#(*why* is this line delivered like this though. i must know. what is the context. what is going on in the cartel.)

[the-path-to-redemption]

Thoughts on Blood Of Zeus Season 2: AKA, wow /neg.

Long Post Ahead. Seriously, it will be long.

I literally binged the entirety of Blood of Zeus Season 2 in one day, and I'm going to be honest, I was massively disappointed. While there are parts that I enjoyed in it, Season 1 was much better for me because of the potential it had for its characters, especially Heron. Season 2 left a pretty bad taste in my mouth for a lot of its characters though, as well as the conclusion as it felt rushed like Season 1. So let's start with the goods.

The Goods

It's expected, but the best part of this season was the Hades plot line. He's a great adversary for this season, with a believable and understandable reason to why he's doing everything that he's doing. He got screwed over by his family, and I know Poseidon's betrayal hurts him the most; they spent their childhood together in Kronos' stomach, I don't doubt that they were closer to each other than with Zeus, so when Poseidon knew that Hera and Zeus screwed his brother over and said nothing, letting Hades suffer the poison of living in the Underworld without the ability to leave it for long for centuries, I know it shattered their bond greatly.

We see that bitterness in Hades in his sequence with Seraphim, and personally, I think it's nice that he wanted to sink himself into a body of water when he was on the surface as well as him flying between sky and sea. Maybe in a way, he wanted to connect with his brothers again, and it does play into the themes of power ruining the good things in one's life that all gods suffers from. It's a good sequence, and Hades is a great character. His consistency is seen throughout the season, and it shines best when he's with his family.

I also like that he doesn't really know how to approach Seraphim initially, which makes sense. He's all business, and Seraphim is business, so there's that initial wall between them that's still there because of their dynamic as god and mortal, I like that. Seraphim isn't wrong for feeling the way he does, and it has to be a gap that the two must bridged, which they did! Hades took Persephone's advice to be a father to Seraphim, and while he's still rough around the edges due to their inherent dynamic, he still lets Seraphim do what he wants as long as they get to where they need to within the time limit. Yes, there is the whole "holding your lover's fate over your head" thing that he has over Seraphim, but arguably, Hades treated him the best out of all the gods that screwed with his life. It's about deals and fairness in the Underworld, so it makes sense why Hades wanted Seraphim to work for his deal. Again, they understand each other, and I did like their dynamic a lot.

Moving onto Seraphim, who continues to be the best character in the series. Like Hades, his reasons are understandable, especially now with more context to his rage and how it affected him. It sets him on this journey of self-reflection, and I did like that in the end, he still admits to Heron that he's the villain and will suffer the consequences, as long as someone he cares about finds peace. That's great grey morality right there, and it contrast him with Heron's journey very well.

For Heron, I was more conflicted with his story. I liked that he began to play into his justified anger at his divine family; he didn't asked to be born, yet his birth was the catalyst for the world almost ending and his father dead (not like Zeus is any better) when all he wanted to do was provide for his mother despite being outcast. And he barely had time to bond with his siblings before the war started, so I was excited to see the trailer opening with him conflicted with his current situation. And it somewhat delivered?

Him trying to leave was good, him not liking Hera's presence at the Funeral Games was good, him not taking Ares' shit was good, and him still doing good things for the people in his old poli yet not forgiving them for what they did to him was great. Heron is clearly still trying to process his parents' deaths and now his was coming, he's trying so hard to prevent his demise and finding some good in the situation and that's admirable to me, especially when he confessed to Elektra's grave that he can't forgive Seraphim (another great scene portraying the turbulent relationship between brothers, which reflects Hades' inability to forgive Zeus and Poseidon with Heron's active efforts to forgive Seraphim). I'm gonna fight on this hill, but Heron was actually good in the series; he's kind but not perfect, and he's trying his best to do the right thing even when the world scorn his existence, they just needed more time to let him work through his problems that they couldn't, because war.

Hera was also great to be honest. I wish that we have more time to see the disgraced queen of the heavens, because her showing her regrets of starting the second Gigantomachy and the death of Zeus was a great progress for her character. She's not without her pride, shown in Zeus' trial when she defended him and herself, but she is with remorse. It was nice seeing her stepping away from the Olympians' bullshit in the end after failing to convince them to not fight, which I appreciated. Kinda wish we saw her more this season, helping out Heron or at least trying to see past her hatred for him, but she's not the worst offender.

Oh no, I have gripes with several others.

The Bads:

Let's just get it out of the way; that is not fucking Ares bro. I was seething when I saw the writers make Ares, who is the only Olympian who does not fucking sexually assault people, be a creep towards Persephone. Yes, he was one of her suitors, but Ares in most interpretation does not push himself onto women. That's what makes him distinct from his father and brothers, but Season 2 further bastardize him by making him a fucking goober towards Heron instead of making their conflict with each other even have a hint of nuance in it.

In Season 1, Ares was the unstoppable force that Hera needed, and his loyalty to her makes sense. Zeus intimidates him in front of everyone during a competition, his own heir that he has with his wife, and clearly favors Heron over him. Ares has all the rights to forsake his father and the siblings who stood with him, but making him a purely spiteful bully coupled with being a coward is just so fucking lazy when it comes to any iteration of Ares. He's more than just war, he's also a loyal son, a protective father, and a complex character. I would've rather have the season be focus more on how the other heirs of Zeus views each other as both competition and siblings than just another fetch quest plot. I understand that there are time constraints, but the plot needed better planning and execution for the ideas they wanted to have.

What I'm saying is, sibling moments between the heirs of Zeus and how their relationship with him affected them. Make them more complex damn it, because yet again, Athena and Artemis barely have shit, Artemis the worst of the two.

Demeter.

Holy shit, I hated the route they took with her in the second act. I get it, she has beef with Hades. IT'S EXPECTED. But making her NUKE PEOPLE like The Last of Us is not the fucking way to make Hades more sympathetic. I already liked him, you didn't have to make her a complete bitch to accomplish it. How about you go more into her perspective of her daughter's choice, and have Persephone tell her off by reminding Demeter that she didn't even visit her grandchildren at all? How about you see their relationship finally changes with Zeus and Hera gone, instead of bastardizing Demeter and making Persephone a hostage at the end? Disservice to both of them.

My favorite interpretation of Demeter is still from the game Hades; she's capable of being cruel, she's capable of being spiteful, but she does love her daughter and grandchildren and puts in the efforts of seeing Persephone as her own person. She deserves at least that level of respect to her characterization.

Now, we're moving into the territory that I know I will get flamed for. Feel free to disagree, you're entitled to your opinion.

But Gorgo did not need to exist in the narrative.

Seraphim's lover did not need to exist in the narrative for his story to continue or for Hades to relates to him, especially when he already has someone else who can fulfill the purpose he needed for his plot line. His adopted mother.

You know, the woman who rescued him, raised him, protected him and was one of the people who his uncle murdered and sets him off on the journey of vengeance? That woman?

Nope, make another female character who is fridged for Seraphim's sake. For HIS plot. It doesn't matter that we have flashbacks to show the audience how good she was to him, she was fucking disrespected as hell because HER EXISTENCE IN THE SHOW WAS JUST TO MOTIVATE THE MAN IN HER LIFE. You can literally replaced her with the woman who raised Seraphim (who died in the forest. I doubt they gave her a proper burial.) and the story would still worked. I just feel bad for Gorgo.

Speaking of her death and fate, I might be missing some details. But if her fellow priestesses gathered up her remains to give her a pretty swanky grave site, why didn't they fucking pay the obols for Gorgo to pass? Because she didn't have a skull to put money on? That's wack! Put some fucking money in that poor girl's grave, what kind of bullshit is this? Literally her purpose was to serve Seraphim's character, making her the 3rd woman to do so after both of his mothers.

RIP Gorgo, you were a victim of writer's misogyny. I will pray for you. This past couple of years has been hell on me because of the amount of female characters I see with potential gets FUCKED over by their respective writers made me lose sleep. I barely got over Jill Warrick from FFVI and Yoshizawa from Persona 5 Royal, Gorgo was the third bullet to my brain.

And of course, Alexia and Kofi got shafted. Avios did the right thing and noped out before his ass got screwed over too. I wanted these four to have a FFXV style road trip goddamnit, why do ya'll do this.

The Conclusion

I did not like Season 2 at all. Season 1, while rushed, had a lot of potential that could've been explored in Season 2. And when I saw the trailers, I genuinely thought that we could've have a more melodramatic plot following the death of Zeus. The creator's video on the synopsis said that Season 2 was focusing on the relationship between the 3 brothers, but that was a fucking lie because Poseidon was nowhere to be seen after Zeus' trial. We didn't see him trying to keep up the pieces of the family for the sake of his brother's children or see him clash with Hades after that fall out. He just fucked off back into the ocean.

Hestia got one cool thing going on, and I liked seeing her grief after losing her little brother and watching the rest of her family tear each other apart. But like Athena and Artemis, she got shafted because she wasn't evil enough like Demeter. Lame as hell. They introduced Zagreus and Melinoe to make me hopeful, only to fucking Thanos snappeed those kids into oblivion after 5 minutes.

And the ending...

Narratively, it makes sense. And the cliffhanger makes sense. Heron's death happened because Hades cannot move on from his anger and forgive, something that Heron learned with his brother and even vouched for Seraphim, so they are screwed. But the lead up was so disappointing that I'm with Gaia on this. They should all blow up via Typhon.

That's all I can muster up to even word my displeasure towards this season right now. As always, feel free to disagree with me, that's cool. But personally, I'm gonna pretend that Season 2 does not exist.

[btr-rewatch]

Big Time Rush Season 1, Episode 10: “Big Time Party”

Highlights: An epic Palm Woods party thrown by the Hollywood Super Party Kings of Hollywood! Also, a single five-second scene proves enough to nearly break me.

As the guys enter Rocque Records, their party-detecting senses start tingling. They find out that there's going to be a big party to celebrate their first album! Except they're not invited!

Booooo! 👎👎👎👎

Gustavo doesn't want the dogs messing up his fancy shindig, but Kendall declares that they are STAYING. Gustavo, however, has cleverly planned for this exact scenario. He tells them they can stay, but they can't go into his Super Party Fun Box.

The boys immediately enter the Fun Box.

Cannot contain my amusement at this whole scenario. The fact that Gustavo had this at the ready. The muffled music playing from the inside of the box. The fact that the group's singular shared brain cell evidently did not go to any of them that morning.

Brilliant show, I tell you. I think it may even be funnier now than it was when I was younger.

Later on, Mrs. Knight tells the boys that she and Katie are taking a day trip to San Diego. Kendall thinks it's the perfect opportunity for them to throw a party and, being the responsible young man that he is, goes to ask his mother if it's okay. Mrs. Knight reminds them that it's against Palm Woods rules to throw parties, and they're one strike away from being kicked out.

As soon as Mama Knight and Katie walk out the door, the guys immediately commence scheming to throw a "social gathering." They agree to keep it small (three people each), and Kendall doles out the responsibilities to his buds. This scene then happens, and listen. LISTEN. I totally forgot about it, but as soon as Kendall started delivering the line, it all came back to me. This was by far one of my favorite lines of the entire show, and I cannot properly convey how much it made me laugh when I used to catch the episode on TV. It is hysterical. The absurd humor in this show is top of the line.

No, you don't understand. This is like. The funniest gag on the planet to me. Kendall has an actual (unidentifiable) thing that he gives to Jo. She's so polite and appreciative about it even though she clearly has NO CLUE what it is. It's just—it's just a thing. He just gives it to her and does that goofy smile and point thing and moves onto chit-chat about the party. No additional context.

WHY did he give that to her?? What is the wacky in-universe explanation? He's so pleased with himself! Jo doesn't know what it is!!! I've spent the last ten minutes laughing over this scene. If anyone ever wants to know what my sense of humor consists of, I'll show them this one specific exchange.

Okay, I must summon my strength to pull myself together.

Kendall invites Jo to the not-party and asks if she'd like to be his "guest, friend, person thing." He is so normal.

Meanwhile, James and Carlos are also being normal about their party-planning responsibilities.

As the party gets into full swing, Camille wastes no time in coming on very strong to Logan, who is so overwhelmed by the attention that he literally crawls away from her and goes running to Kendall for help.

Kendall suggests that Logan simply be truthful and tell Camille he's not interested. Jo suggests Logan relax a bit and give things a chance with Camille. In a bizarre shift from the norm, Logan takes Jo's advice and tells Kendall he's wrong. *gasp*

We briefly go to Rocque Records then, where Gustavo is busy throwing the lamest party of the century. He tells Kelly they've got to liven it up.

Back in 2J, Kendall casually asks Jo if she likes hockey. She replies that she hates it, and Kendall proceeds to choke on his drink and go into a violent coughing fit. Jo doesn't like hockey?? Earth-shattering news.

Meanwhile, Logan is dealing with his own crisis when Mercedes Griffin suddenly walks in. As you may remember from the previous episode, she wanted Logan as her new boyfriend but never got the chance to date him because Kendall gave her a real stern talking to. Well, she wants to now pick up where they left off. And just like that, Logan is thrown into the classic sitcom "I've got two dates for the party!" plotline.

Moments later, the apartment is overrun by a huge crowd of people on account of Carlos is a bonehead who misread "all contacts" as a name.

Yes, it is, boys. Yes, it is. Also, I have to wonder how this even managed to happen in the first place. Aside from the fact that I don't even think it's possible to send a message to every contact at once (I looked it up, and it said you'd have to use third-party apps, and like. This is 2010, and Carlos has a flip phone.) But even if he managed to do it, I'm sure he's got family in his contacts! His parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, siblings?? They would have gotten messages inviting them to this. Did none of them try to reach him and ask why he sent a mysterious party social-gathering invitation to them?

Listen, I realize I'm thinking too much into this, but still. A lot of things would have had to have lined up and gone wrong in order for this to happen.

Good job, Carlos.

Knowing Bitters will be on the hunt for their party, Kendall recruits Jo to help intercept him while James and Carlos shut the party down. The Hollywood Super Party Kings of Hollywood decide that moving the party down to the pool area is good enough.

Seeing that his friends are going to be of no help whatsoever, Kendall decides that if Bitters wants to bust a party, they're going to give him a party to bust. After running around the building with a boombox, they manage to lure Bitters into the Super Party Fun Box. Wooo! The threat has been eliminated! Kendall and Jo celebrate with a high-five.

They are so cute.

We go back to the pool then to tie up some remaining loose ends. Camille (who is angry after discovering Logan's double-date situation) says she won't talk to him for a week, but she will dance with him. Mercedes quickly moves on and picks Guitar Dude as her new boyfriend. Gustavo and Kelly have managed to save their boring party by bringing everyone over to the Palm Woods, and Carlos and James sit on their thrones and look upon their party kingdom with satisfaction.

Happy ending for all (except for Bitters, who was likely stuck in that box for the remainder of the night)

Good episode. Love seeing those guys get put into situations and then spend the next 20 minutes desperately trying to scramble their way out. I'm still thinking of the "I kinda got a thing for her" scene, btw. Living rent free in my head.

[the-californicationist]

For the ask game, if you’re willing: ❤️ and 💛

No pressure though. Love your work!

That makes me so happy. I really appreciate that, friend. Also! Thank you so much for this ask!! 🩷

❤️ — I think the line that I wrote that sticks in my head the most is from Gunslinger, which doesn’t make much sense out of context but alas:

“Let him eat your bones right up, your faithful coyote, all the brokenness within you.”

However, I am most proud of the writing that I was able to accomplish in The Devil’s Summer. It’s a hard fic to read, though. Dark stuff.

💛 — The most impactful lesson I’ve learned from this process is that you should never rush to the good part.

I have written over 95 fanfiction stories in the past year, I have 525k words inked down, and I’m sure there’s a few tumblr drabbles that I can stack on top of the pile as well. Throughout all of them, I have a terrible habit of sprinting to the part that I want to read. I’ll have it written a hundred different ways, imagined it a thousand times in my mind. Whatever it is — the big fight scene, the first kiss, the earth-shattering confessional — whatever the good part is, I hurry towards it, hungry like I’ll starve without it. But, the rush takes the glory from it. Details add to the taste, like spices to a meal, and without them, I feel like some of my big moments fall flat.

I hate slow burns. I hate writing them. I hate reading them. And yet, I’m starting to realize that I just hate waiting to see if the good part will come true.

A good slow burn, with a talented author, will drop little crumbs, small promises, letting you know what’s coming. She’ll whisper between the lines, “I know what you want. It’s here. Just wait!” And I find myself trusting those stories. Banking on them. And then realizing that the good part was only good because I consumed all of the other bites around it. If the main meal is always dessert, who wants more cake?

And I think, through this realization, I have also learned to be more patient with myself. If you knew me back in October 2023, I was churning out 150k words per month. I thought I had to hurry. I thought no one wanted to wait for me. I wasn’t worth waiting for.

But that has changed for me. I don’t run myself ragged anymore because I think I’m worth waiting for. I think my work is worth my own patience. And when I do deliver a post or a chapter or whatever, I think it shows that it was built and crafted with care, spiced and salted and grilled to be at its best.

And it has taught me just how much more learning I have to do. That desire to rush, to skip, to only eat (or read) the dessert is still there. It still taunts me. I can still hear myself in my mind saying, “Why would anyone wait on this when they can pull up tumblr or AO3 and get something else right now?” And teaching myself to ignore that negativity, to power through with my details, to trust my gut and write about all of the intricacies that I think are important; I have learned to try to listen to that part of myself. It’s becoming easier to do so.

When people bemoan George R. R. Martin for taking “too long”, I think that if people feel that way about a world class author, surely they must also feel that way about the fanwork they read. Hell, people have even stolen fanwork to feed AI machines just because they “want an ending”. And I thought that was the norm, but now I just feel sorry for those people. They can’t understand how much sweeter the treat would be if they had just been willing to wait for the work to be done in the way it was meant to be done. I feel sad for them that they will never realize the potential for what was unfinished.

I used to only read completed fics. I didn’t want to wait. I needed to know how it ends. Does the hero survive the evil? Do the lovers tell each other the truth? Does he actually fuck her in that one bed they have to share!? But not anymore. Now, I taste the little clues the author leaves behind for me. I listen to her voice as I read: “Trust me!” And so I do. I don’t mind waiting for the good part anymore. I subscribe, I bookmark, and I comment to tell them how much I am enjoying being fed.

As a writer, I need to get better at that patience. On waiting for the good part to come. It’s not always easy, but it’s been a good lesson.

[vickyvicarious]

I love Lucy's voice so much. That little catch/breath in between "Lucy Westenra's diary -" and "25th August" already has me feeling so emotional for her. God, and then the hesitation after "Mother--" I CAN'T STAND IT. The way she delivered that line is soooo good, speaks volumes about their relationship. Every single pause does, showing us a spot where Lucy is almost censoring/rephrasing to herself to make things more palatable and put the best spin on things:

"Mother-" (refused to let me stay with her) "did not seem to take to my proposal."

"She seems..." (very concerningly ill) "not too well herself and-" (is hiding it from me as she usually does) "doubtless she fears to worry me."

That little moment before "I tried to keep awake" speaking of how scared she is and how she was left alone to face this fear. Even if she can't remember exactly what she is dreaming about, she knows it reminds her of that night when her sleepwalking took her all the way across town and could have ruined her. And she doesn't have Mina to help her anymore. Even without her health worsening that memory alone would be more than enough to make her terrified of sleeping.

"but...... when the clock struck twelve, it it waked me from a doze, so I must have been falling asleep." Longest pause yet and must I think reflects how nervous she is about this. Even though on the face of it there's nothing weird about falling asleep late at night even when trying to stay awake, the delivery (and the very fact that Lucy who does not journal is making an effort to record this) tells us that somehow it weighs heavily on her mind.

Every moment when she hesitates while describing the "scratching - or flapping" and "at the window... but I did not mind it" and most of all "as I remember no more... I suppose... I must then have fallen asleep" all reflecting her uncertainty and her struggle with her failing memory. I think especially when she has a clear sense of bad things happening yet no clear memory of anything bad, so it's just scary and unsettling.

"More bad dreams. I wish I could remember them." Another pause as she lingers on those thoughts, because how could she not? And the next thing she brings up is her physical state. On the one hand it could be chronological progression - she described last night, now on to this morning - but I feel like even lacking the context we have Lucy still can feel the connection between her illness and the night, even when she can't say why. The one thought leads to the next.

"my throat pains me. [slight inhale] It must be something wrong with my lungs - for I don't seem ever to get air enough." The breathing! The almost-stops being for composure or maybe for air because she's lost too much blood and cannot breathe and does not know why! Poor, poor Lucy. The edge of desperation on those last two words is so painful to listen to, as is the way she gets breathier throughout the sentence.

"I shall try to cheer up when Arthur comes." The stop, the shaky breath, as if trying to turn a sob into a laugh and lacking the energy to complete either. The fear it reveals (I want to be happy, I want to be happy with him, I don't want to be a worry or a burden and I want this to be over, I want to be well again and not so scared) before she finishes with only words looking out for others: "or else I know he will be miserable to see me so."

The sigh at the end...! She sounds like she's steeling herself for a great effort, a miserable trial. I can only imagine pretending to be well is exactly that. And it's a battle she already seems in part resigned to lose - because she simply does not have the strength, is not well enough, to put on a convincing enough show. She's exhausted already at the thought of it. And yet she can't stop. She must follow her mother's lead and try to hide away what's happening to her, she must try to please everyone and look out for them because they already are dealing with so much (Arthur's father so recently so ill, she can't make him worry over her too; her mother obviously ill herself, she can't make her worry again after the sleepwalking upset her so)... so she keeps trying to swallow the pain down and cover it up with a smile.

Some other major highlights this episode: the dull thump of Dracula at the window was so creepy. I also loved the kind of staticky background sound. The lack of music throughout the episode (once Lucy started talking) except the disquieting chords when Lucy mentions Mrs. Westenra's illness, and then eerie music creeping in when Dracula does - SO GOOD, SO SCARY.

The way Lucy says, "I am horribly weak" with a slight tremble kills me. Same with all of this episode honestly but especially also "my throat pains me."

[searenbound]

Bully Kiri the exact same as you write him one day snaps he pins you against a locker while you two were alone in the hall as kiss up your jaw gently "Listen to me baby you gonna tell me how much you love me then I'm gonna take you home tonight then let your body do the talking while I put a pretty baby in your body make you my little house spouse"

That night despite any fight he takes you home and lays you on your bed hand right on your jaw "Tell me you love me" if you don't he'll shake your head "Is that your brain rattling around in their you must be stupid to deny it tell me you love me" when you finally stutter it out he smirks kissing you "That's a good baby" He absolutely ravishes you for hours.

A few weeks later you now attached to his arm like the good baby you are cause he said so and your not stupid enough to against him you run away to the bathroom dropping to your knees throwing up he grab your hair out of the way rubbing your back "awe baby let it all out maybe that's my baby in you telling you their here" a whimper falling from your lips as he kisses you "Don't worry tonight I'll make sure it is" he kisses your head and drags you out if the bathroom

Heavy dub-con warning

So for context look here

God I love how even when he’s attempting to get you to comply he still manages to be him about it.

Is he pressuring you? Yes but only because he knows you want this, you’re just too stubborn for you’re own good. That’s why he has to do all this, you need to understand that no matter how hard you push he won’t budge.

He had tried to be patient and what until you say all the things he did for you with so much love in his heart, but he just couldn’t take it and little stolen touches just wasn’t enough. He needed you and even if you didn’t want to admit it he could tell you’d be lost without him too. He had to speed it up, had to get you to understand your place at his side somehow.

Giving you a baby sounded like the perfect way to get the job done. He stewed on it a while before he decides that on going through with it, maybe he heard a rumor that scared him. Maybe something about someone else planning on snatching you away from him and he just can’t let that happen.

So he keeps an eye on you, gets someone to deliver a secret admirer’s love letter requesting you to meet in that hall and when you get there expecting to let someone down gently you’re pushed up against the lockers. A hand on your waist and his leg wedged between yours while he’s telling you exactly what he’s planning on happening between kisses. You hate it has a strong affect on you, that you really do want him. That somewhere along the lines everything got all twisted and you really did fall for him.

You were determined to ignore it and avoid him though but he was ahead of you. Already waiting with that big toothy smile of his and cooing at you when you look so shocked. Tells you of course he knew you go this way, knows his pretty baby better than anyone else and you should know that!

I’m in love with the idea that while he’s trying to get his confession he switches between overstimulating you and edging you so you have no idea what he’s doing. Came twice? Maybe you deserve another, on second thought no you don’t. Hmm maybe you get to cum now? Nope, oh ok you can cum and here’s another and another and that’s it. Maybe just say it and he’ll let you cum a couple of times on his cock instead? Just say you love him that’s all you gotta do.

And of course you eventually snap and say it after he questions if you got a functioning brain because you don’t use it if your being so stupidly stubborn. He doesn’t waste time either, your legs are pushed up into a mating press and as soon as he’s completely settled in your overly sensitive pussy, your already babbling and cumming from the overwhelming size of him pressing into every spot just right.

He’s so smug that all he gets out of you is his name and little I love you’s

Even more so when you finally accept you belong at his side and that you very well may be pregnant. So excited by the notion that he just has to double check and reconfirm his handy work.

[danses-with-dogmeat]

Hey I love your blog! If it isn’t too much trouble, could you do one of the companions reacting to Sole getting an unsolicited dick pic?

FO4 Companions React to Sole Receiving an Unsolicited Dick Pic

So I know the ask said one of the companions, but I just did 'em all cuz I got carried away (as I always seem to). This was definitely an interesting one to think about, and suuuuper fun to write. Thanks for the ask!

I ended up doing a little scenario at the top that'll apply to all of the reactions, and just kind of give context for the fateful event to take place (since phones/the internet aren't really a canon element in FO, I put this scenario together instead.)

Given the nature of this ask, there's a just bit of NSFW under the cut!

Sole had woken up like any other day. Heading down the stairs of their Diamond City home to make breakfast, trying to be quiet in order to keep from disturbing their companion in the other room. However, as they passed their front door, they noticed something peeking out of the mail slot.

The paper isn't meant to come out until tomorrow...

Curious, Sole reached for the little white square of photo paper, and noticed some writing in the corner. There was an address and the words, "if you like what you see, meet me here tonight," accompanied by a little arrow pointing to flip the photo over. Their intrigue got the better of them, and Sole did as the writing suggested, turning it over for a brief second before immediately regretting it. They recoiled at the phallic image, their surprise evident in the small yelp they uttered in response to the sight before them.

They heard their companion stir from the other room, and then their footsteps sounded from behind as they approached questioningly.

"What have you got there?" They asked.

"Oh, it's nothing," Sole said, turning to face them, "just some mail, is all." Sole's words dripped with distaste, and yet... they felt an overwhelming need to share their unsightly discovery with the person in front of them.

"Wanna see?" They asked, mercilessly turning the picture so their companion could clearly make out the offensive image.

Cait:

*scoffs*

"What, they think that's somethin' te brag about? The damn thing's so wee, I almost couldn't make it out." She'd say with a smile, offering up her hand so she could take the picture and tear it in half. Cait effectively would make the decision for her companion in regards to the comment on the back of the photo. She knows this type of man, and she'd be sure that Sole wouldn't be meeting the asshole anywhere tonight. However, should she be able to sneak away while Sole is sleeping... Cait might just pay a visit to the specified location, where she'd surely give that asshole a piece of her mind, and at least one taste of her fist.

Curie:

Her eyebrows would furrow, and the synth would cock her head to the side in her confusion. Being locked away in a vault with three men for so many years, acting as their doctor, meant she had seen her fair share of the male sex organ. But now, Curie was confused, why did this man feel the need to send Sole a photograph of his penis? Was there something wrong with it? Did he want them to examine it? Sole was not a doctor...

"Why 'ave you received zhis, madame/monsieur? What does zhis man want from you?"

Once Sole explained, Curie would be quite upset by the concept.

"But... you did not ask for zhis, did not want it, and yet, he sent it anyway. Why would you want to meet someone like zhat? It seems very rude to me." She's still confused about it, and may ask a few more questions. Has this happened to Sole before? Does it happen often? Does anyone actually like to see such things when they are unprompted like this? If not, then why do these men continue to do it?

The scientist just wants answers.

Danse:

The soldier would physically recoil at the sight of the photograph, eyebrows raised high as he took in the image, before jerking his head and eyes away from Sole and the picture altogether.

"That-- that is highly inappropriate and an overwhelmingly vile display." He would say once he recovered from his initial shock, still refusing to look back towards Sole, "I suggest you dispose of that filth immediately. Why anyone would reveal themselves in such an unceremonious fashion is beyond me. You would do well to forget such graphic imagery. I know that I will certainly try."

He wouldn't even entertain the idea that Sole would go through with meeting the man behind the picture, but in the off chance that they decided to tell him they wanted to, Danse would spend the remainder of the day convincing them otherwise. He would almost be tempted to go to the location himself in order to lecture the man for his crude and inexcusable behavior, and blatant disrespect to his companion, but in the end, he decides that the man is not worth his time.

Deacon:

Ginger eyebrows would raise slightly over the frames of the glasses for the briefest of moments before he recovered his cool demeanor.

"Ah shoot, did the postman just put it right back into the mail slot? Didn't mean for you to see that, my bad. Here, I'll just deliver it myself."

The sarcasm was evident in his voice as he strode forward and plucked the photo from Sole's hand, examining it for just a moment, and grimacing a bit at the sight.

"Man, Dr. Rich Cockwood does not photograph well. I swear, it's bigger in person." He'd wink at them before glancing down at the picture again, scrutinizing blue eyes pausing to peruse the words on the back as he folded the paper up to put into his pocket. He'd quickly change the subject, trying to keep Sole's mind off the whole thing as he devised a way to sneak out that night and get some intel on the asshole who decided it was a wise idea to put Sole in this position.

Hancock:

*Squints*

"Oh shit. Looks like you've got an admirer there, Sole. " In his sleepy state, it took Hancock a minute to figure out what he was even looking at. Upon realizing that it was, in fact, what he thought it had been, he takes the picture from Sole's grasp and flips it around to glance at the back.

"Look at that, you've even got a date tonight. Must be somewhere romantic, I can tell this guy's old school." He nodded, flipping the photo over to glance once again at the offensive imagery on the front. "Yeah, real traditional, I'd say. Hmm... Mind if I tag along? Could be fun." There was a certain sort of glint in the ghoul's eye that made Sole's spine tingle.

Perhaps neither of us should go... Sole thought, noticing how Hancock's other hand toyed absentmindedly with his combat knife as he furrowed his brows at the photo one last time, before shoving the paper into the pocket of his coat. There was a certain sort of intent behind his actions that made Sole re-think even showing him the image in the first place. Hancock had killed people over less; that, Sole knew for sure.

MacCready:

"Ahh! What the heck are you doing?! I don't need to see that!" He'd squeeze his eyes shut just as soon as he was able to make out the photo, shoving his hands in front of him as though they would be able to push the image out of his mind.

"It's too early for this, what the heck is that guy's problem?" MacCready shuddered as he pulled his hands slowly from where they covered his eyes, glancing quickly at Sole before lowering them down completely, a relieved expression on his face as realized the picture was no longer in his line of sight. Noting his dramatic reaction, Sole considered toying with the mercenary a bit. They asked him what was wrong with the image, stating that perhaps they would pay this man a visit tonight. It had been so long since they had been out on a date, might as well go for it, right?

MacCready's eyes would simultaneously furrow, and widen at their words as he stuttered, finally finding his voice after a moment of shocked, choked silence.

"What?!" He exclaimed, "You're not seriously thinking of going, are you? That guy seems like such an ass-- Well, he just-- I mean..." He took a breath, and Sole had to bite their lip to hold back their grin. "Look, not that it's really any of my business or anything, but... don't you think you could do better than that guy? Like... a lot better?"

Sole couldn't hold back their grin any longer, but MacCready wouldn't meet their gaze. Instead he looked down at the floor, rubbing at the back of his neck with one hand, a nearly unnoticeable blush spreading over his cheeks.

"That guy just seems like a real jerk, and you? Well... Yeah, you deserve better than that, I think." He finished rather awkwardly, finally looking up to meet Sole's gaze before returning their coy smile.

Nick:

The synth would a have a brief moment of raised eyebrows as he took in the details of the photograph, and then the inevitable scowl of disappointment would spread across his face.

"You know, you'd think this guy would understand that no one in their right mind wants to see that particular... angle. You don't think that's his good side, do ya?" Sole would smile a bit at that, and as the synth turned to walk away from the offensive image, they told him about the writing on the back.

"Hey now, wait a minute. You're not thinking of paying this guy a visit, are ya? If so, that's a pretty poor decision on your part, I think."

Sole would shake their head, telling Nick not to worry as he fixed his inquiring yellow gaze on them. He nodded in response, seeming satisfied by their answer. In the next moment, a thought seemed to claim his attention.

"Hmm... I think I might just know the perp, actually. Ellie's got a few reports back at the office mentioning some similar events. Guess it's possibly one of the guards on night duty who goes around with these to see if he gets any takers."

Sole almost spoke up, but as they opened their mouth, Nick's words seemed to take their idea straight from their head. "On second thought..." He said, "You got any plans for this evening?"

Piper:

"Ahh! Blue! Why would you show me that!?" She'd physically cover her eyes with her hands, taking a few steps back and away from the picture for good measure.

"Look, I don't care what you do with it," she'd tell them, "just don't let me see it again!"

Sole would thankfully oblige, but before disposing of the image, they showed Piper the writing on the back. At the sight of the man's suggestion, Piper snatched the photo from Sole's hand, glaring at it furiously.

"Ohhhh no he doesn't. If he's sent crap like this to anybody else, I'm going to make sure no one falls for this."

And Piper kept her word, as the next morning's addition of Publik Occurrences contained a small piece written on exactly this subject, titled: To the Asshole who sent the Sad Little Picture to a Disgusted Citizen; No One Wants to See That! Sincerely, Everyone who has.

Preston:

"O-- oh! Um, that's-- okay. That's just wrong. Do you want me to get rid of it for you?"

Preston's face would wrinkle up in his clear distaste before bringing a a hand up to shield his eyes. When Sole had lowered the picture, he removed his hand, and looked them in the eye, refusing to pay the photo any more attention, but extending his hand out to take it from them so he could dispose of it properly.

"Are you... okay? I can't believe how rude some people are. Who would want to see that?" He'd flash a sympathetic smile at them, as he folded up the photo and prepared to throw it away. He didn't read the back himself, but if they told him about the words that were written there, he wouldn't even entertain the idea of Sole going, just shaking his head in disappointment at the man's poor and rude way of trying in vain to woo his General.

"Some people... The nerve. If you don't mind me saying, General, you deserve much better than that anyway."

X6-88:

His eyes would be locked to Sole's, but as they presented the photo to him, his gaze would fall to the image, and an ever so slight furrowing of his brows would take place above his silver eyes. A brief moment would pass, and X6's gaze would be back on his companion's face.

"Ma'am/ sir, why did you feel the need to show me this?" He's also quite confused, this was not a common occurrence in the Institute, and once Sole gave him an explanation, his expression would remain blank. For the most part, anyway. A small huff of laughter would escape him, prompting Sole to be the one giving him the questioning look now.

"If this filthy wastelander believes he can disrespect the future director of the Institute without facing consequences, he is sorely mistaken." He said, his gaze unbroken as he made Sole this promise, "Don't worry, I will take care of this filth at the specified meeting time and location. You will not hear from him again."

He doesn't necessarily intend to kill the man for his unseemly behavior; X6 is a courser after all, and he knew this man would be scared shitless if X6 were to so much as look at him the wrong way, but should the man make any... poor decisions in response to the courser's confrontation, well... certainly X6 can't be held responsible for the behavior, or the fate, of a mere stranger now, could he? Especially after his heinous actions.

[retrocontinuity]

Eat, for this is Her Body: Chainsaw Man and the Doxology of Cannibalism

"One day," Anthony Oliveira writes in "The Year in Apocalypses," [Jesus'] disciples approached their master while he was silent in prayer and made a request: 'Lord, teach us how to pray.'" From here, Jesus teaches them the Lord's Prayer, what the Catholic Church once called "the summary of the whole gospel":

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come; thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.

Denji is no one's disciple. When we first meet him, he is closer to how Oliveira describes Jesus himself, "homeless, gleaning for food in the field like a sparrow and relying on the kindness of strangers to put him up, . . . a man cheerfully resigned to powerlessness." And so, Denji doesn't need to be taught how to pray. He has always known. Every bone in his body at the opening of Chainsaw Man sings out the Lord's Prayer: "forgive me my debts", "deliver me from evil." And, of course, Denji is intimately familiar with the prayer's most pitiable, most powerful line. It's this line that he cries out to Makima when he rests, Pieta-like, in her arms at the end of the first chapter. It can only be this line, one that Denji might have written himself:

Give me, from this day forward, and for all the rest of my days, daily bread.

Bread runs throughout CSM like a mocking scent that you only fully identify in the last two chapters. It should have been a sign to all of us when the first meal Makima buys for Denji is not bread (but rather a hot dog and udon noodles). It isn't until Denji meets and enters Aki's home that he is seen making a hideously overladen slice of toast for himself, luxuriating in having all the toppings he was denied. The morning after she forces Denji to open the door to Power's death, Makima makes the very breakfast she once promised to serve Denji: eggs, coffee, salad, and sliced bread. But this is a meal that Denji never eats—maybe the only meal in the entire series that he, a survivor of the meanest starvation and poverty, ignores. There is only one other time we see this meal in CSM, and it is subtle, almost off camera, though no less meaningful: in Chapter 53, after Reze's death, as Denji sits down to breakfast once more with Power and Aki.

To revisit CSM's public safety arc is to see all the ways the plot connects itself to food and the act of eating, both appetizing and revolting, both profound and profane. Denji, eating gyoza at a bar for the first time. Denji being forced to swallow barf as he is kissed for the first time. The Fox Devil, who eats indiscriminately and on command, who refuses to return to Aki after being fed something disgusting. A fox that is hunted and transformed into stew. Denji eating sandwiches at Reze's cafe. Aki and Angel eating noodles. A woman sitting down to eat a hamburger for the first time, before she commits mass murder. She is worried she has lost her taste buds, yet she exclaims, "So delicious!" We know, later, that this woman is a liar, that no part of her is what she presents herself to be. Should we take this moment at its face value then? Was Santa Claus simply lucky enough to have preserved her sense of taste? Or was it her one last act of humanity, to recognize that it is not enough just to eat, that man does not live on bread alone, that there must be at least food that is also delicious, that inspires people to get up and dance—even if it means she has to lie about what she can experience?

Food is necessary for survival, and CSM is a story about survival. But CSM is also a story about glimpsing the after. After you know you can keep living, what next? After you are no longer starving, after you have been forced to kill a friend, after you have touched your first boob, after you have been betrayed, what next? After you are tired of eating toast with jam for breakfast, what do you eat next?

The version of the Lord's Prayer we tend to recite asks for "our daily bread." But this, most modern scholars believe, is a mistranslation. The Greek adjective as it appears in the Gospel of Matthew and Luke is "epiousios," which doesn't mean "daily" at all, but rather something too complicated etymologically for me to even begin to parse. The point is that what we ask for in the Lord's Prayer is not just bread for today, but bread for tomorrow. Both the physical bread and the spiritual bread. Bread on this kingdom of earth, and bread that is the kingdom of heaven. Bread to feed our bodies, and bread to feed our souls. The realm of the divine is full of these moments, isn't it? Of two things existing at once, in one.

Denji starts the series asking for daily bread, and ends the public safety arc with Nayuta, Makima's reincarnation, asking him for daily bread. Trash heap Denji, living with his not!dog Pochita, really was just asking for daily bread. A slice to eat for breakfast, maybe even with butter and jam. But he too learns that bread, physical bread, is not enough. Merely to subsist, to eat good food, is an empty life. And what he must give Nayuta is not just bread, as was given to him. Otherwise, he will be trapped in a cycle of creating more Makimas. Instead, he must give her a relationship, a family, a world that Makima was unable to create. He must give her, in Pochita's words, lots of hugs. He must give her, in the words of the Lord's Prayer, epiousios.

To be clear, I am not arguing that CSM is meant to be read through a Catholic lens, and I doubt Fujimoto had all of this in mind when he wrote it (though he must have thought something, given that he drew a very large print of Gustave Dore's "Satan descends upon Earth" in Makima's entranceway!). But there is something primal (primordial?) about the Lord's Prayer. If every reader can understand the horror that the Darkness Devil represents, so too we can understand the intimacy and comfort of the Lord's Prayer. It is, as Oliveira writes, "a simple peasant's mantra for detoxing anxiety." Jesus opens by addressing God as father—not king, not an all-mighty spiritual being, but rather "abba, which is rather closer to 'dad,' and not in the intercultural Greek of his adulthood, but the Aramaic of home and childhood." The Lord's Prayer asks for what we always want, the only thing any of us have ever wanted since leaving the womb as infants: for no bad things to happen, for there to be enough to eat.

Even if what we have to eat is another person.

At the center of the Christian liturgy is the Last Supper, and at the center of the Last Supper is a meal that functions as ritual, abomination, accusation, transubstantiation, paranoia, and an early example of cracking open a cold one with the bros. Here, Jesus shares bread and wine with his disciples and then, as if trying to invent r/creepypasta years before its time, informs them they are actually eating his flesh and blood. This image is so powerful and heretical that the Romans accused early Christians of being cannibals. And why shouldn't they? It's there in the text. "Take, eat. This is my body. This is my blood." Stripped of the grandeur of tradition and ritual, this is downright vampiric. And yet it goes on to become the cornerstone of the Christian faith.

Oliveira begs us to see the Last Supper as a family meal, one shared by Jesus and his found family. "All he is really saying is, 'I hope when you eat together, you remember me.'" It's a good reading, one that moves me to tears, and is the framework through which I see the events of chapter 80. Because Makima is not the first time that Denji "consumes" a friend, and I don't just mean him sucking Power's blood or taking Pochita into himself. When Aki died, he left half his fortune to Denji, who uses it to support himself and Power. They "pigged out on good food," he tells us. This is Aki's symbolic body, through which he provides Denji his daily bread. Eat ice cream and onigiri in remembrance of me.

But it is not how I see the events of chapter 96. Denji does not eat Makima in the context of a feast. He does not partake of her in a communal meal, as Jesus did, among his found family. He eats every bite of Makima alone. Jesus said before his death, "this is my blood, which is shed for many." Yet Denji says to Makima, I alone will absolve you alone of your sins. I alone will bear you alone.

Denji's Last Supper is a lonely remembrance. He is hoping that no one but him will remember her. He is hoping to wholly consume her, because he loves her. "We love as cannibals," French philosopher and activist Simone Weil wrote. "Beloved beings . . . provide us with comfort, energy, a simulant. They have the same effect on us as a good meal. . . . We love them, then, as food." In fact, Weil believed we cannot love any other way. As humans, we are forever doomed to want to eat the ones we love. In order to escape, we must both be devoured by God and then become food for our fellow human beings. As Alec Irwin writes of Weil's philosophy, "the devouring violence of God must be positively harnessed in order to dismantle the machinery of human cruelty."

If Weil is right and being devoured is transformation, a crucial part of salvation, then in eating Makima, Denji redeems her. He turns her into food to break the cycle of her cruelty. For Makima's power itself is consuming, cannibalistic. She "eats" humans in order to use her power, which remains mysterious like God moving across the face of the earth, leaving only broken corpses as a sign of its presence. So it must be Denji, not Chainsaw Man, who does the consuming. If Pochita had consumed her, as she had always prayed for, then it would simply be another act of violence being enacted. Instead, Denji gives her salvation by turning her into human food—his food.

To Denji, Aki was human, his family, his brother, his friend.  It is Makima he loves as a God and a woman. To him, she is Satan and God, his betrayer and his creator, his salvation and his friends' damnation. So he must take her, consume her, digest her, excrete her, reduce her to nothing, as she once consumed and excreted and reduced him. "I ate her to become one with her." He ate her to become her. There is no truer form of his love than for Denji to take Makima into himself. I use those words purposefully, because this is the rejection of classic cishet PIV penetration, that old hoary chestnut of men inside women. As Don Delillo famously outlines in White Noise, we talk about sex as if women are containers, rooms, elevator lobbies: "He entered me," "I want him inside me," "I took him into myself." Denji and Makima never have physical sex, but this is a consummation, a reversal of roles. We are given the only sex that Shounen Jump will allow us, with Denji taking Makima into himself. She enters him. She is inside him. He is—physically, emotionally, willingly—penetrated by her flesh. She is released inside of him, becoming part of him.

Because the divine is full of moments like this, isn't it? Of two things existing at once, in one. That is the kingdom and the power and the glory. For Makima now lives in that country inhabited by God, where loving and eating are one and the same. For that country is none other than Denji's body.

In conclusion:

Substitute Makima for "God", and the preceding statements are still rigorously accurate.

Further Reading:

Anthony Oliveira's ongoing podcast reading the Gospel of Mark (Patreon exclusive, but I highly recommend, even/especially if you are a heathen like me)

Hannibal (NBC)

Daniel Birnbaum and Anders Olsson, An Interview with Jacques Derrida on the Limits of Digestion

David Farrell Krell, "All You Can't Eat: Derrida's Course, "Rhetorique du Cannibalisme (1990-1991)." Research in Phenomenology, vol. 36, 2006, pp. 130–180. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/24660636. 

Alec Irwin, “Devoured by God: Cannibalism, Mysticism, and Ethics in Simone Weil.” CrossCurrents, vol. 51, no. 2, 2001, pp. 257–272. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/24460795.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

We Were Something, Don’t You Think So? [Chapter 2: The Middle Of Nowhere]

You are a Russian Grand Duchess in a time of revolution. Ben Hardy is a British government official tasked with smuggling you across Europe. You hate each other.

This is a work of fiction loosely inspired by the events of the Russian Revolution (1917-1923) and the downfall of the Romanov family. Many creative liberties were taken. No offense is meant to any actual people. Thank you for reading! :)

Song inspiration: “the 1” by Taylor Swift.

Chapter warnings: Lots of shouting, if you never learned about the Russian Revolution then here's your mini crash course, references to historical stuff like violence and disease, Kroshka the mule emerges as the only emotionally stable character.

Word count: 4.1k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

Taglist: @imtheinvisiblequeen @okilover02 @adrenaline-roulette @youngpastafanmug @m-1234 @tensecondvacation @deacyblues @haileymorelikestupid @rogerfuckintaylor @yourlocalmusicalprostitute @im-an-adult-ish @someforeigntragedy @mo-whore

I wake up feeling harder, as if sleeping on the ground with all its stones and cool indifference has taught my spine to straighten, to endure. This is a welcome revelation. I will need to be resilient, for my family and for myself. I also wake determined to set things right with my rescuer. I am a perfectly charming person, Mother and Papa have always said so; I’m not painfully shy like Olga, or aloof like Tati, or rather dull like Maria, and I certainly don’t run around putting frogs in people’s shoes like Anastasia. I make for excellent company. Surely Ben will realize this and we will become inseparable travel companions.

Outside in the overcast brisk morning air, Ben is already busy tacking the mule. He glances over and tosses me an apple. It bounces out of my floundering hands and rolls off into the woods. This is not an auspicious start to the day.

“You’ll still have to eat that,” Ben says. “There’s no extra food. I was only able to ask for as much as I could justify needing myself.”

“Right.” I go fetch the apple—rummaging around in leaves and sticks and shrubs—and take a bite, even though it’s bruised and definitely tastes like dirt. I beam at Ben triumphantly. I am tough! I am daring! I am enchanting! I can pull my own weight on this journey!

Ben doesn’t seem to notice. He pats the mule’s thick brown neck and smiles fondly at her. “How are we feeling this morning, Kroshka? Hmm? Who’s a lovely mule? Who’s going to take us all the way to the Trans-Siberian Railroad without even one measly word of complaint? That’s right, you are! Yes you are!” He lands a smacking kiss on the velvety grey fur of her muzzle.

I attempt polite conversation; more than that, I endeavor to learn about my dashing yet evasive rescuer. “So, tell me Ben, have you worked for Sir Buchanan long?”

“Four years,” Ben replies curtly.

“And you are…” I think of his notebook. “A…writer of some sort for him…?”

“I’m his press attaché.”

“Ah.” I recognize the French word for ‘attach,’ but not its meaning in the context of employment with an ambassador. “I can’t say I know what that entails.”

“I handle Sir Buchanan’s relations with the Russian newspapers. Drafting statements and briefing him on local opinions and the like. And since his health has declined, I find myself delivering some of his particularly confidential correspondence.”

“Oh, I see. And he could spare you for this mission? It seems like a burden that would be better carried by a man with military or exploratory experience.”

“My Russian is passable. And I can tolerate rougher conditions than most.” He points to a pile of clothes he’s laid out on a tree stump. “Those are for you. There’s a stream out that way.” He flicks a thumb towards the east. “Get ready however you need to, but be prepared to leave in fifteen minutes.”

I examine the clothing: plain and practical undergarments, a heavy wool sweater, stockings, boots, and something unexpected. I hold them up with clammy hands. “These are…” I swallow noisily. “Trousers.”

“Yes. They’re travel attire. Comfortable and easy to maneuver in if we need to move quickly.”

“I’ve never worn trousers before.”

“I thought you were amenable to a…a…what did you call it? An adventure. A grand adventure.” He says this melodramatically, like there’s some humor in it. Like he’s mocking me.

“I suppose I am,” I mutter, still scrutinizing the trousers.

“Fifteen minutes,” Ben reminds me sternly. Then he begins to disassemble the tent.

I trudge off through the woods until I find the stream. I clean myself with ice-cold water, drink it down until my teeth ache, change out of my nightgown and into these strange new clothes—Trousers! Mother would lock me in church for a month!—and gaze up into the cloudy, pastel blue sky that peeks between the fingers of the trees. It is very still here, and cold, and deathly quiet. I try to remember the last time I was truly alone, without Mother or Papa or my siblings or servants or guards within shouting distance. There is none that I can remember; perhaps there is none at all. Out here in the Siberian wilderness I feel unmoored from civilization, diminutive, vulnerable, peculiarly inconsequential. I decide I don’t like being alone. By the time I return to our campsite, Ben is ready and waiting beside the loaded cart. His right hand is resting on a clunky metal monster with ‘Olivetti’ written on it.

“I’m a press attaché,” he says with a mischievous grin. “And you’re a typist.”

“A what?”

“You work for Sir Buchanan’s office as a typist. That’s our story, anyway. You came along to assist me during my audience with the former tsar, and now we’re traveling back to Sir Buchanan’s headquarters in Saint Petersburg. So if anyone happens to ask, that’s what you are to tell them. Oh, and you’re British. Your English sounds clean enough.”

“Alright,” I reply, still gaping at the metal monster like a black box with gnashing fangs. “But what is that?”

Ben’s jaw falls open. “You don’t…?” Then he rubs his forehead, sighing deeply. “Jesus Christ. You’ve never used a typewriter. Of course you haven’t. Great. Fantastic.”

“We always write by hand. My penmanship is flawless, Mother saw to that.” She’s still battling with Anastasia, but that’s a war that may go on as long as the one between the sun and the moon.

“Okay. Okay. This works out, actually. Because I’m not going to entertain you all day. So here is your assignment.” Ben slaps the back of what he tells me is a typewriter, and then waves for me to come closer. He reaches into the pocket of his coat and produces a British passport. Every line is filled out except for the name. He slides the paper into the machine and makes some bewildering adjustments. “So, you insert the paper, set the carriage—that’s this roller-type piece here—and type.” He taps forcefully on the keys until two words appear in the blank reserved for the passport holder’s name: Lana Brinkley.

“That’s me?” I ask doubtfully.

Ben smirks, amused. “That’s you.”

“So you could have given me a better name if you wanted to!”

“But then how would you learn humility?” He removes the fraudulent passport, shakes the paper until it dries, folds it into a neat little square, and slips it back into his coat pocket. “If you’re typing a longer message, the typewriter will ding when you’ve reached the end of each line. Then you use the lever to move the paper down, reset the carriage, and resume typing.”

I nod, but without much confidence. This seems complicated.

“You said you wanted a carriage,” Ben teases.

“Yes, one with magnificent draft horses and velvet seats and preferably no less than two servants. Not…whatever that is.”

“Well, if you’re going to pass for a typist, I’m afraid you must learn to type.” He finds me a stack of blank paper in his collection of bags and trunks, and then climbs into the front of the cart as I get into the back. The trousers, I hate to admit to myself, do make it easier to move around, although I’m not sure I approve of how much they accentuate the shape of my body. The thought of Ben looking at me in them gives me a plunging sort of feeling that is half-mortification and half-thrill…not that he has exhibited any interest at all. “Before we go any farther, do you have anything with you that I don’t know about?”

He means things like the heirlooms I have squirreled away in the large steamer trunk: the jewels sewn into my dress, the photograph. I can sense that he wouldn’t want me to have them, although I’m not sure why. In any case, I have no intention of giving them up. The jewels are the only thing of value that I have to trade if we find ourselves in a desperate situation. The photograph is the only string left that connects me back to my family, my home. “No,” I reply primly.

“Good.” He whistles at the mule and she tugs us through the trees and out onto the dirt road that leads, eventually, to the train station. As we ride joltingly along, the creaky cart wheels bumping over every rock and mound and muddy trough, I practice my typing: very slowly at first, and with only my index fingers. I read aloud as I go, gradually picking up speed.

“There once was a German princess born in the Duchy of Hesse. She was very beautiful but very shy. She had a wonderful talent for playing piano, but would run and hide if anyone asked her to perform in public. One day, when she was attending the wedding of her sister, the princess met a prince from a distant kingdom. They were only children, but they instantly knew they had found true love. They snuck off together and carved their names into a window pane. Over the years, each conspired to marry the other. They refused many suitors and wrote each other hundreds of letters. His family did not approve of the princess’s religion and lack of charisma; her family did not approve of the prince’s distant and troubled nation. But at last it became apparent to all that no earthly forces could keep the couple apart. Ten years after their first meeting, the prince and princess were finally married. And they lived joyously and peacefully in each other’s service for the rest of their days.”

Ben lights one of his hand-rolled cigarettes. The smoke doesn’t bother me; on the contrary, it reminds me of Papa smoking his pipe in his study, in the garden, as he read to us by the fireplace, as he danced with Mother in ballrooms back when she could still dance. It reminds me of home. “I’m not sure if you’ll ever give Shakespeare a run for his money, but I’ll admit I’m marginally entertained.”

I smile to myself, sentimental warmth rising in my face. “It’s Papa and Mother’s story.”

“Huh. I didn’t know your people were allowed to marry for love.”

By ‘your people,’ he seems to mean royalty, and there is some derision in his deep voice. “Well, surely duty must come first. But when love can accompany it, that’s a happy coincidence.”

“And what if duty compels you to marry a man who is, say, cruel? Or dreadfully boring? Or in love with another woman? Or who closely resembles a mole-rat?”

I resume my typing with a new exercise. For each letter of the alphabet, I type a French word that begins with it. “I don’t think that sort of thing happens very often.”

“But if it did.”

I shrug, not especially enjoying this topic of discussion. “Then duty comes first, as I said. But I believe most royal couples are perfectly content. At least nine out of every ten.”

“That many!” Ben marvels sarcastically. “Have you ever considered that your own personal experience, as pleasant as it may be, could be coloring your perception of how the world works?”

I ignore him and continue my typing. Attaché for A, bisou for B, croissant for C, doux for D…

After a moment, Ben says: “You aren’t going to regale me with another fairytale? I’m devastated.”

“I’m busy practicing my French now. Please don’t intrude.”

“You speak French as well as Russian and English?” He sounds impressed; for a split second anyway, just long enough for me to catch it like a firefly in my fist.

“And Italian, and Latin. And I’ve just started on Japanese.”

“But no German? That seems like it would be an easier beast to slay.”

“I’ve always purposefully avoided learning it, even though Mother’s family is German. I never envisioned myself marrying a German. I figured Maria could take that bullet. She doesn’t care, she’d marry anyone who could give her a castle and ten babies and a bulldog or two. I would say she was a milkmaid in a past life, but Mother’s heart would stop dead if she thought I subscribed to reincarnation.”

“Not fond of Germans?” Ben asks. “Well, who can blame you. Half the world isn’t fond of them at the moment.”

“I suppose they weren’t so awful before the Great War. But they’re rather boorish, aren’t they? They always sound like they’re angry. Like someone just stole their horse and they’re screaming at them from the front porch to come back or else.” I smile dreamily as I type. “I’ve always fancied the thought of marrying a prince from a glamorous, romantic kingdom. Maybe Italy or Greece. There has even been talk of me marrying Uncle George’s eldest son David. He’s rather beguiling. Tall and slim. Clear blue eyes like a lake. And he’s going to be the king of the British Empire one day, you know. We could holiday together in beautiful, sunny colonies like the Bahamas.”

“You’re still as important as all that? Important enough to make a marriage of that political significance, I mean.” Ben glances back at me and lifts one thick, dark, inquisitive eyebrow. “Seeing as your family doesn’t have a kingdom anymore.”

This is an insensitive thing for him to say. I frown down at the typewriter. “A wife almost always assumes the kingdom of her husband, so why should she require her own? She needs only sound breeding and a suitable temperament. And besides, we might yet return one day.”

Ben twists all the way around to stare at me, the reigns falling out of his hands. Fortunately, the mule seems to know her own way around. “I’m sorry, what?”

“It has been a brutal few years. The Great War, the supply shortages, the bad harvests…the people are frustrated, and understandably so. They lashed out blindly, at those who didn’t deserve it, at us. But the dust will clear. And when it does, I think the Russian people will come to their senses and realize that they want us back. That they need us.”

“Are you insane?” Ben snaps. “Are you utterly brainless? What’s floating around in that skull besides fiction and languages you’ll never use once you’re married off to some prince who only sees you as a broodmare?”

“How dare you! You can’t speak to me like this—!”

“For years, for a bloody decade, Sir Buchanan warned your father about what was coming. He tried to get him to moderate his views, to give the people more voice in government, to stop murdering them when they protested. And when none of that worked and the end was apparent, Sir Buchanan tried to convince your father to abdicate long before he did. Don’t you understand?! None of this needed to happen! Your family could have fled to Britain years ago, before the animosity against your father spread like wildfire across the globe, and Russia could have established their own parliament like Britain’s and negotiated a peace treaty to stay out of the war and none of us would be here now if not for your father’s selfish, pointless obstinacy—!”

“My father is a good man,” I choke out as hot, furious tears burn in my eyes.

“And he was a terrible ruler!” Ben shoots back like artillery. “He ordered protesters to be butchered, he sent untrained boys to die in some other country’s war, he clung to the throne for no one’s benefit but his own—”

“And what about my benefit?” I demand, still weeping, feeling monstrously like a child. “What about my mother’s and my sisters’ and Alexei’s? He must have feared for our futures if we were dethroned and left without any resources, any security, anyplace to call home—”

“He did you no favors,” Ben says harshly. “Half the country—the country that you obviously have not even a rudimentary understanding of—are moderates scrambling to secure the Provisional Government and disentangle themselves from the war while still somehow preserving their dignity and that of the millions of dead soldiers Russia has already laid on the altar. The other half are trying to instigate a wholesale communist revolution. There is no one, no one, who wants the tsar back. And you better pray to God that the communists don’t manage to seize power before King George gets your family out, or your father just might be guillotined on the steps of Saint Basil’s Cathedral.”

I bolt to my feet unsteadily, grip the side of the lurching cart, and leap out onto the dirt road.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Ben shouts after me.

I take off sprinting down the road, the wind whipping my face, sobbing as I run beneath the shadows of trees until my lungs are columns of flames and my legs feel wobbly and boneless. I can hear the pounding of the mule’s hooves approaching, the hurtling of wooden wheels, the slapping of leather reins. I am forced to slow to a vigorous march as my body betrays me, wheezing and aching and as ineffectual as a woman is so often assumed to be. The salacious trousers have come in handy once again. Who would have guessed.

Ben pulls up alongside me, reining in the mule to match my pace. “Hey! Get back in the cart!”

“I’ll walk the rest of the way to the railroad station.”

“It’s 200 more kilometers!”

“See you there.”

Now Ben jumps out of the cart. The mule, perplexed but not rattled, comes to a halt and waits in the middle of the road with her long ears angled in opposite directions. Ben rushes in front of me and leans down until we’re at eye-level, breathing heavily. I can smell smoke on him, and something else too: maybe cologne, maybe soap, maybe aftershave, maybe just the scent of a man in his prime. His lips are pink and full and soft-looking, I notice, as if for the first time. His cheeks are irritated and red from the wind; the ruthlessness of the climate here doesn’t agree with him. It is the only way in which I am stronger than he is. His green eyes are wide and blazing. “Get. In. The. Cart.”

“No,” I whisper, tears all over my face.

“You can’t just run off like that,” he pleads, less angry now. “Where are you going to go? There’s nothing out here except trees and…I don’t know…probably bears and wolves and maybe even Siberian tigers. You can’t get ripped apart by wild animals. Don’t you want to make it to London? To argue for your family’s liberation? They could find no fiercer advocate than you, of that I am convinced.”

“How would you possibly protect me from a bear?”

Ben unbuttons his coat and pulls up his white wool sweater to show me a pistol tucked into the holster clipped to his belt. “Just in case,” he says, smirking crookedly, lowering his sweater again. “Now I am keeping no secrets from you, and you are harboring none from me. We’re even.”

I nod, sniffling, thinking of my jewels and photograph hidden in the steamer trunk. My words are so strained I can barely hear them myself, my hands are trembling; hell, I’m trembling all over. The possibility is unimaginable. “Do you really think they’re going to kill Papa?”

Ben sighs, shaking his head. “No, I don’t,” he replies gently. “I think the Provisional Government will be able to keep the communists in check for now. I think they will leap at the opportunity to ship the former tsar off to Britain without the potential controversy of a trial and execution. And I also think we should get back in the cart and keep moving now.”

“I’m sorry your boss gave you this assignment and now you have to risk your life for a family that you evidently hate,” I lash out like a cornered animal, hissing and brandishing its glinting claws. “For a grand duchess that you hate. This must be an awful inconvenience for you.”

“It’s rather more complicated than that,” Ben says. “There’s some opportunity in it as well.”

Of course: his leather-bound notebook full of observations, his scrawled recollections to one day build into a famed article about our journey. An article full of what he truly thinks about me. I feel suddenly, violently nauseous. I feel horrified.

What happened to the grand adventure that I imagined? Where did it go?

And all at once, I can’t even remember how I pictured this journey unfolding; I can’t conjure up some rose-colored vision of me and Ben falling into an effortless friendship, flirting lightly and innocently, discovering new corners of the earth together, parting ways in London as lifelong confidants. Now I can only see Papa as he murmurs folktales older than Christianity with candlelight dancing on his smiling face, as he chases me and my sisters around the gardens with outstretched arms and sparkling eyes, as he carries Alexei from one room to the next when my brother’s joints are inflamed and excruciating and useless, as he never unburdens his mind to his wife or children but spends long afternoons chopping wood as the sun sinks into the west and the lines in his pale face grow deeper.

He couldn’t be responsible for bloodshed, for mercilessness. He’s not that kind of man. He’s never been that kind of man.

“We really should keep moving,” Ben prompts.

“Fine,” I fling back as I shove by him. I mop my tears away with the sleeve of my wool sweater, climb into the back of the wooden cart, and sit as far as I can from Ben with my bent knees hugged to my chest. I stare silently off into the forest as the mule drags us towards the Trans-Siberian Railroad, towards Moscow and Saint Petersburg and the Baltic Sea and London, towards the conclusion of this tenuous partnership and the redemption of my family. I am looking forward to soon never having to see Benjamin Hardy again, and yet I’m also not; and this is a difficult paradox to put into words of any language.

We don’t stop until it’s almost dusk. Ben hops down from the cart, leads the mule off the road by her bridle (and gives her an encouraging scratch on the forelock when she hesitates), and begins to set up camp in a small clearing encircled by heaps of frost grass. Dinner is loaves of bread again—even more tough and dry than yesterday—and metallic-tasting water from canteens. Dessert is a hand-rolled cigarette for Ben and a handful of honeyberries I found in the bushes for me. And when Ben grapples with the tent, I come over to help him with it just to prove I can.

Ben builds a fire, and we sit wordlessly on opposite sides of it with the reflections of flames in our eyes. Ben jots down today’s thoughts in his notebook, every so often glancing off into nowhere and tapping his chin thoughtfully with the end of his pen, biting his full lower lip absentmindedly as he sifts through the ocean of word in his head to fish out the right one. Meanwhile, I read my copy of Tarzan of the Apes. I stumble across a few English terms I don’t know—quixotic, cartography, constellations, ruminate—but I don’t ask Ben about them.

After a long time, when the moon and stars have emerged bright and ancient in the night sky, Ben closes his notebook and watches me. At first I ignore him. And then, eventually, I can’t anymore.

“What?” I ask irritably, keeping my place in Tarzan of the Apes with my pinky finger, which is nearly numb from the cold.

Ben’s words are calm, restrained, painstakingly chosen. Firelight is fierce and bloody on his face. “I had two infant brothers die of pneumonia, a perfectly preventable illness had they had access to good doctors and proper nutrition and a warm dry home, which they did not. I had a sister die in childbirth because there was no midwife available to attend to her. I have had friends come home from the war with limbs or half their faces missing, a fate which I myself am spared only because of my employment with Sir Buchanan. You have no idea what the world has been through while you were off playing board games and reading novels in greenhouses and lounging on lakeshores with your idyllic little family. You have no idea what life is like for the rest of us. And perhaps that’s not your fault, and it is unjust of me to resent you for it, and I must learn to temper this wrath I’ve been carrying around in my chest since childhood. But it’s still true.”

He stands, clutching his notebook with hands that are red from the savage Siberian wind, and vanishes into the tent.

[uwua3]

if it's ok 😳👉👈 i really love your writing and i've had this idea in my head for awhile but i can't get myself to write it on my own 🤔 i wanted to see how your spin would be on it- so can i request a prompt where reader gets jealous of tenma's co-actress in a romance and tries to mimic what she does to him in a show they're in?? ty!!! 💕💕💕 i look forward to your interpretation

thank you so much for requesting~ ♡ i love you sososo much; i hope this lives up to everything you’ve dreamed of! ♡ ～('▽^人) i LOVE YOU!!! <333

summary: when tenma lands a role in your favorite drama, he had one goal: to become your favorite actor

warnings: envy/jealousy, food mentions, rivalry (all covered briefly!)

author’s note: after learning everything there is to know about the k-drama, true beauty, on tik tok, i’ve decided to write this! for context, the only thing i recommend watching before reading this is watching the “roar” scene!

this is also the first time i’ve introduced made-up characters with names! please enjoy jun, the first character who isn’t canon to the a3!verse :D

word count: 3,768

music: like a movie – b1a4

pretty u!

🌻☀️ sumeragi tenma

what the heck was love, and why did he have to be in it?

sumeragi tenma, future “world’s best actor”, was suddenly... seeing why he hadn’t won that award yet. with a script in his hand and confusion in another, tenma read the title of the next drama he landed the role for

“PRETTY U...” it was japan’s next major love story, advertised on every social media platform possible with the all-star cast in the spotlight already. although it had already been out for a season, tenma was entering as the up-and-coming newest character of the series

tenma was boyish, young, and much too confident for his age—perfect for the role of a second-lead bad boy who was going to steal the heart and test the protagonist’s commitment

except... he didn’t actually want to take up a new project so soon. he only did because—

“what?! you’re going to be chan on PRETTY U?!” he proudly nodded and watched as you began ranting about how much you loved this show. there was only one reason he came to the audition: tenma wanted to star in your favorite television series

you always went on and on about how great everything about PRETTY U was. after hearing so much and pretending not to listen (even if he could practically explain the entire plotline now without watching it), tenma let himself become a fan, too

after all, how could he not be a fan when you loved PRETTY U so much?

tenma didn’t respond to his manager’s pleas until one day, you revealed another reason why PRETTY U was your favorite production: the main lead

“he’s so handsome~ i love him so much!” “do you know him? could you get me his number?” “look at him... he’s the most perfect actor in the business right now—ah, sorry ten!”

tenma scoffed every time, claiming he could most certainly do better than that hotshot. although the boys typically didn’t do the same type of television, he had become tenma’s #1 rival without even knowing it

besides... what did that guy have that tenma didn’t? he was just nice! sure, he held open the door for the lead, bent down to tie her shoes, bended over backwards just to be the perfect boy-next-door. yeah... even he couldn’t pretend anymore

tenma pouted at the thought, skimming over his next pilot episode for rehearsal tomorrow. he was too good to be real, after all, he was meant to end up with the lead girl anyways (spoiler alert!)

but, it didn’t matter how perfect that actor was! because tenma had gotten the role of “chan”, the leather-jacket wearing mystery with an actual heart of gold, and he was going to make the entire audience swoon

(though, tenma just wanted to make your heart skip a beat when he ended up on the big screen)

tenma would never admit how fast he checked his phone when he felt it buzz in his pocket. sure, it was unprofessional during rehearsal but he knew it was you. however, his smile dropped the moment he read what you sent

you: remember to tell him how much i love him!

tenma: hah... no good luck for your new bad boy?

you: you know i’ll always root for you, ten!

tenma: but, i’m better than that actor, right?

tenma watched his message get delivered and was about to keep bothering you until someone called his name like they were friends. speak of the devil...

that actor’s straight, white toothy smile made tenma stand a little straighter (damn it, tenma was shorter), eyes wide as the actor gracefully introduced himself as his co-star for the next month or so (how did his voice sound even better in person?!)

“good morning, tenma! my name is jun, i’m so honored to meet a fellow actor on set! let’s work together well!” were they... really the same age? tenma barely registered the fact he was suddenly shaking jun’s (right, that’s his name) hand. why did he have such a manly grip?

tenma quickly (to his dismay) found out that him & jun had entered the industry around the same time but often had different projects, so they were never featured in the same production before. apparently, that was creating quite a buzz in the media that two childhood stars were competing against one another

a competition that tenma couldn’t lose. he was going to be your favorite actor, not his rival!

jun, like the perfect gentleman everyone described him to be, showed tenma around the PRETTY U set. jun had nothing but good things to say about the crew and vise versa. that only reinforced how tenma was oddly much more quiet than he usually was. luckily, one of the talents of being an actor was improvising, so jun was doing just fine

when they had reached the dressing rooms, jun shot a bright smile at tenma and gestured to the rather large room

“we’ll be sharing a dressing room together, tenma! we’ll be spending a lot of time together!”

tenma suddenly regretted his decision to become chan of PRETTY U. you couldn’t have had a different favorite show?! anything but... this

there were now three main characters for PRETTY U: hoshi, yuri, and chan, creating a love triangle for millions of viewers to watch every week

nakamura jun, leading role, played “hoshi”, the boy-next-door. this is the popular boy at school with the best grades and an even greater reputation amongst everyone. next, uedo ren, one of japan’s rising female actresses of this generation. she is adored as “yuri”, the perfect girl. she is the typical nerd who suddenly transformed into the prettiest girl at school from learning make-up

last (but definitely not least!) is sumeragi tenma, playing “chan”, the bad boy. it was nothing like tenma’s done before, since the character was much less expressive than he was used to. chan is a traditional rebel who is revealed to have a soft side for yuri. but, chan (ironically enough) has a secret history with hoshi, causing tension in this already confusing love triangle

(embarrassingly enough, jun had to explain to tenma the complications and ties between each character. tenma, unfortunately, found it to be extremely helpful)

even with this newfound knowledge of the characters in season 2, tenma couldn’t help but absolutely ruin the first day of rehearsals. even with a decade or so of acting as his experience, one thing kept him from being chan: his lack of chemistry with “yuri”

“cut!” the director called out again for the nth time, sighing as their eyes landed on tenma, who was not enjoying being the center of attention this time, surprisingly

“take 5, kid. once you come back, i expect you to actually go through this scene without messing up your lines.” tenma nodded and exited quickly, feeling flustered from the looks of sympathy directed his way. usually, it was one-and-done. it didn’t take a hundred tries just to do another romantic and cliché scene

tenma exhaled loudly once he felt the fresh air upon his face. without the fear of cameras in his face anymore, tenma ran his hand through his hair with a frustrated kick at the concrete. come on! he was renown child actor sumeragi tenma, why was he so in his head now?

tenma was about to yell into the sky before he heard someone close the door, standing beside him with their usual silence. tenma didn’t even have to look to know it was jun (probably with the most pitiful look ever)

“tenma? are you okay?” jun waited as tenma tried to not say anything he’d regret, shifting his weight on his foot back and forth before relenting, shrugging as if it couldn’t be helped

“i don’t know... i just, i can’t see yuri that way. how am i supposed to flirt with someone i don’t even like?”

jun pondered the thought for a moment, before tilting his head, a boyish smile overtaking his features. tenma unwillingly relaxed; jun finally looked his age

“who do you like then?”

tenma froze, a blush even foundation couldn’t hide blossoming on his cheeks. jun let out a teasing “oooh!” as he nudged tenma with his shoulder, who pushed back with an eye-roll

“i-it’s not like that! don’t be so—ugh!” tenma cut himself off, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding jun’s knowing eyes. damn it, they barely knew each other. why was he getting so comfortable with his enemy?!

“well, whoever you thought of, imagine yuri as them.”

“is that what you do?”

jun shrugged, not giving a clear answer for once. before tenma could ask for more information, their break was over

when tenma returned to the scene, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. when he opened them again, he watched as yuri transformed into the one person he’s been trying to impress this entire time: you

when “you” smiled, tenma couldn’t help but follow along. his first-take after break made the cut for the final product

“you must really like them, tenma~” — “stop!!!”

filiming afterwards became easy, especially when he imagined all his romantic words were directed towards you. he could feel the clamminess of his hands, the rapid beat of his heart, the intense blush across his face, all at the thought of you

(the only time he had to start over was when he accidentally said your name instead of yuri’s)

tenma was sure he’d become your favorite actor now! after all, you were his favorite person

“will you watch the first episode of PRETTY U’s season 2 with me?”

you had never said yes so fast in your entire life. when tenma learned there’d be a cast-viewing of episode 1 after finishing the season, he knew his +1 invite could only go to the biggest fan of the show

throughout filming, you were always the person who got him in trouble when the text tone wasn’t put on silent. you liked spamming tenma with a bunch of supportive and encouraging messages when you were available, meaning tenma always had something to look forward to after each scene

in return, tenma would send a selfie of him with his castmates or the set (or, what he was allowed to show under his contract). yet, despite your constant pleas, there was one co-star he’d never take a photograph with: jun

(“tenma! we’ve worked together for months~ shouldn’t i be called your friend now?” “no—” “huh?! don’t pretend you don’t like me!” “who said i was pretending?” “tenma!”)

at first, tenma was apprehensive about inviting you to an event where jun’s picture-perfect face would be on display everywhere. but, whenever he saw you, the weight of the tickets suddenly felt much heavier in his pocket. he couldn’t deprieve you of such an exclusive event just because of his jealousy (even if he was this close to doing so)

when tenma impulsively asked three days before, it felt worth it when you threw your arms around him (he hugged you back and pretended this meant something to you)

“i love you, ten!”

tenma felt like he was on set again, with yuri’s arms tightly holding onto his heart

“i love you, too.”

even after saying it so many times, tenma meant it even if he didn’t say it to your face every time

you looked like the star of the show

tenma fixed his tie as his blazer suddenly felt too tight. you appeared in your most formal attire, looking like a million bucks as you two sat across each other in the limo

“ten, look at all of this!” you pointed out every little thing of preparing for a professional event. the little glasses of champagne neither of you two could drink sat to the side as the leather seats molded to fit your posture. as the night lights of tokyo blurred by, tenma couldn’t help but think you sparkled more than this diamond of a city

“i can’t wait to go see the first episode! thank you for inviting me.” you bowed your head, as if suddenly overcome with gratefulness. tenma lightly kicked your shoe with his, fondly rolling his eyes as he tried not to smile (mission failed)

“don’t worry about it, who else would i bring? you’re my favorite pe—friend. friend, yeah...” tenma trailed off, suddenly finding something very interesting outside of the window. you only nodded, seemingly more interested in the fact there was enough room to walk around

when tenma caught sight of the infamous red carpet laid out in front of the theatre, he cleared his throat and put on his best face for the cameras. after stepping out of the car with his bodyguards nearby, tenma turned and gave you a genuine smile. not his typical arrogant smirk the news source ate up, but a type of smile only reserved for you

when he held out his hand, the flashing lights behind him seemed like a real celebrity, something you had never considered him to be before. it was like seeing tenma in a new light (both literally and figuratively)

“shall we?” you took his hand and wondered if you could ever have your own j-drama. perhaps, tenma could even be the main lead...

before you could step off to the side, tenma already had his arm wrapped around your waist with his unchanging expression (however, underneath it all, he was internally freaking out. what was he going to do now?!)

“you’re my date, right? walk the red carpet with me.” tenma winked (you swore it sparkled) as he gestured towards the carpet ahead. suddenly, the line seemed much longer

“t-ten... you’ve never brought a date before...” you mumbled, acutely aware of how soon it was to walk down together. tenma’s arm stiffened, but nothing else exposed the revelation as he looked down at you

“you’re my first, then.” and my last, tenma thought to himself. before you could change your mind, it was showtime. tenma put on his movie star face and introduced you to familiar interviewers, smiling away as if you two weren’t panicking on the inside

while you were focusing on the fact you were going to be going viral as tenma’s first “date” to the event, tenma was trying not to blush from how close you were. you felt... right besides him

tenma was a natural in front of an audience waiting for him to make a mistake. he flawlessly answered every question with swaggering confidence, his stride easy and poses photogenic

you did your best to follow his lead but it all ended when tenma took you into the theatre, staring down at you with a bright smile

“we did it! see, told you we’d be just fine.” tenma let out an exhale of relief, glowing with joy from the adrenaline of everything that came with being a superstar. as you looked up into his excited eyes, you saw him lean down before—

“your arm is still around me.”

silence, then a hurried separation as tenma put too many feet between you two. it was suddenly as if you two were strangers. you regretted the words the moment they left your mouth; you didn’t mind at all... why did you say something?!

“um... so, food?” tenma spoke up after an eternity of making excuses. you two quickly moved to the line of movie snacks, using candy and popcorn to substitue the suddenly awkward silence

when tenma ordered all your favorites without even asking, he turned around with the selection only to close his eyes and internalize every single thing he was feeling because there he was, his worst enemy

jun entered from a side door, most likely finishing up helping the crew with set-up (and 30 minutes early as usual) before catching tenma’s iconic bright orange hair, a grin lighting up his face

“tenma! it’s me, jun!” he said, as if they weren’t the two main leads of japan’s most famous drama so far. immediately, your smile matched jun’s as you watched as your favorite actor of all time make his way towards you two

“jun... of course you’d be here.” tenma said through gritted teeth, forcing a pleasant smile even with an armful of junk

“ah, still keeping the bad boy attitude? we’re off set now, you can stop method acting now.” jun joked, bringing his attention to you with a dazzling smile that would absolutely make any fansite’s career

“oh? who is this, a friend of yours?” tenma tried not to sigh so loud when you couldn’t help yourself and burst into a long rant about how amazing jun was. tenma waited until you reached your midpoint and stopped you with a quick nudge, trying not to scream (could jun stop being so... perfect? could you stop being so cute?!)

when tenma introduced you, he stood a little closer as he tried to maintain his jealousy. “they’re my date, by the way.” no one had asked, but tenma was clearly telling anyone who was around you two had gone together

jun’s eyes lit up in recognition as he let out a noise of surprise. “ah~ so this is who you—”

tenma didn’t regret losing his giant popcorn so fast to a co-star who could only be silenced with food. his wallet could afford another one, anyways. his pride on the other hand? could not let you know his acting secret already

“what was jun going to say?” you asked after you two departed for the viewing room. tenma nonchalantly pretended like everything was okay as he guided you to front row

“probably something about the fact you’re the one who always interrupts our scenes.”

“hey! my texts make your day, don’t lie!”

“go sit down and eat already, jeez.”

when it began, your eyes couldn’t leave the screen. it was better than you could have imagined. everything was perfect, it exceeded the standards of even the toughest fans out there. you loved every second of it... except...

tenma was too good at being chan. even with his bright hair, the dark clothes he wore made him appear intimidating, with his sharp eyes and even sharper smirk. chan’s appearance was tough, rough, and mean, everything tenma wasn’t

yet, you still couldn’t help but feel your heart sink when chan was clearly in love with yuri. yuri was one of your favorite characters by far, but she ended up bothering you for the entireity of the episode

especially every time she shared a scene (which were many times) with chan. chan was revealed to be a bad boy with a heart of gold, all with a special soft side for yuri

what was this feeling? were you... no, you couldn’t be! after all, you had never seen tenma that way before, right? yet, every time chan made an exception for yuri, you felt sick to your stomach

was it possible that tenma liked the actress who played yuri? you snuck a glance at tenma, only to see he was looking at you already (he’d never admit it, but he was watching your reactions to see if he made you proud. yet, every time you saw him, you subconsciously frowned)

were you not proud of him? did you not like his performance as chan?

before tenma could ask you, the scene changed into one of chan’s. he was standing outside in the school uniform, his head ducked as he swiped through yuri’s social media. before he could look up, yuri jumped in front of him with a teasing smile

“roar!” she called out, referring to their inside joke earlier in the episode. yuri cutely bounced back with another roar, holding her hands up like paws. chan watched, his typical rock-hard expression breaking to reveal his developing feelings for yuri

later on, chan stopped yuri in the hallway, other students watching as the school’s bad boy and goddess interact

“do that again.” chan demanded to which yuri innocently tilted her head, confused like a little puppy. “do what?” “that... that thing.” when chan roared, tenma sunk into his seat with an embarrassed defense and explanation ready. but, when he looked, you finally cracked a laugh at his little roar

your smile only fell when yuri roared again as a joke, but chan smiled for once. tenma wondered why... he thought you would be so happy to be here with him. maybe, he’d never be better than jun...

when the episode ended, it took a moment before you stood up and clapped. tenma followed along, but all he could think about was how he let you down. not only as chan, but as your boy, too

when you two left the room, you two hung back to watch as everyone congratulated one another on the success of the production. in the midst of the cheer and celebration, tenma felt small as he watched your blank expression

what did he do wrong? he put his best efforts into every scene; he might even say it was his best work yet. before he could apologize, you did the unthinkable: you roared

you jumped up into his face, holding your hands up like yuri did. when yuri did it, tenma didn’t feel a thing. but, when you did, tenma felt it. the butterflies fluttered in his stomach as he stared at you, frozen in place

“this is the part where you ask me to do it again.” you shyly trailed off, about to put your hands down before tenma weakly put his hands up, knowing he was about to regret his next move (if the embarrassment didn’t kill him, he didn’t know what would)

“roar!”

that was too loud, wasn’t it? the room suddenly went a lot more quiet as they turned their attention towards a teen actor roaring at his date

“yah! why didn’t you ask me the next line?”

“b-because... i know i like you even without you doing, that, again.”

you paused, taken back by his honesty. as tenma contemplated just falling onto the floor right then and there, you suddenly hardened your expression, standing up straighter with your arms crossed

“do that again.”

“do what?”

“that thing.”

when tenma roared again, much quieter this time, you nodded as you finally smiled genuinely for the first time ever since that episode started

“good, i know how chan feels now. i like you, too.”

“does that mean i’m your favorite actor now?”

(when jun released a video of tenma roaring online, he captioned it with “ROAR = ILY!!!” tenma realized maybe he wasn’t all that bad, but still)

[missmonsters2]

Between the Lines || X

PAIRING: Steve Rogers & Fem!Reader (Platonic) / Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader / Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader / Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader x Wanda Maximoff

Summary: Vampire AU. Life has changed drastically since the 1600s. Things are always on the move, and you’ve been very careful to not get on SHIELDs radar. Living on the down-low owning a café, you’re content to live out a quiet existence. That is until the Avengers enter your life.

[Set after the New York Invasion, in CAWS, and goes up to AoU. Canon divergent after.]

Warnings: This series will contain smut(**), poly-relationship, and dark themes.

Note: Oof I came back and DELIVERED 👏👏 it’s really long I’m sorry. I legit said we’re ending this arc today LOL

PART I || PART II || PART III || PART IV || PART V || PART VI || PART VII || PART VIII || PART IX

PART X of XX

Count: 11,007

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There's something about the way the golden sky hits the horizon of this quiet countryside field.

It's quiet.

At least in comparison to the city.

You like the tall grass that surrounds the stand-alone home. The air is cleaner, crisper. There's a serene peace that settles in the area, and it makes you nostalgic for things you haven't had.

You can hear children running around inside, and the sink running in the kitchen along with food sizzling. Looking over at Natasha, there's a softness that has fallen over her face, a look you're somewhat familiar with, but in a different context.

This might be home for her, too, you realize.

"A safe house?" Tony tilts his head as everyone stares at the farmhouse.

"Let's hope," Clint mutters as everyone enters into the house. "Honey, I'm home!"

You tilt your head, curious when the woman you assume to be Clint's wife walks into the kitchen. You knew she was carrying based on the conversation you overhead, but you were still surprised to find her heavily pregnant.

She was due soon.

"Hi, company," Clint says in a rush as he gives her a kiss on the cheek. "Sorry, I didn't call ahead."

"Hey," the woman replies as she kisses Clint. You hear Tony make a comment to Thor about the strangeness of this, but you were focused on her stomach.

You tilted your head as you could hear its heartbeat.

"Gentlemen and gentle...women," Clint stares at you and Natasha. "This is Laura. My wife."

"I know all your names," Laura smiles while everyone looks at her rather awkwardly because no one but Natasha, you and, David knew about her.

David seemed the most curious, but he has always loved kids and got along with them easily.

"You're due soon," he tells Laura with a smile as he sneaks around you to stand closer to inspect Laura respectfully.

"You can tell?" Laura looks down at her stomach as David nods.

"Yes," he says. "A couple months at the most."

"How can you tell?" Laura asks as you hear tiny rumbling footsteps running towards this room.

"We can smell it," David informs her.

"Incoming," Clint says, kneeling down as his son and daughter excitedly burst into the room.

"Dad!" His daughter jumps in Clint's arm. Clint picks her up as he stands and kisses his son's head.

"Tinier agents," Tony blinks at the scene while Steve looks completely flabbergasted.

"This is Lila and Cooper," Clint smiles softly.

"Did you bring Auntie Nat?" The little girl says, and Natasha turns as she smiles.

"Why don't you hug her and find out?" Natasha starts to walk while Lila runs into her arms.

Natasha picks her up with ease, holding her close as she kisses Lila on the cheek. She comes back to you and tense ever so slightly before you relax.

Of course, you spent a lot of time with Allison as you took care of her, but sometimes, being around young kids would cause just a quick flashback of the ones you couldn't save.

Natasha smiles at you, and you return it lightly.

"This is Lila," Natasha introduces you to her and then telling Lila your name.

"Is she your friend?" Lila asks as she stares at you, and Natasha laughs.

"Yes, she's...my special friend," Natasha looks at you with a smirk to which you roll your eyes gently in response.

"I like your braids," you tell Lila softly, who smiles shyly at you in thanks.

"Sorry to drop by in like this," Steve says to Laura.

"Yeah, we would've, but we were too busy not knowing you existed," Tony chirped in.

Clint smiles as he stands next to his wife and has his hand on Cooper's shoulder.

"Yeah, Fury helped me set this up and kept it off SHIELD's files. I'd like to keep it that way, I figured this is a good place to lay low."

Laura laughed suddenly, and everyone turned to see David giving family photos to her.

"Okay, as low as we can," Clint corrects.

Natasha sets down Lila as she drags you closer to Laura.

"Ah, honey, I missed you," Laura pulls Natasha into a hug before giving you a kind smile.

Your nose twitches as you get closer, and you can smell Laura's pregnancy in more detail.

"And how's little Natasha?" Natasha coos as she bends down to touch Laura's stomach gently.

"You mean Nathaniel?" David snickers and you elbow him in the rib.

"What?" Natasha says as she stands up, looking at David before she turns back to Laura.

"Sorry," Laura gives her an apologetic look that confirms what David said.

Natasha leans back down to Laura's stomach, "Traitor."

"Thor," Steve calls out.

You turn your attention as Thor leaves the house with Steve following him.

You hear Thor say how he saw something in his dream and how he won't find his answers here before flying off.

Everyone seems to have reached their limit and wants to get some rest. You, Natasha, and David decided to stay in one room since the two of you don't sleep. David said he'd be out working on a lot of other things anyways.

"Mind if I shower first?" He asks you and Natasha.

"Go for it," Natasha nods.

"If you use all the hot water, I'll kill you," you tell him, and David just pretends to look offended that you would even insinuate he would before walking off.

You could hear Clint and Laura talking in the next room where he's updating her on the mission and what he'll do once this mission is done. You try to drown it out as you turn and focus on Natasha before you.

"How are you feeling?" You ask softly as you lift your hand to her face.

Natasha presses more firmly into your hold. A part of her wishes she could feel the warmth of your actual hand, but she doesn't want to push you, and you were clearly nowhere ready to touch her with your bare hands.

It didn't stop her from fantasizing about it, though.

"Better," Natasha rasps, "I've stopped hearing the lingering voices."

You nodded, using your thumb to stroke her cheek.

"How was it?" Natasha asks, breaking the silence, and you know what she's referring to.

Slowing dropping your hand, you went to sit at the seat beside the window.

"It was..." you sighed, "I don't know. Hard."

Natasha takes a seat next to you, combing her fingers through your hair, and your eyes fluttered at the serene feeling.

"Talk to me," Natasha softly says. She knows you've probably been refraining from trying to talk about it with her after that night. You must think she may not like it.

But Natasha doesn't care about such things like that. Tatyana was a big part of your life, and even though you haven't said anything about it yet, Natasha knows Wanda will be too.

In what capacity will depend on what you'll allow, what you think Natasha will allow.

"I suppose...I didn't expect her to look so much like Tatyana," you smile weakly. "Looking at her is like nearly looking at a spitting image. Pietro has similar features, being twins, but it's easier to ignore that he's a descendant."

Natasha nods, understanding as she continues to comb through your hair.

"I'm still working on confirming something," you tell her honestly.

"And if what you suspect is true?" Natasha asks.

You purse your lips.

"Then, we have a new set of problems."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

The day continues on, and everyone, for the most part, has freshened up. You leave Natasha to her own devices with showering even though earlier she had given you a look that suggested that they could save water if they showered together.

You had felt a hot liquid pool form in your lower stomach as you licked your lips.

But now was neither nor the time to engage in such activities, though you did give her a languid kiss before excusing yourself.

You could hear Tony and Steve talking--passive-aggressively arguing outside. You were about to go out to break it up when your eyes honed in on something.

"Just great," you huffed under your breath as you headed out to the field where there was a tractor.

"Thank you, Laura," a deep voice spoke as he caught your eye as you came up to them.

Laura greeted you, and you nodded in response as she slipped out to do her task.

"Maria tell you to come out here?" You asked, looking at Nick Fury.

"She thought it would be best for me to assess the situation," he shrugs. "I wanted a little word with Stark, anyways."

You shake your head. "Your words will mean nothing to him, you know."

"Then perhaps I should talk with you," Fury redirects. "I hear you're quite involved with this case."

You remain silent, not taking his bait.

"What do you suggest I do?" Fury says, curious about what you'll say.

Before you could answer, you hear Tony approaching, catching the two of you after looking at the tractor.

"Ah, Mrs. Barton, that little minx. What are the two of you doing here? Did Maria call you?" Tony asks as he turns to look at Fury.

"Artificial intelligence, you didn't even hesitate," Fury cocked his brow at Tony.

You tune out the two of them talking as you focus your attention elsewhere. You could hear Steve a little ways away, still ripping woods apart with his bare hands. Inside the house, you could hear the water being turned off, indicating that Natasha was done with her shower, and you decided you would go in soon to shower yourself before helping where you could.

"--you didn't," you catch the end of what Fury said before the man walked off, leaving you alone with the genius billionaire.

He was frustrated--annoyed, you could tell by just looking at his face. The light grimace and pinch between his eyebrow were a clear indication.

Tony catches you staring at him, looking miffed as he peers at you.

"Well, I suppose you have something to say, too, huh?" Tony mutters.

You take a long minute to stare at him, his conversation with Fury not lost on you.

"Not really," you say in the end. "Nothing I haven't already told you, anyways."

"Right, like my ego being too big, and I'm not the be-all, end-all."

You shrug. "No one is the be-all, end-all. If the world had to only rely on one man, we would've gone extinct before cavemen even had the chance to evolve."

"And I'm the man that's going to cause that," Tony persisted.

"No," you shook your head. "You know as well as I do that it was only your fear being shown to you."

"Do I?" Tony scoffed. "All I know is that I saw all my friends dead, and I caused it because I couldn't save them. Who are you to say it's not the future I saw?"

"Because she can't show you the future!" You burst at him, grimacing at your own outburst. You sigh, closing your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose. "That's not what her power is. In the best-case scenario, she can use telepathy to read your mind to experience your memories and thoughts, and then using that to project hallucinations onto you. In the worst-case scenario, she can use her powers to alter reality to make what she wants to come true. I don't think she's there yet."

"And how do you know all that?" Tony asks, narrowing his eyes at you.

"You know that I came on this mission for my own personal reasons."

"And what? That Maximoff girl is your personal reason?"

"They both are," you tell him. "Her powers aren't entirely unfamiliar to me. Different, yes, I imagine from the scepter, but not unfamiliar."

"I don't see the difference between her powers and my future." Tony blinks at you.

You grumbled, sighing as you try to explain. "It means, dumbass, that Wanda either doesn't realize that she can alter reality or that she doesn't have enough control of her powers to do so yet. I'm betting it's a mix of the two. I felt it when I fought with her. She's chaotic, and her powers are unrefined. Because of that, she can only snoop into your mind and then send you your worst fear in the form of a hallucination. You weren't shown the future, Tony, you were emotionally exploited."

You wanted Tony to understand, not so sure why you were so concerned with it. Tony, like everyone else, was a complex person with a multitude of different faces and layers. On the surface, he was a nonchalant, cocky dickhead (though, you were also sure some of that was truly him on the inside too), but he was also someone who cared.

A lot.

And people who tend to care a lot always overdid everything to protect everything and everyone they care about.

Tony was already hurting.

And Wanda was making it worse.

It was a painful reminder that Tatyana had hurt people too, and you couldn't stop her.

"How do you know that isn't the future for sure? How can you confirm that's not my legacy?" Tony murmurs quietly, looking at the sky as if the low volume would allow him to admit his fear without you hearing.

You stare at him for a long minute, biting your tongue before you draw a long sigh that gets Tony's attention.

Tony watches you, taking off one glove, pressing your lips together as you do so.

You hold out your hand to him.

"If you tell Natasha I touched you before her, I'll break your dick."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Dinner is a pleasant affair. You had gone back into the kitchen swiftly after finishing your talk with Tony. Laura was starting to make dinner, and you let her know not to worry about you and David as the two of you don't eat.

You had taken a step out with David while everyone was bustling around before dinner. It had been a while since you last fed, and you had a feeling things were going to start happening back to back, and you needed to be prepared for it.

The two of you headed into town to the nearest hospital, compelling a nurse to bring you both a blood bag to feed on and forget.

It wasn't a lot, but it would be enough to get through the mission without damage, hopefully. You didn't want to end up taking too much from the hospital and causing a problem, even though the two of you were too far from your own stash.

It would've been better to go to a blood bank, but this town was so small they didn't have one.

You were sitting closely next to Natasha as she ate her dinner, your arm around her, and you fought the urge to hide your face into her neck.

"You should head to NEXUS in Oslo to pick up JARVIS," David tells Tony.

"Is that where he is?" Tony hums. "Smart guy to head to the fastest internet hub on the earth. I'm such a proud dad," Tony pretends to tear up.

"Great, you got one good kid and one fuck up, classic!" You say over Natasha's head while Tony scrunches his nose at you.

"Why did I come?" Fury muttered rather loudly. Seems like all the information he was bringing was already brought up by David.

"For a good time, boss. But you wouldn't happen to have anything else, would you?" Natasha pulled a piece of her bread apart.

"I have you," Fury shrugged. "We ain't got nothing but our wit and our will to save the world. So stand up and take out that platinum bastard."

"Steve doesn't like that kind of talk," Natasha teases.

"You know what, Romanoff?" Steve jokingly threatens while she smiles mischievously at him.

You had been only half-focusing on the conversation at hand, jumping in here and there to throw in remarks. You were thrumming your fingers at your side quietly.

There was something about that first night you had all encountered Ultron.

"So, what does he want?" Fury asked.

"To become better. Better than us. He keeps building bodies," Steve licked his bottom lip.

"Person bodies. We're outmoded, biologically speaking, but he keeps coming back to it," Tony leaned back in his chair.

"He wants the human race to evolve; therefore, he needs to evolve himself," Banner mused.

"I don't think evolving the human race is his goal," David muttered.

"How's he going to do that?" Fury asked.

And then it occurred to you.

"Has anyone talked to Dr. Cho?" You pursed your lips.

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There was a lot of noise as everyone was getting ready to leave the Barton household.

Thor was still out on his own, so no one held high hopes he would be coming back for this one.

"Alright, I'll head to you guys as soon as I collect JARVIS from NEXUS," Tony, lets everyone know.

"I'll take David and Banner to the Stark Tower," Fury said. " "Mind if I borrow Miss Hill?"

"All yours," Tony nodded. "What are you gonna do?"

"I don't know, something dramatic, I hope," Fury shrugs.

"Alright, everyone else goes with me," Steve attached his shield onto his back.

You nod as you stood next to Natasha.

"You know, I miss the days when I was the weirdest thing science created," Steve mused.

"What do you mean?" You looked at him with a smirk. "You still are."

"I swear to God--"

"Swearing is not good, Steve," Natasha joined in on the teasing.

"I hate you both," Steve shook his head with a good spirit.

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There was something that rubbed you the wrong way when you entered the laboratory.

Sparks from exposed wires filled the air, and you could smell blood and hear the shallow breathing of a woman.

You recognized the scent.

"Dr. Cho is in there," you say quietly for Steve to hear, and the two of you race in to see that she was sitting on the floor, resting against a cabinet as she was clutching her stomach tightly. She had blood dripping from her head and lips, but she was still alive.

"Dr. Cho!" Steve called out as he race to her, bending down to see if she was okay.

"He's uploading himself into the body," Dr. Cho heavily breathes. "You can't just destroy the cradle. You need to get it to Stark."

"I got to find it first," Steve tells her.

"Go," she nods in the direction of outside. He purses her lip at her, but she nods to let Steve know she'll be okay.

He starts to head out but then looks at you.

"I'll catch up," you say offhandedly as you bend down to assess the doctor.

She was bleeding profusely through her stomach, where Ultron shot her. Dr. Cho had done her best to stop the bleeding, but it started to soak through the cloth. You looked around to find her technicians dead, and you frowned.

"Maybe I will get your venom after all," Dr. Cho says with a smirk, bringing your attention back to her.

You cocked your brow at her with a smile. "It's quite the risqué position. I don't know if my girlfriend would like that."

"I'm sure she won't mind you helping a frail, dying girl," Dr. Cho jokes but winces in pain shortly after.

You snort at the word frail but lick your lips nonetheless. "Listen, Doc, I don't wanna catch you doing experiments on yourself after getting my venom, alright?"

She nods, and you lift her hand away along with the cloth. You lower herself down her body, feeling the venom pool in your mouth.

You hear her breath hitch, and you're not sure if it's because she's in pain. You remind yourself you need to be careful. While you could drink the blood that was pouring out from Dr. Cho, you opted not to.

Dr. Cho realized this as you were carefully licking her wound, feeling something amazing happening on her skin under your mouth as she was being healed.

"What a loyal girlfriend you are," Dr. Cho mutters.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"I'm always picking up after you boys," Natasha grunts as she Steve's shield and gives it to you to hold.

You were on your way to Steve when Natasha dropped from the sky on a motorbike, and you found yourself hopping on the back of it as she passed you.

"Seriously, Steve, I've seen people treat their trash better than how often you drop this thing," you joke.

"Little busy, guys," Steve grunts back, "wouldn't say no to some help."

As you get closer to the truck where Ultron and Steve are, you whip his shield to him, and Steve uses it to knock Ultron's arm off of him. Ultron falls, catching sight of you two and uses his power to lift a piece of the ground up to stop Natasha in her tracks.

"Go!" Natasha tells you, and you get up on the motorbike before using your strength to propel yourself onto the truck as you leap.

Ultron sees you and immediately uses his ability to manipulate gravity to launch himself towards you.

But if Pietro was too quick for him, you were just a step behind. You blur to the side, back kicking him with a brute amount of force as Ultron passed you.

The strength of the kick alone had done a lot of damage. Your foot had impaled him halfway as he passed, bolts, and gears falling out of the hole you created.

"Look at us," you look at Steve, "we're a dream team."

"I always wanted to tag team with you," Steve smiles.

"Of course you do," you say as if it was obvious, "I'm your favorite."

"Ugh!" Ultron screams as he flies into Steve's direction this time, but Steve uses the momentum to take them both into the train that was moving next to them.

You followed as you spoke into the intercom, "We're taking the party elsewhere. The truck's all yours with the surprise inside, baby."

"I love when you leave gifts for me, so romantic," Natasha cooed.

"Please stop, or I will vomit," Clint says.

You snort as you follow through the hole Ultron and Steve created when they crashed into the train. You land with grace, noticing there are passengers on the cart.

Steve hits Ultron with enough force to send him flying, and you move as fast as you can over to a young teen to force her lower onto the ground from her seat to avoid being crushed.

"I guess I've got civilian-watching duty," you say almost glumly.

"I'd be happy to trade," Steve huffs as he stands up straight.

You could hear Natasha and Clint talking through your earpiece, and for a second, you wished you had stayed with your girlfriend when you hear that the truck is airborne, but you knew she could handle it.

"No, you seem like you got it," you shake your head with a smile. Luckily with a psychotic robot and turbulence on the train, it was too hard for anyone to grab their phone and record.

Ultron barrels into Steve, knocking him into the corner before Steve uses his foot to kick back.

"Of course," Steve puffs.

Even though you had said that you still helped out when you could, with the narrow pathway the train provided, the two of you had to be careful of making sure civilians didn't get hurt.

Ultron was extremely diligent in keeping you at a distance from him, realizing you were nearly as fast as Pietro and much, much stronger.

But then you heard it.

The light footsteps atop the train at first, then then your eyes easily adjusted to a blur that went past you, knocking into Ultron.

It was Pietro.

Your eyes easily found their way to Wanda as you turned around. She was looking at you, unsure what to think when your eyes met.

Ultron turned back to start towards Pietro, but two metal railings were bent to prevent him from doing so. Ultron turned back to see Wanda, and it was clear on his robotic face that he was hurt, but he also knew he couldn't best Wanda.

"Please, don't do this," Ultron's tone soft and pleading.

"What choice do we have?" Wanda's thick accent hung in the air, and you bit your tongue.

Ultron stilled for a millisecond before he turned around, shooting a blast out from his hand. Everyone dodged, and the explosion shot straight through to the train's front where the conductor was. Taking the momentary distraction, Ultron bolted out of the train and flew away.

With the conductor out, the train started to sway unsteadily, everyone losing their footing, and no one could go after Ultron.

Steve hopped up, heading to the front to check if the conductor was okay, but she was out cold. "We've lost him! He's headed your way."

The train flew off its railing, and everyone hung on the best they could as it kept going even on concrete and dirt.

"Nat!" Clint shouted through the intercom. "Cap, do you see Nat?" His voice was panicked and strained.

You looked out the window of the train in the sky. You could see Quinjet, but Natasha was nowhere in sight.

"What the hell do you mean, Clint?!" You shouted.

"I got the cradle, but Ultron grabbed her the last second we got it. Do you have eyes on her?!" Clint asked, his head moving jerkily as he looked around out the windows.

"If you have the package, get it to Stark!" Steve instructed. "Go!"

You heard Clint frustratedly curse an expletive before he flew the Quinjet away in the other direction.

Warning bells were already going off in your head as you were about to take off the train and see if you could locate Natasha, but Steve's voice stopped you.

"I need you to help stop the train, or these people might die," Steve's jaw was tight, and you knew that he didn't want this either. If he could stop the train on his own or trusted the two twins enough, he would want you out there looking for Natasha too.

You looked around, seeing the humans' petrified faces, all sorts of people on this train, no doubt children too.

You clenched your jaw, swallowing painfully, but you resolved to trust that Natasha was okay and could take care of herself. She had been long before you, you reminded yourself.

"Alright," you breathe out in a huff.

"Civilians are in the path," Steve told Pietro, who rushed off.

"I need you to help me stop this train," you turn to Wanda.

She stares at you but nods once firmly.

You make your way to the front of the train, hopping over the conductor and a few feet away from the train, turning as it approaches you.

Steeling yourself by digging your feet into the ground as you get into a stance with your hands out, the train collides into you. Instead of crushing you like it would an average human, your body hardens to take the shock, and the train pushes you back, gravel and dirt flying everywhere.

It slows down slightly, but it won't come to a complete stop before the train would barrel right into a building. You can see Pietro working around you, and Wanda uses her power to stop the wheels from turning.

The train comes to a full stop smoothly with all three of you, and no one was harmed.  People began to exit the train, and Steve came out to check on you while Wanda checked on Pietro.

"I'm fine, just need a second," you breathe, hearing Pietro say something similar to Wanda.

"Did you get the cradle?" Wanda asks, her eyes floating to you. Your eyes caught hers for a moment, but you turned quickly to your intercoms.

You had tried to contact Natasha, but it was obviously a bust as she didn't answer back. Your next contact was with David to tell him to start searching.

"Stark will handle it," Steve tells Wanda.

"No, he won't," Wanda looked distraught.

"You don't know what you're talking about, you don't know him," Steve defended Tony while Wanda looked more upset as the seconds passed.

"He will do anything to make it right," Wanda says, knowing what she saw in his head. "Ultron can't tell the difference between saving the world and killing it...where do you think he gets that from?"

Steve pursed his lips because as much as he didn't want to admit it, the girl had a point, and Steve was still miffed about how Tony had kept all this artificial intelligence stuff a secret.

"Stark, anyone, come in?" Steve said into his comms, but it was silent.

You turn around, jaw clenched as you were upset about Natasha taken.

"It'll be fine," you tell the three of them, the confidence in your voice that made everyone quiet. "We need to head back."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You were pissed.

And everyone could tell.

Natasha was taken, and no one knew where Ultron may have taken her. You understood at the time that Steve needed you there to help him, but it didn't help that Natasha was gone.

You were mostly pissed at yourself.

"Well, she's not dead," Tony says as if in an attempt to make you feel better. "If she were, Ultron would be rubbing it in our faces."

You didn't say anything in response, jaw still clenched tightly.

Wanda watched from the other side of the room, looking at you peculiarly with her head slightly tilted and arms crossed together just under her chest. She had gathered that you and Natasha were together, and from the information she got from reading other people's minds, it seemed that it was still relatively a new development.

There was something in Wanda's chest that flared annoyingly at the sight of you so...so worried over the redhead. She didn't quite understand it herself or what was the underlying cause of it. But you looked different with that expression on your face.

"You think Natasha might've left something for you outside the internet? Any old-school spy stuff?" Tony asked as he turned to Clint.

"I can cast some nets to see if I catch anything," Clint pressed his lips together, also eager to find his friend.

Your eyes were glowing red angrily as you tried to control your emotions. David came up to you, putting his hand on your shoulder to try to ground you.

"I'll find her," David promises you.

You were gripping a countertop as you were slightly hunched over it.

You needed air.

Suddenly, the edge of the countertop snapped under your grip, crumbling into smaller pieces, and you let it go as you stood straight.

"Find her within the hour," you tell David, walking briskly out of the room.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

When you came back, everything was in chaos.

Everyone was arguing about the body in the cradle and what to do with it. You could see from the corner of your eye that Bruce was angry with Wanda and picking a fight with her.

It was escalating so fast. All of a sudden, Pietro took off as he started destroying lab equipment.

"No, go on," Pietro stood next to Bruce, but the next second afterward, the glass floor shattered underneath him, and he fell through where Clint was.

"Pietro!" Wanda went to help her brother, but then Bruce grabbed her from behind.

Tony and Steve were fighting each other, and you blinked before clenching your jaw.

You blurred over, and just before Steve and Tony were about to collide again, you intercepted, grabbing both their wrists and twisting.

"Ah!" They both yelled as they staggered, almost kneeling on the ground.

The room stilled as everyone look at you.

"We do not fight each other," you snarled at them, looking at Steve and Tony pointedly. "Keep this up, and I'll snap both your wrists."

You grip just slightly tighter in warning before letting them both go, and they stumble a little as they stand up straighter.

"Jesus Christ, I could feel the armor just about to give," Tony says, holding his hand up to inspect his suit while Steve rubs his wrist gingerly.

You then blur over to where Bruce and Wanda to separate them, shoving Bruce a little harder when he refused to let go of Wanda.

Wanda stumbles into your arms when Bruce is forced to let her go. You steady her with your hand on her back. Your scent fills Wanda's nose, and she's almost reeling at how it invades her.

"I get that you're beyond pissed, and what she did was not okay," you tell Bruce, eyes flickering to meet Wanda's for a second before looking back at him. "But clearly the situation has changed, and for now, she's with us. Steve brought them here. This isn't the time. Focus on the mission at hand, figure it out with her after."

"You want me to forgive what she did?" Bruce said incredulously.

"No," you shake your head, "I want you to be an Avenger and put it aside for now because your teammate has been captured, and there's still a maniac robot out there hellbent on making humans extinct."

Your words hit Bruce and seem to sober him from his anger, and he relaxes his clenched jaw as he sighs and nods. You pat him on the shoulder twice before you walk away, leading Wanda with you.

Best to not tempt it again if they're too close together.

Wanda looks at you as you walk with her. The words, 'are you upset with me?' want to leave her mouth, but she forces them in. Of course, you'd be upset with her. She had done so many things to the Avengers, including harming your girlfriend with hallucinations.

Wanda looks away and grits her teeth because she shouldn't care if you're upset with her or not.

But then she feels a light pat on her back.

Wanda looks at you. You aren't looking back at her, there's no indication that you had done that as you keep your head straight ahead.

Still.

Wanda had understood the gesture regardless, hearing your voice in her head.

'It's not okay, but I understand. You will get a chance to make it up to Bruce, and he will forgive you. Give it time.'

Before Wanda could say anything, Tony and Steve were at it again, but this time using their words.

"Tony," Steve's face daunt and tight in disapproval, "shut it down!" Steve demanded.

"And I'm telling you, this is will work!" Tony shot back as he caught you coming up to them.

"Tell them!" Tony looks at you, drawing Steve's attention to you as well. "Tell them what you--"

You shoot Tony a warning look, getting him to shut up.

Sighing, you looked at Steve. "Trust me when I say that it will be okay."

"You want him to bring another android to life?" Steve said in disbelief. "We haven't even defeated the first one yet!"

Before you could argue some more, Thor flew in, bringing his lightning hammer on the cradle, bringing the body to life.

"Wait!" Bruce yelled, but it was too late.

For a moment, it was silent, but suddenly, the body smashed out of its cradle.

Glass flew everywhere in its surrounding area. You immediately grabbed Wanda, pulling her to shield her from the flying glass as you used your hand to protect her head.

You felt a piece of glass slice through your cheek on the surface, momentarily stinging before it mended itself.

When everyone stood straighter as the glass settled, there was a giant red android standing in his naked glory, and a giant yellow stone plastered into his forehead.

You had known this was coming when you touched Tony's hand. You had seen quite far ahead;  everything from this, to the fight with Ultron in Tony's perspective, and even a little after that.

When the government and the United Nations wanted to be involved in the Avengers' affairs.

That would be a tricky one to navigate, and you wanted more time to think about it.

When you had relayed what you had seen back to him on the farm, you reassured him that he doesn't kill anyone in the next while, but you didn't exactly tell him what he will do in the future in detail as it could cause counterproductive results and change the future again.

All you could tell Tony was that he was on the right path, he was going to create something to help win the battle, and a heat seal would come in handy.

But back to the matter at hand, you knew this was coming, and yet, actually seeing the giant red walking toaster rubbed you the wrong way, and you weren't quite sure why.

He was floating and quickly flew towards Thor, who easily deterred the android away.

Thor raised his hands as Steve and Clint were ready to fight. Pietro came back, looking at you with a quirk of his brow when he saw you still holding Wanda.

You let go awkwardly because you were distracted, forgetting that you were still protecting her.

Why Pietro was staring at you like that, you didn't know. It's not like Wanda stepped out of your arms, either.

"I'm sorry," the android came back, sounding very similar to JARVIS. "That was odd...thank you," he looked at Thor.

"Thor, you helped create this?" Steve said as he eyed the being before him.

"I had a vision. A whirlpool that sucks in all hope of life and at its center is that," Thor says, pointing to the stone in the android's head.

"What? The gem?" Bruce clarified.

"It's the Mind Stone. It's one of the six Infinity Stones, the greatest power in the universe, unparalleled in its destructive capabilities," Thor explained.

"Then why would you bring it to life..." Steve pursed his lips, even more suspicious of the new being.

"Because Stark is right," Thor says, almost looking pained to admit.

"That's just gonna unnecessarily inflate his ego," you mutter while Tony was accessing what he helped bring to life.

"We can't defeat Ultron," Thor says, but then catches David entering the room. "Okay, well, maybe he can, but he seems like he has a lot to do."

"Help is good," the android tilted his head.

"Why does your 'vision' sound a lot like JARVIS," Steve's brows furrowed.

"We...configured JARVIS' matrix to create something new," Tony explained.

"I think I've had enough of the new," Steve pursed his lips, never taking his eyes off the android.

The android looked over to Steve. "You think I'm a child of Ultron?"

"You're not?" Steve countered back.

The android shook his head. "I'm not Ultron. I'm not Jarvis...I am...I am." Since he had yet to name himself, and due to Thor's vision, everyone decided that's what his name would be.

Wanda looked at Vision suspiciously. Her eyes narrowing at him. "I looked in your head and saw annihilation."

"Look again," he prompted her, staring at her intensely, and you resisted the urge to curl your lip back.

Wanda does what he says, a curious look on her face.

"Yeah, her seal of approval means jack-shit to me," Clint says.

You watched as everyone goes back and forth, with Vision ending with a long, windy, talk about himself and that they need to go. You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

"Sokovia. Natasha's there too," David answered, giving you a look when everyone questions where they were going.

"Then let's go," you lick your lips.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

The ride back to Sokovia feels long, even with Tony flying the Quinjet as fast as possible.

You stand in the back, looking out the window as the clouds pass by. You hear someone come up to you, but you don't move.

The smell of cinnamon and orange blossom floats you're way, so you don't have to know who it was.

The two of you stand in silence, appreciating the view outside.

"Sometimes...sometimes I can see a glimpse into your head," Wanda says quietly, so the others don't hear.

Your eyes peer over to her before slowly looking back out.

"It's not polite to snoop," you say equally as quiet.

"I can't exactly control it..." Wanda mumbles.

"Even so, you should at least pretend you don't know," you moisten your lips.

It's quiet for a moment before Wanda speaks up again.

"I...saw someone. Things I can't explain," Wanda says unsurely, and you know what she's talking about.

Even though you know she can't help it, you can't help but also feel a little miffed.

You knew that Wanda had a right to know, and yet, you didn't say anything.

"You were looking for me..." Wanda realizes.

"And Pietro," you add, giving her a look, almost laughing when she scrunches her nose.

"We're...connected," Wanda slowly says, turning to face you more.

You swallow as you turn to face her as well.

Wanda's staring at you intensely as if drawing in every little detail about your face and committing it to memory. There's a tight feeling in both her stomach and chest, and she doesn't understand.

She doesn't understand you.

You nod softly.

"Will you tell me about it?" Wanda asks.

"After everything has settled," you tell her.

Wanda swallows.

"You want me to stay?"

She says it so softly, you're surprised such a tone can come out of her when lately she's been an angry bull.

With the time you have, you take in her features. Her long dark hair behind her ears, round face, with define cheeks and jawline was familiar. Her long lashes framed her eyes, and her dark eyeliner and the lighting inside the craft dimmed the color of her eyes.

Still.

She looked at you with an intensity that made you dizzy.

"Yeah," you rasp. "How else will you make it up to Banner?"

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Natasha hears you calling her name as you run-up to her cell. She stands up, meeting you on the other side, her hand touches yours.

"You okay?" You ask her, accessing her thoroughly for any kind of injuries.

"Yeah," she tells you, smiling a little at your protective behavior, and once you're satisfied that she's relatively unharmed, you look back to her face.

"We gotta get going, team's already out there, and we're missing all the action," you say, liking the way Natasha smirks.

"Don't suppose you found a key just lying around on your way in, did you?"

You tilt your head, looking at the built-in lock on the cell door. Placing your hand over it, you yanked with a substantial amount of strength, forcing the metal underneath to give way.

You threw the hunk of metal behind your back and looked at your girlfriend. She smiled at you as she slides the door open, jumping into you to hug you briefly.

"Let's go," she says as she pulls back.

The two of you navigate your way through, but the ground begins to shake as you're almost out of there. The two of you stumble slightly before steadying yourselves.

"What's the situation?" You ask into the comms.

"Ultron's got Vibranium under the city. We're up in the air," Tony advises.

"Shit, we need to get out here," you say, turning to Natasha. "We're not going to make it on foot, so I'm going to carry you on my back."

Natasha nods, and you turn around, lower yourself so she can get on. Once she's secured on with her legs wrapped tightly around your waist, you adjust here once more before you're satisfied.

"Keep your head down and close to me," you tell her, feeling her following your instructions. The speed you'd be going at could accidentally break her neck if you weren't careful.

With that, you race out, quickly reaching the outside. Everything seems to be crumbling at you begin to maneuver onto the rocks, leaping onto another one as they fall. Eventually, you reach the cliffside wall, using your hands along with your feet to climb up.

When you reach safe ground, Natasha gets off.

"Didn't even break a sweat, huh?" She says to you.

"I have great stamina," you joke, but Natasha raises her brow at her, quirking her lip on one side into a seductive smirk.

"I'll be sure to test that out one day."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You feel awful.

Sokovia is falling apart, people are screaming and crying, and it's a war zone out here.

You separated from Natasha, warning her to not get kidnapped again because you don't think you could live with that kind of worry. She merely kisses your cheek before she races off to go help Steve and Thor.

You met up with David, who was huddled up with one of Ultron's robots, and a laptop next to him. The robot was powered down by David, who had his hands on its chest intensely.

"What are you doing?" You ask, looking at his laptop screen to see he was uploading something.

David didn't break his concentration or even open his eyes, but he answered you. "I'm trying to reprogram this bot's mainframe. The Vision is deleting Ultron off the net, so if I can do this, then I can turn this bot over to help us, and then spread it over to all Ultron's other bots."

"That would definitely turn the tide on this," you say, crushing a flying robot towards David.

"I...I got it!" David exclaimed, powering up the robot in hand. It stood up, accessing you, and you stood on guard, but it started to attack its own kind as a threat in the next moment.

"I just need to finish uploading the software to be spread," David picked up his laptop. "I'm going to take cover to finish this, and then find The Vision. I'm good here, you should go."

You nod at him before you take off at high speed. On your way, you bumped into Clint and Wanda. They were being overpowered as they tried to help civilians out of the area.

A group of bots begin to close in. It seems David is still in the process of uploading the software, so the attacks haven't ceased. You notice a bot hellbent on self-destruction as it plummets towards the ground.

Clint is already moving towards Wanda, shouting at her to move. You rush towards the two of them, jumping and pushing them through a building window just as an explosion hits. There are shots still being fired even as the three of you take cover.

Clint's already sitting up, alert as he tries to look at the situation outside without getting shot. Wanda crawls towards the wall, gasping and whimpering.

"How could I let this happen?" She's so distraught.

"Hey, hey, are you alright?" Clint asks, but you put your hand on his shoulder.

Clint looks at you. The situation outside still needs to be handled, and he seems like he doesn't have the time to try to give her a pep talk. You nod at him, and he nods back. Getting up, Clint readies his arrows before he kicks open the door.

"This is all our fault," Wanda cries quietly.

You grab her face, getting her to look up at you. "Look at me," you tell her. "It doesn't matter whose fault it is. It's your fault, my fault, it's everyone's fault. Regardless, this is happening."

She looks at you, breathing harshly as she blinks rapidly.

"I know you're hurting, but this is your homeland, and it's up in the air. Literally. Hopefully, if David manages, we won't be fighting an entire army of robots, but we still got one bad guy to fight," you swallow before hearing something approach as you push and move Wanda out of the way just as a shot fires through the wall.

Wanda looks even more frightened, and she's hanging on the front of your jacket as you readjust to move away from the wall.

"We can't change what we've done, we can only try to fix it going forward. I don't care about anything you did or who you were before this."

"I can't fix this," she bellows to you.

"Yes, you can," you backfire immediately at her. "If you scared and want to let everyone else clean up your mess, I'm fine with letting you do that. You'll be safe here, and Pietro can come to get you. But you can't sit here and tell me that you're okay with letting your fear control you. You can do this, I know you can."

Wanda stares at you, eyes shaking as bites her tongue, letting the silence fall.

"Why do you believe in me so much? Care about me so much?" Wanda asks quietly, feeling something stir in her stomach.

You look back at her, noticing that Wanda seems calmer. Maybe because you feel like you're looking at someone so similar to Tatyana in many ways. That Wanda feels like she's the villain who had caused this.

Perhaps thought she had wanted to be a villain at the start.

But it wretches your gut painfully.

"If anyone could become a hero, it'd be you."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"David, please tell me you're almost finished," you say into the comms as you, Wanda, and Clint fight the rest of the robots in your area.

The three of you need to work your way to Steve and the rest of the gang when Pietro flew in to take Wanda.

"Keep up, old man!" He teasingly says as he darts off.

"I hate him so much," Clint breathes deeply.

"If you want, I can carry you," you shrug.

"I both want to and hate the idea," Clint scrunches his nose but allows you to carry him.

"I'm really close guys, just hang tight!" David tells everyone.

"The next wave is going to hit any minute," Steve says. "What do you have, Stark?"

"Working on a heat seal," he tells everyone.

"We don't have the time," Thor says, "Ultron is trying to get to the core. We need to make a choice."

"That's not a solution," Steve firmly says.

"There's no math here, Steve. Everyone up here versus everyone down there?"

"I'm not leaving this rock with one civilian on it," Steve doesn't budge.

"I'm not saying we should go," Natasha counters back, nodding her head back and forth as she considers something. "There are worse ways to go. Besides, where else am I going to get a view like this?"

"I have at least fifteen other places that have better views than this."

Natasha looks over to see you had shown up with a disapproving look on your face.

"I think we might have to settle," Natasha gives you a self-deprecating smile that shows all too much that this is the only way.

"I don't settle."

With that, another voice comes on the radio.

"Glad you think the view is nice, hopefully, you think this is much better," Fury comes in with a Helicarrier in view. "Nice, right? I pulled her out of the mothballs with a couple old friends. She's dusty, but she'll do."

"Fury, you son of a bitch!" Steve says with a smile.

"Ooh! You kiss your mother with that mouth?" Fury replies in teasing.

Natasha looks over to you, smiling as you come up to her.

"Did you know?" She asks, and you shrug, not wanting to tell her that you touched Tony.

"If Fury decided to show up at the farm with actually nothing else planned, I think we would have to vote him off the island," you offer instead.

"That's comforting," Fury sarcastically said.

"Anytime," you reply.

Within seconds, lifeboats are deployed, and everyone is helping with the evacuation.

"The odds aren't looking too great here," Thor interrupts. "The core is getting bombarded."

"Rhodey, get everyone on the Helicarrier!" Tony says as he flies towards Thor to help.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"This is exactly what I wanted. All of you against all of me. How could you possibly hope to stop me?"

"Like the old man said," Tony looks at Steve. "Together."

The bots begin to rush towards everyone, and you swallow.

"Wait, guys!" You hear David through the comms. "I...got it!"

Just like that, the bots stop dead in their tracks and power down before powering back up again.

This time, they turn their attention towards Ultron.

"Are you kidding me?" Ultron grumbles as the bots rush towards him, firing shots away that Ultron easily deflects.

Because The Vision burned him off the net, Ultron has no way of accessing the software David created to try to change the bots back to his side.

The Hulk rushes towards Ultron, punching him square in the chest and sending him flying miles away.

Everyone turns to look at each other as David blurs into the area with his laptop.

"I feel like we missed a very epic battle scene," Tony says, "like a defining moment in a movie."

"Oh, I'm sorry," David says sarcastically, "if you want, I can totally fix that for you."

"Nope, we're good," Steve says quickly. "We still need to get the stragglers, but if Ultron comes back to the core, we're doomed."

"I'll protect it," Wanda interjects, looking at you as she does. "There's no one better than me."

You nod as Clint looks at Nat.

"Nat, let's go," he nods outside. She looks at you, and you nod at her as it would be faster for you to find civilians on your own.

You look at David. "Alright, nerd, you're going with me. I think you had enough alone time for today."

"You are so ungrateful, oh my god."

"I love you," you smile.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Tony is using the extra bots to help push the rock further into the sky. If they can get it into space, using the heat seal would cause the least amount of damage to Sokovia.

"I can't believe I'm going into space again," Tony mumbled, glad he had made the adjustments to his suit so it would be suitable to go into space better this time.

He had been prepared since the alien invasion.

"Maybe you chose the wrong career path and should've become an astronaut instead," you joke, getting a low chuckle in return.

You had run the perimeter with David, seeing that there were no civilians left.

Natasha volunteered to try to convince The Hulk to either change back or get his ass on the Helicarrier. You would've volunteered, but you don't think The Hulk would be happy to see you, and you can't keep biting the man to force him to change back either.

"I think I can hear a woman screaming," David mumbled. "I'll go check."

He takes off, and you are about to head back when you hear shots fired in the distance. You turn and speed over.

You felt your stomach dropping when you approach the scene. Everything seems to happen in slow motion.

Ultron in his jet, shooting down at Clint, who has a little boy in his arms. You turn your head to see Pietro.

He looks at you, giving you a smirk that feels all too familiar like it's his last one.

Pietro is a step faster than you, he probably always will be. But that doesn't stop you. You force yourself to run. Run faster. Run harder. The sheer amount of force causes a sickening crack in your legs, but you make it just in time.

Pietro only gets shot once through his stomach before you push him out of the way and cover Clint and the child.

The shooting stops as Ultron flies away.

The silence settles, and Clint looks up to see you standing straight before him. You've been shot all over, multiple times in multiple areas.

You suddenly puke up blood as you fall to your knees.

Pietro immediately gets up from the ground rushing over to you, catching you in his arms.

"Why did you do that?!" He yells at you, hands over your body, but he doesn't know which areas to stop the bleeding.

"You idiot," you tell him. "Can you heal from being shot? I don't think so."

Though you say that, the only thing that healed, even though rather slowly, was the crack in your leg.

"You're not healing," Clint says, his tone urgent. He looks at you as blood pours out. "Why aren't you healing?"

"She doesn't have enough blood in her system."

Clint turns over to see David, looking horrified. He kneels down, taking you from Pietro's arms.

"I told you, you fucking idiot, that we should've just taken more blood bags from the hospital," David scolds you.

"This is hardly the time for, 'I told you so,'" You reply weakly.

"Get the kid onto the boat," David looks at Clint and then looks at Pietro. "You need to go collect your sister. There are no more civilians, and we're reaching the stratosphere soon."

"What about--"

"I got this," David says as he bites into your neck. You hiss at the sudden pain. Clint and Pietro have more questions, but they do as David says and take off.

"You better pray to God that we make it back in time," David purses his lips as he pushes your sleeve up to bite in various places.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

The damage to Sokovia is still devastating. It's not entirely obliterated, and people will be able to rebuild their country.

The Hulk, unfortunately, had taken off on his own in stealth mode. He didn't want to be found.

It seems The Vision has taken care of completely destroying Ultron, taking this chapter to an end.

It's not the perfect ending, but it could be a lot worse.

There was only one problem left.

You were dying.

Or at least, on your way to either going completely feral for blood to help you heal or going to a deep slumber until you were fed.

Either one was on the table at this point.

"What do we do?" Natasha asks David sharply as they're still in the air being transported back.

They were on the Helicarrier in their own private section away from the people as they didn't know what you were going to do.

"I only temporarily closed her wounds to stop the bleeding," David tells everyone, explaining why he bit you earlier. He was injecting his healing venom. "Venom doesn't quite work the same way on vampires as it does on humans. She still has a lot of internal bleeding that won't stop, and the only thing that can stop it is if she drinks blood."

"We don't have any blood bags on here!" Steve says as he looks at you, full of worry.

"We could...we could cut and drain our own blood," Natasha looks at you before looking back at David. "She can drink the blood as long as she's not biting us, right?"

David purses his lips as if to consider it but then shakes his head. "She's too badly wounded, it won't be enough. Plus, none of you are in the state to lose any more blood, even if you guys all donate. I can heal your wounds, but I can't make your body produce more blood."

"Then what do we do?" Natasha wants to scream. She can't lose you. She just can't.

At that moment, Pietro and Wanda come in. Pietro can hardly stand up himself, so Wanda is supporting him. They had heard part of the conversation as they came in.

Pietro looks at you, face full of anguish because you're only like this because you saved him.

You're tense on the table, occasionally arching your back up in pain and need. David is holding you down by your arm in case you suddenly get a burst of energy and massacre everyone in this room for blood.

Wanda looks at you, jaw clenched.

The feeling of loss is threatening her on her doorstep. You had saved Pietro, God knows if she could survive to lose her only family.

But Wanda was not ready to let you go either.  

It has occurred to Wanda that outside of Pietro, the only person in this world that may understand her, believe in her, protect her, care for her...would be you.

There was something there, something undefined and frightening. Wanda was sure you felt it too with her, though ignoring it for Natasha.

David looked at Wanda. He knew that he shouldn't.

Yet before he could even stop himself, Wanda looks sharply over at him, catching his thoughts.

You would be entirely beyond pissed at him.

It would cause a whole new set of problems for everyone.

He was sure you would rather die.

But David wasn't willing to risk the chance of you going feral, which was almost guaranteed at this point, or your death.

He just wasn't.

"She can drink my blood," Wanda says, drawing everyone's attention. Wanda was the only person who hadn't sustained any significant damage or got shot. She could afford to lose blood.

"What?" Steve looks at David, who has his lips pursed.

"It would work, wouldn't it?" Wanda also looks at you, your eyes glowing a red she's all too familiar in seeing in herself. "It would be even better than drinking from a blood bag to feed directly from me."

Wanda doesn't fully understand what you are, or the concept of vampires, but she catches pieces here and there from everyone around the room.

And there's a feeling of intrigue and possession that flutters knowing that she was the only one you could drink blood from, aside from her brother.

Pietro grips his sister's arms tighter, torn because if you could drink her blood, you could drink his, but he was also in no shape to lose any more blood.

Wanda pats his arms to assure him she'll be fine. Pietro leans against the wall as Wanda comes closer to you.

"It...would, but..." David's eyes shift over to Natasha.

Natasha clenches her jaw.

The words about how feeding can be an incredibly intimate and private act come back to her.

It's not that Natasha is particularly jealous of Wanda in that way. She's more jealous that she can't do anything to help you herself.

Natasha can't muster the words out of her mouth, so she tersely nods.

With that, Wanda stands right next to your lying body on the bed.

"Everyone, stand back," David says, trying to keep you still, but it's like you can smell how close to feeding you are.

The burst of energy does come, but you use to break out of David's grip as you fling him across the room.

"Shit!" David yells, convinced that you're going to kill Wanda to drain her blood. He stands up, reading to try to fight you even though it would be a losing battle.

But he stops.

You merely stand before Wanda, her face in your hands as you tilt her head up to expose her neck.

You press your nose against her neck, taking a long inhale as you purr at the scent.

Wanda can hear alarm bells in her head that tell her you're a predator, and she's your prey, but she doesn't tremble. Instead, she brings her hands up to hold your wrists as if to keep them in place.

You chuckle throatily, attitude nothing like your usual self, "How brave."

Wanda swallows slowly, the action very visible as the muscles in her neck move.

"It was you who taught me that I could be a hero," she says quietly as if it's only for your ears.

The words seem to trigger something in you as you sink your teeth into her neck, a mouthful of blood rushing into you.

It's been too long, you almost forgot what it was like.

It was hot in your mouth, as fresh as it was.

You could feel a warm body being pressed you, hear a heart beating, and smell the arousal.

A deep moan left Wanda's mouth, unable to control it. A hot, liquid fire shot down to her lower stomach, pooling in her gut.

Wanda couldn't describe how it felt, what she was experiencing, but you were doing something to her as you drank from her, holding her close to you.

You suddenly lift her into the air, wrapping her legs around your waist as you blurred over to the drawer cabinet against the wall, pushing Wanda up on it roughly. Your hands held her possessively.

Wanda was pressed to the wall as she sat on the cabinet, her legs still wrapped against you tightly as she fisted her hand into the back of your hair.

Everyone watched in astonishment of the act, David biting on his tongue as he looked at Natasha, who had no expression on her face to indicate what she was feeling.

Blood was rushing into your mouth, and it was delicious, making you delirious, but that didn't stop you from realizing there was a crowd in the room watching you feed, watching Wanda unravel.

You released your mouth from her neck.

"Leave," you demanded lowly and roughly, hardly coherent before you resume sinking your teeth back into Wanda.

Natasha stared at you, you seemed lost in your own world as you fed, and Natasha knows that you are only like this due to how injured you are.

Still.

As everyone leaves the room, Natasha looks at the two of you once more. Wanda's hand is buried in your hair while she's arching into you.

As she exits the room, Natasha catches Wanda's eyes, staring at her intensely with an unknown meaning in them before her eyes flutter close just as the door shuts.

PART XI

[whentherewerebicycles]

wow okay i am skipping the lingerie party lol and am instead going to just briefly jot down some thoughts before i go to sleep and wake up at 5 for my flight tomorrow morning. jesus christ i have ONE MILLION thoughts and feelings about this weekend. i want to preface this by saying that on the whole, it was a fine social experience! it was nowhere near as awkward or painful as i was expecting. or like, parts of it were painful, but it was 100% to do with my own complicated feelings about literally every part of this tradition and the wedding industry in general lol, and not anything to do with the people themselves. the other women were friendly and very welcoming, i made an event best friend who was wonderful company, and it was really fun to get to spend time with both my sister-in-law and her older sister, who was so charming and wonderful. i’m glad i came even though thinking about the $$ i spent on this trip makes me physically gag.

but okay i want to just record some THOUGHTS that maybe i will continue unpacking with some distance. i feel likeeeee okay here are my thoughts.

the social norms around femininity are just a fucking minefield and i feel like i really just gotta keep walking back the impulse to judge other women for the choices they make as they navigate around the manifold traps and snares and half-buried landmines that constitute the landscape of being a woman. like jesus christ. it’s so fucked up, it’s so fucked up, the received and socially enforced norms of femininity are just so fucked up. I think ALL THE FUCKING TIME of this margaret atwood poem i love so much, which was REALLY on my mind this weekend:

How can I teach her some way of being human that won’t destroy her?

I would like to tell her, Love is enough, I would like to say, Find shelter in another skin.

I would like to say, Dance and be happy. Instead I will say in my crone’s voice, Be ruthless when you have to, tell the truth when you can, when you can see it.

I feel like the first bit was very much on my mind throughout the weekend, but those last three lines have come to the forefront over the course of this last day, as i have tried to do some Thinking about what i observed/experienced/felt this weekend. whether or not this is what it means in the context of the poem, tell the truth when you can, when you can see it, expresses something of my complex feelings: I don’t know that I can tell the truth about femininity because I don’t know that I can see it. i am both too close to it/still emotionally entangled in it and too far from it to know which parts of it are ‘real’ and which parts are just performance.

i feel like one thing that struck me this weekend, in ways that i don’t know if i’ve noticed as much before, was that so much of the things women say to each other or do in these social contexts is performative, and they know on some level it’s a performance, but we are all going through the motions of doing and saying the expected things anyway. that has not always been clear to me. i have spent so much of my own life as a woman thinking that other women perfectly, seamlessly, naturally embodied the norms of femininity, and i was the only one (or part of a group of only ones) who couldn’t remember my lines, or kept fumbling my cues, or felt so painfully, self-consciously aware that i was playing a role that i could never deliver a convincing performance. but this weekend, after the initial social panic had passed, i started trying to get out of my own head a little bit and look for things that disproved the very strong theory i had brought into the weekend. and of course then i started seeing more and more of the little moments where women say one thing and do another, or profess one belief/conviction but then the whole corpus of their lived experiences and choices contradicts that stated belief, or whatever. and also just like, moments of pathos, where someone i had judged harshly at the beginning of the weekend offhandedly revealed something about her past that really changed my perception of her, or at least made me think like, ah god, i have to have empathy for and with this person, because i think she might be a complex person just like me, with an intricate inner life that her performance partially reveals and partially occludes from view, and agh, it sucks to have to think of people as complicated instead of as safely two-dimensional & easy to dismiss, and the reason it sucks is because then it forces you to realize that you share more with this person than you’d like to admit, and that some of your wounds are the same, even if you dealt with those wounds (the wounds of girlhood, or rather the emotional wounds that our culture inflicts upon girls, which then become tangled up in complex and painful ways with the lived experience of girlhood itself) in really different ways.

but also ugh. we are all performing gender norms but there is just something that does not feel playful at all about embodying conventional femininity. i can’t think of a better way to phrase that right now but it’s like.. the performance isn’t fun. it doesn’t seem to be fun. i don’t know that anyone here was having fun doing it, even if they were having fun being with each other. but it was like doing the intensely gendered social rituals was like, the price of admission? like it was the toll we had to pay to be together spending time in the company of other women? i don’t know man but it fucking exhausts me. like i can push myself to stretch my genuine empathy and sense of solidarity with other women much further than my knee-jerk judgmental reaction, but i can’t ever get to a place where i find any of those social rituals anything other than fucking exhausting. they feel so fucking joyless. they feel like things that many women have internalized as ‘things we must do in order to have relationships with other women.’ (please do not even get me started on how exhausting heteronormativity is i think i could write an entire other essay on how women use these bachelorette party-type rituals to spend time with their closest female friends, but the whole event is still implicitly organized around men, and these women’s male partners are still positioned as the priority in their lives, and the whole event is framed as like, a last burst of intense closeness between women before the bride is delivered over to her husband. like i KNOW that this is not how women think of it but all the RHETORIC of the bachelorette party, the little events and rituals and games, the little comments everyone makes all fucking weekend, good fucking lord, my jaw is so TENSE.)

anyway god i just AGHHHH. idk sorry this is definitely not coherent at ALL because i’m tired and still need a bit more distance/time to process some of this. i guess here is one last thing i want to register before i sleep. i am in my 30s now and i am living a life that is so, so far removed from the social world i grew up in. marriage is not a norm among my friend group, almost all of my female friends are queer women, many women i know are not partnered and have no interest in being partnered, and the friends who are in heterosexual relationships tend to be in very gender-balanced relationships or slightly nontraditional relationships where it feels like both partners have engaged in conscious reflection about what they want their relationship to look/feel like. also i now date women, am out as a lesbian, and spend most of my time teaching/working with queer- and trans/nonbinary-identified kids.

so like, the world i live in now is just so different from the world i grew up in. and sometimes it is easy for me to kind of downplay the intensity of my own gender distress as a teen and young adult, or to sort of - act like it was a phase in my life that had much more to do with me than with the social environment i lived in. i don’t mean ‘phase’ in a dismissive ‘those feelings weren’t real’ kind way, but more like, ‘oh that was just part of the normal growing pains of figuring out who you are and what kind of person you want to be as an adult - everybody pretty much goes through some version of that.’ it’s true that everyone DOES go through some version of that, as just like, part of the process of individuation in that age range. but also like. idk man. being back in this environment - straight white women from the midwest and south, all engaging in the rituals of heterosexual white femininity - was just so intense and so MUCH, and it brought back a flood of feelings and visceral memories that i feel like i will need to spend some time sorting through over the next few weeks. like, what i experienced back then really WAS gender distress, and it was so, so distressing. i spent the years from age 11ish to 24ish existing with this constant lowgrade baseline feeling of wanting to claw my own fucking skin off because my own gendered body felt like such a prison, and i sometimes felt like i literally wanted to destroy my own body because i could not yet conceive of an alternative to inhabiting that body or playing the role that had been handed down to me. until i started reading queer memoirs and inhaling lesbian media and (especially) reading about queer femme identities, i literally did not have an image or any kind of felt sense of what another way of inhabiting my own body might look/feel like. i literally could not imagine it!!!

and that is why the distress feels so distressing, and becomes internalized in such violent ways, i think. because it’s the blind, mindless panic of a trapped and wounded animal. except that you lack any real understanding of the larger social forces at work, or any language with which to describe or conceptualize what social norms are or how they’re enforced. so in your mind, the only thing you can see wounding you is your own gendered body, or the way that gendered body is socially 'read’ by others. and that is why you want to claw your own fucking skin off, just literally dig your nails into your own flesh and claw it the fuck off. because you can’t see a norm, but you can see your gendered body, and you can see the ways that it causes other people to react to you, or treat you, or hold you to a certain set of expectations, and so in your mind you are like: this must be destroyed. in your mind you are like, the only way out is to get out of this fucking body, but that’s impossible, surely, you can’t get out of your own body, so you have to settle for starving it and self-harming it and ruthlessly punishing it in a thousand terrible ways, because you might not be able to leave your girl’s body behind, but you can make it suffer and pay for what it’s done to you. 

i am old enough now, and have spent enough time thinking and writing about those feelings, to identify them when they arise again, and to get the necessary distance from them so that i can say, what i want to destroy are the norms themselves, and the distress they cause, and not the body that has done nothing to me but be me. so i am not quite as sucked under as i used to be. but i think that there is something about the violence and intensity of those feelings that i forget sometimes, or misremember with age and distance. it’s easy to be a little bit patronizing to my younger self (or by extension to my younger students sometimes), because i now live in a social world that is largely arranged in ways that minimize rather than intensify or amplify gender distress. but when you have no choice in how to arrange your life, and no language with which to understand what is happening to you or what you are experiencing, and no frame of reference to help you understand that this is a period in your life and not forever, and no models you can look to in order to discover alternative ways of inhabiting your body or arranging your life... my god, that’s quite different from being an adult with a wide range of experiences and with much greater autonomy over your own body and life. anyway idk i need to keep thinking but now i must go to bed and try to sleep five hours before the plane.

[bitch-for-a-rainbow]

So there's a blanddcheadcanons post that says that "Kara is the mortal avatar of Rao" and I really don't like it, especially in the context of SG 3x04 (The Faithful). At best, as was pointed out to me by a friend with whom I discussed this post, the House of El is likely blessed and somewhat sponsored by Rao, which probably doesn't do much but produce Krypton's greatest heroes, given what the word "El" **means** in Kryptonian. I'm interested in your thoughts on this (pls post your answer).

    I reject the headcannon solely because if it were true it would mean Coville was right and I fucking hate that bitch.

     In all seriousness, though, this is an idea I've seen a lot and I'm not a huge fan of. I don't know much about Raoism beyond what appears in the show and that which can be inferred off of the show. One thing I would point out though is that El in Kryptonian (while obviously being intended to mean God by the original comic writers) can mean Sun or Stars, and since the Kryptonians in the show are, as far as I can tell, monotheistic, and worshipped only one particular star, the El family is not necessarily named God. It would, however, signify their enormous prestige on Krypton and contribute to the famous El pride (or rather, arrogance). I’m not sure it would necessarily have to mean anything more than that-- that the Els are a respected house who have produced a variety of successful politicians, civil servants, and scientists. And (this time reaching a little bit) that they are perhaps so old and respected that their house name was once a title. 

      There is a certain allure to the theory, for sure. Kara is a paragon character. She always, always does what she thinks is right, regardless of the cost, personal or global, and regardless of what other people might think of it. She has a very direct moral compass, and there are only a handful of times when she doesn’t follow it, all of which involve saving Lena. Ship who you want, but it is notable that Kara routinely prioritzes Lena’s life over that of others given the rarity of that happening otherwise. She never even considered breaking Rick Thompson’s father out of prison when he kidnapped Alex, and all he’d committed was bank robbery. Kara has lines she does not cross (though murder is clearly not one of them). She is a character that has seen some of the worst that sentient life is capable of, has seen more death and suffering than most people could imagine, and she came out of it with an all-encompassing desire to protect others. She lives to give people hope. Plus, the humor of having Kara-- the one person most offended by the idea of being an Avatar of Rao-- turn out to be an Avatar of Rao is great.

       But, I would also say that having Kara want to do good because she is the avatar of a benevolent god is reductive and not particularly true to her character. It is true that helping and protecting people is a large part of the core of who Kara is. But there is a difference between altruism and the self-destructive, bordering of suicidal desperation to save absolutely everyone that Kara practices. And to anyone who doubts the suicidal bit, I direct you to the season 1 finale where Kara literally goes on a goodbye tour because she thinks if she goes out to fight Non she’ll die. She still goes because she has hope, but that hope is that she can at least save Earth with her life. She doesn’t fight because she is certain in the ultimate victory of good and justice. She does it because she more afraid to lose another family than she is to die. Kara doesn’t become Supergirl and risk her own life because she believes in good, she does it because she can’t stand to listen to people suffer-- because she has suffered. To use Alex’s words in 1x13 “You fight everyday to keep people from struggling like you have.” Notably also in 1x13, Kara wakes up from the Black Mercy and her first words are “Who did this to me?” and then she goes after Non in what could arguably be described as a homicidal rage-- a rage that is fueled entirely for personal reasons, not the greater good of Earth (though that comes as an added benefit), which is.... not very befitting the avatar of a benevolent god. 

     A major part of season 1 is Kara dealing with grief and rage. She nearly breaks a guy's arm in episode 6 because he screamed at her for damaging his car, to hell with the children he'd almost hit with it. In season 3's Midvale flashbacks we see her first put both hands through a lunch table, then attack Jake when she suspects him for Kenny's death. She gets better at controlling it as the seasons progress, but during Crisis she very nearly melts Lex. Also not particularly godly of her. 

     Then there is the fact that so much of who Kara is is shaped by fear: fear of the government, fear of humanity, fear of abandonment, and fear of herself. In her civilian life, Kara is, for the most part, unnoticeable. She's polite, soft-spoken, doesn't wear a lot of bold colors or styles, and is often a pushover. As shown by her encounter with Red Kryptonite, Kara would not dress or speak the same way to people without the pressure of hiding her identity (though much of her dialogue is purely the loss of her "don't be an asshole" filter, some of it is stuff she had every right to say before and just didn't). I have always found that episode to be very interesting purely for the fact that Kara doesn't actually seem to be seeking harm on others so much as seeking their attention. Her argument with Alex is almost entirely about how much she hates having to hide and pretend to be less than she is. Kara drops Cat off the balcony and then catches her. She attacks the police when they point weapons at her but doesn't kill or even hurt them that badly, instead of destroying the car they're using as shelter. Red-K removed her inhibitions, made her angrier, yes, but if her goal was to actually hurt people, she could have done so-- would have done so, and with great ease. She goes to a public bar and uses super strength to smash bottles by flicking peanuts. Why do that at a crowded bar? Why not just flick potato chips at the windows in her own apartment?

      This is Kara at her absolute worst-- but does she seek out the DEO agents who shot her out of the sky? Does she go after Maxwell Lord or Non? No. She tries to make people pay attention to her. Her most shameful and hideous desire is for people to give her respect. (Admittedly, respect gained through fear, but still.). Kara's a nice person-- much, much nicer than average-- but a lot of that "nice" is just her avoiding conflict to avoid attention.

      Kara is a good person. Kara inspires people. But that is because Kara gets up every day and chooses to be good and to inspire. It's one of the reasons I enjoy Non as a villain so much-- he and Astra are Kara's narrative foils. They also remember Krypton and grieve its loss. They also were trapped in the Phantom Zone. But where Kara had the Danvers to convince her that some good people existed and would risk themselves just to help others, Non and Astra had Alura sentencing them to eternal suffering rather than helping them save their planet (through the means they thought necessary) and then landed on Earth and found it headed on the same path as the planet they'd just lost. Kara had people to help her grieve. Non and Astra were surrounded by misery. They lost hope. Kara discovered it.

     Kara is the Paragon of Hope because she has been hopeless. Because she has suffered so much, seen so much, and because she chooses to believe in a better future. She didn't have hope her first time in the Phantom Zone. She didn't even have hope for a while on earth. From what we can gather, Kara's choice to start actually believing in the future was a gradual shift that occurred sometime after Kenny's death and has lasted her ever since. For Kara, hope is learned. She chose to hope and she won't let it go, and to assign that incredible victory off to her being a God is an insult to her growth and to her character. 

   Now I personally thought “The Faithful” handled this concept very well. 3x04 is one of my favorite episodes of television in general, let alone in Supergirl. Season 3 is my second favorite season, and that says a lot for its good episodes when the bad of season 3 is so, so very bad (To say nothing of the episode to episode production value, we have the waste of Argo, Mon El’s return as obviously he’s grown he has a beard Mon El, and whatever the hell was going on with Kryptonian genetic engineering eclipse causing witches). To this day I don’t know why Kara had magic dreams. The show did nothing to explain it and I can’t imagine up a reason. 

     But “The Faithful” works because it highlights the whole paragon part of who Kara is. When you realize that every person in the room of Coville’s cult is a person she has personally saved-- that hits hard. Especially since only a fraction of the people she’s saved would ever set foot inside that building with the totally not-creepy, entirely wholesome way they deliver the invitations. (“Your daughter is special. She has been chosen. As have you.”) It works because it focuses on how the average human must view Kara, the ones who don’t see her argue with her sister over potstickers and crush her phone when she gets mad. It works because of how desperately hard Kara tries to be a human. It works because the writers know that we, the audience, do not see Kara as anything but a regular person with irregular abilities: a kind and remarkably devoted person, but not a god. 

[mintly]

Thank you so much for tagging me @princip1914! These questions were looking really fun to respond to!!

1. How many works do you have on AO3? Eleven!

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 39,406! (It's-not-much-but-it's-honest-work.jpeg)

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they? I've written for 3 fandoms on AO3: Good Omens, Steven Universe and Sakana. I have a handful of half finished fics for other fandoms that never made it so far, alas.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Not Your Nan's Demon Summoning (Good Omens, G, 655) Crowley was sulking. He and Aziraphale could be having a cuddle by the telly with truffles from that little shop they liked in Brighton, but no. Instead of a cozy night in, all he had was an increasingly lukewarm mug of coffee and the indignity of being trapped inside what appeared to be a grandmother’s sitting room.

For Fear of Burning (Good Omens, E, 1k) After the thermos was delivered, the tension of a hundred years of fear and pain crackled between them like fireworks. Then it snapped, popping and sizzling, catching flame in a burst of desire. They hadn’t even made it under the sheets this time.

Before We Turn to Dust (Steven Universe, T, 6.1k) Their days were dirt roads and endless blue sky. It would be freedom, except it wasn't. Sapphire is a quiet country storefront and Ruby dreams.

Sentiments of Great and Indefinite Scale (Good Omens, T, 8.3k, WIP) Crowley likes Aziraphale. He really, really likes him. It's terrible. He can't help it if his one friend is an angel, but also a bastard, and that he really wants to hold his hand and run his fingers the feather-soft curls of his hair and kiss him until he's breathless. It's not his fault that Aziraphale is entirely irresistible. Crowley finds any excuse to pull him closer, and Aziraphale, most of the time, lets him. Isn't friendship amazing? - Six thousand years of dates and Crowley misses the memo.

Shiver at Your Touch (Good Omens, E, 3.9k) It was a new millennium, and the London Eye had recently opened to the public. Aziraphale had been hinting for ages that Crowley might take him. "Crowley, you must take us to the opening," Aziraphale said.

5. Do you respond to comments, why or why not? Yes! Immediately omg. As soon as I see a comment, I usually respond to it! I just really appreciate each and every one; it's honestly overwhelming to me sometimes that people read my work and maybe even enjoy it enough to leave me a kind word. Also if I do it immediately I won't forget to respond, which I might otherwise whoops.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? Oooh, I hope the end of Rupture and Rapture hits the hardest, but For Fear of Burning gives it a run for its money. I love an angsty, longing oneshot!

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic? Thankfully not hate, not really!

9. Do you write smut? If so what kind? I only started writing smut with my Good Omens fic, and I suppose any sort? I'm still not particularly assured in my smut writing abilities, but I've found it's fun to incorporate that sort of intimacy and vulnerability into a story! It can be so powerful, with happiness or longing or sadness, etc.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Oh gosh, not that I know of!

11. Have you ever had a fic translated? I've been asked before, but I never saw the final result. So maybe!!

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Not yet! @caffeinechic and I have something on the backburner though!! ONE DAY.

13. What’s your all time favourite ship? ffsjdifhsudf if I'm honest, it's my favorite in whatever fandom I'm in at the moment, but I have such a fondness for all my old ships too. I really do love Aziraphale/Crowley though, ever since I first read the book.

14. What’s a WIP you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? I only have one WIP (Sentiments) and I will finish it!!! I promise!!! I am making progress, I swear.

15. What are your writing strengths? I like to think that I'm good at imagery; I spend a lot of time trying to pick the proper words to convey a certain vibe, especially verbs! I also work a lot on rhythm and sentence variation so that certain lines Hit Different u know, so I hope that comes through! I just love working on the fine detail of each sentence omg.

16. What are your writing weaknesses? SLOW. I'm so slow. I find it really hard to finish something after about the 2/3 mark and that last third is a slog oftentimes. It's something I'm working on as I try to finish fics and shrink my WIP folder.

But on a technical level, I really want to work on improving story structure so that I feel more confident and able to write longer works! I'm a short story author at my core, but I'd love to write something novel-length one day.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? I think that it's important to keep your audience in mind and the purpose for including it! Using another language for a brief phrase or exchange can do a lot to establish a character or setting, but I also think the meaning should be easily gleaned or immediately translated within the context of the story. There're exceptions of course, but that's just how I'd do it (and plan to)!

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for? Ooooh my gosh. Pokemon Special/Pokemon Adventures, which is the Pokemon manga! You can no longer find these on fanfiction.net, which is for the best. I was very proud of them back then though, and I love that it set me onto writing as a hobby!!

19. What’s your favourite fic you’ve written? This is such a difficult question omg. At the moment I'm still really proud of Rapture and Rupture, but I'm also still very fond of the depth I managed to add in my first Good Omens fic, When We Fall In.

Phew! Okay, I think I'll tag @fremulon and @forineffablereasons, if either of you want to play! I'd also be happy to hear from anyone else! I really do love to hear authors talk about their work!! TELL ME YOUR PASSIONS I WILL LISTEN

[butterflymar]

DAY 2: FAVORITE BL DRAMA

I have quite a few... I can’t choose just one so bare with me lol

Life Senjou No Bokura

Synopsis According to MyDramaList: One day after school, the serious Ito and the child-like Nishi meet by chance, as each endeavors to remain walking  on the sidewalk`s white line. As time goes by, Ito recognizes he is drawn to Nishi in a way that is new to him. Nishi, for his part, is frustrated that they only get to meet on the sidewalk. Ito decides to act upon his feelings and kisses a surprised Nishi, who agrees they need to walk side by side for a change. The sparks between them are undeniable as their relationship blossoms in high school, survives the college years, and matures into adulthood. A deeply moving work that bears witness to loving partners, whose unchanging feelings must co-exist within a world of changing realities.

My Personal Thoughts: I already wrote a review for this so I am going to re-share some of those thoughts here. This is one that I have watched countless times already. They went by the manga for mostly all of the episodes and I appreciated seeing that. They gave more context for certain details that may have been lost while reading the manga and translated it to screen. I think they depicted the age gaps well too. For 4 episodes only, I feel that they did a great job including the most important aspects. Actually now that I think of it, I would have loved to see more of them in their early 20s depicted on screen because that was like one of there honeymoon phases and I’m a hopeless romantic lol but that’s just a personal preference not complaining. Also, the show stopped at age 40 and they could have gone on throughout there entire lives but I understand why they chose not too. The manga is great as well!!! I think that the main actors depicted beautiful true love very well. They had amazing chemistry. Japanese BL’s have that special spark about them that I love. I also loved that it showed there relationship from high school till there later years. I don’t see that a lot with BL’s. They usually just stick to one time period. The aspect about them being connected by a line in relation to there love was a nice touch as well. I am glad that it has a happy ending as well. This is a pretty quick one to watch and a great one at that!!! If you haven’t watched it yet, I would highly recommend it!!!

I Told Sunset About You 

Synopsis According to MyDramaList: Teh and Oh-aew were best friends until a boyhood line of reasoning turned them into rivals. Years later as they're preparing for university admissions, both pursuing interests in the field of Communication Arts, the two meet in a Chinese language class. Their reunion awakens complicated and unstable feelings.

My Personal Thoughts: Same as above, I already wrote a review for this so I am going to re-share some of those thoughts here. This is DEFINITELY one of my top BL shows of the year 2020. This is such a beautiful masterpiece of a show!!! I remember when the preview trailer first came out… I was already hooked!!! I was on the lookout for it and it did not disappoint me one bit when it finally started. I looked forward to seeing it every week. It made me feel all of the emotions. I was up here sitting in my room crying over everything. I don’t think any other BL has made me this emotional before in my life. The two lead actors really DELIVERED!!! I could feel every single stare, every single body movement, and every single touch. You could cut the TENSION with a knife!!! No one couldn’t tell me that there wasn’t a magnetic true love between these two. I know this sounds cliche but it's like they were destined to be together from when they were childhood friends. Also, I would love to see them in future projects!!! The cinematography in this show is TOP FREAKIN NOTCH!!! Every single scene is just so beautifully shot. The cinematography alone makes me want to cry lol I saw somewhere that someone said the filming of the show reminded them of an indie film and I totally agree!!! The writing and directing on this show was impeccable to me!!! No cringy dialogue and every single line served its purpose well. This is movie grade writing. I also wanted to quickly just say that I loved the attention and callback to details throughout like with the tutoring book that Teh made for Oh-aew that was left empty by the end of episode 4, the flower that was supposed to be colored the same as Tan’s garment but Teh colored it red because he was thinking of Oh-aew, the rubbing of Oh-aew’s back when he sniffles, the references to Teh’s favorite actor, and the use of Chinese phrases to get meaning across. I could go on and on but wow I just loved how they really connected all of the details throughout. I can’t wait for Season 2!!!

Theory of Love

Synopsis According to MyDramaList: Third is a filmology major and a member of the Savage Team along with his best friends Two, Bone, and Khai, but he has a secret. Third has been secretly in love with Khai for years. For three years, he has kept his secret love in his heart, silently supporting and loving Khai while knowing there is absolutely no future between them since Khai is as straight as a streetlight pole and also an absolute player. To make matters worse, Khai has a "no dating friends" policy. How long can Third love Khai silently while watching Khai bring a different girl home every night? Third has tried to see Khai as just a friend. But has failed time and time again. Because as easy as it is to fall in love, to stop is just as hard.  Maybe even harder. That is until Third learns a secret that breaks his heart completely. But when Third decides to stop, Khai decides to start.

My Personal Thoughts: As sad as this show can make me feel at times, I love rewatching it. I still to this day think that it is one of the most well written BL’s that I have seen. Everything flows nicely and everything connects. Your not left wondering how you got from point A to point B. I thought the show had great character development especially when it came to Khai’s character towards the end of series. I know a lot of people had mixed feelings about his character due to how careless and dare I say stupid he acted at times but if he can make the audience hate him that much as a character... I would say he is doing something right!!! Gun’s acting never fails to amaze me!!! He really is one of the best actors I have seen. I know he had to be drained from all of that crying that he did throughout the show though lol It just goes to show that when you truly love someone you can’t just stop what you are feeling inside that easily no matter how the other person feels about you or treats you. As the old saying goes, love is blind. I also loved the friend group as well and Two and Bones side stories with the teacher and crush from school. They added to the shows greatness and didn’t take away from it. The friendship dynamics throughout the show was I feel something that really kept me engaged. The cast acted well together. There was no awkwardness or hesitation. I feel everyone bought there best for this drama. They incorporated the movie references so cleverly and I love how the title of each episode was the title of a real romance film. Just the overall theme of film was very intriguing to me. This drama left me filled with heartache and a rollercoaster of emotions but the ending is worth it!!!

HIStory3: Make Our Days Count

Synopsis According to MyDramaList: At first glance, high schoolers Xiang Hao Ting and Yu Xi Gu appear to be polar opposites: While Xiang Hao Ting is an outgoing, hot-headed extravert and some-time bully, Yu Xi Gu prefers to keep a low profile and focus on his schoolwork. They seem bound for totally different futures – the bookish Yu Xi Gu looks destined for academic success, while life is just a long popularity contest for Xiang Hao Ting. But a quirk of fate – and a crucial intervention by a female schoolmate – results in the two young men’s paths crossing. But there is more to both young men than first meets the eye. Xiang Hao Ting was not always this way. He started out as a perfect student until he discovered the joys of going off the rails. And Yu Xi Gu has a reason for being so aloof and studious: His parents died in a traffic accident while he was younger, and he is being fostered by his aunt. As such, he works hard to get good grades in an effort to win a scholarship and ease the financial burden on his relatives. Yu Xi Gu also works part-time at a convenience store, where his manager Liu Zhi Gang has developed a crush on a man he has met at the gym. Back at school, meanwhile, Yu Xi Gu and Xiang Hao Ting find themselves drawn together, and passions ignite. The former notices that he has the unique ability to bring Yu Xi Gu out of his shell – and becomes intent on melting his cold-as-ice exterior. What will happen when their two worlds collide? And can love be the catalyst that helps bring these two unlikely students together – as their high school days draw to a close?

My Personal Thoughts: I will stand by this notion for all of my days but this show is one of the best shows I have seen PERIOD!!! Not even best BL shows I have seen but just in general. It highkey saddens me that it is rated at an 8.1 right now on MyDramaList due to how it ended when other than that... it’s a top notch show. This was one that I watched as it was airing and I would get excited to see it every week. My clown self should have known by the title “Make Our Days Count” that some mess was about to occur but I didn’t pick up on it. Now, I just disregard the last episode (WE DON’T KNOW HER!!!). You can just tell that they had a great budget for this series. The production was on point. It had great cinematography, great storylines, and it felt realistic too. The main couples acting was OFF THE CHARTS AMAZING. I loved the whole opposites attract thing going on. Although the show was set in high school... it almost didn’t feel like it nor did it have those typical clichés going on. I liked how it dealt with topic of LGBTQ+ acceptance as well. I wasn’t so sure about the side couples relationship at first but I grew to love them as time went on. One last thing I wanted to point out was that even though I am always looking for a happy ending... I learned from this show that not everyone can get a happy ending. That’s not how life works sadly. In real life, there have been a lot of people who were truly in love and lost there partners tragically. Although it may be hard to accept the outcome, it is something that happens in real life. This is a drama that you appreciate even more as time goes on. It truly is a gem of a series!!!

TharnType

Synopsis According to MyDramaList: Type Thiwat is a handsome freshman with a passion for football and spicy food. Although he’s a friendly boy, he hates gay people because, in his childhood, he was molested by a man. His life turns upside down when the new academic year of college brings along a charismatic roommate, Tharn Kirigun. Tharn is a gorgeous, compassionate music major, who is also openly gay. When Type learns this, he is determined to make Tharn leave the dorm, as he won't live with a gay person. Tharn is equally determined not to give into Type's homophobic tantrums. With a gay guy and a homophobic guy that have to share a small space together for the rest of the year — what can possibly be the outcome of their story? Hatred? Or maybe love?

My Personal Thoughts: *Goes to hide in a corner* I know this drama is problematic and controversial as hell but it’s like a train wreck that you can’t turn  away from. What truly carries the show I feel is the chemistry between MewGulf. I don’t think I would have enjoyed the series as much if other actors were cast in those roles. They just exude confidence, passion, love, and lust. In terms of the storyline, I found it to be a chaotic occurrence of situations where I just had to know what was going to go on next. Everything that occurred had me intrigued for the next episode and so on and so forth. I loved Type’s character development. One quick thing I want to touch on was I know there were a lot of problematic things that happened which I will touch on at a later date but one thing I wish people were more understanding of was Type’s outbursts, thoughts, and feelings in certain situations. He was a victim of sexual assault so I felt the way he handled certain things was in response to what he had gone through as child and I think some viewers kind of missed that and were almost too harsh on him. Everyone processes and deals with trauma differently. This show went through so many twists and turns and I honestly lived for it especially the shocker towards the end of the series. I didn’t see that one coming at all!!! Despite all of its flaws, this show still holds a special place in my heart.

Honorable Mention:

Cherry Magic: As of today, this show has 4 episodes left and I think I am just going to come out and say that THIS IS MY FAVORITE BL OF THE YEAR!!! It’s a beautiful Japanese BL and I rewatch the old episodes while I wait for new ones to come out alot. It’s such a fluffy, heartwarming, and precious Bl series!!! I love it to pieces!!!

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Answers Found in Silence

Vincent licked his lips.

The blood tasted like iron, but the vision of the masterful painting before him absorbed his entire attention.

He loved paintings. He loved living vicariously through them. The rush it filled him with whenever his eyes followed every stroke of the brush, paint layered as passionate memories upon canvas, the sheer essence that the artist channeled into creating such masterpieces.

Seeing what they saw. Breathing what they breathed. Imagining what they must have heard at the time. Tasting what they sampled upon their tongues.

Absentmindedly, he licked his lips again, only now realizing how much blood must have sprayed his face upon bludgeoning a man to death. It took him out of his revelry. That taste of iron prevented him from embarking on another journey through the lens of the painting.

Vincent dabbed his lower lip, then inspected his fingertips, ensuring with a glance that it was indeed another man's blood.

He turned to the corpse splayed out on the marble floor behind him, in the middle of a pool of his own bodily fluids. Vincent scanned the dead body with silent contempt. His lip curled into a sneer. He shook his head in disbelief.

"Philistine," he muttered.

The knife that Sir Dorsey Dwyer had held now lay on the shiny floor beside him, underneath a reflective surface comprised of his own spilled lifeblood, pumped out to completion by his heart's merciless beating, throbbing until he had exhaled his last breath.

Dwyer had threatened to do harm with that knife. Not harm to Vincent—but to the painting. An act of aggression he could not tolerate. An act of spite which he would not suffer.

That they would not suffer.

"Yes," whispered his favorite voice. That sweetest voice. "You did well, my love. Revenge for a loved one he had lost, I can always fathom, but what he would have done to the painting never would have—"

"Brought him back," said Vincent, Lord of the Bailyview, seemingly to himself.

Nobody but him could hear the phantasmal companion whose sentence he had finished. He stood alone in that spacious hall, company only to his late colleague's corpse growing cold. Sparing little glance to the bent candelabra which had caved in Dwyer's skull, he turned to gaze at the painting again.

He said, "It is a bit of a bother though. I need to figure out how to get his sorry carcass out of here without getting caught red-handed, or our time together may just be spent in a cell in the Tower."

She stayed silent.

He rubbed thumb and bloodstained fingers together, marveling at the sensation of that warm slick fluid trapped between them. Though rare for him to take another person's life, he rarely felt anything even remotely related to remorse.

Like this painting.

A beautiful portrait of a quaintly handsome man. Staring off to the side through hazel eyes, head crowned by messy hair, garbed in a fancy dress likely donned just for the portrait's painter—or imagined, as it contrasted the rest of his appearance so.

The painter had clearly seen something in the motif of his masterpiece. Felt something for the man depicted on the canvas.

And the painter had been nobody less than the infamous Outer Wall Reaper. The murderer who had kept the city locked in a breathless fear, rendered masses afraid of the killer who stalked its streets by night, picking off people and making them disappear until only mangled bodies surfaced in the slums, organs missing.

And now, Vincent owned this painting, stolen from the Reaper's vandalized home by looters before an angry mob fully thrashed it. The piece of art had found its way into the private collection of this rich and handsome playboy.

"So fascinating," said she.

Orinrya.

"The painter? Or the subject?" he asked.

She rendered a whole aria, carried in the singsong of a single word as she replied, "Both."

He chuckled.

"So rare for us to glimpse what such a pure soul saw as attractive," she added.

"Pure soul?" scoffed Vincent. But he smiled.

"Yes. Just look at the way he painted every single hair on his head. What little attention he paid to the shirt's collar or the bow, while having slaved over the sheen he had seen on this man's skin. The hand that guided that brush also guided the needles and scalpels that took all those lives, in all those cold and dreary nights. The warmth of their blood, steaming in the snow—"

"You're right."

"Hm?"

"I see it," breathed Vincent.

He sighed. Shot another glance at the dead man on the floor, repeating his oath, "Philistine. To think—you almost robbed our world of this masterpiece. The single only painting the Reaper may have ever made."

Dwyer had been out of line; he had had no right to destroy it. Nobody did. The stupid fop had foolishly tried to put knife to the canvas, to slice it to ribbons in a fit of rage upon hearing who had painted the portrait. A petty act of revenge, as if it would have brought back his slain brother, the only wealthy victim whose life the Reaper claimed in his rampage through the slums. Caught with a night worker, no less, adding insult to injury.

And to imagine that a simple painting could have been the object of his impotent rage—no, they would never have suffered such petty revenge. After all, it was not the artwork that had taken his brother's life.

Snatching a gas lantern from the table, Vincent raised it in front of the painting and frowned. Though perfect for the simple sandalwood frame, this artificial light did not do the artwork itself any justice. The long, foggy night had swallowed the sun, and Vincent could not wait to behold the Reaper's artistry again in broad daylight.

In a way, the Outer Wall Reaper had just claimed another life. Even if only indirectly. Vincent smiled at that thought. That he had accidentally become the murderer's own instrument.

Almost as if on cue to disrupt his morbid amusement, someone knocked on the door.

Muffled through the entrance still closed, the butler spoke, "Milord, I heard—"

"It's fine, Perry. Brace yourself as you enter. Sir Dwyer had a," Vincent's words trailed off like these thoughts. He smiled again to himself before he finally finished the sentence. "He had an unfortunate accident."

He never turned around. The doors to the gallery opened and Perry entered. His shoes squeaked as he swiveled and froze in place, staring at the corpse.

"An accident with a candelabra, I see," said the butler with his usual measure of dripping sarcasm. "Looks like the poor chap fell backwards into it. Repeatedly."

Vincent chortled, still admiring the painting. He never understood how Perry found it in him to deliver such deadpan remarks without breaking out into laughter himself.

Their gazes met for a second, and as always, Vincent read no fear in Perry's eyes. They would never harm a hair on each other's heads, and knowing each other's dirty secrets assured mutual silence—or mutual destruction.

"What would you have me do about this mess, sir?"

Vincent clicked his tongue and shook his head.

"Pay no mind. Fetch me everything for some absinthe. I will take care of the late Sir Dwyer myself. And as you recall, he showed up here all drunk off his arse. I don't think anybody knows he even came here. And someone in the constabulary... still owes me a favor. I'll have it all sorted out soon, no worries."

"Despite the recent disaster at your party?"

"Oh, let them all talk. I love being the center of attention. Next thing you know, I'll be the headline of another lurid article," Vincent said, painting a picture in the air with a hand, fingers splayed as he envisioned the printed piece. "Painting me as the Outer Wall Reaper himself, while others rush to defend my name and trip over themselves in fabricating all the reasons why I would never harm a fly."

Vincent arched his brow as he flashed his loyal butler a twisted smile. The same involuntary expression to mark his face whenever he felt like he was winning a game. And he always won the games that people played in the rumor mill.

"I am less concerned about them, milord. And more about how difficult it will be to clean after the constabulary concludes their investigation." Perry raised his nose and stared down at it, gray cheeks reddening.

"Hm. I am terribly sorry about all that, Perry. You have my word; I'll hire someone to take care of it. Now—how about that absinthe?"

The butler emitted a grunt in recognition, bowed, and backed out of the gallery hall again, leaving Vincent alone with the corpse.

And Orinrya.

The door clicked as it shut completely.

"He's such a good friend of the family," she said. "Three generations, and now the old codger's stuck with handling your caprice."

She smiled through Vincent's own lips. He smiled to himself, as well.

"I'm sure he has his own share of amusements," he said. Focusing on the painting again, he asked, "Now, where do you think this one leads? It's just blank around the subject. Well, not entirely blank. There's some color, some suggestion of gloom. I'd wager he painted it just this same winter. But without background—no context. A blind journey. We've never done that before."

"And that's why we will, darling. You cannot resist."

He smiled even wider.

Orinrya was right. She knew his thoughts, reading them as clearly as if he had spoken them out loud, giving them air. She knew his capricious nature as well as he did, or perhaps even better. Knew he could not pass up on any opportunity to explore the unknown. He bored quickly of things familiar and always sought to visit a new horizon whenever it presented itself.

He flopped down onto the sofa with a heavy sigh, his velvety upholstered oasis in the middle of this opulent marble gallery. Surrounded by alabaster statues of ancient deities, and arrays of exquisite paintings that his family had amassed over all these years to plaster the high walls. The lights from gaslit lanterns cast pockets of eerie glow throughout the gigantic hall.

Vincent tapped his chiseled blood-splattered chin as he once more marveled at the craftsmanship that had gone into painting this portrait.

"What do think is his name? Or was?" he asked.

"Eric," she said. Giggled. "He looks like an Eric to me. And still alive, I feel."

Vincent chuckled.

"So, you're picking up on a name with an 'E'. Perhaps Egon? Egon. Hm. What a funny name," he mused.

"Edward. That must be it, for sure."

"How would you know?"

"Call it—intuition," she cooed.

"Or should I call it whispers? The things you hear from the beyond? You never answered, love. You never told me where you came from."

"And perhaps I never will," she breathed with melody, drawing out another smile from him.

The set of double doors opened into the gallery. The butler entered. Empty glasses and sugar cubes in a small metal cup tinkled and clattered until he arrived by the sofa's side. He set the contents of his tray down onto the table by the sofa, one by one, preparing everything for Vincent's ritual.

Before he could seize the bottle of green liquid to pour him a glass, Vincent raised a jewelry-clad hand to stop Perry.

"That'll be all. Thank you," he told him. "I'll take it from here."

Perry nodded, bowed again, and left the gallery, shedding not even a glance in the direction of Dwyer's corpse.

The doors clicked shut again.

"You know you don't need that, right?" asked Orinrya.

"Yes. But I just—I enjoy it too much. I like the taste. I associate it with our study of these pieces. With our journeys."

He chuckled again.

Perching a sugar cube atop the glass with the ornate spoon—and his family's crest of the eagle cut into the silver piece of specialized cutlery—he poured the sweet green spirit into his clear cup. The trickle of liquid tickled his senses.

And he lived for all manner of sensations.

"It is a lovely taste, I must concede," she said. "Particularly this bottle, this make. More than mere resemblance of licorice. Mint. Thyme? And a hint of other worlds. I do understand the appeal, don't get me wrong."

A delighted sigh escaped his throat as he cradled the glass between the fingers of one hand, swirling its contents like fine wine and sampling the drink's scent.

"Other worlds indeed," he said, the smile never fading from his face.

He sipped from the glass. Heat spread over his palate with a pleasant warmth, like a beautiful wildfire consuming the countryside, burning away every hint of iron and blood. He closed his eyes as he savored the aftertaste, and took another longing sip, kissing the glass like he would his many lovers, the men and women he consorted with behind closed doors at his many lavish parties.

"Drink, sweet prince," she said. "I long to see what lies beyond. I wish to meet this man for myself. To see what the Reaper saw."

"Taste what the Reaper tasted," breathed Vincent, licking his lips again, now only tasting the sweet sting of the green fairy, any tang of blood having been relegated into memory.

He focused on the painting. Drinking in the portrait's details. Warm tones made up the complexion of the artist's subject. Streaks and dabs of gray peppered dark hair despite the youthful and symmetrical face. A faint hint of stubble around the small and tender-looking lips and a soft chin.

And such kind eyes. So utterly kind.

What had the Reaper seen? Who was this mysterious subject?

"The killer became obsessed with him," Orinrya whispered. "Watched him from afar. But not like he watched the others."

Vincent sipped more from his cup; his sights fixed on the portrait. The spirit burned his throat on the way down and blood now rushed in his ears.

"Do you think he would have kept him for last? After torching down the entire world, would he have kept him around, do you think?"

"Not for long," she said. "Those kind eyes, he would not have been able to bear them for all eternity. Those eyes, painted thus, they knew not who watched him. What watched him. What monster—"

"Oh, my dear, let us not wield that word lightly," Vincent said.

His eyes fell shut as he drank more from the cup. The cool steel framing its glass made his silky palm tingle.

"Oh, but my dear, he is one of us," she sang.

"Was," said Vincent, breaking out into another chuckle.

Opening his eyes to continue gazing into the soft amber irises of the portrait's eyes, Vincent's vision blurred.

"Yes, was," she chimed in, joining him with melodious laughter in his mind.

"And this—Edward, you say—"

"Yes. Certainly Edward. I see a room. Orderly. Well-organized. Neatly arranged instruments. Cabinets filled with... medicine."

"A doctor?" asked Vincent with a lopsided smile, arching a brow.

"A doctor."

He drank more from the cup. Lost all sense of time as his senses dulled, losing track of how often he repeated the motion—the trickle of green spirit soaked up by the sugar cube, trailing down through the family crest into the cup, and burning in his throat as he sent it to cascade past his luscious lips and tongue.

"Here, in this very city, am I right?"

"Yes, dear. He is near. I feel it."

As his vision faded, his memory soon followed into the hazy mist.

Vincent cradled the bottle. Empty, save for a few droplets. They laughed as its glass shattered somewhere on the floor, no further mind paid to its breaking after jettisoning it away in a languid arc.

"I can almost taste it."

The lingering smell of the spirit occluded his senses further, but he began to smell another sharp substance.

Rubbing alcohol.

"We're getting closer, love," she whispered.

Every time he blinked, his eyelids grew heavier. His vision of the portrait turned into a blob of warm colors in dim light. The kind eyes of the mystery man in the painting—Edward—soon peeled away from that unseen something off to the right side of the image, and the doctor in the painting turned his head to look back at his spectators.

Then he looked out a window. His motions were slow, deliberate.

They felt that he felt watched.

"A busy street by day, just outside that window," Orinrya said.

"A foggy day," Vincent ventured. "A day not long ago."

"Only days around when the Reaper started his spree."

"Oh, how he cherished knowing how this beautiful man—this oblivious doctor—was unwittingly helping him."

"Did he provide the instruments?"

"Or drugs, perhaps?"

"No, just the thing to stab. A precise thing."

"A needle," they both said in unison, their voices blending until they matched. Orinrya spoke through his mouth. "A syringe."

Two voices. Not one.

The lantern's flame flickered but stayed alight. Turned bright blue. The world began to fade.

"Inspiration."

"He inspired him. Oh, he quaffed the nectar of this man's innocence—"

"Watched from afar, even before he started claiming lives—"

"Twisted it into something darker—"

"Something fierce—"

"Oh, the delicious transgression."

The lights throughout the gallery went out, one by one, until all but the lantern sitting on the floor between sofa and the lonesome painting remained lit. An orange-hued island in the middle of a sea of darkness. On one edge, the dapper lordling lounged, limbs drooping lazily off the sides. On the other, the painting.

The handsome man had disappeared from it.

Vincent brushed over his own lips and the numbness had set in. Unable to feel his own fingers, it felt like someone else caressed him, like she had planted there a gentle kiss.

They no longer saw a portrait, but another place. A window into that other location: a doctor's practice. Vacant of people, with shadows flitting about, hints of its owner leaping from one task to another chore, as day and night cycled rapidly, bouncing back and forth.

Meticulously washing his hands in the sink. Examining a sitting patient's eyes. Carefully bringing scalpel to an exposed arm. A laugh to defuse some fear. Blood, dabbed away with cloth in slender hands. A warm and kind smile to match the gaze from the painting, a patient calmed by his gentle disposition.

Oblivious of the darkness that watched him, reaching through past and present and now seeing that darkened room. A solid night, a roiling fog outside the windows. Like one monster once watched, spying from the outside, they now peered through painting, bridging time and space.

Vincent lurched up onto his feet and stumbled halfway on the infinitely long walk towards the painting. Glass shards crunched underneath his shoe, reminiscent of the blanket of snow outside, melting into the flurries of crystallized precipitation which he saw through the painting, falling softly to cobblestone-covered streets outside the practice's window.

Though numbed by stupor, the bumps and ridges of dried paint surfaced in a texture he traced with his fingertips, exploring the picture of the painting. No longer depicting the kind-faced doctor, but his practice, blanketed entirely by night.

"Push, my love. Let us explore."

And Vincent did. Pressed his palm against the painting, and ripples exploded outwards from it, as if he had disturbed the surface of a still pond. The image swallowed his hand and he pushed deeper, until he dove into that distorted image, neither place nor person, stepping entirely through.

As he stumbled again and blinked to orient himself, he stood inside that doctor's practice.

Rocked back and forth as the absinthe did its number on his coordination, barely able to read the handwriting on letters stacked on a desk.

Orinrya whispered through Vincent's lips, "Doctor Edward—"

"Carnaby," Vincent finished himself, slurring the surname in a drunken drawl, erupting into a stupid giggle.

He slapped the paper back down onto the desk and looked about, letting his eyes adjust.

"Do we truly travel to these places, love?"

"Or is it just a jaunt of the mind?" she countered.

"A little escape that leaves the flesh behind?"

He giggled another drunken giggle as he clumsily knocked over objects on the desk, causing them to clink and clatter and a small broken vial to gurgle out liquid. Something black, likely ink.

"Oh fairy, my green fairy," he murmured with the most melody that a positively drunken man could muster.

"This is all us, darling. No fairy needed. Just some added fun for your pleasure."

He pushed through a door, stumbling down dark corridors, and registering the softness of a carpet beneath his shoes.

"But it's so much fun, love—"

Vincent froze.

Bathed in a bright sliver of silver moonlight from a crack between the curtains, a woman lay in bed. A shapely face, heavily scarred, and peacefully resting, eyes closed.

"Oh, here we go again," mused Orinrya. "Be still, your beating heart."

Arms exposed above the sheets, wreathed in bandages, leaving just enough space for Vincent to take a seat at the sleeping woman's side. The mattress and bed creaked underneath his weight.

The scars on her cheek, as disfiguring they were, he saw past them and found a beauty he would have overlooked otherwise. But it was the scarring that captured his entire attention.

"Yet another fancy for you to entertain, love?"

He shushed Orinrya.

His fingers shook with the green fairy's tremors and an enamored fascination. He traced over the lines of those scars, an uneven drawing from a cut inflicted by a blade, that wandered over cheek to nose. Crisscrossing into another scar that ran across the nose, where ridge had broken once. Gingerly exploring the uneven surface of her warm skin where a hound's claw had raked her jaw. Her soft and shallow breath, he felt even with hands so numb.

So focused, so spellbound—

"Careful now," Orinrya whispered.

Vincent whispered back, "Sound asleep—"

"Look," she said. "Look away."

"No, I shall not."

"Look beside her, I say! Look. On the bedside table," Orinrya urged him. The singsong gone, her tone had fallen deathly serious.

That was when his blurry gaze finally came to rest upon it.

A leatherbound tome. Strange glyphs carved into its face.

Another gasp escaped Vincent's throat, all attention for the beautifully scarred woman now blown away.

An authentic tome of magick. He felt it. He felt its thrum. No ordinary book he had ever seen had ever looked like that. It had to be.

The prize he had sought for so long.

"Take me," Orinrya whispered.

No—the tome had whispered that. In his mind. Like her?

Right?

"Take it," she whispered in his mind. "Take it."

His hands trembled—hovered just above the cool leather surface of the book. How he yearned to rip it open and decipher its inscriptions. But his reverence weighed so heavily, the dread of what terrible secrets it may contain, it boggled his mind. His hesitation dragged on forever, mired in a swamp of lost time and a drunken haze.

"Take it," she hissed. Commanding.

His fingers trembled even more as they crept closer towards the edges of the book, keen on flipping the lid and perusing its mysterious pages.

He hesitated for too long.

"What are you doing in here?" a man blurted out behind them.

In the door to the room stood a dark silhouette. The squeak of metal and a clicking sound preceded a lantern going on.

The doctor. This Edward Carnaby. The kind face from the painting, kindness far from its current expression. Glaring at Vincent.

"Who in the blazes are you?" asked the doctor.

Brows furrowed; the moonlight twinkled with fear in the doctor's pupils.

Vincent rose to his feet and lurched towards him, tripping over a chair's leg. He caught himself against a dresser before he could fully plummet to the floor. Laughed, drunkenly.

"Should he see your face?" Orinrya asked. Another murmur in Vincent's thoughts. "Should he remember?"

"No. Yes!" Vincent said, followed by another clipped giggle.

Alibi, he thought. So convenient. If this was even real.

Doctor Carnaby cried, "Get out! Before I fetch a constable!"

The good doctor threatened, yet he took a timid step backwards, back into the hallway behind him. Frightened by the nightly invader in his home.

"Sorry good, sir," Vincent's words lurched as much as he did with his drunken gait. "I must have been confused. Long night—o-out drinking, you see."

"Get out!" repeated the doctor with more force. His voice trembled with terror.

Leaning against the dresser, sliding, and almost slipping as he propped himself up, Vincent eked out a theatrical gesture with his arm and bowed, nearly toppling over in the process. "I'm Lord Vincent Va—"

"I don't care who in the devil's name you are, you are bothering my patient, you drunken lout! Get! Out! " The doctor's fear audibly subsided. He cleared his throat and pointed a finger down the hallway, directing Vincent to leave that way.

He stepped aside demonstratively and waited for Vincent to follow his instructions.

"Yes, yes, yes. As I was saying, good sir, I must have taken the wrong turn—wrong door, you know, it happens," he said with a smile, growing aware of how much less charming he was whenever he was this heavily intoxicated. "Vincent Vance is the name, Lord of Bailyview. Terribly sorry if I broke anything on the way in—"

Doctor Carnaby's face fell through different stages. The dread dropped into fury, and the fury made way for confusion and mild annoyance, with a dash of pity.

"Just leave, please."

"Right," Vincent said, covering his mouth and feigning the urge to throw up, replete with a retching sound.

Carnaby waited patiently for him to step outside, and Vincent obliged. Stared over his shoulder as he turned into the hallway and stopped there—the scarred woman stirred, and more importantly, that leatherbound tome eyelessly stared back at him.

Beckoning him.

He wanted it so badly. Had to peel his gaze from the book. Had to tell himself he'd be back for it. Flashed a stupid grin at the doctor and stumbled forth.

The glow from the doctor's lantern made it easier to navigate the dark hallway, and in the blurry haze where time and space melted into one misty soup, he braced himself against a wall on the way until he pushed through a door that should have led outside. He slammed it shut behind him, more fiercely than he had intended.

But he did not find himself outside on the street, in the cold, where his breath condensed before his mouth, standing in the pale moonlight as it pierced a ring of clouds—but back in the gallery in front of the living painting of Doctor Edward Carnaby.

The doctor glared into the night outside his front door. Poked his head outside to see where his nightly intruder had staggered off to but paid it no more mind. Did not notice a lack of footprints in the thin layer of snow. He shut the door. The lock loudly fell into place.

Vincent leaned against the wall, watching through the painting.

The snowfall of flurries gently drifting down onto the cobblestone-covered streets made him sway again, made Vincent's legs buckle. Hypnotic as it was, it almost fully robbed him of his senses.

He crashed back down onto that comfortable sofa inside his opulent gallery.

"A fascinating jaunt, darling," said Orinrya.

"And a convenient alibi," he replied, shooting another glance at Sir Dwyer's body.

They laughed at the dead philistine.

The blur continued, as Vincent did not recall how he had gotten from the Reaper's painting of Doctor Carnaby in the main hall—to his private parlor.

Slumped into a different sofa, he peered up at the gigantic portrait of himself.

The renowned painter Léon Choffard had spent months completing this masterpiece. A stylized depiction of Vincent's likeness. Though already statuesque in the flesh, Choffard's artistry had lent the portrait a special something that portrayed Vincent as even more attractive than humanly possible—which Vincent regularly and smirkingly attributed to their brief and romantic tryst.

"It truly captures your pleasant face," Orinrya said.

"Thank you, dear."

Silence.

A large clock tick-tocked away from the edge of the room, with everything around him swamped in shadows, two lanterns shedding just enough light that he could study the rendition of his own portrait.

"I wonder," he suddenly said. "What would happen if we entered that picture? Where would it take us?"

Silence.

Orinrya stayed silent.

"Hm, I like that answer. It is intriguing, love. So mysterious. You say so much by saying nothing, you know that?"

She laughed inside his head. A sweet and seductive laugh. He smiled in response.

"Will you ever tell me what you are? Or is that destined to be our perpetual dance?"

She laughed more.

"In due time," she said.

"Like getting our hands on that book."

"Yes, in due time, darling."

"And the woman."

"The scarred one?"

"No. Yes. Her too," he said. He bit his lip, clamped his eyes shut and sighed. "I meant the lady from the new world, that witch-doctor. And all the others in her company. That bandaged inquisitor—oh, how I would like to peel his bandages away and hear all his stories. It's brilliant how all these fascinating people—and things—are all coming together here, all at once."

"Yes. You feel it," Orinrya said.

"Feel what?"

"The quickening."

"What do you mean?"

"Something new being born. Old dreams that are dying, and a new world being birthed before our eyes," she breathed.

Vincent shuddered with a chill running down his spine.

"And what is this new world you speak? You must know. You know so much. I know you know," Vincent whispered, erupting into a crazed cackle over how silly he found his own words.

She smiled. He felt it. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled as a soft breeze swept through his parlor like a ghostly presence. Like soft fingertips that brushed against his lips, not his own. Or perhaps his own, just numbed from the excess of strong spirits only slowly wearing off.

"The real question, darling—what will you do when you bear witness to the reckoning? Will you hold the reins? Or will you pass them off to see what spectacle others may unfold?" Orinrya asked.

The corners of his lips twitched. Both he and she, they smiled simultaneously.

Not gracing her questions with any straight answer, he only returned more questions.

"Are you angel? Or devil?"

Silence.

"Good answer."

He laughed a hollow laugh, eventually mounting into a long and wistful sigh.

Vincent drifted off into a dreamless sleep. And he never yearned for such, as he lived his dreams in every waking moment.

A lingering thought that swam atop the sea of oblivion.

Sputtering awake, the lanterns were no longer lit. Daylight flooded through open doors into the parlor. He still rested in the sofa, sprawled out across it like his own likeness in the gigantic portrait towering over him.

The air was cold and had left him with a painfully stiff neck.

As he shuffled lazily across shiny marble floors, he surveyed the damage he had wrought the night before. The glass shards scattered across the gallery, and the dead body of Sir Dwyer, still left in his own pool of blood.

Work to do. A body to be rid of. A chief to blackmail. A new slew of rumors to seed.

The rich lord took a deep breath and sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck.

He smiled.

"Oh, the woes of pleasure before business," he reckoned.

They both laughed at the thought.

"But that book—"

"Will be ours."

"Its magick—"

"We will wield it," they sang together, dulcet syllables spilling from Vincent's lips.

"Or will you be wielding it, while I soar to incredible heights on your back?" he asked.

And there was silence.

—Submitted by Wratts

[bonjour-rainycity]

Odin’s Ward ~ Chapter 16

Link to previous part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/639618035738607616/odins-ward-chapter-15

Pairing: Loki x female reader

Word count: 1836

Warnings: Brief mentions of death

True age: Y/n: 1449 // Loki: 1575 // Thor: 1827 // Audunn 3213

Human equivalent age: Y/n: 23 // Loki: 25 // Thor: 29// Audunn: 51

Loki’s POV

The trial is brutal.

In the course of his attempt to save his life, Audunn does everything he can to discredit Y/n. He paints her as a liar, a schemer, the mastermind behind the coup, and at one point, even accuses her of sleeping with his servant, Sveinn.

But she faces it with her head held high and takes none of it, delivering her account of the coup honestly and clearly.

She will make a great queen someday, and I can see by the sparkle in his eye that Odin recognizes this too.

In the end, the evidence against Audunn is too damning, and he is sentenced to death, to be carried out in two days time. It comes a shock to no one, except maybe him, and he meets the verdict with false claims of injustice and conspiracy. He has to be dragged from the courtroom.

Y/n watches him go, flinching slightly when he gives her a look of such hatred, I can feel it in my own bones. Thor — the dutiful fiancé — shields her from Audunn’s view.

After we are dismissed, Y/n disappears, and I resist the urge to go looking for her. She probably wishes to be on her own, and I have no right to offer her comfort, anyway. But fate, it seems, has other plans, and a few hours later, I find her sitting in the gardens, absently staring at a light pink flower.

I have to say her name twice before she notices my presence. She looks up, blinking as if working herself out of a daze.

“Oh, hi Loki,” she murmurs, staring at my shoulder rather than my face.

I’ve never seen her like this. The Y/n I know has always had a bite to her, a spark of passion. But the woman before me may as well be a shell of Y/n, for all the light that is in her eyes.

I’m at a complete loss for what to do.

So, without thinking, I conjure a bottle of wine and hold it out to her, sitting next to her on the bench.

She looks between me and the bottle, and then the clouds in her eyes break and she gives a soft laugh. She takes the bottle and drinks deeply, clutching it to her chest when she’s finished. “We cannot solve all our problems with alcohol.”

I try to study her inconspicuously, still concerned for her state of mind. “Yes, but it can take the edge off.”

She chuckles more freely, taking another long drink. “When I am queen, that shall be the cornerstone of my domestic policy — your children might be starving, but here, have something to drink! It’ll take the edge off.” Then, with a noise between a laugh and a sob, she forces the bottle back into my grasp and drops her head into her hands. “Oh my gods. What went wrong, Loki? How did we mess up our lives this badly?”

I shake my head vehemently. I know I’ve screwed up, but she’s done nothing of the sort. “You’ve not done anything wrong.”

“Haven’t I?” She raises her head, and when she looks at me, I can see her eyes brim with tears. “I fell in love with you when I knew I would belong to someone else.”

I furrow my eyebrows, confused as to why she’s upset about something so out of her control. “You didn’t choose to—”

She raises a challenging eyebrow. “I cheated on my husband with you.”

Does she regret that? I try again to stop her self-berating. “That was my fault, I—”

She begins to talk over me, her voice growing more hysterical with every word. “I let an innocent servant be beaten half to death because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. My people were massacred while I relaxed in the bath—”

“—Y/n please, stop this. It isn’t—”

She refuses to be consoled. “I’ve sent my husband to his death. I looked him in the eye and condemned him! And I will never love Thor. He doesn’t deserve that. I’ve taken away his chance at happiness with Jane, I—my chest hurts — I can’t breathe.” She gasps through panicked sobs.

Without thinking, I place the bottle on the ground and gather her in my arms. She clutches at my shirt, shaking and gasping in shallow breaths. We hold onto each other too tightly, like if we relax even slightly, the other will crumble apart.

“Okay,” I try to soothe, my own voice wavering with worry. “Okay, deep breaths.” We draw in air and exhale together. I bring my hand to the back of her head and draw what I hope are calming lines with my thumb. After a few minutes, she regains control of her breathing and leans further into me, visibly exhausted. I lay my cheek against her hair, grateful that she seems to be through the worst of it but knowing she’s not out of the woods yet — I’ve had enough panic attacks to know how volatile they can be. “When was the last time you slept?”

“I don’t know.”

As gently as I can, I stand, pulling her with me. “Come.”

She doesn’t protest when I transport us inside her chambers, though she does look a bit sick at all the movement. I walk her to her bed then bring her a glass of water — something I probably should have provided her with initially, instead of the wine.

“I’m sorry,” she nearly whimpers, sagging against the pillows.

Immediately, I shake my head. “There’s no need to apologize. I…”

Don’t do it, I beg myself. Don’t give in…it will only hurt you both. You are undeserving of her love, and probably incapable of giving it back.

But I have always been selfish. I am unable to stop myself from repeating her words to me from a few days ago, showing just how deeply I have taken them to heart. “I am always on your side.”

This seems to calm her. She sighs contentedly, her eyes fluttering shut. Within seconds, she’s asleep.

I know I should leave. But instead of walking out the door like I planned, I find myself settling on the couch facing her bed. Now that Y/n is settled, I take notice of the exhaustion in my own body — sleep frequently eludes me, too. And, without meaning to, I drift off to sleep.

Y/n’s POV

I awake to the soft peals of bells in the distance and the first rays of the sun. For the first time in while, I feel rested. I did not wake once, it seems, and slept soundly from afternoon to early morning.

There’s a figure lying on my couch.

Loki is too long for the small furniture, so he sleeps curled up, wrapped in his cape. He looks so innocent and peaceful that it makes my stomach hurt, because I know those qualities will flee once he wakes. He’s gone through so much. And yes, a good part of it is by his own hand, but still, I ache with the desire to see him well-cared for and happy and free of the weight he keeps himself under.

As if feeling my gaze, he stirs. He stretches out, groaning softly, then sits up straight, blinking to adjust to the limited light.

We stare at each other for a moment before I gather the courage to speak. “Good morning.”

I feel unsure.

How many times had we woken up together, in much more intimate contexts than this?

But this moment…this moment feels dangerous. It teeters on the edge of something familiar, something we could so easily slip back into….

He swallows, holding my gaze with equal gravity.

Then, he breaks it. “I’m sorry. I should not have stayed.” He gets up, and moves to the door.

But I am not ready to let this moment go, and I call after him. “No—I don’t mind. Please, stay.”

He looks at me over his shoulder, uncertainty in his eyes and…hope?

Unsure what exactly compels me to move, I rise from the bed. I take my time walking to him, fearful that if I move too quickly or too loudly, all this will fade away. When I reach him, I stop just short of our shoes touching.

The words I feel so strongly come out as no more than a breath. “I want you to stay.”

Slowly, hesitantly, and with all the force of a brush of air, he takes my hand in his. “We cannot fall back into old habits.” But even as he says this, he steps closer, bringing up his fingers to twine in the ends of my hair.

I’m unable to stop my free hand from running up his chest. He feels so familiar, so solid, so safe. “We would be terrible people to do so.” Somehow, my lips are now only centimeters from his.

His grip tightens in my hair. “I wish I cared about that.” My fingers brush against his neck, and his lips touch mine.

A sharp knock echoes through the room.

I jump, and Loki closes his eyes, leaning his forehead against mine. “Send them away.”

“Yes,” I agree, reluctantly releasing him from my hold and pushing him out of sight. As I walk to my chamber door, I have to blink a few times to steady myself.

Am I really going to do this? Aren’t I strong enough to stop myself?

Do I want to stop myself?

I pull open the door, to reveal a smiling Thor.

Oh gods.

“Thor,” I half-gasp, the excitement and peace I felt just a seconds ago shattering on the ground. “I-I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you.”

He eyes my rumpled dress—yesterday’s dress—with amusement. “I can see that.”

I feel heat gather in my cheeks. “Yes, uh…I was so exhausted after yesterday’s events that I fell asleep in the afternoon and only just woke up a few moments ago. I should call Ragna and dress for the day.”

“Perhaps that would be wise,” he agrees politely. “And after, would you be so kind as to join me in the dining hall? I would enjoy sharing breakfast with you.”

“Oh.”

Because he’s my fiancé.

Fiancé’s spend time together.

Former lovers do not.

Oh, I am awful.

I force a too-sunny smile to my face. “Yes, I would like that as well. I shall be there shortly.”

He bows, and brings the back of my hand to his lips for a kiss.

I’m the worst. The shame makes me feel ill.

I close the door. As much as I dread doing so, it is Loki I must send away. Because he is not my intended.

Gathering my resolve, I turn to search for him.

But he is already gone.

A/n Hey everyone, sorry for the month in between posts! I don’t know why, but I just could NOT get myself to write this chapter! But I finally figured out what I wanted to say and how I wanted to say it, so here ya go!

Comments, likes, and reblogs mean the world to me! Let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the tag list. 

Masterlist

Link to next part: To be posted

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