up. He has everything he could ever want, a beautiful home, friends he adores and a dog that aids his students in their training. Romantic entanglements have never been high up on his list of priorities.

That is, until he stumbles across a body in the woods. A woman was brutally murdered and dumped on his doorstep. It doesn't help that the Detective on the case happens to be devilishly handsome and just the right amount of broody.

Detective Harry styles has a murder to solve, he's just gotten out of a long-term relationship and he's certainly not looking for another. Regardless of whether the man who run's the SAR unit's blue eyes sparkle with promise and a sense of belonging. Something he may or may not have been searching for all his life.

#monthly recs #28th appreciation #fic rec #1dficvillage #trackinghappily #trackinghome #tracksintheam #hltracks #hlsource #hlcreators

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