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thornedrose44 · 3 years

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Supercorp prompt-

Lena takes an art class to de-stress and Kara is the nude model. Awkward semi- naked flirting ensues.

(A/N: So, I put my own twist on this (hope that’s okay), I made Lena a teacher just because I liked the idea of Lena having to keep her lack of chill under control and be professional in front of a class funny - though this fic went down just a really light, fluffy route which I hadn’t expected when I started it.)

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It had been going well, the first term had passed with only a few missteps and one trip to the emergency room - though, the Dean had told her that Zach had yet to make it through a single class without some sort of accident and had been preemptively banned from taking Chemistry classes for fear of taking out an entire graduation class.

Lena had never expected to return to her alma mater as a lecturer but the stars had aligned at just the right time. The youngest Luthor had reached a stage in her career where she had finally proven her adoptive mother wrong about not finding success as an artist and had made enough money that she need never paint another picture in her life again. The lack of necessity and the return to a more Luthor-esque lifestyle - galas, fancy balls and paid talks - had subsequently impacted her inspiration. She needed a change. A return to her roots and some sort of stability without losing her ability to make a personal impact with her work.

Her mentor - J’onn - was stepping down from the art department and had recommended her as his replacement; National City University had jumped at the chance of the world renowned Lena Luthor taking up a teaching position there.

She was now a third of the way through the school year, settled comfortably into her new role, and absolutely loving it. Her spark was back, and she was enjoying being in one place surrounded by her old friends. She was reconnecting with skills and techniques she hadn’t touched in years whilst simultaneously giving advice and encouragement to students that reminded her of herself when Lillian had cut her off to force her into attending business school and abandoning her dreams. She was finally able to return the kindness J’onn had given her all those years ago to the next generation of artists.

It was the second term that Lena experienced her first set of real nerves.

Lena had an artistic weak spot, an achilles heel that she had been able to keep out of her signature artistic style but she would now be forced to confront.

Life drawing.

It had been her lowest scoring class by a mile and she had avoided the advanced elective classes like the plague. Lena knew practice made perfect but she’d never had enough interest to develop her skills. Her interest had always lied more in natural landscape beauty - J’onn had said her true inspiration lied with trying to recreate her childhood memories of Ireland: emerald rolling hills, rocky cliffs, dense forests ensconced by a mystical fog that lended her artwork a fantastical element that she was now known for.

The problem lied in Lena’s lack of interest in people.

She had never really seen the ‘art’ in them.

Kelly, Sam and Andrea had spent hours over evening drinks psycho-analysing just why that might be, their two favourite theories were Lena’s family (the loss of her mother and the general unpleasantness of the Luthors) or Lena’s truly terrible dating history (their favourite topic of conversation due to the sheer number of embarrassing stories it elicited).

Lena refused to acknowledge the accuracy of both theories.

It was therefore with a sense of dread that Lena prepared for the first Life Model Drawing class that Tuesday afternoon. The one small silver lining was that she didn’t need to arrange a model - she had vague memories of J’onn trying to entice volunteers and grumbling under his breath about some of the less than pleasant eager volunteers. J’onn had a list of regular volunteers that he had accrued over the years that were reliable and just liked to help out - most of them older with an appreciation for the arts and more time on their hands than they knew what to do with. The University admin team had organised everything and simply told her to expect a Kara Danvers at the studio some time before the class.

Lena had finished prepping the studio well in advance, reviewed the relevant techniques for most of the morning and even phoned J’onn for a much needed pep talk over lunch. She had just convinced herself that everything might be okay, that she just might be able to do this, when the most beautiful woman Lena had ever laid eyes on burst into the studio.

A toned body that glinted with a light sheen of sweat barely covered by a white v-neck tucked in at the front of a pair of dark jeans that merely brought all of Lena’s attention to the bronze belt buckle that locked away a thousand dirty thoughts. Glorious golden ringlet curls bounced up and down as the woman stumbled to a sudden stop as the most piercing blue eyes imaginable behind thick glasses locked with Lena’s green ones.

“Hi, I’m Kara!” The goddess announced, swallowing thickly and stumbling forward in her hefty black boots as she extended out a hand for Lena to take.

Lena only reached out due to years of Luthor training that had ingrained politeness into her muscle memory - her brain still not firing on all cylinders at the sight of the woman in front of her. Kara’s warm palm connected with Lena’s, long fingers curling gently yet firmly around the edge of her hand and sending arcs of lightning through Lena’s body and causing her breath to stutter.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting for me for too long.” Kara continued, a bright apologetic smile lighting up her entire face and grinding whatever gears were still turning Lena’s mind to a dead - permanent - halt. “I try to always get here early to help set-up but the interview I was conducting overran - I’m a journalist, by the way - and then my bike - motorbike that is -” Lena’s mind caught on the motorbike and turned it round over and over and over again, “didn’t start and… I’m rambling. Oh, golly! I mean heck, I mean sorry.” Kara huffed, cheeks filling with air before releasing into an adorable pout. “Sorry.”

It was then that Lena realised two things.

One, it was her turn to say something and there had now been at least ten prolonged seconds of silence as they stared into each other’s eyes.

And two, they were still holding hands because that’s what it was now, it most definitely could not be considered a handshake.

“Umm… hi…” Lena choked out whilst simultaneously jerking her hand back to her side, hoping the somewhat stifling heat of the studio would hide the red blush perfusing her cheeks. “Lena. I’m Lena, that is…”

“Hi.” Kara murmured, smiling soft and sweet at her causing Lena’s heart to flip and melt and dance and do a million impossible things all at once.

“Hi.” Lena repeated dumbly - so dumbly.

“I should…” Kara chuckled, hands miming grabbing the edge of her t-shirt and lifting it up, “You know?”

Oh, god the goddess is going to undress, Lena’s brain screamed in gay at herself.

“Yeah, definitely do that.” Lena encouraged with a flap of her hand towards the centre of the studio where a solitary illuminated stool awaited. “Do you need anything? Is the lighting okay? Stool… umm… sturdy?”

Kara grinned at her, blue eyes barely sparing a glance at the studio’s set-up, “Looks perfect.”

“Great.” Lena cheered, jerking her thumb over at her desk in the corner where she had prepped her teaching materials, “I’ll… uh… be over there.”

“And I’ll be right here.” Kara shot back with a cheeky wink as she walked over to the stool, a towel awaiting her to provide suitable covering until the class had settled, shucking her white shirt over her head and revealing back muscles that would star in Lena’s fantasies for the foreseeable future.

“Yep.” Lena popped, taking a deep breath and trying to work out if she should be murmuring a thank you to God or screaming a desperate why me.

***

The class had gone well - except for the long periods where her brain shutdown whenever she studied the play of shadows across Kara’s defined musculature. She managed to cover it quite well by making it seem like she was just assessing her students’ work closely, analysing their line work and shading rather than going through an extended gay crisis that eclipsed seeing boobs for the first time in college.

Kara, on the other hand, was a consummate professional, holding a steady pose throughout and utterly unfazed by the concentrated gazes on her - though, Lena could have sworn that she caught deep blue eyes tracking her movements round the half-circle every now and again.

“So, you’re experienced doing this?” Lena asked, once the last student had departed and Kara was finishing re-tying her sturdy boots back up.

“Taking my clothes off?” Kara chuckled, shooting the teacher an amused smirk, getting to her feet and strolling easily over to where Lena was examining the product of her class’ efforts.

Lena faltered, “I meant-”

“I’m just teasing.” Kara reassured, reaching out to squeeze Lena’s forearm in a half-apology that Lena could have sworn burnt Kara’s hand print into her skin, “I’ve done this for a while now. I did an interview with J’onn a few years ago and his model bailed at the last minute and I was here already and…” Kara shrugged casually like stepping in was the obvious thing to do, like kindness was the only option - which Lena didn’t doubt for a second was something Kara genuinely believed. “I like helping out where I can. And I just kept coming back…” Kara explained, clasping her hands behind her back as she took a tentative step closer to Lena, “I was never really sure why until-”

“Hey, babe, you ready to go?”

Lena’s head snapped round to see Andrea strolling through the doorway, eyes fixed on her phone utterly oblivious to the moment she had just trampled all over. Lena wasn’t sure whether Andrea was naturally such a good cockblock or if she practiced at it - regardless of either option Lena’s sexlife had vanished into thin air since she’d returned to living in the same city as Andrea. (Not that Lena thought that her and Kara were heading that way but Lena had been enjoying the hope of it at least).

“Andrea, you’re early for the first time in.... well, ever…” Lena snarked, rolling her eyes before glancing over to Kara, only to find the blonde had taken a large step away from her and her expression was far more neutral and guarded than it had been only moments before.

“Wait, we weren’t meeting at 4?” Andrea frowned, still not bothering to look up.

“Ah, so you’re not early, you’re over an hour late.” Lena remarked.

“God, you’re such a drama queen…” Andrea sighed, finally lifting her gaze from her phone, her eyes immediately alighting on Kara with undisguised interest. “And who is this?”

“Andrea, this is Kara the model for our life drawing classes.” Lena introduced taking a protective step in front of the blonde, an action that did not go unnoticed by the other two occupants in the room. “Kara, this is my supposed best friend who is regularly trying to lose that title.”

“Oh, best friend?” Kara repeated; the familiar brightness from before returning to her expression as she looked excitedly between the two friends.

“Yes.” Lena answered, smiling shyly at Kara and immediately forgetting Andrea’s existence, let alone presence in the room.

“That’s great.” Kara grinned, blushing a light pink a second later as her hands fidgeted with her keys, “I mean… ummm…. That you have a best friend. My sister is my best friend, though I have other friends. I just mean that… friends are cool.”

Lena laughed lightly at Kara’s ramble, leaning closer towards the blonde without realising until Andrea appeared at her shoulder looking far too pleased with herself.

“Kara,” Andrea greeted, holding out a hand for the blonde to shake (Lena was comforted to see their handshake was quick, almost professional in comparison to the lingering touch Kara and Lena had shared earlier). “The pleasure is all mine.” Andrea declared, winking surreptitiously at the teacher - Lena instantly dreaded the upcoming girl’s night.

“Nice to meet you.” Kara replied friendly and sincere, before smiling softly at Lena and muttering a hopeful, “I’ll see you next week?”

“I’ll be here.” Lena reassured, watching as Kara nodded farewell to Andrea and departed, waving on her way out.

“Well…” Andrea murmured mischievously.

“Don’t.” Lena said sharply, holding up a finger to deter whatever torment Andrea had brewing. “Not a word. Not a single word.”

“Ooookay.” Andrea lied.

***

“You okay?” Lena asked tentatively, watching as Kara sluggishly slung her bag over her shoulder the pep to her step nowhere near as present as it had been last week.

They hadn’t had a chance to talk before the class even though Kara arrived much earlier to help set-up - Lena had been helping a student struggling with deadlines and a sudden crisis of confidence which prevented them from interacting. Despite being occupied, Lena had seen the fatigue weighing heavily on the reporter, saw how her impeccable posture dropped and how her students added weary lines to her expression in their artwork.

“I think you fell asleep on that stool for ten minutes at some point.” Lena murmured, brow creasing in concern.

“Pfft… what?” Kara reassured with a light-hearted wave of her hand. “Impossible.”

Lena arched an unimpressed eyebrow, “You snore. Quite loudly.”

“Oh…” Kara pouted guiltily, rubbing at the back of her neck, “My sister is going through a rough patch and I stayed up late with her last night.”

Lena’s amusement drained away to be replaced with soft, supportive care, “Is she okay?”

“Yeah, she’s doing better.” Kara replied, blue eyes twinkling at Lena’s inquiry that had them both ducking their heads coyly and sharing furtive glances. “I should get going.” Kara coughed out, though she made no move to leave.

“Or…” Lena began hesitantly, heart fluttering in her chest, “we could go for coffee? You should probably have a coffee before driving,” Lena rationalised, nervously stepping back from the blatant romantic line she was toeing, “you know for safety…”

“For safety.” Kara repeated carefully, blue eyes glowing with warmth, “That sounds wonderful.”

***

It didn’t take them long at all to settle into a comfortable routine.

Kara came early to the life model classes, helping set-up the room as they talked about the students' progress and what Lena was going to make the focus of the class. During the class itself, Lena no longer needed to flit as regularly between her students, they had learned the basic techniques enough to practise for themselves, now only requiring light guidance which allowed Lena time to either do some marking or her own art. Kara posed perfectly throughout, though Lena was becoming more and more aware of Kara’s still gaze on her as the weeks passed by.

After class, it was now custom for them to grab a coffee and go for a long walk around the university campus as they talked about everything and nothing. They would have been building towards a strong friendship if it wasn’t for the lingering touches, blatant flirts, blushes and wandering gazes.

Lena wasn’t overly sure why they hadn’t crossed that line, made that final move, but she found she didn’t particularly mind the wait. She was convinced that they had both decided that the journey was making the destination all the more desirable.

It became abundantly apparent, though, that Kara thought differently if their conversation after the class midway through the term was anything to go by.

“So do you not like my body?” Kara asked, quick and fearful, eyes looking down at the sketch Lena had done during class of a vase of flowers in the corner rather than of the readily available model.

“What?” Lena muttered in disbelief looking up sharply from her desk to see Kara paling considerably having clearly not intended to ask the question that she had blurted out.

“I… uh…” Kara squeaked, mouth opening and closing rapidly, before lifting her bare wrist up with a jerky motion and whistling in exaggerated surprise, “Wow, look at the time. I’m late for… uh… this thing. Work thing. Interview! That’s a work thing.”

And just like that she was gone - Lena wouldn’t have been surprised if there was a Kara shaped hole in the studio wall with how fast she disappeared - leaving Lena with a sinking, twisty feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her she might have lost more than her regular coffee with Kara over that one interaction.

***

Lena had Kara’s phone number and they had taken to texting throughout the day; however, since Kara’s panicked question - which probably revealed some deep vulnerability in the blonde - there had been complete and total radio silence. No memes, no cute animal pics, no sweet check ins… Lena’s phone remained silent when it once vibrated with life.

Lena wanted to text or call Kara the second she had left the studio but Lena didn’t feel like this was a conversation they could have over text, so she waited impatiently for them to be face to face again, counting down the days until the next class.

Lena even took to repeatedly checking in with the admin office to confirm that Kara hadn’t pulled out of modelling; reaching the stage where Jess, the most senior admin in the team, had taken to emailing her every couple of hours to reassure her that Kara still hadn’t cancelled.

When Kara appeared, nervously stepping into the art room, fingers playing with the hem of her shirt, it was like Lena could finally breathe easy again. The fear and loss eeking away in an instant, giving Lena the necessary courage to stride forward and bare herself in a way that Kara had been doing every week without Lena fully realising.

“I don’t like drawing people.” Lena announced, shoving her hands into her pockets to resist the temptation to reach out to the other woman as the blonde blinked at her in surprise, listening intently. “It’s kind of a thing with me.” Lena winced, pushing down all the reasons for why that is. “When I draw something I… kind of let whatever it is into me, let it consume me and it… stays with me for a long time after that. It’s why I draw what I draw. I draw my home because it's a part of me already. Drawing someone means carrying them with me and… that’s scary for me.” Lena breathed, glancing at the blonde to see soft understanding in blue eyes. “I just wanted you to know it’s not you.”

Kara nodded, shuffling closer and dipping her head so that she could whisper into the still space between them, “Thank you.”

“Right,” Lena murmured, swallowing thickly before jerking a thumb over her shoulder, “I should-”

“Do you want to get dinner?” Kara inquired earnestly causing Lena to freeze in hopeful surprise. “After class, that is?”

“Um… Yes.” Lena replied, nodding her head eagerly.

“Awesome.” Kara grinned brightly.

***

Kara took her to a tucked away italian restaurant that was one of National City’s hidden gems. The food was outstanding and the company was even better.

It wasn’t a date, but it wasn’t just friends going out for dinner either.

Lena would call it a test-run but that would imply that Lena wasn't already one hundred percent certain that she wanted an actual date with Kara. It was more of a date-appetiser if Lena was going to call it anything, a taste to build interest before the real thing.

Once they had finished their food, Kara didn’t hesitate to interlace their fingers as they went for an evening stroll around a nearby park, both wishing to prolong their time together.

“Can I see your art?” Kara requested; they had been sitting on a bench in front of a lit-up fountain for the last twenty minutes or so in comfortable silence. Lena had expressed an interest in sketching the fountain and Kara hadn’t hesitated to find them a seat and encourage Lena’s desire without complaint, occupying herself with people-watching in the meantime.

“I’m pretty sure the images are all over the internet.” Lena replied drolly.

“Yeah, I know it’s just…” Lena’s pencil froze in it’s movements finally noticing how hard Kara was trying to act casual, “what you said about it being a part of you, I thought-”

“You want me to show it to you…” Lena inferred, setting her pencil down and closing her handy sketchbook in an instant.

“It’s stupid, I’ll-” Kara laughed awkwardly, shaking her head in an attempt to brush over the request like it wasn’t a big deal

“I don’t have many pieces here in National City,” Lena said thoughtfully, getting to her feet and holding out a hand for Kara, “but I have some works in progress that I can show you… if you want that is?”

“I would love that.” Kara beamed, jumping to her feet as Lena tugged her back towards her campus studio, already picking out her favourite pieces in her mind that she wanted to share with the blonde.

***

Lena and Kara’s ‘friendship’ continued to blossom into something neither could have anticipated that day Kara sprinted into the studio all those weeks ago. The weekly class they shared was now always followed by dinner, taking it in turns to share their favourite cuisines and restaurants. They had also grown beyond only seeing each other on their allotted class day, sharing lunches and movie nights and spontaneous coffees as they learned each other's schedule and needs.

Lena read all of Kara’s articles and spent many an evening asking countless questions about the background to each of them. Likewise, Kara would appear for coffee with one of Lena’s artworks saved in her phone, burning with curiosity about what had inspired it.

Time spent with Kara flew by and, before Lena knew it, it was the final class prior to spring break. Her last class with Kara until the next school year and Lena was finally ready.

She had finally figured it out.

Why she had waited.

Why she had yet to seize the numerous opportunities to transition her relationship with Kara into a romantic one.

It was because she knew.

She knew from the second that she had taken Kara’s hand in hers when they first met that this was it. That Kara was it.

And that was, and still is, terrifying.

When they had first met, Lena hadn’t been ready for Kara. Hadn’t been ready for everything that Kara represented and would come to mean. She had needed the time, the time to lower her guard, to trust and hope.

And now, she was ready and she knew exactly how to let Kara know.

The class came to an end with Lena giving her students a quick speech on how proud of their progress she was and wishing them a good spring break. Kara lingered behind as was now custom, helping Lena tidy up the area before they headed out together.

“Kara?” Lena called out nervously, sweaty palms rubbing against her black denim covered thighs as her heart beat thunderously in her chest. “I was wondering…” Lena began, clearing her throat as Kara stopped what she was doing to give Lena her undivided attention. “Can I… can I draw you?”

Kara’s brow instantly furrowed in confusion, “I thought-”

“Yeah…” Lena laughed shyly, staring into deep blue eyes, practically begging for Kara to understand what she was really saying. “Can I?” Lena repeated.

Kara pursed her lips thoughtfully as she studied Lena’s expression - it was then Lena realised that Kara understood exactly why they had been waiting. Kara wasn’t replying because she wanted to check that Lena was sure, was giving Lena a chance to delay, was saying - without really saying it - that she could wait longer.

Lena didn’t take the escape Kara offered, instead she lifted her head higher and arched an eyebrow at the blonde.

A thousand-watt smile of excitement took up residence on Kara’s face as she nodded eagerly, “Of course.”

“Clothes on.” Lena clarified - she had promised herself that the first time she truly studied Kara’s body it would be in a setting where touching would not break any professional standards.

***

Lena had Kara sit opposite her in her private studio, their knees pressed tightly against one another providing a warm point of contact to keep them grounded. Lena’s gaze flickered from her sketchpad to Kara’s features; occasionally, she would reach out to adjust a lock of golden hair so it caught the light. Kara, meanwhile, had an ever constant soft smile that didn’t diminish for the entirety of the session even as she was forced to rein in her boundless curiosity to stop herself from sneaking a peek at Lena’s sketch until it was ready to be revealed.

Lena only drew Kara’s head because, though, she had spent countless hours in the presence of Kara’s naked body over the course of the last few weeks - when Lena thought of Kara (really thought about her in the way that made her heart skip), it wasn’t her abs or her biceps that Lena pictured (though she did think about them regularly when she was in her bed alone at night).

It was Kara’s eyes that Lena thought about most.

How they were so bright and hopeful whilst simultaneously melancholic and lost.

There were whole galaxies in those blue eyes and Lena knew that she could spend the rest of her life drawing them and never get bored, nor get them exactly right.

“What do you think?” Lena asked, slowly turning her sketchbook round for Kara to see.

It wasn’t finished. It was mere line work that would require further detailing but it was a good start and she hoped Kara could see its potential like she did with everything else in the world - like she did with Lena.

“It’s…” Kara began, licking her lips as she pulled the sketchbook closer to her chest like it was something treasured and infinitely rare. “It's incredible.” Kara breathed, the sincerity of her words undeniable due to how they were accompanied by a watery film to her blue eyes.

“I like your body.” Lena whispered, shattering the companionable silence they had drifted into as Kara admired Lena’s artistry.

“W-w-what?” Kara stammered, head jerking up at the out-of-the-blue declaration.

Lena reached out for the sketchbook, lifting it out of Kara’s hand and placing it on the nearby table so that she could take Kara’s hands in hers.

“You asked if I liked your body a while ago,” Lena reminded the blonde, “and I just thought you should know that I do. I really, really do. I mean really.” Lena emphasised, glancing appreciatively down at Kara’s body prompting the blonde to blush a pleased pink. “But it's more than just that. It’s become more than that. Talking after class, getting coffee, going for dinner… it's the best part of my week. You’re the best part of my week.”

“Lena-” Kara began, her mouth suddenly snapping shut as her jaw clenched and her chin lifted in determination. Blue eyes studied Lena for a long moment and all Lena could do was hold her breath and wait.

Lena made Kara wait weeks, she could therefore wait the stretched seconds that Kara needed in return without complaint

Kara got confidently to her feet, tugging Lena up with her, squeezing their hands once before releasing her so that she could reach up to tenderly cup Lena’s face. “I’m going to kiss you now.” Kara declared, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Thank fu-” Lena sighed gratefully, cut off from offering up her thanks by Kara’s perfect lips sliding over hers.

#supercorp #supercorp fic #supercorp prompt

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jamlavender · 3 years

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Gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss: Mrs Coulter, misogyny and the His Dark Materials TV show

The show went hard on misogyny as a vital part of Mrs Coulter’s backstory, and I want to talk about how they did it, and why, and how it might have been done better. This is quite long (when is anything I write not, let’s be real) so it’s under the cut. Read on for thoughts on women, power and fictional villainy.

As a quick disclaimer, though: I’ve enjoyed the show a lot! I’m so glad they made it! Ruth Wilson is mesmerising as Mrs Coulter! There’s so much to appreciate about the show overall, including many aspects of Mrs Coulter’s portrayal. But the HDM team have also made gender politics and misogyny very explicit themes of the show – particularly season two, particularly season two, episode five – and I think it’s fair to critique that.

Let’s be clear: Mrs Coulter is a villain. She murders kids by tearing out their souls. She kills and tortures friends and foes alike without a second thought. She abuses her daughter. She upholds and advances a totalitarian regime. She’s a Bad Person, as confirmed by God himself with the unforgettable line: “You are a cesspit of moral filth.” She’s fucking terrible, but, in life as in art, many of us are fascinated by how such awful people are made. What drives someone to commit atrocities? I am keen to see such questions examined in fiction, because I don’t think exploring a character necessarily means excusing their actions, and because it’s interesting (I mean, of course I find her fascinating, I’ve written a novel’s worth of fic about her). However, after a few snarky comments (“What sort of woman raised Father Graves, do you think?”) and some subtler commentary on sexuality, gender and power (her unsettling MacPhail with the key in the bra in S1E2), S2E5 drew a weird line between sexism in Mrs Coulter’s professional and academic life and her vast and senseless institutionalised child murder, and the longer I’ve sat with that the more I’m like: what the fuck?

Look, Mrs Coulter doesn’t tear apart children to search for sin inside them and poison Boreal and break a witch’s fingers because she’s experienced sexism in the workplace and in her education. That’s… a very odd thing to imply. We have to remember that there are lots of women in Lyra’s world, all of whom will also have experienced sexism, misogyny and other forms of marginalisation (many in more expansive and pernicious ways than Mrs Coulter, who’s a woman, yes, but also white, wealthy, highly educated and very thin and beautiful), and none of them are running arctic torture stations. She will have experienced misogyny, absolutely, and that will have affected her in various ways that inform how she approaches her work, but to imply that being denied a doctorate is the reason she became a sadistic killer is frankly bizarre. Here are a few of the lines from that episode with my commentary:

“Do you know who I could have been in this world?” What does this mean? If she’d been roughly the same person in our world, the answer is: Margaret Thatcher, which is probably a step down for Marisa, all things considered, because the Magisterium is far more autocratic than any recent Tory government and would be a much easier institutional environment in which to enact her cruelty. What we’re supposed to think, clearly, is that she’d have been a different person: a scientist and a mother, and she’s had this realisation because she saw a woman with a baby and a laptop and had a three-minute conversation with Mary. This doesn’t make sense. We live in our world! It’s less repressive than Lyra’s world but it’s hardly a gender utopia. If Mrs Coulter had chosen the scientist-and-mother life (which, as I’ll revisit later, she could have done in her world but chose not to because of her megalomaniac tendencies), she’d still have been affected by misogyny here too. Our world is not kind to young mothers, nor young women embroiled in scandals, nor is the world teeming with female physicists. It might be a little better, sure, but it’s hardly as if those gendered challenges would have been solved.

“What do you mean she runs a department?” This is just the show forgetting its own canon. Marisa, you ran a massive government organisation (the GOB), including a huge murder science research initiative in the Arctic. That’s a much bigger undertaking and much more impressive than running a university department in our world. Pull yourself together.

“But because I was a woman, I was denied a doctorate by the Magisterium.” This is the show flagrantly ignoring the source material to make a clumsy political point. In the books, there are women with doctorates (notably Hannah Relf, also a major player in the new Book of Dust trilogy) and at least one women’s college full of female scholars. Now, would that women’s college likely be underfunded and disrespected compared to the men’s colleges? Almost certainly. But saying that is different than saying “I couldn’t get my doctorate!” when women in Lyra’s world can. The show knew what point they wanted to make, and were willing to ignore canon to do so, which is frustrating. Also, given that there are female academics and scientists in Lyra’s world, and that Mrs Coulter is a member of St Sophia’s college, it’s clear that she could have lived that life if she so desired. But she didn’t want that, because being a scientist and academic at St Sophia’s imbues her with no real power, and that’s what she craves.

I’m not opposed, in theory, to exploring Mrs Coulter and misogyny in more depth, but I think doing so through an examination of the sexual politics of her life would have made a lot more narrative sense and been much more powerful. It’s better evidenced in the text – her using her sexuality to manipulate people and taking lovers for political sway is entirely canon, as is her backstory where genuine love and lust blew up her life – and it links much more closely with the most shocking of her villainy, which involves cutting out children’s dæmons to stop them developing “troublesome thoughts and feelings,” referencing sexual and romantic desire (and what Lyra and Will do to save Dust is clearly a big ‘fuck you’ to those aims). She even says this to MacPhail in TAS, “If you thought for one moment that I would release my daughter into the care - the care! - of a body of men with a feverish obsession with sexuality, men with dirty fingernails, reeking of ancient sweat, men whose furtive imaginations would crawl over her body like cockroaches - if you thought I would expose my child to that, my Lord President, you are more stupid than you take me for.” Don’t get me wrong, she’d have been a villain regardless, but I do believe that there’s a much stronger link between her sexual and romantic experiences and her murder work than between professional and academic stifling and child murder. It would have been a lot more interesting and a lot less tenuous.

However, the show is trying to be family-friendly, and digging into why this terrible, cruel woman might want to cut the ability for desire and love (and other non-sexual adult feelings, I’m sure) out of people could get dark. We know that the show doesn’t want to go there, because they’ve actively toned down her weaponising her sexuality: in the books, she has an established sexual relationship with Boreal, whereas the show made it seem like she’s been stringing him along all this time, and made it about potentially ‘sharing a life’ together rather than fucking, which was clearly the arrangement in the books. Also, I think Ruth Wilson said she and Ariyon Bakare filmed a “steamy scene” together, and given that only a single chaste kiss between them aired it must have been cut. I think they deliberately minimised the sexual elements of the text, particularly regarding Mrs Coulter (the mountain scene with Asriel, which I did still love, was also a lot less horny than in the book) and replaced that with another gender issue, that of professional sexism, as if the two are interchangeable, which they are not. This is a shame, both for Mrs Coulter’s character and also for the story as a whole, because the characters’ relationships with sex and desire are an important part of the books! (If this minimised sexuality approach means that they don’t use the TAS scene where Asriel threatens to gag her and she tries to goad him into doing it, I’ll scream). Overall, I think they missed the mark here, which is a shame because I also think it could have been done well, if they’d been bolder and darker and more thoughtful.

Why might this happen? Why might the show take this approach? Why might it be latched onto by viewers? Personally, I think the conversations we have about women and power are very simplistic, which leaves us in a tight spot when we see women seizing power for themselves (even in fiction) and weaponising that against others, not just other women but people of all genders, because we struggle to move past ‘women have overall been denied power, so them taking it ‘back’ is good,’ even if that immediately becomes a hot mess of white, corporate feminism and results in the ongoing oppression of many people. I think we are so hungry for representations of powerful women that we – producers and viewers alike – struggle to see them as bad, because it’s uncomfortable to be so intoxicated by Mrs Coulter effortlessly dominating the men around her, subverting systems designed to marginalise her for her own benefit, and generally being aggressive and intelligent and ruthless, and then realise that you are entranced by someone who is, objectively, a terrible, terrible person. It can be hard to realise that if you channelled the energy of someone who mesmerises you, you’d be the villain. So instead of sitting with that (more on this below), a lot of legwork goes into reworking her villainy into, somehow, a just act, a result of oppression, as her taking back power that has been denied to her, rather than grappling with the fact that for anyone to desire power in such a merciless way, even if they have to overcome marginalisation to get it, is really, really dangerous.

The joy, of course, is that Mrs Coulter is not real! She’s not real! Adoring fictional characters does not mean condoning their (imaginary) decisions, nor do stories exist for each person in them to fit neatly into a good or bad box so you know who you’re allowed to love. Furthermore, fiction can be a fabulous tool for exploring and interrogating the parts of yourself that, if left to bloom unexamined, might perpetuate beliefs or behaviour that cause harm to others. Mrs Coulter doesn’t need to be a feminist or taking down the patriarchy or a righteous powerful woman to illuminate things about gender, power and feminism for those reading and watching. In fact, it’s important that we explore what happens when women (most commonly white, wealthy women, as she is) continue to perpetuate brutal systems under the guise of sticking it to ‘men,’ because it happens all the time in the real world, and it’s a serious issue. Finding characters like Mrs Coulter so cool and compelling doesn’t make you a bad person, but it might tell you something about yourself – not that you want to be a villain or kill kids or whatever, but something about how you relate to your gender or women or men or power – and that knowledge can be useful! We all have better and worse impulses, and finding art that helps us make sense of ourselves, both the good and bad parts, is a gift that we should relish.

Anyway, tl;dr, Mrs Coulter doesn’t need to be sympathetic or understandable or redeemable to be brilliant – but you wouldn’t know that from how she’s been portrayed in the new adaptation.

#his dark materials #marisa coulter #my analysis #this might be controversial idk #more thoughts that no one asked for #hdm meta

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like-rain-or-confetti · 3 years

Text

The Monster You Wanted (Alec Volturi x Reader)

Warning: Dark themes! Blood! Violence!

After being turned into a vampire, the persons human loved ones would deem them unrecognisable. Physically their loved ones features have altered. They're beautiful but some can't ignore the pit in their stomach when seeing the piercing stare their loved one has. However, the biggest change is actually in personality.

For the first year, a vampires sole purpose is to quench their never ending bloodlust. They'd do anything to get it. Driven mad by constant thirst for human blood. So much so there's almost nothing left to be seen of the human that was once known. A monster wearing a loved ones skin.

After that first year, the person that used to be can come back, but never entirely. Those who were caring, will begin to care that little bit more after that year. Although underneath, there is still the predatory instincts that require a level-head. Not everyone has the patience of a saint. No longer are vampires strangers to violence. A perfect mix of a terrifying monster and the human that used to be.

In theory, you shouldn't have been any different. Yet there was no doubt that you were. You were the latest addition to the Olympic coven and almost everyone knew about you. You were very young, barely over six months since your transformation. By definition, you here half way through newborn stage. Although not once in that time had you acted like a newborn. You avoided humans like the plague, finding the smell too much. Although this went beyond self control. It also included the immense guilt you felt at the very thought of feeding from a human. Furthermore, you were more kind than anyone in the Cullen's could ever be. You thought the best of everyone to the extent it was almost naive.

Some found it strange, off putting such as Peter and Charlotte. So much so that they tried to keep their distance just in case you were to snap. Although you never did. Others, like the Romanians and the Volturi thought it childish, and pathetic. It made you almost outcast from the rest seeing nothing you had done in your vampire life was normal. You were kind but quiet. Unlike any vampire surrounding you, coven or not, it was known you couldn't hurt a fly and everything about that in their eyes was just plain wrong.

It was you and Emmett who were sent to fetch the Volturi. Knowing their past, it wouldn't go down well if the wolves caught sight of any unknown vampire. Especially those who belong to the Volturi. Emmett's goofy personality was long gone and watched each Volturi like a hawk for even the smallest of movements. It was of no surprise that Carlisle sent the muscle of the coven as well as the newborn. It was a surprise considering it was you. The most harmless newborn ever known.

Although your kindness could appeal to the leaders. Aro knew Carlisle well. "Ah, young (Y/N). It is always a delight to be greeted with such a lovely face." You rocked back and forth on your heels. It was common given how much adrenaline you had most of the time. Sometimes you just couldn't sit still. Although many considered it an easy fix, a few newborn rages would fix such an issue. "Hello." You said simply with a smile. "Carlisle sent us to fetch you. Just so you don't run into any issues with the pack." "That is appreciated, dear." Marcus responded. "Although unnecessary." Caius added with a small scowl. Your head quickly turned to Emmett. "Let's go!" You chirped, skipping back to the house, your hands behind your back. "How childish." Felix said to Demetri under his breath. "They're a newborn, be glad someone's pleased to see you." Emmett responded with snark. "Keep your voice down." "Or what? They'll hug me to death?" Felix challenged. "It's not (Y/N) you'll be dealing with." Emmett looked back at Felix. "Emmett." Rosalie warned as you skipped by her with a grin and without a care in the world and into the Cullen home. Almost like you hadn't heard the exchange.

"Thank you, Emmett." Carlisle approached the door with a smile as the group entered. "What about me!?" You cried out from upstairs. "Thank you as well, (Y/N)!" Carlisle called back with an amused smile before addressing the Volturi. "My apologies I couldn't come out to meet you. I had a phone call from the hospital." "Not at all, Carlisle." Aro responded.

Felix and the twins moved into the sitting room where Emmett, yourself and Jasper were. You stared at the remote for the TV like it held the world's secrets. "(Y/N), it's easy just pick it up gently." Emmett said. "My gentle isn't the same as your gentle!" You replied. "I don't want to break it!" "You have broken a grand total of four things in this house, (Y/N). All of us have done that in fifteen minutes. Just pick it up. You're overthinking it." Emmett said with ease. "I have to overthink it or I will break it." You replied again. Your hand hovered over the remote, pulling back every time you got close to touching it as if it had bit you. The three guards couldn't believe what they were seeing. Here was a newborn of seven months, jerking away from an inanimate object like it could hurt them. Each guard broke many things in minutes without thinking, including necks. It was very apparent on their faces since Jasper gave them a cold stare in warning. Next thing the Volturi guards knew, you had grasped the remote and apologising to it. They couldn't believe their eyes. "Take it!" You chanted hurriedly to Emmett who chuckled and took it from you. That night, you were agitated. You were hunched over, arms across your stomach and a hand on your throat. Meanwhile Felix and Alec were in the room with you, watching as this went down. They heard you stifling small groans and trying to clear your throat. "What's wrong?" Felix asked but didn't really care. "Nothing." You whispered doubling over a little further. "Seriously, what's with you?" Felix rolled his eyes. That's when Caius walked in and behind him, Jasper. Jasper looked at you. "It's about time you fed. You know it doesn't affect us the same way." You shook your head. "Come, I'll go with you. It's time." You sighed rising to a stand. Jasper led you out the door leaving the Volturi members in the room alone. "They had to be prompted to feed? Disgraceful." Caius sneered. "They feel guilt often." Carlisle said as he walked into the room. "They aren't quite used to and accepting if this life yet." "It's been seven months." Caius responded coldly. "Even you can admit their behaviour is a little odd, Carlisle." "Perhaps, but what would that change?" Carlisle lightly shrugged. "It's unheard of but they haven't been a problem to you or to me."

Alec sat on a tree branch rather high up, enjoying the night when you returned. "I didn't take you as the climbing trees kind!" You called up to him with a smile. Alec lightly shrugged. You eyed the route to the branch he was on. It was simple enough. The branch trembled as you moved to sit beside him on the branch. Using the branch above as leverage and stepping over him. Alec internally sighed, it seemed the solitude was short lived. "Are you okay? I usually wouldn't think anything of it but you're out here alone whilst your sister is inside." You asked. "Well we aren't conjoined twins." Alec said coldly and you seemed taken aback. Such tone would have caused any other newborn to attack but not you. Never you. The silence made him rethink his words. "What I mean to say is that I'm fine. My sister and I always spend some time apart. It isn't exactly healthy to spend so much time with someone." "Oh, as long as you're okay. Do you want me to leave you alone?" "Do what you wish." Alec responded. "I won't force you to leave after all your effort to get up here and not break the tree." Alec hadn't meant it to be funny. In fact if anything it was supposed to be insulting. Yet you laughed, seeing the funny side. "Well when you put it that way." You swung your legs. "I'll stick around." Alec hummed. "Not many people would willingly choose my company." Alec mused with a hum. "I'm not like most people." You responded flatly, your smile long gone as you looked up into the sky.

Alec turned his head to look at you and in that moment he knew that you knew how everyone felt about you. "Are you feeling better?" Alec asked. "A little. It did more for my stomach than it did my throat if I'm honest. I thought a mountain lion would have done the trick." Alec wanted to call you an idiot. You didn't have to be the smartest to know that newborns were ravenous. Not even a whole pack of mountain lions would have been enough. Furthermore, animal blood was no where near as fulfilling as human blood. "Well," Alec said whilst looking around. "If you start feeling hungry again, I'm sure there are a few squirrels around." You giggled. "I never knew you were funny." Alec hummed again. "I don't know how you can sustain yourself on that. Animal blood. I never understood in general but a newborn? I don't know how you aren't destroying villages at the very thought." You shrugged. "I've never had human blood so I have nothing to compare it to. Besides, from what I heard. It's better that way. Seemingly once you have human blood its really hard to go back." "Will you at least admit that it's disgusting?" Alec asked, turning to look at you. You bit back a smile. "Go on, admit it. It's disgusting." "It is but, it works." You admitted and Alec rolled his eyes.

"I hear you've been in the Volturi for a very long time." You spoke up. "Yes, a very long time." Alec answered. "Do you remember what it was like to be a newborn?" "Not entirely. You remember it differently from the other years of your existence.i remember destroying and burning my village to the ground. I remember the rage I felt, the ravenous hunger but it's like remembering a dream. Nothing directly reminds me of it." Alec said. You went quiet, deep in thought. "I couldn't imagine going through what you and your sister did. I found it vile, how anyone could do that to another person." "Not everyone is like you, (Y/N). People usually hate what they don't understand. There are people in the world who want to hurt people, who live for it...like I do." You turned your head to Alec. "I've always been honest. That night changed my sister and I. I don't have an issue with hurting people despite what my gift may be." "You think people should suffer because you did?" You asked quietly and Alec nodded. "Not the best outlook but it's there. I don't intend on changing that any time soon. In fact, that makes me wonder about you." "Me?" "My experiences made me who I am today. So what happened to you to make you the way you are?" You lowered your head. "There really isn't a story to tell." You admitted. "A vampire came across me, thought I was sweet. They figured it was enough reasoning to change me. Carlisle found me before I woke up. I never found out who they were." After a moment of thought, you lightly shrugged. "I don't really believe it changed me much...or at all." "You've never wandered, strayed from the Cullen way of living?" Alec asked. "No, I don't have any intention either. Why?" "It's not often that newborns stay put and in control. You find they like to go nomadic. They just don't do well in covens. Although, I can't say it's impossible. Here you are." "You know I'll always be around." You smiled brightly.

Days passed and he found himself spending more time with you than intended. He didn't dare admit you were growing on him. Instead, he did his best to swallow it down and pretend it wasn't there.

You had been used to comments about you by now. Everyone made your behaviour known to be different. You’d be lying if they hadn’t begun to take their toll since the Volturi had arrived. It just meant more pairs of eyes casting judgement on what you should be rather than what you were. The Volturi considered newborn vampires, uncontrollable monsters. Therefore you couldn’t understand why they took such issue with you being the exact opposite. Then again, perhaps you did. Caius had said at least four times that your behaviour wasn’t natural. In the end, they had already drawn their conclusions about you. The Cullen’s were never so blunt. Sure, you were a little different but they welcomed that. After all, they were different too because of their diet. Although you could still see the flicker in their eyes of slight confusion. At least they had the decency to try and hide it.

Much to your surprise, you had spent much more time with Alec. You would have called him a friend but you weren’t too sure if he’d say the same. He still had his own judgements but he didn’t avoid your company. In your eyes, knowing Alec, that was progress.

The comments had begun to wear you down and that became evident. You weren’t as lively and cheerful. You had begun to seek out solitude, to the extent that Alec would seek you out for company rather than vice versa. That is when you didn’t talk as much, always saying enough for a decent answer but never going further. You spent more times out doors. “Something’s wrong.” Rosalie said, watching you sit with Renesmee. She was full of life and, usually, so would you. Not this time. Instead you sat on the ground, not even cracking a smile. Carlisle stood behind Rosalie, his arms crossed and concern etched across his face. He said nothing as he left the house, approaching the two of you. “Renesmee, might I speak with (Y/N) alone for a moment?” Carlisle asked. Renesmee nodded with a smile before running inside. Carlisle sat beside you, his back against the tree beside you. “You have us a little worried, (Y/N). Is there anything I can help with?” Carlisle didn’t need three guesses to know what had bothered you. However he thought it important that you said it for yourself. You didn’t look at Carlisle, your eyes falling to your lap.

After a moment of silence, he spoke up. “Have i ever told you that before I had a coven, I stayed with the Volturi for a decade...on the animal blood diet.” This got your attention, making you look up at Carlisle. He nodded in confirmation. “I was the only one they knew of with such a diet and they didn’t understand it. Aro and Caius tried to change me, bring me to feed on human blood but at the end of the day, it isn’t what I wanted and eventually they grew to respect that. So i know what it’s like for those to be unsatisfied with who you are, to not fulfill expectations. Although I also know that words come and go and you don’t have to change for anyone.“ “Did it get easier?” Carlisle hummed. “It took a long time but i found people who accepted me. Not to mention finding the one who loved me the most of all.” “What did you do then?” You asked. Carlisle smiled. “I made them my family and i married the one who loved me the most.” You cracked a small smile at the mention of the Cullen’s and Denali. It faltered as something took over your mind and Carlisle’s gaze narrowed slightly, noticing the shift. “I feel like a freak.” You whispered. “I’m tired of constantly maintaining appearances, all the while everyone is looking at me. I used to be able to ignore it, think of myself as the lucky one who didn’t have to be this monster that newborns are described to be...but now i can’t even do that.” Carlisle listened as you continued. “Everyone’s afraid of me. I see the look everyone gives me. It makes me afraid of me too.” “(Y/N), you are a wonderful person and no one is afraid of you. You have given us no reason to be-” “-but that's what is wanted, for me to be that monster everyone is so afraid of. As though that's what is best for the world.” You interrupted. “It makes me sad, but it’s also starting to make me angry.” “They’ll be leaving soon, just endure. I promise, no one can hurt you. Not unless you let them. When they’re gone, you and I could go on a trip, whatever you like.” You nodded slowly in response. “Maybe.” You said quietly.

The Volturi left two days later. You had gotten many comments in that time. However, you had most certainly gained a friend by the end of the visit. After that, the Cullen's left for a hunt. You chose to stay behind. You weren't hungry. It wasn't a lie. Although they returned the next morning to find you gone without even so much as a note. After a lot of discussion within the coven, Carlisle insisted that the Cullen's left you alone and that you would be back. Edward returned after all.

'This world will eat you whole. This world will eat you whole!' You didn't remember why that sentence stuck to you like glue but it never left you. Never had it felt more applicable and ironic. You were on the top of the food chain. Yet you didn't feel like it. You felt as though you were drowning in the world, at the very bottom. You had no clue how long you had been walking. Although you also didn't care, a dark numb sensation flooding through your body.

Three months had passed and you hadn't so much had made a call. Eventually the Cullen's contacted the Volturi to inform them that (Y/N) had been gone for a long time. The Volturi offered Demetri's services but Carlisle refused the offer, maintaining you'd return upon your own accord. Although he thought it right to inform the Volturi for Alec seeing as the two of you had developed a friendship.

“Why do people do that?” Esme said to Carlisle. The light breeze brushing the hair from her face, revealing her coal black eyes. “Do what?” Carlisle asked softly. “Try to change people they don’t understand.” She answered. “Some require it. There are dangerous people in the world, Esme.” “(Y/N) wasn’t one of them.” Esme responded. “You’re right.” Carlisle responded. “There are many who don’t need to be changed. It’s simply down to the fear of the unknown. Our kind didn’t understand (Y/N) so the first impulse is to try and change them.” “It’s horrible.” Esme said quietly. “They’ll come back, Esme. They aren’t the type to just disappear from off the face of the earth. They just need some time.” “I tried so hard to make sure they knew they were loved. It wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough.” Carlisle took Esme’s hand and kissed it gently. “You’re too good for this world sometimes, my love.” Carlisle said softly with a smile.

The rain poured down, soaking your clothes and skin. It was nightfall, but you could still differentiate the dark, large clouds smothering the sky. You must have looked odd, walking in the outing rain without even a jacket. Although you didn't feel the cold. It didn't bite at you like it had when you were human. As a matter of fact, you barely felt it. The town around you went unnoticed by you. However you didn't go unnoticed.

"(Y/N)!?" A female voice called out and you slowed to a stop. Slowly your turned your head towards the voice. "Get in! You'll freeze out here!" It was Angela Weber. You had seen her around a couple of times. Although you were 'home schooled', so those times were usually indirect encounters with someone else. You could hear her heart beat quicken, worry etched across her face. Without protest or even a twitch, you crossed the street and into the car.

"What are you doing out here!? Did you just get caught in the rain!?" You didn't respond, staring ahead through the windshield although you raised her shoulders up and down as though you were breathing. "I'll take you back to the hotel, you'll freeze out there with that." She nodded to your clothing before driving. "What are you doing here?" You asked quietly. "I've been looking at universities out with Forks. The one I'm in, doesn't really fit me. So I've taken the opportunity to get some travel in whilst I've been looking. What about you?" She asked. "What brings you all the way out here. Is Dr Cullen with you too?" Slowly you shook your head, but didn't give her an answer as to why you were there. Whilst she looked concerned, she didn't press the issue. You knew Angela well enough to know that she was thinking the worst, that something could have it has happened to you. It was sweet of her but unnecessary.

She led you to her hotel room. "You can take a shower and...if you give me your clothes, I can put them on the radiator to dry off. I have a hoodie and some pajamas that you can borrow." You nodded, heading into the bathroom. You did as she said, not because you needed or would benefit from it, but because you were watching her like a hawk eyed it's prey. You let her be comfortable and do things of her own accord almost like she'd forget you were ever there.

Whilst you were in the shower, Angela popped her head around the door, not looking at you and gathering your clothes. "I'm just getting these." She said, bundling your soaked clothes into her arms and promptly closing the door. She returned seconds later to drop off a towel and the clothes she'd let you borrow. You were quiet, quieter than Angela remembered. It had crossed her mind to call someone but decided against it. She could handle this. Perhaps you needed the shower and a good night's sleep. Then the two of you could figure out what to do for you in the morning. It required patience to hang all of your clothes on such a small radiator but it was manageable. Your clothes were freezing to the touch and soaked. So much so Angela wasn't even sure if they'd be dry by morning and she had no doubt they were uncomfortable in such a condition. However she would still try. It was a cheaper option to have a hotel room with one bed and one bathroom. She was provided a small TV plugged in, on top of the drawers. Although it wasn't so beneficial now that there were two of you. She turned on the TV simply to break the silence, casting a glance the the pouring rain gliding down the small window above the radiator.

After ten minutes, you emerged in the hoodie and shorts she had provided. She offered you a small smile and you returned it. "Do you mind if we share the bed? I didn't anticipate two of us." Angela smiled meekly. "It's a double bed, so it shouldn’t be a bother." You responded somewhat quietly. "Good." She nodded.

After some time, Angela was lying on top of the bed, typing on her laptop. Whilst you had been mesmerized by the pixels on the TV. The TV was so cheap and looked to be slightly older in make that you, with heightened eyesight could see every flickering colourful pixel. Much like what you would have seen when pressed your face close to the TV before your mother scolded you for being too close. It was some comedy late night show with a man how looked to be in his sixties. You couldn't remember who he was but supposedly he was popular. He had the audience roaring with laughter but you watched blankly, as though not in on the joke. You were watching it but not necessarily listening. "Hey, I was thinking." Angela began. You turned as she gained your attention. "I left out that sweater over there for you. I noticed you don't have a jacket and whilst it's not much, I figured it's an extra layer until you get a new one." You followed her pointed gaze to a green sweater that looked to be thin, had a zip and a hood. "Thank you." You whispered. "It's not a problem but...can I ask you something?" You nodded. "Are you okay?" "I'm fine." You responded passively. "You're sure? I was worried something had happened." You shook your head in response. "Nothing happened. I just got caught in the rain and hadn't brought a jacket."

After an hour or two it was 'bed time'. You made sure to keep a distance from Angela, so she couldn’t feel how cold your body was. The only sound made was Angela's breathing except the slight buzz of the TV that would have been barely audible to a human from such a distance. You had rolled onto your side, facing her, once you knew she was asleep.

She lay on her back, glasses at her bedside table and arms on her stomach. You stared at her for quite some time, feeling the build up of venom in your mouth and the urge to feed steadily grow. She wore a tank top that night leaving no barrier and complete access to her throat Slowly you sat up. You contemplated it, it hadn't been the first time as of late. Although the thought didn't bring you any excitement. Human blood still wasn't tempting enough to let go. Besides, you had already fed before arriving in the town. Whilst Angela had always been nice to you, her friends weren't so accommodating. They were reclusive and much like people their age, couldn't help but judge your odd behaviour. You were a Cullen after all, but you were the Cullen that wasn't seen, the home schooled one. The only reason they even knew what you had looked like was because Alice and Bella bumped into Jessica, Angela, Mike and Ben whilst out and your gold eyes were a big hint. Whilst Angela had her moments of kindness, it didn't change that she was mostly a follower of Jessica. She enabled any of Jessica's comments, with a light chastise that always went ignored. Your reached over, your hand inches away from curling around Jessica's throat, staring at her intently. You pulled back, hands resting upon your knees.

Angela woke up after sleeping well, much to her surprise. How her day had went, often impacted her sleep that night and she didn't have high hopes after seeing you in such a bizarre state. She rolled over, thinking you'd be beside her...but you weren't. She sat up and you were nowhere to be seen. Your clothes on the radiator gone as well as the green sweater. Folded neatly was her hoodie and shorts she had let you borrow. She reached over for her glasses and phone to check the time. It was nine thirty in the morning. She unlocked her phone to see an unsent message to Ben. One she hadn't remembered writing. 'Thank you :)'

"Weeks have passed and they still haven't returned?" Alec asked looking over to Demetri who shook his head. "They'll be fine." Jane told her brother nonchalantly. "What else do you expect from a newborn other than to go rogue?" "You heard how they were feeling when we were there." Alec countered. "I can't pretend this is a newborn with a change of heart about their priorities. It's not like them to do this." "You barely know them." Felix said flatly, making Alec glare at him. "I know them well enough to know something isn't right." "It isn't important Alec and until they make a mistake, it isn't our business." Jane responded. "We made it our business when we decided they weren't like us." Alec argued back. "So what do you want to do? Go after them?" Jane asked in annoyance. "No." Alec said sharply. "Then why do you care? They're barely your friend, Alec." "Well, well, well, look who it is." You stopped when you heard the male voice. You were aware of a presence, two of them as two scents hit your nostrils but you didn't think they'd approach. Of course, your suspicions were confirmed by the accent. You turned to be face to face with Vladimir and Stefan, the two remaining members of the Romanian coven.

You didn't bother mustering a greeting, no longer seeing why you should give anyone anything if they were simply going to use it at your expense. "Carlisle's youngest has wandered off." Vladimir smirked. "Wandered very far to be here, of all places." Stefan agreed. "This is our territory and it's rude to show up uninvited." Vladimir said. You stuffed your hands in the pockets of your green sweater. "Hm? Nothing to say? Not even as much as a 'hello'?" Stefan tilted his head. You stared at the two blankly as they continued. "Not even so much as a smile. “My, my, that's a first." Stefan smirked. Vladimir hummed in amusement.

The two moved closer to you and you did nothing. Vladimir scoffed, nudging his fingers forcefully against the side of your head. "Absolutely pointless for a newborn." He said to himself. "You'd have attacked the moment you caught onto us if you were anything like a newborn." Stefan said with a sigh of disappointment. "It's a waste of power really." Vladimir agreed. "Now where is that little newborn who was always so happy as we insulted them? Where has that pretty smile gone?" Stefan grinned. "I don't need to do anything for your entertainment." You responded. Apparently they didn't like that answer as Vladimir roughly grabbed your face. "That's because you're laughable by your existence alone." Vladimir seethed threw you to the ground. "You're embarrassing to our kind. Consider yourself nothing less." You had begun to feel anger bubble within you at the out of your stomach but you swallowed it down, an ability most newborns didn't have and almost everyone took advantage of. You looked up at Vladimir from the forest ground with a soft glare.

Eleazar was following a brown bear, careful not to be noticed, careful not to startle it in anyway with any sudden noises. His hunting ability as a vampire allowed him to stalk his prey with ease. Although to Eleazar's surprise, he wasn't the only one hunting this bear.

He locked eyes with you and he was almost horrified. You were dirty, your clothes covered in dirt and your green sweater falling off of one shoulder slightly. You had your eyes focused on Eleazar and he knew you had left the Cullen's suddenly. Although he didn't think you'd end up in Alaska. Your eyes were black and he heard you stifle a quiet groan within your stomach as an arm wrapped around your stomach. There was no doubt in Eleazar's mind you were hungry. However something told him there was something worse going on with you. You had lost your smile, your eyes empty. You looked unharmed yet you resembled nothing of the newborn he had met months ago. He knew about you just as almost everyone else did. Your behaviour, he had never seen before but he mostly kept any comment of that to himself. He knew how gentle and delicate you could be. The (Y/N) he knew couldn't hurt anyone.

However the (Y/N) that stood before him was very different as shown when your lips pulled back as you barred your teeth with a low growl. Something told Eleazar to let you take the bear. Although he couldn't figure out why that feeling crept up on him. Perhaps it had been the shock of hearing you growl as he slowly raised his hands and backed off. He had never heard you growl and from Carlisle's account, you rarely did. It happened barely two times in your whole, now, 9 and a half months of this life. He couldn't help but be fearful of the newborn before him, fearful of you than he had ever been. You took off after the bear, leaving Eleazar behind.

As the tenth month rolled around, another trial was being held. However, the Cullen's had decided enough was enough and the coven went to the Volturi for help to find you. There they ended up having to witness the demise of the nomadic vampire.

He was around eighteen and didn't care for the laws. This made him a reckless feeder. Give him enough time and he'd have the humans attention soon enough. As expected he didn't come quietly and fought back with every step of the way. What made him more of a threat is that he was in his newborn year. Therefore he still had the strength to his advantage. He created more fuss than he was worth, only controlled properly when retrained by both Felix and Demetri as well as Jane using her gift for good measure.

What wasn't expected was you bursting through the throne room doors. You wasted no time, lunging towards the nomad and a full blown fight ensued. The two newborns snarled and growled with fury that would remind anyone of an animal. Both the Volturi and the Cullen's were stunned and unable to move. Your outfit you had left in was covered in dirt. You wore a green sweater that was unfamiliar and your hair was messy. You were almost unrecognisable to the two covens in behaviour. You suddenly gained the advantage, getting the newborn to the floor underneath you. Which animalistic screeching you tore at him, his head gone but you weren't done, tearing into his body with an unsolicited rage that only newborns had.

Felix was first to step forward and you immediately turned to him with a snarl, as though protecting your territory. "(Y/N)?" Alec called out softly. Your head turned to him, still in a crouched position. It was you, there was no doubt but you didn't act like yourself. Suddenly your face twitched, a grimace. Then you kept your eye on everyone in the room. "Have you been harmed?" Carlisle asked softly. You didn't respond, continuing to eye each person warily. "(Y/N)?" Alec said again. It was all he could manage out. You turned to Alec again, this time locking eyes with him. Your gold eyes meeting his red ones. "Where have you been?" Alec asked quietly, questions finally beginning to return to him. Immediately you curled into yourself slightly. "They're hungry." Felix stated. That was when the receptionist entered the room.

"I-I tried to inform you sooner but I-" It was all she got to manage out before you lunged at her. Your teeth but down with a vice grip and she screamed in pain and terror. You threw her to the ground without breaking away, biting even harder. She screamed more as you moved your head quickly, trying to get more blood. It was torture at the very least but both covens knew better than to even attempt to stop you. They could only look down in horror at what you had become. All remembering that this would have been your first taste of human blood.

Even after the receptionist was dead, you sucked her dry for every little drop, so much so that the silence made the sight last longer than it should. You finally pulled your face away, mouth covered in blood. You turned to look at the Volturi and the Cullen's, grinning with bloodied teeth. The question you asked was quiet but chilling. "Isn't this what you wanted?"

#twilight #volturi #the volturi #reader #one shot #oneshot #alec volturi #the cullens

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littlemisspascal · 3 years

Text

Death and an Angel part 6

Helmetless + Death!Din and Cupid F!Reader

Summary: Three things happen at once.

He pulls his glove off and tosses it aside. You forget how to breathe.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,114

Warnings: Swearing, backstory, angsty angst, fluffy fluff, mutual pining finally acknowledged, overuse of italics, don’t mess with Din’s Cupid or he’ll kill you

Author Note: Important please read this! Ok, so if you’ve been following along you’ll know I had no outline for this originally. And well, that’s come back to bite me. I had to make an edit to Part 2, a small one but still the very beginning will look marginally different if you’ve read it before today’s date Dec. 16, 2020. Basically, I took away the implication that You don’t know exactly how You became a Cupid. So, yeah. Hopefully moving forward I’ll be better handling all this *awkward shuffling*. As always, thank you for all the support and I appreciate every one of you so much ❤

Links to Part 1 and Part 5 and Part 7

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

Silence floods the ship in the wake of your admission, stifling and charged with enough tension you fear breathing too loud will set off a chain reaction with disastrous results. It makes the hair on the back of your neck prickle, every instinct inside of you screaming to teleport away, if only so you no longer have to see Din stubbornly trying and failing to hide his internal turmoil behind a mask of indifference.

When he opens his mouth, you tense but the question slices through you all the same. “When?”

You hesitate, making a face. “Din, we really don’t have time for this. Let’s just move on—”

Without warning, the hand holding your elbow slides to your wrist and twists, turning your palm up for inspection. Din stares at the blank expanse of skin, then slowly his gaze lifts, and he releases you as if you’ve poisoned him.

“You’ve never lied to me before, angel. Did you honestly think now was the best time to start?” he asks, and something breaks inside of you when he looks at you as if you’ve become a total stranger to him.

But before any pain can begin to sink in, anger overcomes you as his assumption registers.

“I’m not lying, you asshole,” you say sharply, feeling a faint pulse of petty satisfaction when you notice the subtle way his stance shifts defensively, betraying his surprise at your boldness. Resting your hands on your hips, you fix him with your fiercest glare. “For all that you are a powerful ancient being of the universe, you are also the biggest, most ignorant fool I’ve ever met. You have absolutely no idea how Cupids become Cupids, do you?”

You don’t offer him even a second to respond, too wound up and fueled by the overwhelming desire to make him get it. To make him understand you’re not purposefully trying to hurt him. If it were up to you, you’d make sure he never felt any kind of pain. But that would require having a choice and that is the one thing the universe did not grant you as a Cupid.

“Every Cupid was once a mortal with a soulmate,” you explain, choosing each word with careful precision while watching his face to make sure his focus never wavers. “And every one of us was rejected by them. When we die, we’re transformed into Cupids, losing our soulmate markings in the process.” When you feel your bottom lip begin to wobble, you pause to take a steadying breath. “You asked me before, what is the true purpose of a Cupid? It’s to help others find the kind of love we never experienced for ourselves.”

Din stands there in front of you, still staring passively, and you’re scared for a moment your words have made no difference, but then his jaw clenches so tightly you hear his teeth grinding.

“You were rejected?” he growls, vicious and guttural, the sound of a feral beast.

He pivots, fist colliding with the wall with enough force it dents the metal beneath his knuckles. You flinch at the noise, shocked at the abuse he’s inflicted upon his beloved ship. Every bone in his hand should have shattered upon impact, but because Death is immune to such damage he merely turns back to you, breathing raggedly and eyes blackened with rage.

“Tell me his name.”

You’ve already begun shaking your head before you say, “So you can go hunt him down? Hell no. Trust me, it doesn’t matter.”

Instead of pacifying him, this only infuriates him further. “How can you say that? That bastard broke your heart when he was supposed to cherish you, protect you, love you above all else.”

“You think I don’t know that?” you ask peevishly, letting your temper get the better of you. Sparing a moment to mentally count to ten, you quietly reveal, “I can say it doesn’t matter because I don’t even remember who he was. There is no point sending you to kill someone who’s face I can’t pick out of a crowd.”

The sudden way Din’s whole body slumps in response to the news, like a puppet whose strings have been cut, expression scrunched and dumbfounded, would have made you laugh if the circumstances were entirely different. Being what they are, you can only meet his stare evenly, silently assuring him you’re not joking in the slightest.

“I don’t understand,” Din says at last, looking like he wants to approach but is unsure you’ll welcome his nearness so he keeps his distance. “You never told me you had memory loss before. What happened to you?”

You shrug helplessly. “I don’t know. For as long as I’ve been a Cupid, all my memories from my mortal life have dark spots, like something poked holes in them.”

Din glances away as he mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like ‘Or someone’ but before you can comment, his tone rises to its usual volume as he says, “Is this why you collect all those old newspapers? To try to help you remember?”

You recall with embarrassment him having previously commented on the pile in your living room. That moment feels like years ago, the two of you sitting in your apartment and Din asking...if Cupids were on the list of potential soulmates. Was that his way of asking if you were on the list? Surely not. He’s much cleverer than that.

...Isn’t he?

“I just,” you shake your head, refocusing on the current conversation. “I keep thinking maybe I’ll find something that fills in the gaps. I don’t like this pit in my stomach, this feeling that I’ve forgotten something important.” You huff a self-deprecating chuckle. “Other than my soulmate, I mean.”

He offers you a smile, small and lopsided, likely meant to be consoling, but you see right through it. You see his pain in the tightness around his mouth, in the way his fingers flex at his sides like it’s taking all his self-control not to reach out to you. Your confession has hurt him. Badly. It’s the kind of hurt no amount of bacta can heal.

The silence returns, different than the one usually experienced during hyperspace in that it wishes to be broken, for someone to say something, anything. You would grant its wish except your thoughts are a jumbled mess inside your head. Deep down, there is a part of you which knows there is nothing you can say that will fix this—this being the chasm forming between you and Din, widening with every passing second spent staring wordlessly at each other.

Would telling him sooner have prevented this heartbreak? Probably. But looking back, you can’t think of an opportune moment. You had never thought your crush could be requited—not just because you were already matched, but also because it had always seemed so ridiculous, imagining the great and powerful Death feeling anything remotely close to affection for an unimportant, low-ranking Cupid.

“Angel,” Din begins after a few minutes, his voice anchoring you back in the present. He’s staring over your shoulder, brow furrowed thoughtfully and you can practically hear the gears turning inside his head. “Earlier, you said you didn’t tell your boss I was your client. Why didn’t you?”

“I-I don’t know,” you stutter, before an unexpected wave of boldness comes over you. Digging your finger into the armor on his chest, you remind him, “You came to me first, remember? Not them. So, I figured you didn’t want them knowing.”

“I couldn’t care less who knows,” Din deadpans.

“Oh.” You blink, hand falling back along your side, because what else can you say.

“You want to know what I think?” Oh Maker, he’s stepping closer until there’s only a foot of space between you two. His voice is a low, raspy murmur, sending your heartbeat into overdrive. “I think you didn’t want them knowing because you like being the only angel who does.”

You start to squirm, fight or flight instincts at total war with each other. His theory isn’t too far from the truth, making it all the worse hearing it out loud because it practically oozes possessiveness which is exactly what you’d feared.

“Before you pull away from me again,” Din continues, knowing you and your mind too damn well. “I want you to listen when I say nothing that you’ve told me changes how I feel about you.”

“Din—” you try, only for your voice to crack.

Then three things happen at once.

He pulls his glove off and tosses it aside. You forget how to breathe.

“I’ve been alone my entire existence and I kept telling myself that was how the universe intended it to be. That I couldn’t love anyone because I kill everything I touch.” A smile pulls at his lips when he looks down at his bare hand and a note of awe slips into his voice. “Then you came along, beautiful and clumsy and unafraid to call me out for being an ass. I started looking forward to each full moon because it meant I got to see you and admire every new detail about your life you chose to share with me. And then when this appeared,” he nods towards the soulmate marking, gleaming faintly beneath the overhead lighting, “all I could think of was you.”

You feel your throat becoming thick as you blink back tears, inhaling sharply through your nose. “Why didn’t you say anything at the train station? Why would you let me try to set you up with matches if you liked me that way?”

Din grimaces, abashed. “Because after you said there weren’t any Cupids on your list, I realized you didn’t know I liked you. I convinced myself I had to show you how I felt, instead of tell you. Although,” he holds up a finger, backtracking, “I actually almost did confess, on our way to Sorgan, but you stopped me. And that just further convinced me actions spoke louder than words. I knew none of the people you found me could ever compare with you, so I thought once you saw each unsuccessful connection, you’d realize the only hand I want to hold is yours.”

“Din, it can’t be me.” Your protest is weak, on the verge of caving in, forcing you to try another angle. “I can’t have two soulmates.”

He inhales a breath so sharp and unexpected, it startles your poor heart into skipping a beat.

Din looks at you like you’ve gifted him all the stars in the galaxy, brown eyes blown wide with hope. “Angel, do you mean it? That you consider me—”

“Of course, you idiot.” You attempt a laugh, but it comes out sounding broken and forced. “As Death, as Din, as whoever you want to be, I’ll always consider you. But...what if what happened on Sorgan happens to us? What if the universe doesn’t favor us?”

“I just want to be yours.” Din extends his hand towards you. “And if that means breaking the universe’s rules, then fuck it. We’ll make up our own. Together.”

Time seems to stand still, like you’ve entered a realm separate from the rest of the universe where you’re able to forget you have a complicated past, filled with holes and a soulmate who rejected you. Here it’s just you, Din, and his offer to love you unconditionally. Here you have a choice.

And it’s the easiest one you’ve ever made.

You slowly lift up your hand to hover in front of his, fingers trembling as they uncurl.

“Together,” you whisper.

And then your hands are moving to meet one another, closer and closer until his fingertips brush yours, sending a spark of warmth through your nervous system. Oh, Maker, you had described what you imagined a soulmate connection was like, but you had no idea this is the true experience. It’s like a sunrise dissolving midnight skies, lighting up your surroundings with breathtaking vibrancy. You can’t fathom how you survived all this time being in his presence without feeling his touch.

“Dank farrik,” he mutters hoarsely, sounding just as overwhelmed and awestruck as you feel.

You open your mouth, but instead of words a whimper of agony escapes instead. That lovely warmth spreading from your linked hands has started to boil, white-hot and furious. It’s as if all your internal parts have caught fire and are slowly withering to ash—your organs, your bones, even your kriffing blood.

Your body crumples and Din cries out your name, but you don’t get to hear him say it, unconscious before your head collides with the floor.

Tag List: @leilei-draws, @theocatkov, @becauseican2, @vintagesaph, @stardust-and-starlight, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @adrieunor, @remmyswritings, @gallowsjoker, @rhiannon-russo, @randomness501, @eleine-t1d, @nicotinebirds, @sylphene, @softly-sad, @maytheglitter, @melobee, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives, @eleinemk, @captain-jebi, @aerynwrites, @promiscuoussatan

#din x you #din djarin x you #din x reader #din djarin x reader #Din Djarin #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #my fic #death and an angel #soulmate au #Pedro Pascal

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nanstgeorge · 3 years

Text

“little garden” implications

starting to think that “little garden” = fandom elain and this was sjm’s way of subtly tackling how she has been reduced to her hobbies and overlooked by characters & the fandom for her traditionally feminine characteristics. this has even led some people to determine her possible endgames (ex; lucien and tamlin) for the series just because she likes gardening. not because she has expressed interest in them, but because she likes gardening so that automatically means she must end up with someone associated with flowers.

im not opposed to elain somehow taking over spring court or ending up with lucien (if the story convinces me lmao) but there’s an issue with sticking her there just because it seems like it works. like elain residing at spring court has been a popular fan theory since the beginning of the series but every book that has been released only seems to disprove it even more? she has never explicitly said she wanted to live there, even chosen a life for herself at night court, but fans and the inner circle just took this idea and ran.

“But Elain.... The Sprint Court had been made for someone like her.” (Nesta)

“Elain in black was ridiculous. Yes, she was beautiful, but the color of her long-sleeved, modest gown leeched the brightness from her face. It wore her, rather than the other way around. And he knew the cruelty of the Hewn City troubled her. But she hadn’t hesitated to come. When Feyre had offered to let her remain home, Elain had squared her shoulders and declared that she was a part of this court—and would do whatever was needed. So Elain had let her golden-brown hair down tonight, and pinned it back with twin combs of pearl. He’d never once in the two years he’d known her found Elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court … It sucked the life from her.” (Cassian)

i’d say that it’s arguable whether or not nesta truly has an accurate depiction of elain now that we have a more in-depth portrait of nesta’s mind and childhood. of course this was not cultivated by nesta herself, with much help from her mother, but elain is still a child to nesta. a child who is a bartering tool between her and her disfigured dynamic with feyre. a child who is a reminder of her own insecurities. essentially, this quote from acosf sums it up, “nesta made her own choices, but our mother laid the ground work.”

“Elain is pleasant to look at, but she has no ambition. She does not dream beyond her garden and pretty clothes. She will be an asset on the marriage market for us one day, if that beauty holds, but it will be our own maneuverings, Nesta, not hers, that win us an advantageous match” (Mama Archeron)

“It doesn’t matter what I think. Go back to Feyre and your little garden.”

Elain, sweet and oblivious.

Elain was like a dog, loyal to whatever master kept her fed and in comfort.

But to let Elain involve herself, jeopardize her safety—

“Look who decided to grow claws after all. Maybe you’ll become interesting at last, Elain.”

“Always defending sweet, innocent Elain.”

Challenge filled each word. Challenge—from Elain, of all people.

Elain stepped closer, brown eyes wide. Undoubtedly wholly convinced of her own innocence, her innate goodness.

Elain had accepted his death as inevitable. She hadn’t bothered to fight for him, as if he hadn’t been worth the effort, precisely as Nesta knew she herself wasn’t worth the effort.

It was inevitable, Nesta supposed, stomach churning. She was the monster. Why shouldn’t the two of them band together and shove her out? Even if she’d foolishly believed that Elain had always seen every horrible part of her and decided to stick by her anyway.

now onto feyre, who has always had a softer but different opinion of elain. this doesn’t mean it’s accurate to how elain is or was, but it’s safe to say that this was an opinion that wasn’t stemmed out of their mother’s mind. this is not to villainize nesta, but merely explain how elain was never made out to only be a “pretty face” to feyre. but of course it’s important to remember that she isn’t scotch free for how she acted in their childhood.

It wasn’t that Elain was cruel. She wasn’t like Nesta, who had been born with a sneer on her face. Elain sometimes just … didn’t grasp things. It wasn’t meanness that kept her from offering to help; it simply never occurred to her that she might be capable of getting her hands dirty.

Perhaps buried it a bit, but she was generous, loving, and kind—a woman I found myself proud to know, to call sister.

Elain mouthed my name but kept cowering, kept her head down.

Elain, who had been gentle and sweet.

I had not painted in years at that point, had not dared spend the money on myself … But Elain had.

She had looked at that cottage with hope; I had looked at it with nothing but hatred. And I knew which one of us had been stronger.

“She loves her garden. Always loved growing things. Even when we were destitute, she managed to tend a little garden in the warmer months. And when—when our fortune returned, she took to tending and planting the most beautiful gardens you’ve ever seen. Even in Prythian. It drove the servants mad, because they were supposed to do the work and ladies were only meant to clip a rose here and there, but Elain would put on a hat and gloves and kneel in the dirt, weeding. She acted like a purebred lady in every regard but that.”

nesta and feyre both have two different feelings regarding elain but they are similar in that they both believe she needs to be protected. it’s pretty clear when elain reminds them of how they only thought of her trauma when it affected them.

“Elain was right. We’ve become so focused on how her trauma impacted us that we forget she was the one who experienced it.” (Feyre)

quite honestly, it’s the inner circle members who are aware of elain’s potential and look at her as not defenseless compared to her sisters. this of course makes it’s quite ironic that she’s used as “pawn” to get nesta to stick her neck out. moving on, it’s specifically azriel, who is someone she chose to create a bond with and probably knows her best. cassian also may be someone who considers elain to not truly belong to night court but does shift his opinion on her overall character.

“Including Elain, who is more than capable of defending herself against the darkness of the Trove, if she chooses to. Don’t underestimate her.” (Amren, oops)

“Nesta was wrong, Cassian realized, to think of Elain as loyal and loving as a dog. Elain saw every single thing Nesta had done, and understood why.” (Cassian)

“I think she’s kind, and I’ll take kindness over nastiness any day. But I also don’t think we’ve seen all she has to offer.” (Rhys)

rhysand is also someone who slowly begins to see elain in a different light as well as feyre by the end of the book. in fact, it takes rhys expressing his opinion of elain, as someone who didn’t grow up with her, for feyre to see things differently. it takes rhys, who brings back up the first description of elain in the series, for feyre to recollect another element of elain.

“It wasn’t meanness that kept her from offering to help; it simply never occurred to her that she might be capable of getting her hands dirty.” (Feyre, ACOTAR)

“Don’t forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one’s hands dirty along the way.” (Rhys, ACOSF Bonus)

“Have you ever seen Elain act like that before?”

“No. I mean, she’s been brave when she had to be, but she’s never been confrontational.”

“Maybe she’s never been given a chance to be that way.”

“You think I stifle her?”

“Not you alone. But I wonder if everyone has spent so long assuming Elain is sweet and innocent that she felt she had to be that way or else she’d disappoint you all.”

in conclusion, elain is a character who’s journey is yet to be complete. the first real choice she had was to not hunt for the family but essentially, she’s been deprived of real choice and independence her entire life. besides being pretty and marrying well, not much has ever been expected of her until she left the garden of her childhood and planted her own. while she may have been turned against her will, elain found solace in dedicating her attention towards the garden in the archeron mansion, night court and all those who resided there. gardening and growing things is something she chose; not something that was inflicted upon her (such as a mating bond.)

elain does not belong somewhere or with someone because she gardens. we have seen countless times over that she can make her own place anywhere but she chose to make a home at night court.

#this is just a rant with quotes lmao #acotar #elain archeron #pro elain archeron #pro elain #anti elucien #a court of thorns and roses

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ice-cream-writes-stuff · 4 years

Text

¤~°Ghost Marriage: Lovely Bride To Be?! Part 2°~¤

Previously...

"Your right. You will become my bride and then become a princess."

"Huh?"

(Y/N) could feel her skin turn cold after what Elias said. "Your joking right?" (Y/N) blurted out with fear creeping into her soul. Elias just kept smiling as he placed his cup down on the counter and goes closer to (Y/N). Taking the bear mug from her paleling hands. The Ghost Groom placed it next to the other mug. Elias almost translucent hands holds (Y/N)'s gently.

"No. We will be married twomrrow, my dear princess!" Elias said sweetly like honey. (Y/N) could feel herself grow faint as she falls into the Ghost grooms hold. Then the last thing she could see was her mugs before sleep consumed her body.

Present Time...

"*Yawn~*" Grim found himself awake as he stretches his body. He looks at where (Y/N) was supposed to be. But she wasn't there at all. "Weird.. Did (Y/N) awoke earlier than the Great Grim? She must be down stairs making tuna for breakfast!"

Grim cheers loudly, hopping out of the bed and starts heading down the stairs.

"Tuna~ Tuna~!" Grim sang as he reached the the hallway to the kitchen. He then heard a yell and stopped singing. "You, Trespasser! Stop right there!"

"Huh!?" Grim found himself being surrounded by three ghosts. "Oh it's just the usual ghosts. Or not.. They're wearing something different?" Grim asks himself with confusion.

"This mansion is the prince's and his brides reception hall. It's off limits four outsiders!" One of the odd ghosts yells. "Prince? Bride?? Reception hall??" Grim was growing even more confused than ever before. "I don't get it, but it's my dorm. The outsiders are you guys!" Grim says in retaliation.

"What a proud sentence. Before youngsters like you were born. We decided this place was going to belong to our country!" The leader stated pridefully.

"If you don't want to get out, then we'll drive you away by force! Get out before your beaten up by us!"

"Ffnga!!" Grim cries out in shock as the ghosts rush towards him. Not having a enough time to use his fire breath. Grim flees, rushing towards the exit of the Rambschakle dorm. Yet the ghosts kept chasing after him until he got outside the gate.

"*Huff, huff!*" Grim pants out of breath. Grim looks behind him to see the ghost guards nowhere in sight. Yet the gate was locked shut to let anyone in the dorm. "Those ghosts took away me and (Y/N)'s dorm. What the hell is happening right now!" Grim growls out after regaining his breath.

Grim heads over to the main campus to talk with the principal about this ghost problem. Once he made it to his office and explained what happened. Mr. Crowley responds with. "Since no one was using the Ramshackle dorm. It became guest house last year before you two arrived."

The headmaster mutters under his breath. "It's that season of the year again.."

"Huh? What do you mean by "season"?" Grim asks confusingly. Mr. Crowley gave a calm smile. "The one who drove you l off is the family of Ghost Groom." The headmaster says simply. "A Ghost Groom? I don't know if that's something we should admire or be scared of..." Grim thought of the Ghost Groom

"Even if you say so. He's still a princes of a destroyed country from a long time ago. The princes always dreamed of getting married to his "dear princess". Sadly before he could fulfil his wish, his life ended right then and there. Even though he became a ghost. He still is looking for his ideal prince..."

"When that season of the year had come. They will search all over Twisted Wonderland to find the perfect bride." Mr. Crowley explained. "It seems like they had chosen Ramshackle dorm as a place to stay when they accomplish their mission. I'm glad they chose one of NRC building for such a occasion!" Mr. Crowley states with pride.

"It's not time for you to be proud! Just drive those troublesome ghosts away!" Grim says furiously. "It would be trouble if we drove them away... *Cough!* Don't you feel sorry for them? Just let them be."

"Why?!" Grim questions angrily. "Because the prince will be looking for a princess that doesn't even exist in our school."

" "A princess that doesn't even exist"? What do you mean by that?"

"Well...The Ghost Groom ideal princess is... Someone who is (Your Height). Someone with smooth looking skin. Someone with kind eyes. A charming smile, a sweet voice that holds determination. Someone with cuticles and soft (h/l) hair. And lips that you would want to kiss unconditionally.~ Those are the terms the ghost groom is looking for."

The headmaster started to laugh. "He is trying to find someone super beautiful and kind. Someone like that doesn't exist, he would have to search everywhere for his ideal princess. Especially at a all boys academy!" The headmaster said, trying to stifle his giggles.

"Wouldn't you agree (Y/N)?" The headmaster says as he waits for the female to answer. But not a single peep was heard. "Huh? Wasn't (Y/N) with you Grim??" Mr. Crowley said with a eyebrow raised in confusion. "No? She wasn't even in the Ramshackle dorm when the ghosts attacked..."

Before the two could ponder over the fact that where the female was. Ortho rushes into the principles office. "Young Shroud, what is the matter?" "Ghosts are taking over the school and kidnapped (Y/N)!!!!"

"Ehh?! Kidnapped?!!" The two idiots yell in sync. Ortho nods his head in agreement. "Yes! Look at this video! It’s last night’s video from the school’s cctv!" Crowley gaped in shocked. "Hey! Please don’t hack the school’s security system!"

Ortho shakes his head and whispers. "Shh, be quiet! I’ll play the video." The younger Shroud pulls out Idias tablet and types in something. Soon Ortho shows the video to the two. The video slowly starts to play.

"*Bzzt... Bzz..*"

The video showed Idia walking about the campus. A slight skip in his step as he walked. "I’ve ordered my favorite manga’s newest print... Along with the spacial mini colored papers. But why is it not delivered by the release date!?" Idia sighs, "it’s a disgrace as an otaku to not get it on the first date.There’s nobody around too, let’s hurry and go to the shop..."

"...ound you..." A unknown voice whispers.

Idia goes quiet, "Eh? Just now... Did I hear someone’s voice?" The unknown voice speaks again. "I finally... found you..." Soon two figures rush past Idia. Though mainly it was a male ghost carrying a, what seemed to be a unconscious (Y/N).

"MY PRINCESS!!!!!!!!" The male ghosts shouts into the air with glee. Not noticing poor Idia who was spooked. "GYAA———!!!!!" He screamed in fear as the ghost flys past him. Then the video ends.

"*Bzzt! Bzzzzzz———*"

The three people in the room went silent. "... this ghost is..." Grim tries to say, but his words turned quiet. Mr. Crowley "Yes... Such a thing... Has happened." Mr. Crowley takes a deep breath. "It seems like the ghost groom has finally found his ideal bride!"

Grim was stares at the Headmaster with fear. "The ideal bride is... (Y/N)!? She’s not at all a princess! She may be kind, nice and stuff. But that's just in her nature! (Y/N)'s always determined because we deal with problems that you or other students give us! And you call her tired grin a charming smile?" Grim states truthfully.

Mr. Crowley starts to mumble a bit. "Huh..?" "(Your Height), kind eyes, sweet voice, charming smile... or not. (h/l) hair.. I think it’s fits the ideal of the ghost prince." Mr. Crowley tells himself quietly.

Ortho (who had heard Mr. Crowley) also agreed with the Headmaster. "Yup. Based on my brothers taste and other students. (Y/N) is cool from every angle. Damn you ghost, what a precise eyes you have!"

"I can’t really agree..." Grim sighs out.

"Anyway, it seems like we have a trouble." Mr Crowley remarks as he placed a gloved finger under his chin. "If (Y/N)'s chosen to be the ghost’s bride, then that means..." "It’s a problem—-!! The three heard a student screamed loudly.

" "It sure is noisy outside!" Mr. Crowley tells himself as he, Ortho and Grim rush outside the office. Standing in the middle of the interior hallway. "What is this riot!" Mr. Crowley yells out.

Ace, who was in hall. Runs up to the three with Deuce beside him. "Headmaster... ah, and also Grim! There’s a problem!" "There are so many ghosts that we haven't seen before. They appeared out of nowhere!" Deuce adds on, "they are taking over the cafeteria and are saying something like. "This will be the ceremony hall of the wedding"! We resisted them, but no matter how much we take them down. The ghosts keep reviving!"

"STOP YOUR STEP!!"

At the end of the hall, Senior Vanrouge and Sebek were conversing with the ghosts knights. "They became angery just because of a mere joke I made about them. Such a bunch of narrow minded ghosts." Lilia jests with ignorance in his tone.

"Ugh, the guys from Diasomnia! Why did you bring these ghosts here?!" Ace yells out in fear. "You naive ghosts who dare to snarl at Lilia. I'll get tid of you guys!" Sebek said with very little amusement.

To be continued...

(Okay! Part 2 is out! I hope you guys liked this and part 1. Notes and reblogs are appreciated (with credit)! Also, if anyone wants to chat or ask questions, hit me up! I wanna here some chapter five theories too.)

#twisted wonderland x reader #royal sword academy #nrc #twst x reader #ghost marriage #oneshots #reader insert #Ghost Marriage x Reader #Twisted Wonderland Ghost Marriage

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sukifans · 4 years

Text

KEEP THE CHANGE // sokka

SUMMARY: this very attractive guy comes in every night during your graveyard shift at the 24-hour diner you work at, always doing something on his laptop. he might be selling organs on the black market, but he tips, like, really well.

WARNINGS: language, mentions of sex, guns/robbery, panic attacks, generally darker themes, all characters are 20+

WC: 5.5k

A/N: anotha one. 5.5k words accidentally. i plan on doing a part 2 and maybe more at some point, but for now i just had to get this idea out

⇦ 𝘔𝘈𝘚𝘛𝘌𝘙𝘓𝘐𝘚𝘛

Things I Know About Him:

1. He’s very attractive.

The bell above the door jingled and you looked up expecting to see an exhausted, slightly smelly middle-aged trucker like usual. When instead it was a cute guy around your age — tall, smooth tan skin, dark brown hair in a ponytail with shaved sides, wearing black joggers and a white t-shirt that showed tribal-style tattoos inked over the toned muscle of his arms — the smile you usually had to paint on for customers was genuine for once.

“Hey, how are ya?” you asked, standing from the table where you’d been rolling the cheap silverware in paper napkins.

“I’m fine, how are you?” he responded politely, shifting the weight of the backpack strap he had slung over one shoulder.

“Better now that there’s a new face in here. Just you tonight?”

“Seems that way.”

“Alright. Grab a seat wherever you’d like and I’ll bring you a menu.” You waved your hand out to gesture at all the open tables in the empty diner.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Just a coffee would be great, thanks,” he said as he made his way to a booth in the corner.

“You got it.” You moved behind the bar top to fill your pot with coffee and brought him over a chipped ceramic mug on a plate. You met his eyes when you set it down in front of him and you were almost struck frozen by how beautiful they were. They were the color of the sky on those perfect cloudless summer days when the sun seems to shine a little hotter; the color of the ocean in those tourist trap vacation agency promotional posters. You shook yourself to quickly recover, though given the opportunity you would’ve gladly stared into his eyes for the rest of your shift.

“Thanks,” he said, flashing you a small smile that revealed a peek of white teeth. The hell was a specimen like that doing in a place like this? He looked he belonged in one of those Calvin Klein ads.

“No problem. Let me know if you need something else.” You turned away when he nodded an acknowledgement as he pulled a laptop from his bag, hoping you didn’t look as flustered as you felt.

2. He takes his coffee weird.

The first time you saw him make his coffee you were horrified. You watched from behind the counter, amused at first, as he poured white sugar from the dispenser into the drink for a nonstop ten seconds. Sure, some people had a strong sweet tooth; that wasn’t too bizarre. You had to cover your mouth to stifle your irrepressible groan of disgust when he started drinking without even stirring to dissolve the crystals.

After some time it stopped being so horrifying and just became funny. You always had to avert your gaze to choke down your laughter when you spotted him crunching down on the undissolved sugar. If he hadn’t been so attractive it would’ve been creepy, but when he did it, it was... almost endearing.

3. He has money.

Every morning as the sun started rise you would turn to look at his table only to find him gone, leaving only neatly stacked dishes and a twenty-dollar bill behind. Even if he only drank coffee (total: $2.43, with tax, free refills), he would leave the bill. The first couple times he came in and did this you scanned the parking lot to look for him but it seemed like he’d vanished into thin air. After a week, you confronted him.

“You know, the coffee is only like two bucks,” you commented as you refilled his mug.

“I know,” he said.

“You’ve left a twenty here every night.”

“I know.”

You furrowed your brow. “We can give change here, y’know.”

“Keep it.”

“That’s a lot. Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He obviously wasn’t a man of many words, so you dropped it. If he had money to burn and decided to burn it on you, you’d take it. “Starving artist” isn’t just a saying, after all, and this shift didn’t exactly rake in the tips.

4. He has something either illegal or important (or both!) on that laptop.

He always sat in the same spot: a booth all the way in the corner with his back facing the wall, computer sitting close to his chest. It looked very suspicious, for someone who was probably trying not to look suspicious. No matter how many times you tried to sneak a glance at the screen while you refilled his cup you couldn’t catch anything. You’d have to practically be on his lap to see something and, well, it wasn’t that kind of establishment and you weren’t that desperately curious.

At least you knew it (probably) wasn’t some sort of freakish porn — he never wore headphones and his hands were always above the table either typing, lifting his mug, or scribbling something in chicken scratch in a worn moleskin notebook. It wouldn’t’ve been the first time someone had tried to use the diner’s free wifi for something like that. You would’ve hated to have to ban him for life.

Things He Might Be Doing:

1. Selling organs on the black market

2. Making a new-age tech startup selling GPS microchips to helicopter parents

3. Running the r/TheRedPill forum

4. Investigating conspiracy theories

5. Starting new conspiracy theories to hide The Truth

6. Solving crimes/murders online à la Don’t Fuck With Cats

7. Anonymous

8. Undercover detective trying to crack the cold case of a family member’s/close friend’s/lover’s suspicious and untimely death that was ruled an accident

9. Government whistleblower putting together a groundbreaking report

10. Robot gaining sentience and plotting uprising

11. Clone seeking revenge on his creator

12. Robot clone gaining sentience AND seeking revenge now that he can Feel

13. Studying/writing/doing a project/anything else realistic and boring

With a sigh, you looked up from your scribble-filled notepad. There he was in all his glory: laptop out, half-drunk coffee to his right, notebook under his elbow to his left, a pen stuck behind each ear and one in his hand that he tapped thoughtfully against his chin. What he didn’t realize was that the cap of the pen was off, leaving dark marks on his skin. The sight made you shake your head with a small smile. You turned to fill your pot with “fresh” (quotes added out of legal obligation) coffee for the trucker that sat at the bar top with a patty melt.

“Ah, fuck,” you heard from the corner booth. When you glanced over you saw him wiping his tongue with a handful of paper napkins, black ink all down his chin and the front of his shirt. The pen must’ve exploded while he was biting on it (a habit of his, you’d noticed). Even the trucker guffawed when he saw the mess. You headed over to his booth after refilling the other man’s coffee.

“I’d offer the Tide pen I keep in my purse, but I don’t think it’d do much for you,” you commented as you replenished his coffee. He glanced up at you with a grimace.

“I appreciate the gesture,” he sighed, huffing when he realized the napkin dispenser was empty. You scooped up the pile of ink-saturated paper.

“I’ll get a few rags.” He nodded in thanks and closed both his laptop and notebook, shoving them out of the way on the seat next to him. You brought out a couple rags soaked in warm water and wiped up the mess on the table while he scrubbed his face. Even after his skin was rubbed raw, there was a tinge of black around his mouth.

“Thanks-” his eyes flicked to the plastic name tag you wore on your chest, “-(Y/N).” He knew your name from how often he’d come in but he wanted to be extra sure.

“Sure thing,” you said, waving your hand. “I see you in here a lot but I’ve never gotten your name.” When he only hummed in agreement and didn’t provide a name you pursed your lips. “So, what is it?”

“What’s what?”

“Your name,” you giggled a little.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “It’s not that important.”

Okay, weird. Maybe he had an odd name and he was embarrassed. “If I guess it will you tell me?”

“Sure.” He visibly seemed to relax a little. So definitely an uncommon name that he didn’t expect you to guess, then.

“Can I at least know what it starts with?”

He hesitated. “An ‘S.’” You smiled.

“Righty-o, Steven. Can I get you anything else while I’m here?” You pulled out your small notepad from your apron pocket and held your pen at the ready.

“Ah, no. I’m alright, thanks.”

“Alright, Shawn. Let me know if you think of something.” The corners of his mouth quirked up into a grin at your little game as you pocketed your notepad and walked away, soiled rags in hand. When you came back out from disposing of the rags, the trucker was gone and it was just the two of you left in the diner. Soft music crackled from the old speakers hung from the ceiling and he was back to typing away. You felt a little panic in your chest — he’d been coming in every night for the past month and a half and that was the most conversation you’d ever had with him. You had your in and you couldn’t let it go to waste now.

He looked up from his screen, eyebrow quirked, when you slid into the seat across from him. “What’s up?”

You shrugged. “Nothing. Just talking to my best customer named... Sam?” He shook his head and you groaned.

“Best customer?”

“Of course. I think you singlehandedly paid my utilities this month, Simon.” You folded and unfolded a paper straw wrapper idly as you spoke.

“Ah, I see,” he nodded. “Is that all it takes to get in your good graces?”

“Pretty much.”

“Sounds like you need a sugar daddy.”

“Are you offering?” You gave him a teasing grin that made his cheeks color pink.

“I, uh-“ he stammered and you laughed.

“Seth, I’m kidding.” You rolled the straw wrapper up into a little ball and flicked it at him around the laptop screen. It bounced off his chest and he chuckled nervously.

“Right, of course.”

“So, what do you do all night on that computer, anyways?” Self-consciously, he lowered the screen and you rested your cheek on your palm, propping your elbow on the table.

“Just some work,” he answered evasively. Right, illegal or important or both — the age old question with this guy.

“At night?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Well, you work at night.”

“Because I have a day job, too. And I like nighttime.”

“Me too.”

“Which one?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

You sat back in your seat, a little embarrassed at getting carried away and prying. “Sorry, I’m just curious. I don’t have a lot of regulars on this shift and I just think you’re... interesting.”

“Interesting? How so?” He smirked in a teasing, knowing way that made your heart flutter and your face burn.

“A cute guy that comes in at the same time, every time, to do work in the middle of the night and always leaves a massive tip is pretty interesting, at least by my standards.”

He faltered. “You think I’m cute?”

“You’re alright for a nocturnal weirdo, Sebastian.” You winked and stood up, smoothing down your uniform. “I should probably get back to work. If Mack sees me sitting down with someone he’ll watch back the security footage and clock me out for however long I was here.” You jutted your thumb out behind you to indicate the cook and manager of the diner who you could both hear clanging around in the kitchen.

“Sounds like a hardass,” he said as he pulled his screen back open.

“Yeah, well...” You shrugged again. “It is what it is, y’know? Anyways, just shout if you need anything. It was nice talking to you, Shane.”

When he left at sunrise as usual, there was an extra five dollar bill on his table along with the usual twenty. You grinned when you picked it up and saw that on it he’d written down a phone number and simply signed it from “S.”

5. His name starts with S.

“What are you so happy about?” Zuko asked when he saw Sokka’s grin as he came through the door.

“What? Nothing,” he said, purposefully setting his mouth into a neutral mask. Zuko rolled his eyes and sipped his tea, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“What did you do, Sokka?”

“Nothing! What, a guy can’t just be in a good mood?”

“No,” he deadpanned. Sokka scoffed.

“Right, I forgot I was talking to the guy who hasn’t had a good mood in like ten years.”

“Thirteen, actually.” Sokka shot him a look but Zuko’s face was serious. “Just tell me what you did. You’re usually tired and grouchy when you get back in the mornings, not smiling to yourself.”

“Christ, fine,” he huffed, yanking open the fridge to get a water bottle. “I gave a girl my number. The one at the diner.”

Zuko set his tea down and crossed his arms over his chest. “You did what?”

“Look-“

“Are you fucking stupid? With what we do, you’re just out and about giving your number to random women?”

“I’m sorry, we? You just got here, Prince Pouty. I can do what I want.”

“You’re putting everyone at risk, and for what? To get your dick wet?”

“I gave her a burner number for an app on my phone and she doesn’t even know my name. No one’s at risk.”

“You’re being selfish. This is bigger than you.”

“I’m allowed to have a life outside of this bullshit, whether you like it or not.”

“If it’s such bullshit then why do you still do it? No one’s forcing you to stay up all night digging for information and hacking people.”

“I can’t exactly do anything else now, can I? What am I supposed to tell employers I’ve been doing for the last few years, sitting with my thumb up my ass?”

“That is basically what you do, isn’t it?”

Sokka slammed his hands down on the counter angrily. “You can go fuck yourself, Zuko. You have Mai-“

“Mai is for appearances only.”

“-and Aang and Katara are together, and ever since Suki...” Sokka trailed off and then shook his head. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Just for your shitty attitude, I’m gonna take her out on a mind blowing date, and bring her back here, and fuck her on your stupid little trundle bed.” Zuko opened his mouth to respond but Sokka cut him off. “Don’t bother. I’m going home and going to bed. Tell Aang and Katara I stopped by,” he grumbled, slamming the door behind him as he left. He felt a little bad about probably waking up his sister and her boyfriend, but Zuko had been grating on his nerves since he got himself tangled up in their business and his misplaced self-righteousness about a little flirting was the last straw. The prick didn’t need to overcompensate for being Ozai’s son by meddling in his love life. He could do without that, thanks.

Sokka was still grumbling to himself as he jiggled the key in the door to his small and slightly dingy studio apartment a few blocks down from Aang and Katara’s. Once he was in, he kicked off his shoes and bag by the door, stripped down to his briefs, and flopped into bed to immediately pass out despite the slats of sunlight filtering in through his ratty blinds. As he fell asleep he couldn’t help but think of you; you and your playful banter and your pretty smile (the real one that made your eyes crinkle, not the fake one you gave to creepy travelers passing through) and your many questions that he had to carefully evade. One day maybe he’d be able to explain himself, even if it would take a while to get to that point. That is, if you gave him a chance in the first place. He couldn’t exactly blame you for turning down someone whose name you didn’t even know.

He just really hoped you wouldn’t.

The next night at the diner was as achingly slow as any other Tuesday. So far only “S” had come in and still he just sat in the corner, drinking his coffee and doing whatever he does. You had texted with him briefly once your shift ended in the morning, but you had to sleep and then get to your other job before your shift at the diner so there wasn’t much time for flirty messages. Instead, you sat at a table nearby to roll silverware, offering small smiles whenever he glanced up and met your eyes. The warmth in your cheeks whenever he smiled back was becoming achingly familiar. You vaguely wondered if your face might as well just get stuck like that.

Finally, someone new came in a few hours after midnight. He wore a ball cap and a large black jacket, hands stuffed in the pockets. You gave your usual spiel in your syrupy-sweet customer voice as you rose from the table to slide behind the counter and prep a cup of coffee for him. As you talked, you noticed he kept glancing around shiftily and had yet to remove his right hand from his jacket. There was something about him that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

Sokka had been half-listening to the one-sided exchange when a sharp intake of breath and the sound of shattering glass made his eyes snap to you. You stood frozen behind the counter, hands raised to your shoulders, staring at the men who held a handgun level with your chest. His stomach dropped as he took in the scene, blood running cold when your terrified gaze drifted to him and then shot back to the gun trained on you.

“Sweetheart, I’m gonna need you to empty the cash drawer for me, if you don’t mind,” he said in an eerily cool, level voice that made your skin crawl. “Don’t try anything, I just want to get the money and get out. I‘d hate to have to hurt you.” You nodded, trying not to let your hands shake, as you shifted over to the register. Out of the corner of your eye you could see “S” subtly reaching for his phone, hopefully to call the police. This also caught the man’s attention and he trained the gun on him now. “Don’t think I don’t see you, pretty boy. Give me your phone.”

“Alright, man. Take it easy,” “S” said as he stood slowly with his hands up, holding his phone in one. He carefully made his way over.

“Here,” you said to distract the man. He looked over at the paper bag you held that looked like it only had a couple hundred dollars in it at most.

“That’s it?” the man barked. “I know you have a safe somewhere, you bitch. Open it and give me the fucking money.”

You stared, wide-eyed, and willed the tears welling up in your eyes to go away. “I- I don’t have a key-“

“Fucking figure it out!” he shouted, making you jump. Sokka felt white-hot anger bubbling in his chest when he saw a tear slide down your cheek as the man unlocked the safety on the gun. Without pausing to think, he leapt the last few feet between himself and the guy to knock the gun away. You screamed and ducked down when a shot fired off, but the man missed widely when his arm was hit and instead blew out one of the panes of glass at the front of the diner. Sokka kicked the gun across the floor and grabbed the man by the collar of his jacket before slamming him against the bar top. While he was winded he yanked his hands behind his back and shoved him to the floor on his stomach, shoving a knee into his kidneys.

“(Y/N), call the police,” Sokka said, trying to keep his voice calm. You peeked over the edge of the counter and then jumped up when you saw the state of the two men.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll, um- I’ll do that.” You fumbled with your phone, struggling thanks to how badly your hands shook. You screamed again when Mack burst out from the kitchen wielding a sawed-off shotgun. “Jesus fucking Christ, Mack! Took you fucking long enough to get out here, didn’t it? Poor Stanley had to take care of it!” You gestured angrily to the situation in front of you and Mack rolled his eyes with a huff.

“I was calling the cops, kid. Relax, you’re fine,” he said and you balled your hands up into fists.

“Relax?! I swear to God-“

“(Y/N),” “S” interrupted gently and you whirled around to face him. “It’s under control now. You’re okay.”

“You could’ve gotten hurt or worse and I-“

“But I didn’t. See?” He gestured to himself as Mack secured the man’s hands together with some zip ties from the back office and then to one of the barstools that was bolted to the floor. You didn’t respond to that and instead furiously wiped away the few tears that had tracked down your face.

“After you give the cops your statement, go home for a few days,” Mack said, sitting heavily in a chair that faced the man and holding the shotgun in his lap. You opened your mouth to protest but he silenced you with a hard look. “You’re shaken up, kid; can’t have you working like this. Besides, it’ll take a couple days to get insurance to replace that glass.”

You relented with a sigh and dropped yourself into a booth seat, folding your legs against your torso and resting your forehead on your knees to hide your face. You squeezed your eyes shut and sucked in a few deep, steadying breaths to hopefully push out the panic that still pierced your chest. You tilted your head up when you heard someone sit down across the table from you to see “S” giving you a concerned look. Self-consciously you wrapped your arms around your shins and pulled yourself into a tighter ball.

“Hey,” he said softly, “I know you’re okay, but are you, like... okay?”

You put your head down again and shrugged. “I guess.” You knew it was obvious to him that you weren’t, but you were thankful he didn’t push. Both of you were quiet for a few minutes and you could faintly hear sirens in the distance. All you wanted was to give your statement and go home.

“My name’s Sokka,” he said, finally breaking the silence. He drummed his fingers against the table nervously. You looked up at him again and gave him a small, watery smile.

“That’s a nice name,” you whispered with a sniffle.

Once you gave your statement and the police had taken the guy away in cuffs, you left the diner and were surprised to see Sokka sitting on the curb in front of the doors. He looked around at you when the door opened and he stood.

“You didn’t have to wait,” you said as he dusted off his pants.

“I know. I wanted to,” he said and looked you up and down. “You sure you’re alright? I can sit with you for a bit.”

You shook your head. “No, that’s okay. Thanks, though.” You both looked up at the sky in silence. The horizon was starting to fade from the inky black into a rich purple, stars still glinting above your heads. Dawn would be coming soon. Without a word, you walked side-by-side to your cars that were parked next to each other. When you popped your door open he looked like he wanted to say something, but instead he just gave you a closed-mouth smile and a small wave. You gave him an affirming head nod and slid into the driver’s seat. He waited until you drove away, car disappearing around a corner, before getting into his own.

As you walked up the stairs to your apartment, keys clutched in your hand, your heart was pounding again. Your eyes started to sting and you quickened your pace until you were practically sprinting to your door. After fumbling with the lock for a second you threw yourself inside and slammed the door shut, breath now coming in hard gasps. You slid your back down until you collapsed onto the ground. You curled yourself into a ball again, pressing the heels of your palms harshly against your closed eyes and feeling the tears spilling from them. You were not okay, you were not alright, you were not fine. Not at all.

You could barely see your screen through your tears, but you made the call anyways. It made you feel silly and weak but, God, you were so fucking scared. You just needed someone’s voice to ground you back in reality and he was the first person you thought of.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Sokka.” You winced at the way your voice cracked; how it wavered.

Obviously, he noticed. “What’s wrong? Did you make it home okay?” Guilt and regret panged in your chest when you heard how worried he was. You shouldn’t’ve called, you were being stupid.

“Yeah. I-I don’t know why I’m s-so upset but I’m really f-freaked out. It’s st-stupid, I’m sorry for b-bothering you,” you whimpered to the relative stranger on the other end of the line. You screwed your eyes shut and pressed a hand to your chest; you felt like you had been sprinting and you couldn’t catch your breath.

“You’re not bothering me, (Y/N), and it’s not stupid. What happened tonight was fucked up and you’re having a perfectly normal reaction. Just take some deep breaths, okay? You sound like you’re having a panic attack.”

Doing as he said, you tried to even out your breathing to bring your heart rate out of the stratosphere. “Okay, okay. I, um- Sokka?”

“Yeah?”

“Um, this might s-sound weird, but... do you think you could, um, come over? I‘ll make you breakfast.”

“Oh, uh-“ he hesitated and despite yourself you started to panic again.

“You d-don’t have to. I-I know you’re probably t-tired. I shouldn’t’ve asked, I just don’t want to b-be alone right now.”

“Hey, hey, stop that. It’s okay, (Y/N). I just don’t want to make you, like, uncomfortable or anything. Strange guy in your apartment, and all,” he chuckled nervously. “Not that I’m... strange, or anything.”

You giggled through your tears. “Oh, you’re strange, alright; but I like that about you. Besides, I know your first name now. We’re practically best friends.”

“You know what? You’re absolutely right.” He laughed a little and the sound made you feel a bit better. “Just text me your address and I’ll be there in a few minutes, okay?” The tenderness in his voice made your damp cheeks warm.

“Okay,” you sniffled. “Sokka?”

“Mhm?” You could hear him rustling around at the other end of the line along with the faint jingling of keys.

“Can you stay on the phone with me?” you asked sheepishly.

“Whatever you need, princess.” The pet name slipped so easily from his lips that he didn’t even notice. You, however, felt your face burn hotter and a twist in your belly. From anyone else’s mouth you would’ve thought you were being made fun of, but he said it so earnestly that you just felt warm and tingly, like you were talking with a grade school crush.

“What?”

“Hm?” he hummed distractedly and you cleared your throat.

“You called me princess.”

“Oh, sorry.” You hoped he was blushing as badly as you were. It sounded like he was, if one can sound like they’re blushing. “It’s just... something I call people sometimes. Habit.”

“It’s okay,” you said. “It’s nice. I like it.”

“Interesting,” he responded. You could hear the suggestive lilt to his voice and it made the corner of your mouth turn up a bit.

You used to think that Sokka was a quiet man. Now, you knew you were wrong and he had always been too heavily focused on his work those many nights at the diner to properly flaunt what a motor mouth he was. He had no trouble sitting on the phone with you while he made his way over to your building, chatting away about... something — many somethings, for that matter. The details weren’t important; all either of you cared about was his almost prodigious ability to keep your mind distracted with idle talk. Despite your state he even made you laugh a few times. You were feeling better by the time he softly knocked on your door, although your legs still felt wobbly and weak when you stood to let him in.

When he saw your puffy, bloodshot eyes and the tear tracks that shone on your cheeks he felt an odd squeezing in his chest that left him a little winded. You had changed into a large faded t-shirt and leggings, your hair loose and falling delicately around your tired face, which had been scrubbed clean of makeup. He realized this was the first time he had ever seen you outside of the context of your work. Even though you surely felt like shit, in the back of his mind he couldn’t help but think you still looked adorable. He felt a strong urge to wrap you up in a tight hug, but held off. This was still new territory for you both and he had no idea how you would react to physical affection from someone so new in your life.

You greeted him with a tiny smile and closed the door behind him. He suddenly became acutely aware of how sweaty his palms were now that he was alone with you in your apartment.

“Do you want any coffee or tea or something? Water?” you asked. “I- I started making waffles, if you want one. Or do you want something else to eat? I have-“

“(Y/N), please,” he chuckled. “You clocked out. You don’t have to serve me.”

“I know,” you sighed, twisting a strand of hair around your fingertips. “You came all the way over here, though.”

“It was less than a ten minute drive.”

“Still.” You stared at him expectantly and he rolled his eyes as he sat on your couch.

“Just make me one of whatever you’re drinking. I’m not picky.” You nodded and turned into the kitchen to prepare a second cup of lavender chamomile tea with honey. He accepted it graciously when you handed him the mug with some tourist location stamped on it. He took a sip and was surprised when he actually liked it – he had never much been one for tea. You sat down in the armchair adjacent to the couch and set your mug on the coffee table.

“Thanks, Sokka,” you murmured. He waved his hand dismissively.

“Seriously, (Y/N), it wasn’t any trouble. I’d rather be here and know that you’re okay than sit in bed and worry.”

“Not that. Well, yes; thank you for coming over, but... I was talking about at the diner.”

“What about it?”

You could feel tears pricking at your eyes again and you swallowed thickly. “You saved me. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t been there.”

“I’m sure you would’ve handled it.” His eyebrows shot up when you shook your head aggressively.

“He might’ve shot me before Mack came out if you hadn’t knocked his gun away. And you didn’t even have anything to defend yourself with!”

“I was okay, princess; I’ve trained in fighting in stuff. I had to do something. I couldn’t live with myself if he’d hurt you and I hadn’t at least tried to help.” At this admission, your tears fell freely again and you choked out a sob. Sokka looked panicked and he leaned forwards, fluttering his hands uselessly. “Oh, fuck. Are you okay? Did I say something?”

You shook your head. “No, no. You’re just really sweet and I’m really emotional. And tired.”

“Do you want a hug?” he offered hesitantly. You looked over at him and saw his cheeks had gone pink. With a nod, you stood from your chair and curled up with him on the couch, letting his strong arms wrap around you while you cried into his shoulder. He squeezed you tightly against his chest and said nothing. He just closed his eyes and rested his cheek on top of your head, trying to ignore his own tears that threatened to spill when he felt the way your whole body shook like a leaf.

Even once your sobs subsided to sniffles you made no move to get up. Your very bones felt heavy with exhaustion and the way Sokka held you was warm and comforting. You both eventually fell asleep like that, embracing on your couch, your mugs of tea and the bowl of half-prepared waffle batter on the kitchen counter forgotten for now.

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trulivin · 4 years

Text

Actual Sex God

A/N: As promised. Sorry it’s so short. I’m in a real writing slump right now and I don’t know why. I hope you enjoy this and to the nonny who requested, I hope this is what you were looking for! Also this is my first time writing something mildly smutty so I apologize in advance.

JJ x Reader, Outer Banks

Warnings: a lil bit of sexual themes, swearing

*gif not mine*

“My friends will love you, I promise,” Kie said to Y/N as the two of them made their way up to the front porch of the Chateau. “You don’t know that,” the girl nervously bit her lip, “I just moved in three days ago and from what you’ve told me, y’all seem pretty tight.” Kie threw her head back and let out a light laugh.

“Y/N you are my new sister. They have to like you. And besides, they’re super chill. I promise you,” Kie smiled sweetly before entering the screened-in porch. “Guys!” she called, “I have someone I would like you all to meet!”

Y/N watched as three boys piled out of the house. “This is Y/N Y/L/N, my newly adopted sister,” Kie introduced.

The first one who stepped up said, “What’s up? I’m Pope.” He gave Y/N a kind smile and shook her hand enthusiastically. The boy with brown longish hair raised a hand and spoke, “John B and this,” he gestured to the blond boy who was shamelessly checking Y/N out, “Is JJ.” “Sup,” JJ winked.

“Pig,” Kie muttered as JJ threw his hands up in defense. “Hey you never told us your new sister was hot,” JJ responded. “No, nuh uh Y/N is off limits. No Pogue-on-Pogue macking,” Kie fired back. As the two went on bickering, John B approached the timid girl with a gentle look on his face.

“Welcome to the life of the Pogues, Y/N,” John B said. “Thanks,” Y/N returned the smile, sitting on one of the chairs. John B took the seat next to her as Pope, Kie, and JJ settled around them.

“So, Y/N,” Pope started, “Why did Kie’s parents adopt you, if you don’t mind me asking.” Y/N chewed on the inside of her lip instantly heating up as all the attention turned to her. Y/N glanced around and saw Kie give her a small smile of encouragement.

“Yo, you don’t have to tell us if it’s like some personal shit or something like that,” JJ interrupted. Y/N shot him a grateful glance but took a breath anyways. “My dad left and my mom is now an addict. They’ve known Kie’s parents a long time before we moved off the island so when DCS wanted to put me in foster care after my mother about OD’d, Kie was the first person I had them call. So now we’re here,” Y/N explained. At this point, Y/N was relieved to get out of her messed up home.

As soon as Y/N stopped talking, she noticed how quiet everyone was. Heat flushed her face as she spoke again, “Look, not a big deal. I’m glad to be gone and out of the foster care system.” She glanced around and saw looks of sympathy and pity written across everyone’s faces.

“Well,” Pope said slowly, “Welcome to our family.”

The others murmured in agreement, and Y/N soon felt herself relaxing even with JJ’s eyes constantly on her.

Weeks turned to months and Y/N soon found her place amongst the Pogues. During that time, she had grown extremely close to JJ, surprisingly. It took awhile for her to stop being so ruffled by his flirtatious remarks, but once the ice was broken, the two found themselves inseparable.

Especially on beautiful days like today.

The Pogues decided it would do them some good to take a break from the whole treasure hunt and Kook drama and spend the day on the docks.

“This is so peaceful,” Kie groaned, laying out. Y/N smiled at her “sister” before turning her attention to the boys who were lounging on the floats.

“Do you guys ever wonder if like crabs can communicate with their own kind in some sort of language under water?” JJ asked. “Annnnnd, moment ruined,” Kie sat up shooting JJ a confused look. Y/N let out a laugh as John B, Pope, and the blond started discussing their theories.

Kie just laid back down rolling her eyes as the boys began arguing over some other stupid topic. Y/N, however, happily watched her friends so care-free and for once, relaxed. John B wasn’t worried about finding the gold, Pope wasn’t stressing over his scholarship, and JJ, well he seemed happier than he had been in days.

JJ had told her he went home a few days ago and it wasn’t the greatest reunion between him and his father, leaving him in a sour mood.

Y/N took the time to really look at JJ too. She noticed how the sun seemed to turn his skin bronze while his hair golden. The glistening water dripped down his toned arms every time he would articulate while his abs flexed when he held himself up on the float. The aviators gave him a sexy edge as well. He looked like some sort of sun god or something.

Y/N couldn’t take her eyes off of the boy.

“You’re staring,” Kie said as she sat up again. Y/N jumped at the sound of her voice. “I am not,” she snipped. Kie let out a hearty laugh and said, “You should just tell him you like him.” Y/N gave her an incredulous look. “Pfff,” she struggled to lie, “I do not.”

“Is-is that drool?” Kie asked playfully gesturing to Y/N’s chin.

Her eyes went big and her hand shot to her mouth. Y/N felt nothing.

Kie roared with laughter as Y/N playfully smacked her. “Shut up Kie!” she exclaimed as her friend kept cackling. “It’s okay. You two are always flirting anyways,” Kie laughed. “We do not!” Y/N retorted.

“Ya you do,” Kie said, “But it’s fine because JJ seems very happy whenever he’s around you.” Y/N felt warm and not because of the sun. She always loved seeing JJ happy even when he had a horrible home life, and she was glad she could be a part of his happiness.

“No Pogue-on-Pogue macking,” Y/N scoffed. Kie rolled her eyes from right next to her. “Long before you got here, JJ hit on me like everyday. And not to mention John B tried kissing me once,” she said.

“What?” Y/N barked out a laugh. The sound carried all the way to the boys in the water causing JJ’s attention to turn to the girls on the dock. Y/N’s bikini clad body and the sound of her laugh made JJ feel weak.

“Yes yes shut up,” Kie retorted playfully, shoving Y/N.

“My point is, it’s really not that big of a deal. Unless it’s one-sided then things get weird. BUT it’s not one sided so you should hit that,” Kie added.

“You sound like JJ,” Y/N snorted, “but I will say, I would gladly.”

***

Later that evening, as the sun was setting, John B and Pope made a bonfire while JJ, Y/N, and Kie were inside the Chateau gathering whatever they could burn. Luckily they also found marshmallows and stuff for s’mores.

Kie slipped outside with her items leaving JJ and Y/N to finish scouring the home.

Y/N opened a cabinet and saw an unopened box of graham crackers that weren’t stale, and went to reach for them. Unfortunately, her height was unforgiving tonight as she stood on her toes trying to reach for it.

She huffed, trying to jump up and grab it, but still was unable to reach it.

A warm hand grabbed her exposed waist as an arm appeared to her right grabbing the box with ease. “Shortie,” JJ laughed in her ear. Y/N turned around and immediately flushed at the close proximity of their bodies. JJ was wearing his signature smirk and no shirt.

“Thanks,” Y/N tried to sound playful, but it almost came out as a stifled groan as his body pressed hers against the counter.

“Aw what’s got you so flustered Y/N?” JJ grinned. Y/N dared to meet his gaze. He had a playful look in his eyes, but his pupils were completely blown. She gulped slowly trying to ignore the heat radiating between them. “Nothing,” she gasped as his warm hand found her waist again. His other hand rested on the counter, trapping her further.

Y/N subconsciously bit her lip and saw JJ’s dark eyes flicker to her mouth hungrily. The next thing she knew JJ was leaning closer. Y/N’s head was spinning. His face was mere inches from her. He smelled like salt and still seemed to be glowing even without the sun. Closer and closer. Y/N didn’t dare move.

And just as his lips brushed hers, he turned his head and whispered in her ear, “Are you sure about that?” All traces of playfulness gone. Y/N didn’t even respond as his lips connected with her ear and trailed down her neck.

Finger tips danced at the waistline of her shorts. Her hands immediately steadying herself by grabbing onto his ripped stomach.

“You know,” JJ spoke lowly in between his wet, sloppy kisses burning her skin, “You’re not so subtle when you are staring.” Y/N’s eyes flew open, more heat rushing to her cheeks. JJ halted feeling her tense under him, pulling away to look at her.

“I-I was not,” Y/N mumbled, diverting her eyes. She felt JJ’s chest erupt with laughter before his hand tugged her chin up, forcing her to look at him. “I like staring at you too and imagining what you’d look like without clothes for that matter,” he drawled.

With that, JJ attached his mouth to hers and Y/N immediately melted into the kiss. He was sweet and slow at first before his tongue slid over her lips asking for permission. Tongues fought for dominance as she hooked her legs around his waist as he hoisted her on to the counter.

JJ’s hands dug into her thighs as he ground into her looking for any sort of friction. Y/N let out an exasperated groan as she felt his member push on the inside of her thigh. His hands found their way to the waistband of her pants again, wasting no time tugging on them for permission.

Y/N let out another strangled moan as his lips broke from hers and found her neck again, as a hand dipped in her pants now. His fingers slowly teased her before slipping into her entrance. “Shit JJ,” Y/N cursed causing him to chuckle.

“Guys!” a voice yelled from the porch. JJ and Y/N both seemed to jump a part being pulled back into reality. John B couldn’t see them from the porch but he could definitely hear them. “We’re waiting on the s’mores stuff and I would really appreciate it if you two don’t fuck in my kitchen!” John B shouted.

JJ and Y/N looked at each other sheepishly before he helped her down from the counter. “We’re coming man!” JJ yelled back, helping Y/N gather stuff up. JJ smiled at the appearance of her. Her hair was a mess, her cheeks were flushed, and her neck was already starting to bruise up.

Y/N met his gaze and smiled back before letting it falter. JJ instantly frowned.

“Um, this-this isn’t just like a uh one time thing?” Y/N asked quietly as they made their way for the house. “What?” JJ replied. “Like it…” she paused, taking a breath. “Like it isn’t just a fling. Like there will be more to it than just this.”

JJ stopped and faced her. He had just assumed she thought he liked her with all his constant flirtatious remarks. “Y/N,” he said seriously, “I told you the moment I met you, you were the hottest person I’d ever seen in my life.” Y/N rolled her eyes, not really happy he was saying this. She thought for a fraction of a second that Kie was maybe right, and that maybe JJ liked her back and more than just her looks.

“And then I got to know you,” JJ continued immediately after she tore her gaze away from him. Her eyes snapped back to his. “Your personality made you ten times hotter. You have a beautiful soul and you never fail to make me smile everyday no matter what. You became my best friend from day one. How can there not be more to this?” JJ concluded.

“JJ…” Y/N grinned. He smiled back at her before leaning down and pressing his lips to hers again. The kiss was soft. Reassuring.

“Seriously! Don’t fuck in my kitchen!!” John B shouted again while watching the two on the porch. Y/N and JJ broke apart laughing at each other. “Ok! Ok!” JJ yelled back wrapping his arm around Y/N.

“Besides,” JJ leaned into her, whispering as they crossed the lawn, “When I do fuck you, it won’t just be on his counter. We’ll christen the whole damn house.” Y/N’s stomach dropped and heat rushed to her face earning another chuckle from JJ.

“One day sweetheart,” he said kindly, pressing a kiss to her forehead joining their friends around the fire pit. “One day.”

____________________________________________

Yay I’m so glad I got something out there! SO SO sorry for the delay!

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ihavelovednone · 3 years

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Emily & Miguel: Power & control

This post is long - REALLY LONG. I’ve tried to reduce it and separate it - but it’s not really working. So here goes. It’s centered around Emily and Miguel and the power imbalance between them and the abusiveness that he displays. I hope it’s somewhat interesting and not to hard to follow - if you read it in full that is.

The initial power imbalance There are several aspects in Miguel’s and Emily’s relationship that creates a power imbalance between them. First, and probably the one that relates to every other imbalance in their relationship, is the fact that she’s a woman. That doesn’t really need any further explaining. Women are generally seen as the weaker sex and there’s a long since decided role for women that still has deep roots in our society and in Emily’s life it’s very prominent. Dita displays dislike about Emily involving herself in the search for her child for instance. Devante uses a tone that reeks of aw, little girl and Miguel is somewhere in between wanting to be the sole provider and wanting her help.

One more obvious thing is the clear age difference between Miguel and Emily. It’s kinda like a spinn on the stereotypical old husband, young wife trope - except that Miguel, even though he’s no spring chicken, is still relatively young and very attractive. Kurt Sutter and Elgin James are so subtle in the way they decide use a stereotype without stereotyping that if you don’t look closely, you miss it.

I think they met when Emily was in her final years of college or in law school and Miguel was in the start of his business career - the legal business that is. I have this idea in my head that Miguel tried really hard to impress her and she just rolled her eyes at him. Emily’s smart and strong, opinionated and a fighter, we’ve seen that in season 1 when Emily’s delivered info to Miguel about LO, called Devante out on his misogynistic shit and when she didn’t let herself get intimidated by Potter. She also found the info about the murder of EZ’s mother and called out Miguel’s hypocrisy in season 2.

At the same time there’s an insecurity within Emily. She’s probably been told several times by her parents that she’s not good enough. When Emily meets Miguel the break-up from EZ is probably still lingering, even if it was awhile ago they ended in a way that never really gave them closure - she didn’t just loose her first love, she lost someone that was a security to her. On top of that she’d lost her baby (yes I say lost because I don’t think she’d have aborted it had the circumstances been different). This probably made Emily more susceptible to Miguel’s charm.

That insecurity is very apparent in season 2 when Miguel starts spending more time with Adelita. He used to worship the ground she walked on, she was his “touchstone” and all of a sudden his work is all about taking Potter down with the help of Adelita and Emily ends up being in the background. There’s a desperation in her actions in that season. She enters territories she’d never actually enter otherwise. She’s so desperate for the Agra Park thing to work because she never chose the cartel, she chose Miguel.

There’s also a duality with Emily in season 2 - The cartel is, up until the kidnapping of Cristobal, in the background of Emily’s life. She didn’t see, she didn’t hear. I think she stayed with Miguel in the hopes that he’d liquidate the cartel and go one hundred percent legit but now, he’s rising - he’s making more money and Emily’s spurring him on. Maybe because she wants to be more involved with him, close to him, move Adelita out of the way. She wants to feel needed. It’s a weird dynamic between them, like the abused wife that wants to please her man or something.

Never in control Miguel might’ve initially been a person she found to be what EZ once was - a safe harbor, a home, a lifeline. Not necessarily financial, more emotional. Emily sees Miguels way of treating her with loving words and gifts as affection, maybe she knows that there’s something else under the beautiful exterior, maybe she doesn’t. As Erin said, they choose men that are darkness personified, hinting that they seek it out, it comes naturally - almost as a way to punish themselves for not being good enough. Miguel’s affectionate behavior bleeds into darkness, or maybe his affectionate behavior is actually something sinister altogether - like he feeds on women wanting him, needing him, he uses it to get to them.

In the midst of her vulnerability Miguel displays behaviors of wanting for her to belong to him and no one else, and that’s dangerous and toxic. She doesn’t realize that behavior as problematic until season 2 - even though it starts in season 1 when he propagates to EZ that he need to leave Emily alone - because it complicates things.

Emily’s very isolated. She has no friends, she’s got no one that’s just hers. Except for EZ when he gets out of prison, and even so, they’re not really friends either. They’re more in limbo than anything. And even though they’ve got a past - she’s got the right to spend time with whoever she wants. Or should have the right. Loyalty to a man does not derive from how few men you’re in contact with as a woman. Emily doesn’t need to go back to her man, or only stay by his side. She’s not Miguel’s property. She’s allowed to have relationships with other men - as long as she’s not actually cheating - and even if she wanted to - she’s could, it doesn’t warrant abuse of any kind.

His want for her to be a housewife - or work close by, offering her a job in his company - is toxic. Why? Well, she’s constantly under his watch, she’s doesn’t have the opportunity to make new acquaintances and friendships without those people having relations to Miguel. If Miguel were to demand information about what a person has spoken to his wife about - they’d tell him - in fear of loosing their job, or their life. Now, had Miguel not displayed other types of weird and controlling behaviors it probably wouldn’t have crossed my mind that she worked for him. It would’ve been fine.

Him having her ride with a platoon and not be left alone is, yeah, you guessed it: TOXIC. Freedom is not something that she has. You might think that Emily, just because she lives in an ocean of money and opportunity that she’s somehow free. She’s not. She has no privacy. And yeah, you could argue that Miguel’s cartel work is dangerous and therefore she needs to be protected - but at what cost? She’s constantly under the watchful eye of Miguel’s lackeys - which becomes more apparent in season 2 when Nestor’s following her every move without her knowing. They work for him - they abide to him. She doesn’t have the ability to do what ever she wants - and when she does, he abuses her, as seen in S01E05. As I said in a post that’s been deleted now: Miguel is, most of the time, abusive without actually doing it himself. He uses his staff to control her.

We’ve never actually seen Miguel give Emily any presents, probably because it’d be very stereotypical of him and Sutter and James want to avoid stereotypes. But I think he’d do something like that, considering his expensive taste in suits, cars and other things - I think he likes showing of how rich he is.

Miguel comes of as one of those people who’d use presents to stifle someone. The wife’s mad? Get her a meaningless expensive present to shut her up and simultaneously tell her you care for her without actually asking how she’s feeling. She thinks you don’t love her? Diamonds, get her some diamonds. Diamond equals love. Him throwing all kinds of materialistic shit at her is toxic and it doesn’t matter how much he loves her because his behavior ends up being manipulative and controlling every single time.

The comment you should be grateful feels like something that’d come out of his mouth to (and probably from people on the outside looking in). Not that many women get to live a life in luxury, he’d probably say. Like she should be grateful for something she never really asked for.

Conclusion This became a long post - probably longer than all my posts so far - combined. There are so many red flags with Miguel and Emily - some of them so subtle you hardly notice them. In the first episode I thought they’d go the whole sugar daddy route which might seem cool and fun in theory. But it’s in fact a very common way for young women to enter prostitution so I’m glad they didn’t go that way with it and display it like it’s no big deal - it’s all fun, look at all the pretty things I get for being a companion.

Miguel’s abusive behavior is subtle at times and yeah, he loves her and she love him, but it doesn’t matter when the relationship is so unhealthy. Writing this piece has given me a new perspective of the two as well. Emily’s desperate to not loose Miguel - why? Most likely because she’d be on her own otherwise and she’s not really ready for that and Miguel’s behavior is probably something he’s picked up from his childhood and I’m not sure he’s always aware of it. Miguel very insecure. Let’s be honest, no man comfortable within himself would ever restrain a woman’s social circle, career or freedom to roam.

#ihavelovednone writes #mayans mc #sarah bolger #emily galindo #emily thomas #danny pino #miguel galindo #jd pardo #ezekiel reyes #ez reyes

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astringofmadhousefloozies · 3 years

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Ghost Wedding: The Remix

So, uh, here’s the first actual fanfic I’ve written, and the first full length piece I’ve written in literal years. I wrote it for my own amusement, after weeks of eating up various bits of TWST lore and scenes and going “But, how would the whole Ghost marriage story have gone with a Yuu who was more like me a goth bisexual disaster?

What follows is a series of vignnetes, starring a Yuu who’s the only girl in NRC, with deeply questionable taste, told in the second person. Please let me know if you enjoyed it, I crave positive feedback and like when other people enjoy the things I like.

Contend warnings for blood, body horror, emeto, coarse language and pretentious word choices.

You've been here a while. En-Arr-See wasn't precisely a safe place, what with your dorm being a condemned hellpit of tetanus and black mold, and powerful magicians having mutagenic psychotic breaks only curable by kicking their ass so hard it flies out their mouth. But certainly, it wasn't boring, and you'd made friends. You had your scrappy ginger Ace in the hole; your serious mamas-boy Deuce; your funny little not-a-cat Grim. Hell, you even have your Horned Boy, he of the poison-coloured eyes that never seem to leave your face when you talk about fun things like books and music and the moral imperative of dissolving the monarchy. And, you were on speaking terms with a good chunk of others. So, when your favourite little robot came up to Crowley, yelling something about ghosts kidnapping his brother, you took his hand and said, "Ortho, show me what's going on." After all, you won't let anything happen to Idia. You have plans for him yet.

~*~*~*~

Some beauties might launch a thousand ships, and in your (objectively correct) opinion, while Idia's beauty wouldn't lead to a ten year siege of Troy, he'd certainly convince everyone attending Whitby Goth Weekend to haul off into the sea with a beat of his lashes. The first time you'd seen him, you'd simply stared in slack-jawed awe. He was luminescent; even leaving behind the fiery hair that flashed and swelled behind him, his eyes were a bright clear amber, and his skin translucent, with his own blue veins serving as the detailing in the marble. Add in the deeply circled eyes and the bluish discolouration of the lips, and the figure he presented was arresting, astounding, more beautiful and unreal than anything you'd conjured up after staying up all night reading ghost stories. "Magnificent," you'd said to yourself, and if your friends gave you a strange look, well, fuck 'em. They have no sense of beauty or taste.

Unfortunately, the intensity of your gaze proved too much for him, and he'd fled. You'd had no time to pursue the object of your infatuation either, class would soon begin, and Grim was yelling. Later, then. There's all the time in the world to ask after the fine young man with the lamplight eyes.

~*~*~*~ "Oh no," you said when Ortho showed you the video. "She's really hot."

Grim gawked and Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you take from this?"

"You're the one with an all-boys school. What's a girl like me to do when a pretty girl pops up?"

"She's a ghost, Yuu."

"That's the best part."

"My brother-"

"I'll help you, dear." You set a hand on Ortho's shoulder. "He must be so frightened, right? I'll do what you need."

Before anyone could say anything else, a racket started up outside, and things got a little busy.

~*~*~*~ "Do you mind if I sit?"

Idia looked up at you. starting at the intrusion. His face was awash in blue from the conjured screens around him, his lips gone black. "...Why?"

"Tables are full. I'd rather not eat standing." He didn't explicitly say no, so you settled across the table, a few chairs down. He made a fascinating tableau as you picked at your lunch, flicking through and typing at the screen. Lines of code, schematics for all sorts of tech, occasional comics all flit across the pane of light in a million shades of blue. Until...

"Could you pretend I'm a bug?"

You squinted. "What." What the actual hell did he mean by that.

"Pretend I'm not here. I'm beneath notice."

You stop for a moment and smile, faint enough that he can't see the devil in it. "You want me to treat you like an insect."

"Yes." Hard to see in the light, there was a small twitch by his temple, a barely perceptible shake in his long fingered hands.

"Alright." With that, you slide down the table to directly across from him, settle you chin in your hands, and stare at him unblinkingly.

"?!?!?" The squawk he made was undignified and deeply, deeply endearing. "What are you doing?"

"You asked me to treat you like an insect." You smile at him, full of mischief and good cheer. "So I'm looking at you very closely. I'm taking in every sweet action, and delighting that the day has conspired to put something so wonderful in front of me."

Oh, who would have thought that this blue boy could turn so pink! As he pulled his hood up, you chuckle and move back to your tray. "I'll let you be," you say, and did indeed, for the amount of time it took him to close up shop and flee back to the depths of Ignihyde. When you waved at him as he went by, he nearly tripped in his haste.

~*~*~*~ "Stop laughing."

The boys did not listen.

"May others show you the kindness you've shown Idia if you're in a bind."

"You're just mad because she's gonna kill your-"

"Grim? Shut the fuck up. Now; who's helping."

After a chorus of 'no's, you drag your fingers through your hair. "I hate all of you so fucking much right now... Ortho, your ideas?"

Ortho's idea was deeply enticing but Crowley would not have the school leveled, and thankfully, the two of them threatened and guilted the others into helping. You'd have to say thank you later, but god, then Crowley might think you actually liked him instead of just finding him funny, and who needed that in their life?

"Alright, so... A plan?"

~*~*~*~ As badly as he might've liked to have escaped, there was only one empty seat in the class, and it was by him. So, Idia threw his hood up, along with his headphones, and started blatantly ignoring you.

"Idia." Silence.

"Idia." A faint grunt and he turned away from you.

"Shroud," you intoned in the most sepulchral tone you could, setting you hand in his field of vision. He whipped his head at you, the fire in his eyes nothing compared to the changing colours on his head.

"WHAT."

You raise your hands in supplication, trying to still your racing heart. "I'm sorry dude. I wanted to ask where you got your screens?"

"My screens?" His eyes flicked back to his schoolwork, hovering in the air. "I made them myself."

Your face lit up in awe. "That's amazing dude, holy shit. How'd you do that? It's a damn miracle."

"Ah... well..." Two sides warred within him - pride that someone recognized his tech genius, and his deep seated anxiety that anyone trying to be nice was just fucking with him. Fortunately for both of you, pride won out. "It's certainly something complicated for a magicless normie like you to understand." He raised a questioning eyebrow. "Do you really want to hear?"

You fixed him with a level look. "Never call me that again. Now, start like I'm five and go from there."

He stared back at you, and you stared right back. "Indulge me, Idia."

He gave you a smile full of sharp, crooked teeth, and while you tried to still the palpitations the sight of them gave you, he started with very basic theory, and went from there.

~*~*~*~ "You are not going to seduce the ghost bride, Yuu."

"Why the hell not?"

"You're a girl?"

"You're kinda plain."

"You're fat."

"She's probably straight?"

You point in turn at Leona, Azul, Vil, and Kalim. "So?, no I'm plenty hot actually, get fucked, and... Okay, That is a good point. But Kal, you have no idea how many straight girls I've managed to kiss."

"I think you'd die, Shrimpie," Floyd said as he flopped heavily over your shoulders, giggling as you attempted to untangle yourself. "And you're short."

"Yeah, but you have no idea how hot I am when I'm actually try- Shut up, Vil - Like, I clean up so good you guys. I even made a suit a couple weeks ago -"

"That's convenient? Weirdly so?"

"I found suiting that wasn't moth eaten and decided to have fun, at least-" You finally escape from the noodly arms of Leech the Wild One. "Let me suit up and show you? I can be so sexy, you guys. Come on."

In answer to the confused silence, you took your keys out of your pocket and chucked them at Deuce's confused face. "Adeuce! Grim! It's on the vanity in my room!"

"But ghosts?"

"Say you're clearing out things so that we won't bother... No, actually just go the balcony way."

"You can't unlock the balcony from the outside without a lockpick, it only locks from the inside."

A moment of silence. "Lilia, what the fuck?"

He shrugged. "I moved everything two inches to the left once to see if you noticed."

"I wasn't imagining things?!?"

This'll take a moment to sort out, and the clock is ticking...

~*~*~*~ You truly liked the woods! Green and quiet. Full of things that crawled and scurried, little friends that squeaked and croaked and hissed. The occasional precious treasure of a small bone or edible mushroom. So, you were quite surprised when you found Idia, miserable, crouched beside a fallen log.

"... Skipping gym?" Going by the uniform, the most likely answer. "Or did you finally realize that outside doesn't always bite?"

He scowled at you, and you stifled a giggle when you realized that yes, he was actually covered in bug bites. "They should replace this with a mall."

"You hate malls. Too many people." You reached out a hand, and pulled him to his feet. Idly, you wondered if he'd let you try and fit your hands around his waist, but thought better of asking.

"Game stores are alright. No one bothers you in one, or in arcades. And." He stopped, as he brushed the dirt from his legs, before continuing in a mumble you only got the gist of.

"Me and Ortho will be your big, scary guard dogs?"

"... Who'll notice me with both of you?"

"Everyone." Because he's the most beautiful person in the room, and they'd be mad not to look. "Because you show up so rarely. It makes it all the more noticeable when you are out, so everyone pays attention." You held out a hand. "I'll take you out the back way so you don't get in trouble."

No dice. He held his hands in close. "I'll just follow."

"Alright. Why'd you go out this far in the woods with no map, anyways?"

"There's no cell service..."

"Clearly, we need to turn your blood into a wi-fi signal, instead of liquid sugar."

He huffed, but he did follow you, and was actually approaching a good mood once you escorted him through the Ramshackle gates.

~*~*~*~ "Hey, what did I miss?" It took entirely too long to get a single lock of hair to to a perfect insouciant flip over your forehead, even with the eternally stylish Sam's help.

"She's slapped everyone who went to propose, and when she does you're paralyzed for 500 years."

"Christ," You say as you adjust a pin on your lapel. "We have to get Idia back, he'll get what? A week before he gets the hand."

"She's so fussy!" yelled Grim. "You have to sing and have a dog and she hates poison flowers."

"Clearly, she has no taste." Honestly,you thought her taste was just fine, what with thinking Idia was the finest of the bunch. He was very princely, if your tastes ran to exquisite corpses with the personality of a neurotic goblin. "Who wouldn't want poison blossoms?" Tie? No tie? Tie? No tie? No tie. And unbutton. Leona wishes he had this chest.

"We know she has no taste because she chose Idia."

You chose to ignore that, and clapped. "Okay, Round Two!"

~*~*~*~ The truest tragedy of this school was that it was all boys. Not that boys were bad by any means, you certainly enjoyed them, but... girls. Tall girls! Short girls! Busty girls! Petite girls! Butch girls! Femme girls! Fat girls! Girls!

So many kinds of girls, and you, in all of your plump and handsome glory, were the only girl in an entire high school. Welcome to hell.

You accepted no gifts that came unvetted. You had friends ward the everloving bajeezus out of your dorm room. Grim was more than happy to test your food and drink for tampering, but it was exhausting. You at least knew that any food you ate at the Mostro Lounge was clear, but that was only because everyone was too damn scared of the eternally hovering Floyd to try anything while there.

So, you eat a lot of vending machine snacks.

You've been standing there for fifteen minutes, trying to figure out the best combo with your limited funds, when someone coughed behind you.

"??? Oh, hey Idia." You stepped aside while he shuffled up to the glass and peered in. "Anything to recommend? I got this." You waved your bill in the air.

He only looked at you a moment before looking back at the machine. "That won't get you much."

"Ah, don't I know it. But it's all I got."

He still wasn't looking directly at you, but a smile started to creep across his face. "Get your bag."

"Wha-" He was already tapping out a beat with the keypad, blue sparks flying from his fingertips, the machine starting to groan and shiver. With a final note, the snack machine gave a final heaving shudder - and every single snack fell to the bottom of the machine.

He was so proud as he smiled at you, reaching down and pulling a single bag of gummies from the spilled mess. "You first."

And, as you stuffed your schoolbag and pockets full of thieved goods, praising his genius, his cleverness, his skills, he just glowed.

~*~*~*~ "I guess you were ahead of the game, Yuu. She hates that no one's dressed up properly. And..."

"And? You raised an eyebrow at Ace.

"You do look stylish. But you need backup."

"Of course. You'll all rescue people while I distract her!”

"But what if she slaps you?"

"You'll step in if that happens. But we have to dress you all up."

"Did you makes spares?"

"No." Tragic, everyone would look so cute in summerweight green wool. "Let's ask Sam, he's got everything."

~*~*~*~ "Okay, Ortho, you see?" You held his back to your chest, and raised your hand in front of his face, palm away from him. As you wiggled your fingers, you could see movement on the back of your hand. "Those are tendons. Those, and the muscles, are what move the bones, make your hands move. If you put your fingers here," you say as you place his fingertips over the moving lines, "you should be able to feel it."

"I do! They go up and down. What's the popping?"

"That's my faulty joints, we'll cover those another day. Now," you flipped your hand over, and moved his fingers to your wrist. "You feel that?"

"That is your pulse! It's not as string as it should be."

"I'm not always in the best of health. So, Ortho. My hand moves by muscles and tendons when I think of it. My blood moves through my body, one beat at a time, and you can feel it. Right?"

"Right."

"You," you say, as you take Ortho's other hand. "Your hand moves by motors and servos, when you think about it. Electricity and magic moves through your body, in beats so fast we can't perceive it, and it's as measurable as my pulse."

"... Because I am a robot."

"Because you are a bit different. But we're both alive, we're both real, just in different ways." You turn to look at Ortho directly, and he looks back at you with yellow eyes that are actual, real lamps. "Don't let anyone ever say you're not real, or alive, or good enough, just because you're different."

And though you can't see it, you can feel Idia smiling from the corner of his room.

~*~*~*~ Alright. No more time for memories, only the here and now. You've got a heart full of love, a pocket full of ring, and a head full of stupid. You're as prepared as anyone else who went in. Start on your left foot, and...

"Hello? Excuse me?" You make a cursory knock at the doorframe before stepping in. "I heard there was a wedding."

The bride - Eliza - whirled on you, and stopped. She was even more of a vision in person, airy translucence and fine, sweet features currently arranged in confusion. "Ah- Yes! I'm getting married to my darling Prince Idia! Right away, so-"

Not if I have my way about it, you thought to yourself as you arranged yourself in a perfect bow, one hand behind your back. You pretended not to notice Idia trussed up with rope, but you filed the sight away for later. "How wonderful. I wish you only happiness. But it must wait."

Before she could get her hand ready, you straightened and fixed her with your best smile. "My dearest princess, I cannot let this happen until I dance with the most beautiful person in this room. It would be improper to do so with a newlywed, and I cannot know peace until I dance. Would you be so kind, my fair princess?"

She was still baffled. "Aren't you a girl?"

You keyed up the brightness. "I am, and I dance very well. Would you indulge me, my dear?"

You could see her considering it. "You... are rather princely. Can you lead?"

"Of course. May I?" Again with the bow, and to your delight, she returned with a flawless curtsy. Hand in hand, you began.

~*~*~*~ It was delightful, to dance with this silly ghost girl. Everywhere your bodies touched, from her hand in yours to what would have been a fine chest, but was instead a clean and elegant ribcage festooned with pearls, heat seeped away and left only a chill as cold as clay. Her footwork was flawless, considering she no longer had feet, and she was so easy to chat with. She asked you about your dog (none currently, but you'd love to have one, and there was Grim in the meantime), your singing, (little voice to speak of, but that was what vocal coaches were for), and why you wanted to dance with her (because when would the chance ever come again? Unless fairest Eliza considered her for forever and a day.)

"But what of dear Idia?" She'd almost looked towards where Idia no longer was, having been unknotted long ago, but you drew her back in before she could notice the chaos around her.

" 'Dear Idia', though as beautiful as the moon in the sky, has cold feet, my love. He's afraid of dying. But I? I'd cherish you for all of eternity." You leaned in closer. "I am not afraid of dying, beloved. To journey with you through realms beyond mortal reach. I can think of nothing more exciting than to cross the barrier to the other side, hand in hand with you. In the words of a fine sir from my home, 'to die by your side/the pleasure, the privilege is mine'. Please, please consider me, please..."

Here's how it should have gone: She said yes, and you put the ring on her finger, and all was well. But you'd awakened such a sweet hunger in her, she could not wait for propriety. Instead, she grasped your face and kissed you with the passion of five hundred years search, found.

~*~*~*~ It was so pleasant at first, that you couldn't help but return it. When had anyone ever kissed you with such passion? But quickly, the chill began to overtake you. It could have been bearable, but after that was pain. You started to shake, uncontrollably, as every nerve in your body was scraped away with a rusty blade, and as you weakly tried to push away, as blood began to flow from your eyes, your mouth, every pore and orifice, she still would not let go. All you could think was it hurts it hurts it hurts hurts hurts hurts hurts and, as you slipped to a grey place beyond where pain could touch you, you barely noticed the cacophony around you, or something hurtling towards the two of you from the corner of your eye.

Something blue.

~*~*~*~ When you finally woke up, through a drugged and painful haze, you couldn't tell where you were. When you jolted up, the pain of it sending you into a nauseated fit of blood-flecked coughing, a familiar yelp sounded, and you turned to see Idia, little the worse for wear.

"You're up, uh..." He fumbled something onto the table, behind his back. "I."

You just looked. At him, at the surroundings. A hospital bed, with gifts and flowers (most filched from the wedding venue, but someone had stuck Jade's poison blossom into a vase and set it in the far corner). Idia was the only one present, seeing as it was the middle of the night.

"Ortho's getting things you might need. I... I hate hospital scenes..."

"Hurt's over.” You tried to settle yourself more comfortably, failing miserably. “Here comes the comfort." You reached out a hand, as he looked anywhere in the room but you.

"Idia." Silence.

"Idia." More silence.

"Shroud." He hesitantly placed his hand in yours, tinting pink as you pulled the sleeve up. The sight of it made you gasp. His fine wrist, so small even you could put your fingers around it, was mottled with deep bruising, blacks and purples set so deep into the skin that there was crusted blood on the surface, despite being unbroken. It was so, deeply, incredibly...

Beautiful. It was all you could do, not to press your lips to his wrist and taste his pulse as it flitted under his skin. To clean the blood away with your own tongue and cover the marks that your hungry ghost princess had made with your own teeth. Not hers. Yours.

Really, no wonder you'd been so enchanted with Eliza. You're cut of the same cloth.

"It must hurt."

He jerked his hand away, making you both wince. "What the hell is wrong with you? They only reason you're not dead is everyone pouring so much healing magic into you that it exhausted almost everyone. I." You could see flickers and flashes of orange sparking along the full length of his hair. "I'm not worth dying for. Why?"

What do you tell him? That it was the right thing to do? That you wanted to prove that you could woo a pretty girl? That you didn't want him dead? That you were a possessive bitch that couldn't stand the idea of someone else having him, even if unwilling on his part? All were true, but what do you say?

It proved a moot point, as when you opened your mouth to say something, anything, something shifted within you, and the only thing Idia received was a gout of blood square in his face.

~*~*~*~ After you'd slept, you reached for your phone in the thin morning light. Your friends where texting well wishes and condolences, and explanations of what happened after you went down (It seemed Idia had tackled Eliza clean off of you, and after some chaos she ran off with her retainer, rending this entire day moot). Even more interestingly, you found a text from an unknown number:

- I'm still mad at you.

You huffed to yourself, and after a bit of thought, start to text back.

- Dude I'm so sorry about the uh. blood puke. - I'll pay for cleaning - Also you know, you could have just asked for my number a long time ago? - Like a normal person? - Who doesn't break into phones to steal said numbers while I was unconscious next to you, what the fuck dude - That's not what this is about though. - You've got every right to be mad - That whole day was traumatizing, and you didn't deserve any of it - I'd rather sort this out in person but if text is easier for you right now we can do that - One last thing though

You stopped, and thought Do I actually do this? and went what the hell.

- I still need that dance I went in to get from you

#twisted wonderland #twst fic #twisted wonderland fanfiction #ghost wedding #my writing

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purkinje-effect · 3 years

Text

Asking for Trouble

Cait gets a terrible first impression of Melancholy, my Sole.

This blurb has sat in my drafts for a few years now, and I decided to polish it up and finish the thought. Not sure if the encounter will be canon to Anatomy, but it’s here nonetheless. (For those curious to timeline placement, we’ll say this is roughly after the Park Street Station stuff in Fourth Instar, and sometime after his falling out with Mac.)

TWs: Heavy angst, injury and death, drug use and alcohol, explicit description of drug side effects, and violence-baiting.

Cross-posted on AO3 here if you’d rather. Likes, comments, kudos, etc. are all greatly, greatly appreciated.

_____________________________________

Someone at the Dugout Inn had mentioned this place. ‘Choly had come here with a vague recollection that the Combat Zone had once paraded skin. It only served to live up to its name now without any innuendo. Observing a little violence could be cathartic, too, and damn, if he couldn’t use some catharsis after his myriad missteps in Goodneighbor. All his life a spectator, vicarious in every regard.

He belonged here far before Goodneighbor or Diamond City, regardless of looking the part. Who could say a quavering, grey little man wearing a white three piece suit over head-to-toe leather orthotic braces didn’t fit right in among these earthly, physical misfits? He certainly couldn’t see any hackneyed political messes or territory wars erupting here: only people blowing off steam any way they could find it.

He couldn’t entirely say he minded that Angel’s compulsive cleaning habits almost always nettled the Hister Handy into picking up after social locations like this burlesque theater which now showcased cage fights. The possibility any of these raiders might hack it almost avoided him altogether, since he seemed like the only one with a Pip-Boy with which to do so. Such a worry would stick with him long-term after what he’d seen the Rust Devils do to Lowell.

His mind sang praises that Angel had allowed him to resume adding alkaloids to his meal replacement beverage, the Melancholia. Hubeine gave him negligible trouble compared to other options.

The fight unfolding before him was the billed spectacle for the night: for one hour, plus implicit encores, Cait would take down any body foolish enough to step foot into the cage to fistfight her unarmed. He swirled at some bourbon in a shot glass, from his bar seat to one side of the stage. His cataract eyes raised as he watched her continue through the athletic redhead’s performance. Somehow she managed restraint just shy of lethal blows, despite her precision and brute force. Any composure belied the depth of her murderous and bottomless rage. Glassy and lugubrious, he followed her bared teeth and retracted lips, her unblinking eyes, her adrenaline-wired and overworked musculature, her leaden instinctual footwork.

Despite having knocked out seven opponents in twenty minutes already, she wore more of their blood than they did.

In every mannerism, he recognized his enlisted in her. He stopped sipping at his liquor and threw the glass back, only to refill it.

Cait danced with the eighth opponent for about a minute before things escalated. The burly, hairy man pulled a switchblade on her, and managed to gouge her in the arm. In the physical sense, it didn’t faze her. In the mental sense, it had shattered the sanctity of her performance. She roared at him and lunged to sink her teeth into his face.

The crowd exploded. Her ghoul manager stepped in and attempted to stop the match-up, but he knew better than to get between her and the fool. She refused first aid, intent to fuck the guy up. The man kept his distance from her, knife still drawn, clutching at his gushing cheek. she voiced her displeasure to her manager, and he seemed to walk away and leave her again to her opponent... Only to bring her a baseball bat. A bloodied grin ripped across her face as she choked up on it like a familiar friend.

‘Choly smiled quaintly, head askew. The ghoul knew that the crowd demanded results--and more importantly, he knew that the crowd needed to see the consequences of forsaking what little honor they agreed upon in this dive.

She slugged him in the head. As he fell over, she proceeded to beat the shit out of him. The resultant din deafened much how ‘Choly might imagine Fenway Park during the World Series. Not that baseball had been his druthers. God, he wished that had been him on the receiving end. Between her hair, her leather corset, and the carnage, red was so very much her color. Head to toe, she was rage incarnate.

No one wanted to challenge her after that, especially not if they had to step around the bloody mess she’d splattered across the stage.

Time blurred a bit in ‘Choly’s shot glass. The next he looked up, he realized the champion sat beside him to drown herself in a fifth of vodka straight from the bottle. He straightened as coolly as he could, shifting to watch her. He adjusted his half-moon glasses, but could otherwise not obfuscate his alarm. He couldn’t leave alone the familiarity of the untethered ferocity with which she carried herself.

“Forgive me if this is forward of me, but I will get you any chems you want, if you will swear off cyclomorphine. The Psycho.”

“Bull shit,” came a potent Irish twang. She slammed down the bottle. Beneath the indignity in her glower, a tinge of fear felt more like the pressure of desperation. “You suggestin’ I couldn’t possibly fight as well as I do, weren’t I doped up? Your stupid mug hasn’t been here before. I’d remember. Who the hell do you think you are, to go around insultin’ the talent?”

His heart begged hot for her to retaliate. His gloved fingers tapped gingerly at the barely varnished countertop.

“I mean it. Name it. Med-X. Calmex. Anything but Psycho. I’ll even get dirty and brew you the most potent Jet you’ve ever had, if what you really need is escapism and not a low. CM isn’t a chem. It’s a death sentence. And... even if that’s the desired end result, that’s just about as gruesome and painful as it gets.”

She swiveled on the bar stool, resting both hands squarely on her spread knees. Her dead gaze bored through him.

“The fuck do you care so much about this wild theory of yours? You go around cold readin’ everybody’s vices tryin’ to hock your snake oil? Some salesman you are. You’ve got the Charisma of a Mirelurk egg that’s been in the sun.”

He raised his hands in defense, and then said what he meant sooner than meaning what he said.

“I’m not trying to sell you anything. I keep trying to offer solutions to the people I’ve hurt with my life choices, fix the damage rather than enterprise on it. Please let me get you chasing a different devil. Anything but that.”

“You’ve never met me in your life, and I don’t know your name or face from a Molerat in the floorboards. Don’t you try and bullshit me into believing you’re capable of fixing what ails me--and don’t you dare try to take credit for anyone that’s wronged me.”

“I’m the reason Psycho exists in the quantities it does in the Commonwealth. So yes, your pain IS my fault, at least part--”

His jaw seared. ‘Choly found himself sprawled in the floor. He felt around for his glasses, and as they returned to his face, he smiled up at her imploringly from where she stood over him. She cracked her knuckles sourly.

“I don’t have time for this nonsense. Tryin’ t’say I’m the one’s got a chem problem. What color is the sky for you? Forget you.”

Her hard exterior began to show signs of crumblign, in a series of stifled tics, most noticeably a corner of her mouth and the same ear. He could only begin to speculate to what exactly it was she’d taken exception, but he had to keep her attention, hold her contempt. Charm had never come naturally to him, so instead he had to sound the part of insisting at all costs that he was right.

“--Fine, you don’t want to quit. That’s a choice, too. I’ll make however much Psycho you want. You want to go out like that, I can help you with that. But I want you to know just exactly what that death looks like. Abscessed injection sites. Your gums and cuticles bleed. Your tear ducts bleed. It weakens all your capillaries, the tiniest blood vessels in your body. Internal bleeding. Organ deterioration. The numbness doesn’t turn off the pain--it only makes it so you don’t care. Is the anger easier than the hurt? If that’s how you want to go out, I’m not in any position to question it. But you might as well have an expert supplying you with it.”

Rather than help him up, she bore a heel down on his right hand. With an anxious chuckle, he winced, but welcomed being pinned in place. She glared down at him, seething. She didn’t want to hear another word from him, but she had to. Something about him surely sounded more deranged than intoxicated, and it threatened to haunt her.

“Do you know why cyclomorphine exists?” he continued, breath stuttering all the while. “Do you know what it is? Of course not. It was a prewar chemical--I can’t even comfortably endear it a chem--that the military developed so its soldiers no longer felt injury or fatigue. They endeavored to engineer soldiers who wouldn’t quit when hurt, even fatally. And it was only one of a dozen projects of its kind, to exploit the different aspects of human limits. Nothing human came from refining Psycho. It destroys something fundamental to a sense of humanity. The perfect formula didn’t concern itself with whether the patient came back in one piece, or alive at all. The Deenwood Project wasn’t poetic, wasn’t artistic, didn’t make a single beautiful thing. The fact that CM fell into paramilitary use after my tenure ended with the Army... and the fact it now as a result flows freely throughout the country as holdovers from... from the police attempting to keep the peace through intense and consistent violence... The fact is, I’m one of the chemists responsible for cyclomorphine’s end product. Responsible for it being one of the devices of America’s victory at Anchorage... So yes, yes I am. Responsible for what ails you. You’re civilian collateral of the United States Army.”

Her posture shifted slowly from anger to bitterness. She ground her heel into his palm. He pretended the token of her grief got through the reinforced officer’s glove.

“It’s not my place to question the source of your pain, and it’s not my place to insist that I be the one to take it away. I simply know that no matter how great the pain you’re in... Psycho dissolves parts of you, every time you use it to numb you. It begins physically, then advances to spiritually. It robs you of who you are.”

“That’s just the thing. I can’t handle bein’ me. This is the only part I’m fit to play. Besides, Tommy only cares if his juggernaut brings in the caps. I’m beholden to a contract. And the way I see it, you’re tryin’ to come between a man and his money, pokin’ around where your nose doesn’t belong! You’re lucky we’re out here and not in the cage, creep. Either I’m paid to beat your arse, or you’re askin’ to get blackballed.”

He sighed dreamily up at her, almost regretting that she let up on his hand. She drew her fists when his hand went to the lining pocket of his vest, but he chuckled producing a sack of caps.

“I thought you’d never ask. I admire one who rests their agency in someone else’s hands--or pockets, as it were. Surely, this is to the tune of you doing the honors. Add a black eye to the busted jaw. Tack on whatever you like. Ladies’ choice.”

She snatched the sack from him, frowning incredulously.

“What kind of sick flirting game is this? You tryin’ to buy me into bed? I know I’m easy on the eyes, but this isn’t a brothel these days, in case your damaged brain can’t tell the difference.”

He knew he wouldn’t be getting back the sack, but at least he’d tricked her into accepting some fleck of reparations from him.

“How many caps would it take to break your contract? To get you out of here?”

A broken sarcastic laugh crackled out of her. He’d long since surpassed overstepping, having moved on to stepping on toes.

“You’re insane if you think I’d ever want to leave the Combat Zone, especially not on the arm of the likes of you. I’ve got everything I could want here--except right now, not a place without you. You’re the one who needs to lay off the chems. Get your stupid brain-damaged arse out of here before I ask Tommy what I can do with you.”

He whistled for Angel, then retrieved his cane to stand.

“I suppose if you won’t let me help you, obliging you is the least I can do.”

With his Handy by his side, the two left without further question.

On his walk back to Hotel Rexford, he accepted that he’d probably never know the answer, but still he wondered if he had the same or opposite trouble as Cait: Were the two chasing a perpetual numbness, or were they chasing the futility of trying to feel anything again, at any cost?

#fallout #fallout 4 #fallout cait #cait fallout #sole survivor #combat zone #melancholy #deplorable karma sole survivor #battle for anchorage #psycho #whump

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ohdearhiddles · 4 years

Text

SUMMARY: You grew up thinking everything about you was normal, but found that this wasn’t the case. One night, you discover that the normal life you had lived up until then was something of the past because every man you kissed since you turned 16 met a mysterious fate - death. While the world pegs you as a cold-blooded bachelor killer called the “Angel of Death,” you catch the eye of a raven-haired man in an equally black suit.

TITLE: Angel of Death

CHAPTER: 1/?

PAIRING: Loki x Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT: 3501

AUTHOR NOTES/WARNINGS: mentions of death; hello, hello! I came up with this idea really randomly, and I suddenly had an urge to write about Loki... and this happened. It's going to be a very short multi-chapter read - maybe 2 or 3 chapters. I'd put it all on one chapter but it didn't seem right to cram it all in one go. So, here I am with my tiny short story. I hope you guys like it! (AO3 link)

“Last night, another gentleman was found dead in his apartment. Local authorities cannot confirm the cause of death. However, it is believed that this may be connected to a string of mysterious deaths within this very city . Stacy, what do you have to say about your take on this potential serial killer in our midst?” The news anchor spoke loudly, his voice bouncing off of the walls of the small apartment. The television screen panned to a young woman in a lavender blouse, her small hands wrapped around the microphone with her company’s logo displayed on it. She was standing outside of an apartment complex that was bustling with men in dark blue jackets with the letters “FBI” sprawled on the back.

Seemingly unfazed, she spoke, “Sources say that the man was alone at the time of his death, but something tells me that he may have been on a date with our city’s Angel, Frank. There’s no trace of anyone in his apartment and locals are beginning to think he was ‘kissed by Death’s fate’ as they’ve been putting it.”

The news anchor now began to share the screen with the young woman, a joking look on his face even with the current circumstances, “Well, gentlemen out there, watch your backs. We’ve got an Angel of Death loose in our city. Who knows who’ll be next.”

Static filled the screen as the channel changed. You weren’t meant to be watching these kinds of things, not when you already had your suspicions on who the culprit was. Every fear that was within you overflowed, creating an abyss of darkness at your feet. The deceased - the man who was kissed by fate - he was kissed by you.

***

Two years had passed you by since the night all the dots had all connected, forming a big arrow pointed in your direction. It had been two years since you vowed to be alone forever because, no matter what you did, that’s exactly what would happen. If you so much as touched a man with your lips, he dropped dead by the end of the season. You didn’t test this theory, but after you had witnessed a man who had only received a kiss to the cheek being wheeled into the hospital, you didn’t dare try anything else.

An “Angel of Death” they called you. You were described as an angel of misery and destruction, seducing souls with promises of love in order to drag their spirits from their bodies until they were but empty capsules never to move again. It was harsh. The way they described you was harsh, but after you had watched multiple men meet their end, you didn’t see the point in arguing with the description that seemed to be more real than anything else you had tried to come up with.

You were Death in a human’s body. Human. Could you even call yourself that?

The guilt hidden behind every kiss you had administered to others was packed away, pushed into suitcases of repressed emotions that you had readily placed by your door. There was no use in crying over something you hadn’t even thought to be possible until the news proved you wrong. You couldn’t turn yourself in for being a murderer when they would just lock you up and probably run tests on you in order to make some zombie bride war ally. So, you sat. You sat under maple trees, and you sat under stars. You sat and waited for your life to end, waiting for your own Angel of Death to come grab your hand.

***

It was an autumn day. The sky was clear, people were laughing, and your supposed reign of terror on the city was something of the past. Six years had passed since your first kiss of death, and now the news was far too intrigued by aliens invading the city than they were ever intrigued by you. You held a book in your hand as you sat on the park bench, fingers tapping away at the edges as you tried to focus on the words. There was something distracting you. No, not something - someone.

A man sat on the opposite side of you. His hand held an older looking piece of literature, and for the first time in years, you were curious. You were curious about why this man was wearing an all-black suit when the sun was shining so brightly, and you were curious as to what he was reading. Why were his eyebrows furrowed? Was he deep in thought or simply trying to concentrate on the book with all the noise around?

Before you knew it, you were much more interested in analyzing the man than you were in reading your book. You watched as his raven-colored hair glistened in the sunlight, and you wondered if he needed a hat to cool down. His long fingers stroked each page tenderly as he went line by line, and when he was about to turn a page, he would lick the tip of his finger before doing so. The man’s legs were long, slender, and crossed neatly over one another while he sat.

As you watched him intently, you came to an important conclusion: no matter how you looked at him, he was beautiful.

An eternity could have passed you by, and you would have passed peacefully with the amazing view in front of you. But it wasn’t complete without knowing the beauty his eyes might hold. You wanted to see what treasures he hid within them, what secrets you could discover, and right as you thought about it, he looked up.

Your eyes widened as they met his. A small smirk played on the corner of his lips, eyes glistening with an emotion you couldn’t quite make out. Unable to look away, the both of you sat in silence, gazing at the other intently. His eyes analyzed every inch of you, making you feel incredibly self conscious. It was as if he was looking into your soul.

Just like that, though, he was gone. The man stood to his feet, the book in his hand shutting with a subtle clap, and he began walking. His eyes didn’t follow yours nor did he bother looking back, and when he didn’t even smile your way, you hastily gathered your things to go in the opposite direction.

***

You gripped your book tightly in your hand, silently cursing as you walked towards your usually bench. It was a nice day outside, and you were more than happy about being able to finally sit down and enjoy some quiet time, especially with all the children in school at this time. The world wasn’t having it, though, and it apparently wanted you to suffer.

A man sat on your usual bench, arms crossed and facing forwards. The autumn leaves were falling all around him, and part of you begged for your legs to carry you back home. You got closer to the spot and realized that a somewhat familiar face was occupying your space, a familiar man dressed that was dressed in all black.

His eyes met yours like they had days before but there was no reaction this time around. You approached slowly, walking at a pace that seemed more like you were walking down the aisle for a wedding than casually strolling towards an open seat. Your eyes wandered around to the other benches, hoping that there was another one open somewhere nearby. The action proved futile as you witnessed older couples sitting on them, nestling with one another under the golden glow of the morning sun.

There was only one option - sit with him.

You stood before him, almost as if you were a peasant standing before a king. His mere presence felt godlike while yours felt so miniscule. Your grip tightened around the book in your hand, palms sweating from the nerves of confronting this near stranger. His eyes bore into yours and you mentally noted that his eyes were impossibly gorgeous. You couldn’t be quite sure what color they were, but they looked like emeralds in the glare of the sun.

“May I sit here?” You asked politely, pointing to the seat besides him. He didn’t verbally respond, but instead, he gestured to the spot as if he were granting a servant a seat at his table. You felt slightly humiliated yet flustered from the interaction as you sat down.

Silence filled the space between the two of you as soon as you sat down and began reading. There was something in the atmosphere that was saying that you should try to speak to him, but judging by the way he was glaring at every man that walked by the bench, you felt as though speaking to him wasn’t an option. You glanced over from the pages of your book, watching his fingers as they tapped away at his thighs.

“An opportunity,” you thought. He wasn’t holding his book, so maybe he would be open to talking, but as you were about to open your mouth to speak, he beat you to it.

“What is it that you’re reading?” He questioned. For a moment you wondered if he was speaking to you. His voice was like velvet to your ears, and you noted that if his voice were a drink it’d be a smooth bourbon. It’d be masculine yet smooth to the taste, you were so sure of it.

“The Night Shift,” you responded as if it was a title he should have known. His eyebrows furrowed just as they had the other day, and you figured it may have been best to explain further. “It’s by Stephen King.”

“Stephen King.” He spoke, weighing the name of the author on his tongue. “And what is he the king of exactly?”

His question made you laugh, which only earned you a confused glance from the handsome stranger. Stifling your laughter, you raised a hand in apology for the outburst. He nodded in acknowledgment, waiting for you to finish your joyous moment, and for a split second you thought you saw him smile. It wasn’t until you calmed down that you saw that he was, indeed, smiling brilliantly in your direction.

“You smiled,” he spoke again, his eyes wandering to a woman with her child. For a moment, you saw something flash behind them. Sadness, maybe.

The statement made you flinch, the smile disappearing immediately from your face as you felt yourself cowering into the shell you had so readily made for yourself years ago. He turned back to face you, his eyes focusing on yours. Perhaps he wanted to get to know you as you wanted to get to know him, or perhaps he just didn’t have anywhere else to sit when he arrived, but something told you that this encounter may have been fate.

“Whenever you’re here, you seem content,” he continued, eyes still searching yours for an answer to a question he never asked. “But you seem weary all the same. I have never seen you smile.”

He had seen you before; he had just confirmed it. Strangely enough, it didn’t seem as though he had ill intent or obsessive tendencies that just might end with you in a ditch somewhere. No, the raven-haired man seemed sincere.

"It's a pleasant sight," he whispered almost as if you weren't meant to hear it.

You felt yourself smile again, but only a small smile. A sigh escaped your lips, your heart beginning to jump in your chest as you felt a single brick fall from the wall you had painstakingly built around yourself. He smiled, too. And if only for a brief moment, you were glad to have met him.

However, the happiness of encountering “Loki” as he had named himself exactly one week later was quick to deteriorate. Your interactions with the mysterious man continued for days and then weeks. The two of you met for weeks at your bench, bringing new books and stories to share from various parts of your life. The two of you talked for hours underneath the brilliance of the sun’s rays; you talked until the sun itself kissed the horizon, bidding it farewell for the night.

You loved talking to him, and from what you had gathered, he was named after the Norse God of Mischief. He definitely fit the title; in fact, if you weren’t sane for the most part you would have been suspicious that he really was the god who had attempted to take over this very city. You were certain that the real Loki could not possibly be in the city, not with the government still looking for him.

Those thoughts were besides the point, though, especially after the night he was meant to take you out.

At the moment of your slight panic attack, you were flustered over the fact that Loki had requested that you join him for dinner in the evening. For that reason, the two of you did not meet that day even though the sun had shone brightly and there were clouds to admire. Your hands were clawing at your arms as you thought of the endless possibilities in which the night could end, and as much as you wanted to say that a kiss would be the perfect ending, you couldn't let that happen. Even though you repeated the thought that you absolutely did not want to kiss him, your mind rejected it completely simply because you definitely wanted to. Hell, if you didn't have the slight dilemma of causing imminent death after a kiss, you would have done so the moment he told you that he enjoyed your company more than the coworkers he was forced to get on with.

So, it was safe to say that while you had to admit that you were extremely fond of him, it was hard to imagine getting anywhere with a relationship without being able to place your lips on any part of his skin. When you thought thoroughly about it, you decided that you must stop meeting with him once the night was over. If this was a date, or any form of romantic scheme, you could not take part in it. You couldn’t watch another man meet a fate that you had innocently led him to. You would not do that. Not to Loki.

A knock at your door cut through your thoughts like a dagger laced with poison. It was a knock that poisoned your life from that point on, leading you down the abyss you had thought you left behind when you vowed to commit to loneliness. You rushed to find your cell phone that you had just put down seconds before, but as per usual, it was nowhere to be found. The knock sounded again. Huffing, you went to open the door fully expecting to see Loki outside clad in black. The person behind the door was anything but the man you expected; instead, you were faced with a gentleman in a plain suit and a look that told you that he was not there on friendly terms.

“Miss Y/L/N?” He inquired, his chin lifting as he glanced over your shoulder and into the apartment behind you.

“Yes?” You responded, eyes wandering over his outfit, attempting to figure out the nature of his visit. Your attempts proved futile, but that didn’t matter. He was quick to state his business once you had confirmed your identity.

“My name is Detective Francesco, I’m going to need to ask you to come to the station for questions pertaining to a case that has recently opened back up in light of new evidence. Does the name Isaiah Walsh ring a bell to you,” the detective asked, his eyes accusing you of a crime you were only aware you had committed until after the damage was done. You froze in your spot, not sure how to react. Of course, if he hadn't stated his business, you may have thought that he was there to inform you of an accident or a death. This wasn't the case, and those thoughts did not occur to you. Why would they? You were a murderer. Nothing more and nothing less.

Isaiah Walsh - the man who was found dead in his apartment six years ago. A date gone wrong. You simply nodded, not bothering to answer the question in case it would make the detective even more suspicious of you. “Let me grab my things.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

It was clear as the words left his mouth that it was more than just questioning. You were a suspect, not a witness, to the crime he was investigating. As the detective led you down to his car, you noticed a man with raven-colored hair approaching the building with a bouquet of your favorite flowers. The flashing of the police car’s lights illuminated his lean figure as an officer opened the back of his vehicle to you.

Loki’s eyes met yours as he scanned over the scene in front of him. The bouquet fell to the ground, the smirk on his lips vanishing, as he witnessed you sit in the back of the car while a small crowd began to gather at the sight of someone they barely knew getting an all too noticeable escort.

***

You were sitting at a metal table with one of the big mirrors you see on TV. A typical interrogation room from what you could conjure from all the crime show reruns you had indulged in. Your hands folded in your lap as the detective sifted through a file on the table. Part of you wondered why he was taking so long to ask you any questions, but another part of you hoped he never would. Pictures fell from the file as he stood from his seat and your heart dropped to your stomach. It was a pixelated shot of Isaiah with his arm around a young woman at a popular bar just down the road from his apartment. The faces were blurred from the low quality image, but you knew just by seeing the time on the corner along with the date that the woman was you six years ago.

"Look familiar?" Detective Francesco questioned, watching your expression for any significant clue.

You nodded your head, knowing that full cooperation was probably for the best, "I was on a date."

The detective narrowed his eyes, sighing before opening the file again. Within a few seconds, four more security camera shots joined the first on the table. Each one showed the face of a different man with you by their side.

"For months," he began speaking again, "I was wondering why these men were chosen as the Angel's victims, and I couldn't figure it out until one year ago when I realized that the only common factor was you. You were the last person to see any of these men alive: why? Tell me, Miss Y/L/N, do you even remember these men?"

His voice was seething with spite. Your stomach churned and shivers ran down your spine at the look of determination on his face. You glanced down at your wrists, wondering if this was to be the last time you'd see them without steel cuffs on. The detective sat back down, pulling picture after picture from a folder of names you would have rather forgotten; yet, here you were, wearing their deaths as a tattoo on your soul - an imprint of the horrible monster you had somehow turned out to be.

"What about these men?" Detective Francesco pointed out to more photos of gentlemen that you had met at one point in your life. "This one was your high school boyfriend if my sources are correct, and this one," his finger tapped on an all too familiar photo of a face that haunted your dreams, "your own father."

Tears burned at your eyes. Over the years you had accepted many things, but the death of your father was never one. After just one glance at the photo, you found yourself unsure if you had the strength to look the detective in the face anymore.

"I'd like to speak to my lawyer," you mumbled, knowing that this was an uphill fight that you may or may not win. In fact, part of you hoped that you didn't win just so that the demons that crawled into bed with you at night, whispering damning words in your ears and flooding your subconscious with nothing but nightmares, would finally allow you to sleep in peace.

The detective nodded, eyes blazing with a victory he had waited far too long for. There were no fingerprints, no poison, nothing. Just your presence and the men's deaths. Even without substantial evidence against you, this was a start.

"We'll be in touch. You're free to go, but ma'am?"

You met his wicked gaze as you stood from your seat, "Yes?"

"Don't leave the city."

(Chapter 2)

#loki #loki laufeyson #the avengers #loki imagine #loki imagines #loki x reader #loki x you #loki laufeyson imagine #loki odinson #ohdearhiddles imagine #ohdearhiddles imagines #mutant!reader #mutant powers

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retroateez · 4 years

Text

Prophecy - Chapter Eleven

Prophecy Masterlist wc;3197

Three days had passed in Wooyoung's company.

And you had to admit, your affections for the Elven mage were growing. Quickly.

The past evenings had consisted mainly of Wooyoung and Yeosang plotting in the tower, while you sat idley by and attempted to help to no avail. It was really beginning to frustrate you now; how the mage would constantly remind you how it was your fault, yet he wouldn't let you help them.

They had both insisted it was 'too dangerous for a young girl to get involved in', as if anything about your lifestyle was remotely safe.

You had argued with Yeosang on the second evening, demanding that they let you get involved, that you might be able to provide something useful. But they had once again dismissed you, telling you that even if they did tell you, you wouldn't understand it anyway.

So you spent your evenings outside, plucking flowers and knotting them together until the sun disappears and the petals become as dark as Wooyoung's hair.

You sigh and throw yourself back down onto the grass, exhaling heavily in irritation.

All you wanted to do was help, to suggest something that could be important. And the fact they won't let you just because you're a girl was ridiculous. If they blamed it on the fact they were more educated on the stars or whatever, you'd probably understand more. But because you're not a male?

Ludicrous.

You lay there, staring up at the sky and stewing in your emotions until finally, your aggravation finally gets the best of you, and you fly upright, charging up the stairs of the tower and bursting into Wooyoung's room, where you find the mage and the astrologer deep in discussion.

"I want to help." you declare, hands on your hips as you watch Yeosang roll his eyes at you.

"Iris, we told yo-"

"I don't care, Yeosang." you snap, Wooyoung's eyes widening a little in shock. "I'm tired of you pushing me aside! I want to help you. Isn't this my fault in the first place?"

"Well yes bu-"

"Then let me help, for goodness sake!"

Yeosang stands frozen, taken aback by your sudden outburst. Were you really that mad at him?

"Okay, fine. You can help." Wooyoung shrugs.

"Wooy-"

"What? She wants to help, let her help."

Wooyoung motions you over to the table littered with parchments, while Yeosang recovers from being interrupted once again. If the mage had known how adamant you were on assisting them, he would've let you.

He had promised himself, the day he found you half-dead on the beach and decided to take you under his wing, that he would do his best to protect you, even if it killed him. He simply couldn't live with himself if he had yet more blood on his hands. But he knew that you were a force to be reckoned with, determined as you were stubborn. Maybe keeping you in the dark would have worse concequences than letting you help.

Yeosang joins the two of you at the table, opting to stay silent as Wooyoung gathers together the diagrams and papers they had been deciphering for hours.

"Yeosang and I have been studying all relevant constellations from the important dates noted in the prophecy," Wooyoung begins, his serious expression constrasted by the way his amethyst eyes light up with passion whenever he talks about the stars. "And the first mentioned date, many, many moons ago, is the first time the Monster in the prophecy attempts to destroy the kingdom."

"Monster?" you echo. "I thought it was just a man?"

"The writings describe him in many ways; monster, beast, man." Yeosang explains. "There's hardly a difference between them."

"Constellation wise," the elf continues. "the single most prevalent form is that of Ara. You are familiar, yes?"

Wooyoung takes your wide-eyed silence in the negative.

"Ara is a constellation named after the altar where the gods formed an alliance before entering war with the Titans."

"Okay.." you trail off, not quite sure how that relates to any of your situation. "And what does that mean for us?"

Wooyoung bites his lip, glancing towards Yeosang before settling his gaze back on you.

"It could possibly indicate a war between Ateez and another kingdom. For what reason, I'm yet to discover."

"A war!?" you shriek, and both Yeosang and Wooyoung place a hand on each of your shoulders to calm you down.

"It's not certain!" Wooyoung tries to reassure you, but he falls on deaf ears.

"I can't fight in a war!" you cry. "I don't know any combat, I don't know any magic! I'm going to die!"

Yeosang grabs you tightly at arms length, leaning down a little to match your line of sight.

"You won't die in a war, Iris!" Yeosang explodes, ignoring the concern on the elven man's face. "We won't let you, I won't let you. Understand?"

You nod, Yeosang's direct (and slightly harshly toned) claim settling your nerves for the time being. Perhaps it's time to pester him again about teaching you some magic.

Yeosang redirects your attention back to the astrologer, who is holding a new set of pictures and messy scrawlings.

"The second constellation I noted was that of Cetus, which was present on a different occasion where the monsterous being turned up to wreak havoc on Ateez. Cetus was also present recently, specifically on the date where you washed up on Yeosang's beach after a nasty storm."

"And what does Cetus have to do with the storm?" you ask.

"In mythology, Cetus was some kind of sea monster," Wooyoung explains, and you have to hide your awe at how much knowledge one person could have. "Typically described as a serpent, whale, shark, what-have-you, Cetus was sent by Poseidon to punish Queen Cassiopeia and her daughter Andromeda for boasting that they were far more beautiful than the Nereids, or sea nymphs."

"So, we think there's a high chance that a sea monster of our own was released during the storm we had not so long ago." Yeosang informs you, you heart sinking as the danger only rises.

"A war and a sea monster?" your voice increases in pitch, your panic once again growing rapidly.

"The monster is probably dead," Wooyoung reasons. "The storm threw you about as it was, it's a miracle you survived, to be honest."

Not wanting to dwell on the fact the astrologer just told you that you shouldn't be alive, you ask him if there's any other constellations of any significance.

"On the same day as the storm, not far from Cetus, I just managed to make out the faintest Libra, just to the north of it. As a result, I took a look at when Libra is next supposed to shine the brightest, and it's predicted to be relatively soon. Within the next month or so."

"That's great," you reply sarcastically. "But what does Libra mean? We aren't all star experts, you know."

Wooyoung blushes deeply, crimson burning his ears as he smiles sheepishly at you.

"Libra represents the scales held by Dike (dai-ki), the goddess of justice and moral order. It could indicate some injustice that will occur between then and now, or something similar. Of course, none of this is absolutely guranteed," Wooyoung reminds you. "I simply read the stars, take their meaning and theorise about what they may mean to us."

"Well, your theories seem pretty realistic to me." you mutter mockingly. "I'm not buying any of this nonsense."

"I haven't been wrong about a single hypothesis yet." Wooyoung's tone turns cold, and his gaze on you narrows. He understands that this might be overwhelming, but it doesn't give you the right to insult his life's work. He devotes every waking moment to this, and he will not let some girl diminish everything he's built up. And sure, he's beginning to warm up to you, finding the way you gently pluck the flowers in his garden and fashion jewellery out of them rather endearing. He'd never admit that to you, or to himself, but slandering the only constant in his life? He won't allow it.

"Besides," he adds on. "You insisted on getting involved, so show some respect, or get out of my house." Wooyoung snarls, violet eyes radiating venomously as he glowers angrily at you.

You shift your stare down to the ground, guilt and embarrasment washing over you like a harsh ocean wave.

"I'm sorry." you squeak, not daring to look up into his piercing, purple eyes.

"I also decided to check the constellations from the night you both arrived." Wooyoung says tightly, dismissing your brief argument and continuing on as smoothly as he good. "The only one that stood out to me was Ursa Major, although I am still unsure of what it means, if anything at all."

"What's Ursa Major?" you question.

"The Big Bear," the astrologer answers immediately. "I doubt either of you are secretly bears, so I'm assuming it has zero relevance."

"I heard a bear at the inn we stayed at the night before we arrived here." You blurt out hurridly, not catching the way Yeosang's eyes roll back into this skull. "Then I dreamt that the bear was attacked... I was worried he died."

"And I told you it was exactly that," Yeosang interrupts you with a huff. "A dream."

Wooyoung glances between the two of you, pouting and scratching the pointed tip of his ear in thought.

"Have you ever considered visiting an oneiromancer?" Wooyoung asks seriously, breaking the silence and causing Yeosang to scoff.

"Oneiromancy is a myth," the mage scowls. "Just a bunch of made-up bullshit in an attempt to earn some coin."

"Is anybody going to explain to me what ironmancy is?" you speak up, crossing your arms in annoyance; why do they always have to talk about subjects you don't understand?

"Oneiromancy (on-eye-ro-man-see)," Wooyoung corrects your pronounciation, stifling a small smile. "Is a form of divination using dreams to predict the future. The divination I do uses the stars, Oneiromancers interpret your dreams."

"So, my dream might actually come true?" you gasp, your eyes flying wide open.

"No." Yeosang growls.

"What's your beef with dream interpreters?" The elf teases the mage, who is leering at him with irritance.

"Nothing." Yeosang replies sternly. "I just think it's a bunch of bullshit."

"One could say the same about your strange plant addiction."

"It's not an addiction! I require an extremely extensive knowledge in order to carry on my work!"

"That sounds like something somebody with an addiction to plants would say."

"Listen here, elf-"

"Uh, guys? I hate to break up your lover's quarrel but... who are they?" you put their arguing to an abrupt halt, collecting their attention to where you're standing before the giant window in Wooyoung's tower.

There's a faint glow, just over the hills behind the astrologer's home. It burns a radiant orange, and all three of you know that it's definitely not the sunset.

"Shit." Wooyoung curses aloud. "They found me."

"Who are they?"

"Bad people, Iris." Yeosang grabs you and yanks you away from the window, motioning to the paper strewn throughout the room. "Pick up what you can, we'll need almost all of it."

The next few minutes are spent frantically stuffing loose parchments into pockets, bags, anything the three of you can find that you can carry. You grab handfuls of diagrams and shove them into the pockets of your trousers, even rolling a few up and tucking them into the soles of your boots.

By the time you've gathered as much of the work you can, you quickly glance out the window to scope out where the bad people are. Every single one of your organs drops to the floor, as you notice the gang of torch-wielders are marching up Wooyoung's front garden, trampling and burning the flowers and ferns you played in just hours before.

"We need to leave. Now."

You quickly scan the room, eyes darting left and right to try and spot something you might've missed. You see it abandoned on Wooyoung's bed, and you dart out rapidly to retrieve it. Clutching it against your chest, you hear the thunderous stamping of the mob charging up the stairs, mirroring the pounding of your heart against your ribcage.

Yeosang bundles you and Wooyoung in his arms, gripping you both tightly as he breathes in deeply. Your nose is pressed against the elf's chest, and in any other situation you would be blushing furiously. But right now, you're terrified for your life. For Yeosang's life, for Wooyoung's life. And in any other situation you would've slapped the elf for the way his arm winds around your waist to shuffle you into their man-made cage. But ironically, you feel safer than you've ever felt in your entire life.

"Close your eyes," Yeosang mumbles. "It's gonna be a harsh landing."

You and Wooyoung screw your eyes shut tightly, and you bunch his shirt up in your hands so there's zero chance of you getting separated.

There's no human words you can summon to describe how it feels to teleport. Both feeling as light a feather, but also feeling like iron weights have been fused to your ankles. You're both present and absent at the same time. Simultaneously existing, yet one inch, one misstep away from disappearing forever. It both passes in a second, and drags on for eternity. Your mere consciousness physically cannot comprehend such an experience.

What you can describe however, is the instant pain that shoots through your body upon impact. Yeosang's teleportation hurling you onto the ground, your arm trapped behind you, bent at an awkward angle, while both you and your poor arm are crushed by Wooyoung's entire frame landing on top of you.

,You could describe it very well, given the chance, but you think a simple 'owch.' will suffice.

"Wooyoung," you grunt and attempt to push him off you using your free hand. "Get off me."

He apologises quickly, rolling onto the grass and standing up. He offers a hand out to you which you accept, brushing the dirt off your clothes. Looking around you, you realise you're in a very familiar garden.

"Hey, Yeosang! We're hom-"

The smell of burning smoke and the sound of crackling flames hits you all in one go, and you're scared to turn around.

"Oh my god..." You hear Wooyoung whisper behind you, and the dread weighs down on you like a tonne of bricks.

Slowly, you turn around and the sight before you twists your stomach into knots.

Yeosang's home- your home- is entirely consumed by raging fire. The blaze has crept up the trunk of the tree, destroying the heart of the house directly. The flames lick at the walls and have already destroyed the majority of the roof. You can see into Yeosang's study, the aqua flourescent room now glowing a fiery orange, plunging the once ocean-like room into the deepest depths of hell.

Yeosang himself is stood in front of you, just off to the side, and looking at his eyes you can see the inferno reflecting in his tears. You've never seen anyone so broken.

"Yeosang, I'm so sorry-" Wooyoung begins to apologise, but the mage cuts him off before he can finish.

"It wasn't them," he cries, voice hoarse and cracking with despair and rage. "It- It wasn't the same people after you."

"Then who was it?" you wonder quietly.

But neither Wooyoung or Yeosang get to answer your question, as the culprits make themselves known. Barreling through the woods surrounding the house, swords drawn, grinning evilly at you. They form a circle around you, forcing the three of your backs to collide as you're stood defenseless.

"Well, well, well." One of them sneers. "Look what the cat dragged in." He slowly walks around you, smirking smugly at the way he's trapped you all. He's got dark, black hair, almost as long as Wooyoung's but styled much more neatly. Parted in the middle and flowing down into soft waves. You'd compare him visually to an angel, but underneath his innocent exterior lies something much, much more sinister.

"What are you doing here, J-"

"Don't even think about speaking my name, mage." The man seethes. "Besides, it's Commander to you."

"Alright, Commander," Yeosang finds the energy within him to mock the stranger, and you can't help but giggle. "Why are you here?"

"You see, it has been brought to my attention that there was magic present in these neck of the woods," The stranger's grin widens wickedly, eyeing the way Yeosang's jaw tightens with fury. "And I'm sure you agree, that simply will not do."

"So your solution was to burn a man's house down?!" Wooyoung bursts angrily, flinching a little when the man's gaze burns into his own.

"Oh? What's this?" He approaches Wooyoung in a fascinated trance, tilting his head slightly as he examines the elven features. He places the tip of his sword against Wooyoung's jaw, exerting just enough pressure to force his head to the side and exposing pointed ears that were raging red in humiliation. "An elf?" His voice raises an octace from excitement, something that chills you to the bone.

"I can do so much worse than burn a man's house down." The stranger's previous, eerily calm demeanour is gone, as he dangerously leans in to Wooyoung's face, teeth gritted and black eyes pulsing with hatred. "Believe me."

You're trembling with fear, the panic running through you that this could be the end of the road for you. This unknown villian turning up out of the blue with his gang of stupid merry men might kill you right this very second and snap shut the book containing the story that is your life. This could be your destined demise.

Yeosang though, has other plans.

In your frightened inner rambling, you don't notice his hand tighten around yours from behind your back. And from your position you certainly don't notice the way brilliant white bolts flash around his pupils, or the yellow sparks that shoot through his arms and neck like lightning during a storm.

"I've had enough of indulging your questions." The stranger sniffs, backing away from Wooyoung with a final, repulsed leer.

"Boys," he meanders back over to where he climbed out of the thicket, holstering his sword at the hip and looking dead into your eyes with a bored expression. "Kill them."

The band of men (you guess there's around eleven of them, but with the anxiety settling in, you could be seeing double) close in on the three of you, like a pack of ravenous wolves stealthily hunting down a tiny, vulnerable rabbit.

You feel the wind rush past your face, the down-swing of a sharp sword being aimed at your face, but it doesn't make contact with you.

Instead, you're momentarily weightless, floating through the stars, the planets and the worlds between you and the furthest reaches of the galaxy.

In the same breath, you make contact with a hard, wooden floor, groaning in pain as the three of you land in a painful, crumpled heap. Nursing your head, you survey the room, jumping out of your skin when a shriek pierces your ears.

"How many times do I have to tell you people to knock?!"

Chapter Twelve

hello,, i just wanted to note that even though i did research for this, i’m nowhere near an expert so, if you happen to work at nasa or something and everything i’ve said is incorrect, no it isn’t <3

#ateez au #ateez #medieval!ateez #hongjoong #seonghwa #mingi #san #yeosang #wooyoung #jongho #yunho #retroateez

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satonthelotuspier · 4 years

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Day 7 of Xichengclipse is here, and we’re almost done!

This turned a little away form the original concept into wanting to explore how societal pressures affect JC's notion of himself. He has this role he has to play in canon, especially young jc, the sect heir, the more sensible one to WWX's shenanigans, and I wonder if he ever found that stifling. I wanted to take a look at what that might mean in a different verse.

Lotus Lakes In Spring

Lan Xichen has suddenly started working late every night, and Jiang Cheng, insecure at the best of times, is imagining the worst. Although he had thought they had developed feelings for each other theirs was still a match of convenience, tying to powerful families together, and perhaps he's has enough of Jiang Cheng.

How far away from the truth is he? His therapist suggests there's only one way to find out - communication in relationships is key.

Featuring a JC struggling with societal expectations and his own nature, and a misunderstood LXC who's taking some matters into his own hands.

“It’s fine,” Jiang Cheng assured, except it really wasn’t. It wasn’t fine. They hadn’t spent any time together for weeks because Lan Xichen had been working constantly, and this afternoon was just another call to excuse himself from dinner, because he’d be working at the office until into the evening again.

It was a herculean effort, but he killed the needy keen in his voice; an omega begging for attention from his mate might sound cute in theory, but Jiang Cheng hated that he was so weak to the natural reaction.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow evening then, I have to be up early for a conference across town, so I need to go to bed early tonight.” He didn’t sound terribly pathetic, but it was a close thing.

“Sleep well, Wanyin, I’ll be quiet when I get in, so that I don’t wake you.”

He could feel the wetness behind his eyes, but worked hard to keep it out of his voice.

“Thank you, Xichen.”

With a few more pleasantries they ended the call, and Jiang Cheng stared at the bright-screened mobile in his hand.

Was Lan Xichen growing bored of him? Their relationship was complicated, no doubt, it wasn’t any secret that their match had been a power move, two of the biggest families in Suzhou, united in an act of politically motivated showmanship.

But Jiang Cheng had thought they had come to care for each other, despite neither having been the other’s choice. Lan Xichen was a kind and caring man, and an attentive alpha mate, and Jiang Cheng tried his best to be a good omega. Despite his quick temper, neediness, and easily embarrassed nature, he did try to be as good to his alpha as Lan Xichen was to him.

Perhaps with mixed results.

And that must be why the other was pulling away, having had enough of having to pander to him, to address the flaws in his character, and yes, in his body.

Jiang Cheng whined low in his throat, as he acknowledged the white elephant in the room. It must be, in part, because their matings hadn’t taken yet. Despite numerous heats shared together, he had yet to become pregnant. He was failing in an omega’s most basic function, and powerful dynasties, like the families they both came from, required heirs, and he wasn’t providing.

What was the point in bringing an omega into the family if he couldn’t breed?

Lan Xichen said it didn’t matter, things would happen in their own time, but that was just Lan Xichen, being nice, paying lip service. If it wasn’t an issue why was it in every gossip magazine? Every tabloid newspaper?

Taunting headlines about separate bedrooms and a lack of intimacy between the Lan heir and the Jiang heir, married for convenience, to further two powerhouses of political and economic might, but cold and distant with each other.

Until a few weeks ago they couldn’t have been further from the truth, he had fallen asleep in his husband’s arms every night, and they shared a full and mutually satisfying sex life, even outside of his heat cycles.

He was assured by the specialists he had consulted that there was no physical reason for it, that everything was in perfect working order; Lan Xichen had even supported him, attended the appointments with him, even submitted himself to a physical examination and tests to ensure there was no problems on his side either.

Jiang Cheng had been pleased to find that out that the kidnapping he had suffered as a young adult had left him with no lingering effects other than a pervasive fear of the dark.

Which meant it was him. He wasn’t broken medically, he was just broken.

Had Lan Xichen gone back to the lover he had stopped seeing in readiness for their marriage? Had he finally had enough of a mate that didn’t provide the things he should?

Who could blame him? Maybe these were the first tentative steps towards divorce?

He unlocked his phone and dialled.

“Wen Qing, can I talk to you?”

“I’m not your therapist, A-Cheng.”

“Your monthly invoice says differently. You’re damned expensive for someone who isn’t,” he snapped, and she snorted.

“I have a client in half an hour, but I’ll give you a call before I go home. It will be around five, alright?”

He agreed and they hung up.

***

He tried to process her advice that night as he lay in the bath he had taken to try and relax a little. The gist of their conversation had said he could drive himself silly with the what ifs, the suppositions, and the only way he’d get any closure on the issue was to ask Lan Xichen directly.

And that he should also talk to the other about his needs, that he missed the other and wanted attention.

Out of the two, Jiang Cheng thought the latter was the least likely to pass his lips. How pathetic would it make him seem to be begging his own husband for attention?

He was that pathetic though, he really, really wanted to.

He bathed, changed for bed, and, ensuring the small lamp near his side of the bed was on, settled down to sleep in a bed that seemed all too empty, because Lan Xichen wasn’t in it beside him.

***

It must have been the sound of the thunder that awoke him, as he shot upright in bed, and began to panic. The room was pitch dark, and he felt his chest tightening and his breathing speeding to shallow pants in immediate reaction to the darkness. He mewled; a lost child. It was oppressive, and closing in on him ever faster.

“Wanyin?” Lan Xichen’s voice sounded, clear and soothing by his ear. “Damn.” There was some scrabbling around, then a flare of light in the darkness. “Here, take this, baby.” Lan Xichen’s phone, with the torch function on full, was pressed into his shaking hands, and he waved it wildly around the room, checking in the shadows while the other gave him space to ensure he was safe.

Eventually he calmed enough to accept Lan Xichen’s arms around him, as he was pulled into the other’s lap and hugged tightly.

“You’re safe, sweetness, you’re safe here with me.” Lan Xichen kept up the steady, soft, stream of reassurance, stroking his hair and kissing wherever his lips landed until Jiang Cheng regained some measure of control over himself.

He didn’t have quite enough to control his tongue, however, “Don’t leave me, Xichen, please don’t leave me. I’m trying so hard to be better for you. I am.”

The stroking hand paused, then slid to his shoulders and held him away from Lan Xichen’s chest so the other could look at him, “What do you mean, Wanyin? Of course I’m not going to leave you, I know you don’t like the dark, it’s not a surprise to me. I’ll hold you until dawn or the power comes back on. I don’t mind.”

“B-but you’re avoiding me. You’re staying at work all the time now, like you don’t want to be with me, or you’re seeing someone e-else.” It could only be described as a wail, and Jiang Cheng hated himself for it, but he couldn’t stop now the dam had burst. “I kn-know I haven’t given you heirs yet, but I’m trying my b-best.”

“Wanyin? Why…” Lan Xichen sucked in a breath, then moved his hands up to cup his face gently, “you silly thing, we’ve discussed this again and again. I don’t care. It will happen when it happens, or it won’t, and that’s fine too,” Lan Xichen’s thumbs rubbed over Jiang Cheng’s cheeks, wiping away the tears, “I’m working late because I’m trying to clear my schedule early, before your next heat cycle. I’ve been looking for places we can get away from the city and take it easy for a while, and you might relax enough to enjoy yourself a little more, instead of worrying incessantly about something that is so completely out of your control.”

Of course, Lan Xichen’s words only made him cry harder, and try to wrap himself around the other.

“And how could I consider seeing someone else? Who would ever match up to my beautiful omega? No one else smells of lotus and soft spring rain on a lake like you, no one else has that fiery, challenging gaze for me,” Lan Xichen feathered his lips against Jiang Cheng’s jawline, and he preened at the praise falling from the other’s lips, hmming his approval, “and no one else would look half as divine spread across our bed, tousled and well-loved and marked so completely as mine, as you do.”

Jiang Cheng growled, “Yes, I want that, show me, alpha, Xichen, show me I’m yours.”

Lan Xichen pulled the torch phone out of Jiang Cheng’s hands, and placed it besides them, so it still cast a glow, and pushed forward to pin the other beneath him. “As my omega wishes.”

***

Jiang Cheng lay back against the unfamiliar-smelling bed, while Lan Xichen rubbed gently at the arch of his right foot. He had never considered his feet erogenous zones but the way Lan Xichen touched him, anywhere, everywhere, so possessively, so soothingly, with such an intent to relax, to make love to. He made a soft, light sound of delight, surrender, and contentment in his throat, which was mirrored by a more aggressive sound in his alpha’s.

The bed would soon be flooded in the scent of their pheromones, overwhelming whatever neutral washing agent the hotel used, when his heat hit in earnest.

But at the moment he was riding it’s edge, extremely sensitive, a little excited, by the nearness of his alpha, but too relaxed to move. That would change soon enough, but he intended to enjoy this for as long as he could.

He was so lucky, to be this cared for, to be this precious to someone. He still felt so guilty that he had suspected Lan Xichen of having an affair, when the other had been working hard to provide an environment where the mate he knew was so tense and stressed about their inability to fall pregnant, could relax, let go, and forget about the newspapers, the pressure of his family, and just enjoy what should, after all, be a pleasure-filled few days, worshipped by his alpha, like any beautiful omega should be.

“I love you.” The words were out before Jiang Cheng realised, and he would have slapped a hand over his mouth, but the deep, pleased, possessive sound that came from Lan Xichen’s throat made his toes curl.

He felt a flush of heat begin to run through every nerve ending in his body at the same moment Lan Xichen released his ankle, and moved between his lifted knees, almost more tuned in to Jiang Cheng’s heat than he was himself. He looked dangerous, and hungry as he lowered his head to mouth at the pulse pounding at Jiang Cheng’s throat as the room flooded with the smell of lotus lakes in spring.

“Love you too,” he raised his head briefly to reciprocate, before returning back to sucking a mark against Jiang Cheng’s throat.

***

It had been a wonderful idea, to take this away from the city, from all the factors pressing expectation down on Jiang Cheng, and they decided to stay for a day longer than Lan Xichen had originally planned, as they were both exhausted after a very pleasurable heat spent worshipping each other.

It became a regular thing, and it was no surprise to Lan Xichen, who had theorised privately, that it was probably the stress of expectation and regard on Jiang Cheng, that was causing the problems, that it wasn’t too many heats later that they were cuddled on their bed together awaiting the results of the chemist-bought pregnancy test Jiang Cheng had purchased on his way back from the office earlier that evening.

He had sat through so many hopeful tests himself, only to have them come back negative, Jiang Cheng was almost too terrified to look after the required time. He hadn’t wanted to expose Lan Xichen to this side of him, the failed omega, desperate to fulfil his purpose and obsessed with his inability to do so, but he felt that this time, even if it was negative he was in a better place to deal with that, with his alpha, his mate, his husband, by his side.

It was positive, however, and it was a long time before Jiang Cheng was coherent enough at the news to discuss it with Lan Xichen, who held him close as he went from elated to terrified and back again over and over again.

The feelings only abated a little that night in bed, where they lay together in the soft sheen of the lamp behind Jiang Cheng, talking about their future.

“You’ll have to cut back on those ridiculous coffees you drink, baby.” Lan Xichen teased him gently, and Jiang Cheng frowned unhappily.

“Ugh, but where are the gossip mags going to get their photos from if I don’t go to the coffee shop?” He grinned suddenly, “I can’t wait to maternity it up, they are going to get so many baby bump shots. Infertile, separate beds, hah,” he ground his teeth in irritation, then forgot it just as quickly as he went through another plateau of delight at the thought their child growing tenaciously in his belly.

#xichengclipse2020 #xicheng #alpha/beta/omega verse #mpreg #struggling to become pregnant #mdzs fanfic #Shay's stuff

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rosesforshego · 4 years

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𝓘𝓯 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓒𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓜𝔂 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓭, 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 3: ᴍᴏɴꜱᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴀʏʜᴇᴍ

“August 24th, 2002 8:00 pm.

Dinner with the Possibles was . . . surprisingly uneventful.

At least, in the way that Drew would define "uneventful" to be.”

Jim and Tim, the two who were deemed the most likely to launch their fork-fulls of lasagna at each other, dutifully ate their dinner in hopes to excuse themselves as soon as possible—presumably to scorch James' perfectly manicured lawn. Kim remained fairly quiet and interjected into the conversation when she felt it was necessary. Ron, who sat beside her, continuously shoveled heaping amounts of lasagna into his gullet while simultaneously slipping some under the table to feed his naked mole-rat. Rufus, an honored guest in the Possible house, was spoiled with his own, ceramic plate that Ron had made during his, albeit regrettable, summer at Camp Wannaweep, but remained under the table during family dinner. He didn't seem to mind. Rufus perched upon Ron's toes as if he were seated at the table with the rest of the family and only emerged from under the table cloth when he felt the need to join the conversation—just like Kim.

Per usual, the round-table discussion took a very boring turn for the children. Ann and James discussed their grueling workdays with Drew. James, who had been home all day, tirelessly worked on the newest, top-secret project that the Middleton Space Center had provided for him. When asked about said project, James responded with "It's a secret, but I can tell you one thing: it involves rockets", which prompted a well-deserved eye-roll from Drew, followed by a "No, duh"—a phrase that he had picked up from Kim, herself. She smiled. He was learning.

Ann, however, was not as lucky as her husband. She was forced into work by an emergency operation, which proved to be exhausting as the dark circles under her eyes shifted in the artificial lighting that illuminated the dining room.

When asked about the operation, Ann, with a sigh, responded with "Long". Drew's cheerful look softened into one of empathy. The one word told Drew what he needed to know, and it broke his heart.

"Brain surgery is not easy."

His lips tightened into a fine line. He never assumed that it was and he had always applauded Ann for her commitment to the profession. Nearly every operation, Ann played a delicate balancing act between life and death—a balance that toyed with the stranger that sat beneath her scalpel. On a good day, Ann, in all of her excitement, would give her friend a call and explain to him the intricate details of her latest, and greatest operation. Drew always anticipated those calls—not because he was fascinated by the process that Ann underwent with each procedure, but because it filled him with joy to hear his friend's voice full of exuberance: the product of an adrenaline high. But, when he failed to receive even a peep from Ann Possible, Drew understood. He could only imagine the stains that littered her steering wheel from the salty tears that stung her eyes.

"I-," Drew never knew what to say, so he let his words slip. He hoped that with his somber expression, Ann would understand that he held a deep sorrow within his heart for her.

"I'm sorry."

Eyes downcast onto her scarcely-touched plate of pasta, a soft smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

"It's okay," her blue irises rose with a faint gleam that reflected the lamplight. Drew found his breath caught in his throat.

Ann was a strong woman—the strongest that Drew had ever known. To see her eyes reflect a sort of helplessness that he felt deep within his old soul nearly brought tears to his as their gaze locked from across the table. Quickly, Drew pulled away, afraid to lose himself within the deep regret that swam within her sapphire eyes, and turned towards James, who held the same worried expression as his own.

Thankfully, the children, who continued to devour their dinner, were none-the-wiser.

"Y'know," Ann's voice broke the thick silence that laid between them, "I'm just glad that I made it home in time, or else a certain someone would've had to cook."

The side of Drew's lip curled into a half-hearted grin. The last time James tried to cook, he nearly set the kitchen ablaze.

"So, you mean we'd be eating Chinese takeout?"

"You would be correct," James interjected as he tore his troubled gaze away from his wife and stabbed his mountain of sauce-covered pasta with his fork.

A light chuckle, shared between Ann and Drew, dissipated the heavy atmosphere that had befallen upon them. They both knew that dinner would be better off if James didn't don the apron.

Drew's elbows found themselves at home atop the tablecloth as his chin rested upon the back of his hands, "I thought Mama Possible taught her kids how to cook."

"She did," Ann smirked as she mirrored Drew's position, "Slim took all the talent."

Cheeks stuffed with ricotta, James returned to the conversation with a scowl of disapproval. Drew covered his mouth with his free hand in a poor attempt to stifle a laugh while a loud snort escaped Ann's throat, followed by cheeky grins that formed around the table from the children who found enjoyment in poking-fun at the adults in the conversation. It was one against six and James opted to remain silent on the matter. He knew better than to defend himself against the vicious mockery that filled his home with laughter.

Ann's playful snicker that rang within Drew's ears was effortlessly replaced with a jarring ruckus—its origin from the rocket that launched from the patch of scorched grass in front of him.

"See, Uncle Drew?"

"Isn't that so cool?"

Drew rested his arms upon his lap as he watched colorful sparks of hot electricity evaporate into the stillness of the warm, summer night. Fourteen years after the Ol' Faithful incident, he remained a prisoner to his astonishment that his two best friends had created three beautiful, and exceptionally intelligent, children.

They were going to change the world.

"Very," a brief commentary from Drew seemed to suffice. The biochemist was always at a loss for words.

Wide grins spread across the youthful cheeks of the twins as they continued with their project of mayhem. While Drew could never offer a meaningful conversation about rocket science to his two nephews, the twins seemed satisfied with his one-word answers and the look of bewilderment and awe that seized his features. If they wanted constructive criticism, Jim and Tim would have asked their father for assistance. Drew was simply a witness to their greatness.

The twins entered a discussion about intricate theories as to how they could improve the hunk of metal that they had just shot into the night sky. Drew could not understand a single word, the conversation littered with scientific terms and twin-language that were foreign to his cultured ears, yet he remained enthralled by their nuanced conversation.

"Uncle Drew?"

Kim's soft, candied voice shoved away Drew's daydreams. He turned to his left to see his niece close to his frame: her knees crossed; her mind deep in thought.

"What's high school like?"

A slight smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"If you're looking for a simple answer, Kimmie, you're not going to get one."

Her eyes, a piercing, verdant green, squinted as a deep frown rested upon the smooth elasticity of her skin. That was not what she wanted to hear.

"I figured," she retorted, though she had hoped otherwise.

Drew's smile dwindled as Kim's eager demeanor faltered at the utterance of his statement.

The day Drew laid his eyes upon little Kimberly Ann, he knew that he was absolutely smitten. She may not have been his own flesh-and-blood, but, from the moment she arrived home from the hospital, she had been like the daughter he had always wanted—bright and brilliant with an unquenchable thirst to understand life itself. But, as Drew learned, in this quest for answers, within the shadows lurked heartbreak, sorrow, and an immense amount of raw pain that was always ready to pounce upon their next, optimistic victim. Upon discovering his own answers, these horrendous monsters had burrowed their way into the core of Drew's being, filling his veins with a thick sludge of despair that silently spread throughout his body. This kind of pain, embedded in his very identity, could not be washed away with a simple, supportive gesture and, instead, required copious amounts of synthetic chemicals to keep his disorderly mind in check. So, as soon as little Kimmie entered this unforgiving world in the back of his Sedan, Drew made a silent promise to himself to forbid the demons of despondency, that patiently waited behind her rose-tinted glasses, to destroy her.

Drew slowly closed his eyes as the image of a tiny Kimberly faded beneath his eyelids. She was no longer a helpless child who hid from the menacing shadows that skulked across her bedroom wall. She was fourteen years old. Drew could no longer hold her little hand within the palm of his. He had to let her go because he knew that if he continued to coddle her, he would have committed a great injustice. As an uncle, and a Godfather, he continuously tightrope-walked the fine-line between protection and liberation—his guidance in Kim's life was necessary, there was no disputing that, but she had to learn how to make mistakes and part of Drew felt an intense pang of guilt over the way he had protected her all these years.

It was time for Kim to understand that the world will not abide by her rules. Yet, he knew that as soon as she put down her glasses, the world would attempt to devourer her.

Drew was at a loss. All he could do was hope for the best.

"High school is. . ." Drew pondered for a moment, attempting to pluck his words from thin air, "complicated. There are ups, and downs, just like any other part of life." He wasn't sure if she understood, but he continued, "But if you keep a positive attitude, you'll be golden."

That, she could do. After all, she was Kimberly Ann Possible. As her father had told her time and time again, she could do anything.

This sense of immortality terrified Drew.

Kim's head bobbed, as if she gained an understanding, while her green irises maintained a sort of vacancy. She could not comprehend the complexities of which her uncle had spoken, but she grasped onto his vague way of saying "look for the silver lining" and hoped that this was the correct message he was trying to send.

Drew understood the mystifying mysteries that came with this world on a much deeper level than Kim. As much as she longed for the answers as well, she knew that her uncle was not going to let her cheat, but, every-so-often, he did drop a clue or two to guide her along life's journey. So, as much as Drew's message worried the optimistic teen, she didn't hesitate to take his advice to heart.

"The real question is," the man turned his head towards the young teen who used his shoulder as a comfortable pillow, "how do you feel about high school?"

Kim lifted her head as her brows knitted into a tight furrow. She had pondered her answer to this question on many occasions, though no one had ever asked her before. At first, she was petrified. The old eight-graders loved to disperse rumors into the clamor of the middle school halls—horrid rumors that described terrible tales that had befallen their elder siblings; putrid tales of betrayal, hurt, and self-deprecating violence at the hands of broken friendships. But, as she climbed the ranks of the middle school social hierarchy with each passing grade, Kim had learned the hard way that the pool was, indeed, not located in the school's musty basement, so every tale that the eight-graders fed to her sixth-grader self was a lie, right?

"Well," she started, the word rolling off of her tongue like molasses as she used the pause to cultivate her answer, "I feel. . . good."

"Good?" Drew asked, inquisitively, "Only good?"

"What do you mean by only?"

"I thought you'd have a grander reaction, Kimmie," Drew responded. It was the truth. Kim was known for her grandiose reactions to changes in her life. From the time she was allowed to babysit the twins to when she put her best foot forward and embarked on her career as the world-renowned, teen-hero, Kim had often expressed her exuberance through screams of delight and conversations that moved at lightning speed. So, as Kim's next adventure grew nearer, for her to state that this exciting time of her life was simply good, perplexed her uncle.

She shrugged her shoulders, "I mean, high school is just an extension of middle school, right?"

Drew lifted an eyebrow. She couldn't be more wrong.

"Kim—"

"Sure, I may have to study more, but I have cheer tryouts next week, which I feel confident about—"

And Drew did not doubt that she was going to make the team, but that wasn't the point.

"But, Kim—"

"And there are the dances to look forwards to—"

And boys. Drew shuddered. Again, not the point.

"Kim—"

"On top of saving the world? Uncle Drew, I think I can handle it."

Drew lifted a finger as his brows contorted into a minute scowl. He was delighted to hear that there were aspects of high school that thrilled her, but Drew knew that if she were to step foot into Middleton High with this type of attitude, she would be crushed under the weight of reality that she had continuously neglected to accept.

"Yeah," Ron interjected, interrupting Drew before the man could utter a word, "this is Kim Possible we're talkin' 'bout. She's been doin' this for years. Why would high school be any different?"

Drew closed his eyes once again as a deep sigh parted his lips. Oh, how naïve they were.

"Kimberly."

Kim, who believed she had proved her point, closed her mouth at the sound of her name. This got her attention.

"Let me be the first to tell you that high school and middle school are two, completely different fiends."

Ron's once confident expression fell as he gingerly placed his cheek against his knees. That was something he didn't want to hear.

"Fiends," Drew continued, "that can be tamed with an exceptional amount of dedication and patience."

Great. As if middle school wasn't hard enough, the two teens would have to put in additional effort to "tame" the wild beast that was Middleton High. Weren't the adolescent years supposed to be fun? The promise of wild entertainment, coupled with copious amounts of simple, immediate gratification was what Kim and Ron had looked forward to. No one told them that they had to work for it.

Kim released the tension that she held within her arms at the realization that life does not get any easier. Defeated, she turned towards Ron, whose expression of discontent mirrored her own.

"Listen, I'll be frank with you two," Drew stated, his voice low with a hint of a somber tone laced within it. He hated to be the bearer of bad news, but someone had to ground these two eager teens in reality, and as sure as hell James wasn't going to be the one to do it. "High school is a lot of work—"

Their lips nestled into a deeper frown, but the teens let him continue without protest.

"But it's a wonderful time to learn who you are, in here," he brought the tips of his fingers, that were encased in crumbs from his peanut butter stickies, to his sternum.

This did not seem to dissuade his pseudo kids.

"At this point in your life, you will face hardships—some that are easy to overcome, some that are difficult to comprehend—but each challenge, each experience, will contain a certain amount of significance to you and only you."

Subconsciously, Kim and Ron found their bodies leaning towards Drew as they found themselves unexpectedly captivated by his statement.

"Unfortunately, not everything will come up roses—you will encounter failure—"

Kim's eyes narrowed as her gaze bore holes in her uncle's demeanor. Failure was not in her blood. Ron, on the other hand, battled dry-eye as his eyelids continued to widen in fear. More failures? Why couldn't he catch a break?

"But remember that while you're competing at cheer competitions, dancing at prom, or," he turned towards Ron, "spending your afternoons at Bueno Nacho—"

Did Uncle D just call him out? Ouch.

"These experiences don't define who you are, what you do with them will."

Kim and Ron, simultaneously, leaned forward to share a similar, perplexed look. "What you do with them"? What was that supposed to mean?

"But, I believe," Drew continued, unaware that he may have lost the two teens within his philosophical rant, "that you two can overcome whatever challenges life throws at you. Kim—"

She tore her attention away from her best friend and returned to the conversation at hand.

"I understand that your family has the motto 'anything's possible for a Possible', but I truly believe that you have what it takes to go above and beyond—to attain the goals that you set for yourself, despite life's complications."

A soft smile, welcomed by the warmth that rose to Kim's cheeks, returned, "Mom always said I came into this work with a fearsome kick."

Drew couldn't help but offer a smile in return, "She's right."

On impulse, Drew's left arm stealthy snaked out from beside his frame and gently wrapped around Kim's shoulder. He pulled her closer to his chest as her head resumed its position on his protruding shoulder. She exhaled, long as slow, as she let her body relax in Drew's embrace, allowing his arm to hold her in place. This is where she belonged.

"And Ron," his right arm mimicked his left as he brought his other nephew closer to the unconditional love that radiated from the cold caverns of his chest, "Don't sell yourself short, okay?"

Ron stammered as his body followed the coaxing arm of his uncle, "Wh-what do ya mean?"

"You're a bright, young man with a rather," Drew's lips tightened as he searched the recesses of his mind for the word he wanted to use, ". . . interesting outlook on life—"

Interesting was an understatement.

"Use that to your advantage. Solve problems with your creativity," he commanded as Ron's tuff of blond hair tickled the side of his cheek.

"You'll do great things, Ronald, I'm sure of it."

The intensity of Ron's fearful gaze subsided as a small wave of confidence washed over his features. If Drew believed that the meager teenager could achieve great feats, then Ron believed it, too.

Uncle D had never been wrong before.

As Ron leaned into Drew, the chemist felt the tension that the two teens held in their bodies dissolve as their backs pressed against his arms. With a sigh from Kim and a crunch next to Drew's ear as Ron took another, generous bite of his cookie, everything seemed. . . right.

And, for the remainder of the night, the three sat together and blissfully watched Jim and Tim relaunch their rocket into the blackened sky.

Maybe the world was not so cruel after all.

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