#my father loathes me & at this point it's impossible to deny it

[andormeddows]

MISCOMMUNICATION AND MISUNDERSTANDING . BILLY HARGROVE

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

Summary: The one where you and Billy cry because the situation was at boiling point.

Word count: 3928.

Notes: This is a sequel to Fear and Loathing! The beginning was insired by this amazing writting by @eddiebillysteve! I hope you enjoy! Keep in mind that English is not my first language. Sorry in advance for any mistakes.

Warnings: Shameless angst, cursing.

Masterlist is here!

PLEASE, CONSIDER REBLOGGING THIS AND/OR GIVING ME FEEDBACK, I WOULD APPRECIATE IT A LOT!

Billy cried in the shower.

His mind obsessively replayed the return to his house on Sunday morning. Empty-handed. Max had drugged him, stolen his Chevrolet Camaro, and disappeared with her friends. And Steve Harrington. Billy felt dizzy. His mind was foggy. The desperation boiling inside his vessels was indescribable. He knew his father was doing something to him. Whether Max was home or not. He knew. Also knew it was impossible to escape it, could wander the streets for as long as he liked, but the moment he set foot inside the house, he would be hurt by his father. And no one would stop him.

Despite the dizziness, he had managed to wander home. Only to find Max home. And he was right. The fact that she was safe was completely irrelevant to Neil Hargrove. No, nothing was relevant when he needed a punchbag. Billy remembered coughing blood on the beige carpet as he faintly listened to his father screw a lock into his door. His body burnt in pain and refused to move. He lied on the floor for hours. Gasping for air. Crying in agony. Groaning in pain. He dozed off countless times. It seemed he was hallucinating. Sweating cold and babbling non-sense as blood stained the beige carpet. Sunlight had turned into moonlight when the door clicked open. He was incapable of mustering the strength to move and stare at whoever stood in the doorway. No, he remained still. The door clicked close, and he started to cry again.

“Get up,” Neil Hargrove sternly commanded when sunlight invaded the bedroom again through cracks in the curtains. “Maxine’s gonna be late for school.”

Billy was confused, had no clue how many days had rolled by, but blinked at the different stimulus. A voice. He had managed to move from the floor to his bed, slumping on the mattress, staining the sheets, and there he stayed. Had no courage to pull the doorknob and confirm he had been locked inside his bedroom by his father.

“And take a fucking shower before you leave.”

He cried when he stared at his reflection in the mirror. His abdomen bore ugly ecchymoses; skin, gross stains of dried blood, which were mixed with a sticky layer of cold sweat. He hated his appearance when he cried, hated himself when he cried. But he had been silently crying in the shower ever since. It was extremely uncomfortable, but, somehow, eased the pain. The emotional pain, of course, because every damn time he sobbed, an excruciating physical pain sparked from his torso.

And you cried in Ms. Kelley’s office.

“Would you like some water?”

You shook your head, denying her offer, as your body convulsed in sobs. You gasped for air every now and then as Ms. Kelley quietly observed your trembling figure. You felt extremely uncomfortable for crying in front of her, torso fairly hunching over your knees in embarrassment. Maybe, if you shrank enough, you would disappear inside the seat.  

The grip of your fingers on your forearms was tight, arms hugging your chest in an attempt to hold the sobs inside, but they obviously refused to obey you and desperately escaped through your lips. It was ugly. It was humiliating. And, most of all, it was weird because you hadn’t uttered a word yet since the moment you occupied the chair in front of the table. You just… Copiously cried.

“I’m…”

Ms. Kelley propped her elbows on the wooden surface of the table. Your ears captured the ruffling of her clothes.  She tilted her head, never tearing her eyes from you. She remained patiently silent.

“I’m sorry,” you trembly mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

She sweetly smiled at you. “This is a safe space, okay? Cry as much as you need.”

You fervently nodded and lifted your head to gaze at her for the first time. At first, it was impossible to register much since your sight was blurry, but you distinguished the smile on her lips. She delicately pushed a tissue box in your direction, which prompted you to reach for some tissues. Only reach for them, because the two tissues you pulled stayed tightly crumpled in your hand as emotional support. The ringing of the bell echoed in the corridors and reached your ears.

You sniffled and, remembering you would have to walk from her office and face people in the corridors, wiped your face with the tissues, its friction against your skin uncomfortable.

“How about you return tomorrow? During lunch?”

You fervently nodded again and dumped the tissues in the bin by the table. The remaining tears streaming down your face and wetting your skin again were accompanied by silent sobs. You wiped them again, but, this time, with the sleeve of your white Hawkins High School zip-up hoodie, obliging yourself to stop crying as you stood on your feet. Ms. Kelley accompanied you to the door of her office, opening it for you.

“Thank you.”

She nodded, smiling at you. There was a white card in her hand, “Don’t hesitate to call me if you need help, okay?”

You crossed the doorframe and swiftly rubbed your eyes, hoping people would ignore your existence as you walked to your first-period class. The fact that you chose to wear the cheerleader uniform that morning certainly undermined your hope, and a few glances were directed at you, so you quickened your pace and lowered your head, shoving your hands, and the card, in the pockets of the zip-up hoodie.  

You jumped in fright when a figure rounded a corner and nearly collapsed against you, “Where have you been?!”

“Shit, Eddie!”

Your voice slightly trembled, and you hoped he would ignore that.

“You left your bag in the van…? You disappeared as soon as I turned the engine off…?” Eddie confusedly stated and frowned at your sneaky posture as you frowned at his words.

Your hands involuntarily searched for the nonexistent bag that should be hanging on your shoulders. He slid the shoulder strap of your shabby bag down his arm, but, as soon as his eyes managed to study your features, he stopped moving. “What happened?”

“What?”

“What happened? Are you okay?”

You scoffed, “Yeah?”

Eddie frowned again, glancing sideways, as you reached for the strap hanging on his forearm and pulled the bag towards you. It was obvious you had been crying, and you preferred he would just drop the matter.

“I’m okay, Eddie, don’t worry about me.”

He intently stared at you as though the action would telepathically rip information from your mind; then, he sighed in defeat, bringing his hands up. “Well, okay… If you say so…”

You faked a smile and waved at him as you rounded his figure, “Thank you for the bag, I’m sorry for bothering you with it.”

“Wait!”

“What?”

“This is for you,” Eddie shoved a cassette tape in your hands. It was wrapped in a scratched plastic case. “A mix tape. I recorded the songs we listen to during our rides.”

Your throat uncomfortably tightened to suppress the urge to cry. You nodded and lowered your head, fingers tightly holding the cassette tape as though a sacred object. Blinked in a failed attempt to dry the tears. Were incapable of pronouncing words. So, you nodded again as Eddie paced backwards, but stopped mid-pace.

“I miss you, okay?” Eddie unexpectedly admitted. “I have no idea what happened last weekend, but you’ve been acting different. Distant… And I… I don’t know… For some reason, I’m incapable of reaching for you where you’ve been hiding.”

You idly traced the scratches on the plastic case, again, incapable of pronouncing words. Lost in a trance with glossy eyes. He silently disappeared from your sight. The students crossing the corridor confusedly glanced at your petrified figure. The ringing of the bell echoed in the corridors again. It was your last chance to arrive in time for the first-period class.

Your feet carried you to the corner of the corridor, then to the second door on its left side. You rubbed your eyes again – you were sure they were red, so you kept your head low – before entering the classroom. It was nearly full and irritatingly noisy, fragments of chatter traveled to your ears, but you gladly ignored the stimulus as you walked to the usual empty chair in the middle of the class.

Billy entered the classroom, stealing a glance at your figure, but your back faced him, hands pulling notebook and pencil case from your bag resting on the chair, and eyes studying your surroundings. It baffled you how indiscreet people could be when it came to prying into your life, openly staring at your features.

You grumpily snapped at Tommy Hagan’s girlfriend, “What? Lost something, Perkins?”

Billy pricked up his ears when he heard your voice. He had never expected that harsh tone from you. Maybe because he actually had no clue who you were. Or, actually, how you were feeling to snap at her like that. You met at “Halloween Bash” party. Then, behind the gymnasium. To kiss. And fuck. But never to talk. Standard meaningless relationship. Using each other for pleasure. That is, until last weekend, because whatever you had going on was complicated now.

“Not your best day, huh?”

You stared at each other. Your jaw nervously clenched. Carol annoyingly chewed a green bubble gum. Mrs. Click entered the classroom, bidding its students good morning. You rolled your eyes at the brown-haired girl, sliding your bag from the chair to the floor, letting your body collapse against the harsh surface of the chair. Everyone quietened. Some people observed Mrs. Click organize her belongings on her desk. You held the cassette tape in your right hand, eyes idly staring at it, thumb repeatedly tracing the plastic case.

Up and down. Up and down. Up and down.

Billy discreetly observed his surroundings, people who were complete strangers to him as he was a complete stranger to them. Well, not exactly a complete stranger. People knew Billy Hargrove was the new Hawkins High School king. Knew he drove a Chevrolet Camaro. Knew he blasted music through the speakers of his car. Knew he was violent. But that was all. And it dawned on him, again, in such an inopportune moment, that he was alone.

He hated how those thoughts crept up on him. Had no clue what to do with them. But cry in the shower. Or in bed until there were no tears left to cry. It was a sad, desperate, angry cry. One that asked the depths of the Universe why he had been chosen to endure such mistreat, why there were no hands to pull him from the hole he had been trapped in for so long, why he had no clue about how to escape from the hands that hurt him.  

His peripheral sight registered your right hand holding a cassette tape and your left hand rubbing your eyes, which were filled with tears again. Out of nowhere. Then, he remembered the hug behind the gymnasium. Mrs. Click had started the lesson, but he sustained his gaze at you. No one had genuinely hugged him in such a long time. Maybe his mother. Before she disappeared from his life. But that was that. He gulped, licked his lips, and averted his gaze from you. Damn it. He had no clue what to do with the gesture. It was unexpected, and new. He certainly had no worth at all. So, why had you done it?

The ringing of the bell indicated the end of the first period class. Billy shifted in the chair. His right leg nervously bounced up and down. He observed the students gathering their belongings, secretly wishing they would simply disappear. You pulled the zipper of your bag closed and shoved your arms in its shoulder straps before shoving your hands in the pockets of your zip-up hoodie and remembering Ms. Kelley’s card had been abandoned inside it. Pacing towards the door, your peripheral sight registered Billy.

He paced towards your side and managed to notice the change in your features, especially your rather puffy eyes. His hand hesitantly touched your arm, and you froze, heart dropping to your stomach. Seconds passed before your turned on your heels. Billy anxiously chewed on his bottom lip. He glanced everywhere but you.

“I’m sorry.”

The words were faint as though he was ashamed to pronounce them. In fact, it was hard to pronounce them when the only person he apologized for was his father. His tongue had turned to rubber. It was heavy inside his mouth, which prompted him to gulp in a failed attempt to ease the uncomfortable sensation. You swiftly nodded, gaze on the floor, fingers tightly closed in a fist inside the zip-up hoodie pockets. You observed your feet, your white sneakers, his black high top All Star.

“Can we meet after Physical Education?”

You swiftly nodded again. Not sure why though. Maybe to put an end to the awkwardness of the dialogue, because did you truly want to meet him after having been thrown from one side to the other like a ragdoll? After having been silenced? Threatened? Or rejected?

“Okay, then,” Billy awkwardly shifted.

He stormed out of the classroom, leaving you behind to observe your white sneakers alone. You blinked, dragged your teeth over your bottom lip, and exhaled. Then, your feet carried you to the second-period classroom. And to the rest of the rooms you were supposed to be until the clock hit 3 p.m. It was your turn to wait behind the gymnasium. You had never done so, and felt stupid, anxious, even uncomfortable, standing there alone. Your idle mind replayed the scene in which you pathetically cried in front of Ms. Kelley – it was hard to believe it had happened just hours earlier –, which definitely only worsened your feelings.

You rested against the brick wall, hands squished behind your back, and kicked gravel around. Your bag rested by your side on the ground. The sun was high, the sky was blue, the wind was silent. You registered a whistle inside the gymnasium amongst the squeaks of shoes and screams from boys, probably the one that indicated the end of practice, and your heartbeat accelerated.

You still had time to run and abandon this bullshit. Had actually intended to do so, but a metallic door clicked close in the distance, so you contented yourself with idly pacing on the gravel. You should forget Billy Hargrove. Forget him to finally put an end to your misery and return to your silly routine. In fact, you should have never met at “Halloween Bash” party. Nor continued to meet behind the gymnasium. It had been a mistake.

Billy rounded the corner. His anxiety was being lessened by adrenaline pumping inside his vessels because of the practice, but he still felt his stomach protest in nervousness at the sight of you. He wore the standard Physical Education uniform, green shorts, and… Grey shirt? You slightly frowned. It had never been part of the standard “Billy uniform”, green shorts and no grey shirt.

His hair was slightly disheveled, and, as he approached you, you distinguished sweat covered his skin. A few strands of his blonde hair sticked to the sides of his face. He wiped the sweat off it with the white towel hanging on his left shoulder. You observed his earring bounce uncontrollably as his head moved.

“Hey,” Billy mumbled as he stopped walking, took up a stance with his feet slightly apart, rested his hands on his waist, and averted his gaze to his All Star. “I’m sorry for not showering first… I’m starting to regret it.”

Oh, words. Not that talking was prohibited, no. Just… You were expecting to be firmly kissed as you always were. You met behind the gymnasium to kiss. And fuck. But never to talk. Apparently, things had changed. You licked your lips and stared at him. His blue eyes were impossibly bluer under the afternoon sun, and his chest heaved perceptibly.

“We’re even. I don’t shower after our practices,” you pointed to the cheerleader uniform. “Which is… Gross...?”

He mirthfully laughed, “No, no, no, don’t worry. I guarantee you, right now, I’m worse in terms of sweat.”

He studied his own torso and pointed to it to prove his point. Maybe it was a mechanism to avoid talking about what mattered, but the fact that you were making small talk amused you to the bone. It lasted seconds, yeah, but it had happened. Now, silence had settled itself between your figures. It was extremely awkward, and you felt hot. Billy, too. He had no idea how to spill the “MUST SAY” list he had mentally made, because it was now blank. He pinched his nose and sniffled. Wished he had a cigarette to smoke. Maybe his thoughts would be clearer under the influence of the toxic smoke.

“So, uh…” He uttered.

Now, for the serious matter. The change in the atmosphere was palpable, the anxiety emanating from his body was palpable. He had never talked to someone about his trauma, had no idea if he wanted to. Never mind, even if he wanted to, his trauma had been buried under such an excessive number of layers he was sure it was impossible to dig a way to it. Actually, why did he ask to meet you in the first place? Was it shame for what his father had done to him? Was it guilt for what his father had done to you? Was it regret for what had unfolded before your eyes?

He had no clue.

You patiently stood by the brick wall. It would be of no use to pressure him to talk, so you let him lead the way. You scrutinized his figure. He was tense. Visibly tense. Silence stretched between you. Birds chirped in the distance, and students screamed nearby in the football field. Your head turned to the source of the noises, and you observed the trees in the distance. They slowly moved from one side to the other.

“Are you okay?”

Again, his tongue had turned to rubber. When had he started asking people if they were okay? The words sounded weird to him. And to you. An amused laugh left your lips.

“What?” Billy stared at you.

His blue eyes carried an indescribable intensity – have always carried –, and you were slowly learning to interpret it even though it was rather intimidating to stare back at them. He felt slightly irritated at your reaction. He had noticed you had been crying, and the question was supposed to show he cared.

He dragged his teeth through his bottom lip as he averted his gaze to the ground. He had started impatiently pacing from one side to the other, hands resting on his waist again. You noticed the nervousness in his movement and cursed yourself for not collaborating with him.

“I’m sorry, Billy. I’m sorry. This… This definitely is far from what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

You shrugged. Yeah, what did you expect? You expected to be rejected again, you expected a pattern, you expected another “Stay away from me”, but you received “Are you okay?”, and your mind was incapable of processing it. There was no programmed answer to that. The neural pathways had been trained solely to stay quiet as he snapped at you. Silence stretched between you again, and it was awkward. You stared at the ground and kicked gravel around again.

“You were crying earlier.”

“Oh, hello, Sherlock Holmes,” you sarcastically answered as you swiftly rolled your eyes.

You hated to be observed. It meant allowing your flaws to be discovered. And pointed out. And that was definitely uncomfortable.

“What is your fucking problem?” Billy frowned.

“What do you want me to say, Billy? Huh? Yeah, I was crying! Congratulations for noticing it!”

“Why did you agree to meet me in the first place if you were planning on acting like a fucking ten-year-old?”

“What?”

“I wanted to talk!”

“About what? Huh?” You angrily snapped, and, at the lack of an answer, you eagerly continued. “This is exactly the problem! We never talk, Billy! We never talk! We kiss, and fuck, and the cycle goes on and on and on. Not that I’m complaining, though… I’m not complaining at all! But, someday, your father hits you! And insults me! Then, you shut me up, threaten me, hit Steve Harrington twice apparently, and kiss me in this very spot as though nothing ever happened? And when I try to talk about it, you storm off like a fucking ten-year-old! What was I supposed to do? Act normal? So, yes! I was crying!”

You heavily exhaled as your back collapsed against the brick wall. Stress shook your body, and you turned your head towards the football field, observing the trees behind the fences. You followed two birds flying in the distance as tears filled your eyes, and you started copiously crying.

Billy was completely frozen in fear. His heartbeat was accelerated. He hated when people screamed at him. Made his soul cower in a corner. He had no idea what to do, waited for you to follow the pattern his father followed and hit him, but you solely cried.

The blonde-haired boy shakily exhaled and painfully swallowed the urge to cry. His jaw clenched, and his eyes had started to be filled by tears. He nervously licked his lips as fat teardrops involuntarily streamed down his face. He was glad you were oblivious to him in the moment. He hated his appearance when he cried, hated himself when he cried.

“I’m sorry, Billy,” you incoherently babbled.

He blurredly registered your white snickers stop in front of him through abundant tears as his features contorted in a silent cry. He braced himself for another hug, but it never happened, so he found himself asking for it. You complied and snaked your arms around his body. It was tense, and he flinched when it touched yours, hesitantly sinking in your arms. Your sobs mingled in the air, and your chests eventually collapsed against each other.

He was struck by the answer he had been seeking. Had asked to meet you because he wanted to feel safe. Because your hands had temporarily pulled him from the hole he had been trapped in for so long. Then, Billy reciprocated the gesture, and an unannounced wave of relief crashed against your bones.

You cried harder amongst a genuine laugh, and the grip of your fingers tightened around the fabric of his shirt, “Jesus Christ, Billy Hargrove.”

He snuggled up to you and pressed his face against the junction between your neck and your shoulders. There was no need for words at the moment, no. Words you and Billy had been desperately searching for in vain since he stepped out of the gymnasium. In vain, because you had only to found inadequate ones. Billy had picked the wrong place and the wrong time to talk. Yes, he wanted to talk, but he had no idea how to share the depths of his being yet. Had never done so. You and he would eventually learn to talk. And hug. And get professional help.

Together.

“I have a mix tape for you.”

He laughed. It was genuine. The sound was beautiful. And you immediately fell in love with it. It was the first time Billy Hargrove spontaneously laughed in a long time. Out of everything there was to say…

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #stranger things #nat writes

[sternvonafrika]

i will never forget how my mother told me "you know i would support you more if it wasn't for your father"

#my father loathes me & at this point it's impossible to deny it #it's absurd to clean & cook for him now; for someone that you know for sure never wanted you and hates you but still wants you to do the - #chorse because god forbid he touches something in this goddamn house #and my mother tell me i need to understand because it's not easy for him but he still loves me - and no; how can someone love his child - #and blatantly hate a part of who he is? how is this love? when he doesn't even TRY to work on it? why is it always me that needs to accept - #& understand the views of a sick homophobe who questions the value of the existence of people like me? #but also ... my mother is not innocent; because if she really was radically different from him she would argue with him and at least try - #to convince him that (very radical; i know) his son MAYBE still deserves some love BUT NO she just excuses him & acts as the progressive - #one right in front of my face in order to (idk?) have my sympathy? appear very tolerant? while she does nothing to change his mind #if she really believed i still deserve to be loved she would destroy the world to convince everyone i do; but she just say it to me - #(to reassure me i guess) and yet doesn't move a finger in my favor in front of homophobes #don't reblog i just don't know who to talk to; my best friend is on holiday and i feel ashamed even writing this here #nico.txt #tw homophobia

[nevertheless-moving]

Invisible Hand Chaos AU x 2

Star Wars Time Travel AU #31

Continuation from HERE

Anakin whirled to face his Master, “Did you know Yoda had a baby?” he asked incredulous and slightly betrayed.

“What? No. Also he could just be another of Yoda’s species. Obviously.” Internally Obi-Wan thought about the still unnamed larva in a hidden aquatic creche, but the Mandalorian’s associate even called him Baby Yoda...

“Unbelievable,” Dooku muttered. “That little green hypocrite.”

“Did you know about this?” Anakin asked the Sith Lord, temporarily forgetting about the fight in favor of the revelation that Yoda might also have a secret family.

“Of course not, the troll never tells anyone anything,” Dooku ranted, deliberately setting aside the fight in favor of unloading decades of suppressed irritation with his former Master.

“I feel we might be jumping to conclusions here-” Obi-Wan offered weakly. 

Anakin scoffed. “He literally just called him Baby Yoda,”

“Loathe as I am to admit it, your apprentice is correct. It would seem the Grandmaster of the order has been keeping some secrets.”

“This is absurd!” Obi-Wan protested as the small child on the balcony above tilted his head curiously, watching the conversation below with interest from the safety of his Buir’s arms. 

“I agree.” Anakin said self-righteously. “If Yoda can have a baby then- then everyone in the order should be allowed a family.”

“Anakin...”

“Anakin, as interesting is this all is, I’m still in somewhat of a bind over here,” the Chancellor called across the hall, irritated and somewhat alarmed by the sudden outbreak of peace in the room.

“We’ll be right with you Chancellor, don’t worry!” Obi-Wan called back. 

“We just need a minute to figure some Jedi business out!” Anakin added. 

“You there- Mandalorian” Dooku called up sharply. 

“...Yeah?” the Besker-clad warrior answered uncertainly.

“What is the parentage of the child in your arms? How did you come to possess him?” The count's question cut through everything else in the room, and the two Jedi held their breath as they waited for the answer.

The Mandalorian pulled Grogu in closer, “He is a foundling. I know his name as my child.”

“Mandalorians,” Obi-Wan and Dooku muttered, Obi-Wan fondly, Dooku with exasperation.

“What?” Anakin asked bewildered.

“The Mandalorian adopted him- hold on a second, I’m going to try something.” Obi-Wan said.

“Mando! Forgive me- Have you already attempted to return your foundling to his people and been denied? If not, we can show you where to find an elder of his kind.”

The Mandalorian stiffened. “I already found one of his people. It took a great deal of time; neither of us knew there were any others left in the galaxy. By the time I met Luke...the child was mine and we would not be parted long. The three of us began traveling together. He acted as mentor to Grogu, though he is too young to be considered the boy’s senior. In time...we decided it would be simpler to raise him as a warrior together. We are one.”

“Oh. How wonderful.” Obi-Wan said weakly. 

Anakin’s brow furrowed furiously and he lowered his voice “Master did I get that right? This guy is really good friend’s with one of Yoda’s people but the friend is not the Child’s biological father and they don’t know anyone else from the species?”

“He actually said he was married to one of one of Yoda’s people but other than that your conclusions are correct. Very good Padawan.” Obi-Wan nodded, attempting to wrap his head around the various implications.

Dooku made a triumphant hum, “Then, by simple inductive reasoning, and in the absence of an alternative candidate, we can assume that the Child is, in-fact, Yoda’s offspring.”

“Exactly!” Anakin agreed with Dooku excitedly. 

“Interesting that he would give the spawn to a Mandalorian, rather than the creche. Embarrassment, perhaps.” the Count mused. 

“Unbelievable.” Anakin agreed indignantly. 

“Ok, now hold on. Foundling is pretty literal most of the time-” Obi-Wan interrupted. “Mando- was the child entrusted to you or did was there a rescuing involved?”

“...I was assigned to find him as part of a bounty, but found the imps who I was supposed to give him to...unpleasant.”

“Imps?” Anakin asked. 

“There you go!” Obi-Wan said, with just a tinge of hysteria. “Yoda didn’t abandon the child- not that it necessarily is Yoda’s child- he was kidnapped.”

Anakin gasped, “Master! We have to save him!”

“Hold on now, Anakin- He seems perfectly safe at this point and we were here for the Chancellor remember?”

“You won’t be leaving here with the Chancellor or the child.” Dooku sneered. “I can sense the force potential- and I am in want of a new apprentice.”

“Over my dead body,” Anakin snarled.

“That can be arranged.”

“Hey Luke-” the Mandalorian said into the comm as the three swordsman began circling one another “-it looks like two of the Jedi are attacking the other- do you want me to get involved?”

“...Din, by any chance, are any of the laser swords red?”

“Yeah, the fanciest dressed one has a red lightsaber, the other guys are blue. Does it matter?”

“...Red lightsaber means not Jedi. I- hold on, I think I see you!”

The three combatants jumped apart again, looking up at the slight comm echo to the sound of footsteps and the absolutely blinding force presence of the approaching Jedi. 

Had he never learned shielding? Obi-Wan thought hysterically. “Or was he just so powerful that he never bothered restraining himself?”

He tried to exchange a glance with Anakin, but his padawan was too focused on straining to see the incoming Master force user of some kind- light, but not necessarily Jedi. He instead looked over at Dooku, shrugging in confusion. Dooku grimaced back at him in solidarity.

The being finally entered. He was- significantly taller and less green than Obi-Wan was expecting, but still probably shorter than anyone else in the room.

“Din- are you two alright?” The soft-faced man asked in a remarkably gently voice, appearance somewhat at odds with the overbearing power he exuded.

“We’re fine, Luke but look! More Jedi!” He gestured below. 

Luke peered over the balcony, eyes growing wide as they passed over the faces of everyone below. “hoLY KRIFF!” He shouted.

The ship shuddered and Obi-Wan glanced nervously out the view ports, suddenly remembered that the damaged ship only had so long before it fell out of orbit.

“Do you know them?” Din asked. 

“Do I- for fuck’s sake Din, I love you but I have literally shown you holopics of my father before.” Luke whispered furiously. The room unfortunately was utterly quiet and remarkably acoustic, meaning his words carried easily to the listeners below.

“FATHER!” Anakin yelled, causing Luke to wince, slapping a gloved hand to his face.

“FATHER!” He repeated loudly, head ping-ponging between Obi-Wan and Dooku as if trying to find a resemblance, before gasping to stare at the Chancellor, before gasping again to squint at Obi-Wan. 

“DOES EVERYONE HAVE A SECRET FAMILY!” He shouted, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“Oh for force sake- I do not have a secret son. Honestly, Anakin, he’s clearly in his 20s, be reasonable. His birth would however fit into the timeline of Dooku’s withdraw from the order.” Obi-Wan said, raising a brow.

Dooku puffed out his chest, “I did not fail to meet the Code, like so many of the pathetic masses. Before I left the Order I followed the rules precisely. When my disagreements grew too great, and my attempt for structured reform were repeatedly rejected, I left for ethical reasons, not personal ones. I looked at the code and decided it was failing the Jedi.”

He smirked and lifted his chin at the chancellor, who was watching the proceedings with an inscrutable expression, “My, my Chancellor, this is an interesting surprise.”

Anakin rolled his eyes. “We’re not idiots, Dooku. Obviously the boy’s parents were force sensitive, look at him.” 

Dooku’s smirk grew wider.

“This is absurd! Again!” Obi-Wan threw up his arms and lifted his head to address the dark-robed young human, “Hello there, Luke, was it?” 

“Uh, yes. I’m Luke.” The powerhouse responded nervously. 

“My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi-”

“Yes, I know who you are.” Luke responded drily.

Anakin gasped. 

“He is not my son.” Obi-Wan muttered.

“I’m not Obi-Wan’s son.” Luke called down cheerfully.

“Oh.” Anakin slouched, oddly disappointed. He liked this guy for some reason, felt- connected to him. Maybe it was the dark robes, or the force signature that nearly rivaled his own (though it was somewhat lighter), or even the gloved hand that he suspected was mechanical. If he was Obi-Wan’s son than that would make him practically his brother! The Chancellor might be neat but Dooku...ugh.

“Would you be so kind as to tell us whose son you are? I realize its none of my business but you’ve peaked our curiosity. And then afterwards, regardless of your parentage, we would not mind help in rescuing the Chancellor of the Republic from this slowly crashing ship.”

“Right. Right.” Luke nodded. “Would you give me a second?”

He pressed his head to the side of Din’s helmet and started whispering rapidly, to quiet for anyone else to hear. 

The group below exchanged glances, beginning to tense up again. After a few seconds, the Mandalorian nodded and spoke, “Let’s do it. I trust your judgement.” Luke grinned and returned to the edge of the balcony. 

“Ok, I can help with the first, but not the second.”

“Perfectly understandable.” Obi-Wan replied.

Anakin bristled. “So Dooku is your father.”

Luke smiled at Anakin. “No. You are my father.”

Anakin blinked as Obi-Wan’s face twisted in confusion. “No...” he said slowly. “No, that’s not true. That’s impossible.”

Luke’s smile grew wider, “Search your feelings,” he said urgently, with the full weight of his force presence screaming honesty with every word, “You know it to be true.”

Anakin gasped as he reached out into the force to find...his son. Impossible, but true. The ground trembled, either with the immensity of the realization, or catastrophic engine failure.

“No.” Obi-Wan said clearly to Luke on the balcony.

“No.” He repeated firmly, snapping a finger in Anakin’s face to try and break him out of the trance he seemed to be in. “It’s not true.” He said to the room in general, incredulous it even needed to be said.

Dooku began slowly backing away. The confrontation was rapidly spinning out of his or his Master’s control; he had only stayed this long to indulge vain curiosity. Regardless if the boy was insane, lying, or a time-traveler, he was clearly powerful. The ship’s orbit was gradually decaying and with any luck he could use his dead man’s switch to speed up the crash as he departed, neatly killing everyone who could stand against him in one stroke.

“Anakin,” the lunatic on the balcony continued, “You can destroy the emperor. He has forseen this. It is your destiny! Join me, and together-”

Din cleared his throat.

Luke stopped and smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. “Sorry! Sorry. Got a little...carried away there.” He coughed awkwardly into his fist.

“Anyway- yeah. I’m Luke Skywalker. I’m from the future, I guess we... time-traveled accidentally somehow? I uh- was kind-of quoting something you said to me once and you kept going along with it and... yeah, definitely got carried away. Sorry, I really don’t know how we got here but, weird stuff happens around me- one time I was on Yavin IV and these ghosts started- anyway. Long story. Surprise!”

Obi-Wan took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Ok...I might believe you’re Anakin’s son.”

Dooku had nearly reached a side door when his treacherous Master called out- “Anakin! Master Kenobi! Dooku- he’s getting away.”

Skywalker’s- Anakin Skywalker’s- attention snapped over to the Count and with a outstretched arm, he crumpled the steel door, throwing a beam across it for good measure. The ship moaned alarmingly and several more red lights began blinking at the navigation panel, unnoticed by anyone.

“Luke- son- I don’t know what Emperor you’re talking about, but help us defeat Count Dooku and save Chancellor Palpatine! After that- after that I’m happy to, um, join you? And meet your... husband? And padawan? Sorry, we were kind-of in the middle of something...” 

���Wow. Ok. I’m not sure if-” Luke started to respond before being interrupted by the Mandalorian.

“Wait, Dooku! I know that name!” Din said suddenly. “The covert hated him! He was the evil Sif Emperor you defeated, right?”

“...Sith Emperor. Din, darling and light of my life, as always, your grasp of history and recent current events never fails to amaze me.” Luke sighed.

“You must stop him, before he becomes Emperor,” Palpatine shouted desperately. 

Luke sighed again, more heavily. “Fine. FINE! Kriff the timeline, I didn’t ask to be born anyway. Din- go help capture...Emperor Dooku. Grogu- Pod. I’ll go- free the Chancellor.” The floor beneath them gave a lurch. “Before this ship breaks apart. Go!” 

Luke and Din jumped off the balcony as a shiny metal pod with a transparisteel view screen closed around Grogu, hovering between them, well off easy reach of the ground.

Din landed between Obi-Wan and Anakin, helmet turning to face each of them in turn, “...I’ll follow your lead.” He finally said, arming his weapons.

Obi-Wan grinned fiercely, “Excellent, Anakin, stay with me.”

“I was just about to say the same thing.”

“Mando, you- Is that the DARKSABER- ARE Yoouu- ugh you know what, I will ask after the fight. I will ask after the fight. How did the Mand'alor- NEVERMIND. Let’s just- FORCE I have so many questions-” 

“No time, Master!”

And the battle began. 

#star wars #the mandalorian #my au #invisible hand chaos au #star wars au no 31 #i had so much fun writing this you have no idea #star wars au #time travel #star wars fanfiction

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Headcanons - Maeglin

I suppose after my last post I might as well put this together. I would prefer it in the form of a post-canon fic, specifically a very uncomfortable conversation/confession between Maeglin and Tuor and Idril in (or more specifically, directly off the coast of) Valinor, but it’s not like the chances of that ever coming together are very high.

I go with what The Silmarillion says: that Maeglin did desire Idril and hate Tuor, and that that was a contributing factor in his betrayal of Gondolin to Morgoth; and that fear was also an element in it but, since the narrative says he isn’t a coward, the fear was not specifically of physical torture.

Additionally, because active and knowing collaboration with Morgoth is something otherwise unknown among the elves, by the time he came to the Halls Maeglin’s soul was, in effect, a orc. (This likewise applies to various of the Fëanorians, but somewhat less obviously visibly. They can still lie to themselves about what they are. Maeglin can’t. In some ways that gives him a better possibility of changing. Going by Celegorm’s clear hatred of Dior, it’s evident that he’s managed to rationalize himself as somehow the victim of the whole course of events in the Leithian and is pretty determinedly locked into that perspective of seeing himself as the wronged part rather than as one who did anything wrong. Whereas it’s nigh impossible for Maeglin to look at the product of his decisions and go yes, that went well; it is now patently obvious that Morgoth was never going to keep any agreement.)

So here is Maeglin’s story, featuring a scary and manipulative Morgoth.

He is captured and brought before Morgoth, and Morgoth does not torture him. Instead, Morgoth shows him visions of all that his curse did to Túrin and his family, the endless destruction of all that Túrin cared for, strove for, or sought to achieve or protect. And he says, “I have no intention of killing you. I will let you go, and I will do this to you. Your city, your friends, the woman you love, your reputation, all will be destroyed. It does not matter if you deny me; everyone will still think you betrayed the city, and loathe you. I have my own ways of finding things out. The city has no chance.” And he shows Maeglin the power of Angband, and last of all shows him the winged dragons, which could easily fly over the mountains looking for a hidden city. Morgoth’s not ready to reveal them outside Angband yet, but Maeglin doesn’t know that.

And then Morgoth says, “If you refuse me, the city will still fall, and every one of them will blame you. But, if you reveal it to me, I will spare you, and the king’s daughter, and some others that you may choose, and you may rule them. But I claim the life of the king, and of the would-be prophet; that must be your sacrifice.” And the last line twists the knife excellently, because Maeglin genuinely loves Turgon as a father, but he has no objection at all to Tuor’s death or capture by Morgoth; that’s a feature, not a bug, and Morgoth knows it.

So Maeglin’s fall to temptation proceeds from two things. First, given the choice between doing right and being percieved by all as having done evil, and doing evil but being percieved as good, he chooses is the latter. [Is this partly inspired by Plato’s discussion of that concept in The Republic - the just man seen as unjust or the unjust man seen as just? A bit.] Second, the same cause as Anakin’s fall in the Star Wars prequels: valuing one’s ability to possess a desired person rather than valuing that person’s own beliefs, convictions, and desires. Idril would never wish to preserve her life at the cost of Gondolin, and would (and does) despise Maeglin for seeking to make such a choice on her behalf. Padmé would never wish to preserve her own life at the cost of the Republic, or of the lives of innocents, or of Anakin’s soul. But the men who desire them are seeing them not as individuals with meaningful choices, but as treasured objects to be clung to at all costs. (Obviously, the lack of reciprocation in Maeglin—>Idril is one of the things that makes it worse than Anakin/Padme.)

So Maeglin agrees to Morgoth’s terms, and betrays Gondolin. And having made that agreement, he has given Morgoth an inroad into his soul. His thoughts, his desires, his choices, are all more susceptible to corruption than they would otherwise be. Over the following years, he has intermittent doubts and regrets about his choice, but he can’t break away. It’s not impossible - he could - but only if he could bring himself banish all selfishness, to care solely about saving what can be saved of Gondolin, and not at all about the consequences to himself or what anyone would think of him. And he can’t muster that kind of purse sense of purpose. The way he descibes it in this conversation is as if an indolent man, without any prior exercise, set out to climb a mountain; unpractised and unready, he would be unable to muster the physucal strength to do it. Maeglin lacks moral exercise; he did not cultivate the needed qualities when he had the chance; he did not seek to restrain his negative impulses (desire for Idril, though she is a married woman with no interest in him; hatred for Tuor, though he has done nothing to deserve it); and now, when he needs that strength, he lacks it.

And the more the years go by, the more Morgoth’s power creeps into his spirit. (Do you know, Maeglin asks, what it is to feel you soul rot within you?) By the time the city falls, he retains little beyond his worst impulses: desire for Idril, and hatred for anything other than himself that she might love.

At this point in the post-canon confession/conversation, Maeglin turns to Tuor and Idril in turn. Thank you, he says to Tuor. Thank you for ending it. And to Idril: Thank you for saving what could be saved from my treachery.

And Tuor asks: What do you think would have happened, if you had lived?

Maeglin: He would have taken me, and completed in body what he had already achieved in spirit.

Tuor: You think he would have....would have made you an orc?

Maeglin: In the Halls of Mandos, the fëa, shorn of flesh, can no longer disguise itself. In every way that mattered, I already was.

The conversation goes beyond there, in bits and pieces, and Maeglin explains the nature of his recivery from orc-ness in the Halls, and they reach a form of reconciliation, but the part I describe is the part I’ve envisioned most clearly.

A bit of my other headcanon around post-Mandos Maeglin is that he is deeply, deeply uncomfortable around the Valar and Maiar, which tends to manifest in abrasiveness and apparent lack of respect about/towards them. After all, he hasn’t lived among them as the Noldor did; the only Vala he’s ever met is Morgoth, and that didn’t go well; and on top of that, he’s traitor; so the Valar flat-out terrify him, and since that makes him feel like a coward - which he already regards himself as - he compensates with some hostility towards them. He can’t offer anything like an apology to them because of the standing question (unresolved even in Maeglin’s mind) as to whether such an apology would be out of genuine contrition or abject terror. The Valar largely understand this and are willing to give him time and space, but some Gondolindrim (Ecthelion, particularly), take it as insolence and an indication that he’s not sincerely repentant.

The above conversation with Idril and Tuor takes place entirely upon boats, which only adds to Maeglin’s discomfort, since he’s particularly scared of Ulmo (as patron of Gondolin, Ulmo has particular reason to be displeased with him).

Okay, one final headcanon. Maeglin is literally the only person who Eärendil dislikes. This makes Eärendil very uncomfortable, as he’s not accustomed to disliking people. He doesn’t wish any harm to Maeglin, he wishes him well, but he would vastly prefer that Maeglin could have that good life somewhere with no reference or proximity whatsoever to Eärendil. Since Idril and Tuor’s situation and typical location is...peculiar, Eärendil is the one who - with great misgivings - arranges for Maeglin to have the opportunity to talk to them.

#tolkien #the silmarillion #maeglin #idril #tuor #gondolin #redemption #morgoth

[anthonyed]

stevetony + no. 99 (“I fell in love with you, not them.”)? only if you want to, of course. no pressure! :)

ive said this before: i LOVED writing this. hopefully you like cats ♡

-//-

Tony says it started like this: 

One afternoon, Tony barged into Pepper’s office because he conveniently forgot how to knock and caught her rolling a miniature lint roller up her suit sleeve. 

She startled with her high pitched, “Oh my god, Tony!” But, Tony was too fascinated by the lint roller that he kept advancing with a singular focus.

“What is that?”

Pepper bristled, “It’s a lint roller. Why are you here? I told you I don’t want to see you for at least four hours.”

Oh. Right. She was still upset about something Tony did during the board meeting. Menial stuff, unimportant, anyway -

“I know what it is, what I meant is, why are you using that in here?”

At this point, he’s close enough to catch the very fine blonde hair stuck on the roller. “Are you trying to bury the evidence of your boyfriend, Miss Potts? Because while that is very thoughtful, I have a feeling he’d be -,”

“It’s not a boyfriend,” Pepper rolled her eyes. “With you as my boss I don’t have such time -,”

Tony on the other hand, while Pepper was talking, snagged the roller from her hand, “This is - This is not - Ah CHO!”

Pepper winced. 

Tony’s jaw dropped. 

“Miss Potts,” he asked, deadly calm. “I thought you read and signed all the clauses when you agreed to be my personal assistant.”

“I did, Mr Stark.” Pepper's lips thinned.

Tony dropped the roller on her table; the miniature thing completing two circles before stopping in front of her.

“Then why are there cat hair all over you?”

-

Despite what Tony likes to think, according to Pepper it started like this:

"Who is that?" Tony asked, low whisper, eyes like hawk fixed on the blonde man with a pink cap - 

"Oh!" Pepper exclaimed, leaning sideways and waving to catch the guy's attention. "That would be my lunch."

From the cat cafe, Pepper didn't say. Instead, she hurried out of the room to meet the delivery staff before he could enter; didn't want to risk putting the man responsible for her paycheck in close contact with the one thing he's allergic to: cats' fur. 

Now, Pepper doesn't know exactly what Tony thought that day, but when she reentered the room after shoving a 20 dollars bill into the guy's hand, she found Tony to be in some kind of… stupor. 

She stopped where she stepped in. The door closed behind her and she asked, "Tony?"

Tony startled. "Is that your boyfriend?"

"What? No!"

"Is he single?"

"Tony -,"

"Who is he?"

Pepper paused. Then she promptly decided to play hard - because secretly she is a menace and Tony is right. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Fast forward the next day; she saw Happy exiting her beloved cat cafe and entering the limo he drives to drop Tony off at work.

She didn't even hesitate; she pulled open the passenger door and slid into the empty seat.

"Fancy seeing you here," she cocked her head, smiling syrupy sweet. 

Tony Stark stared wide eyed, like he'd been caught red-handed with a cookie jar.  

"Ah HAH!" Pepper pointed at him. 

No matter how much Tony denied: "It is not what you think it is!", don't believe him. 

It was exactly what it was. In fact, that was how it started.

-

But Steve never talked to Pepper as much as he talked to Tony. So he obviously thought what Tony claims is right.

That the reason the wildly famous Tony Stark started frequenting Bucky's cat cafe is because he loves cats, and the moment he learned his PA had been hiding this cafe’s existence from him, he bribed her with fancy shoes to get the address. 

Happy would say, bullshit. 

But as it is, Happy works for Tony and Tony bribes him with a free sandwich of the day every time they visit the cafe to keep his trap shut. 

(What can Happy do in the face of excellent sandwiches and delicious Caramel Macchiato? They do say it’s hard to get the caramel swirls on top of the whipped cream right, and whoever makes his drink does it perfectly each time. So at least for the love of that talent, Happy keeps his mouth shut.)

So, when Bucky taps the caramel bottle on the counter and grumbles, “Are you gonna ever ask him out?” - Steve blushes the deepest shade of pink and pries his eyes away from Tony.

“Why would I ever do that?” He busies himself with… nothing.

“Uh, I don’t know Stevie, maybe the fact that he keeps coming back here asking for this vile shit," he pauses to press the cap delicately over the large Caramel Macchiato. "Or that he’s giving you pathetic googly eyes all the time?” 

Bucky glares at Steve then he directs that glare at the drink he loathes making the most with all the venom in the world. 

“Wherever he’s putting this cursed thing into," he shoves it at Steve. “Here. Go call for your knight in… whatever the fuck he’s wearing.”

Steve turns to look at where Tony’s sitting; in the far left corner in the back of the cafe; in his pinstripe suit and daisy dotted tie paired with white, also daisy dotted, sneakers and a pair of orange-tinted glasses. 

Alpine - Bucky's white Turkish Angora - sits pristinely on the table in front of Tony looking like she’s giving him a lecture on something - like father, like daughter - while Tony stares right back at her challengingly. 

Liho, who’s Natasha’s favourite kitten (no matter how fervently Natasha denies having a favourite at all) is lounging next to Tony, tail draped lazily over his lap. Mrs Berry in all her tortoiseshell glory, is licking her butt on Tony’s left. Grey Mr Goose is sniffing Tony’s shoes and rubbing up his shin. 

Behind the cash-counter, Steve sighs like the hopeless man he is. Bucky’s bemused gaze bores into him steadily.

Steve bristles, “I don’t see what’s wrong with what he’s wearing.” Because as much as Bucky’s wrong about Tony being interested in Steve in any way, he is right in assuming that Steve is. 

As a matter of fact, he’s balancing precariously between sanity and lovesick insanity and with every visit from Tony, he’s tipping dangerously towards the latter. Fantastic.

“Idiot,” Bucky snorts, turning to the kitchen. "At least ask him to change the fucking order. For fucks’ sake.”

Which leaves Steve alone with Tony, since it’s 8.30pm on a Tuesday and the cafe would never see a slower business hour than that.

Heaving out a heavy sigh, Steve puts the drink on a tray and checks his reflection on the microwave’s shiny surface - courtesy of Phil, their clean-freak coworker - before he moves.

It’s both scary and amazing how each time he makes his way to Tony, his heart would pitter patter and trip in its running behind his ribcage. So is the way he’d inhale sharply, lashes fluttering when they lock eyes and Tony smiles and -

Steve could just die right then and there. 

-

The first time Steve talked to Tony; he vividly remembers it being a horrible day. 

Everything had gone wrong from when the alarm went off that morning - A series of misfortunate events, and he’d just bribed Clint with a promise of dinner from his wallet in exchange for his extra shirt because an idiot on the freeway had driven through a puddle of rainwater soaking Steve dirty and wet. 

Then, he’d stepped behind the cash counter for his turn at taking orders when a rich-looking asshole in a gaudy get up started yanking on Steve’s already frayed nerves. The man, with his stupid beard and flashy glasses rattled off what he’d probably thought an impossible order.

But Bucky was the barista for that hour and Steve had never come across an order Buck couldn’t whip up till this day. Right then though, he was calmly speckling cocoa dust on a mocha, letting Steve face their new customer who had evidently walked in to test their capability. 

Unfortunately for all parties involved, it was just not Steve’s day.

“Do you want anything else?” He’d asked, after dotting pointedly on the cup. 

Tony had leered at him, saying: “Maybe a little smile for the service,” and Steve fucking snapped.

“I’m sorry. But we don’t serve that for assholes.”

He could see Bucky freeze next to him. Tony, on the other hand, looked fully offended. “Excuse me?” he started, peering above his purple glasses, gearing up for a fight and Steve wasn’t going to back down either - putting the empty cup aside as he inhaled and squared up his shoulders. 

But Bucky broke it off before it could even begin.

“Rogers, go make sure Barton is not ruining my sourdough,” he spoke up, flat toned, and he squeezed Steve’s arm warningly before offering his best smile to Tony. “I’m sorry, sir. We just ran out of cardamom so if you don’t mind excluding that from your order, I could whip it up for you just fine.”

The sudden professionalism was so jarring for both men that they each stuttered out an affirmative response and that was that.

Steve went into the kitchen, finished his shift, put an end to his awful day and he forgot all about the asshole customer. Until a week after when he returned.

-

“One caramel macchiato with perfected caramel swirl for Happy Hogan,” Steve places the tray in front of Tony. 

Alpine hops down and leaves, bringing her gang with. Tony’s eyes trail after the number of swishing tails, as well as Steve’s. 

“They really do like you,” Steve tells him, turning back to Tony with a teasing glint in his eyes; cheeks straining hard to keep a happy smile inside. "Nobody gets that much attention all at once."

Tony snorts, leaning forward in his seat, and he looks up from the rim of his glasses. "Pretty sure it's an intimidation tactic," he squints his eyes at Steve.

"Whatever for," Steve chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck and he looks down at his feet before looking up at Tony. “Are you gonna stay here longer? I was wondering if I should make yours to go or to have here.”

“Oh,” Tony glances at the tray, “So that’s why my drink is not here then,” he grins at Steve.

“You didn’t even notice.”

“Too busy noticing you.”

Steve blinks, “What’s that?”

“To have here,” Tony declares loudly, his eyes flicker as if they’re hiding something, and his next words come out softer, “If you don’t mind having me here for long, that is.”

Steve’s pretty sure he’s blushing; at least his ears must be the shade of tomatoes in the Spring. At least. “No. I - Of course not.” Could have said, stay forever please but luckily for Steve even his self-deprecating tendency has mercy on him. “Shall we?” He signals.

Tony’s eyes go wide as a saucer. “You’re letting me watch you make it?” And there’s excitement in there, Steve could taste it, even if Tony is trying so hard to keep it contained.

“I mean, we’re not busy now,” he shrugs and the doorbell dings, seeing the only couple who was there out. “And we’re closing in fifteen minutes so…” Steve turns back to Tony, mouth stretching slowly into a smile, eyes twinkling and he could see Tony’s face wearing his reflection as he stands up. 

“Lead the way, fine Sir.” 

-

Changing opinions is not an easy thing to do; especially those cemented so strongly from first impressions.

Seeing Tony the second time immediately made Steve’s spine tense up. But he’s been on this job for a very long time and he knows how to keep feelings away from his profession. He looks Tony straight in the eyes and beamed at him like sunshine.

“Hello! Welcome to Purricano, what would you like to have today?”

Steve distinctly remembers Tony’s eyes going saucer shape wide that day; two rapid blinks and a slack jaw which required Steve’s arched eyebrows to work. (If you ask Tony, of course he’s going to deny that.)

“You’re smiling today,” he squinted. “Why are you smiling? Do I have something on my face?” His eyes flashed towards the nearest reflective surface and Steve swallowed a bubbling laugh. 

“Except for your fashionable pink sunglasses, I assure you, there is nothing on your face, Mister,” (and your stupid goatee), Steve kept smiling creepily. 

Tony’s eyes grew narrower, and he glanced over his shoulder once - making sure no one else was waiting in line - before leaning close to the counter. He beckoned at Steve with one elegant finger, and he hushed, “Do you really think it’s fashionable?”

And the first bubble of laughter escaped out of Steve’s chest that day.

Never stopped ever since.

-

Tony makes him happy. There’s no denying in that. 

It’s probably why Bucky keeps pestering Steve to ask him out; because it’s been years since Steve last laughed. Genuinely, and this loud.

“Oh god,” he clutches his stomach, wiping tears from his eyes. 

The horrible latte art Tony attempted stares back with ugly googly eyes when he looks down and he bursts into another fit of laughter. 

He could feel one of the felines’ tail curling around his ankle curiously, and a pair of large green eyes peer up at him longingly with an accompanying pitiful meow.

“Not,” Steve tells her. 

None of the cats are allowed on the counter; even Alpine doesn’t get the pass. But she likes to try the most out of them all. The rest are already settled for bedtime, and Steve briefly thanks his quick wit to flip the sign close on the front door before he starts showing Tony around.

He turns to him with aching cheeks, tingling skin but the remnant of his grin dies when he sees Tony’s face. Something else takes residence in his belly instead; wings flapping neurotically, lifting to fly away.

“What?” he asks, lashes fluttering, breath sticking like glue on the lining of his throat. Because Tony looks dazed, like he’d just witnessed something divine but got no vocabulary enough to describe what was that.

He shakes his head, inhale sounding sharp, and he tries to bury his words under a chuckle but Steve hears him this time. “You’re beautiful.”

Loud like a Church’s bell, echoing even after and Steve’s heart stutters in his chest. Hope, blossoms like Queen of the Night; rapid and shy. Would die with a single ‘no’ from Tony, would probably never bloom again after this, but the hope is heavy as well as pretty; pushes Steve to ask Tony, “Did you mean that?”

Tony’s eyes snap up and Steve could see the same hope growing in them. “Are you kidding me?” he asks, voice high with a nervous tremor and it comes out like a breathy bark. His shoulders come loose, all limbs as well, and he reaches out for Steve before he stops himself. 

Can I? His eyes ask, and Steve takes a step forward. Of course; his gesture screams. Of course, you can.

Tony's hand touches his cheek and Steve thinks maybe this Queen of the night would live to see daylights. 

He shudders, full body. Closes his eyes tight and wills those butterflies in his belly to calm down. He smells Tony before he hears him; spice and a spilled can of cinnamon from just now. "Shh," Tony tells him. "Shh," and Steve sighs into his palm. 

His thumb drags a stripe under his eye, and Tony says, "God, Steve… Can't you see how bad I want you?"

The truth is no. Steve didn't see it. He shakes his head.

"Why'd you think I keep coming back," Tony asks, so close now that Steve swears he could hear the rumble in his chest even if their bodies are not touching. Yet. 

Feeling somewhat more grounded, he guesses, "For the cats?"

And Tony laughs. 

Not just a little but a full hearty laugh that makes him wheeze. 

"Oh no," he splutters, trying to gather himself apiece while Steve's surprise slowly shifts into a scowl. 

"No, no, no," he chants, reaching for Steve again, catching his face with two hands, cupping and Tony's so bright with joy when he presses their foreheads together. 

"Steve, Steve, Steven," he breathes. "Honey, I can’t go near a cat without popping twenty antihistamines."

"I'm allergic to them."

"What?" Steve pulls back. More shocked than surprise now. "But -,"

"It's you," Tony cuts him off, pulling him back by his hips, and he butts his head into Steve’s breastbone. Buries his next words in there; "I fell in love with you, Rogers. Not them.”

And he sounds almost whiny but Steve can see now, why; can’t believe Tony’s been inhaling allergy medications to see Steve - 

“Jesus Christ.” A little frustration seeps into Steve’s own voice as he buries his fingers into Tony’s hair. “I can’t believe you’re allergic to cats.”

A betrayed meow sounded from below and both of them look down to find Liho, gazing expectantly at Tony. “Meow,” she says again. 

“Think you got some explaining to do,” Steve smirks, looking at Tony. As if on cue, Tony sneezes so hard that Liho jumps a foot in the air before scrambling away in fear. 

“Oh uh,” he cups his mouth and nose, blinking at Steve, lost.

And Steve knows it’s bad to laugh, but he couldn’t help it. At least he saves himself with a smooth invite when he’d calmed down. “Wanna wait outside? Let me close the shop and we’ll…”

“Dinner?”

“Definitely.”

“Great!” Tony grins at him so prettily and Steve, with his heart fluttering in its cage, leans in and kisses him sweet. 

#stony #stevetony #mine #prompts

[remsmoonlight]

— title : broken facade ( part one ? )

— word count : 2.6 k words

— pairing : john wick x reader

— summary : john thought he could keep his old world dead and buried, he was wrong

— warnings : mentions of death, blood, extremely minor swearing, kidnapping, mentions of drugging.. idk maybe a bit of hurt and angst? idk where i was going with this i spent so long on it lmao im very sorry

Nothing can be heard over the continuous shattering of the fractured pieces of a silent promise he repeated to himself every morning he woke and the last thing that ran through his mind before he would cease to resist the urge to sleep. It’s the only promise kept hidden from you and there was no going back from its state of shards, what kind of man is he if the one thing he kept close to his heart is no more.

Never let that life lay a finger on them.

Now, here he is. Knowing that the life he had previously led has wormed itself back to him, it has sullied your spirit and for that, he can find no forgiveness in his soul for himself. It’s him that is why you have been torn away from him so mercilessly, why you are in the situation you are in. He would give his life a thousand times and a thousand times over if it means you are safe, away from the harsh and cold blooded world he knows so well.

Although, the remnants of his old life is not a friend greeting him after an age has passed, but rather.. a  foe that wishes to lead him down the trail to its murky depths.

He assumes that the steering wheel that is gripped so stiffly by his hands only wish to buckle and crumble under the weight he is setting down upon it, though there is no other way to channel the highly agitated energy that swirls within him. Until you are back in his arms can he find the strength to completely calm the brutal waters that wish to overwhelm him, the only thing saving him is the objective that is removing you from the grasps of the Tarasovs’.

The same is unable to be said for you, the fear that you feel coursing throughout your entire being is the only thing that you can concentrate on. This is the clearest you have been for days, since you had been taken from your refuge from the world. You are sure that you’ve been drugged, though you can’t decide truly if that fact is a blessing or a curse. Being an unwilling participant in whatever you had found yourself in would prove difficult for those who held your life in their hands, and as much as you want to put up a fight, it’s impossible. You can see just how tense everyone in this cold, desolate room is. It’s not ideal to prod and provoke the Devil, especially as it has the power to rip you from the reality you know.

Your heart swells from the haunting image that plays continuously like an olden film, with the grit and burns. It’s a desire that you yearn so intensely for to rid your brain of the bloodied and battered John, you had never seen him so defenseless. You wonder if he is still breathing, if he is suffering from being so broken.

“ hey! why don’t you just let me go? “ you call out to anyone in the room, your fingers fidgeting anxiously with the threads of the scarf wrapped protectively around your neck.

“ shut the fuck up! “

You switch your gaze from the man who yelled, knowing that there is no point in arguing, to the one playing on the game console. Fear and self preservation that rules your body into silence battling with the confusion you find yourself experiencing at how one of the other men could feel so relaxed to the point he can play games.

Though he’s not the one who’s been kidnapped you think with a stern frown deeply painting your features, you simply wished you could be wrapped up in your duvet with a straight to dvd cheap movie playing.

The next moment a colossal bang erupted, spilling through the entirety of the room -- you have no idea where to look, your entire feeling as if it had been frozen in a moment of time. It’s not until a thud pulls you out of your cloud, and it’s one of the men who have fallen to the ground. Your eyes widen at the sight, you’ve seen such brutality in movies and television shows but never could they capture the true horror that lays in front of you.

The crimson liquid is never ending as it exits from the wound, you want to rip your eyes away from the repulsive scene yet you find yourself in a trance, with a magnetic pull that refuses to bend its will to yours. Only when your skin feels fingers digging deep into clothed flesh is your head able to turn, your feet already on the move. Your eyes refuse to acknowledge the further death that lay motionlessly on the floor, the bodies as cold as the temperature.

Rumbles fill your hearing, it’s hardly a chore to know that they’re under attack, by who you have little idea. Though a tiny spark of hope, so small it’s hardly noticeable, hums in your core. Perhaps it may be the authorities, here to put a permanent end to your newfound nightmare. Whatever it is, it has these men scared -- though, when you think back.. they have been on edge since you have had the unfortunate experience of knowing them. No matter how hard you previously tried to decipher some sort of idea, even a faded picture of what you have been caught up in, they were quick to respond with venom and hostility.

“ let go of me! “ words tumble from your lips as you try to dig your feet in further to the metal steps, hands clawing at the railings as if they could protect you.

Nothing is said to you, had it not been for the male’s grip on your arm, you could assume that they have no idea of your presence. Countless nights you had found yourself wishing for such, that they would forget your existence and you would be then able to escape. Never has that wish been granted.

Burns from the metal grasped so firmly scorch your palms, you can feel the need to survive driving yourself to fight and struggle.. opportunities to escape had been bare, the one presented now is one that you refuse to elude you so swiftly. Again, a body drops from a gunshot -- your shock proving more of a force than anything, because the hold that had been so secure on your arm severs without you comprehending it for a passing moment in time.

The leap your heart completes knows no bounds, the disturbance at seeing the violence occur at the man you have only known to be gentle and warm overwhelmed by your exhilaration that he is there and safe. John hardly acknowledges you as he passes your trembling form, his mind focused on one thing and one thing only. It’s no surprise when you decide to turn away, not wishing to have your image of him shattered any more than it has already. Though, you wonder how detrimental protecting your dream like depiction of him is.

A faze, it’s all your mind can think of describing the journey from the harsh confines of the barren property to where you reside currently. The journey from one place to the other mesh together, your memories betraying you in your inability to process everything that happened.

A hand grazes your skin comfortingly, though the suddenness pulls you out from beneath your thoughts.

“ i’m sorry. “ John speaks, keeping his eyes straight ahead on the road.

A frown sketches itself onto your brows as you turn to face him, you are unable to understand what he means by his words. The scenery passes by in a blur, stuck in a timeless state of thinking, you realise that you’ve not responded to him. How do you respond to something like? You wonder to yourself, loathing the fact that you cannot reply, a misunderstanding of rejection isn’t something needed for the moment. Against your better judgement, you need the opposite.

“ John - I - what? “

The feather like weight on your hand is still there, though now there is a contrast of tenderness and peace that had only known violence and blood exploring the expanse of his fingertips, only now a ghostly image not yet faded.

“ it got worse for you, because of me. “ he replies with a pitch as solid as stone, still refusing to make eye contact.

Though it’s not known to you that the reason he refuses to look at you is because he cannot yet come to terms with the fact that the two significant fractions of his life, the past and the present, have collided so effortlessly. He doesn’t yet want to acknowledge his part to play in the scars of his old word being the reason your surface now bears the brunt of being blemished by its cold, callous hands. He doesn’t want to have to bear witness to the tears that have stained your usually bright features, knowing the darkness that had once consumed his life wished to stretch its skeletal grip to you, threatening to eclipse the light of hope you unknowingly provide every chance he gets to set his sights on your form.

“ you’re not making any sense. “ you turn to face him now, trying to read his expression. Though, it’s at a loss. When he needs to be, he can be extremely hard to read.

“ that guy? the one I shot.. I used to work for his father. “

You blink, still failing to see the picture. You’re able to make a mental sketch, but you still need final pieces. Yes, he was connected.. but how is he at fault? Was it some sort of vengeance? Blackmail? The list is an endless trail your mind explores at the new piece of information, however it’s only John who can provide the key.

“ what does that have to do with everything that happened? “

“ there’s a reason why I’ve never told you much about my past. “ he replies softly, his mind wandering to find the most rational way to word the difficult tale, whose twists and turns trailed over it as if they were no more than a line of vines full of poison.

Though, the inner voice belonging to him knows there is no outcome that bodes well for him, the inevitable can’t be written off nor can it be denied.

“ so tell me, please? “ you plead with him, your nervous energy building and building in the tips of your fingers. They tap on the end of the car seat as you wait for his response.

“ before we met, I did things. I killed. “

It has to be quick John thinks to himself. There’s not a way that what he has to say, his past can be primped and perfumed into a pretty little picture, not when that picture is haunted by all the life that had been ripped from the world by his hand.

“ this is a joke, right? “ you laugh, incredulously. Gazing at his form it was as if the energy around him had inverted, there is no way that John, your John could do such things. The gentle smile of his, the thoughtfulness he demonstrates each day would battle his words, but the solidity and lack of humour being shown from him..? You’re tempted to believe.

“ I wish it was. “

“ there’s.. I don’t even know what to say. “ your brows furrow low, a bleakness setting itself into your expression as you try to come to terms with his answer.

“ you don’t have to. “ he speaks with difficulty, while he had expected more hatred from your eyes, he dares not to hope you will stay. Not after everything he has brought down upon you.

Fresh tears build up, until they are no more than a glassy barrier preventing clear vision. You will them to recede, to fade away until they’re nothing more than shadows. You have seen many horrors, more in the past week than your whole life and the man you love has had a direct part in that? You can’t erase the images of him gunning your captor, but you can’t erase all the sweet whispers after nights of lust and love, all the hours spent talking about life and what you would do. A stark contrast to the man you first got to know.

“ this isn’t something I can pretend to understand, but why hold something like this from me? Why wouldn’t you tell me eventually? “ you question, many emotions are clawing over each other to rise to your surface, preventing you from thinking straight.. yet it’s frustration that is victorious.

“ I never thought I'd be back. “

“ you need to understand, things like that? They don’t go away, they have a way of coming back and biting you in the ass. “

“ yeah, I see that now. “

A groan erupts from your parted lips, dropping your head in your hands. Your fingers drag their way across your scalp, this is something you argue would be seen in a movie.. not your life. The feelings you have are conflicted and inconsistent, any normal person would jump out of the moving care.. but a part of you can’t cast him aside so easily. What you have, that’s what you know is real.

“ John, I - I need time. At the minute.. I just don’t know what to think. With everything that’s happened. “

“ I get that. You’ll be seen to, for your injuries. “

A smile, small in size lifts the darkness from your eyes ever so slightly. Your injuries are bare, save for a few scrapes on your face. It’s the mental ones that begin to frighten you. They’re not so easily treatable. A smile that wishes with all its might that it is so easy.

“ to be honest.. I just want to go home. “ you lift your head up from its concealment as you share to him your one simple desire, your eyes imploring him to follow through with your request.

“ soon. “ he finally turns his head to look at you, to finally see you properly. All he wants is for you to be safely protected in his arms, as he mutters countless apologies that he longs you forgive him for. By no means is he a perfect man, but he can strive for such for you.

“ John, I’m not dead. I’m just tired. “

“ please, don’t. “

It’s curious, the tone in his voice as he replies to you. You can’t place it, though it’s very unlike him. Your left hand removes itself from the warmth of his palm to place yours atop of his, lending your warmth and comfort to him. The fact that both of you have fresh mental scars from the ordeal is becoming promptly evident.

“ I just want to make sure you’re okay. “

“ John, I don’t know what to think, what to feel. This is just.. the craziest thing. “

“ yeah, and it’s my fault. “ he exclaims lowly, as if he’s speaking more to himself than you. Berating himself for something that was never in his control.

You shake your head, hating the way he’s talking of himself. It’s enough to rouse some anger within you, though you know better than to make the situation between the two of you worse.

“ look, I know I can’t make you think otherwise.. but you never took me away. You never hid me from building to building, you were the one who saved me. “ you argue, ferocity cautiously coating your words. Your grip settled on top of his hand growing. “ I can’t stop seeing what you did, but you were the one who got me out. I need some quiet from it all. “

Your words, you hope, are strong. Trying to separate what you have seen that day is not something that will come as light as the clouds above your head do when they shower upon you, the thought that you fear you may never do is something you keep close to your chest for now.

To protect the both of you.

#john wick imagine #john wick x reader #john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction

[seimeinotaka]

A waltz for two solo dancers (VilXFeMC)

For TwstOC Week Day 2. Relationships.

There is a lingering tension between Vil and Ann, like a waltz. A waltz for two solo dancers, each gliding at their own tune, so close yet so far. Wanting to get close, but not enough to touch each other. Yearning gazes being the only betrayal of those hidden thoughts.

Thanks to polyphenols@AO3 for beta-reading this!

-

Vil stood in front of Ann, fixing her tie and her hair, unaware or uncaring of the soft smile on her face. Her heart always beat this fast when she was with him, always aware of the way he made her feel.

She loved Vil deeply, ever since that day.

 “That’s why I want to give my all to be able to vote for myself proudly.”

Her heart was taken by those words, the deep conviction in his heart.

But she knew things couldn't go the way she wished, because she was a person who did not deserve anything.

It was why she was content with these faint touches, these ephemeral interactions that would go nowhere. At times, it almost felt like Vil was affectionate, an elusive softness that felt like a mirage. But, even if her heart trembled, she pushed her delusions to the back of her mind while simultaneously surrendering herself to the moment until her mind reminded her of her own reality, which marred the moment with a deep shame and grief.

"I cannot enjoy this, no matter how much I desire this. No, it was wishing for anything in the first place that caused me to lose everything."

A risky double thought.

-

"I don’t like the Potato, Rook," Vil said dryly.

The vice leader arched his eyebrows, with a matching knowing, taunting smile.

"Sure you don't, Roi du Poison. That's why you're mesmerized by the trickster."

"How could I be?" Vil scoffed with disdain, glaring at Rook, a sign to wipe that smirk off his face.  "She doesn't know her place and dares to talk back to me. She's untidy, she doesn't take care of her skin, have you seen how she's always yawning in art class?"

Rook nodded to everything he said. "Oui, she is exactly as you say. When you demand her to move, she asks you 'Why?', instead of 'Is this far enough?'. Instead of being mesmerized by your beauty, she waves you hello. You expect her to fear and respect you, admiring you from afar, but she invades your private space to tell you she doesn't like how you treat others. Didn't she tell you, 'I'm on a raid, don't interrupt me or I'll kill you' without batting an eye, when you were filming in the courtyard she was sitting in?"

"You are proving my point, Rook."

"Unyielding against your charms and uncaring at your status as the Queen. To call this a crush would be a mistake. No, your feelings run deeper than this, ahhhh~ the scorching and relentless feeling of love!"

If looks could kill, the hunter would have been buried thirteen times already, for saying something so ridiculous. Vil Schoenheit in love with her, of all people?

"The Trickster also seems interested in you."

The words aimed directly at his heart, why did he choose Rook as vice leader when he was not careful of his place? And why was everyone telling him things he didn't want to admit?

"Of course, isn't that obvious? I am Vil Schoenheit," he uttered, attempting to assert his dominance, to defend his wounded pride.

"You know that's not what I mean."

He turned his eyes away, she had seen through him, the ugliness he wanted to hide. She saw it and yet...

"Stop spouting nonsense, Rook. I'm in a foul mood. I will be in my room."

He entered his room and closed his doors, fist slamming on them. His heart ached, frowning deeply as how easily he could recall her face and her cheeky smile.

And how he desperately wanted her to look at him.

When she was nice to everyone...

How could he tell if she is looking at him...?

He slammed his fist against the door, once more hiding his blushing face on his sleeve, as he was only accompanied by the sound of his racing heart.

-

Her feelings were like an open box, the best way to hide something was to be upfront about everything. It was how she had managed to fool herself. Never had she tried anything to reach him, to try to get him to love her.

It was fine if her love was one-sided, as hurtful as it was.

She was okay with being just his ‘professional headache’, the girl who sometimes got scolded by him, the possible friend that sometimes hangs out with him. She enjoyed their talks, their accidental meetings, their bickering.

As long as that line was never crossed, she was fine.

There was a silly contradiction to that trail of thought. She was fully aware of her love, and always acted on it, whenever she greeted him or talked to him. Her reassurance came from the bottom of her heart. However, she had no intention of it being known, she wouldn’t go and confess to him or anyone. She was no idiot and she knew how to avoid the usual talks of romance and love between her friends. It helped that Ace and Deuce hardly talked about the matter, focusing on the day-to-day happenings, and less on whatever she was feeling.

So long she could see him, from an invisible wall she had erected to protect him, she would be fine with whatever they never were.

-

He was surprised to acknowledge she had similar traits to him, even if they looked like immediate opposites at first glance. She didn’t look much like it, but she favored hard work, that was his first surprise. All of her potato friends had been duped by Azul’s scheme, but she was the one who bailed them out. She had also a hidden passion as well, given her devotion to that game of hers she played, and the art she seemed fond of making. While she was young and inexperienced, given how she often lost track of time, it was precisely this trait that showed her ambition and determination. The fortitude to throw herself into a task she had to accomplish no matter what. It honestly annoyed him, she somehow thought it adequate to go to bed at unholy hours as long as she did what she wanted, her skin care be damned, but it somehow made her shine when he scolded her the next morning.

“Sorry, Vil-senpai, I was at a good part of my game and I couldn’t stop.”

With his cosmetics, he could somehow make up for a tired look on her skin, but at times, it was as if she was glowing instead. He wouldn’t have imagined she had pulled an all-nighter, even if she was supposed to be the potato and him, the beauty expert.

She did possess something he lacked. It was that kindness of hers, one not restricted to her friends. His world didn’t forgive the easily duped, the ones who did something for others, expecting nothing in return. The school they studied at held this principle deep in its roots, where being kind and soft would only leave you as prey to be used. He was far from the likes of Azul and Leona, but he wasn’t the kind to help others for no reason. To give out his secrets for free, it was a way to coddle laziness and neglect. In the industry, it was a sure way to get you killed. But it seemed this concept didn’t apply to her, as her webcomic was a way to help her study (one of the potatoes had come to read it often) and her Magicam was full of advice, the accumulated experience of a high-ranked player in her home world. Everything for free, nothing expected in return.

He himself had been on the receiving end, with her annoying encouragement and unwanted advice. With his own life being saved from overblotting, like she had saved the others. Riddle, Leona, Azul, Jamil. Some of them people who had attacked her or her friends. Yet she still helped them, she helped him, not asking for anything, not even a thank you. They had argued, he had been cold to her, but she still extended her hand to save him.

-

There was something Vil Schoenheit possessed that no one else had, a brilliance that lay deeper than his obvious beauty.

Ann knew he was beautiful, but it was the elegance he carried himself with, the strictness he had for himself and the diligence to reach his goals that made him who he was.

Vil never excused himself, taking responsibility for his faults, like his own admission of his failings for his Overblot and making amends for it. He never asked for help, he worked on his own. She had learned his father was a famous actor, and Vil, while loving him dearly, had never resorted to latching on his father’s fame as an easy way into the business industry.

Instead, he had worked hard, went to auditions and prepared himself. The few times she helped him carry props for his Film Appreciation Club, she had seen the worn out scripts, the hundreds of notes and stickers. He took care of everything with meticulous care, she might have found him rehearsing nonstop even on his busy schedule.

Vil worked out and prided himself on being perfect always, even though he was close to wearing himself thin, and it wasn’t out of simple vanity. He was complex, far from perfect, with his secret failings that didn’t make him less beautiful in her eyes. Someone who wanted to better himself, to reach perfection even if such a state was impossible from the start, how could she not love him for giving his all to a goal?

Even if he denied it, he was kind, secretly helping others being their best person they could be. As harsh and strict as he seemed, he looked out for everyone, not only those close to him or in his dorm. He wouldn’t even mind being painted as something he loathed, as long as that person got the drive to improve themselves. It was why for her, he was a true selfless hero, with shortcomings that he struggled with. And it was why she wanted him to achieve his dream, and had tried to help him in the only way she could, through words, written or spoken, and through art so that others might see him in a different light, the things Vil never mentioned about himself that were easily missed by others just looking at him at glance.

-

He wanted her to look at him. To praise him. To tell him he was the most beautiful.

"I don't care about your opinion. "

It was a bold lie, one to hide his own deepest feelings, the actual fear of her opinion of him. He was aware that he was in the eye of everyone, but...

He wanted to be in her eyes but feared hearing her thoughts. Because she saw right through his efforts. Through everything he did. Would she praise him?

He felt bare, exposed. And, he was unsure if he could handle her rejection. That was why he shut out her opinion fast, fearing the words he didn't want to hear.

Why wasn't she telling him he was beautiful, like everyone else? Why did she approach him easily? She didn't know her place, he kept repeating that to himself, but there was a lingering fear it was because he was nothing to her, hence why she acted so nonchalantly.

He wanted to be her very first thought in the morning and the last one at night, just as she invaded his dreams and haunted him everywhere with her presence or absence. But he couldn't easily go and tell her, "I saw you in my dreams again. We were together, you by my side, the place I yearn for you to be."

He sighed. There was no use getting upset over this.  But these words didn't reach his heart, its pace increasing as he thought of her again.

(He knew that it was because she didn't say those words, that she looked deeper, focusing on his sweat, blood and tears, that he looked for her everywhere now.)

"You've worked so hard to get where you're standing on and that's really amazing."

He was in deep.

"I think your beauty doesn't only lie in how you look, you are beautiful, but it's your determination and hard work that makes you shine."

He stopped breathing when she said that, heart aching so much because she wasn't aware that her words pierced his heart, permanently latching on it like the sword in his crown. Whenever he repeated them in his mind, like a broken record, he clenched his chest, losing all strength, a sweet tasting poison that bewitched his soul. It hurts him but, he couldn't stop himself from yearning it.

"Please, look at me."

"...Please love me..."

He whispered quietly in the darkness of his empty room.

There was an irony of the Pomefiore Queen falling victim to her sweet tender poison.

(Was it really poison? Her words were sweet and gentle, beautiful and without any ill intentions. But they killed him slowly, so they might as well be the most dangerous venom in the world. And he wouldn't stop wishing for it, taking them all until there was nothing left.)

-

"Vil-senpai, good morning!"

She would smile brightly at him and he would avoid her eyes, feigning indifference because he couldn't hold her gaze back. He preferred to nitpick, to tell her that her lips were dry, that she should pay attention to her appearance, harshly scolding her as his hands carefully arranged her tie.

"I won't be always fixing you. You should be always presentable, what am I going to do with you?"

He fussed over her, giving her even some lipstick he had, after applying it to her lips that surely her potato friends would comment on later.

What was he going to do? Wasn't it obvious? He'd look for her next and fuss again over her appearance, because that was as close as he could allow himself to be, safely hidden by the pretense of her untidy appearance.

-

"Tell me, Trickster Ann-kun," Rook's piercing voice shot through the silence like the arrow from his bow. "Do you have feelings for the beautiful Vil?"

He had suddenly approached her, as she had taken a night stroll in the surroundings of Ramshackle Dorm to clear her head, even though she knew the chaos would remain.

She closed her eyes, she knew that looking away or up front would show the answer, a fawn in front of the perceptive hunter. Vil had already confronted her, her eyes telling a different story than what she wanted to say. Rook would surely suspect, no, she had a feeling he was asking to confirm his suspicions.

"What do you mean?"

"Your eyes shine the most when you are next to him, even if you then look away moments after. You approach him often, during the free times he has or even when your paths cross, in between classes and your personal activities. There's a tension, a soft lingering warmth when you talk to him. I look at Vil the most, so naturally I would notice first anything that happens around him."

She looked up at the sky, her lips drawn in a thin line. There were no stars to reflect on her eyes.

"Would it bother you?"

"Non, naturally there are many who have feelings for him. In fact, I would be most bothered if people didn't realize his beauty."

"You did mention it before, you wanted us to see his beauty back during our VDC training."

"Oui, Vil has a beauty no one else possesses. It would be foolish to ignore it when close to it. But we are not talking about me, we are talking about you, Trickster Ann-kun."

"..."

"Befitting of your name, you try to fool your opponents and the people who surround you. But you should already know I am a hunter and it's my pride to say I do not let my prey get away.”

"I had a feeling you would say that, though whatever. Whatever I feel, it doesn't really matter."

She could feel his sharp eyes on her, carefully examining her every movement, conscious or unconscious. For a moment, she thought he was concerned, but she wouldn't engage in eye contact for her sake. She knew better than engaging in a fight she would lose.

"If I like him or not, it doesn't matter. Someone like him shouldn't be with someone like me."

"Do you think of yourself as inferior to him, Trickster Ann-kun? Vil is the kind of person who can appreciate beauty, no matter how unconventional."

"I don't really know where I fall in that category, and I don't think too much about it anyway," she said with a casual shrug, but it didn't shake off Rook's inquisitive gaze.

"You should be aware that you're already someone important to him. What happened in the VDC put you in another place in his eyes."

What would it be? Vil’s overblot and her desperate tries to save him? Their talk alone after they lost the VDC? She was sure Vil couldn’t know her punching Rook was largely due to her own anger at him for doing this to Vil.

But no matter the reason, it changed nothing.

"...It's because of that...Things are fine the way they are now. I'm fine with that. "

"Perhaps you are, but what about Vil?"

She unconsciously turned to him, his green eyes revealing a strong protectiveness and concern. She winced and looked away, though perhaps she had already shown too much.

"...He is better this way. I...I don't deserve him, that's all."

"Is this why you don't grasp for him? The yearning in your eyes, you cannot hide it from me, but you don't wish to claim him."

Ann couldn’t reply, and the look in the hunter’s eyes told him he knew more, her silence a confirmation for him. He pressed for no more answers, not that she would give them. Her love was doomed from the start and she was fine with that.

“But what about Vil?”

That was the only problem, though she prayed it never happened.

-

 The truth is, I want him to love me. I want him to hold me.

 But I can’t have him.

 I have to look at him from afar, no matter how much my heart aches for him.

This was a waltz for two solo dancers, each gliding at their own tune, so close yet so far. Wanting to get close, but not enough to touch each other. Yearning gazes being the only betrayal of those hidden thoughts.

-

His lips touched hers and a bolt of electricity passed through his body, heart aching so much, as his tight chest reminded him to breathe. Her lips were so soft and tender, and when he pulled back in shock at what he had done, her warmth lingering on his lips almost made him wish to continue. Locking mouths, their skin needing to be one, to be this close always, it was a feeling he had been blessed to have just experienced and cursed, because it would never be enough.

Especially when her eyes reflected a pain he would have never expected to see.

The one time he had let himself be overcome with emotion, his relentless feelings deciding something so bold, it had to be the time where he quietly poured them all in one action only to feel a quiet unmoving slap in the form of her gaze.

She didn't have to say anything, too shocked to move but the rejection in her eyes was more than clear, and her lingering lips on his skin added insult to the injury.

It was the pain he felt as he left the room that let him know how hard he had fallen for her, how much he yearned for her love and adoration, and it was crushing him.

-

"Potato."

"Huh..."

The next thing she realized was his perfume so close filling her nostrils, his soft lips on hers.

And she felt her world crumbling, the small bubble she had crafted for her delusions rupturing and bringing her to the terrible reality she had to confront.

Something took over her, a violent mix of terror and guilt, of her realizing the thing she had done and how far her silly nonsense had reached.

She wanted his love, she yearned for it deeply, but she couldn’t accept it.

Vil was in love with someone else, right? Not her, someone like Rook or someone else who deserved him.

But his lips were on hers, a delicate blessing she wasn’t worthy of receiving. Hence she could only stand in horror, unable to move or react, because what was she supposed to do?

He pulled back abruptly, his cheeks light pink and brilliant violet eyes avoiding hers. He shook his head before vanishing through the door.

She pressed her fingers on her lips, they were warm, so tempting to keep bringing back the ghost of his skin over hers, the thing she had wished deep down for so long.

But the hurt in his eyes kept haunting her, and she felt like dying.

-

Thank you for reading!

#twisted wonderland #twstocweek #vil schoenheit #twstoc #vil x mc #twst #rook hunt

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Ten Sides (Part 24)

It is the quiet moments that get to her. The moments when she has time to think. Anger filters its way back in. Especially when she sees fire dancing in her palm. He had taken it from her. Nevermind that it was part of the plan, he knew what it had meant to her and he had taken it from her.

She finds herself conflicted all over again. Anger clashes with affection and both seem to be just as prevalent as one another. She can only seem to attribute that to good intentions having gone sour. She thinks that this has been lingering in her mind for a long time now. It has certainly been present the whole time even if she had set it aside for the sake of getting her bending back. For the sake of having a new friend. For the sake of...love perhaps? But can she really call him a friend, much less, a lover with so much anger beneath the surface.

She rubs her hands over her face. Why do emotions have to be such a mess? No wonder her father has fought so frivolously to teach her to repress them. She can’t handle them. She can’t make sense of them. Not like she can make sense of politics and war. She can’t scheme and connive her way out of this one. She can only face it head on and with such scant armor.

She takes a breath and gets to her feet. She supposes there is more dignity to be had in a spectacular failure than in cowering away. Somehow the silent and personal shames are worse than the ones that she has vocalized.

She opens her door to find Aang standing in it, arm raised to knock. And here she thought that she’d at least have the walk down the hallway to prepare some dialogue. Regardless, she gestures for him to enter.

“I need to talk to you.” Aang says.

“No.” Azula replies. “You need to listen to me.”

He is grinning for some reason. “Great! I was hoping that you would talk. I really need to know what you’re thinking…”

That makes two of them.

“Sit.” She points to a spot at the foot of her bed. She climbs upon the mattress and leans herself against the bedpost. She isn’t exactly sure where to begin, she almost regrets telling him to listen and not talk. “I am trying to decide how I feel about you, Avatar.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I want to…” she furrows her brows, “I want to...love you.” The words feel so foreign on her tongue. “But I am angry.” Furious actually.

“You can be mad at someone you love.” Aang points out.

“Can I be this mad and still love someone?”

“I think that the people who you love the most tend to infuriate you like no one else. Which is probably why you and Zuko are constantly going at it.”

“I don’t want to talk about Zuzu right now. This is about you and why I am mad at you. Zuko has done a lot of things to me but nothing like what you did.”

“Tell me what I did.”

She pauses for a moment, her brows knit. “There are several things but this is about what you didn’t do.”

He looks as confused as she feels.

“Why did you wait? Why didn’t you do something sooner?”

She has to give him credit for not needing clarification. But that is all the credit that is due. “Azula, we talked about this.”

“I want to talk about it again. Right now.” Now that she is herself again. Now that she has a perspective on things and a will to stand her ground.

“I thought that you…”

“Were just going to let you get away with taking my fire? Let you get a flimsy excuse for doing fuck all when I need you the most.”

He braces himself but she can tell that it still hits hard.

“You have a habit of doing that, don’t you, Avatar.” She hisses.

She waits for him to get up and yell at her, to ask her how she could say something so cruel? To tell her that he doesn’t want to speak to her anymore. That she’s lucky he bothered to save her at all. He doesn’t stir. Doesn’t say a word. But his expression… She bites her lip.  “I can’t... love you if I can’t say this.”

Aang tries his best to smile. “You can say it. I think that you need to. I think that I need to hear it.” He pauses. “So say what you need to say, you don’t have to hold back.”

She knows that he wants her to go easy on him, even if he insists otherwise. It doesn’t matter she only wants to know one thing. “Why, Avatar? Why did you let me cut my hair and…” She grazes her fingers over her cheek bone. “Why did you let it go on for so long?” Somehow she gets the feeling that the softness in her voice cuts him deeper than any biting remark could. Likely because it is raw. It is earnest. .oOo.

It hurts much more than he thought it would. It hurts because there is no anger. No malice. Just hurt. So much hurt. And he caused it. Worse, he let it happen when he had all the power in the world to stop it. Truth be told, he can’t even say why when thinking retrospectively.

She isn’t even looking at him anymore. Her eyes are fixed on her palms.

“I guess that it was just easier to deny it. To pretend like I was doing something good than to face that I was letting you get hurt. That I was hurting you. I-I’ve never hurt someone like that. And I didn’t know how to handle it.” Her replies quietly.

Azula grits her teeth and squeezes her eyes shut. Her lower lip trembles.

“You should be mad. I should have done more. I was passive, I was hoping that you would just...I don’t know…that you would just have enough and throw him to the ground.”

“You knew that, that was impossible.”

“For a second it really looked like you were going to.”

“Avatar. You knew that I couldn’t. You knew what you were doing to me.”

“It was idealistic and stupid and…”

“It was cruel.” Her brows knit. “You thought I deserved it didn’t you, because I’m…”

He reaches for her hand, this time she snatches it back and swats him away. “I don’t think that you deserved it. You’re right, I should have done more. I just really wanted to believe that I was helping and I really didn’t want to believe that I did so much damage. I still don’t want to.”  His stomach is twisting and turning and tying itself into all kinds of knots. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have even agreed to touch your spirit energy at all.”

She finally looks up at him but he can’t make anything of her expression. It is so carefully guarded.

.oOo.

Acknowledgement alone is like a breath of fresh air. A reassurance that she hasn’t just been seeing things that weren’t there. To know that she actually has been wronged as deeply as she thought.

“And my bending?”

“We talked about that too.”

“I am unsatisfied with the answer.” She drums her fingers upon the mattress. “You know know what it means to me. It was all that I had left and you just ripped it right out.”

“I gave it back right away! It was--”

“Part of the plan? Did you really think that, that would mean anything? I had every reason to believe that it was gone for good.” Her voice seems to weaken with each word until it ends with a pitiful crack. She curls her fingers around the blankets. “You took a part of me. The last part of me.” She finishes in a near whisper. “I didn’t think that I was going to get it back.”

He swallows hard. “I didn’t have any other plan.”

She gives a bitter laugh and wipes at her eyes. “I’m good at scheming. You could have asked. I could have been in on it. I could have helped save myself. You took my dignity too. My…” she really loathes sounding like Zuzu, “my honor.”

“Azula...”

“All you would have had to do was pretend. Pretend that you altered my spirit and then pretend that you took my bending. I could have played dumb and nice. I could have been powerful and confident and you took that from me.” Now her voice falls somewhere between a sob and a growl. “You took my fire.” She clutches her hand against her stomach, where her fire chakra seems to pulse the hottest.

“You’re right about that too. I was scared. I’m not as good at scheming as you. I made an impulse decision.”

“You were weak and you are giving me weak excuses.”

“They aren’t excuses, they're the truth. I don’t know what you want me to say, Azula.” He frowns. “Is there anything that I can say?”

She isn’t sure that there is. The reaping of her bending was such a profound and invasive boundary to cross.

“I don’t think that there is.” He mumbles his agreement. “I guess that I’m just glad that we’re having this conversation.”

“Glad?”

He gives a said smile. “A while back you would have just let all of this go. I’d rather have you resenting and fighting with me than to see you like that again. Believe it or not, I like this sassy, fiery you.”

Azula folds her arms across her chest.

“I’m just glad that you’re you again even if that means you resent me, I guess that I can’t blame you if you do.”

“I...I don’t hate you, Avatar. I should though.”

Aang’s smile returns. “I’m glad that you don’t hate me.” This time she lets him take her hand. “Is there anything I can do to make it right.”

She nods. “I want you to help me get him. At the very least, when I kill him, I want you to stand by just as passively as you did when he was violating me.”

“I’ll help you take him down.”

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Aang #Azulaang #Fanfiction

[immortalcoelacanth]

HLVRAI Oneshot: Blankets and Burritos

I am weak, I crave gay fluff and family fluff...

Word count: 3428

Summary: Sometimes, Benrey has nightmares. It's a good thing Joshua has a plan to help out!

Gordon had long since accepted that Benrey was a naturally disruptive being. Between how absolutely chaotic he could be at times to his naturally blunt and occasionally abrasive attitude, the second he had moved in Gordon knew that his home would never be peaceful again. 

Granted, he had been surprised when Benrey began showing restraint when interacting with people, especially Joshua as the last thing he wanted was to upset the young boy. His jokes also lacked the more intimidating edge they held while they were in Black Mesa. Overall, his more destructive qualities had been toned down and he seemed to be far more at peace than the last time Gordon had seen the ex-guard. 

It was… nice, and while he had been hesitant at first to welcome Benrey into his home, he did not find himself regretting that decision. 

This did not mean that things were perfectly fine, of course. 

Benrey was… not the best at acting human, and it showed. There had already been several instances of Gordon getting up for a midnight snack and seeing at least two glowing eyes staring down at him from the ceiling. 

Absolutely horrifying. 

Plus, he had been forced to give Benrey a crash course on how humans acted and that no, he could not try and swallow the milk carton whole and please don’t walk up the side of a building and lean into a window to ask someone to play Smash Bros with you. 

Y’know, pretty simple things. Things that honestly would have made Gordon’s life a living hell if it was not for how accepting and understanding his neighbors were. 

Marguerite, a lovely, partially deaf old lady, had been especially happy to learn that Benrey had moved in with him, although Gordon was pretty sure that this was simply because she thought they were dating. She had been a huge source of help after his divorce, especially during some rather rough days. 

She had constantly pushed him to find something, or someone, that he could be happy with. Whether that was a hobby or a partner. 

He would never forget how scandalized he had felt when she first visited and saw Benrey. How she had looked the ex-guard up and down before turning to Gordon and winking at him. Her words forever burned into his mind. 

“This one will keep you busy, hands and mind.”

It had been one of the few times he had heard Benrey genuinely laugh, too. A loud, somewhat wheezing noise that made him curl up in a ball as he tried to control his laughter. It sounded nice and was something he wanted to hear more often.

And then... there were the nightmares. 

Moments where Benny's joy was smothered by something else, something he never expressed a desire to discuss. Gordon honestly had no clue what their source might be, whether caused some traumatic moment in Benrey’s past, or even the final fight between them, but whatever it was it could get bad.

Fortunately, these instances of nightmares were fairly quiet with Joshua never having woken up during them. Less fortunately, Gordon tended to be the one being startled awake since the ex-guard often slipped into his bed after he went to sleep, not that he cared all that much. In the beginning it had been a bit annoying to wake up and find Benrey downright spooning him, getting all into his personal space, and it had been a source of combat for several days until he and Benrey managed to sort things out. 

… Not that there was much of a conversation or anything like that. It was more so him listening to Benrey quietly insisting that he “needed someone”, and the gamer body pillow he purchased after that conversation had not helped in this regard. 

He loathed to think about it now, the wide eyes and flirtatious pose. Every so often it would move locations, going from being stuffed away in a closet to ominously being attached to the back of a door, and he was fairly certain Benrey was the one responsible for such a thing. 

Especially since Joshua claimed to have never seen it before, and he knew for a fact that the ex-guard was diligent in preventing Joshua from being exposed to more… mature jokes. 

Anyways, with Benrey continuing to seek out Gordon as a cuddle buddy and Gordon accepting his fate, and enjoying it, a solution to the nightmare problem still needed to be found. Aside from the growling, hissing, thrashing, and mutterings in some other language, Gordon had also nearly been crushed at one point after Benrey had, without warning, grown larger at some point during the night. 

He was thankful that the bed had not broken due to the sudden increase in weight. 

Currently, the physicist was seated in the living room, trying to put together some sort of solution that might help Benrey. Notepad in hand as he absent-mindedly chewed at the end of his pencil, thankfully lacking an eraser, he wrote down all the methods he had tried so far and what he might try next. 

Lists had always helped him keep his thoughts organized, and this was especially helpful given the mild chaos going on beside him. 

Otherwise known as Joshua and Benrey playing a racing game. 

Naturally, Joshua was currently speeding ahead of the ex-guard, throwing the occasional item back in an attempt to increase the distance between them. Unfortunately, with some quick maneuvers and calculated tricks, Benrey was able to dodge the attacks. 

“vroom, vroom, better watch out.”

“Nooooo!” 

“beep, beep!” 

“NOOOOOOOOOO!”

“you... you gotta go fast little dude, it’s the only way.”

“I am!” 

“gotta go faster.” 

“Faster?”

“faster, faster!” 

Gordon chuckled to himself as he listened to the pair break out in song, reciting the lyrics to some cartoon that they both watched. Saturday mornings were Benrey and Joshua’s designated bonding time as Benrey “educated josh bro on some pro gamer cartoons.”

As the race reached its conclusion, Joshua winning overall, the young boy carefully placed his controller down and then scrambled over to his father. He flung himself onto the sofa and leaned against Gordon’s side. Wide, eager eyes took in the notes. 

“Is this some work stuff?” Joshua asked, his eyes lighting up upon seeing the mention of blankets and pillows. “Are you guys gonna have a sleepover?! I can show you how to make an awesome pillow fort!”

“naaaaah,” Benrey casually slid into the conversation, both literally and figuratively. He perched on the armrest of the sofa, a smug grin on his face as he poked at the notepad. “he-he’s just writing ‘bout his crush.”

“Ooooh, so he’s writing about you?” 

“ya.” 

Gordon snorted and lightly thwacked one of Benrey’s fingers with the pencil, causing the ex-guard to let out a yelp before nursing the wounded digit. The exaggerated pout on his face made the physicist chuckle. 

“C’mon, don’t tell me that hurt you-”

“You gotta kiss it better, dad!” Joshua interrupted, placing his hands on Gordon’s leg and pushing himself up into his father’s face, eyes wide and pleading. “Like you did when I hurt my arm! Kisses make everything better!”

“yeah, feeman you-you gotta give me a biiiiiig old smoocher.” The smug grin had returned to Benrey’s face, and it grew wider at the exasperated look Gordon sent towards him. “it’s... it’s a joshie law, feetman, you gotta.”

After rolling his eyes, Gordon ultimately relented. He leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss against Benrey’s wounded finger. Despite how smug he had been about the entire situation, there was no denying the heat that took over his face. 

Was Benrey flustered? Yes, but he would never admit to it!

“u-uh…. nice smooch there, feetman. g-gotta give it a perfect score.”

Joshua giggled at the look on Benrey’s face, from the happy smile to the warm glow in his eyes, it was good to see the ex-guard so happy. When Benrey was happy, his dad was happy, and that made him happy! It was perfect!

However, speaking of his dad…

“So, what’s those notes for, then?” He asked, poking at the notes once again. “Benrey’s definitely wrong-”

“owie, ouch, your-your words hurt my bones, little joshie dude.”

The young boy stuck his tongue out at Benrey before he focused on his father and continued speaking. “Is it for work stuff? Or something else?”

It was impossible to miss the look the two adults exchanged upon hearing Joshua’s question, and it made him suspicious. Was this some adult thing he was not supposed to know? Oh, like that thing his classmate Danielle had mentioned-

“Erm, Benrey has been having some trouble sleeping at night and I’m trying to figure out how to help him.” Gordon explained, snapping Joshua out of his thoughts. “These are just some of the ideas I had that might help him relax.”

Joshua blinked, understanding what his father was saying but also wanting confirmation from Benrey. “So, you have nightmares and stuff?”

“uh... yeah.” The ex-guard shrugged as his hands twitched and knit themselves together, an expression of the general anxiety he felt towards the situation. Talking about himself, something he was always uncomfortable with despite the problems it caused. “like... i got some rank e dreams, little bro. i... i keep getting t-posed on and… stuff.”

“Oh!” Joshua lightly clapped his hands together, an idea immediately coming to mind on what he could do to help. “Stay right here, I’ll be back!”

As the young boy rushed to his room, Gordon and Benrey exchanged a confused look. 

“you... you, uh, know what joshie’s doing?”

“Nope, no idea.” Gordon shrugged before sending a smile Benrey’s way. “It’s nice to see him helping us out with this.”

Benrey looked down towards the ground, casting more of his face and the associated blush in shadows. “yeah. h-he’s a good kiddo, feetman.” 

“Damn right he is.”

Not long after this short conversation reached its conclusion, the sound of approaching footsteps could be heard and Joshua rushed back into the room with something rather large and bulky held in his arms, the ends of it dragging across the ground. 

It was his blanket, his weighted blanket to be specific. 

From a young age, Joshua had suffered through many bouts of nightmares and periods where he struggled to feel comfortable when going to sleep. This ultimately culminated in both his parents, who had been separated at this point, agreeing to take him to a sleep therapist and figure out what they could do to help. One of the methods they had been recommended to try was getting Joshua to use a weighted blanket to help him feel more secure and relaxed. 

While not solving all of his problems, he still occasionally visited the same therapist when dealing with a particularly bad bout of nightmares, the blanket, and the other coping methods he had been taught, had certainly helped. 

But the blanket continued to remain his primary source of comfort and seeing Joshua rush over to Benrey and hold the blanket out for the ex-guard to take made Gordon’s heart feel like mush. 

It was such a wholesome sight, and even if Benrey did not know the details behind why Joshua had this blanket, he was honored to see that Joshua wanted to use something of his to try and help. 

“awwww, little dude, you didn’t have to get this for me.” Benrey said, voice strangely soft and quiet. “you-you really didn’t need to.”

Joshua swiftly shook his head and once again thrust the blanket towards him. “This helped me a bunch, and now I want it to help you! Try it!” 

After sending an uncertain glance Gordon’s way, and being met with a reassuring thumbs up, he reached out and carefully took the blanket. He studied it for a moment, unaware of Joshua rocking back and forth in front of him and rubbed the material between his fingers. 

It felt… nice. Soft, but not too soft. 

The blanket was quickly wrapped around Benrey, and the ex-guard closed his eyes for a moment as he took in the sensation. It felt… comfortable. The added pressure of the blanket as it was draped across his shoulders did help him feel a bit more relaxed, reminding him of that.

That which he would never speak of. Old memories and forgotten places, a history that he never wanted to come to light, a name before Benrey. 

He quite liked the name Benrey, anyways. 

“Oh, oh dad!” Joshua suddenly shouted as he turned to look at his father, eyes shining with excitement. “How about you make a Benrrito!”

“... a wha?”

“Y’know!” Joshua spun to face Benrey as he made a rolling motion with his hands. “Burritoing! Dad does it to me a bunch!” 

Upon seeing the somewhat panicked look on Benrey’s face, Gordon quickly stepped in. He stood up, the action helping to calm the other two down, and gestured towards the floor. 

“If you wanna try it, we’re gonna need space.”

“you... you coming on to me, feetman?”

“NO, I AM NOT!”

Joshua giggled at the banter, not quite getting it but happy to see that his father had managed to get Benrey to relax a bit. He watched as the blanket was spread on the ground, patted out so there were no wrinkles before Benrey laid down on top of it. 

… Actually, Benrey looked a bit smaller than he normally did! Joshua knew most people would find such a thing strange, but he had long since gotten used to the occasional shape shifting that the ex-guard tended to do. 

Be it helping him reach food that was too high on the shelves or giving him piggyback rides, Joshua instinctively associated Benrey’s shape shifting with fun, unlike his father. 

Perhaps it was quite fortunate that Gordon was unaware of the shenanigans that these two sometimes got into. 

Regardless, as soon as Benrey was set up and ready to go, Gordon got to work. He flipped the edge of the blanket, so it was covering Benrey, and slowly started to roll the other man up. As he was turned over and over, the ex-guard’s smile began to grow larger and larger. 

Oh yes, he could just feel the potential chaotic energy. 

Once the burritoing process was complete, Gordon stepped back to admire his handiwork. At this point, only Benrey’s head and feet were sticking out of the burrito, and the constant glowing of his eyes seemed a bit duller than usual. A stream of pink to red sweet voice floated into the air. 

Joshua giggled and immediately started playing with the bubbles while Gordon lifted a brow and crossed his arms. “What’s that mean?”

“bbbbbbbb,” The string of noises made Gordon smile as he patiently waited for Benrey’s response.

“pink’n red means… i’m gonna bed.” Benrey yawned. Okay, chaotic energy replaced by exhaustion, which was… strange to say the least. 

And clearly Gordon agreed with that thought as his brow lifted higher in surprise. “Really? A burrito did you in?”

“ya.” Benrey bluntly replied as he wiggled around a bit, smushing his face into the blanket. “s’nice, cozy… me likey.”

“Operation Benrrito is a success!” Joshua cheered, high-fiving his father in victory. He then let out a sudden gasp and started bouncing in excitement.

“Dad, this means we gotta help him get a blanket! Can we go shopping tomorrow? Please? Pretty please? I can show Benrey all the super cool patterns they have, and the special stuffed animals too!”

Gordon spared a glance at the absolutely blissed out Benrey, who was currently radiating the energies of a content cat going for a nap, before smiling at his son and nodding. “Looks like we’re going to need to.”

“Yay!” Joshua exclaimed and crouched down in front of the ex-guard. “There’s a whole buncha space patterns and stuff like that one! There’s also ones that’re swirls of colours and they look super cool!”

“bbbbbbbbbb.” Benrey grinned, sharp teeth glinting in the light. “Alright then, little dude. let’s... let’s goooooooooo.”

And with that, Benrey slowly started inching towards the door as Gordon and Joshua watched on. The young boy took a step forward, thoroughly intending to join him before his dad placed a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back. 

“No way we’re going out now.” He frowned. “It’s busy, and-”

“the karens are out?” Benrey cheekily added. 

“... Yeah, the last thing I want to deal with.” Gordon sighed, placing his face in his hands as he recalled the various interesting encounters he had at that specific mall. It was located in the more affluent section of the neighborhood, and the customers tended to reflect that. 

Ugh, with his luck he would probably end up running into her there-

“Joshie, I know you’re excited, so we’ll go tomorrow as soon as the store opens.” He exhaled as he lifted his face out of his hands and opened his eyes. To his surprise, Joshua did not seem disappointed in the slightest despite how enthusiastic he had been earlier. 

Granted, it definitely helped that Joshua had been the one to suggest going shopping tomorrow. It was not unusual for his father to forget minor details after experiencing some stress and recalling those lovely interactions has certainly been stressful. 

But the young boy felt there was no point in mentioning it, so he didn’t. 

“It’s okay, dad!” Joshua chirped. “But you should probably stop Benrey from escaping.”

“Wha?!” Gordon whirled around and noticed that Benrey had continued to inch towards the door and was now pressed up against it. Probably trying to clip through it since his arms were stuck at his sides. 

The physicist sighed once more, this time in annoyance, before striding over to the door and looking down at Benrey. “What’re you doing?”

“uhhhhhhhh.... y-yo mama.”

“I...there’s no words to describe how disappointed I feel, and you can’t go out like that anyways.”

“i’mma worm off the string, man. look at me gooooooo.”

“You’re not a worm! You’re a burrito!” Joshua chimed in, leaning around his father and smiling at Benrey. 

“noooooo, m-my evil plot… has been foiled.” Benrey dramatically, and somewhat lazily, wailed. He started rolling over to emphasize his apparent defeat. “i’m worming, woooooorming.”

At this point, Joshua had broken down into a fit of laughter and even Gordon had a small smile on his face. Deciding to play along with Benrey’s shenanigans, the physicist made his move. 

Now, it goes without saying that Gordon was not a weak man. Even without the added benefits of the HEV suit, he was no stranger to some forms of exercise. 

Primarily lifting Joshua up into the air as his son loved to feel like he was flying. 

In other words, without warning Gordon crouched down and scooped Benrey, in all his burrito’d glory, up. Rather than being slung over his shoulder, as the ex-guard was still heavier than Joshua and the last thing Gordon wanted was to potentially hurt his shoulder or back, he opted for an easier carry. 

Bridal style. 

Of course, he had not completely thought his plan through, so when he suddenly found Benrey’s face very close to his, his response was immediately and instinctive. 

He blushed, badly. 

Upon seeing this blush, and realizing his sudden proximity to Gordon’s face, Benrey smirked and made a move of his own. 

By leaning forward and quickly kissing the tip of Gordon’s nose. 

Needless to say, at this point both men were blushing. 

Joshua could be heard happily clapping his hands together in the background, and it was this noise that snapped Gordon out of his stunned state. He, somewhat awkwardly, shuffled over to the sofa and plopped Benrey down on it. The, still blushing, ex-guard did nothing except try to sink into the blanket burrito further. 

It was obvious he had no intention of being unburrito’d, for now. 

Gordon sighed and looked over at Joshua. “You okay with using your other blanket tonight?”

“The cowboy one?”

“Yeah.”

“Mhm!” The young boy quickly nodded. “Can you wash it first, please? I don’t want it to be smelly and gross.”

“You got it.” Gordon replied with a thumbs up. As he left to go and fix up Joshua’s other blanket, Joshua could be seen joining Benrey on the sofa and huddling beside him, quietly discussing the different kinds of blankets he had seen and how comfy some of them were. It was quite an adorable sight, and one that held potential. 

The potential for Gordon to make two burritos today, that is. 

                                        xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was actually kind of a struggle to finish this oneshot off, it kept getting longer and longer and my muse keeps spitting more ideas at me XD

Also, 10 bonus points to whoever gets the cartoon reference I added in!

I hope you all enjoyed reading!

- ImmortalCoelacanth

#my story #fanfiction #hlvrai #hlvrai gordon #hlvrai benrey #hlvrai joshua #fluff #family fluff #blanket burritos #weighted blankets are good #projecting my childhood on joshua? it's more likely than you think! #benrey just wants to cuddle gordon without his nightmares ruining everything

[lnc2]

Flowers on the Window Sill

Summary: The first time Ladybug saw him, really saw him, the universe stopped.

A/N: Hihi we just got permission to post our pieces for @ladrienzine.  This is mine about the babes.

AO3

It started after Volpina.

A silly impulse he couldn’t resist, a silent thank-you, a gentle admonishment for Ladybug’s near-miraculous sacrifice.

The flowers sat on his window sill for days, withering away with the wind and smog and time. Plagg told him it was stupid, disappointed in his disappointment, but Adrien shrugged him off and tried again.

And again. And again.

“One day she’ll see them,” He said. His kwami wasn’t convinced.

“They’re just going to die again.”

Adrien hummed, tying the scarlet red ribbon to the posy’s stems and attaching them to his window.

He thought of his mother, sitting on a blanket in the garden grass, sun shining down on warm skin, the smell of dirt and wet and flowers filling his nose, making him sneeze, making him smile.

“For pere,” Emelie said, clipping the brightest, reddest buds from a nearby bush. “So he knows we’re thinking of him even when he’s far away.”

“Won’t they die?” Adrien asked when he was old enough to hold the clippers on his own. “Won’t that make him sad?”

She smiled, fingers dancing along his sides as she kissed his temple. “That’s what new flowers are for.”

That’s what new flowers are for.

These days there were no new flowers in the garden, another casualty of his father’s neglect, but Adrien remembered his mother’s words all the same. Like seeds planted in his heart they took root, strong and stubborn, until they blossomed like truth.

Gravity, the sun, and ladybugs.

The first time Ladybug saw him, really saw him, the universe stopped.

Eyes, blue, so blue, going from determined to shocked to soft– soft for him in all the ways she had to be hard for Paris– well. Adrien gaped like a fish– nothing at all like the cool cat he knew he could be.

Then again, Ladybug never looked at Chat quite like that before.

It was almost worth being impaled by invisible arrows to stretch out that moment to minutes to forever.

But akumas were akumas, Ladybug was Ladybug, and… well, even Adrien knew some things were too good to be true. After all, what was so special about Adrien Agreste to catch a Ladybug’s attention? Nothing. 

And yet...

His mother told him he took his first steps young.

Smile wide and proud, she talked about his baby pout and bright, bright eyes narrowed in the determination of the untried.

He had his first fall young then too.

Right down on his wobbly knees, still chubby with baby fat photographers loved at the time but loathed as he got older. She wasn’t quick enough to catch him but he didn’t cry. Not with Gabriel staring down at him, stoic and waiting. No, Emelie said, Adrien’s eyes watered and he sucked in a breath before bracing himself and standing up.

His first full steps were shaky, quick, and short, but they were steps all the same.

Falling for Ladybug felt a lot like that.

Adrien Agreste stepped out into an unfamiliar world of magic and supervillains and camembert and found her on the other side.  One too confident step into the sky sent him tumbling, tumbling down into the bluest eyes he’d ever seen.  With a mouth so smart it inspired a city and a heart so big he couldn’t help but covet, from almost the first, Chat Noir was stepping towards Ladybug.

Which made it all the more surprising when sometimes,

just sometimes,

he found Ladybug stepping towards him.

Nino pointed it out to him first:

“Dude. I think Ladybug has a crush on you.”

It was during Jackady, while they were running for their lives.  Not exactly the time for life-changing revelations.  Even still, the idea sent a ridiculous zing of pleasure through him. A pleasure swiftly followed by an equally ridiculous less than half-hearted denial.

“What?” He squeaked. “No way.”

“Uh huh,” Nino said, shaking his head. “Well you certainly had eyes for her. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you blush like that.”

Adrien felt heat rush to his cheeks as if to prove Nino’s point. He shoved his friend’s shoulder.

“Shut up.”

Nino laughed. “Deny it all you want, bro. But if anyone could bag the bug it would be you. Just watch out for Chat Noir.”

He made a swiping motion with his hands, an insulting approximation of cataclysm, but Adrien laughed all the same and changed the subject. None too eager to have Adrien and Chat Noir existing in the same breath.  Still, his friend’s words lingered with him for days.

I think Ladybug has a crush on you.

Hah.

Ha ha ha.

The idea was so laughable it hurt.  Hurt like a want so deep he could drown.

“She’s got your smile,” She’d said, admiring his mother’s picture.

He wished he could tell her how much it meant to him that she saw any resemblance at all. His father always said Adrien was like Emelie but he didn’t say it like Ladybug. He didn’t say it like it was good.

“Thank you,” He murmured, voice soft, heart softer.

Her answering smile, sweet, her freckled cheeks, pink, were enough to send hope spiraling. Adrien wondered if she ever blushed like that for anyone else. Hated that he might never know.

Emelie once told him, as her hands held his own, guiding scissors over garden stems, that when you loved someone you told them.

Adrien was never great with words.  Not like Chat Noir who could smooth talk his way around the Seine. Unfortunately neither of them could surface long enough to help finish his measly poem.

Bluebell eyes and strong disguise?

Who was he kidding?

Everything sounded so trite when all he wanted to say, all he wanted to tell her, fell into three words.  But words like I and love and you proved even too much for Chat Noir when it came down to it.

I hate you, Ladybug.

Plagg spent the entire afternoon laughing at him for that particular blunder. Adrien never hated an akuma more for ruining his life. Never mind that his lady was clever, she’d never think twice to see the truth of what he’d been trying to say to begin with.

And yet, somehow, her reply found him all the same:

My heart belongs to you.

“What makes you so sure it’s the bug?” Plagg asked, over it already even as he watched his charge melt against the window clutching the ridiculous valentine.

But Adrien knew. He knew it in his bones the way he knew the way she moved.

Plucked out from a pile of forgotten valentines like the way she plucked out his heart for keeps, Adrien’s hope outweighed common sense, crossed his luck against hers, and came out the other side with a determination to rival giants.

This girl.  This girl.

“It’s her Plagg,” He whispered, watching the little ladybug that graced his valentine fly lazily around the room. “I know it.”

He hoped in the same way she’d see the flowers on his window and know them for hers.  An unclaimed declaration, waiting.

And waiting. And waiting.

Chat Noir tried steering her towards the Agreste mansion on patrols, even attempted to point out the flowers a time or two.

“I wonder who the lucky lady could be.”

Ladybug stammered, blushed, and shook her head.

“Stop it, Chat,” She scolded. “It’s not funny.”

He didn’t intend for it to be funny.

Getting close to her as Adrien, outside the mask, was near impossible most days.  Between fencing and his father and superheroing there wasn’t any time to ask about valentines and lingering looks and flowers.

Riposte was difficult enough without asking her if she meant it when she said Kagami didn’t deserve him.  And even when she did seek him out after the Gorilla was akumatized it was to scold him, albeit gently.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” She said, catching him on his way to school one day. His heart stuttered at her sudden appearance, but there was a stiffness to her, a distance he wasn’t sure he could cross.

He tried anyway, reaching forward to place a hand on her shoulder. “Ladybug?”

She shrugged him off. Her eyes, glassy, were on his but she didn’t seem to actually see.

“Leaping off into nothing like that. I say jump and you just– what if the akuma hadn’t let go of me? You could have died.”

Oh. That.

Adrien rubbed his neck. “You asked me to jump.”

“Not like that.  Not like –” She stopped but he heard the lost words all the same.  Not like Chat.

She paused, sniffed, and shook her head. The shadow of every akuma he couldn’t remember reflected in her eyes.

Jump, how high, how far, say when– it never occurred to him what it must be like to be on the receiving end of that.  Chat Noir had died for Ladybug so many times who was Adrien Agreste to question her?

Guilt, swift, settled deep.

“If… if it counts for anything I had a back up plan.”

“Oh?”

“I…” He stopped. Reassessed.  His ring lay heavy against his finger.  “I don’t know.”

She huffed, an agitated little sound, and wrapped her arms around herself.

“Have a little less faith in me. Please.”

Adrien laughed, hollow. “I’ll try.”

He never did.

His mother told him love was in the moments between the Big and the quiet.  In the brushing of hands, the meeting of eyes, the sharing of secrets. In the space between wanting and being wanted in return. It was the terror of being known– hearts unfurling like tea leaf flowers, slowly in the warm.

Adrien wanted to know love like that.

But Chat Noir was Big and charm and soft and Adrien was quiet and sly and lonely and Ladybug, Ladybug…

Well she was caught up with him somewhere in the between.

He was no more one than the other just like her and Adrien spent sleepless nights wondering how much more his heart could open up with waiting for and wanting more.

To see, to feel, to know.

In the end, it wasn’t waiting that brought her to him.

On a night where the moon hung full in the sky, he caught her swinging silhouette passing by.  Through luck or chance or time she heard him calling out and changed course to land at his window ledge, eyes glittering with curiosity in the dim light.

“Adrien?”

He stared silly and stupid before fate (or Plagg) pinched him forward, forcing out his daze.

“Oh!” He said, suddenly frantic, palms sweaty and fingers clumsy as he gestured towards then fiddled with the flowers that hung from his window. “Yours.  You. For you, I mean.”

“Me?” She squeaked, pale cheeks rushing pink.  “Really?”

Adrien gracelessly shoved the flowers into her unwaiting hands.

“Yeah, um. For a while now.  Yours.”

She was a vision there, stun struck, red and black and flower blue. Blue like the posies he’d foolishly picked and plucked and placed on his window sill.

“But… why?” She breathed, handful of flowers, eyes full of heart.

Adrien wanted to drown in those eyes.  His fingers itched, so many pinpricks and jolts, urging him to reach forward, to see, to feel, to know.

He shrugged, looked away. “Why not?”

Ladybug deserved a thousand thanks yous and more.  A mere bouquet or dozen wouldn’t even tip the scale.

“I– thank you,” She said, gently stroking one of the petals. “They’re my favorite.”

“I know,” He blurted, stupid.  Ladybug startled, blushed, but didn’t ask him how.

Just as well.  The Chat in him couldn’t lie to the questions rising in her eyes. Then again, Ladybug was never one to ask a question she couldn’t answer.

Instead, she leaned forward, holding the line of her yoyo in one hand and cradling the bouquet in the other.

“Can I…?” She murmured in the space between.

Struck dumb by her nearness, too stunned to do anything but memorize the freckles on her nose, Adrien nodded.

Her lips were soft against his cheek.  Soft and brief, so, so brief.

She pulled away, just enough.

“Thank you, beau gosse.  For thinking of me.”

Adrien shivered.

Slowly, his hand reached up, hovering just above her.  She nodded, body trembling beneath his hands as they moved from wrists to elbows to shoulders to neck. When his thumb first brushed beneath the line of her mask, sensitive fingertips over red, red cheeks, Adrien felt he could collapse from the relief of it all.

Warm skin on warmer skin still, the smell of flowers and toothpaste and sweat, a shy smile on an even shyer girl hanging in the window of a boy too stupid with love to do anything but marvel. It was thundering hearts in a silent room disturbed by small words that held more than their meaning and...

Oh.  

“Hi.” He said, voice revelation thick.

Ladybug laughed, light and airy and breathless.  “Hello.”

#miraculous ladybug #lnc2 writes #ladrien #ladrien zine #a leap of faith #the babes i love them sm #i wrote this months ago but take it pls and know that ladrien owns my heart #byeee

[rametarin]

tempting.

Reflecting on my health issues, since age 17. And my living situation.

So since around the age of 16, I’ve been plagued with unpredictable bowel problems and digestive ills. Like, everybody gets constipated every now and then, but I mean I’d get just, excruciatingly backed up and my family wouldn’t help me get seen or anything.

Basically from the time I was 18 onwards I was told my medical bills were mine. But oh by the way [Ram. Not my real name, but the name fam calls me], you gotta pay us every dollar that isn’t devoted to keeping yourself alive :^)

I’d be like, family, I cannot afford this, it’d be in your best interests to invest in my health so I can figure out what’s fucky about my bowels and stomach so this can stop happening, I can live a normal life, and we can all continue on our merry way.

Basically I was told, “tough shit, do it yourself, also pay your fair share to The Family” (aka, give mom all your money.)

It was never just fear of homelessness, but fear of homelessness while my GI tract was fucky and my teeth were rotting out of my head that made escape from here impossible. It’s why I didn’t just climb into a hole in the wall and escape this garbage fire of a mother and do that bootstrap shit. Because it sincerely made  me wonder sometimes if I was being poisoned by my mother to keep me powerless and in need of help, but perpetually weakened to where the best I could do is move towards help but just be put on a treadmill for someone elses financial benefit.

Perhaps my bitterness makes just a touch more sense now, right? Because Maine is a long-drive state. You need a car. You absolutely need a car to get anywhere. Not having one means you walk everywhere, you ride a bike everywhere and are FUCKED during the winter, or you go nowhere because you don’t have anywhere you need to be and don’t drive.

Now that said, imagine having bowel and ass problems so bad just the idea of driving makes you question if it’s safe for you to even be on the road.

That has been my existence for twenty years now, because my family wants me just close enough to extract what mom things “she’s owed,” but absolutely will not help me with anything. There’s no security in staying here because the whole fucking POINT of putting up with a family’s infantilizing “everything has its place” mentality, is you’re able to wisely squirrel away your income without paying a landlord anything and your income going up in smoke

If your mother is just the worst sort of landlord, you’re basically just paying a narcissistic bitch of a mother to be a narcissistic bitch of a mother. There’s absolutely no upside.

So I’ve been stuck in this virtual tutorial of an existence because my own digestive system was torturing me and seriously deleting my ability to operate independently. And mom, whom has always wanted absolute control over my finances and my future, saw it as a holistic way of penning me up and making be desperate. Never a wasted opportunity with this fucking monster.

Well. I eliminated cottonseed oil and chicken proteins from my diet and, while not perfect, the amount of excruciating pain and pressure and weird cold-acidic burning in my back and bowels has subsided a lot. As well as my stomach issues receded considerably.

The truth is I was loathe to even try and escape without figuring out these problems, but I couldn’t figure them out because I never had the money. I tried to get a barium enema x-ray when I was 17 and suffering a massive, excruciating flareup. I missed prom (I didn’t have anyone to go with anyway) because of what felt like it could’ve been anything from gall stones to bowel cancer.

Had a big useless cleanse that was excruciating, then had the guys that give the barium enema tell me, “lube is expensive” when I screamed about how much it hurt to have the thing shoved up my ass. My already inflamed, tender ass.

Absolutely nothing was found in my bowels. Which did absolutely nothing to explain why they felt inflamed and miserable. But it did give me a $1,700 bill, which proved.. absolutely nothing except they couldn’t find tumors or any object lodged in my butt. Given how it took me two summers to acquire almost that much working a shit job for my shithead father’s girlfriend, maybe you can appreciate how heartbreaking that is. Spending all that money and you don’t even learn WHY you’re suffering, you just learn why you aren’t.

And today I still fume with rage over being told, “ass lube is expensive so we’re skimping on it” and then be charged almost two thousand god damned dollars.

Absolutely could not get my family to help me pursue any other avenue. They just kept insisting, “it’s all anxiety, it’s all in your head. You just need to get off the computer and do more manual labor/make us money and your problems will go away. :^)”

But then they would not help me do it. They wanted me to take on all the risk while they got the guaranteed income from my needing to be around them.

My need to grow step by step was their opportunity to mitigate my life, every step of the way, so non-compliance with their exploitation would result in homelessness and complete uprooting. If I wasn’t going to voluntarily follow draconian rules, then I’d be governed by those rules anyway in the absence of them being verbally stated. Just, using poverty and immobility as a way to impose it.

But I refused to comply. I wasn’t going to suffer every day unendingly AND get my income snatched away, BY MY OWN GOD DAMNED FAMILY. A family that didn’t even pay RENT to live in the house we were living in at the time, and a family that made 65-70K a year, with another house they owned in a less convenient location worth $350K. My mother had ABSOLUTELY NO BUSINESS other than fun and profit as an excuse as to why I needed to buy, “the family,” a car. Other than making it the “family” car giving her defacto control over it but my obligation to pay for it. Just another indirect way to give her absolute control over my options and alternatives.

So I didn’t work. I sat at home and dealt with her abusive bullshit, because it was the only card I had left in my deck. She didn’t want the stigma of throwing out a sick man without a license, a car or any savings. I didn’t want to voluntarily throw myself out and die in the street.

So I dealt with my health problems as best as I could. There were a good many times living in this house, that we’ve lived in and she’s owned since 2006, that I questioned whether I should phone an ambulance and just say fuck it, go into tens of thousands of dollars of debt just goosechasing this problem, thanks to the backdoor socialized medical system that exploits the profit motive but uses government assured payment fixed to taxes in order to afford it.

That’s probably what pisses me off the most about my situation. Our medical system has been turned into a farce by socialists deliberately making medicine as toxic as they fucking can in order to then bat their eyes and go, “Bet you just want single payer and to basically make medicine another ring of the government NOW, don’t youuuuuu? It’d make all those woes go awayyyyy!” while turning the screws to our bodies by denying us affordable medicine. All while blaming capitalism for shit that’s assured to work at any cost by the government.

Other people pine for a more socialized system to make the disgusting exploitation and abuse stop. But the truth is, that’s just like wanting to marry a pirate so they’ll stop lobbing cannonballs and demanding tolls at sea from you. Yes, the actual literal war on you and your community and your personal sovereignty will be over, but you’ll also be institutionalizing pirates in order to make them stop taking complete advantage of you on their terms instead of taking complete advantage of you on mostly-their terms but you get to act like you’re consenting to it.

I digressed. Anyway...

Well. I’m curious about pursuing a shit job just to see if I can KEEP some income, but I know, and have always known, my mother will not allow me to do anything with that money but barely keep myself alive. While she uses it to just buy enormous bulk loads of garbage and hoards them in the corners, or throws hundreds of dollars at friends-of-the-family/neighbors and extracts that money from me to do it.

I know going into it that the job would be otherwise worthless. She wants her ten pounds of flesh a year from me, and if I worked, there’d be no getting around it. She isn’t going to allow me to profit living with her, in any way. Everything has to revolve around her, or I get made homeless.

But trying to hold a job would mean possible (there’s that ‘potential vs. guarantee dichotomy again) feelers out to couches to surf on. Or credit building.

It’d still be a sexless existence dictated by someone so fucking petty that they can’t help you fix a broken tooth but do miraculously have the money to buy you a cell phone and a plan, “if you want it,” purely to always have you at their beck and call and/or have control over your phone plan. And it’d mean committing to something that runs a minimum of a year while being able to have a foot crushing my neck and destroying whatever I’m trying to do in an instant.

but it’d also mean being able to financially pursue what’s wrong with me and fixing it.

But I will hold this grudge against women and the actual, objective privilege they have from the legal system and our social system in the US for the rest of my life. Everybody around me saw what she was doing to me and my life, and they’ve done and said absolutely nothing. An abusive woman in this society is basically on par with the richest barons in a young adult novel, and all you have to do to get that kind of institutional power, rich or poor, is have a vagina and be a mom.

Then other women will sympathize with the mother, whom can never be totally wrong about anything, and at best you might get silence and indifference about the way you’re treated.

You can be cornered, debased and neglected until you’re a greasy shoggoth of a person, and if it’s a woman doing this to you, it’s your fault for not escaping. After having every escape route made as torturous and unsustainable an option as possible, you’ll be held accountable for yourself.

I’ll be relieved and pleased when this disgusting pig of a woman dies of natural causes. She’ll have gotten away with grabbing my life and thrashing around with it for 20 years while the world passed me by, just to keep control, just for fun, just for profit.

But in the meantime, maybe there’s a local niche I can fill. Just enough of something to find somewhere else to live. Without conditions making it more damning to pursue than nothing at all.

But I’m not hoping too hard.

[ladywindrunner]

@redeeming-sun ❤︎’d for a starter

The knowledge that the Forsaken wanted to meet with what remained of their families, was beyond infuriating. It lit every undead nerve on fire within the Banshee Queen’s pale figure, to have to endure request after request that she bend to the boy king’s will and permit the meeting. When had such foolishness infected the Forsaken? Where were the yellow-eyed corpses whose hatred for the living was matched only for their grisly tenacity to survive?

           It was as she suspected, the stagnation of peace was polluting her people with weakness. They reminisced of lives they lost, of loved ones who’d abandoned them. Their memories were obscured by history; the pain they’d experienced long ago had scarred over.

           The runt of a monarch had even saw fit to write to Vellcinda and twist her stale heart. It was an obvious ploy, a scheme she, herself may have tried on the hapless living – but for the high king to attempt it? It was laughable.

           Blightcaller hadn’t thought it a plot. He believed the naïve boy to be genuine in his want for unification.

           Somehow that made it worse.

           Sylvanas hadn’t given Anduin any reason to believe that such a gathering was impossible. She’d been ever so careful with maintaining this tiring peace.

           She’d crushed the missive, mocked it.

           It would only bring her people pain. She’d let them cling to their false hope, but the agony of their loved ones turning them away – they’d call her cruel, but she’d be kind enough to spare them. She’d attempted it. The Dark Lady had twice experienced the horrible abandonment that followed meeting with so-called family.

           But the persistence of requests, which were near-to begging, saw her cave. Sylvanas decided to allow it.

           It would permit her the opportunity to truly witness the poisonous Alonsus Faol in the field. She was reluctant but willing to believe the young King of Stormwind innocent enough to offer this without an agenda, but not Alonsus.

           He had a purpose for wanting to sow discord within the Forsaken.

Staring across a wide field at Stromgarde’s battlements did nothing to ease Sylvanas’ frustration. Though she took comfort in the knowledge that seeing she and her most trusted forces brought the whelp ruler unease as well. This strange peace between the Alliance and Horde was standing on flimsy foundation.

           All it would take to turn this gathering into a nightmare was a wrong word, spat with hatred. The Highlands would once again be a blood bath, though sheer stubbornness on the part of the Warchief saw her endeavoring it would not be she who ruined everything.

           No, the heartlessness of the living would do that for her. She had no need for a scheme. These fools wanted to experience the anguish of being called abominations once more, then let them.

           She watched, clenching her jaw, as the undead began to wander into the open field. The wind shifted, and the scent of the living struck her along with their palpable fear.

           Sylvanas wanted to laugh. She imagined the idiots were running back to Stromgarde, cursing themselves for ever entertaining the notion. Her expression shifted from suspicion to contempt. Her lips curved into a malicious smirk.

           But then—

           A figure came over the rise. A hill just irritatingly large enough that it denied her sight of the keep’s gates.

           She took a step forward, hands coming to rest on the old stone of Thoradin’s Wall. Her eyes narrowed.

           A human.

           Then another, and another.

           Her grip on the embrasure tightened. Her amusement evaporated.

           Nathanos undoubtedly sensed her fury.

           “They’ll run,” he assured her, glancing at his queen before his wicked gaze returned to the sight before them. “They’re weak. They’ve never seen the undead up close.”

           Sylvanas agreed with him, she forced her bitterness down.

           “Curiosity,” she stated, “they’ll indulge themselves until our people draw too close. Then they’ll flee.”

           It was a reaction many of those around the Dark Lady had encountered.

           And their expectation held true. A scream of terror rung out and saw a woman bolt away from an undead who reached out for her.

           A young boy burst into tears and clung to his father, he kept pointing back at the Stromgarde. His mother was a corpse now, rotten and filthy. He didn’t want to see her.

           The Banshee Queen’s loathing smile returned.

           She glared across the distance at the form of Anduin.

           The cripple king’s gamble hadn’t paid off.

           “Dark Lady,” a ranger drew her attention back to the field.

           Two women were embracing one another. One alive, one undead.

           Sylvanas scoffed, what was one exception to the rule?

           Only, it wasn’t just one.

           The tantalizing scent of fear, began to fade. Nothing replaced it, as her kind had no need to track happiness, relief, acceptance…

           … Love.

           Her disgust is barely contained. She thought of her sisters, of their cruel words and intentions. Vereesa’s lies that spun Alleria against her. How they were permitted forgiveness for their sins but she’d been spurned.

           ‘the way you did not betray Vereesa when you manipulated her into agreeing to be killed and become undead with you in the Undercity?’

‘I’ve heard talk of just how many voices you’ve silenced during my absence, Sylvanas.’

           ‘Tell me, how long ago was it you silenced what was left of the sister I loved?’

           Her sisters’ absences had not escaped her.

           It was in her mind to strike them all down. To murder every, last soul before her.

           Jealousy was an ugly companion. It bled into wounds and caused them to fester.

           “My Lady,” Nathanos interrupted her thoughts, “look there.”

           Sylvanas hardly thought whatever she might glimpse be worth the agony of remaining here.

           Yet the man who came over the hill with a few others from the Alliance controlled keep was different. He was not a human, he was taller, his hair a brilliant gold. He carried himself as a knight would, with discipline and since Sylvanas had caught sight of them, he’d aided a few older persons towards their undead counterparts.

           Her glare was thankfully unreadable from afar, for it radiated with absolute anger.

           What game was that useless king playing? How dare he permit such an individual on the field.  It was such a blatant manipulation, she wondered if this idea was Anduin’s at all, but rather Genn.

           That rapid dog would love to find a way to wound her.

           “Is that—“

           “Yes,” she cut Nathanos’ off sharply. She moved quickly, flanked by her champion.

           “No weapons are permitted on the field,” he reminded her, his displeasure at the agreement evident. “You will be exposed, My Queen.”

           “I am not some hapless peasant!” She snarled, thankful that her outburst wasn’t seen by her soldiers. They stood in a darkened chamber, having halfway descended a staircase.

           A moment lingered between them.

           “Sylvanas,” he spoke her name softly, “I would never doubt your capabilities. But neither should we doubt the capabilities of our enemies.”

           She knew better than to believe he was reprimanding her in strategy. A small, fanged smile graced her lips as she touched his pale cheek with her hand.

           “Should that fool boy and his pet dog try anything,” she murmured in a silken tone, “end them.”

            She relinquished her bow an instant afterwards.

           Stepping out onto the field, she ignored the startled glances from her own people. Despite her claim to Nathanos that she wasn’t a fool, she certainly felt she was. Though it did not go amiss by the Banshee Queen that the Forsaken appeared to move with renewed confidence that their Dark Lady was with them.

           Perhaps they took comfort that she trusted the Alliance enough not to strike at them.

           She didn’t. If she were Anduin, this would be far too glorious of an opportunity to pass up.

           For once, she found herself hoping the High King was as good as the rumours implied.

           She drew closer to the man who’d elicited such a reaction. Taller than she, wearing knightly armour. He too, was without a weapon. His eyes gleamed a wondrous gold.

           Arator Windrunner, her nephew.

           She stopped a distance from him, for it was she who was wary of him (not that she let that show). She hadn’t seen him since her undeath. She only knew what he looked like from reports and rumours.

           What was he calling himself? The Redeemer?

           It was laughable.

           “Your mother would end you if she knew you were here.” Sylvanas spoke, arms crossing.

#✧:: the dark lady ( warcraft ) #// this is so long and im so sorry #// back story is important right? XD

[lilulo-12fanfiction]

Tequila Makes You Mean

Tequila Makes You Mean- Dean x Reader

This was requested by @flamencodiva as a Dean x Reader. I hope you like it!!

18: “ I wish i’d never met you. ”

31: “ I fucked up. ”

36: “ I’m so in love with you. ”

58: “ How did we get here? ”

Supernatural Tag List:

@fandom-princess-forevermore

Dean was furious. He was flexing his fist around the wheel of the Impala. You sat next to him, just as angry. Sam was in the back seat, ear buds in to ignore the tension between you and Dean. It had been a successful hunt. The vampire nest had been larger than you had anticipated but you still came out on top.

You had known the Winchester Boys your entire life. You were also a Hunter’s kid. Your father had died right around the time Dean came back from Hell. You had bumped into them on a job and we’re working it together when you got the call about your father. It had devastated you. Your story was almost the same as Sam and Dean’s. Your mother died when you were young. She was murdered by a witch for some sacrifice. Your father hunted her down and with John’s help, took out the entire coven.

You were about a year younger than Sam. The men had left the three of you in a hotel room and Dean was in charge. You had a crush on him when you were little. That crush turned into irritation as you got older. Dean treated you like you couldn’t find your way out of a paper bag. Sam knew it was him being over protective. You were smart and a capable hunter. You put his research and hacking skills to shame and there wasn’t a detail you couldn’t remember. You were calm in a crisis and a huge asset to their team.

You didn’t mess up often. Yet Dean picked at you all the time. Sam was so tired of the bickering and fighting. You were both smart yet so stupid at the same time. Dean worshipped the ground you walked on and hid it with his need to make sure you were safe and criticizing you on and after hunts. You thought Dean Winchester hung the moon but were convinced he saw you as his little sister. Dean’s self loathing made him believe you deserved better than him.

“You should have known we would have been out numbered. I could have called for more backup.” Dean barked.

“We’re ALWAYS out numbered. There was nothing to point to there being that many in the nest. I had NO WAY of knowing.” You were trying to hide the hurt in your voice.

“That’s why we let Sam or I find the cases. We always get all of the info before we go in so we aren’t going in blind. You could have gotten us killed.” Your jaw dropped and couldn’t even respond. The rest of the ride was silent with you staring out the window. Sam saw you discreetly trying to wipe tears from your face.

The Impala was barely in park before you ran into the bunker and the boys were barely in when you were walking past them with a full duffel bag.

“And where are you heading sweetheart?” Dean stopped you by grabbing your arm. You quickly yanked it away.

“I’m going to stay someplace else tonight, maybe a few nights.”

“What?! Why?” Dean demanded.

“Because right now I wish I never met you. I can’t ever do anything right in your eyes. Clearly I’m a liability so why do you even want me around? Wait- don’t answer that.” Then you were rushing past Sam and out the door to your truck.

Dean stood staring at the door for a moment and ran his hand down his face in frustration.

“Dude.” Sam shook his head. “You gotta chill. You’re such a dick to her. That back there wasn’t her fault.”

“I know. I don’t know why I act like that towards her. She just...I don’t know.” Dean slumped down in one of the chairs in the war room.

“You’re an ass because you’re trying to hide your feelings and it’s how you keep her at arms length.” Sam blurted our.

“Sammy what the hell are you talking about?” Sam threw his arms up in frustration.

“Are you really this dumb? You have feelings for her but you’re too afraid to act on them so you act like this. Look I get it. Having a relationship in this life is impossible UNLESS the other person is also in this life.”

“I’m no good for her Sammy.” Dean grunted.

“Well at least you aren’t denying it. Why don’t you let HER decide what’s good for her. Why waste time not being together when our time is so limited?” Sam put a beer in front of Dean. “Ponder that. I’m going to take a shower” Dean let out a sigh and opened his beer.

———————————————

You slammed the motel door behind you. You had showered and changed and needed a drink, badly. You stomped over to your black pick up and climbed in. It was chilly. You had put on a pair of black knee high boots over your jeans and a plain black shirt. You should have brought a damn jacket but you had left in such a huff.

You pulled into the first bar you found. Drinking alone wasn’t really your thing but tonight it was totally necessary. You were 4 tequilas deep when you felt a warm body standing close to you. You turned your head to the left and there was Dean Winchester, elbow leaning on the bar, one leg crossed in front of the other staring you down. He was a sight to see. His dark denim jeans and black button down made his eyes look lighter, but it was that green cargo jacket with the collar popped that made the green really stand out. He was beautiful. That was the only word worthy of him, beautiful.

“You know it’s not fair to make leave the tracking on my phone on if you’re going to stalk me when I’m not in danger.” You rolled your eyes and threw back the tequila in front of you. “I fucked up, okay. I get it. No more lectures necessary. I’ll be a good little girl and stick to research and whatever you deem I’m worthy of. But can you please just let me enjoy pickling my liver in peace?”

“God, how did we get here?” Dean ran his hand down his face. His voice was mumbled.

“What?” You wanted him to repeat it but he just shook his head. You rolled your eyes and then turned back to the bar. “Just go Dean.”

“Yeah I’m not leaving you alone in this skeevy place with these sketchy guys that are all staring you down.”

“My hero.” Your voice was dripping with sarcasm as you placed your hand on your heart. Dean grabbed your most recent shot and threw it back.

“You’re a real pain in my ass Y/L/N.” He grabbed your arm and turned you to face him. “You’re making it next to impossible to apologize.” You cocked your head to the side.

“Wow, hell must have frozen over if you’re going to apologize.”

“Okay I deserve that. Just, c’mon. Let’s go outside so I can actually talk to you.” You stared at his face for a moment and saw the sincerity in his eyes and relented. The only indication that you were coming with him was cash you threw down on the bar and you grabbing your purse. You felt Dean place his hand on the small of your back to lead you out of the bar. It was such a Dean thing to do. Always in control of the situation. Always that comforting hand. He led you over to the Impala and you hopped up on the trunk to sit making you relatively eye level with Dean.

“Look Y/N/N- I’m...I just...I don’t...” Dean stuttered alone. You let out a huff of irritation.

“Care to use your Big Boy words? I’m pretty smart.” You crossed your arms in front of you.

“Really? Tequila makes you mean.” He was incredulous.

“Well what’s your excuse?”

“That’s fair.” He conceded and placed his hands on your knees and leaned forward. “I just don’t know how to deal with you. So it’s easier to be a dick to push you away. So you won’t want to get close to me. I’m like the angel of death. Anyone that cares about me is dead. Except Sammy but that’s because he’s been weirdly resurrected multiple times.”

“My track record with loved ones isn’t that great either.” You rolled your eyes. Dean...what does that even mean? You don’t know how to deal with me. Treat me like you do Sam...just better. Because I hate to break it to you, raging asshole or not I’m still in love with you.” You both froze. “Fucking Tequila!” Dean didn’t respond and instead just stared up at you. “Fine. It’s out there. Might as well just deal with it. I am so in love with you it’s disgusting. Why do you think I come back again and again for more abuse?”

“I’m no good for you Y/N.” You rolled your eyes.

“Oh no, wounded Dean Winchester might come with some baggage. Guess what baby, I have my own. A whole luggage set worth. So what? We deal with it together. We’re the same. Whether you want to admit it or not. I mean if you don’t feel the same way, fine. We can deal with the awkwardness until it fades and until then, we’ll poor Sammy-“ he interrupted your speech by grabbing your face and pressing his lips to yours. Your body stiffened at first but then you relaxed into it. He pulled away and rested his head against yours.

“How could you think I don’t feel the same? Of course I do. I can’t give you a normal life though.”

“Do I seem like the type of girl they would be chasing that?” Dean laughed.

“I guess not.” He kissed you again. “C’mon- lets go enjoy that hotel room you got l. We'll come back for your truck tomorrow” you let Dean lift you off the Impala and lead you to the passenger seat, knowing after tonight that everything would change.

#dean winchester request #dean winchester reader insert #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester imagines #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester #supernatural requests #supernatural reader insert #supernatural imagines #supernatural imagine #supernatural #spn requests #spn fandom #spn reader insert #spn imagines #spn imagine

[malachi-walker]

What character(s) from other fandoms that you're a part of remind you the most of Catra? Personally, I don't think I've seen too many, aside from maybe Vegeta from DBZ and maybe Jason Todd from DC comics but that's about it for me

Ok, anon, thanks for your patience. Let's go.

Firstly, I have two ladies that do give me a similar vibe to Catra (though they aren't 100% matches as you'll see.) And I want you to take particular note of that: it's very telling that the characters you mentioned are both dudes. This is something I have been thinking about for literally decades because it is a deeply entrenched stereotype in our culture: male abuse victims are angry, frustrated loners who lash out until they find that one (girl) person that gets through their facade, female abuse victims are portrayed as either anxious messes (more common in recent years) or as just... These smiling caricatures who continue to pretend to be happy because that's what our societies expect women to be. And this is something I took note of at a very early age, because as someone growing up with an abusive birth father I looked to the MALE characters as a guide book on how to act, because getting angry and lashing out was what made sense to me at the time and I resented the hell out of that unspoken implication that I was supposed to just suck it up and plaster on a smile when I wanted to rage against the injustice of what I was dealing with. In hindsight it wasn't great behavior, but it was what I needed to keep myself sane at the time. I'm not even exaggerating when I say I have waited my whole life for a character like Catra: someone who is reflective of my experiences as an ex-abuse victim, someone who is angry and wrathful and still allowed to be sympathetic. Now on to our two ladies.

First up: Vriska Serket from Homestuck. (I know, Homestuck is a huge fandom with a lot of assholes, but I do still enjoy the original comic. I just don't interact with the fandom.) Vriska and Catra both have similar vibes in the way they project their outward personas of being the badass bitch who takes no shit and is on top of things, but we all know that's a lie. And they both come from abusive backgrounds: Vriska was forced to become a killer at a very young age because her parental guardian (a literal giant spider) would eat her if Vriska didn't feed her other kids. Doesn't excuse her jerkass tendencies or her terrible actions, but that was how she started out. And Catra's deal with SW needs no explanation.

They both have developed very similar gadfly tendencies in order to maintain a sense of control around other people (though Vriska is a lot more mean spirited about it) and both have moments when the facade cracks and they show actual sincerity and frustration at themselves and other people. The main difference between them is that Vriska's actions are driven by a sense of grandiose self-importance that she has cultivated and fed into as a way to avoid looking at her own actions (because she's the best, so everything she does is awesome, right?) whereas Catra's primary driving motivation is pain: either making sure she doesn't have to hurt anymore or hurting those who hurt her. Plus Catra grapples with her sense of guilt a lot throughout Spop and maintains those sympathetic undertones while Vriska's moments of clarity are so rare that you basically have to keep a chart to locate them. But you could totally picture them both teaming up to make fun of their respective frenemies, assuming they didn't kill each other first for reminding themselves of their deep underlying self-loathing.

Second candidate: Anthy Himemiya from Revolutionary Girl Utena. And boy howdy, if anyone is interested in this show and wants to avoid spoilers, skip to the end now, because we're going on a deep and dark journey here.

At first glance, she and Catra don't have much in common. In fact, she seems to fit the stereotype I described above: the placid smiling doll who takes the abuse and keeps going. Key word: seems to. Anyone who actually watches the show knows exactly where I'm going here.

We're introduced to Anthy as the "Rose Bride": the prize in a series of sword fights between students at a very strange school, with the ultimate promise being that whoever owns the Rose Bride at the end of the duels will gain some nebulous ultimate power. And yeah, I said "own" for a reason: whoever possesses the Rose Bride effectively owns her and some of the most uncomfortable scenes in the show reinforce the fact that Anthy tailors her thoughts and actions to whoever currently controls her. And as you can expect, this leads to BUCKETS of abuse. Literally everyone in this show is culpable in some manner for this, no matter how well intentioned.

But remember that "seems to?" Because that's only one side of Anthy; the outward persona if you will. On the other side of the coin you have Anthy the Witch, and that's where the parallels with Catra come into play and why Anthy was my go-to abuse representation before Spop rocked my world. Because the big twist we find out at the end of the series is that Anthy and her older brother Akio (formerly Dios) are the former literal personifications of the fairytale damsel in distress princess and the noble prince on a white horse, respectively.

But the balance was upset: having to constantly go around saving people was literally killing Dios, because one of the major points of RGU is that you can assist people in saving themselves but doing it yourself strips them of agency and traps them in a cycle of needing to be saved again and again. The more people the noble prince saved, the more people needed saving. When it became clear that he couldn't keep going, Anthy took a stand and prevented the people coming for Dios (angry that he wasn't saving them anymore) from getting to him, and thus incurred the wrath of everyone and got skewered alive by an angry mob in the process. This isn't hyperbole: the role of the Rose Bride is to instinctively bring out the disdain and hatred of everyone on the planet. It's a punishment for stepping out of line, for not being the placid princess who needs to be rescued anymore.

Because we're operating on fairy tale logic, no longer being a princess means that Anthy became a witch, and no longer being the prince made Dios into satanic archetype Akio. So behind the scenes of the entire show, Anthy is the witch assisting her brother in orchestrating the duels, and their ultimate goal is to find someone pure of heart enough to embody those princely virtues Dios once possessed and to steal that power so Akio can return to being who he once was. All of the psychological torments and head games are designed to weed out the potential candidates to find that special someone... Except it's an impossible goal because no human being can live up to that standard. And with each atrocity they commit it becomes even more impossible to return to being that person.

Ok, tangent done, here's where it gets interesting: Anthy is a character with two sides to her, the suffering Rose Bride fated to endure the hatred of the entire world and the Wicked Witch who manipulates and orchestrates the torment of those around her. But here's the deal: she's a victim too. She's a victim of a system that won't let her be anything other than these two binaries; she's a victim of her brother who has all the power over her and has trapped her in a codependent incestuous relationship, and I don't care how awful the things she's done are: nobody deserves to go through the shit she does. So with all of that in mind, the actions that she goes through as the witch make perfect sense. Why shouldn't she torment these people who do nothing but abuse her and deny her of agency? Even the best hearted of the duellists (aka the ones who don't hit her or abuse her sexually) nonetheless fall into the trap of projecting their own biases and expectations onto her, biases that her role dictates she carry out. Her actions as the witch aren't right, but nothing about this situation is. That's the entire point.

And that's where she ties into being like Catra. Catra does some truly fucked up things, but it doesn't cancel out the fact that she's an abuse victim that has been literally tortured for most of her life for no good reason and has received zero acknowledgement of that abuse in universe. And much like Anthy, she can't begin to heal until the situation is acknowledged, because that's literally step one of breaking the cycle: confirming that this is not okay and that no one deserves the shit she's been through. Just knowing that herself isn't enough: it's acknowledgement from others that enables that process to begin, because no one can recover from abuse in a vacuum. You need outside people to be touchstones, because so much of recovering from abuse is confronting the way it warps your perception and thought processes. You need at the minimum one normal perspective to give you that, preferably more, but one minimum.

Hurting the people who care about her is definitely not okay and I'm not excusing her actions in that category, but it doesn't change the fact that she is justified in wanting to rage and lash out, because she is still trapped in that cycle. She can't heal or let go because the process hasn't even been started. She's not off the hook for the things she's done, but neither should she be automatically condemned without taking those factors into account (which is the entire reason why the distinction between an excuse and a justification exists.)

And if I can be a little pithy... The other similarity between Catra and Anthy is I can guarantee that in twenty years people will STILL be arguing over whether or not Catra "deserved" to be freed from her abusive situation.

Good God this turned into an essay. Hope this makes up for how long it took, anon. And anyone else who makes it this far, treat yourself. You earned it.

#long post #anon #answers #comparitive analysis #yes virginia i am a lit graduate

[leroiloup]

Das Biest

⚜ The entirely unnecessarily long & violent story of how Klaus gave up on trying to be human.    ➥ Takes place : Fall of 1359 in present day Germany    ✥ Trigger Warnings : violence /gore

❝ –– the true problem remains my brother Niklaus ; he continues to hide his loneliness with                   cruelty. ❞                                     Elijah’s Journal ║ August 1359

                                                                       -✦-

                              Understanding   /  Forgiveness   /   Love   /   Redemption

         ❝ Such notions were thrown my way towards the latter years of my life, perhaps encouraged by the love that melted my frozen heart when my daughter was born. I wonder, though, does sixteen years account for well over a thousand ? Does the path I took mean anything so long as my destination was justified ? If you’re to ask me, I’d say no. Yes, when I died, I did so selflessly as a father ,  a brother ,  a friend ,  and a lover. But first and foremost I lived my life as only one thing :    a      m o n s t e r .

❝ I’m no mere villain in the stories you hear. I’m not the lackey who lives to serve under tyrannical rule. I’m not the bad guy thrown into the path of the hero set to challenge his ways and ultimately make him rise above and vanquish evil, thus becoming the pure symbol of good–– et cetera et cetera. No, I’m none of these things.

                                                                                         I’m much worse.

❝ I’m the nightmare that demons cower from. I’m the shadow from which evil flees. True, I softened in the final years of my life, finding a selfless focus of my power, but make no mistake. It is my name that makes the night itself tremble in fear.

❝ How did it come to this, you wonder ? How did the simple son of a wayward Viking become the ultimate terror to plague this world for over over a millennia ? There’s a plethora of examples from which I could cite, but the one that could truly drive my point home takes place in the fall 1359. Humanity was never a thing I could easily turn on and off as vampires today can, but in that time, I was truly anything but   h u  m   a    n .  ❞

                               ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The ropes bit into the flesh of his wrists, bruising them deeply. Rope, however, was nothing but a nuisance for a vampire. Klaus could have easily snapped them and freed himself in an instant - if it weren’t for the witch chanting incessantly. The words were like daggers through his very skull. The original vampire was on his knees in a wooden church, a small group of people surrounding him. They looked frightened but determined as they watched the witch subdue him. Dark red and black eyes framed by rippling veins stared back, his fangs bared as he yelled, promising unending torment the moment he was free.

It wasn’t often that a vampire was caught, and it was nearly impossible to catch an original. The people of the small town of Bedburg, Germany in the autumn of 1359 didn’t even know what vampires were. They were hunting a werewolf and ended up with Klaus in their snare. How could such a feat be possible ? How was the infamous and powerful Klaus MIkaelson overcome by the simple minded townsfolk ? A beautiful pair of brown eyes, of course.

His name was Johann and he had the unfortunate luck of coming across a vampire feeing in the woods under the cover of night. Elijah, Rebekah, Kol and Klaus had taken up residence in Cologne Germany, just fifty kilometers away from Bedburg. After a particularly nasty blow out over the morals of being a vampire, Klaus headed out into the night to clear his head. Not wanting to attract attention back home, he found the small village and hunted on the outskirts. It was just after a drank a pair of lovers out for a roll in the hay dry that Klaus heard the snap of a twig, announcing the presence of another.

Turning to the source of the sound, Klaus seemingly disappeared and reappeared right in front of the young man. He was tall and fit, clearly a labor worker like a farmer. Shoulder length brown hair was tied back at the base of his neck and his youthful face was void of a beard. He couldn’t be much older than Klaus was when he was turned. Wide brown eyes looked up at the vampire, fear mingled with something else - something that took Klaus by surprise : wonder.

❝ Aren’t thou afraid ? ❞ he asked in German, having learned the language a century earlier.

A tense moment passed and the young mortal finally broke the silence.  ❝ They- They told me t’was a beast who hunted in these woods. ❞  That immediately took Klaus off guard. As far as he knew, this was the first time a Mikaelson had set foot near Bedburg. The village was too small to even be on a map. It was a complete fluke that his rage fueled path took him there.  ❝ Something like a hound straight from the bowels of hell. Some thing like- ❞

❝ A wolf ? ❞ Klaus asked.

The mortal’s eyes widened a bit as he nodded. He looked to the two dead bodies, then back to the killer before him, blood still on his chin.  ❝ I didn’t know you’d be a man. Are you both ? ❞

Finding himself far more intrigued with the inquisitive mortal, Klaus felt his earlier anger ebb away.  ❝ I am not what you’re hunting. ❞  The fact that there was a werewolf in these parts was fascinating and Klaus filed it away for later.

❝ But you killed them, ❞ the mortal stated.

❝ Yes. ❞

❝ And you’ll kill me now ? ❞

Klaus took a couple of steps froward, wiping the blood from his chin with his thumb, bringing himself within reaching distance of the young man.  ❝ Thou art unafraid at the prospect ? ❞  Usually this would be the point of running and screaming, but the mortal seemed merely curious.

❝ Not of dying, ❞ he admitted.  ❝ I loathe this town. And the people in it. ❞  His eyes were on the dead couple when he spoke.

There was a kindred spirit in the mortal that Klaus could feel. He’d never loved anyone since Aurora had shattered his heart, and while the concept of love wasn’t at the forefront of his mind, he found himself yearning for kinship ; someone who could understand him. Taking a risk, he slowly reached out and brushed back a lock of stray brown hair from the mortal’s face.  ❝ Small minded people are never able to see the greatness within those like us. ❞

❝ Us ? ❞ he asked, not shying away in the least. On the contrary, he leaning into the touch, fascinated by the creature of fantasy.

Klaus nodded, dark blue eyes holding his gaze with a growing intensity as he leaned closer. When next he spoke, it was in a whisper as though worried that any volume would shatter the moment he’d unwittingly found himself in.  ❝ I can show you a better way to live. ❞  Drawn together by an unseen force, their lips met, and Klaus felt the first wave of peace overtake his soul in centuries.

Only when their lips parted did the mortal smile and say, ❝ I am Johann. ❞  Klaus grinned in return before kissing him again, letting his emotions take hold and guide his actions.

                                        ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The young love lasted three nights. Each night, Klaus would slip away from his siblings to meet Johann in the woods outside of Bedburg. At a time when his loneliness mingled with insatiable hunger had started to melt away the traits that made him human, it was Johann’s warm touch that coaxed a bit of his old self to the surface. It was pure bliss, reminding the vampire that there was more to life than rage, torment, and blood. There was beauty all around if only one were to open their eyes and look.

On the third night, Klaus didn’t even greet his new friend. He pounced from the darkness, shoving Johann up against a tree and kissed him with the passion he’d denied himself for so long. When the kiss ended, Klaus grinned, a playful expression in place. It was only then that he saw the fearful and saddened look in the brown eyes he’d come to crave.  ❝ What’s the matter ? ❞

❝ I am so sorry. I did not know- ❞

Confusion clouded blue eyes as Johann rambled, but before Klaus could make any sense of it, there was a searing pain that shot through his skull. Instantly the vampire was brought to his knees, hands to his head as he yelled. A witch had come into view from around a tree. Her hands were outstretched and she chanted, holding strong to the spell that was able to subdue the original. Betrayal and hurt boiled deep within his eyes as Klaus looked to Johann. A group of mortals had no descended and shackled Klaus, tying him up to bring back to town. As far as the townsfolk were concerned, their period of strife had ended : the werewolf of Bedburg had been caught. Oh, how wrong they were !

                                        ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The sun had begun to rise when Klaus was tied down on his knees, hands behind his back in the wooden church at the end of the village. A ring of salt was around him as the witch continued her ritual to kill him. He wondered if he were a regular vampire whether or not it would have worked. The small handful of people who surrounded him weren’t recognizable, though they appeared to be people of powerful positions within the little community. One man in particular stood in front of the group, looking like the mayor.

Head bowed under long tresses of tangled blonde hair, seemingly given up, Klaus calculated the many ways he would introduce pure anguish into their lives. The inexorable torment that pounded through his black and broken heart fueled the machinations through Klaus’s mind. For a brief glimmer in his life, Klaus had found happiness ; the kind of happiness that he didn’t think would be possible after Aurora. It was nothing more than an illusion, he realized - not unlike his humanity. To hell with Elijah’s morals and speeches about being better than the beast. Klaus had learned where compassion would get him, and it was a road he never wanted to travel again. He wasn’t a human any longer, and he decided that eternity would be better spent accepting that truth. He was better than them - he could rise above them. As far as he was concerned, he wasn’t human, but rather their god. Unfortunately for the town of Bedburg, he’s not a merciful god in the slightest. They needed to be punished and the monster within him reared its head, begging for blood.

Sunlight shone through the church windows, bathing Klaus in its light. One of the wives stepped back, confused. Apparently she thought demons couldn’t survive in the sunlight. It gave Klaus an idea - one that he was sure he’d regret later - but his mind was running solely on the need for revenge. Logic be damned.

Head raised slowly and inhuman vampire eyes met the group. Fighting against the searing torment of the spell, Klaus’s face set with a new determination. Apparently the blood thirsty look they were met with was enough to cause concern and the room froze. Even the witch paused, though her hands were still up. He couldn’t leave the ring of salt, so she felt safe.

That feeling was misplaced.

Hands still behind him, Klaus’s fingers found his daylight ring and pulled it off. Instantly his body was engulfed in flames, wide grin and dangerous eyes seen through the fire. The wood of the church caught instantly, going up like a tinder box.  It was an unseasonably dry year which worked in his favor. The mayor pushed his wife towards the door as another man was caught, screaming as fire lit him up. The ring of salt was gone and the people panicked as they ran for the door. Klaus moved at preternatural speed to the witch who stood in a shaded area. He sunk his teeth into her neck and she screamed as her healing blood filled his mouth and flames engulfed both of their bodies. He didn’t stop until her head was nearly severed from its neck, then Klaus dropped the body to the floor. He put his ring back on and moved with the same speed to the door and those trying to escape. The wind created by his movement was able to kill the flames still on his body. What clothing was left was singed to his melted flesh, hair gone and red eyes wild. The pain was unlike anything he’d ever felt, and yet the original was able to harness it and let it fuel him.

There were more screams as people were trapped in the flames. Those who would survive were met with sharp fangs.

Outside, the villagers were taking to the street to behold their church up in flames. The screams within died and after a few tense moments, the grotesque figure of Klaus emerged from the smoky doorway. It was immediately clear to anyone that he wasn’t human, for anyone with burns that bad wouldn’t still be walking. Blood fell from his lips as it began to heal him. His eyes scanned the ground as people started to run back to their home. He wasn’t bothered with them, though, as his eyes found Johann in the crowd.

The mortal had the sense to finally look afraid as Klaus approached. A scarred and singed hand reached up, affectionately caressing the side of Johann’s face.  ❝ I did not want to, ❞ the mortal pleaded, tears in his eyes.  ❝ You have to believe me. I never wanted this. They- ❞

Words ceased and brown eyes went side as his expression froze. When Klaus pulled back his other hand, it was dripping with blood, holding the beating heart of the man he thought to be his lover. There was nothing but a steely resolve forged by hurt and betrayal in Klaus’s eyes as he brought the heart to his lips and took a drink. Johann’s body fell limp to the ground and there was a piercing scream from one of the villagers who’d witnessed it. Klaus smirked and dropped the heart before turning his blind hatred on the people of the town.

The slaughter didn’t last long as Klaus tore through as many people as he could find. Blood painted the sides of buildings, limbs fell detached in his wake, and smoke began to could and blot out the sun. No one was safe from his ire and blood soaked fangs. The fire continued to spread, a visible metaphor to the vampire’s ever growing and all consuming rage. It wasn’t long before the entire village was on fire and not a soul was left alive.

Satisfaction wasn’t the emotion that Klaus carried in his heart as he walked away from the smoldering remains of the carnage. The tragedy of loss in his heart was gone, washed away with any semblance of happiness or peace. Instead, the only thing Klaus felt was numb. All attempts at being human were a thing of the past. The original would move forward in life only as the thing he was forged to be :  a beast.

Finding a wandering horse, Klaus approached it and - not bothering with a saddle - he mounted and guided the animal back towards Cologne. The village of Bedburg would be resettled in coming years, though to this day, there are still stories of the werewolf that once plagued the town. What there will not be stories of, is the monster far more terrifying - the one who gave in to the animalistic side and embraced his true nature in their very church.

#ᴡ ☾ kʟᴀᴜs cʜʀᴏɴɪᴄʟᴇs ﹕ oɴᴇ sʜᴏᴛ #ɢ ☾ aᴄᴛɪᴏɴ #ᴛ ☾ Pʀᴇ TVD #ᴠ ☾ cᴀɴᴏɴ #klaus mikaelson #[ this is so long #[ and violent #[ but also fun fact : #[ werewolves in Bedburg Germany is true facts! look it up ;) #[ I can't believe I finished this #[ I started it back in DECEMBER #[ it's so pointless I dunno who'd even read all this #[ but I feel so accomplished

[glamrockmonarch]

Attachments Series

Series Masterlist | Chapter Two

Pairings: OFC!Princess Rose x Joe Mazzello; OFC!Princess Rose x Gwilym Lee; OFC!Laura x Ben Hardy; OFC!Laura x ???

Summary: Princess Rose lives a comfortable life along her parents. In a large family of royals, being the second child in the line of succession is not easy. On her 18th birthday it becomes a matter of great importance that she stops her heartbreaker ways and settles for a fine gentleman worthy of a kingdom. As the castle fills with the sounds of laughter and joy, Lady Laura must swallow her pride and do as she is told by her Queen…even if the heart tells her to act otherwise.

A/N: Just to clarify, I am not going to be including Felix and Rory into this because…well, I don’t know! For this, Rose will be the second child after Rufus and before Tigerlily - who we shall be referring to as Lily/Lilian for the purpose of style, sorry and thank you. Lola will be in the story as well, and I will much much MUCH appreciate feedback, thoughts and maybe theories? or guesses? on what you think the story is going to be like. I do warn you, there will be mentions of same sex relationships, adult content *wink* *wink* and really bad, inaccurate history. Because I try but not that hard. Also, I am sorry you do not get much Laura right away, but her part in the story is going to be a bit wild - my bi people will be pleased (I hope!).

(I promise the future A/N’s won’t be this long!)

Chapter One. Rose

                    He makes the bed soft, yet it’s hard to sleep on

“What does that mean?” Her face lost all colour. 

The wind entered through the windows of the large hall as she stood before her father. The King sighed. He did not like doing this to his daughter, but word around the kingdom was that she enjoyed the privileges of the royal home with too many liberties. Partying and drinking, constantly seen with male friends on social gatherings. 

The princess was eighteen now. Old enough, perhaps too old, to be married regardless of how much her father wished for her to remain a child under his and the Queen’s care. She was a handful, but she was theirs. And soon, for the sake of the crown, she would be someone else’s. 

The king’s blue eyes looked up from the floor and he stretched his back as he turned his gaze onto his daughter, Princess Ruthie Rose, his second-born. She looked back up at him with her impossible long blonde curls. Her sparkling blue eyes like his, which widened round as they were. 

“It means,” King Roger began, “you must meet these men. All perfectly eligible husbands… I’m giving you a month to choose one to marry.”

“And,” she tried to stand up tall in front of him, not a good time to test her father’s temper, “…and if I don’t want to be wedded?” 

She swung her nose up in the autumn’s wind. 

“I don’t care for what you want.” 

The statement flew in the air like a slap to her face, a wake up to a spoiled child with too much gold in her pocket and too little sympathy. 

He stared at his daughter with stern eyes, the blue in the irises turned cold as ice for the first time in her presence. 

“You’ve messed about, drunk your way here. I do not care if you want a husband, I don’t care if you want to be a lady or a whore! You will be married to a man of status! The name of this family will not be dragged along with you.” 

“Papa, I-” She took a step forward, bringing her hands together over her chest on her way to make another one of her skillful apologies. 

“No, Rosamund. Not this time.” The king stepped forward too, grabbing her wrists and pulling her hands apart he pointed a heavy finger her way. “I will personally choose for you.” 

“They will take me away…” She reasoned, “I refuse your kind offer, papa I cannot! I do not want to go!” 

“This is not an offer.” King Roger said, “Meet them. Make a choice. Or I will.”

Forcing her jaw to clench, the princess stopped her bottom lip from quivering. She held her handkerchief in a clenched fist and watched the man in front of her.  

“Where are they from?” She asked through gritted teeth. 

King Roger took a deep breath and walked towards the window, he looked past the gardens and into the paths leading to the palace. A cart was arriving. The first one. 

“Your brother insisted on giving Joseph a chance,” she rolled her eyes and smiled at her father once his eyes turned to her. 

“Of course! Joseph is one of our closest friends!” She spoke in bittersweet truth, knowing that choosing him would mean she would have to move to Monaco with him. 

“Benjamin of Russia is coming too,” the King frowned down at his large rings, “as is coming Gwilym, Prince of Hanover.”

She nodded her head and shrugged. “Only one of them lives in London, papa.” She felt the lack of space in her throat and a humidity that blocked her nose. 

“You will be smart to choose the Prince of Hanover, although I fear he is a man of science.”

“Cannot be worse than a Russian winter,” she guessed out loud before giving her father a forced smile and a bow. “Papa.”

King Roger watched as his daughter walked out of the studio. He sighed. Sitting back on his large chair he glanced at the gardens outside. So far it had been an enormous task finding the best people to marry his children, starting with Rufus…The Prince of Wales could not go along with the expected, no. He chose instead to find himself a wife at the court. Of course. Lilian was not yet getting married. 

But the trouble was already to be expected. 

~~~~

Fuming. The princess was fuming. Her lady helped her fix her hair before going to greet Joseph. She could not mind it any less, he was a good friend of hers and her siblings because of his constant trips to England, although his place of residence was Monaco instead. She would have picked him on the spot, was it not for that. Rose could not bring herself to think of a life away from her family home. From her sisters and her brother. From her father and mother. Away from the court she grew up in. 

It seemed to be all a horrible play. Why would they let her love it there so much if they knew she would be destined to leave one day. 

Rose put a bright blue ribbon in her hair and walked out to meet the ever so jolly Prince of Monaco. 

With a smile for his friend she swallowed the sadness of knowing the choice was made for her, and whatever efforts he made would be met with a negative response. Even if her heart was only fixated on Joseph as a friend…it still broke to the thought of the life to come when the day came and she was married to a man she did not yet know. 

“Splendid as always, Rose!” Joseph said humorously, although he knew the young Princess loved a compliment. 

“Oh,” she looked up and shrugged with a light move of her shoulder, “but you look so handsome too! One might think you are trying to court someone…?” 

Rose wiped the fan open and fanned herself for a second as Joseph smiled.

If he must be honest, Rose was a pretty girl. Although it did not matter that she was much younger than himself, he thought of her as a little sister, most probably due to his closeness to Rufus. If the King found him suitable for his daughter, he had been told, they would be wedded in a matter of days. It was of incredible importance to the crown back home that Joseph took a wife and produced an heir, but whether of not that would be accomplished with Rose, was still not clear.

“Please, do come have tea with me!” The Princess motioned towards the large hall in the palace, escorted by one of her ladies she began walking. 

Joseph stepped next to her and offered his arm, chivalry much alive. He talked to his friend about his time back at home, the fun bits. Why bore the young with politics? 

The tea room, so familiar, fell quiet too soon. While Rose fought to find a natural topic of conversation she could not stop thinking of what Joseph was told before coming to the palace that afternoon. His long lashes produced shadows under his brown eyes and his boyish grin reminded her a second later that she should not be scared of asking him questions. 

Taking glances up at him, with her bright blue eyes filling with doubt, the young Princess pressed her lips together in a tight line. 

Joseph’s brow furrowed watching every move of his dear friend. The almost imperceptible shaking of her hands holding the beautiful china while pouring the tea for the two of them. 

“What is the matter?” He wondered with a side smile, taking her apparent nervousness as a laughable subject of conversation. 

“I-,” she stuttered, something she loathed doing. Sitting back in the soft cushions of the sofa she looked up at Joseph with her spine straight as could be and her neck extending fully. “I don’t know what you were told, Joe, but I am unsure I can go through with it.” 

Joseph, Joe to his closest friends, put on a gentle smile for her and leant forward, reaching out for her hands that rested with stiff poses on top of her childish pastel gown. 

“There is nothing to fear, Rosey,” Joseph used his nickname for her too and  squeezed her cold hands; “whatever your father chooses for you will be best.” 

And while that made it somewhat clear what his father, the King had said to her friend, it was also followed by the doors behind them. A group of women and young girls walked in surrounding the Queen. Unknown to Rose, Joseph’s eyes fell upon the milky features of one of the Queen’s ladies. Brown eyes stared back at him, but the smile on her face did not falter, denying him any clues as to what she was thinking of him at the moment in which he was holding another girl’s hands. 

“Ma’am,” Joseph reacted to the Queen’s presence then.

With his hands taken off of hers, Rose looked down at her shaking fingers and squeezed them into fists before standing too and turning to see her mother with a false smile. The weight of things finally falling on her shoulders.

Thank you so much for reading!

#joe mazzello #joe mazzello angst #ofc!princess rose #attachments #series #attachments series #ben hardy #gwilym lee #roger taylor #brian may